[Past] One step foward

It wasn’t every day that saw him bent over his sprawling desk, squinting at lines of neat, precise writing — oh wait, yes it was. Yes it was that every morning and afternoon and evening he had free was spent just doing exactly that. Even better was when he didn’t have any free time and was trying to read this unintelligible chicken scrawl while on a a horse. Or walking. Or even eating. Alastair was actually surprised that they didn’t try to make him read and sign and plan and all of that while he was asleep.

Wouldn’t that be extra fun?

To think, he was actually starting to miss the Deep Roads and Oghren’s smell. He’d gladly walk himself to Orzammar and head on down while being called a Pike Twirler. He hated the throne. He hated the legacy he was supposed to embrace and rise up to. And since he was being honest, he downright despised being here simply because he was the last Theirin! Something, mind you, that was kept a secret until it was damn well convenient to be brought to light.

Grumbling, he took a drink of his juice and rubbed at his eyes. Trade with Antiva. Maker’s Breath, how was he supposed to know what would work and what wouldn’t? The first Antivian he’d actually met had tried to kill him at first. Maybe he should open off negotiations with a duel or something…

By the time one of the messengers reached him, Alastair had long since put his head on the desk. No, he was fine. No, he didn’t want the healers. He nearly jumped out of his chair though, head coming up as the message—

She’s here and you’re making her wait? Yes see her in, she’s the Hero of Ferelden, not some stranger off the street! He frowned then, pushing past the spluttering man. Nevermind the messenger, he was going to meet Elanna and formally invite her into the damn castle in the whole damn nation that she helped save.

There she was!

See here, I’m inviting her to enter so there. And with that announcement, Alastair swept her up into a giant hug. Maker, it’s good to see you.