When I Look at You (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

Blur

The next morning came too soon for Alistair. He fiddled with his armor and fussed with his hair and trimmed stray hairs from his beard until Una finally dragged him bodily away from the mirror.

"Trust me, love, you're the best-looking king Ferelden's ever had."

"Did you meet Cailan?" he grumbled.

"Yes. Trust me, I'd rather have you any day."

Reluctantly, he smiled at her. "Good. Because you're stuck with me now, unless you want the country to fall completely to ruin."

"That's what I like to hear."

They left the room, finding Eamon pacing restlessly in the entry to the estate. Seeing him there, Una felt a sudden sharp longing for those cold, dirty camps along the side of the road and for their motley crew of companions. There hadn't been a lot of time for their friends while they'd been here in Denerim, and Una missed them. It occurred to her that this was what it would probably be like when the Blight was over and the Archdemon was dead and she and Alistair settled in to become king and queen. Much as she looked forward to that future, hard as she had worked for it, she wished for a moment that it hadn't come quite so quickly.

"There you are," Eamon said with relief. He looked Alistair up and down with some relief, and then glanced at Una. "You look quite ... martial, my dear. Are you sure you wouldn't rather attend the coronation in ... more suitable attire?"

"I can't think of anything more suitable for a Grey Warden than armor, my lord, and for the moment, that is what I am, head of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden."

"Very well. Fortunately, Fereldans like their warrior queens." He smiled. "I recall your mother being quite formidable in her own right." He looked at her seriously, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Your parents would be exceedingly proud of you."

"Thank you, ser. I think they would be, too. I only regret that they can't be here."

"As do I."

Unspoken between them was the acknowledgement that if the Couslands had still been alive, no doubt Bryce Cousland would be the one being crowned today. That reality had never come to pass, so Una felt there was no point in mourning it.

As they walked across Denerim, the people forming a line down the street to watch them pass, Eamon said, "Have the two of you given any thought to what you will do with Loghain and Anora?"

Una could see the tightening of Alistair's mouth; she knew what his answer was. And she didn't disagree—in a perfect world, she'd have happily had Loghain executed. But he was still the Hero of River Dane, and his daughter had been a beloved queen. They couldn't afford to begin their reign with such a dark cloud over their heads. "I suspect the best answer is to banish them," she said.

Eamon nodded, sighing. "I hate to see it come to that, but I believe you're right. Keeping them locked up is a bad idea. Too much chance for unrest to build around them if they're still here. Loghain won't go pleasantly, no matter what we do. Anora might, if we can arrange a good marriage with a high-ranking noble. A Pentaghast, possibly. Maker knows there are a lot of them, and no shortage of intrigues that might get her close to another throne."

Alistair looked at Eamon in surprise. Of course, this was the way it was among nobility—they married the politically expedient choice, not for love. His glance slid across Eamon's face to Una's, and he smiled, feeling vividly how fortunate he was to have her at his side. Maybe he should marry her today, he thought suddenly. That way, if something happened to him, she could still be queen. And they would be married, something he found he was no longer willing to wait for. He made a mental note to mention it to her later.

They stopped in front of the Landsmeet chamber. Alistair looked up at the doors in front of him, his mouth dry. Was it possible it was only yesterday that he had come here as a Grey Warden and a usurper, and today he was coming as king? It seemed like something out of a child's tale.

"Ready?" Una asked him, squeezing his arm.

"As long as you're with me."

"Always."

They entered the Landsmeet chamber. For Alistair, the whole thing was a blur. He walked where he was told to walk, stood where he was told to stand, repeated the words he was told to repeat. And at the end of it all, there was a crown on his head and he stood rather dazedly in front of his people.

His people. He clung to those words. Those were real; those he could understand. He had met them all the way across Ferelden—in Lothering, in Redcliffe, in the Brecilian Forest, in the Frostbacks, at the Circle. They were looking to him now, and he would lead them to the best of his ability.

The blur separated itself into sharply delineated people, and he looked at them as closely as he dared, wanting to know who they all were so that he would know who to count on.

He had nearly forgotten Una. Turning, he smiled at her, beginning to say that it hadn't been as bad as he'd thought it would be, but he realized halfway through the sentence that she wasn't paying any attention to him. She was staring at a dark-haired man with a pronounced limp who was creating a bit of a commotion as he pushed his way through the crowd; Una looked as though she was seeing a ghost. Alistair was about to ask if she was all right when she suddenly gave a loud shriek and flung herself through the crowd and into the dark-haired man's arms.

"FERGUS!"