Work Text:
Alistair thought he'd end up avoiding the missives from Amaranthine. He didn't think he'd be able to read her words, pages of her frankly abominable handwriting, and stay in Denerim. The last thing any of them needed was the king swanning off in the middle of the night - not that there wasn't precedent, of course, but it wasn't a tradition he needed to follow. People were wary enough of him as a ruler, as he was informed roughly twenty times a day.
But him not doing his job would only make her job harder, and as tempting as it was to make her come to the castle specifically to yell at him it probably wouldn't be the reunion he wanted. So he sat down at his desk, took a deep breath, and broke the seal on the first letter.
He was immediately enthralled. It was like having her in the room with him again. It was like talking with her next to the fire, all the little asides and references she made towards their traveling companions. She never sat down to write a report to the king; it was a letter to him.
Was that delusional? Maybe a little. But he'd never read a report where he could hear their voice, see their smile. He'd never laughed at a mission report before. Maybe he just missed her that deeply. No, he definitely did. But if this was how they communicated, so be it. Anything was better than her silence.