Dragon Age Inquisition: Farms and Estates

Inheritance

"'Oh, no, I can pack my own clothing, no need to send anyone up.' Brilliant, Alistair. Utterly brilliant." He glared at the contents of his traveling trunk. "How in the Maker's name did I wind up with five pairs of shoes and no socks?"

"Aha!" From across the bedroom, Evie held a small vial aloft with a triumphant smile. "I knew I had more somewhere."

"Naia and Zevran could have loaned you some knockout powder, you know," Alistair observed as she tucked the vial into her trunk. "Between the two of them they have enough to incapacitate most of Ferelden."

"But this is Inquisition knockout powder. Dagna's special recipe. It's been something of a good-luck charm." Evie shut the lid of her trunk with a decisive nod. "I think I have everything, though I'll want to visit my room to be sure." For propriety's sake, Evie kept her own chambers in the guest wing, though she spent fewer and fewer nights there of late.

She crossed the room to pull several pairs of socks out of Alistair's wardrobe. "Here. What else do you need?"

"Everything, probably," Alistair sighed. "I'm not usually this hopeless, I swear."

"Well, there's been a lot to think about," Evie said diplomatically, removing a stack of tunics and smallclothes. "Is—ah, is there anything you want to talk about?"

"The plan, you mean?" Alistair asked, deliberately obtuse. "I think it's quite a good one. You and I meet with the Grand Enchanter, Naia and Zevran do their lockpicking and find our obelisk, we leave as quickly as possible. Unless you wanted to do the lockpicking. I'm sure Naia would switch places with you."

"No, I'm happy to play the vapid diplomat. Maybe Fiona will be so dazzled by the Trevelyan name that she'll give us tours of everyone's personal quarters and someone will be keeping the obelisk on their bedstand." Evie placed the clothing into his trunk and looked up at him, arching one dark eyebrow. "Speaking of Fiona, how do you feel about seeing her?"

There was no avoiding this, I suppose. "Oh, marvelous. It will be splendid to catch up," Alistair said airily. "I've been regretting that we grew apart after she abandoned me as a baby."

He'd meant to leave it there, but of a sudden more words seemed to be bursting from his mouth of their own accord. "Do you know, she's still never said one word to me about any of it? She told Naia and then tried to swear her to secrecy." He laughed; the sound had no humor in it. "Naia gave her six months to tell me herself. I don't know why. After more than three decades of ignoring my existence, anyone could have told her that half a year wasn't going to make a difference."

That was the angriest he'd ever been with Naia—even angrier than after Isolde's death. He still couldn't help a flash of annoyance that Naia had waited to tell him, that she'd given Fiona another six months to hold her silence. But his friend was softhearted when it came to second chances.

"She might want to talk about it now," Evie suggested. "She must know that Naia has told you."

"Or she might think Naia kept her secret after all." He sighed. "I'm content to pretend I don't know. I don't—there isn't anything she could say. Or that I could say either, I suppose."

Evie twined her fingers through his. "I can't help but feel that she owes you the effort. But I see why it must not seem worth the trouble, after all these years."

Alistair squeezed her hand, absurdly grateful that she understood. "There were so many times when all I wanted in the world was a family. Maric wasn't going to win any prizes for being my father, but at least he tried now and again. Even after he died, she never ..."

"You were alone for so long," Evie finished. Her mouth turned down unhappily. "She could have changed that, and she didn't."

"I shouldn't complain too much. The Templars weren't much fun, but then I had the Wardens, and the people I met during the Blight." Alistair kissed her hand. "And now I have you."

Evie smiled and squeezed his hand, but something nervous flickered in her expression. Alistair's heart twisted. He almost asked her if she had been thinking more about marriage—but he did not want to pressure her.

She sensed the thought anyway. "Alistair, I want you to know ..." She swallowed and met his eyes. "I may not be ready, not yet—but I am yours. Never doubt it."

Alistair cupped her face in his right hand and gently brushed her cheek with his thumb. "Then I am very lucky indeed."

One day, he knew, that wouldn't be enough. But it's enough for now.