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The Morning After [Complete]

Constance Theirin

Queen of Ferelden
Noble
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53
#1
((OOC: Cloudreach 3, 9:35, Morning, Alistair Theirin))

Peter loved to accompany Constance to Denerim. If the excitement of seeing his uncle was not enough, trips to Denerim also meant spending nights at the castle with the King’s nephew and nieces. Peter adored those children. The children of a washerwoman were hardly appropriate playmates for someone of Peter’s pedigree. Some day he would become Teyrn of Gwaren. But these were no normal commoners. Their uncle was the King, a bastard king but still a king. Exceptions could be made.

The children would never inherit; Constance would personally see to that. It was one thing to allow a bastard to sit on the throne. He was at least half royal blood. His sister's children had not one of noble blood within their veins. That did not mean, however, that they might someday not hold some measure of political sway. Even the lowliest of gutter snipes might rise far beyond their station and find success. That success was even more possible when the gutter snipe called the King of Ferelden, Uncle. They might be useful yet to Peter in the future.

There were other benefits, as well.

Constance’s connection to the crown flourished. Play dates where the children ran about the castle gardens playing games of tag or Grey Wardens developed into overnight stays for Peter and private meetings with Alistair to discuss policy for Constance.

The morning after one of those sleepovers, Constance and two of her guard set off for the castle to retrieve Peter. She could, of course, have requested he be escorted home and the King would have complied. That would have robbed her of an opportunity to visit the palace and Constance never avoided such a chance.

As had become customary, she brought gifts for the children. She was not a woman without a heart. While she must always consider the children’s political value to her son and herself, they were still children. Even children of low birth were due some measure of compassion.

"Look high, but never fail to remember what is below."

It was a lesson she never forgot.

Upon reaching the castle, she was informed the children were playing outside in gardens reserved for the children. Constance heard them long before she saw them. Her son’s voice unmistakeable, he yelled out, “I will get you archdemon. I am not afraid of you!”

Grey Wardens, again?

Turning the corner around a set of bushes pruned to look like small animals feasting upon the lush green grass, she saw Peter running around with Rhodri, both boys with play swords in their hands. Peter jabbed at empty air; his face a study in concentration as he moved through some of his sword instruction. Anwen stood behind the boys, hand moving behind her back as if reaching for an arrow.

In front of the children, on his hands and knees, covered in a blank capped with giant purple wings, was the target of their attacks. Deep growls came from beneath the blanket as the man beneath moved about for the children. The wings flapped as he rolled his shoulders and Constance could have sworn there was even a tail wiggle as his backside swished back and forth. Whoever the man was, he was very much enjoying the part he set out to play for the children.

“We can do this together,” Peter exclaimed.

Before the children could slay the archdemon, however, Constance called out to her son, “Peter. I brought the gifts you wished to give your friends.” The presents, while picked out carefully by Constance, were never from her, always from Peter.

The times that Peter argued with his mother were few and far between. Well-behaved, as a child should be, he came at his mother’s call.
 

Alistair Theirin

King of Ferelden
Canon Character
Noble
Grey Warden
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123
#2
The Archdemon crouched, wings furled as he watched the approach of the puny mortals who sought to vanquish him.

"Today you die, monster!" The tallest one declared, brandishing a sword.

He reared up in response, spreading his wings and uttering a roar - a truly terrifying roar, mind you, but he was no match for his attackers. Blades battered him, arrows flew in from an archer who kept just out of reach.

“I will get you archdemon. I am not afraid of you!” the other warrior shouted.

The Archdemon roared again, striking out with mighty claws and lashing his tail, his ferocity giving his foes pause, as thoughts of their own mortality undoubtedly crossed their minds.

“We can do this together!” one of them exclaimed, urging them forward, and another said,

“Peter. I brought the gifts you wished to give your friends.”

And just like that, the attack stalled as Peter answered the summons of his mother. Alistair sat back on his heels, shrugging his way out of the costume (which had been worth every sovereign he'd paid that tailor) and offering the Teyrna of Gwaren a smile.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” he said cheerfully, well aware that his clothes would be rumpled and his hair askew. Maker knew, she'd seen him in enough undignified positions over the last few months that she probably expected it by now, and she never seemed scandalized.

But he really did hope she hadn't seen him shaking his ass to make the tail lash.
 

Constance Theirin

Queen of Ferelden
Noble
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Posts
53
#3
The man Constance presumed to be a servant was no servant at all. The King himself emerged from beneath the costume with a cheery, "Good morning, Your Grace.”

Really, after all this time, Constance should have expected Alistair would let no one other than himself play the archdemon. He was a man with a child's spirit at times and appeared to love children a great deal. He doted upon his nephew and nieces. He was also quite good with Peter. If he had not been, no matter the political advantage, Constance would not have allowed her son to spend as much time as she did at the palace.

Alistair in no way looked the part of King this morning, with his hair pointing in four different directions and wrinkled clothing. This was hardly the first time Constance had seen him so casual nor did she suspect it would be the last. He was of noble blood but had not been raised noble.

Constance bowed, "Your Majesty."

Her manner light, judgment over Alistair's attire restricted to her thoughts and not her expression, she smiled amiably. "I do not recall seeing this," gloved fingers swept gracefully before her, gesturing to rumpled and now defeated archdemon upon the ground. "...costume before. A new one?"

Randolf waited patiently behind Constance. If he found the King's manner shocking, he failed to make a display. He held three small packages in his arms and handed them to Peter when the boy approached him.

She glanced briefly at Peter, watching the young boy bound with enthusiasm toward Anwen and Bran. "These are for you," he exclaimed, handing a rectangular box to Anwen and thin box to Rhodri. Covered in blue velvet, the smallest of the three boxes remained in Peter's small hands. "This is for Elena," he began, turning from the other children and toward Alistair. He held the box out for Alistair, "It's ribbons, Ser."

Constance's mouth pressed together. Peter had yet to master gift giving. Often too excited about the gift, more often than not, he blurted out the contents of the present before they could revealed. This was one of those times. She corrected her son with a calm tone, "Peter, part of the fun is not telling." Much as part of Constance's fun was not informing the king on the quality of his rump shaking.
 

Alistair Theirin

King of Ferelden
Canon Character
Noble
Grey Warden
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Posts
123
#4
“We've had it for a few months,” Alistair explained as he came to his feet. “It doesn't get used too often any more.” It had been a flash of inspiration from Leliana: a way to help Bran face his nightmares in a way that was nonthreatening, almost comical. It had come out less and less as the dreams had decreased in frequency.

Randolf, unflappable as always, gave the packages to Peter, who promptly distributed them to Arwen and Bran, offering Elena's to Alistair, saying, “It's ribbons, Ser.”

“Peter, part of the fun is not telling,” Constance reminded her son calmly. The boy looked sheepish, but still all but bursting with glee.

“The secret is safe with me,” Alistair assured him solemnly. Lena was at her musical training. She had a lovely voice, which would have pleased her uncle more if he hadn't suspected that she wanted to emulate more than Leliana's taste in fashion. He'd caught her practicing fighting moves with a pair of butter knives she'd filched from the dining room. He wanted her to be able to protect herself; he really did. It was just -

Arwen's squeal distracted him, and he turned to see the girl hugging a beautifully detailed cloth doll. Bran's eyes were huge.

“Stories from Antiva!” he exclaimed, handling the tome reverently. He'd taken to reading like a duck to water, and where tales were concerned, he was insatiable. “I've never heard any of these!” That was as good as gold to him, but he remembered his manners. “Thank you, Peter. Thank you, Teyrna,” he said with a very nice bow, his eyes shining. Arwen followed his lead with a pretty curtsy, still hugging the doll tight.

“C'mon, I'll read them to you!” Bran said, gesturing to a spot under the willow that had been dubbed 'the reading tree'. It was just now greening out, branches draping gracefully around the benches set beside the trunk.

Peter hesitated, ever the obedient child. “May I, please, Mother?”
 

Constance Theirin

Queen of Ferelden
Noble
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53
#5
The secret of Elena's gift would remain just that, a secret. Alistair would not tell.

The secrets of Arwen and Bran's gifts remained secrets no longer, however. Arwen screamed out in delight at the doll. Constance approached the girl, a delicate hand placed upon Anwen’s shoulder. “I had one just like that when I was a young. She will need a name, of course."

Bran's gift was met with equal pleasure. Small arms wrapped around the book, clutching it happily to his chest.“Stories from Antiva! I've never heard any of these! Thank you, Peter. Thank you, Teyrna.” Though of common blood, the children were well-trained in manners. Bran bowed and Anwen curtseyed in thanks.

The smile upon Constance’s mouth was born easily. Beyond their humble and unfortunate origin, Constance did like Alistair’s sister’s children.

“C'mon, I'll read them to you!” Bran motioned to his reading tree, or so Peter had told Constance it was called once.

Peter’s feet pressed into the ground as if he might bound after Rhodri. Peter was an accomplished reader for his age; however, there were few things he loved more than having a story read to him. That had been perhaps one of the hardest things for him to accept with Roderick’s passing. Roderick, no matter his schedule, made time to read to Peter. Roderick was a man of many faults, but his affection for Peter was genuine.

The night Roderick was to return from his trip abroad, Peter sat expectedly on his bed, ‘The Frog and the Dragon’ clothed in his hands. He did the same for the next five nights, sitting there in his vigil until his eyes could remain open no longer and he fell asleep.

Peter did not run off, though, and asked his mother’s permission,“May I, please, Mother?”

“Of course...” He was gone at the word ‘course’, bounding toward Bran to hear tales of Antiva.

Constance laughed lightly at Peter's joy and her gaze trailed after him. The warmth of Constance’s expression never shone brighter than when regarding her son. He was the most important person in her life and the one truth she never made an effort to disguise or obscure.

She left the children to their reading beneath the canopy of the tree and looked to Alistair. “Between Nathaniel and you, your Majesty, Peter very much wishes to become a Grey Warden some day.” The words, though spoken with a degree of levity, were not without their weight. There was very little Constance would deny Peter. Becoming a Grey Warden was one of those things she could not allow. Not all Grey Wardens were fortunate enough to keep noble titles such as Nathaniel and Alistair.

Constance shrugged off the comment. A smile held fast to her lips, she added, “Little boys, I suppose. It is only natural they should wish to become heroes."
 
Last edited:

Alistair Theirin

King of Ferelden
Canon Character
Noble
Grey Warden
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Posts
123
#6
"Aveline!" Arwen exclaimed at once when Constance suggested that the doll would need a name. With a final hasty curtsy, she was off after Peter and her brother, Aveline in tow.

"Well chosen," Alistair observed, watching her go fondly. The girl adored her growing collection of dolls, looking after each one with a little mother's doting dedication, and in the midst of the expensive group was Betsy: little more than a handkerchief tied over a bundle of rags for a head, with face and hair added with charcoal and berry juice. Arwen lavished no less love on this humble scrap that she had carried from the ruin of Denerim than she would the newest addition to her family. "Thank you." Peter had given them, but the choices had undoubtedly been his mother's.

"Between Nathaniel and you, your Majesty, Peter wishes very much to become a Grey Warden some day." Her smile was one of fond indulgence, but there was an underlying pensiveness in her eyes that he understood. "Little boys, I suppose. It's only natural that they should wish to become heroes."

"Little girls, too," he agreed, thinking of Elena and her antics with purloined butter knives, striking out at imaginary foes from shadowy corners.

"It is difficult to make managing a household, balancing accounts and overseeing staffing issues seem interesting," he said with a wry smile, "but you're raising him well. He's a compassionate boy with a good sense of honor and duty. I think that when the time comes, he'll make the right decision." He paused, then added, "He won't be accepted as a recruit to the Wardens. Not so long as I have any influence with the order. Ferelden needs people who can lead, as well as fight." Let her think that was the reason, and it was, at least in part. The real reason that neither Peter nor Bran, Arwen nor Lena would be recruited while he had any say was not one that he cared to dwell upon.

He hesitated, watching her from the corner of his eye as Bran settled on a bench and opened the book. She was a competent and formidable woman with a calculating nature that he'd observed more than once, but since Roderick Yorath's death, their interactions centering around the children had given him glimpses of another side to her: one that he suspected few saw, and that he doubted was feigned ... at least, not entirely. Whatever her faults, Constance clearly loved her son fiercely, and she had treated the children in Alistair's care kindly.

"I wonder if I could ask a favor of you, Your Grace," he began. As much time as they had spent in each other's company, they remained formal when addressing each other; she had never asked him to call her Constance, but by now, it felt normal.
 

Constance Theirin

Queen of Ferelden
Noble
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53
#7
"Little girls, too."

Constance nodded. Little girls were not without their heroes. Her hero when she was a young girl was not any Grey Warden. She had one hero, Celia Mac Tir. Constance trained as a warrior; all women in the Fereldan nobility trained some martial skill. Queen Rowan was an example to follow. But it was Celia's way with the people of Gwaren that intrigued Constance. War could be won with words and loyalty just as easily as by sword.

"It is difficult to make managing a household, balancing accounts and overseeing staffing issues seem interesting but you're raising him well. He's a compassionate boy with a good sense of honor and duty. I think that when the time comes, he'll make the right decision."

Constance believed Peter would. But a mother's worry warred with logic.

"He won't be accepted as a recruit to the Wardens. Not so long as I have any influence with the order. Ferelden needs people who can lead, as well as fight."

Constance observed Peter as he sat beneath the tree, small hands dropping to clasp atop his lap. Life would not always be so happy for him. Many responsibilities would fall upon his shoulders one day; many she would place there herself. There was a risk there, of course. That he would want none of it. He would hardly be the first heir to cast aside their birthright for some foolish pursuit. She would simply have to make sure that risk was as small as possible.

"I have tried to do my best for him." She looked back to Alistair, expression contemplative. "I do not believe his uncle would allow it either." Nathaniel understood the importance of Peter maintaining his titles, though his reasons were far different than hers. Nathaniel's focus was always on his family and the redemption of his family name.

The Howe family legacy meant little to Constance, however. She had not hesitated for a moment when Roderick offered to adopt Peter. He wore the name Howe no longer nor would he ever again. A Yorath would become Teyrn of Gwaren. A Yorath would inherit the Bann of Stonewar.

A moment of hesitation on the King's part caused Constance's brow to arch faintly. Such lulls usually preceded a question on his part. The question came seconds later.

"I wonder if I could ask a favor of you, Your Grace."

Alistair had asked her for favors in the past. That he would ask one of her again was no strange occurrence. She nodded simply and responded "If it is within my power to help you, your Majesty, you have but to ask." A practiced smile sprung into place, her lips curved with just enough sincerity to seem genuine and not spurious. "You have but to ask."
 

Alistair Theirin

King of Ferelden
Canon Character
Noble
Grey Warden
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123
#8
"I have tried to do my best for him." The Teyrna watched her son as she spoke, then glanced at Alistair. "I do not believe his uncle would allow it either."

“He wouldn't,” he agreed. Nate had laid down some hard rules, thanks to Aedan's loose lips. Alistair had Grand Cleric Elemena bending his ear after the conscription of the templars in Highever, demanding that he intervene, but he had explained to her (loudly, since the woman was deaf as a post) that the Grey Wardens were independent of any national sovereignty, including that of the Chantry. She'd not been happy about that, and all but accused him of bias, but while he had to admit that he'd enjoyed delivering his edict, he would have made the same decision had he not been a Grey Warden. He did wonder if Nate's rigid standards would hold if someone he truly cared for were facing conscription, but he hoped he never had to find out, particularly where Peter was concerned.

Constance agreed readily to his request for a favor, which he had been fairly sure of. How many nobles would turn down the opportunity to earn the gratitude of their king, after all? She wasn't obsequious about it, though. She never was, which Alistair supposed was one of the reasons that he found himself spending more time in her company. With Mal gone, he had not yet established anything close to the same rapport with his replacment, and while he could always count on Shianni for honesty, her perspective was largely limited to that of the elves and their interactions with humans. Constance had long experience with matters of state and trade alike, and he'd found her advice to be both practical and useful. She was frank without being disrespectful, and had no compunctions about telling him when she believed he was wrong in a matter.

And, Maker bless her, she'd never once flirted with him. Which to most people would make the vague idea that had been nudging around his mind seem odd, at best. He wasn't quite ready to take it beyond the vague idea stage yet, however, so he simply said, “I'm wanting to get a cat. A kitten, really. Not one of those monsters from Antiva, mind you.” Though if he thought they could be trained like mabari, he likely would have gotten one. “Just a cute, fluffy kitten ... but a special one. I thought that your trading contacts might be able to find something abroad.” There were cats aplenty in Denerim, but a simple grey mouser would not do.
 

Constance Theirin

Queen of Ferelden
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#9
The King had requested many things of Constance in the past. The requests ranged from helping to find a good music teacher for Mari to outlining the advantages and disadvantages of certain trade agreements. When he asked her to help him find a kitten, she was hardly surprised.

Her hand raised, motioning to a stone path set within the grass of the private garden so that they might walk together as they spoke. Her head inclined to the side, eyes regarding Alistair as she asked for more details, “Is this cat for you, Your Majesty or one of the children?”

A cat for the children to play with or something to share his bed and cheese with at night? Alistair was still without a wife, much to Constance’s delight. The wrong queen could prove rather inconvenient for Constance. There was no woman in Ferelden that held more political influence than herand she would have it that way. When Alistair did choose a bride, and he would for he needed an heir, she hoped it to be a bride of her selection. She bided her time until he came to her with a request not to help him find a small and adorable pet that might be trained, but a beautiful bride that shecould train. Constance would then help him find the most beautiful and pliable woman possible. It was her duty to the King to provide.

“And do you prefer a certain color? A type of fur?” Constance had never picked out a kitten before, but she assumed these were things people care about when selecting a cat. “Elena might like a cat with long hair, something to tie her ribbons in.” A smile lit Constance’s face, the comment more joke than serious.

Her hand swept along the top of a bush along the path, fingers brushing lightly upon the green of the leaves. "I would be happy to help you get a cat, Your Majesty. You need only tell me what you would prefer and I will find the perfect kitten for you."
 

Alistair Theirin

King of Ferelden
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Noble
Grey Warden
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123
#10
“It's for Elena,” Alistair told her, though he was almost certain she was teasing when she asked if the kitten was to be for him. Her delivery was unfailingly subtle, but he had learned the tells: the slight arch of pale eyebrows and the faintest hint of a smile. It was never done in a cruel or mocking manner, so he actually rather enjoyed it; it filled the void that had once been occupied by Leliana and Wynne ... at least partly. "She -" he broke off, trying to find the words.

"I visited Goldanna once, during the Blight," he said at last. "It ... didn't go well. Apparently, after I was born and our mother died, she was turned out of Redcliffe, told I had died, as well. She was maybe twelve at the time." Another moment that would not appear on Eamon's list of noteworthy achievements.

"Lena is the only one who remembers me from then," he went on. "She remembers her mother crying after I left." Not the explanation he'd tried to offer, not the coin he'd given when Goldanna had all but demanded it. "A kitten is the first thing she's asked me for since she's been here." She accepted everything that was given to her politely, but with a wariness that suggested that she expected to be accused of theft at some point.

"Maybe it's silly. I know I can't buy her affection, can't make her like me by giving her things but ... I'd just like to make her smile." He shrugged awkwardly. Elena did smile now, much more than she had when they first arrived, but never at him, never because of him. She looked so much like he remembered Goldanna looking, more so every day now; he didn't ever want her to have the bitter, defeated look that his sister had worn that day.

“And do you prefer a certain color? A type of fur? Lena might like a cat with long hair, something to tie her ribbons in.” Her smile indicated that she was teasing him again, settling into a more serious mien as she toyed with the leaves of a shrub that had been trimmed to look like a bear doing a handstand. "I would be happy to help you get a cat, Your Majesty. You need only tell me what you would prefer and I will find the perfect kitten for you."

"I know absolutely nothing about cats," he replied, though he did smile at the notion of some scrappy tomcat with pink ribbons in its fur. "Something ... striking, I suppose. I trust your judgment."
 

Constance Theirin

Queen of Ferelden
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53
#11
"I know absolutely nothing about cats,” Alistair replied with a smile. "Something...striking, I suppose. I trust your judgment.”

Constance, like Alistair, knew relatively little about cats other than that she found no use for the animals. To hear, however, the King of Ferelden trusted her judgment even if it was over something as pedestrian as selecting a pet for a child was ego bolstering. Lasting trust was built in degrees. Even the smallest of trusts could build the foundation for something stronger, something unshakable, something quite powerful.

Bit by bit, she attempted to engender herself to the king. Bit by bit, she succeeded.

“I think it would be best to give her the choice,” Constance thought out loud. Picking a cat could be no different than selecting a mabari. A person did not just randomly pick a mabari. They met the animal first and saw if there was a bond.

“Perhaps an array of kittens to choose from. That could easily be arranged.” Or so she assumed. Cats were surely easier to procure than mabari otherwise the Orlesians would not have quite so many.
 

Alistair Theirin

King of Ferelden
Canon Character
Noble
Grey Warden
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Posts
123
#12
“I think it would be best to give her the choice,” Constance suggested. “Perhaps an array of kittens to choose from. That could easily be arranged.”

Privately, Alistair thought that would be a good way to ensure that he wound up with a mob of the tiny creatures, but it did make a certain amount of sense.

"That sounds like a good idea," he replied. "Would you care for some brunch until they've finish a story or two?" He gestured toward a small patio with a table, designed to allow adults to watch over children at play from a comfortable vantage point.
 

Constance Theirin

Queen of Ferelden
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53
#13
"That sounds like a good idea," The King responded. "Would you care for some brunch until they've finish a story or two?"

Alistair motioned to a small table nestled in quiet section of the garden, far enough away to engage in adult conversation but close enough to monitor the children's play.

"That would be lovely," Constance agreed. "Of course, you do realize, you will end up with a palace full of cats." Children had no willpower when it came to the cute and cuddly and the King had no willpower when it came to the cute and cuddly creatures in his life, namely his nephew and nieces.

"But I suspect it will make the children happy and that is what matters, does it not?" A hint of a smile bloomed upon her lips. "I will not bring too many for Elena to choose from. No more than five."
 
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