Unforgettable

A New Divine

Alistair unpacked in his rooms, thinking how much more familiar they felt than his much more palatial version in the palace in Denerim. He had never bothered redecorating—in truth, he had never felt it was his place. To him, it was still Cailan's bedroom he was sleeping in, and even though he disliked the garish furnishings his brother had chosen, he would have felt ghoulish replacing them.

Here, the decorations were more tasteful, the furnishing plain but of good quality. He knew Josephine was unhappy that he wouldn't accept the larger suite kept for the most important guests, but he had pointed out to her, firmly, how thoroughly all those nice things would be lost on him and how much more the Inquisition needed to impress the next noble to ride in than it did him. She had at last acquiesced, and now he had his couple of comfortable rooms to spread out in, no better than any other minor dignitary.

A knock sounded at the door, and Panos came in, carrying a stack of messages that had arrived during their absence at Halamshiral.

Alistair groaned. "Already?"

"Apparently they have been arriving steadily all the time we were away, Your Majesty."

"Of course they have. All from Teagan?"

Panos riffled through the stack, then nodded.

"Give me the most recent one, then."

Alistair ripped it open and scanned the lines in Teagan's fine handwriting. It was growing a touch straggly here and there, he noticed. His uncle was getting older. It made him sad—Teagan had always been the one with a sense of humor, the one to notice the disgrace that was Alistair and make him feel as though maybe he wasn't the worst thing that had ever happened to Redcliffe. And now he was increasingly stuffy and angry and querulous.

The letter held all of those things, along with a stern lecture on Alistair's laxity in having dropped all his responsibilities into Teagan's lap, and a hint that if he came home with a bride—finally—all would be forgiven.

"As if he really wants me back," Alistair said bitterly. "He's much happier running the country by himself than he would be if I were there bumbling around and getting in his way."

Panos observed a discreet silence, as Alistair had expected he would, and Alistair sighed and sat down behind his desk to compose a reply.

Dear Uncle,

Got your letter. Am sorry you feel overwhelmed. Spoke to Celene; she seems well and isn't dead, which was the goal. Still not marrying her. Also, not coming back to Denerim. Defeating Corypheus is the most important task facing Thedas right now, and the Inquisition can use the help. Actual help, with swords, that I'm good at, not face-saving help, with pens, that I'm awful at. You're better at that than I am, you have the royal seal and my permission to use it, and we both know that you'd much rather I wasn't hovering over your shoulder asking a thousand questions all the time.

As always, I'm sorry to have failed to live up to your expectations. It's the only thing I've ever really managed to do, though, so I'd think you would be used to it by now.

Your very apologetic nephew,

Alistair

He sealed the letter and handed it off to Panos, who bowed and took it to be mailed. Alistair leaned back in his chair and sighed. He had told Teagan the whole truth, as far as it went, but how to tell him that he didn't think he ever wanted to go back to Denerim at all? Could he even do that? Was it allowed? He didn't know.

In response to a summons from Josephine, Thule knocked on her office door. When he opened it, he found a Revered Mother, one he had never seen before, in the visitor's chair. She nodded at him as he came in. "Inquisitor."