When I Look at You (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

Landsmeet

The next morning came all too soon. They dressed in armor that Eamon's staff had cleaned and polished until it shone, they filled their stomachs with a Grey Warden-sized breakfast that Alistair devoutly hoped he wouldn't regurgitate all over the floor of the Landsmeet later, and they gathered their allies around them.

Wynne would come along, her magic at their backs in case it should be needed, and Oghren, representing the dwarves' support of Alistair's bid for the throne. His armor had been polished, too, and someone had managed to see that his beard was cleaned up and freshly braided. He looked as clean as Una had ever seen him.

Naturally, Arl Eamon was with them, looking nervous and finding something new to remind Alistair not to forget every other minute. His agitation wasn't settling Alistair's stomach in the least; just the opposite, in fact. At this rate, finally getting to the Landsmeet chamber would be a significant relief.

Anora had gone on ahead, or so her elven maid had told Una. If Una had trusted Anora, this would have raised disquiet in her breast, but she didn't trust the queen to be out for anyone's benefit other than her own, so Una wasn't particularly surprised. There was nothing she could do to prevent Anora from turning on them and pushing her own agenda—and why shouldn't she, really?—but Una hoped that at the very least her arguments were strong enough to counteract whatever Anora might say in her own defense.

It seemed strange to Alistair that the people they passed in the streets were going about their business as though this were any other day. Today would decide Ferelden's future—he was surprised they weren't more concerned about that. Then again, many of them were refugees from the south, still too stunned and grief-stricken over what they had lost to care what the country stood to gain—or to lose—today. And it filled Alistair with guilt that here he was embroiled in a political mess when in the south the darkspawn horde marched unchecked. His job, his duty lay there, didn't it?

He looked at Una in front of him, so tall and confident. She seemed to have no doubt that this was the right course of action, that they needed to settle Ferelden's internal issues first before they could tackle the darkspawn, to ensure themselves of Ferelden's army at their backs. It was the same thing they had done for the dwarves, he reminded himself. Could he do less for his own people than he had done for those of Orzammar?

At last, they stopped outside. Una turned to look at him. "Could everyone give us a moment alone, please?" she asked. Arl Eamon looked as though he was about to argue, but at a look from Una he went inside with Wynne and Oghren. Alistair wondered if he could cultivate such a look, one that would make people do what he wanted them to do. He doubted it.

When they were alone, but for the curious bystanders walking by them on the street, Una put her hands on Alistair's shoulders. "Are you ready for this? There's no turning back, once we walk in here."

He nodded.

"I need to hear the words, Alistair. I need to know—" She needed to know she wasn't pushing him into something he couldn't handle, that he believed he could learn to find the confidence in himself that she had always seen.

Alistair shrugged, looking away from her wide golden eyes. "I can't pretend that if I were on my own, I would go through with this. Left to myself, I would back Anora."

"I know," Una said in a small voice. Guilt was attacking her—was she really pushing him into something he couldn't handle? She reminded herself that she believed in him, that Anora hadn't had the guts to stand up to her own father so how could she really be the leader Ferelden needed, that Alistair had spent a lifetime being told he wasn't worthy of the throne.