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"He wants to talk to me now?" Alistair crossed his arms and lifted his brow in surprise.
The new Warden nodded wordlessly, likely still reeling from their Joining. It had felt a little cruel to perform the Joining so soon before the battle, but darkspawn waited for no one. Last he'd heard there were two hours left before the horde reached Ostagar, in the small hours of the night. When Alistair looked to Duncan, casting about for a less childish way to ask if he had to go, his commander gave him a firm look. So much for sneaking in a quick nap.
With a frustrated sigh, Alistair brushed his hands through his hair and stalked toward the king's tent. He couldn't imagine why the man wanted to speak to him. Had he heard about how Alistair had told the new Warden that Loghain was the one "keeping the lid on the pot"? If so, he wasn't going to apologize—everyone knew it was true. Anora ruled, Loghain strategized, and Cailan did fuck all. Literally.
Or so he'd heard from men deep in their cups.
When his guard announced Alistair and held open the tent flap for him, he ducked inside with a frown. Inside Cailan stood before a tall looking glass while an attendant buffed his golden armor. Seeing Alistair in the reflection, he motioned for the attendant to stop.
"Leave us," he commanded softly, and the elven woman bowed before scurrying off. Cailan smoothed a hand over his hair as he turned to regard Alistair for a moment. "Do you know who I am?"
"Is this a trick question?" Alistair jested. Maybe it wasn't the best time to joke around, but what was he supposed to say?
"I mean," Cailan clarified, "do you know who I am to you?"
For a moment Alistair felt like he was ten years old again in Eamon's study, being told sternly that even though his father was a very important man, he was to get no ideas of grandeur in his head. It would be a "very bad thing" for Ferelden if he got any bright ideas in his head, Eamon had said, as if Alistair even knew what that meant. All he'd really known in that moment was a twinge of anger; if his father was the king, why was he sleeping a hay loft and shoveling horse dung?
As he'd grown up and gotten an education in the monastery he'd understood it better. Ferelden was only recently liberated from Orlais; a war of succession would cripple the already shaky country. He was a prince who would spend his life in service to his country one way or another, but never at its head. That was fine with him. Maybe he wanted a family - maybe he envied the boys who had families to write home to - but he'd been shown his place.
"Does it matter? I'm a Grey Warden. I fight darkspawn."
"I was glad to hear you'd found your place." Cailan moved next to a small writing desk, his fingers trailing over a piece of parchment. "Becoming a Warden was admirable; I'm actually quite jealous."
"Yes, it's all rainbows and sunshine."
Cailan chuckled. "You're funny. Good. I feared you'd hate me."
"I don't think anything of you," Alistair sniffed.
"Fair enough," Cailan reasoned, spreading his hands in a bit of surrender. "When I heard you were in the Warden camp I envisioned us riding into battle, side by side, and how happy that would have made our father. The Theirin blood casting down the darkspawn, just as it should be."
Alistair crossed his arms and shifted his weight uncomfortably, wondering where Cailan was going. He didn't think he was going to like it. Something in Cailan's eyes made his stomach tie itself into knots.
"Of course, that's inadvisable since I have no heir." Cailan paced back to his mirror, preening. "So I've given the order to your Warden-Commander—you will light the beacon in Ishal to signal Loghain's troops to flank the bastard."
Alistair started to object, but Cailan held up a hand that kept him to an undignified splutter.
"If I fall, you will be king. I have decreed it."
"That's absurd," Alistair scoffed. "I refuse."
Again Cailan chuckled. "You can't refuse a royal decree, brother."
"Then un-decree it or whatever," Alistair shot back.
"No."
"I don't know the first thing about running a country." Alistair ran his hands through his hair in frustration. Cailan had lost his mind. "Eamon would be far better suited."
"Eamon will advise you." Cailan spoke to him as if he were discussing the weather, not the fate of a country. "Take Anora as a queen, she's good at it and she isn't hard on the eyes. A bit dull in bed, but there are ways around that. I can recommend some discrete women who are very good at what they do. Once you're comfortable, put her aside and take whatever queen you want."
Alistair's jaw hung open; he'd actually been rendered speechless.
"I won't see the throne fall from Theirin hands, not so soon after we got it back. And the fact that you aren't educated like a noble? It's perfect, really. You aren't hampered by old ideas like Loghain, or even Eamon."
As Cailan paced the tent, Alistair wasn't sure if the king was fully aware of his surroundings, he was so wrapped up in his speech.
"Think of it, brother," Cailan went on. "What if we were to ally with Orlais? The old guard is still too hurt to consider it, but we could be a force. We could push back the Alamarri and the Nevarrans together."
"Because that went so well the last time."
"You're thinking of the occupation. I'm talking about a true alliance—equal footing."
Cailan's eyes were bright with passion when he looked at Alistair, and the Warden wasn't sure how to react or what to say. Politics weren't his thing, but he knew enough to know it would ruffle a lot of feathers, and that was putting it generously. He didn't want to be in a position to even have to consider it. All he was good at was swinging a sword.
"Just listen to Eamon, you'll be fine." Cailan waved his hand dismissively. "In any case, it won't matter. In a few hours we'll be victorious, the darkspawn horde will be crushed, and we'll be celebrating."
"Right." Alistair drew out the word and did his best to keep his skepticism hidden.
"I look forward to getting to know you afterward. I'm sure you have plenty of exciting tales to regale me with."
Since he didn't think he could say "no, thank you," he tried to deflect. "I only just started."
"Well, they don't have to all be conquests of the battlefield." Cailan winked at him and then laughed.
If it was meant to be a joke, it went flying over Alistair's head.
"In any case, I'm glad you haven't lost your sense of humor. Duncan's so serious sometimes." Cailan shook his head with a rueful smile. "You're dismissed, brother. I'll kill some darkspawn in your name, and father's."
When Cailan turned away from him, the guard who had ushered Alistair in was at his side, gesturing for him to leave. There was so much more he wanted to say - points he wanted to make - but once again what he wanted didn't matter. Becoming a Warden had been the only choice he had made for himself in almost twenty years of life, yet he was being sidelined from even that.
Would the day ever come when he would be his own man?