Freckles04 wrote...
@Sandi - Just you wait. Angry!Alistair incoming!
YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I suppose I shouldn't be happy that Alistair has something to be mad about.....but I do love angry Alistair, so long as he's not angry at me.
Merely Players (sequel to "Auditions"; in progress, and spoilers!) Updated 03/30
Débuté par
Freckles04
, mars 24 2010 11:14
#26
Posté 31 mars 2010 - 02:38
Sandtigress
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- Members
- 3 967 messages
YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I suppose I shouldn't be happy that Alistair has something to be mad about.....but I do love angry Alistair, so long as he's not angry at me.
Retour en haut
#27
Posté 31 mars 2010 - 05:25
MireliA
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- Members
- 362 messages
I wouldn't like to be on the receiving end of angry Alistair 
. Want to see what happens now!
. Want to see what happens now!
#28
Posté 01 avril 2010 - 03:10
Freckles04
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- Members
- 809 messages
Chapter 4
Marcus turned at Alistair's bellow and trotted back to the main corridor. He probably wanted to make sure Marcus requested the cheese plate he liked so much. As if the mage would forget. Maker's breath, that man and his cheese. It was an unholy obsession, it truly was.
He rounded the corner, about to bellow back at his friend jokingly, when he spotted Alistair and Terris. He didn't need magical abilities to see the tension radiating between the two of them. Alistair's large hand cupped the side of his fiancé's face. Terris looked…defeated, Marcus decided, and he didn't like it one bit. What in Andraste's name was going on?
Alistair's jaw tensed and he straightened. He withdrew his hand and it immediately curled into a fist. Rage swept through him--Marcus had seen that battle-hardened look on his friend's face often enough to recognize it.
"Alistair," he said. His voice carried easily in the hall, but the King turned and strode away from him. Terris trailed behind. Begging? "Alistair!" He jogged after the pair, completely confused.
"Look at her back," the King tossed over his shoulder, then stopped, giving the mage time to do so.
Her back? Marcus frowned at Terris. "My lady?" he said softly.
She nodded, the barest motion, and he snuck a look under the collar of her dress. His breath rushed out of him at the sight of the horrid discolorations peppering her porcelain skin. Fresh bruises, the pale purple-grey that indicated they'd formed only recently. His blood pounded in his ears, making it difficult to think. Who? Who had done this to the future Queen? Brigands? No, that made no sense. Terris had been in the palace for most of the day, with the exception of the brief outing to the concert, and had only shared the company of himself and Alistair, or her sister and--
"Sweet Andraste," he breathed. "Your father did this?"
She pressed her lips into a thin line and didn't answer.
"Yes, that ****son did this." The fierce epithet spewed from Alistair's lips. Marcus blinked up at the King, seeing a fury in his eyes he hadn't witnessed since the duel with Loghain.
"Alistair," he warned. "Calm yourself."
"Calm? Are you bloody insane? Calm?" He strode forward again, his armor clanging with the speed of his movement.
"Damn it." Marcus grimaced and rushed to catch up with the King. The fool was going to do something stupid. The mage ran through his repertoire of spells, preparing them for use if they were needed. The sodding armor he still wore sucked at his mana resources, but he couldn't spare the time to remove it, not with Alistair on a rampage.
He prayed he wouldn't have to use any magic against the King. It never worked out well. For either of them.
The door to the Bann's guest quarters burst open before Alistair and crashed into the wall. Marcus glanced around the room, noting Stella seated by the window, her eyes wide. It wasn't every day that a fully armored, fully enraged King stormed one's room. Alistair reached for his sword as the Bann emerged from the washroom, scrubbing his lined face. Marcus readied his spell, but kept it poised on the edge of casting. He trusted Alistair, he truly did. He just wanted to make sure his emotional friend didn't do something he'd regret later.
The King strode forward and shoved the Bann against the wall. He brought his sword up, threatening, but not close enough to do damage. Not yet. Terris whimpered, and Marcus spared her a glance. She had one hand over her mouth, fear in her eyes.
"What gives you the right," Alistair demanded, his voice low and full of danger, "to beat the future Queen?"
"She is my daughter--"
"She is my betrothed!"
Marcus's stomach jumped at the King's roar. This was a side of Alistair he had never truly seen, this protective knight, even though there'd been hints. He hadn't actually thought his friend would use the sword he had pointed at the Bann, but that roar, the look in his eyes--holy Maker, he just might.
"Y-yes, your Majesty." The Bann swallowed, his throat working. "It was presumptuous--"
"Presumptuous? Presumptuous?" The King's eyes narrowed. "Presumptuous is ordering red wine for me when I prefer white. Presumptuous is scheduling the dwarven ambassador for a meeting without verifying my schedule first. Presumptuous is not beating your daughter so badly the lightest touch pains her!"
The Bann swallowed again, his eyes darting from the King's face to the sword. "Yes, your Majesty."
Alistair growled, his sword arm tensing. Marcus spoke the first few words of Winter's Grasp, praying that it would at least slow the King--
With a muttered curse, Alistair released Gerald and pushed back, his sword-hand falling to his side. "You are hereby stripped of your title, ser." The King glanced at Terris's sister. "Bann Stella, River's Ford is yours."
Marcus swallowed the remainder of the spell, and inhaled unsteadily. Thank the Maker.
Stella rose slowly, her face slack with shock. A smile slowly bloomed. "Yes, your Majesty."
"But you--you can't do that!" Gerald sputtered. "She'll ruin it! She's nothing but a harlot, can't you see?"
Marcus reacted before Alistair could raise his sword again. An arcane bolt flew from his fingers and slammed into Gerald. It hadn't carried enough power to do more than make the older man catch his breath, but the mage could tell from the fear in the man's eyes that he'd gotten his point across. "I would advise you to curb your tongue, ser," he said quietly.
Alistair regarded the man for a moment more, then turned to Terris, his expression softening. "Love, do you want him at the wedding?"
Marcus's brows twitched at the endearment, but neither Alistair nor Terris seemed to notice it. Terris stared at the floor, her arms hugging her chest. She looked like she was about to break into a thousand pieces. After a moment, she took a deep breath and looked up at her father, then at the King.
"No, your Majesty," she said clearly, her voice strong, "I do not."
"Then he shan't be there," Alistair declared. "Bann Stella, what do you wish?"
Stella stepped forward, her grey eyes sparking, her color high. Maker, but she was a beautiful sight, Marcus thought. "He won't be returning to River's Ford, that's for certain. I think Uncle Milton would enjoy your company, Father, don't you?"
Gerald's jaw set into a stern line. "If you think I'll go off to the Frostback Mountains to stay with my brother, lass, you've--"
Alistair coolly transferred his sword to his left hand as Gerald spoke. Before the older man could finish, the King struck out with a clenched, gauntleted fist, connecting with his jaw. The former Bann slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Marcus blew out a breath and relaxed somewhat. "I warned him," he muttered.
Alistair looked up at the guards that shadowed the entryway, drawn by the shouting. "See that he's packed into a carriage for--where was it, Bann Stella?"
"Gherlen's Pass," Stella said with a wicked grin.
The corners of the King's lips twitched. "All the way up there? Good choice, my dear Bann. Good choice. Off with you, then." He sheathed his sword as the guards stepped forward and hoisted Gerald into their arms.
Marcus watched Stella's father be dragged out of the room like so much trash, and he couldn't help but feel a tendril of satisfaction. Anyone who could inflict such harm on someone he was supposed to protect and nurture deserved all he'd gotten and more.
Terris watched the procession as well, her lips pressed into a tight line and her fingers digging into her ribs. She still seemed to be on the verge of shattering.
"Terris," Alistair said softly.
She shook her head and backed up a step. Then, without saying anything, she darted into the hall.
"Bloody Maker," the King breathed and dashed out after her.
Marcus took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. The epaulets of his armor rose with the motion, brushing his ears. "Well," he said, "I suppose that's done."
"Thank you." Stella stepped forward, then stopped, hesitating. "I saw what you did, when he called me--so, thank you."
"You are quite welcome, my dear Bann," Marcus returned with an elegant bow. "No lady should be subjected to that."
"Oh?" Stella arched a brow and eyed his armor. "Are you a knight, then, Ser Amell? Come to rescue the fair damsel?" She sashayed closer. Her long chestnut hair curled over her shoulder like a lover's palm.
Marcus was suddenly quite glad for the codpiece he wore. When he spoke, his voice was rough. "Does the damsel need rescuing?"
Stella trailed two fingers over his breastplate, tracing the Grey Warden insignia there. "Perhaps," she said, the low timbre of her voice echoing his own. "Though I am a Bann now. I can probably rescue myself."
"Such an exquisitely lovely Bann shouldn't have to worry about such mundane things as rescues, my lady." Her hair smelled of some kind of flower...he'd smelled it before, but after spending most of his life in a Tower, he still hadn't catalogued all of the outdoorsy scents as he'd like. He inhaled deeply, drawing the aroma in. It shot straight to his libido. Painfully.
"You think I'm exquisite, Ser Amell? Lovely?"
"Marcus," he corrected her. "And yes, Lady Stella, you know you are."
"Yes," she said, reaching up to pull his lips to hers, "I do."
###
Rage still bubbled in Alistair's chest, like an eternal hot spring. He tried to shove it aside as he pursued Terris--the last thing she needed was to think he was angry at her--but it remained, undaunted. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, and he knew too well the crash that would hit him soon enough. Now that the threat was done, his body would insist he react.
But not yet. First, he needed to talk to her.
He'd thought she might beeline for her quarters, but she didn't. Instead, she retraced their path back to the courtyard. Alistair blinked as his eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden increase in light, his steps faltering, and Terris pulled ahead of him again. When his vision cleared, he spotted her across the field, standing in front of the straw practice dummy. Hay poked out from slashes in the burlap, wounds from previous practice sessions. He approached her slowly, watching, as she stared at the figure. Then, to his surprise, she grabbed one of the swords from the practice rack. Before he could protest or voice a concern that she'd hurt herself, she swung.
Alistair blinked, stunned into continued silence. Maker, she--she could fight. Well...that explained the strength behind her slap the night before. He kept silent and watched as she executed a series of strikes on the target, her stance telling him she was more used to wielding two blades than one. He spotted a few flaws, nothing some practice couldn't fix. Maybe she could join Marcus and him for their sparring matches. That...that would be something, he decided. Something indeed.
The fury that had diminished with his surprise rose again as he saw the trails of tears on her cheeks. Belatedly he realized that this movement couldn't be good for her aching back, and he strode forward to grab the wrist of her sword hand. She reacted instantly, turning and shoving him away with her free hand as she brought her sword to bear.
He fell back a step, and his hands came up in a peace-making gesture. "It's just me," he said softly.
The sword clattered to the packed dirt. With a visible effort, Terris straightened, and wiped away the tears with as much dignity as she could muster. "My apologies, your Majesty," she said, her voice uneven.
"Don't." He took a step forward. When she didn't run, he took another, and reached out with a gauntleted hand. Swearing softly, he tugged off his glove and tossed it to the ground. His thumb brushed away the remainder of the tears on her cheek.
She sucked in a shuddering breath. "I can't--"
"I know you don't know me," he said, his voice very quiet. "But you have my oath, Terris, that you never have anything to fear from me. I will protect you until my dying breath. I swear it. All right?" He cleared his throat. "I mean, I don't want to force myself where I'm not wanted, but we are going to be married, and..." He let his voice trail off as she nodded, and he blew out a breath. "Good. Now, let's see to that back of yours."
She nodded again and took a step, but her knees buckled. Alistair scooped her into his arms as gently as possible and cradled her against his chest. "I've got you," he whispered.
She said nothing, just leaned her head against his shoulder. His heart twisted at the fatigue flowing from her. Questions burned his tongue--why, for how long, what, why didn't she say anything--but he kept quiet as he walked back into the palace. There would be time for answers later, when the edges weren't so rough.
###
The reaction hit him much later, when he was in his office.
He'd tucked Terris into her bed after Marcus and the palace healer had seen to her. Nothing serious, Ser Allan assured him, just soft tissue damage that would ache for a few days. He gave Terris something to help her sleep, and Alistair had stayed, at her urging, until her eyes closed and her breathing evened into a steady rhythm.
He'd returned to his quarters in a daze, traded his armor for a simple shirt and breeches, and headed to his office for lack of anywhere better to go. The King flipped through some papers, not seeing them. And the trembling started.
Maker, he'd wanted to kill Terris's father.
What kind of man did that make him? It was almost as if he made a habit of killing men in front of their daughters. Not that Loghain hadn't deserved that and more...but perhaps the punishment had been rather harsh for Anora, when she'd done nothing wrong but be overly ambitious.
Today, though...today, he'd felt his arm twitching, the muscles preparing to strike out. And the thought that had raced through his head was that he could do it, if he wished. He was the King. His word, his action, was law. No one would argue it; no one would question him. He had the power to do as he pleased.
Today, for the first time, he'd been tempted to exercise that power in the worst way.
He braced his arms against his desk and his head drooped as he let the shame and the shock wash over him.
"Alistair?" Marcus's voice, concerned, came from the doorway.
He pushed back, looking up. "I'm fine."
"You, my friend, are a terrible liar. You do far better when you avoid topics altogether."
Alistair nodded, remembering a particular conversation they'd had on the road by Redcliffe, when he'd revealed who his father was, and Marcus had, not surprisingly, been less than happy with his fellow Grey Warden. Usually the memory brought a grin to Alistair's face--it was one of the only times he'd ever caught Marcus off-guard--but not now.
"Marcus, I--"
"Alistair!" Eamon strode through the open door of the office, brushing past the Chancellor. Alistair groaned inwardly and prepared to receive the disappointed look he was all too familiar with.
"Eamon..." he began, then shook his head. "You know, honestly? I'm not in the mood right now."
"A King doesn't have the luxury of deciding when he'll deal with certain situations, my boy."
And there it was. Drawn brows, upturned mouth nearly covered by his beard. Alistair sighed. The Arl was always careful to show the utmost respect amongst the other nobles, but when it was just the three of them, all too often Alistair felt like he was ten years old again.
"Are the rumors correct? Did you strip Bann Gerald of his title and give River's Ford to his eldest daughter?"
Alistair nodded. "I did. And he's lucky he's unconscious in a carriage headed to his brother's homestead, and not rotting in Fort Drakon, to be quite honest."
Eamon sank into one of the broad chairs stationed in front of the King's desk. "Maker's breath. Why would you do such a thing? On the eve of your wedding?"
He hesitated, but Eamon needed to know. He understood the workings of the nobility so much better than Alistair or Marcus did; he would know how to handle the aftermath.
"When I saw Terris this afternoon, she'd been beaten. On her back." His fists clenched, as he remembered the damage to her skin. "She didn't tell me what happened, or why, but I got the impression this was not a one-time event. She also insinuated that Stella would suffer the brunt of the Bann's wrath if I were to take any less of an action than I did."
Eamon was silent. Alistair kept his head down, wondering if he should have handled the situation differently. Maybe he should have--but could he have? No. He'd needed to act. And he had, luckily without removing anyone's heads from their necks.
"A fitting punishment."
Alistair looked up in surprise. "You...agree? I did good?"
"Throwing him in Fort Drakon, while appealing, would have seemed a little too close to what the Orlesians had been known for. Exiling him, in a sense, and stripping his title is much more a...Ferelden approach." Eamon rose from his chair, the slightest smile pulling at his lips. "Good job, son."
"I..." Alistair blinked as a rush of pride whipped through him. "Thanks."
"I'll make sure the other nobles are aware that the King will not tolerate injustice." Eamon's smile grew. "Though, the tale of you storming the Bann's quarters is already making the rounds. The version I heard is that Terris had been kidnapped by her father and he was about to flee the city with her, when you rescued her. Quite dashing, really. I don't think it does much harm to let that particular story circulate, do you?"
Stunned, Alistair shook his head. With a chuckle and a gentle bow, Eamon left.
Alistair glanced at Marcus, where the other Grey Warden leaned against the wall beside the door. "I wanted to kill him," he admitted softly. Of anyone, the mage would understand.
Marcus nodded, once. "I know. So did I."
"You?" Alistair frowned. "He hadn't done anything to you."
"He hurt my family." The mage shrugged, as if that said everything. Maybe it did. "Come on, then, brother. Let's go raid the larder before we die of starvation. We never did get that snack."
Alistair let himself be led to the kitchens and thought, not for the first time, that he was incredibly lucky to have found a true brother in the unlikeliest of times or places.
Marcus turned at Alistair's bellow and trotted back to the main corridor. He probably wanted to make sure Marcus requested the cheese plate he liked so much. As if the mage would forget. Maker's breath, that man and his cheese. It was an unholy obsession, it truly was.
He rounded the corner, about to bellow back at his friend jokingly, when he spotted Alistair and Terris. He didn't need magical abilities to see the tension radiating between the two of them. Alistair's large hand cupped the side of his fiancé's face. Terris looked…defeated, Marcus decided, and he didn't like it one bit. What in Andraste's name was going on?
Alistair's jaw tensed and he straightened. He withdrew his hand and it immediately curled into a fist. Rage swept through him--Marcus had seen that battle-hardened look on his friend's face often enough to recognize it.
"Alistair," he said. His voice carried easily in the hall, but the King turned and strode away from him. Terris trailed behind. Begging? "Alistair!" He jogged after the pair, completely confused.
"Look at her back," the King tossed over his shoulder, then stopped, giving the mage time to do so.
Her back? Marcus frowned at Terris. "My lady?" he said softly.
She nodded, the barest motion, and he snuck a look under the collar of her dress. His breath rushed out of him at the sight of the horrid discolorations peppering her porcelain skin. Fresh bruises, the pale purple-grey that indicated they'd formed only recently. His blood pounded in his ears, making it difficult to think. Who? Who had done this to the future Queen? Brigands? No, that made no sense. Terris had been in the palace for most of the day, with the exception of the brief outing to the concert, and had only shared the company of himself and Alistair, or her sister and--
"Sweet Andraste," he breathed. "Your father did this?"
She pressed her lips into a thin line and didn't answer.
"Yes, that ****son did this." The fierce epithet spewed from Alistair's lips. Marcus blinked up at the King, seeing a fury in his eyes he hadn't witnessed since the duel with Loghain.
"Alistair," he warned. "Calm yourself."
"Calm? Are you bloody insane? Calm?" He strode forward again, his armor clanging with the speed of his movement.
"Damn it." Marcus grimaced and rushed to catch up with the King. The fool was going to do something stupid. The mage ran through his repertoire of spells, preparing them for use if they were needed. The sodding armor he still wore sucked at his mana resources, but he couldn't spare the time to remove it, not with Alistair on a rampage.
He prayed he wouldn't have to use any magic against the King. It never worked out well. For either of them.
The door to the Bann's guest quarters burst open before Alistair and crashed into the wall. Marcus glanced around the room, noting Stella seated by the window, her eyes wide. It wasn't every day that a fully armored, fully enraged King stormed one's room. Alistair reached for his sword as the Bann emerged from the washroom, scrubbing his lined face. Marcus readied his spell, but kept it poised on the edge of casting. He trusted Alistair, he truly did. He just wanted to make sure his emotional friend didn't do something he'd regret later.
The King strode forward and shoved the Bann against the wall. He brought his sword up, threatening, but not close enough to do damage. Not yet. Terris whimpered, and Marcus spared her a glance. She had one hand over her mouth, fear in her eyes.
"What gives you the right," Alistair demanded, his voice low and full of danger, "to beat the future Queen?"
"She is my daughter--"
"She is my betrothed!"
Marcus's stomach jumped at the King's roar. This was a side of Alistair he had never truly seen, this protective knight, even though there'd been hints. He hadn't actually thought his friend would use the sword he had pointed at the Bann, but that roar, the look in his eyes--holy Maker, he just might.
"Y-yes, your Majesty." The Bann swallowed, his throat working. "It was presumptuous--"
"Presumptuous? Presumptuous?" The King's eyes narrowed. "Presumptuous is ordering red wine for me when I prefer white. Presumptuous is scheduling the dwarven ambassador for a meeting without verifying my schedule first. Presumptuous is not beating your daughter so badly the lightest touch pains her!"
The Bann swallowed again, his eyes darting from the King's face to the sword. "Yes, your Majesty."
Alistair growled, his sword arm tensing. Marcus spoke the first few words of Winter's Grasp, praying that it would at least slow the King--
With a muttered curse, Alistair released Gerald and pushed back, his sword-hand falling to his side. "You are hereby stripped of your title, ser." The King glanced at Terris's sister. "Bann Stella, River's Ford is yours."
Marcus swallowed the remainder of the spell, and inhaled unsteadily. Thank the Maker.
Stella rose slowly, her face slack with shock. A smile slowly bloomed. "Yes, your Majesty."
"But you--you can't do that!" Gerald sputtered. "She'll ruin it! She's nothing but a harlot, can't you see?"
Marcus reacted before Alistair could raise his sword again. An arcane bolt flew from his fingers and slammed into Gerald. It hadn't carried enough power to do more than make the older man catch his breath, but the mage could tell from the fear in the man's eyes that he'd gotten his point across. "I would advise you to curb your tongue, ser," he said quietly.
Alistair regarded the man for a moment more, then turned to Terris, his expression softening. "Love, do you want him at the wedding?"
Marcus's brows twitched at the endearment, but neither Alistair nor Terris seemed to notice it. Terris stared at the floor, her arms hugging her chest. She looked like she was about to break into a thousand pieces. After a moment, she took a deep breath and looked up at her father, then at the King.
"No, your Majesty," she said clearly, her voice strong, "I do not."
"Then he shan't be there," Alistair declared. "Bann Stella, what do you wish?"
Stella stepped forward, her grey eyes sparking, her color high. Maker, but she was a beautiful sight, Marcus thought. "He won't be returning to River's Ford, that's for certain. I think Uncle Milton would enjoy your company, Father, don't you?"
Gerald's jaw set into a stern line. "If you think I'll go off to the Frostback Mountains to stay with my brother, lass, you've--"
Alistair coolly transferred his sword to his left hand as Gerald spoke. Before the older man could finish, the King struck out with a clenched, gauntleted fist, connecting with his jaw. The former Bann slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Marcus blew out a breath and relaxed somewhat. "I warned him," he muttered.
Alistair looked up at the guards that shadowed the entryway, drawn by the shouting. "See that he's packed into a carriage for--where was it, Bann Stella?"
"Gherlen's Pass," Stella said with a wicked grin.
The corners of the King's lips twitched. "All the way up there? Good choice, my dear Bann. Good choice. Off with you, then." He sheathed his sword as the guards stepped forward and hoisted Gerald into their arms.
Marcus watched Stella's father be dragged out of the room like so much trash, and he couldn't help but feel a tendril of satisfaction. Anyone who could inflict such harm on someone he was supposed to protect and nurture deserved all he'd gotten and more.
Terris watched the procession as well, her lips pressed into a tight line and her fingers digging into her ribs. She still seemed to be on the verge of shattering.
"Terris," Alistair said softly.
She shook her head and backed up a step. Then, without saying anything, she darted into the hall.
"Bloody Maker," the King breathed and dashed out after her.
Marcus took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. The epaulets of his armor rose with the motion, brushing his ears. "Well," he said, "I suppose that's done."
"Thank you." Stella stepped forward, then stopped, hesitating. "I saw what you did, when he called me--so, thank you."
"You are quite welcome, my dear Bann," Marcus returned with an elegant bow. "No lady should be subjected to that."
"Oh?" Stella arched a brow and eyed his armor. "Are you a knight, then, Ser Amell? Come to rescue the fair damsel?" She sashayed closer. Her long chestnut hair curled over her shoulder like a lover's palm.
Marcus was suddenly quite glad for the codpiece he wore. When he spoke, his voice was rough. "Does the damsel need rescuing?"
Stella trailed two fingers over his breastplate, tracing the Grey Warden insignia there. "Perhaps," she said, the low timbre of her voice echoing his own. "Though I am a Bann now. I can probably rescue myself."
"Such an exquisitely lovely Bann shouldn't have to worry about such mundane things as rescues, my lady." Her hair smelled of some kind of flower...he'd smelled it before, but after spending most of his life in a Tower, he still hadn't catalogued all of the outdoorsy scents as he'd like. He inhaled deeply, drawing the aroma in. It shot straight to his libido. Painfully.
"You think I'm exquisite, Ser Amell? Lovely?"
"Marcus," he corrected her. "And yes, Lady Stella, you know you are."
"Yes," she said, reaching up to pull his lips to hers, "I do."
###
Rage still bubbled in Alistair's chest, like an eternal hot spring. He tried to shove it aside as he pursued Terris--the last thing she needed was to think he was angry at her--but it remained, undaunted. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, and he knew too well the crash that would hit him soon enough. Now that the threat was done, his body would insist he react.
But not yet. First, he needed to talk to her.
He'd thought she might beeline for her quarters, but she didn't. Instead, she retraced their path back to the courtyard. Alistair blinked as his eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden increase in light, his steps faltering, and Terris pulled ahead of him again. When his vision cleared, he spotted her across the field, standing in front of the straw practice dummy. Hay poked out from slashes in the burlap, wounds from previous practice sessions. He approached her slowly, watching, as she stared at the figure. Then, to his surprise, she grabbed one of the swords from the practice rack. Before he could protest or voice a concern that she'd hurt herself, she swung.
Alistair blinked, stunned into continued silence. Maker, she--she could fight. Well...that explained the strength behind her slap the night before. He kept silent and watched as she executed a series of strikes on the target, her stance telling him she was more used to wielding two blades than one. He spotted a few flaws, nothing some practice couldn't fix. Maybe she could join Marcus and him for their sparring matches. That...that would be something, he decided. Something indeed.
The fury that had diminished with his surprise rose again as he saw the trails of tears on her cheeks. Belatedly he realized that this movement couldn't be good for her aching back, and he strode forward to grab the wrist of her sword hand. She reacted instantly, turning and shoving him away with her free hand as she brought her sword to bear.
He fell back a step, and his hands came up in a peace-making gesture. "It's just me," he said softly.
The sword clattered to the packed dirt. With a visible effort, Terris straightened, and wiped away the tears with as much dignity as she could muster. "My apologies, your Majesty," she said, her voice uneven.
"Don't." He took a step forward. When she didn't run, he took another, and reached out with a gauntleted hand. Swearing softly, he tugged off his glove and tossed it to the ground. His thumb brushed away the remainder of the tears on her cheek.
She sucked in a shuddering breath. "I can't--"
"I know you don't know me," he said, his voice very quiet. "But you have my oath, Terris, that you never have anything to fear from me. I will protect you until my dying breath. I swear it. All right?" He cleared his throat. "I mean, I don't want to force myself where I'm not wanted, but we are going to be married, and..." He let his voice trail off as she nodded, and he blew out a breath. "Good. Now, let's see to that back of yours."
She nodded again and took a step, but her knees buckled. Alistair scooped her into his arms as gently as possible and cradled her against his chest. "I've got you," he whispered.
She said nothing, just leaned her head against his shoulder. His heart twisted at the fatigue flowing from her. Questions burned his tongue--why, for how long, what, why didn't she say anything--but he kept quiet as he walked back into the palace. There would be time for answers later, when the edges weren't so rough.
###
The reaction hit him much later, when he was in his office.
He'd tucked Terris into her bed after Marcus and the palace healer had seen to her. Nothing serious, Ser Allan assured him, just soft tissue damage that would ache for a few days. He gave Terris something to help her sleep, and Alistair had stayed, at her urging, until her eyes closed and her breathing evened into a steady rhythm.
He'd returned to his quarters in a daze, traded his armor for a simple shirt and breeches, and headed to his office for lack of anywhere better to go. The King flipped through some papers, not seeing them. And the trembling started.
Maker, he'd wanted to kill Terris's father.
What kind of man did that make him? It was almost as if he made a habit of killing men in front of their daughters. Not that Loghain hadn't deserved that and more...but perhaps the punishment had been rather harsh for Anora, when she'd done nothing wrong but be overly ambitious.
Today, though...today, he'd felt his arm twitching, the muscles preparing to strike out. And the thought that had raced through his head was that he could do it, if he wished. He was the King. His word, his action, was law. No one would argue it; no one would question him. He had the power to do as he pleased.
Today, for the first time, he'd been tempted to exercise that power in the worst way.
He braced his arms against his desk and his head drooped as he let the shame and the shock wash over him.
"Alistair?" Marcus's voice, concerned, came from the doorway.
He pushed back, looking up. "I'm fine."
"You, my friend, are a terrible liar. You do far better when you avoid topics altogether."
Alistair nodded, remembering a particular conversation they'd had on the road by Redcliffe, when he'd revealed who his father was, and Marcus had, not surprisingly, been less than happy with his fellow Grey Warden. Usually the memory brought a grin to Alistair's face--it was one of the only times he'd ever caught Marcus off-guard--but not now.
"Marcus, I--"
"Alistair!" Eamon strode through the open door of the office, brushing past the Chancellor. Alistair groaned inwardly and prepared to receive the disappointed look he was all too familiar with.
"Eamon..." he began, then shook his head. "You know, honestly? I'm not in the mood right now."
"A King doesn't have the luxury of deciding when he'll deal with certain situations, my boy."
And there it was. Drawn brows, upturned mouth nearly covered by his beard. Alistair sighed. The Arl was always careful to show the utmost respect amongst the other nobles, but when it was just the three of them, all too often Alistair felt like he was ten years old again.
"Are the rumors correct? Did you strip Bann Gerald of his title and give River's Ford to his eldest daughter?"
Alistair nodded. "I did. And he's lucky he's unconscious in a carriage headed to his brother's homestead, and not rotting in Fort Drakon, to be quite honest."
Eamon sank into one of the broad chairs stationed in front of the King's desk. "Maker's breath. Why would you do such a thing? On the eve of your wedding?"
He hesitated, but Eamon needed to know. He understood the workings of the nobility so much better than Alistair or Marcus did; he would know how to handle the aftermath.
"When I saw Terris this afternoon, she'd been beaten. On her back." His fists clenched, as he remembered the damage to her skin. "She didn't tell me what happened, or why, but I got the impression this was not a one-time event. She also insinuated that Stella would suffer the brunt of the Bann's wrath if I were to take any less of an action than I did."
Eamon was silent. Alistair kept his head down, wondering if he should have handled the situation differently. Maybe he should have--but could he have? No. He'd needed to act. And he had, luckily without removing anyone's heads from their necks.
"A fitting punishment."
Alistair looked up in surprise. "You...agree? I did good?"
"Throwing him in Fort Drakon, while appealing, would have seemed a little too close to what the Orlesians had been known for. Exiling him, in a sense, and stripping his title is much more a...Ferelden approach." Eamon rose from his chair, the slightest smile pulling at his lips. "Good job, son."
"I..." Alistair blinked as a rush of pride whipped through him. "Thanks."
"I'll make sure the other nobles are aware that the King will not tolerate injustice." Eamon's smile grew. "Though, the tale of you storming the Bann's quarters is already making the rounds. The version I heard is that Terris had been kidnapped by her father and he was about to flee the city with her, when you rescued her. Quite dashing, really. I don't think it does much harm to let that particular story circulate, do you?"
Stunned, Alistair shook his head. With a chuckle and a gentle bow, Eamon left.
Alistair glanced at Marcus, where the other Grey Warden leaned against the wall beside the door. "I wanted to kill him," he admitted softly. Of anyone, the mage would understand.
Marcus nodded, once. "I know. So did I."
"You?" Alistair frowned. "He hadn't done anything to you."
"He hurt my family." The mage shrugged, as if that said everything. Maybe it did. "Come on, then, brother. Let's go raid the larder before we die of starvation. We never did get that snack."
Alistair let himself be led to the kitchens and thought, not for the first time, that he was incredibly lucky to have found a true brother in the unlikeliest of times or places.
#29
Posté 01 avril 2010 - 03:50
Jules8445
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*sighs happily* I'm absolutely adoring the bromance between Marcus and Alistair. It is SO unlikely and that's why it's so awesome.
Do you by chance have a prequel to this? A playthrough of the Alistair/Marcus bromance? I'd sure as heck read it!
Do you by chance have a prequel to this? A playthrough of the Alistair/Marcus bromance? I'd sure as heck read it!
#31
Posté 01 avril 2010 - 10:58
Freckles04
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Jules8445 wrote...
*sighs happily* I'm absolutely adoring the bromance between Marcus and Alistair. It is SO unlikely and that's why it's so awesome.
Do you by chance have a prequel to this? A playthrough of the Alistair/Marcus bromance? I'd sure as heck read it!
The prequel is called Auditions, but it doesn't deal much with the development of Alistair and Marcus's relationship. It's about the "Auditions Ball" that's been mentioned a few times. You can find it here.
I don't know if I'd do a prequel starring Marcus/Alistair, but then, I said that about doing a sequel to Auditions....
#32
Posté 01 avril 2010 - 11:08
Miliat
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Freckles04 wrote...
The prequel is called Auditions, but it doesn't deal much with the development of Alistair and Marcus's relationship. It's about the "Auditions Ball" that's been mentioned a few times. You can find it here.
I don't know if I'd do a prequel starring Marcus/Alistair, but then, I said that about doing a sequel to Auditions....
That would be interesting, you could expand your horizon and write bromance as well as romance.
#33
Posté 01 avril 2010 - 11:54
Sisimka
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Love the fist to the jaw! Go righteous Al!
#34
Posté 01 avril 2010 - 04:45
MireliA
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Loved way he dealt with the Bann. And perhaps Stella might become more likeable now 
#35
Posté 01 avril 2010 - 06:21
Sandtigress
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*swoons for angry Alistair* I just love that man, I really do....And I'm so proud of him!
#36
Posté 01 avril 2010 - 09:24
Miri1984
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I melted reading this. Just melted. Angry Alistair! Terris is a lucky lady.
Suddenly very interested in Stella as well, though. She sounds like my kind of lady! And Marcus looks like he's in for a LOT of fun!
Suddenly very interested in Stella as well, though. She sounds like my kind of lady! And Marcus looks like he's in for a LOT of fun!
#37
Posté 01 avril 2010 - 10:20
TanithAeyrs
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Bravo for Alistair - rescuing a damsel in distress is so perfectly in character for him. I can't wait to see how Marcus deals with Bann Stella.
#38
Posté 07 avril 2010 - 07:54
Inzhuna
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Looks like it's the day of reading your fanfiction for me! What can I say, I absolutely adore this story and the characters! Will be waiting for an update!
#39
Posté 24 avril 2010 - 10:16
Marine0351WPNS
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Amazing!!! I loved Kiann's story, and this is absolutely awsome!
