"Thank the Maker." Alistair breathes as he stands up, then offers her an awkward smile. "So…so what brings you here, to Ferelden?" He hopes she isn’t another noble lass looking to become queen, or at least, his mistress. The amount of women he’s had to turn away is staggering.
Alistair isn’t ready for marriage, he’s only been king a few months, and it’s still a frightening concept he’s ruling an entire country.
Amalthea could only smile as he reacted, he reminded her of a fond memory she held quite dear; a bittersweet memory that made her dip her head to the side and sigh. “Ferelden? Is that what this area is called now… I am not sure, I followed my feet and traversed a winding road."
Her voice sounded tired and her eyes looked aged, but she looked young in this form, she always looked young.