Work Text:
9:31 - From Redcliffe to Denerim
The Arl’s escort was heading to Denerim. Conscripted in the back with his uncle, Alistair watched Ymlaïs return from her scouting mission accompanied by Falon and Halani. Without a look for him, she directed her steps towards Ser Perth, promoted captain of the Arl’s personnal guard, to make him her usual report.
Since they had left Redcliffe, she seemed entirely absorbed by her task. She exchanged much with the captain about how to avoid skirmishes, stuck as they were between the advance of the darkspawns in the South and the civil war in the North. The noose was tightening and the men had to be gathered under the same banner as soon as possible. The urgency was real.
But Alistair was not fooled: urgency or not, he knew her too well now not to see that something else was wrong.
Arl Eamon kept him constantly at his side to talk about things and others about his new role as pretender to the throne. This hardly left him time to approach the hunter who, on her side, avoided any contact with him. The fact that they had renounced to share a common tent did not make things easier.
“Give her time,” Wynne said. Was she serious? It had been going on for two weeks by now!
Annoyed, the young warrior left his post and approached the Elf and the Knight.
“Forgive me Ser Perth, if I may, I think I should also be involved in scouting missions, I am also a Grey Warden after all.”
It was she who replied: “We cannot afford to endanger the life of the king’s son. I can handle scouting missions alone, Captain.”
"Captain, I protest." said Alistair without a look to the knight but to the elf: «The threat is great and the presence of only two Grey Wardens would not be too much to spot the darkspawns».
“Captain, I maintain that the pretender of the throne’s place is in the back, in safety. Moreover, his qualities in combat would be useful to defend the Arl’s life if needed.».
Ser Perth withdrew a few steps, obviously he had nothing to do with this discussion. And anyway, according to their status, he had officially nothing to order Grey Wardens.
Alistair lost his temper:“So that’s what I am now! The “pretender to the throne”!”
«It seems so, yes», Ymlaïs replied coldly
"And in your opinion, it is beyond me being a Grey Warden, is it?"
“In my opinion, it is beyond you being everything. May you want it or not.”
The two young people looked at each other. He felt as if he was back in the early hours of their meeting, when she looked at him with pride and reproach (1). Was it what they had went back to being: two strangers forced to work together for a common cause? Hardly more than brothers-in-arms?
"And what do you want?"
The young warrior’s question took the elf by surprise. For a moment, her rigid mask seemed to fissure.
“I want...”
She clenched her fist to her bow and raised her head with determination:
“… you to know your place. And I’ll do the same.”
She turned her heels, whistled at her animals and fled to the front to disappear again into the thickets.
The young warrior watched her go away and turned around, cursing.
“Am I to understand that you two have ended your relationship?” said a woman’s voice behind his back.
Alistair glowered at Morrigan. Great! All he needed was her to interfere!
« Shut up! That is none of your business. »
« What? No questions allowed? You do not wish your motivations... »
« I said shut up! I will run this sword through you, I'm not joking. »
« Oh, I see. Most serious then. »
« This discussion is over. »
Alistair furiously distanced himself from the witch before putting his threat to execution.
Anyway, he also would have liked to know exactly what was going on. What happened to their couple? The prospect of Alistair being crowned king seemed to have spell the end of their relationship.
Farewell, the friendly smiles when his shield blocked an attack aimed at her or when an arrow came to eliminate a threat in his back. Farewell, the laughter by the fire they shared alone or with others.
As if it were his fault! As if it were his decision! He had never asked to be king !
King.
This word was enough to cover his body with chills and to make his sleep run away.
King.
Him? Really? As in governing an entire nation? As in diplomatic relations with neighboring countries? As in making decisions that will impact the lives or deaths of thousands of citizens? This word brought with it many other barbaric words: protocol, justice, arranged marriage, heraldry, laws, power, progeny, heritage, finance, war, peace…
The tiniest thought of it twirled his mind.
When did his life become his worst nightmare?
A voice echoed from the front:
“Denerim! Straight ahead!”
(1) see Chapter 9 : Special snowflakes- https://archiveofourown.org/works/27298600/chapters/66697294