My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  Teagan tried to tug the growing bouquet away, but the King chuckled, "I've been carting a two year old around. Unless someone's gonna stuff an anvil in here, I've got it."

  She was supposed to be watching hands, shoes, looking for anyone suspicious or out of place, but in truth everyone looked out of place. Commoners dressed in tattered cloth stood beside nobility in silks and neither blushed at the idea. Even a few elves moved through the mix, the King taking his time to speak to them as well. A young child of six was thrusted forward by his father. The King paused at the terrified look in the boy's eye and waited as he gathered the courage to thrust forward a wad of elfroot. Not even pausing, Alistair placed it next to the roses from the better off.

  "She loved elfroot," he smiled at the boy, "we were always stuffing handfuls of it in every pocket." It took another twenty minutes before he'd worked through the crowd, giving each a moment or two and despite his assurances to the Arl, the King's arms were waning from the foliage stuffed in them.

  He rose up the stairs and stood before the door. "I feel like I should give a speech, but...in truth she hated them. Would often do as that girl there is and make foolish faces at me whenever I tried." The twelve year old tugging down her eye retracted in her tongue at the attention and tried to slide back into the crowd. Sighing, the King scrunched up his eyes and spoke, "Thank you all for coming. It would mean the world to her to know how many care all these years later."

  Turning around, he nodded at a pair of servants. Each tugged open the wooden doors to reveal the memorial for the Hero of Ferelden. The King stepped across the red carpet, Arl Teagan close on his heels, to the base of the statue. Dropping to a knee, he placed the bundle of flowers at the foot of it and whispered something. As he stood up, his hand glanced across the statue's foot. Suddenly, his eyes shot up and Reiss noticed he left a green smudge across the onyx. With as much grace as the man could manage, he tried to wipe it off with his shirt.

  Tapping down a laugh, Teagan turned back to the crowd to announce, "Please, come in and remember."

  In a great rush, the people raced into the memorial. It wasn't an orderly funerary procession whispering but a cavalcade of voices laughing, speaking, celebrating. Reiss stepped in quietly, trying to blend in with the background which was hard to do. The memorial was built in a circle, the walls stuffed with books, staves, quills, robes, weaponry, even tea cups that belonged to the Hero of Ferelden. All of them sat behind glass, which the people were leaving fingerprints on as they leaned over to investigate. In the middle stood a fifteen foot tall statue of the woman herself. Carved from a jet black stone, it was illuminated by mirrors placed around the base, casting light upon the determined eyes facing off against an unseen foe. Her staff bore a globe on the end that glittered with red light, which projected an image of the archdemon across the white ceiling. It was the only hint of an enemy in the statue. Most had the victor standing upon a mountain of skulls or some hint, but whoever carved it seemed to only want to see her standing ready for battle but not yet engaging in it. A protector instead of a warrior.

  While the King worked through the crowd yet again, pointing at a grey warden shield and telling some story that got everyone to laugh uproariously, Reiss slid closer to the statue's base. A plaque of gold bore the words:

  "Solona 'Lana' Amell

  Defeater of the Blight

  Hero of Ferelden

  Born

  Fifteenth of Cloudreach 9:11 Dragon

  Lost to Us

  Sixth of Drakonis 9:42 Dragon

  She Stood Against The Darkness To Make Thedas Brighter"

  Thirty one when she died, her same age now. Reiss reached out, her fingers glancing across the words, when a voice whispered beside her, "Is this your first time here?"

  "I..." she pulled her hand back and let it fall to her hilt. Turning to the King she answered, "I've seen the memorial but have never entered it prior."

  He had his head turned far back as if studying the statue's face, or perhaps trying to remember the real woman who once bore it. "We try to do something for her birthday. Okay, I try to do something and some people show up too." He glanced around the crowds standing beside her things, some of them hoisting children closer and explaining who the Hero of Ferelden was. "She had a way of touching lives without trying."

  "Yes, I..." Fire lapping across the grass, as she cowered beside the over turned carriage. Chittering from the darkspawn echoed over the screams as they plunged blade and teeth into the humans from the caravan. There was no hope. There'd been none when she left home, and now...

  Shaking off the memory, Reiss tipped her head up at the hero, "She saved me during the blight."

  "Oh?" the King turned fully to face her now, his once waning focus burning bright.

  "I was trying to flee with my...family, from South Reach after Lothering," she swallowed hard. It'd been nearly seventeen years and it still pricked her heart open.

  A hand landed upon her back and she caught the King misting up. "Lothering was...Maker, we tried so hard to--"

  "I know," Reiss interrupted. It was easy to forget that for every step the hero took the King was at her side. She was the savior from the Blight while he took on the farce of jester. So many in Ferelden were happy to take that as fact in the years since, even those who fought beside him forgot. But she watched the true pain of war, of watching helpless as the enemy swarmed over people you couldn't hope to save scrawling away his boyish charm. An almost deathly pallor replaced it as his eyes wandered over to look at a sword hanging on the wall.

  "The Hero, she saved me and my siblings from being torn apart by darkspawn," Reiss explained, her heart feeling strangely heavy.

  Barely fourteen, her hands locked around her five year old brother while trying to stay as quiet as possible. Ice shards firing through the air and impaling one of the screaming darkspawn in the throat. The girl with no home buried her head in her brother's hair, terrified to face what was certain to come, when a hand, a human one lands upon her shoulder. "It'll be alright," was all she whispered.

  Reiss didn't voice the memory aloud, uncertain if she could tug it back. But she whispered to herself, "I never thanked her for it."

  The King placed his hands behind his back and stretched up, "She hated when anyone did. Drawing attention to her, she'd blush like her cheeks were on fire from it. But, for what it's worth, I think she knew." Ignoring his blubbering bodyguard, he traced a finger across the date of her death, a day of mourning for all of Ferelden.

  "You were in the Inquisition," he stated. "Were you there when she...?"

  "Adamant," Reiss recited. Yes, she was there fighting first grey wardens, then alongside them to destroy the demons. "At first, everyone was cheering. The Inquisitor closed the rift, saved us all from some terrifying nightmare demon army. I remember people clapping all across the fortress and then..." Like a stone tossed into a pond, ripples of horror echoed outward silencing the celebration. "We heard that the Hero, our Hero, sacrificed herself to save us, all of us. Every Ferelden in the army all but collapsed, even the Grey Wardens were bereft. The Commander," she spotted him being led out, not speaking a word to anyone, "seemed to be in shock."

  Alistair's hung head lifted a moment and he snorted, "That sounds about right." Tears glittered in his eyes, which he blinked back down before they escaped. "I, uh," he shook off the sadness and covered it over in a goofy smile, "should probably return to all that kinging stuff before there's a coup. Excuse me, Ser Reiss."

  The day wound down slowly, the King taking the time to speak with any and all who showed up to the point his voice scratched and he had to cough to keep going. As the hour grew longer, the final visitors left leaving only the King, Reiss, and Teagan behind. The Arl himself stood regal staring up at the statue, an inscrutable look to his eyes. How well did he know the woman carved in stone? By his stance it was impossible to tell, but the fact that he hadn't moved in hours told Reiss there was more than gratitude underneath.

  "Wel
p, not bad for having to rearrange everything," the King said clapping his hands together.

  "Indeed, Sire," Teagan announced.

  "Would you," the King ran a hand over the back of his hair and fluffed it up, "could you give me a few minutes alone? You know, to clean up and..."

  Teagan smiled sadly, "Of course, your Majesty." After casting one more look up at the woman's face, he turned on his heel and walked towards the doors.

  Reiss paused uncertain if she was meant to leave as well, when the King chuckled. "I don't think there are any assassins hiding in here. Least I hope not. They can't go invisible now, can they?"

  Nodding, she began to slip out but paused at the entrance. Covering an eye, Reiss sighted around the memorial making certain to check the shadows for anything out of the ordinary. "Looks clean," she pronounced, getting a grim smile from her boss. Accepting that he wasn't likely to be stabbed, Reiss slipped out of the memorial and quietly shut the doors. As she took up guard, Teagan stood at the edge of the stairs watching the sun set on the horizon.

  "Maker, it's nearly nightfall?" Reiss gasped.

  "I'm surprised we finished that early," the Arl chuckled. "He can take a fair share of time with this."

  There'd been rumors for years about the King and Hero of Ferelden being close. More than a few bawdy books were spun about their bodice ripping adventures, some of which Reiss had to hide under her pallet at night so her sister wouldn't see them. While she knew little of the Hero beyond seeing her once, the King in the books bore no resemblance to the one she knew now. In the tales he was suave and charming, the type to take command. It took Reiss all of five minutes of speaking with him to realize that was an entire fabrication of the author. She'd assumed the very romance itself to be as well, but the way his eyes burned even these six years since her death...

  "Oh Maker," Teagan cried pointing at one of their horses slipping off its post and making a run for it. He began to beat feet after it. Reiss rose to join, but he waved at her, "I'll catch it. You stay with the King." And beyond any common sense, the Arl of Redcliffe began to chase after a horse down the streets of Denerim.

  Reiss followed the order, remaining rooted on the spot, when she heard a muffled voice speaking from behind the door. She should ignore it, block it out, or pace back and forth to obscure it, but... Sliding back, she hooked a finger into the door handle, pulled it just far enough to jam her toe in the way, and listened.

  Sounds of pacing back and forth were all that filled the air at first, the King perhaps making good on his promise to clean up, when his voice rang out. "So, happy birthday. The big 36, eh? I think that's an important one. Better than 37, let me tell you. That's when everything breaks down into one big mess. They've got me drinking this white glop before bed, helps with my constitution or something."

  He sighed, and then the sound of his foot being drug across the floor echoed. "Wherever you are, I hope you've got something big planned. Or something to celebrate. Better than what we did during the blight. Ass deep in darkspawn in the middle of the deeproads and you turn to me to say 'Hey, I'm twenty today.'"

  A laugh broke up his higher pitched voice meant to mimic hers. "I swear you did that just to watch the panic in my face." Another silence fell, this one heavier than thedas itself.

  "Maker's breath, but I miss you Lanny. I wish you were here. That you could...I know why you can't be but Andraste's grace, I'm scared. Assassins right. We've been through this a dozen times, friended one for some reason. What are a few more traipsing about in the shadows? I should be able to shrug this off but...Flames, I can't. If they'd gotten to Spud or the baby who, oh yeah, we're calling Cailan. It's weird, I know, but no one wanted to listen to me. Let's name your son after your dead half-brother that way it's like he's always haunting you. Wooo!" He tried to laugh at the end but the joke turned into a soft sob.

  "I don't know who I can trust, aside from you. Even when you hated me, which I rightly deserved, I still had faith in you and..." Alistair groaned, then slapped his hands against his cheeks, "I'm supposed to be wishing you a happy birthday. So, that. I won't sing, I promise. But please tell me you made your templar do it. That'll at least lighten my mood."

  Reiss scrunched her nose up at that, confused what he meant. Perhaps there was some templar friend waiting for the Hero across the veil. She risked a quick glance inside. The King's back was to her as he faced the statue. No one else moved around, but an eerie red glow emanated from in front of him.

  "I should go. Lots of beheadings and other kingly stuff to do. Oh, you'll love this. I got myself a bodyguard. Yeah, I know, poor thing. Funny thing though, I bet you'd like her. Be careful out there, Lanny. I'll see you later." The red light vanished, and the King began to turn around.

  Reiss yanked her toe out and spun back, letting the door fall shut. She tried to will back the erratic beat of her heart for eavesdropping, certain that the King made her, but when he opened the door he was all smiles again as if something washed his psyche clean. "Don't tell me, Teagan ran off and left us with the check," he chuckled.

  "No, Ser, he's..."

  Hoofbeats clattered down the road and the Arl rode up on the runaway horse. His hat hung precariously close to falling off and an exhausted flush burnt his cheeks, but he seemed in good spirits. "I caught her before she fled through the city gates," the Arl proclaimed, dismounting off the King's horse.

  "That horse is a master escape artist," Alistair complained, jogging quickly down the stairs to grab at the reins before she bolted again. "We once found her on the roof."

  "You did not, Sire," Teagan laughed stepping back to gather up the last two horses.

  "I swear to the Maker, it's true. Middle of the night I hear a crash and think either thunder or Orlesian invasion. But nope, it's a damn horse standing on the roof, clipping along like she's on a run through the meadows." He ran a hand down her nose, curling it up through the mane while this master escape horse snorted. "You're lucky we don't turn you into glue." Despite his proclamation, he seemed to have a real affinity for this magical horse. There were a good dozen in the royal stables he could have chosen, but this was the one he was drawn to.

  As the Arl swung up into his saddle and Reiss in turn followed suit, the three of them clopped down the street to the palace. "Gonna be hanging around for a few more weeks, Teagan?" the King asked. Despite the long day he sat bolt upright in the saddle, something seeming to have energized him.

  "I'm afraid not. I should return to Redcliffe soon." The Arl smiled, "It should give your bodyguard some breathing room at the very least."

  Reiss couldn't tap down the burn rising in her cheeks from the attention. The King tried to turn his head fully around to look at her before shooting a glance at the Arl, "Are you two still on about her nearly trying to chop your head off? That was two days ago. Stop living in the past."

  "As you say, Sire," the Arl chuckled and Reiss followed suit.

  "Before you go, I've got a few letters for you to take with," he all but whispered to the Arl.

  Teagan's formal facade melted a moment, and he closed his eyes, "I'll be sure to deliver them myself, Alistair."

  "Good, good," the King nodded. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm famished. Let's go see if we can find a tavern with a steak the size of our heads."

  CHAPTER TEN

  Cloaks & Daggers

  "I'd like to keep this under strictest confidence," Alistair whispered to the woman sharing the booth across from him. While he felt the need to dress for the clandestine meeting in a cloak complete with drawn hood, she wore leathers that cried out whenever she moved. Seeing as how they were in a less than savory tavern in the middle of the dwarven districts few people glanced over. Most were too busy drinking themselves into a stupor while banging out a rather melodic ballad upon helmets. Alistair didn't get close enough to see if the heads were still inside.

  She took a small sip of her mead and turned a slow eye at him, "Please don't tell me you've invented a secret hands
hake we have to use."

  A blush burned up his cheeks, and absently he turned back to spot his bodyguard sitting alone at the bar. She was within protecting distance as well as listening and was well aware that Alistair spent some of the night perfecting one. "No, nothing like that," he waved it away.

  "Right," ex-scout Lace Harding didn't roll her eyes but she chuckled into her mug. After placing it down, she turned her dissecting stare upon him. "I doubt you brought me here for just a drink. And, before you go any further, you should know I'm spoken for."

  Now his blush was in full form. Maybe it was having to turn around from Lanny's memorial and trudge out to a backwater tavern complete with a few ladies of the evening trying to pry him out of his coin and hose, but Alistair felt he was all of twenty again and terrified that speaking to anyone of the lady persuasion would cause him to melt through the floor. He glanced over at Reiss, who'd asked surprisingly few questions when they ditched Teagan to head out drinking. She still wore armor, though threw a cloak over some of it to disguise the obvious royal parts. Anywhere else in Denerim she'd stick out, but even the waitresses in The Forge were better kitted out than he was at Ostagaar.

  "I assume you heard about the assassins at the naming day celebration," Alistair began, his fingers rolling a coin back and forth across the filthy table. Harding nodded, then daintily wiped away the drink clinging to her mouth. "Well, funny thing it seems that the esteemed ambassador from Antiva's alibi is full of more holes than a colander chamberpot."

  She winced at his metaphor, but nodded, "Got it. But why turn to me? What about your Spymaster?"

  "Ghaleb. You know him?"

  "We met at one of the spy conventions."

  Alistair threw his hand up, his thought trail fully abandoned, "Wait, wait, there are spy conventions?"

  "They're very popular. All the espionage aficionados show up to trade in advice, catch up, network, spy on each other. The usual. I'm not an official one, but was there to help ease Charter in after Leliana..."