Chapter Text
The door to the king’s chambers burst open, and the Orlesian suitor came storming in, a large chunk of his clothes missing.
“I've never been so insulted!“ He spat, continuing to the exit on the other side of the room.
“Oh, Prince Anton. You're not leaving so soon, are you?“ Eamon ask resignedly, already knowing the answer.
“Good luck marrying him off!” And the suitor was gone.
“Oh, Alistair!” The King sighed in exasperation.
“Alistair! Alistair!”
Alistair heard his adopted father calling him, and knew what was coming.
He turned as he heard Duncan growl. Eamon was playing tug of war with him, trying to get a piece of that ponce’s cloth out of his mouth. Eamon eventually won, but not without nearly falling over.
“Confound it, Duncan! So, this is why Prince Anton stormed out!“
“Oh, father. Duncan was just playing with him, weren't you Duncan.“ Alistair cooed, scratching the mabari thoroughly under the chin.
In a quieter tone, he continued, “You were just playing with that overdressed, self-absorbed Prince Anton, weren't you?“
Alistair glanced up to see Eamon’s angry expression settled on him.
“Ahem.”
“Oops.” He muttered, looking off to the side contritely.
“Alistair, you've got to stop rejecting every suitor that comes to call. The law says you...”
Alistair was too familiar with this song and dance not to know the next words.
“...must be married.” He finished, standing up and walking over to the pigeon carrier’s cage, leaving Duncan to rest after his bit of fun.
“By your next birthday.” Eamon felt the need to add.
“The law is wrong.” Alistair stated boldly, unlatching the cage.
“You've only got three more days!” Eamon bemoaned, seeming not to have heard him.
“Father, I hate being forced into this.” Alistair took a pigeon out and stroked its head gently with the back of his knuckles. It cooed and leaned into his touch. “If I do marry, I want it to be for love.”
“Alistair, it's not only this law. I'm not going to be around forever, and I just want to make sure you're taken care of, that you have someone there for you like I have Isolde.”
Alistair turned to put the pigeon away so Eamon wouldn’t see his scowl at the mention of Eamon’s wife.
She hated him, thought he was Eamon’s bastard even though everyone knew about Maric by now. Any time she caught sight of him, she wouldn’t openly sneer, no, it was this subtle twisting of the lips as if she smelled something rotten. And she kept trying to get him to sleep with the dogs, saying that he snored (even though their rooms were far apart), smelled after training (who wouldn’t?) and was too loud in everything he did (he was only walking and eating like a normal person!). The only good thing about her was her young son, Connor. Unfortunately, Alistair didn’t get to see him often as Isolde kept them apart.
Eamon laughed off the complaints like they were a joke, but Alistair knew the truth. She just plain didn’t want him around, coming between them. She was probably glad to see him rejecting so many suitors, hoping that Eamon would eventually get tired of it and disown him or something.
Alistair turned and walked back over to the fountain, sitting on the edge.
“Try to understand. I've never done a thing on my own, besides training with the guards, and you won’t let me do more than that. Besides, they treat me like glass and let me win.” Alistair ran a finger across the surface of the pond, startling a fish nearby.
“I've never had any real friends.” He paused as Duncan looked up at him and huffed. “Except you, Duncan.” The mabari’s eyes closed again, satisfied. “I've never even been outside the castle walls.”
Not that he hadn’t tried, but the guards (specifically, the man who was his mabari’s namesake) knew him all too well and caught him every time.
“But Alistair, you're a prince. It’s too dangerous for you to fight. What if something were to happen to you?” Eamon fretted.
“There’s Connor, isn’t there?”
“We’ve talked about this, Alistair. You have Maric’s blood, and are the rightful prince and heir.”
“Well maybe I don't want to be a prince anymore.” Alistair disturbed the water with an angry splash of his hand.
“Ooh!” Eamon groaned in frustration, throwing up his hands and looking down at Duncan. “Maker forbid you should have any children!“
Duncan snuffled in question as the king stalked off.
Alistair stomped over to the bird cage angrily and threw open the latch, but the birds just cooed at him in confusion. They didn’t know any other life than the cage, and didn’t know what was being offered. Alistair just stood there, hand still on the cage door, staring back at them dejectedly.
Alistair waited until the household fell silent as everyone settled in for the night. He’d already slipped on the plain clothes that he’d snatched up from the laundry room. He tip-toed through the house, avoiding all the creaks and weak places expertly until he was outside, listening and watching carefully for signs of any guards (who should all be sleeping after a regularly scheduled meeting earlier) or stragglers, before making his way over to a tree he’d played on as a child.
As he went to climb it, a tug on the back of his clothes caught his attention. It was Duncan, staring plaintively up at him.
“Oh, I'm sorry, Duncan. But I can't stay here and have my life lived for me. I'll miss you.” Alistair reached out and hugged him one-armed, the other going around to scratch the mabari behind the ear. He would genuinely miss his faithful companion. He’d had him ever since the Captain of the Guard had gifted him to him when he was a child. The older man had found it amusing when Alistair had named the mabari often him right on the spot.
He shook himself out of his reminiscing and started to climb. Duncan sat back and whined.
“Take care of father, boy!”
Alistair disappeared over the wall and towards freedom.