Alistair ran his hands through his hair, wanting to rip it out by the roots. Peace... it had been so close!
"Send her in," he bit out angrily. The guard bowed and backed out of the room. He turned away from the door and leaned over his desk, looking again at the map. All over the continent were large red X's. Circles that had fallen. On the blank margins of the map was a running tally of the casualties. The numbers had been growing every day.
"Your Majesty?" A voice behind him brought him up short. "I've brought the mage."
"Leave us," Alistair bit out.
"But Sire, the templars will be here shortly--"
"I want a moment with her and I still have Templar-trained abilities, guardsman," he said, still not turning around. "I'm in no immediate danger."
"Yes, Sire."
Alistair heard the creak of armor and then silence. He let it sit, the anger boiling in him like water in a kettle.
"Are we just going to stand here like idiots?" said a smooth female voice.
"I wanted to talk to you first," Alistair said. "To find out how a Warden of all people is responsible for this much death and destruction."
He heard an intake of breath. "I hardly think--"
Alistair turned around, his face a mask of fury. "No, you didn't. You took an oath! Does that mean nothing to you? Wardens protect people! And you have let them die, needlessly!"
Fiona, former Grey Warden and Grand Enchanter, stood before him, bound in chains, and nearly two feet shorter than he was. Somehow, however, she still conveyed the sense of looking down on him. Her eyes were large and fixed on him, her mouth set in a thin line.
"How many mages wanted to stay in the Circle? How many of them died begging for mercy?"
But she seemed to ignore his fury. Instead, she took a step forward, than two steps, and then another, until they were only a few feet apart.
"What are you doing?" Alistair said warily, calling on his templar abilities. He jerked back as she reached up a cuffed hand as if to touch his face. "I'm warning you--"
"You do look like him," she said in a soft voice.
"Yes, I resemble Cailan. Hardly surprising when he happens to be my brother," Alistair sneered, refusing to look at the portrait of Cailan that still hung in the study.
"No," Fiona shook her head. "Not Cailan. Maric."
Alistair stared at her. "You... knew Maric."
She was still looking at him, tracing the lines of his face with her eyes, and he realized then that she was... old. Not elderly, not like Wynne, but old. Old enough to have met Maric when he was in his prime.
"Yes," she said after a moment, in a voice that sounded suddenly tired. "I knew him." Her pointed ears seemed to droop as she broke her gaze and looked down at her cuffed hands. "The last time I saw him I was giving you..." She paused, swallowed.
Alistair grabbed her arm. "What? What did you say?"
"I never wanted this for you, little one," she said softly, tears glistening in her eyes. "I wanted you far away; safe from all of this. It's why I gave you to him. I thought he'd keep you safe."
Alistair stared at her, barely aware of the templars arriving at the door of the study.
"Goodbye, my son," Fiona whispered, pressing a kiss into his cheek. Then she was gone, huddled between two hulking templars, and Alistair, paralyzed by her words, sat down in the chair behind his desk, touching the spot on his cheek where she'd kissed him.
Re: Alistair & Fiona, G
================
Alistair ran his hands through his hair, wanting to rip it out by the roots. Peace... it had been so close!
"Send her in," he bit out angrily. The guard bowed and backed out of the room. He turned away from the door and leaned over his desk, looking again at the map. All over the continent were large red X's. Circles that had fallen. On the blank margins of the map was a running tally of the casualties. The numbers had been growing every day.
"Your Majesty?" A voice behind him brought him up short. "I've brought the mage."
"Leave us," Alistair bit out.
"But Sire, the templars will be here shortly--"
"I want a moment with her and I still have Templar-trained abilities, guardsman," he said, still not turning around. "I'm in no immediate danger."
"Yes, Sire."
Alistair heard the creak of armor and then silence. He let it sit, the anger boiling in him like water in a kettle.
"Are we just going to stand here like idiots?" said a smooth female voice.
"I wanted to talk to you first," Alistair said. "To find out how a Warden of all people is responsible for this much death and destruction."
He heard an intake of breath. "I hardly think--"
Alistair turned around, his face a mask of fury. "No, you didn't. You took an oath! Does that mean nothing to you? Wardens protect people! And you have let them die, needlessly!"
Fiona, former Grey Warden and Grand Enchanter, stood before him, bound in chains, and nearly two feet shorter than he was. Somehow, however, she still conveyed the sense of looking down on him. Her eyes were large and fixed on him, her mouth set in a thin line.
"How many mages wanted to stay in the Circle? How many of them died begging for mercy?"
But she seemed to ignore his fury. Instead, she took a step forward, than two steps, and then another, until they were only a few feet apart.
"What are you doing?" Alistair said warily, calling on his templar abilities. He jerked back as she reached up a cuffed hand as if to touch his face. "I'm warning you--"
"You do look like him," she said in a soft voice.
"Yes, I resemble Cailan. Hardly surprising when he happens to be my brother," Alistair sneered, refusing to look at the portrait of Cailan that still hung in the study.
"No," Fiona shook her head. "Not Cailan. Maric."
Alistair stared at her. "You... knew Maric."
She was still looking at him, tracing the lines of his face with her eyes, and he realized then that she was... old. Not elderly, not like Wynne, but old. Old enough to have met Maric when he was in his prime.
"Yes," she said after a moment, in a voice that sounded suddenly tired. "I knew him." Her pointed ears seemed to droop as she broke her gaze and looked down at her cuffed hands. "The last time I saw him I was giving you..." She paused, swallowed.
Alistair grabbed her arm. "What? What did you say?"
"I never wanted this for you, little one," she said softly, tears glistening in her eyes. "I wanted you far away; safe from all of this. It's why I gave you to him. I thought he'd keep you safe."
Alistair stared at her, barely aware of the templars arriving at the door of the study.
"Goodbye, my son," Fiona whispered, pressing a kiss into his cheek. Then she was gone, huddled between two hulking templars, and Alistair, paralyzed by her words, sat down in the chair behind his desk, touching the spot on his cheek where she'd kissed him.