The Boy Who Would Be King

Chapter One

"Duncan!"

The boy skidded across the stones, whirling to look back at her with a hand already on the gate. He was grinning, delicate features flushed with the excitement of finally being out of doors, of being allowed down to the yard. But there was something almost impish there, knowing and chiding. Still he was young, but old enough now to find her exasperating.

"Not to worry, Your Majesty." The houndsmaster, too, was watching her now. "The mabari like him just fine. He's got a way with them, you could say. Not that I'm surprised."

"Thank you, Adin."

Still Duncan watched her, bouncing on the balls of his feet, eagerness barely restrained. His hair was growing long now, her same brilliant, autumn gold. His eyes, though, bore nothing of her darkness. They were hazel sometimes, sometimes grey, but always flecked with shifting gold. Now they sparkled, pleading, excited. She had to laugh.

"Go on then."

He was through the gate in a flash, already bending to the old hound as she made her way down the broad stone steps. The dress was new, fine and pressed and properly binding, though it was the shoes that plagued her most. She thought of Leliana, then. How had the woman been able to stand it? But there would be no asking her now; her friend had left long ago. Again the realization came heavy, the taste still bitter after all these years. The time for adventuring had passed. She was queen now and she had guests to entertain.

The chuckle was whispered, but she could feel herself stiffening. He sat behind her, deep in the shadow of the steps, one leg resting across the low garden wall.

"A new dress, is it not?"

Turning to meet that piercing grin, she couldn't help but smirk. "It is." Her hands fluttered now, smoothing, shifting across the bodice. She would think she would be used to it, those openly appraising eyes, the wicked quirk of his brow.

At her obvious discomfort, the elf only laughed. "It is... flattering to be sure. But it does not suit you."

"Tell me about it." She moved stiffly, smoothing the skirts beneath her to sit beside him. "It's for the welcoming. The delegates from Orlais."

"Ahh."

They fell to silence, then, but there was something old here, something familiar. Of all of their companions, he was the only one who had stayed. She had wondered at that for a while, was sure that Alistair wondered still but... She shook her head.

In the pen, Duncan was offering a thick lamb bone to one of the younger pups, Master Adin hovering protectively at this shoulder. There were others, ranging about their business in the yard, guards, mages, Wardens. She had never wanted him to feel suffocated, never trapped, but there had never been a choice, really. He was the heir of Ferelden, possibly possessed of the darkspawn taint, his very birth a miracle. Six years now and he had shown no sign, but already she could see the attention, the protectiveness wearing on him. He wanted to be free, and that he could never be.

The bone looked overlarge in his hand, still so small, so slight for his age. As he darted near, the mabari lunged close, sweeping a long, wet tongue over the length of his face. Duncan fell to giggling and she could hear Zevran chuckling beside her.

At that the boy looked up, grin splitting to mirror the elf's. "Uncle Zev!"

Zevran was on his feet, gliding to lean elbows on the fence with an easy grace. She was left to struggle behind, pushing awkwardly to her feet, again smoothing the stiff and unyielding skirts.

"Do you want to try, Uncle Zev?"

Again he laughed, running an affectionate hand along the boy's cheek. "Ahh, but I have never been able to abide the smell of dog. This whole country smells of it, in fact."