Broken and dumbstruck, Alistair nodded dumbly as Cade intercepted his little cavalcade heading to the Hinterlands. The Commander was the first to ask the King point blank where Reiss was.
"She's decided to return to her post in the City Watch," Alistair didn't entirely lie.
Cade eyed him up, no doubt expecting the King to crack into blubbering tears, but there was no water left in his body to cry out. "Good," he summarized, "but you should have someone at your side."
"In case of what? The assassins are dead. I was there, watched it. Made a thumb's down, or across the throat, or stuck it in a pie. Whatever I was supposed to do."
"There is still the matter of transferring power, the bodyguard handled some of your day to day duties that will need to be..."
"Fine," Alistair interrupted, "I don't care. Send whoever you think I need. The walking bear, right? Brant?"
Unable to muster a fight for anything, Alistair let Brunt slide in behind him. At least the man didn't talk, which kept the usually boisterous King from having to explain why he wasn't in the mood to play any traveling games. Few traveled with him to the Hinterlands, and the ones forming the caravan began to break away the further west they went.
By the fifth day, Alistair finally arrived to Teagan's welcoming handshake. His uncle didn't comment on the dour turn still haunting Alistair's gait, he was too busy welcoming all the rest of the entourage that always followed a King. Maker's sake, how did he wind up with so damn many people trailing behind him, ready to pick up anything he may accidentally drop or wipe the soup from his chin? He was a grown man, he'd suffered worse as a child.
All Alistair wanted was to be left alone and...
He stood gazing out one of the windows in the hunting lodge. It was bigger than he remembered, far better furnished too for being meant to hold nothing but deer carcasses and filthy hunters rolling in from the woods. Fires burned in the stone hearths surrounded on all sides by the bookcases Teagan preferred to sitting outside in the rain hunting for stag. Alistair heard his wife was the same, the two of them often inviting dignitaries to their lodge and letting them have free run of the land while they stayed behind to...
The ache never really left him, but it'd often flare up like his knee in the rain. It struck worst when they rode past a field brimming with wildflowers, their golden petals leaning to the sun for love. He wanted to kick himself for being in so much pain, it was foolish. They'd only known each other for a few months. How did he fall so hard so fast?
"What are you watching for, your Highness?"
"Teagan, we're nowhere near Denerim, the Landsmeet chambers, or Eamon. I think you can drop all the fancy pants titles for the time being."
He paused, a cup of tea in his fingers as he stepped beside his sort-of nephew. "You're right, Alistair."
"Huh, I haven't heard that in a few years," Alistair grumbled to himself. Folding his arms, he stared out across the afternoon lands. By the window he could watch the road leading up to the lodge, but what drew his attention was the horizon. Trees obscured nearly everything beyond a few hundred feet, yet he could spot smoke circling through the air.
"You can't see it from this distance," Teagan said before taking a slow sip of the herbal tea.
"See what?" Alistair blinked, happy to focus on anything but the gaping wound in his chest.
Teagan didn't answer him. Instead, he place the cup back onto a saucer. Maker's sake, only Arl Teagan would have porcelain saucers in a hunting lodge. He was proper without being a right tit about it, and would have made a far better King than the one Ferelden was stuck with. Anyone else would. Shit, stick the crown on a nug, draw a small beard on him, plop on a blonde wig, and call it good. Your new King.
After placing a hand to the window, Teagan whispered, "It's about a two to three hour ride to the abbey from here."
He'd wondered if that was what the smoke was, but not at this distance. Probably someone's small shack they set on fire to celebrate the feast of burning down your home, or a pyre to purge the last of a dead animal's carcass. Or any number of things within easy reach that wouldn't do a thing to soothe Alistair's perforated soul.
"I wish I could..." Alistair wanted to talk to her, to see her, to spend time with the one person in Ferelden he was never King with. But that was impossible. Dragging so many of his handlers into her abby would only invite questions and suspicion. He was selfish, but not that selfish. "Too bad I've got damn near enough people following my every move we could host our own miracle play."
Teagan yanked off his hat a moment and wiped at the nearly smooth bald head. Either the last of his hair gave in, or he took Alistair's advice to give up on fighting it. "There is a horse saddled and ready on the grounds," he whispered.
Alistair turned to him, his eyebrows practically meeting in the middle in confusion. "Okay?"
Smiling through the reflection on the window, Teagan focused out on the horizon, "I believe I can distract your entourage for an hour, which should be enough time you can give the slip."
"Wait, really? What about the body...the bear assigned to me?" Alistair dropped his voice, aware that Brunt was standing outside the door glaring. Not at anything in particular, he just seemed to really love glaring.
Teagan chuckled, "Give me some faith, your Majesty."
"I dunno, I mean there's a good chance Brunt can't even speak our language, and maybe ate a few campers on the way here," Alistair hopped back and forth on his shoes, hope rising in his stomach despite his dour words. He wanted nothing more than to ride as far from everyone as possible.
Placing down the teacup, Teagan turned from the window. He paused a moment and patted his nephew on the shoulder, "When you see her, give her my love."
A smile lifted up Alistair's lips, "I always do."
Teagan didn't take long to pull Brunt away from his half-assed post, inquiring of the man about his life and learning more about him in a ten second conversation than Alistair had in months. Once the man-bear broke away, Alistair was able to slip quickly down the stairs and out the door. No one even blinked an eye at the King boldly tugging on the reins of a horse, leading it to the road, mounting up, and riding fast towards the west.
By the time he turned down the barely evident path that led up to the abbey, Alistair felt slightly giddy. The entire trip he feared Brunt and a pack of dogs rushing into the forest to dredge up their wayward King, but there wasn't another soul on the road that day. Only a handful of hawks scattered the air on the hunt for dinner. It seemed either they were all entranced by the always charming Arl, or had no cares to give about a King that was suddenly playing hide and seek by himself.
The last time he'd been to the abbey was over a year ago, for that damn wedding. Well, it hadn't been all bad. He did get to watch Leliana outdrink the Champion of Kirkwall, which surprised everyone but the smirking dwarf. And she was happy, at least. Tugging back on the reins, Alistair slowed his horse to barely a trot as hooves churned up the muddy grass. He had to duck down a bit to avoid the recently repaired stone archway. There must have been a gate for it as well, but either it too was one of those things they'd add later or in trying to be welcoming to everyone, she had it removed.
It was a beautiful abbey. One of those older styles from before the Orlesian occupation when a bunch of introverted sisters sick and tired of having to deal with people trekked up into the hills and made their own refuge. Time and war tried to break apart the building, but the foundation was true Ferelden -- solid all the way to the heart of the earth. In the right hands, its hidden beauty returned.
"Excuse me," a voice perked up from below Alistair. He was quick to dismount off the saddle and wandered stiff legged around in circles while tying to shake off the cramped muscles. The black and white horse snorted at the indignation of her rider spinning pointlessly while tugging on the reins in his fingers.
"Do you have an appointment to be here?" the voice continued, a harried man in what looked like bastardized chantry robes stomping towards h
im.
Alistair paused in his circling to shrug, "Probably not, but I know the owner."
That didn't impress the man, who folded his hands up those giant sleeves and humphed, "Most claim to know the Commander."
Alistair flinched. "Not that one. The better one." This man must not have recognized him a lick as he huffed at such indignation to the beloved once Commander for the Inquisition forces. A brief thought flitted through Alistair's mind that he may wind up getting kicked out if he wasn't careful. The man seemed to be thinking the same as he moved to push the horse into Alistair.
"Maker's breath, you were the last person I expected to find standing on my doorstep today. What are you doing here?"
The cheeky smile he'd taped on for the ride vanished into a heartfelt one as Alistair turned to find that voice. Lanny stood with one hand on her hip, the other curled around a box of bottles. She'd tied a towel through her hair, the black locks spilling out of it no matter how hard she tried. Tinges of green dotted along her fingers and dusted the nose -- probably from another one of her mage experiments gone awry. Or she took up painting in her old age.
"Being told to leave by..." Alistair turned away from her a moment to glance down at the man, "Sorry, didn't get your name."
"It's, uh..." his eyes widened as they skipped over to the woman who ran this abbey and back to the seeming interloper. "Ma'am, I wasn't about to. I didn't realize that he...he came without warning."
Lanny waved a hand as she passed him her box, "Don't worry about it, Thomas. He has a way of showing up unexpectedly. Take these to the potion room, please."
"Of course," Thomas bowed deeply to her before scurrying away leaving Lanny and Alistair alone in the courtyard save the snorting horse.
"Ali? How are you here, without anyone else trailing behind you?" she glanced through the gate, no doubt expecting his usual train to come galloping through.
"It's, uh..." Alistair shrugged, the weight of his coming crashing down upon him. The easy smile cracked away, revealing the heart break he'd barely bothered to disguise. "Kind of a long story. Did I come at a bad time? I can always try again later." He almost wanted to leap back on his horse and keep riding west, through the Frostbacks, past Orlais, back into the Anderfells and beyond thedas itself. Leave every damn thing behind, the pain couldn't hurt if he had nothing to remind him of her.
Lanny's warm eyes canvassed across him, her fingers almost touching his. Even at the opportunity, Alistair didn't look up, he felt like someone jabbed barbed hooks into his heart then tethered it down into his shoes. Nodding, Lanny hobbled over to one of dozen stacks of crates. The abbey was littered with them for whatever reason. She picked up an empty one and then her cane.
"Amber," Lanny waved to a girl barely over fifteen slipping in and out of one of the rooms on the ground floor. She squeaked and raced over to her mistress. "Take the...our visitor's horse here, dry it off and bed it down. I'm going to go pick some more elfroot for our stores."
"Yes, ma'am," Amber lifted the hem of her apron and curtsied. With a smile only a girl who loves horses could have, she tugged upon the bridle and began to coo to the one Alistair rode hard to freedom.
Lanny stuck out her elbow and watched Alistair shifting painfully back and forth on his uncertain feet. Her eyes traveled across every inch of his face, no doubt finding all the pain he'd been digging graves for when anyone looked. Waving her hand, she commanded, "Shall we?"
At her urging, he was quick to take it and help guide her out of the abbey and into the woods beyond it. Lanny took charge, as she always did when with him, as she always should. Alistair was grateful for the few moments when he wasn't the one anyone was looking to. They didn't wander too far, the woman on his arm not saying a word until she stopped in a small copse of trees and placed the box on the ground.
He suspected the elfroot was a ruse, until she bent down and yanked upon that far too familiar plant and dropped leaves into the box. Not wanting to feel totally useless, Alistair grabbed onto a tuft himself and yanked a few free. They passed the time, slowly blanketing the bottom of the box in the old herb and speaking not a word. What could he really say to her anyway?
Look at that, Alistair's back on your doorstep with his heart ripped open needing the healing only you're capable of. It was an accident the first time, the King needing to visit the Vigil. He'd meant to keep it to himself, Lanny was still barely talking to him at the time. But then he found a bottle of something that should have been labeled with a skull and crossbones and his tongue spilled all the beans. She should have thrown him out for it, for dragging his latest love affair gone bottoms up below her nose, but she didn't. Sweet Lanny was always there for him with a shoulder and a few "I told you so's," which she rightly deserved.
"Are you ready to talk?" she said, shaking Alistair from his dour turn.
"Me? What? I..." he folded in an instant from the perch he'd maintained. Nearly a week and no one got him to open up and admit what happened, they couldn't even get him to say her name. Most gave up hope, or didn't bother to care to plunge into Alistair's icy depths, but Lanny was always different.
She folded her hands and staggered upright. The cane she was never far from rested against her leg but she put no weight on it. "You show up on my doorstep without any warning and...alone." Her voice dropped low and for a moment her fingers skirted over his arm, "What happened?"
"I don't know," Alistair gasped out. He couldn't look at her, rather doubted he could look at any woman ever again for fear that his eyeballs would melt from his skull. Shutting his eyes tight, he let loose every thought that'd been beating tiny fists against his brain.
"One minute things were fine, better than fine for the first time in so Maker damn long and the next..." The back of his eyes boiled, trying to release the tears but he wouldn't let it happen. He kept shaking his head to cram all the emotions back down into a single knot in his stomach. That was the healthy thing to do.
A soft hand caressed up and down his bicep, tugging Alistair right into Lanny's eyes. She had the kind of bottomless irises that sucked a person deep in and never let go. For being the slayer of so many darkspawn she was a comfort to him, one he didn't realize he needed until she entered his life.
"I tried, Lanny, I really did. I wanted it to work, I..." still did. Reiss gave no hint that she would give him a second chance, or another opportunity but that damn scar tissue he called a heart foolishly clung to hope. "Gah!" Alistair slipped out of her careful grip and began to pace back and forth through the clearing.
"It was supposed to be different this time," he growled. His tongue wanted to list every one of Reiss' sins, to place all the blame upon her shoulders for breaking his heart. When his foot cracked on a stick, Alistair slowed to a crawl, "It was different this time."
"Ali..."
Lanny's soft voice rattled him and when he glanced up at her he started to find tears streaking down his cheeks. The sight of him breaking down that bad caused her eyes to widen, but she didn't move as if he terrified her the way a wild animal would. Scowling, Alistair wiped at his cheeks and eyes, trying to hide away the evidence. "Things were good, we caught the assassins, she was going to join the royal guards, and then...I don't know. Somehow I messed everything up..."
"How?"
He should have told her. Not just about the grey warden curse, but how hard he fell for her. Alistair was scared of telling her the truth and having her laugh it off or worse, but also of him being that far gone. There were few in his life he'd ever truly let into his heart, and... He glanced over at Lanny and his tongue ran dry. So many of them kept disappearing from his life.
"By being an idiot," he muttered to himself. It didn't matter, none of it did. He failed, again. Maker, damn it all!
"I'm sorry," Lanny whispered, her hands folded together. She'd often said it to him before, after every one of his affairs had gone belly up and the news reached her one way or the other. It was usually spoken with varying degrees of sarcasm, but this time sh
e radiated sincerity.
At his look of shock, she added, "I'd had hopes that...you two seemed to fit well."
"Really?" Alistair snorted, the full hilarity of the situation landing upon him. "What about King and elf guard seems to work together? Sounds more like trying to stick two pieces together from separate puzzles."
Lanny sighed at his obstinance, her fingers tugging off the sack in her hair. Sure enough, those eternal spirals bounded free, most of them reaching nearly to her back. He hadn't seen it this long in years. Not since...
Alistair closed his eyes as a memory washed over him, "Do you remember what you told me after Marta?"
She pursed her lips in thought, and some bitterness, "Was that the tall redhead?"
"No, she was short," he paused and readjusted for the tiny woman before him, "shorter than me and with olive skin. It doesn't matter. You were in Denerim on Warden business and happened to be in the blast range of an argument." A chuckle rumbled in his chest at the memory of so many servants scattering whenever Marta took a deep breath before her impressive string of curses launched free. She was a very disciplined mage with the mouth of a pirate.
"I," Lanny tapped her foot at the toe, a clear sign she wasn't happy tripping this far down memory lane with him, "you had a lot of paramours."
"Not that many," Alistair shot back with.
That earned him an eye roll, "Enough for the days of the week, forgive me for not remembering each moment with them."
"It, I was thinking about how after that screaming match you walked past, demanded whatever it was the Wardens needed and were about to walk out. You were so not you back then, short hair, spine of steel, when you wore that metal armor overtop the robes to seem more Commandery."
"Ugh," Lanny rubbed a hand on the top of her chest, "that stuff pinched terribly. I do not miss it."
"Anyway, at the door you say in a soft voice, 'She's trying to get you to hate her. Give her what she wants and cut it free before everyone goes deaf.' Which I did, took me a few more days to work up the courage but you were right, as always. Marta practically skipped the entire way back to Kinloch."
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