My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  "Ghaleb made a mistake, no masking that, and he admitted to it, sort of." The Spymaster's confession was a mishmash of sentences and ideas as the poor man glanced up and down the walls. Alistair didn't realize how thin his wrists were until he watched Cade try to notch on the manacles tight and have to give up. "But treason? Because two people fell in love? It would be easier if he'd been playing me for a fool these past years and was planning on stealing the throne for a pack of evil ghasts."

  He didn't realize how much he enjoyed the Spymaster's belabored friendship until he had to play the bad guy. Ghaleb was strange, hard to understand at the best of times, and curt without having much concern to who his manners displeased, but that was what Alistair found entertaining about him. Maker's sake, was that the only person in his life he had left that Alistair didn't have to be the King with?

  "On the other hand," Alistair spoke, trying to hide away the blush his realization drew, "if Harding does find something and we're within our rights to execute Donato, that doesn't mean Antiva won't be knocking around the borders wanting some kind of retribution. They're not as nosy as Orlais but they get tetchy when you take out a diplomat, principle and all." He wanted to bury his face in his hands. No, his face in his lap. Even better, he wanted to run as far from this as possible, maybe hide in the deep roads for a few months until someone else made the decision and he could head on back with some darkspawn trophies, wild tales, and a beard to his chest.

  That wasn't a possibility. No matter how much Alistair still ached to flee screaming back to civilian life, he'd burned too many of those old bridges to turn around and shit on them now. Maker, he didn't even want to think of the face Lanny would pull, assuming she didn't set his ass on fire just because. Trying to not groan, he glanced over at Reiss and caught that look in her eye - the one that seemed to be ripping apart space and piecing it together to form a new puzzle.

  "What do you think about this?"

  "Hm?" she startled from wherever her mind tripped off to. "I don't think it's my place to..."

  "You did that before," Alistair spun away from the wall to fully face his bodyguard who wilted at the attention. "In the tavern when we met with Harding, I met with Harding, you said you didn't think it was the Crows. What makes you so certain?"

  "I..." Reiss tipped her head back and shut her eyes tight, "I do not wish to bias you in any way."

  "Please," Alistair grabbed onto her hand and pinned the glove between his. It wasn't until her eyes snapped open and she stared at him that he realized how awkward that was. Too late to let go now, he continued to beg, "I trust your instincts and anything, any information, ideas, half whispered rumors, a dream you only kind of remember and confused with an old serial about ducks would be useful."

  Her lips twisted up a moment and she smiled to herself. "Very well. We know two things about these assassins."

  "That they suck at their job and really don't like me?" Alistair threw out with a shrug. Maker's sake, why are you still holding her hand? He had no idea how to let go at this point and hoped she didn't notice. How long can you stretch that out before someone finally calls the bluff? Be more than a bit awkward when one of you has to go to the privy.

  Reiss sighed and smiled at his joke, a move he was far too familiar with, "One, that they have varying degrees of tattoos. Nothing easily traced to a group, but it must mean something due to their familiar look. And two, perhaps most telling, that they are all men."

  "Huh," Alistair sat back at that realization and his hand tugged away from hers ending the stalemate in a whimper, "I didn't even notice that, but you're right. How did I not catch on? Or Cade?"

  Reiss shrugged, "You're men. You're used to men. Both the Crows and the House of Repose employ women."

  "How do you know that?" he asked, not trying to catch her up but enjoying the play across her face. As she unveiled each thought, Reiss seemed to mentally wave her hands and give a little shimmy in excitement. It was strangely entertaining.

  "We had some dealing with the House of Repose in the Inquisition, a dead servant and...it doesn't add to the conversation," she said.

  "What about the Crows?"

  Her warm cheeks lit up red and she swayed back and forth on her haunches while staring at the fascinating cracks in the ceiling, "I, uh, may have read a few serials about them from time to time involving...other things that don't add to the conversation."

  Maker's breath, she was cute. And that is not a relevant thought to be having about your bodyguard there. Shaking it off, Alistair tried to dive back to the heart of it. "Serials are known to stretch the truth from time to time. You should read the ones about me."

  "I have," Reiss let slip absently when panic set in across her face and she bit down on her lip.

  "Ah ha," now feeling as if his shirt and pants all constricted upon him, Alistair swallowed hard, "anyway, you're right, the Crows employ women. Very good, strong, assassiny women. So what does this mean?"

  "For the immediate problem, that most likely the Spymaster did not seduce the Ambassador to gain access to the Crows. Though, it is possible that Donato used Ghaleb for information."

  Alistair hated that potential twist more than any other. It would be one thing if Ghaleb was behind it, or in on it, but sending a man to his death because he fell for the old honey pot? Trying to shake off his thoughts, Alistair said, "In order to find the assassins we look at places that are known to be full of men."

  "Mercenary bands tend to run down the genders," Reiss said. "I believe the Qunari also do not mix company."

  "Not without a giant woman telling them to go make babies with a complete stranger," Alistair whispered to the air before cringing. He would never understand the Qun no matter how much Sten glared at him for asking.

  "Which doubtfully means anything seeing as how none of the assassins had horns," Reiss answered his thoughts.

  "Right, okay, just men. Check all the glee clubs, male bath houses, and that one knitting gang that meets on Wednesdays for assassins."

  "I'd start with the knitters, they know their way around sharp objects," Reiss said with a deadly serious tone. It broke away the clouds that'd been crowding out Alistair's mind for the past week and he felt a smile rise not only on his face but through his gut as well.

  "Sire," Harding's voice called from the floor below them, "I have news!"

  "As do I," Eamon responded from across the way, both of them heading towards their downed King.

  So much for that break of sunshine. The storm of despair snapped back in record time. Staggering up to his knees, Alistair heard a dangerous pop and thought of Spud. She'd been spending a lot of time in her room, they all had. Even the three year old seemed to be aware that something was wrong, though she expressed that by tossing half of her toys out the window -- all of which were recovered and then generously donated to the Alienage orphanage in the princess' name.

  He began to roll to find a better purchase to rise, when Reiss' hand dropped to him. Gripping it tight, she helped haul his royal ass off the ground when both Chancellor and Scout appeared. They were struggling to catch their breath, Eamon relying on his cane while Harding no doubt canvassed most of the palace on her tiny legs.

  Alistair waited a moment, watching them both not rush to give him the no doubt great news that this was all a dream. "Well," he sighed, "not all at once or anything."

  "Right," Harding stepped forward to take all the potential wrath upon herself, "we've combed through nearly all of the ambassador's correspondence we could find and aside from a few notes he sent to others in the palace regarding official business everything mentioning the spymaster appears to be love letters."

  He didn't groan but he wanted to as Harding thrust a half a decades worth of some secret romance into his hand. Shuffling the stack with his thumb, Alistair waited for a summation. It was what scouts were known for, that and knowing precisely where the bronto dung was. If you wanted to save your boots you always befriended a scout.

  "We're still
trying to make sense of Ghaleb's color coded string of words but..." Harding let her hands flop to her sides as she scowled. "If there's a connection to the assassins or anything else shady we haven't found it yet. Though I doubt a million clerics with a million years could decipher a single receipt from the Spymaster." She sneered and yanked out a small scrap of pink paper, "Like this, all it says is 'Pinecone.' What in the Maker does that mean? It's pink so I think that's unimportant in his filing system, yet the date puts this at nearly seven years ago. So why keep a note marked pinecone if it's not vital. Sire, I...I don't know if we can give you any concrete evidence."

  Nodding slowly, Alistair bundled up the love letters and handed them back to Harding. She seemed as happy to receive them as he did to learn of it. If the romance had been thrown on as a cover, it should have been relatively easy to pick apart but this took time and effort. Andraste's sake, if someone sat down and wrote out a good fifty pages pretending to be in love with another for the appearance of a backstory he deserved to walk free. That's serious dedication.

  "What terrible news do you have to add to this, Eamon?" Alistair asked turning to his Chancellor.

  "We just received word from the Antivan guild of finance," Eamon sighed. He wrung both hands against his cane while trying to keep out of Alistair's reach. "Unless we can offer proof of the Baronet's involvement, then he must be released from prison and returned to Antiva for their form of discipline."

  "Involvement?" Alistair pointed at the bulging stack of love letters, "Do they want us to send them each one back individually or an entire flock of ravens?"

  "I," Eamon eyed up the pile then sighed at Alistair. "I rather doubt that's what they care about. The Antivan guilds do not like the idea of one of their own languishing in our jail cell, most likely because they know how it looks to the other nations."

  "So, skip any investigation and pretend none of it ever happened? That's a brilliant plan," Alistair fumed.

  "I'm getting the impression it'd have been easier if I'd shot them first, no questions asked," Harding piped up. She was sharp as flint but something pained below that steel frame. No one liked this.

  "Your Majesty," Eamon interrupted, "you must make a decision and soon. I fear none of us shall find any more information to add and any delays will give greater fire to Antivans either on Donato's side or looking for an excuse to begin war."

  At that Alistair threw his hands in the air and spun around, "Great, war started because an ambassador fell head over heels for a spymaster."

  "Sounds Orlesian," Harding muttered.

  There were no right answers here, no stab this guy win the day moves. Kill Donato and the Antivans would be furious. Free Donato and either they'd find out later that he has connections to the assassins or it will embolden the real villains to try again. Then there's Ghaleb. Maker's sake, what was he going to do with a Spymaster he couldn't trust?

  "Right, okay," Alistair scrubbed at his face and felt a twinge of pain. Tugging it away he spotted blood flecking across his palm. How hard was he tugging on his broken skin? "We end this. Get everyone to court. I've got to get cleaned up and...Maker's sake, where did I leave the damn crown?"

  "I shall have it fetched, Your Highness," Eamon said, bowing to his king who was also the same knock kneed child he'd on occasion give attention to.

  "Everyone, it needs to be official. No off the books, no undercover, they all should know what happened. Got it?" he spoke to Harding but it was Eamon who answered with a yes. Breaking from him, Eamon limped off to get the nobility in order while Harding went to gather up all her hard work over the weeks.

  It took a few hours to get everyone corralled into the throne room, a few Banns making a giant fuss about missing a log tossing contest. Cherie stood center stage in the right cordon, a small moat around her as she glared up at the man perched in the throne. Everyone knew something was bad when Alistair entered with that god awful crown perched upon his head, but when he sat in the chair a collective gasp rattled the windows. Beatrice sat beside him, her head bent as she waited patiently for her husband to start. Her attendances to court were all on her, the King rarely making any requests because he'd rather avoid it every chance he had, but for this one he wanted backup from any spot possible.

  "Thank you for coming," he whispered to the Queen.

  She smiled at him and said, "Of course, whatever my King commands."

  "Right," he pinched between his thumb and finger trying to drum up the will to get it over with. More than Banns and other high ranking officials of Denerim filled the standing areas flanked by the open aisle. Denizens of the palace itself; the cooks, the servants, the footmen, the one guy in charge of yelling 'all's well' also stood with the nobility though someone made them head towards the back of the room. This was either going to be a disaster on the scale of a blight, a major earthquake, or - if he was lucky - a small flood. In glancing over the crowds, Alistair caught Reiss standing beside the shut doors. She nodded once and stood tall.

  It was time. "Send in the prisoners," Alistair ordered from his seat. He yearned to get up and pace but that wouldn't be dignified.

  The King's order filtered down a series of soldiers standing down the line, each one turning to the side to eye up the door opening. Commander Cade took up point behind both Donato and Ghaleb as they stumbled into the bright throne room together. The ambassador lifted his weary head and bore a proud glint to his brow, if he was going down he wouldn't do it on his knees. Ghaleb however blinked against the light and as his eyes took in the crowds he shrunk deep into his robes, attempting to burrow away from the masses. For a brief moment, Donato reached over and caught Ghaleb's flailing hand, trying to calm the man, before Cade pushed both of them in the back.

  "Walk," he ordered. Donato didn't turn back to look at the commander. He dropped Ghaleb's hand and the pair of them staggered down the aisle past a crowd falling deathly silent. Alistair kept focused on the two walking past soldiers following their every move with hands on hilts, but for a moment he caught sight of Cherie's lips. The only part of her visible beneath that mask, she had them pursed tight while watching her fellow diplomat being shoved through the throne room in chains. Were you in on this mess as well?

  By the time Donato and Ghaleb reached the end of the aisle, chatter erupted throughout the audience, a hundred voices asking what was going on? What happened? The two lovers didn't turn back to look at the commotion. Instead, they stood side by side, waiting for their final sentence to come.

  "Ambassador..." Alistair began, but his words were shoved away by the cacophony of gasps and mutterings emerging from the crowd. "Hey, will you quiet down?" he tried to lift his voice, but it dropped like a rock.

  Throwing back his head and bellowing, Cade's voice smothered everything with a, "SHUT IT!"

  Nary a squeaky shoe broke as the Commander's gruff order echoed through the rafters. Slowly, every eye in the room turned to the King who was focusing on the men wilting below him. "Ambassador Baronet Donato, do you know why you have been called before me today?"

  "Yes, your Majesty," Donato didn't blink as he stood at attention to announce his sins, "I was discovered to be engaging in an illicit affair with your Spymaster."

  "Holy shit!" a voice shouted from the back which released an avalanche of other exclamations, each one growing in crassness as it swept nearer to the throne.

  Alistair lifted up his royal hand and shouted, "Hold your comments until this is over!" Either they all yearned to hear more of this juicy gossip, or Cade's command still rattled their spines as the voices died down to whispers. "And you, Spymaster Ghaleb, do you know why you are here?"

  In full view of everyone, the wispy Spymaster turned fully to Donato and whimpered, "Yes."

  "Do you deny these allegations?"

  Donato reached over and grabbed up Ghaleb's hands, ignoring the gasps of the audience at such a bold move as he fought for his life. The pain of Ghaleb bit into the ambassador more than the potential hangman's axe. Pinnin
g both of them tight in his own he lifted the pair and breathed across the skin. That had a calming affect on Ghaleb, his trembling shoulders slowing to treacle.

  Facing the King, Donato spoke, "There is no reason for me to. You have witnesses to the crime, no doubt have ransacked my things and discovered all the letters exchanged between us over the years. But please, Sire, I swear to you on the hem of Andraste's gown that it was not done out of malfeasance or to curry favors for my home country."

  The crowd began to turn against the ambassador pleading for his soul, each muttering turning into a spit as they surveyed the man who dared to defame Andraste to protect himself. Alistair glared up at them and stomped his foot on the ground. "What did I say about shutting it?" he warned them.

  Most of the crowd quieted down, but one male voice sputtered out, "Well, actually, you didn't."

  Maker's sake, there was always one. Scooting forward, Alistair addressed Donato, "Why? Why would you risk treason and death if not to better your standing either in Antiva or here?"

  Donato smiled sadly with eyes shut tight. In a whisper that carried across every stone in the palace, he said, "Love."

  That set everyone off yet again, one half of the crowd swooning from the romance angle, the other all but willing to tie the noose themselves and offering the king a shiny new axe at a great deal. "If the gathered gentry cannot hold their tongues, they shall ALL be escorted out of here," Alistair ordered, no longer in the mood to play babysitter to grown adults. "Chains are also optional if it comes to it!"

  It wasn't much of a threat, he doubted they had more than at most fifty manacles across all of Denerim, but the idea of it shut people up. "You're right about a couple things, Baronet. We did go through your belongings to try and uncover any connections you may have had to the assassination attempt made during Prince Cailan's naming day." People gasped out of habit whenever assassins were mentioned. Alistair figured after the third attempt on his life the only reaction he'd get would be a mild confusion at it being brought up and a request that he move out of the way of the buffet.