Alistair is left completely speechless for several long seconds, the warmth on his hand where Edie brushed it taking whatever little bits of his attention aren’t focused on watching her as she walks away. His head tilts slightly, then he shakes himself and peers over the balcony at Shianni’s laughing form.
“Oh, shut up,” he says with a good-natured growl. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”
“No shame in being smitten with your wife, your majesty,” she teases, and Alistair can’t help grinning.
“Right. I’ll be right down.”
He really is, though, and every little thing that Edie does to remind him that there might be hope for an actual relationship with her is impossible to ignore. He should, though. He knows he should. Getting hopeful could lead to heartache, and…
…and so what if it does? The idea stops him abruptly, and he pauses with his hand on a door handle. So what if he finds himself hopeful that Edie might care for him? So what if he imagines being in love and having it reciprocated? So what if he allows himself to be happy and to dream? He might be disappointed later if she doesn’t grow to care for him, but so what?
He’s lived a life of waiting, and hoping for better, and even when he’s been disappointed by events or people or even himself, it’s made him a better person for it. Stronger. Being disappointed in Eamon’s decision to send him to the monastery only began him on his journey to grow from a scared and selfish little boy into a young man, and he certainly has made something of himself now. Being disappointed by Loghain helped to give him the drive and determination to win the war and avenge his brother’s murder.
So what if he loves Edie and hopes that she’ll begin to love him back? Maybe she will. If she doesn’t, what harm will come of it? He’ll be disappointed. That will teach him to love unconditionally, and isn’t that the best quality a king can have? More importantly, that a man can have? He’ll be the sort of man that she’ll be able to be proud of, whether or not she loves him, and that’s all that really matters. He’ll do the right thing.
And he won’t forget how to hope. Won’t it be something if his hopes are realized?
He makes it outside with a grand smile on his face to match Shianni’s, and he puts a companionable arm around her shoulders as they head into the market. “Now, I need to figure out how to court the queen, and I think I have a plan…”
With Alistair gone one direction, Edelyn takes the precise opposite, her hands clasped loosely behind her back as she makes her way toward the Chantry. This is not the errand she imagined that Alistair wouldn't want to be present for, exactly, but it is a very personal one; of all their companions, she thinks that only Leliana had ever come close to holding the same sort of faith, or at least intensity of faith, as Edelyn herself does. She knows Alistair is a man of faith, and that is something she would like to discuss with him one day, if only to see if he would enjoy accompanying her to the Chantry from time to time. She finds that she would... like that, and can't help the small smile as she considers the idea of it.
Perhaps, she thinks, pausing at a market stall to admire the merchant's wares, fingertips brushing against the hilt of a particularly beautiful blade. Zevran would appreciate it, she thinks, and spends a few moments discussing its craft with the smith, almost wistful for a time when she would have counted out the coin to purchase it and offer it to her friend.
That life is behind her now, and while it would have seemed impossible during the Blight to imagine that she would ever miss it, she finds that she does somewhat. Not the experience itself, though she cannot wholly disregard that either, but certain aspects of it --
Well, she misses a great deal from her past. But she's spent more than enough time wallowing in that, hasn't she? Even Alistair had been forced to point it out to her, to remind her that she needed to address her grief and loss and not simply pine for it and bury it in equal measure. She does end up buying the blade, tucking it against her side as she thanks the merchant and walks away. It will make a fine gift for Zevran when she meets him on the road.
Thinking of as much, and of the journey she will very soon need to make, knots her stomach up tight, and her impatience with herself grows. This cowardice is new to her, and not worthy of the woman she was raised to be, she knows, but the small, sickly feeling that wells up in her each time she thinks of returning to Highever will not be denied. It shames her that she wants to run from it, to bury herself behind treaties and requisitions and the duties of her new station to avoid the duties she knows she owes herself, enough so that even if she is not ready to face her family home, she knows that she must.
So much of her life could be summed up by such a statement -- even if I am not ready, I know that I must be. -- and she does not regret that. Rather, thinking of it in such terms brings her a welcome, strange sort of comfort; she feels closer to the person she used to be, the person she almost lost during the Blight, than she has for a very long time.
The bulk of the coin she'd brought out with her goes to the Chantry, and she spends a few moments with the Revered Mother discussing the city's progress and what more she can do to help. Though Edelyn does not make it down to the Chantry every day, she comes often enough now that it takes very little time at all. Her donation is more substantial than usual, and she explains it by telling Mother Josephine that she will soon be traveling to Highever; the other woman takes her hands and kisses her cheek, wishing her well, and Edelyn's throat is tight from the care in the gesture. She excuses herself shortly after, making quick work of the rest of her errands, and it is only when her arms are full and she is approaching the castle again that she realizes she didn't precisely make plans on where to meet Alistair.
A servant meets her in the courtyard, eager to unburden her and a little amused, no doubt, by the variety in trinkets that she brought back. "To your room, Your Majesty?"
"Please, all except... This." She plucks a paper-wrapped package from the top of the stack, weighing it in her hand with a small smile. "Thank you, Rayne. Have you seen my errant husband?"
"I have not," she replies apologetically, though her lips twitch in half an attempt at a smile. "I will make sure word gets to him that you are looking for him, though," she adds on a curtsy, turning to head into the castle.
Without any actual direction to follow, Edelyn turns toward the stables, the wrapped package tucked carefully in her arm. He'd mentioned something about riding, earlier, and it is as good a lead to follow as any.
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