When Fate Summons (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

All I Ask of You

Thora had just put her seal on a message for the keep when she heard a commotion outside. She opened the window, peering out to find a group of men building a long table outside. "You down there," she called out. "Is this a feast day of some kind?"

One of the builders looked up. "Ah, it's you, my lady. Er, Commander. It's not every day Lothering hosts the King and the Hero of Ferelden. We'll be showin' you a proper celebration."

"Oh. Uh, thanks, then," she said. She hadn't been expecting that. And she wasn't sure she was in a particularly festive mood. The news from the Vigil was fine, but she missed it. Missed her duties, missed her office and training the younger Wardens. And Alistair was about to drive her crazy. He didn't do anything, but he looked at her. Those looks. The ones that made her want all the things she couldn't have.

She left the room, heading down the hall, and ended up in front of Alistair's door. Jens peered down at her. "I'm sorry, Commander," he said. "I'm not authorized to let you see the King in his chamber."

Frankly, Thora was relieved. The last thing she needed was to see Alistair alone in his room and she didn't know what had possessed her to try it. More out of curiosity than anything else, she asked, "Not authorized by whom?"
Jens looked uncomfortable. "I'm ... not authorized to say."

Dorothea, then, somehow. As though this whole trip was engineered to get Alistair into bed. Come to think of it, that's probably exactly what Dorothea thought. Thora sighed. "Thank you, Jens."

"Any message for the King?"

"Just tell him the citizens of Lothering are arranging a feast. And I'll expect him to make the speeches," she said tartly.

Jens grinned. "Yes, ser."

For lack of anywhere quieter to go, with all the bustle outside the inn, Thora went to the Chantry. She found a quiet corner, hoping that the last place anyone would look for a dwarf would be here in the shadows of Andraste's sanctuary, and sank down on her knees. The concern for her daughter was wearing on her. She could push it aside for a time, knowing they were doing all they could to find her, knowing that Flemeth had no reason to harm Anawyn, but she desperately missed the little girl who brought so much sunshine to her life, and she worried for her smart, sensitive child.

She didn't notice as the Chantry door opened again behind her. Alistair spotted the small figure immediately, and he paused, watching her, not sure if his presence would be an intrusion. He'd heard her voice outside his room and followed her here, concerned by the slump in her shoulders and the air of sadness that hung around her.

"Mother, do you believe in Andraste?" 4-year-old Anawyn was looking through a copy of the Chant as her father relaxed before a fire and her mother tried hard to look as though she was focusing on work.

"What a question. I suppose I do," Thora said. "At least, I believe there once lived a woman named Andraste who was, and is, very special to many people. She is certainly special to me."

"Father, do you believe in Andraste?"

"Most definitely," he said, thinking back to the snow-swept temple and the feeling of peace that had come over him as they stood together in front of the Maker's bride.

"But dwarves don't say the Chant," Anawyn said slowly.

"No. Dwarves worship the Stone we came from. It's where we get our strength. We're all connected to it, and through it, to each other."