Dragon Age Inquisition: Farms and Estates

Crowns

Vigil's Keep, 9:34 Dragon

"Come in!"

Even through the thick wooden door, Alistair could hear the annoyance in Naia's voice. It belatedly occurred to him that he was showing up on the doorstep of a very busy person, the leader of an ancient order of Darkspawn-fighting warriors, to beg for advice about his personal life.

On the other hand, she was his best friend. And he had no one else to ask.

He pushed open the door with a slightly sheepish smile. "Is this a bad time?"

Watching Naia's face go from sour to delighted made his late-night trip through the rain worth every freezing second. "Alistair!" She leapt from the desk, her arms held out to embrace him. "Thank the Maker it's you. I thought it was Nathaniel with more charts, or maybe some poor recruit with more letters from Weisshaupt."

He hugged her back. "Weisshaupt? What do they want?"

"More Warden nonsense." Naia rolled her eyes. "And it's not nearly as important as whatever brought you here in this weather. Andraste's ass, you're freezing. Come sit by the fire."

Alistair hung his sodden cloak on a set of iron hooks and sat on the battered rug in front of the fireplace. Vigil's Keep was still being rebuilt, and visitors' chairs for the Warden-Commander were apparently not high on the list of items to be purchased. He didn't mind. The blaze warmed the ache in his icy muscles, and he extended his hands towards it like a tragic orphan in one of those Satinalia tales.

Naia sat cross-legged next to him, her expression curious. "What's going on?"

"I need you to take a look at something." Without further ceremony, Alistair pulled a slightly damp stack of folded parchments from his pocket and shoved them at Naia. "Tell me which ones you think I should consider."

Naia peeled the parchments apart and began to read the first one, her eyebrows raised high. "Lady Marin Fortham," she recited. "Twenty-five, daughter of Bann Eleanor Fortham, noted for her embroidery and beautiful singing voice ..."

"Oh. Not that one," Alistair said hurriedly. "Fergus Cousland just started courting her and they seem happy. Start with the next one."

Naia lowered the parchments and looked up at him. "Alistair. Are these—you want me to help pick you a wife? Off a list?"

"Well, if you put it like that, it just sounds silly," Alistair complained.

His friend returned her gaze to the papers, her brow knit and her expression baffled. "Please tell me you didn't make this list yourself."

"No, no. Eamon gave me the list this afternoon. Then he gave me that look of his." Alistair ran his newly-warmed hands through his damp hair. "Apparently the bannorn is awash with discontent over my bachelor status. Ferelden needs a Queen."

"Eamon can't really expect you to pick a wife from a list of facts on a parchment." Naia looked further down the list. "The Teyrna of Gwaren? He's suggesting Anora?"

"I think he put her in there to make the others look better." Alistair remembered the look the Teyrna had given him at the last gathering of the bannorn and suppressed a shudder. If he married Anora he'd have to start watching his food to make sure she didn't put anything in it. "I've met almost everyone on the list, save a few from more remote bannorns. I'm supposed to select two or three candidates to consider more seriously, get to know them better, and take care of this Queen business by the end of the year."

Naia's mouth dropped open. "Alistair, that's no way to pick someone you have to live with for the rest of your life! What if you don't love any of these women?"