My Warden (COMPLETED)

Tradition

9:44 Denerim

Wailing, the kind fabled banshees bleated outside someone's door before the home owner leapt onto the pyre the next morning echoed through every stone in the castle. Roused from his half sleep, Alistair stumbled shirtless down the corridors in pursuit of the noise. He moved to wipe the sand out of his eyes and nearly bashed a sword's hilt into his nose. When did he grab the damn thing? After too many years spent sleeping on the ground waiting for any manner of creepy evil thing to come and cleave his head off, he defaulted to "shit's about to go pear" without thinking.

An even louder shriek broke the normally quiet castle air. While pursuing it, he'd catch a few harried glances of servants all poking heads into the hall, the bags under their eyes lengthening to match their scowl - until spotting their king hoofing it. Then it was an immediate snap to attention, but he waved each off, mouthing that he was going to get to the bottom of it. Past the coat of arms and the creepy paintings of his ancestors whose eyes rolled whenever he walked near he paused outside the door. Judging by the high range of squeals and shrieks there had to be some horrible murder happening right inside. Steadying himself to his kingliest pose, Alistair threw open the door.

The servants kept the fire down to almost nothing, only the light of the full moon and a few stars reflected upon a woman bent over the newest piece of furniture in the castle. Curtains wafted in the spring air to frame the cradle while its lone owner took a breath before resuming her blood curdling wail. The wet nurse glanced over at Alistair, turned back to the baby clearly unhappy with her services, then whipped back at him. "Your majesty," growled out of her throat.

"That's me, all majestic majesty over here. Like a short mountain," he pinched the bridge of his nose to try and steady himself through the never ending howls. "Not going so well, I take it Marn?"

"It...it is of no concern," Marn answered, folding her arms across her coveted bosom. The queen weighed the potential candidates for weeks before deciding on the woman who'd nursed a good fifteen kids to strapping height. Marn also looked like she could flatten an ogre.

"Here," he inched closer to the cradle and held out a hand, "let me hold her."

"You're carrying a sword," Marn snipped, jerking her chin at him while she kept rocking the cradle back and forth, though the owner was having none of that while maintaining her howl.

Tossing the sword against the wall, Alistair turned back to her and smiled, "Now I'm not. So...baby?"

The nursemaid glowered down at him, "I do not think this is a wise idea...Your Highness."

"Come on, she's been screaming for a half hour. What's the worst you think I'll do, drop the only heir down a well?"

"Anything is possible," Marn was not one easily swayed by fancy titles or threats of beheadings. He rather doubted an axe could get through her thick neck anyway.

Throughout their standoff, the little princess made her unhappiness evident, the wails digging into his teeth. He was about to shoulder past the nursemaid and pick her up himself - which would probably end in Marn laying him flat out - when the queen appeared. She was draped in thick quilted robes, her face still wan from giving birth and skin almost an ethereal blue by the moonlight.

"It's all right," she said, her fingers landing across the nursemaid's bulging forearms. "He can try," Beatrice nodded to her technical husband.

Alistair bobbed a grateful head to his technical wife, "Thank you." Sliding past Marn, he peeked in on the newest mouth to come screaming into the world and planning on keeping it that way. In her first few days of existence, Alistair was terrified of her wonky head and splotchy skin tone. While everyone else remarked upon what a beautiful baby it was, he ached to ask any of the healers if she was suffering from some terrible disease to make her look both purple and red at the same time. Her toothless mouth stretched wide as she screamed for something no one in the palace could understand. It was damn impressive how loud their newborn could get - a good sign of health Eamon declared. Yeah, maybe in the first few days it was welcomed, now those healthy lungs were assaulting everyone.