Chapter Text

A is for Alphabet

9:16 Dragon  ===  Redcliffe, Ferelden

Alistair stood at the door of the Redcliffe Chantry School scuffing his right toe on the stone floor.  His one-time friends sat in a circle around Sister Maris.  They had been good friends until they started school.  Their parents had tolerated the often unkempt, polite little boy who could always make their children laugh.    

Now their parents looked askance at the boy the Chantry school would not accept.  At least that was village gossip.  The Arl’s ward was too stupid.  He would be disruptive.  He had duties as dog boy and in the stable and was too busy.  He did not need to learn to read and figure.  He refused to clean up and wear proper clothes.  The Redcliffe rumor mill ground on.  The parents realized it did not describe the boy they knew, but the rumors were believed.

“Hello,” he said quietly.  His hair was still wet from his bath in the lake.  His clothes were worn, with a few stains and too small, but clean.

Sister Maris looked up.  “Hello.  Did you come to join the class?”

“Yes, Sister.”

“What’s your name?”

“Alistair, Sister.”

“I see.  You are Arl Eamon’s ward?” 

“Yes, Sister.”

“I see.”  Sister Maris got up and turned to the group of seven first year students.  The boys and girls of six and seven, given the small size of the group, attended the same class.  “Please continue to write your alphabet while I speak with Alistair.” 

The children bent their heads and continued to write on the slates forming the letters of the Common Tongue.

“Alistair, come with me please.”

“This can’t be good.  ‘Come with me’ usually means a scolding, or worse a spanking.  I should have listened to Master Wilmot.  He said if the Arl wanted me at school he would have told me.”  Alistair followed the Sister into the Chantry.  She motioned for him to sit next to her in a pew.

“Alistair, I don’t know how to say this kindly.  I’ve been told that you are not to join the class.  I don’t know why; only that the Arlessa gave that order to the Revered Mother.”

Alistair sat quietly.  Sniffing, he looked at Sister Maris.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have come.  I disturbed your class.  It’s just…they’re all my friends.  Or they were.  I never see them now.”  He took a deep, ragged breath and fell silent.

Sister Maris put her hand on his shoulder.  “Alistair, I’ve been told not to include you in class, but if you want to come after school ends, I’ll teach you your alphabet.”

“You would do that?”

“Yes.  You’re clearly not the disruptive, stupid boy, the Arlessa described to the Revered Mother.   It will have to be our secret.  You can help me clean up the schoolroom; you’ll learn your letters and the Chant.  I can’t see how anyone could object to that.”

“The Arlessa could.  She objects to everything about me.”  He looked up into the kind brown eyes of the teacher.  “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“Let me worry about that, Alistair.  Just come after Nones service.  Can you do that?”

“Yes.  I don’t have any duties then.”

“Good.  I’ll see you this afternoon.”

After a few days, Sister Maris realized that Alistair was very bright indeed.  She gave him a slate and chalk to take back to the Castle for practice.  Within a few weeks, he was reading simple books.  She switched to numbers at that point and as Harvestmere began, he was doing simple addition and subtraction.

Just before Satinalia, Arlessa Isolde swept into the Chantry, unannounced.  The Chantry nave was almost empty.  Only one chanter recited.  As she walked toward the Revered Mother’s study, she noticed the teaching sister sitting with a boy.  No, it could not be the bastard.  She stalked into the classroom.  Ignoring the sister, she grabbed Alistair’s arm, dragging him to his feet.

“What are you doing here?”

“Arlessa Guerrin.  I…Sister Maris…she….”  He took a deep breathe.  “I’m helping Sister Maris clean up the school room.”

“By sitting on a stool?”

“That’s right, Arlessa Guerrin."  Sister Maris said, "I asked Alistair to help clean, but we recite the Chant while we do.  I was just showing him an illustration in the Book of the Chant.”  She did not even feel guilty at the white lie, as she saw the revulsion on the Arlessa face.  She hates him.  How can she hate a little boy, whoever his father may be?  “He should learn the Chant,” she added.

The Revered Mother walked into the schoolroom.  “Arlessa Isolde, is there a problem?”

“Did you know about this?” the Arlessa hissed. 

“About what?  That Alistair helps clean and that Sister Maris teaches him the Chant.  Yes.  Every child, no matter how stupid or ill behaved should learn the Chant, Arlessa.  Do you not agree?”

“No…yes, but he is not to attend school.”

“And he does not, Arlessa.  Alistair comes after Nones.  The school ends just after mid-day bells.  He works.  Work is a cure for badly behaved boys.”  Revered Mother Hannah, although the newly installed head of the Redcliffe Chantry, would not be cowed by the imperious Arlessa.

Isolde’s eyes narrowed.  She knew these women were defying her orders, but very cleverly.  Rather than argue further, she decided to consult Sister Eleutheria at the Castle chapel.  Perhaps she would just confine the boy to the Castle.  Yes, that would solve the problem.

“Well, he must come with me now.  I will return tomorrow to discuss he Satinalia services, Mother Hannah.”

“As you wish, Arlessa.”  The Revered Mother smiled.  “We look forward to your visits.”

Arlessa Isolde left with Alistair in tow.  He gave a quick backward glance to Sister Maris and waved.  She did not speak to him again until some years later, after the Teyrn and Teyrna of Highever met with her to arrange for Alistair to attend her class.