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bluerose5 · 1 year

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Revelation

Word Count: 3,448

Summary: Alistair finds out the truth about his parentage.

He takes it about as well as one would expect.

~~~

"I had a feeling that I would find you here."

Dazed as he was, the abrupt intrusion of another’s voice startled Darrian back into a state of awareness. His finger struck a sour chord upon his lute, an old gift given to him by Leliana after the Fifth Blight.

He glanced up and caught sight of Alistair, leaning against the entrance to his study.

A flickering fire crackled close by. Its orange glow danced against the backdrop of darkness. Shadows whispered playfully to each other with glee as golden light caressed the lines of Alistair's face, bringing out the warmer tones of light brown skin.

Darrian stared at him. His body grew warm, but not only because of the heat that emanated from the flames.

Memories from the last time they were alone together teased at his mind, and his heart raced.

After a moment, deft fingers continued to pluck at the strings to form a song. This time, slower, more alluring.

"Well, you found me," Darrian agreed. Bright yellow eyes pierced through the night, reflecting the light when hit at just the right angle. "Question is, what are you going to do with me, now that you've found me?"

Alistair cleared his throat, then stepped forward into the room.

"I'm still trying to figure that one out," he said, sheepish as he approached. "So many options…"

When he trailed off, Darrian laughed under his breath.

"I might have an idea in mind."

"Just the one?" Alistair whispered, tender yet reverent.

Each word held the weight of a prayer.

Darrian’s heart sang in delight.

"Maybe more than one," Darrian allowed. Then, he shrugged. "How the rest of the night goes will determine if you find out what they are."

"I'll keep that in mind," Alistair said, taking a seat at his side.

"You'll get your fancy clothes dirty," Darrian warned.

"Ha! As if Mistress Virdan would ever allow even a single speck of dirt on the floors in her household!"

"Point taken," Darrian chuckled.

They settled in at each other's side, snuggled up to one another by the fire.

Darrian continued to play his lute while Alistair stared down at him, as if he had hung the moons and the stars in the sky himself. Elvish lyrics flowed free from his lips, lamenting all that was lost to the past while preserving hope for a better future.

Alistair combed his fingers through brown hair, pressing a kiss to Darrian’s temple.

His lips lingered, but he waited for Darrian's song to trail off before speaking. Tender words caressed warm skin.

"You're so beautiful," he breathed.

Darrian glanced over to meet honey brown eyes.

"So are you."

When Alistair responded by clearing his throat, Darrian asked about it.

“Something wrong?”

“I, uh—” Alistair stammered, then chuckled nervously. He glanced elsewhere, anywhere, unable to maintain eye contact. “It’s just that not many people call me that, you know. Strong or handsome, maybe, but I don’t hear ‘beautiful’ too often.”

Darrian tsked. “What a shame.”

He set his lute aside to angle himself more towards Alistair, right before he tossed a leg over his lap to straddle him. Wrapping his arms around his neck, he pressed his forehead against his, each word whispered into the space between them.

“I mean, you are those things,” Darrian praised. “Strong and handsome.” He toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. “But you’re also beautiful, smart, compassionate…”

Alistair shivered in delight, coaxing a smirk from Darrian.

“You don’t say.”

“On the contrary, I do say so,” Darrian teased, rewarding him with a sweet, albeit brief, peck. “And I’m always right.”

“Always, my love,” Alistair readily agreed, clever man that he was.

This time, they both closed the distance, sealing their lips into a kiss.

Darrian didn’t even so much as look up. With a casual wave of his hand, a blast of force magic slammed against the doors, effectively closing them to give the couple some much-needed privacy.

Alistair hummed as they broke the kiss. “Show-off.”

“As if you’re not impressed,” Darrian responded.

After a moment, Alistair conceded.

“Okay, yeah, that was pretty impressive.”

“Uh-huh.” And because he couldn’t resist, Darrian gave him one last peck before he got to his feet. “Stay here.”

“Must I?” Alistair widened his eyes, bottom lip poked out into an exaggerated pout.

When he grabbed Darrian’s hand, Darrian raised an eyebrow at him, amused.

“Yes, you must,” he answered. He slipped free from Alistair’s hold with ease, approaching the large, ornate desk. “I have something for you.”

“A gift?” Alistair questioned, incredulous. “Darrian, you didn’t have to.”

“But I did,” he stated, leaving no room for argument. “Besides, I didn’t spend a single copper on it.” He wrenched open one of the drawers, then dug around inside. “It’s a family heirloom.”

Carefully, he lifted out an expensive, silk cloth, which he brought over for Alistair to see. Kneeling at his side, he unfolded the edges to reveal a necklace that matched the one currently around Darrian’s neck.

Tiny links of silverite were infused with threads of bright light that bore the markings of the Beyond. Touched by the Fade, the necklace's very essence pulsed with power and magic alike. A large, uncut gem formed the piece's pendant. And within that gem, there laid a rune that glowed like fire.

Multiple shades of purple, pink, blue, and orange swirled together in a chaotic inferno.

Darrian offered it out to Alistair, lips parted around a shaky breath.

"In some cultures, they call this the Dragon's Eye, a special form of sending crystal. It has been passed down throughout my family for generations, ever since the fall of the Dales and possibly since Arlathan itself, or so they say," Darrian explained. "During the time of the Dales, my ancestors used it to communicate over long distances. They would use it to speak to each other, yes, but it also exchanged so much more than that. Experiences, emotions, thoughts, and memories."

Darrian swallowed thickly.

"You know, in my mother's family, relationships of three were always viewed as typical, expected. The mind, the body, and the soul. There is an imbalance without one or the other. I have one necklace." He reached up to cradle his own gem, then released it. "Zevran has the other, and now I want you to have the last."

Alistair gaped at him.

"Darrian, I—" Not even taking into account the cultural significance amongst elves, Alistair knew well enough that Darrian viewed the value of jewelry through the eyes of his Rivaini heritage. Each piece was meaningful, symbolic of one's status and connections. "I don't know what to say."

"That's easy," Darrian laughed, although with a slight tremor to his voice. "Say that you'll accept."

Alistair felt his heart hammering away in his chest, but his encouragement was all that he needed to nod in agreement.

"Of course I will. Here." He turned so that his back was to him. "Mind putting it on for me?"

"I'd be happy to."

Reaching around him, Darrian fixed the necklace's position, then clasped it into place around his neck. Once he released it, the pendant fell down against Alistair's chest. He grabbed the stone and appraised its weight within the palm of his hand.

Darrian embraced Alistair from behind, his chest to Alistair's back, as they both stared down at the gem together.

"How does it work?" Alistair wondered.

"It's activated by a special phrase," Darrian said.

Brushing his lips along the shell of Alistair’s ear, he whispered it to him, but he tried to warn Alistair before he got his hopes up.

"Just don't be surprised if nothing happens." Not that his words stopped Alistair from immediately repeating it. "It's only supposed to work for…"

Darrian trailed off in shock, blinking owlishly at the now-glowing stone.

Maybe—Maybe it was a delay. From when Darrian said the phrase, but it never did that before. Never, not once. The response was always instant.

Alistair, oblivious to his sudden distress, beamed over his shoulder at Darrian, only to freeze when he caught sight of his expression.

Darrian looked as if he was going to be ill.

Turning towards him, Alistair took him by the shoulders.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, the necklace forgotten as he took Darrian’s face between his hands. "What happened?"

"Say the phrase again," Darrian instructed, not once looking away from that glowing light.

"Wh–What?" Alistair stuttered, caught off guard by the strange request. "What does the necklace have to do with—"

"Just do it," Darrian pleaded. "Please. Trust me, okay?"

Taking a second to consider, Alistair lifted the Dragon's Eye up into his hand again.

This time, when he recited the phrase, the light was snuffed out like a flame.

Okay, so that disproved his theory about the delay.

Darrian struggled to come to terms with that.

"Will you tell me what's going on now?" Alistair asked. "Don't keep me in the dark here. What? Is it the necklace? Do you want it back? Are you having second thoughts? Because you know that I would never pressure you into parting with something so speci—"

When he started to take it off, Darrian reached out and placed his hand over his, stopping him in his tracks.

"Alistair, that's not—" Shaking his head, Darrian choked on the words, at a loss for what to say. "Alistair, the necklace only responds to those of elven blood. Its magic was specifically attuned to elves."

A beat of silence followed before he could finally respond, Alistair's expression one of disbelief.

"What?" he scoffed, eyes narrowed in response. "You're joking with me, right?"

Darrian tried not to get offended by that, realizing what a shock this was to them both.

Realizing how his words might have come across, Alistair quickly backtracked, "Sorry. Not that there's anything wrong with being elven, but you're being serious right now, aren't you?"

"Why would I even joke about that with you?" Darrian retorted. "I was just about to tell you not to expect the phrase to work, specifically because I thought you were a full-blooded human."

Alistair winced.

Clenching his jaw, he got to his feet and stormed off into the hallway. The door to the study crashed against the wall, Darrian hot on his heels.

"Where are you going?" Darrian demanded, refusing to leave his side. "Ali!"

"I need to know for sure," he grunted. "I trust you, I do, but I—" He pinched at the bridge of his nose with a frustrated growl, his gait quick yet determined. "I need to be certain."

He took a sharp turn into the kitchens, where several servants still lingered, enjoying their fill of food and liquor.

As soon as Alistair burst into the room, their conversations came to an abrupt halt. They jumped down from their perches upon the counters, wide-eyed with fear and shock.

"Your Majesty," a young, human man greeted with a bow. "What, uh— How can we be of service this fine evening?"

"I don't care about you enjoying your free time in here," Alistair assured them. He all but snatched the necklace off in his hurry to unclasp it. "All I ask is a favor. Here."

He grabbed the man by the hand and pressed the stone into his palm.

The others —with an older, elven woman amongst them— glanced nervously at Darrian.

"Alistair," Darrian chided. "You're scaring them."

"Just give me a second, please," he begged them, now frantic. Once again, he returned his attention to the man. "Repeat after me."

Confused by this unusual turn of events, the servant did as his King commanded.

When Alistair spoke the phrase aloud, both his and Darrian’s necklaces emanated an undeniable glow. However, when the man repeated his words, they didn't react in the slightest.

Grumbling to himself, Alistair snatched up the gemstone then approached the elven woman, who tensed once he drew nearer.

Alistair took a deep breath, his voice soft and gentle.

"Please, if you don't mind," he said, "take this necklace and say the exact same words that your companion here just did."

Searching Alistair's gaze for any signs of deception, the elven woman eventually took pity on him and grabbed the chain from his hand. Slowly, deliberately, she enunciated each word to perfection.

Both necklaces didn't hesitate to respond, each light dying out quickly.

No one, except for Darrian and Alistair, seemed to realize the significance of what had happened.

Trapped in a daze, Alistair mindlessly thanked them, stumbling his way out of the kitchens.

Darrian smiled sheepishly at those gathered.

"As you were," he told them.

He retrieved the necklace from the servant and chased after Alistair, but the latter had only barely regained his senses by the time Darrian caught up to him.

Matching his stride, Darrian followed his lead.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

For the longest time, even Alistair didn't know.

Then, out of nowhere, he stopped in the middle of a corridor.

His expression darkened. Rage simmered within his eyes.

He turned on his heel without warning, storming off in the library's direction.

"Alistair…" Darrian trailed off, cautious about his next move. "Talk to me."

"We'll talk soon," he promised. "Right now, I need to pay someone a visit."

As soon as he entered the library, understanding dawned on Darrian.

Eamon glanced up from the book he was reading, curious about all the commotion.

Darrian closed the doors behind them before the yelling could start.

"Were you ever going to tell me the truth?!" Alistair snapped, to which Eamon raised a brow in question.

Slowly, he closed his book and set it aside.

"The truth about what, exactly?" Eamon asked, eyeing Darrian with disdain.

"Oh, don't play dumb." Alistair sneered. "I doubt it was from the Theirin line. No, no, no. They're too prideful to let something like that slip, which leaves my mother."

"What about her?" Eamon got to his feet but ultimately kept his distance. "Alistair, you already know the truth. You're not making any sense."

Now, that tore through the remnants of Alistair's patience.

Everything was happening too fast. Usually, Darrian was the one in charge, but the whole world had been turned upside-down. Nothing made sense. Everything was out of control.

Usually, it was Alistair who had to hold Darrian back from acting on violent impulses, not the other way around.

Alistair took a threatening step forward, but Darrian acted on instinct, fast enough to insert himself between him and Eamon.

He placed his hands on Alistair's chest, which got him to stop at least, but he didn't once look away from Eamon.

"Really, Uncle?" Alistair let out a bitter laugh. "So, what? The fact that I'm—" He paused as he processed the truth. Unshed tears glistened in his eyes. "That I'm elf-blooded conveniently never came up before?"

Eamon pursed his lips, then glared at Darrian.

"You," he spat. "You're the one behind this, filling his head with this–this nonsense!"

Alistair interrupted before Darrian could muster up a reply.

"Don't. Don't you dare blame this whole mess on him!" Alistair tried to lunge forward, and it was a pure miracle that Darrian managed to keep them apart. He dug his feet into the floor, sweat beading at his hairline. "All these years have been nothing but lies. Is my mother even dead?"

Eamon's silence was answer enough.

Instead of confirming or denying, however, he tried to shift the attention —and the blame— elsewhere.

"It was your mother's decision," he eventually said, "to keep the truth from you. She did not want your elven heritage to… hinder you."

"That shouldn't have been up to her. I deserved the truth!"

"Maric’s wishes were always to respect her choice on that matter. I was one of the select few who had access to that knowledge. I promised to keep it to myself, and I would not go back on my word."

"Of course not," Alistair said. "Not when it could prove to be an inconvenience to you and your ambitions. Because, let's be honest, your loyalty has always been about preserving Ferelden's archaic traditions and your precious fucking bloodlines. If I had not been a Theirin, would any of you have even spared me a second thought?"

When he didn't immediately answer outright, Alistair grunted.

"Thought not."

Darrian swallowed past the lump in his throat.

He wasn't one to run away from confrontation, but his head was spinning like mad.

They needed to get away, take a second to catch their breath.

"Alistair, come on," he whispered. "Let's just go."

Something he said, perhaps the sheer informality with which he addressed their king, got under Eamon's skin.

Finally, he snapped.

He rushed forward and grabbed ahold of Darrian’s wrist, yanking him towards him.

"This is all your fault!"

He raised his hand to strike a blow, but it never came.

In the blink of an eye, Alistair had shoved him back against the bookshelves, his forearm pinned against his throat.

His expression was absolutely murderous, seething with a rage that threatened to boil over at the drop of a hat.

He leaned in and whispered, his voice quiet yet dangerous.

"Get out of my castle, or else."

Eamon sputtered, but the fool was determined to have his say.

"That elf of yours is poisoning your mind against what is right." He wheezed out past the growing pressure upon his throat. "And you're letting him."

"That's no longer your concern." After great effort, Alistair released him, jerking his chin in the direction of the door. "Get out of my sight."

"Nephew," Eamon protested. "I—"

"Leave," Alistair snarled. "Now!"

Apparently, even Eamon knew when not to press his luck.

He scampered out of the room, his hand at his throat.

Bruises were already blossoming in their wake.

Darrian used his magic to shut the door behind him.

Left alone together, Alistair backed himself up against a wall and slowly sank to the floor.

He buried his head into his hands.

When Darrian approached him, Alistair rubbed his hands down his face with an exhausted groan.

He glanced up at Darrian in concern.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Darrian knelt at his side.

"Pretty sure that I should be asking you that."

"Right," Alistair said, "but seriously, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Good." He blew out a shaky breath. "That's good, at least."

Rather than fill the silence with empty talk, Darrian offered him his presence instead. He snuggled up to his side, clinging to him as if his very life depended on it, his head upon Alistair's shoulder.

He waited for Alistair to speak, patiently awaiting the moment when he was ready.

After several minutes, he whispered, "I know that it shouldn't change much of anything. I'm still me, after all, but still…"

"It changes everything," Darrian finished for him.

Alistair simply nodded in agreement.

"Yeah." He turned to Darrian. "Surely, you have an opinion about all of this."

"I do."

"And?"

"And what?"

"What do you think?"

Darrian shrugged.

"You're the first person of elven blood to rule in Thedas throughout recent history. Of course I have opinions, but I cannot—" He corrected himself. "I will not allow my emotions to cloud my judgment about this. No matter how you feel about the role now, I had a hand in you becoming king. Back then, I put my own desire for vengeance ahead of what you wanted at the time."

They locked eyes, all of the air in the room leaving in one fell swoop.

"I won't let that happen again," Darrian said. "You have options. You could keep the truth hidden. You could go public with it. I could fix up a sort of phylactery to find your mother. It doesn't matter. Whatever you want, I will support you fully."

Alistair considered that.

Soon enough, he turned his back to him.

"May I have my necklace back, my love?"

Darrian’s heart skipped a beat.

He made quick work of fastening it into place again. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his throat.

As they settled down, side-by-side yet again, Alistair held his head high with pride.

"You're right, you know. I have options laid out in front of me now." Reaching out between them, he placed his hand on top of Darrian’s. He gave it a firm squeeze. "But I won't hide who I truly am."

Darrian turned his hand over, and they laced their fingers together.

"If anyone wants to take everything that we've built away from me, away from us, all because I'm of elven blood…"

Alistair lowered his voice in warning.

"Then I'd like to see them try."

#dragon age #dragon age origins #darrian tabris #alistair theirin #male warden #king alistair #hardened alistair #aliwarden #alistair x tabris #bluerose writes

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