Guarded Love (COMPLETED)

Naming Day

Half of Ferelden must have shown up for this damn thing, a fascinating array of body odors floating through the crowds shoving near his ramshackle dais. Someone took the time to nail up a flag to cover over the hole behind him, but in their haste barely notched it in. Alistair couldn't stop fiddling with the nail head sticking out towards him, when he wasn't waving to his citizens or switching the bundle of blankets from one arm to the other.

The chair beside him loomed in emptiness, every third or fourth person having to comment on the lack of the Queen. He'd smile as best he could, then offer up some cheery joke about how ol' Bea was off walking orphans or something. A few were kind enough to smile at their silly King, but more than most would linger over the silent seat. Maker, how much longer was this going to take?

Stubby fingers tugged on Alistair's scabbard, causing his sword to pitch backwards until it jammed against the chair. He glanced down at the moon faced girl with eyes of emeralds. She began the day with her black hair braided tight and wrapped around her head like a lady should. Within an hour she had half of it down with weeds she considered flowers jammed in. "I'm bored!" she pronounced, folding her arms across her chest. "I want to play."

Alistair had to bury a chuckle at his daughter's obstinance. He happened to agree with her, but this was tradition. "Spud," he warned in what passed for his father voice which couldn't even discipline a fly for falling into his soup. For his efforts he got the slow eye roll of a two and three quarters year old. She insisted upon the three quarters even if she was nearing a full four quarters with every day.

"Why don't you go curtsy to those men in shiny hats over there," he said pointing at a few of the city guards. Denerim was kind enough to loan out their crew for this little meet and greet. Their polished steel helmets poked through the crowd of coiffed men and women hoping to wave at the newest addition to the palace.

For her part, his daughter looked over at two of the guards standing in as much rapt attention people paid to do it could. He thought she'd take him up on it. Someone had been teaching the princess how to properly curtsy like a lady and Spud loved it, though her approach was to grab both sides of her dress, spin around in a circle, and then squat as far as her legs allowed. Sometimes she'd forget about the squatting part and spin and spin until nearly passing out. Being only two, this of course delighted the Arls and Banns who had to find everything the princess did absolutely adorable. This time, however, she pinched up her little nose and frowned.

"Don't want to," she said, kicking her fancy shoe into the chair that was supposed to house her mother.

Alistair bit back a groan then reached down for her. "Come up here," he said, tugging her up to the extra chair. Scrabbling with his help, Spud didn't sit down to watch the crowds still sliding in and out through the reception line. Instead, she stood up in it and reached for the banner behind.

"Your Highness," a voice whispered from behind him where a bevy of nurses, handmaidens, and other busybodies waited in case he screwed something up, "it isn't ladylike for a princess to stand on her chair."

Sighing, he whispered to Spud, "Pst, you're not being a lady."

"'S okay, I'm a dragon now," she insisted, before giving out her feral roar that might startle a kitten.

"Your Majesty," the voice insisted, all but jabbing him in the back of the head.

He shrugged, "Sorry, you can't tell dragons what to do." The woman groaned, used to dealing with Alistair's petulant ways, but another chuckled beside him. Glancing over, he spotted the smiling lips of a city guard. Dressed in the unitarian uniform that rendered all gender down to a faceless lump it was impossible for him to tell who was hiding inside that tin can, but by the giggle he'd guess a woman.