Alistair turned his back, and walked away.
Just like that.
I stood frozen in the doorway, wanting immediately to go after him, to demand a different explanation, a different reason, or to insist that this was not acceptable and I would not stand for it. But just as quickly I stopped myself from moving, from shouting out his name. I was a Gray Warden. A soldier. An elf. I had killed countless Darkspawn. I had gathered armies and solved disputes that had seemed to have no solution. I was above pleading and begging... above the sudden desparation that clogged my throat and stung my eyes with tears.
I swallowed hard, blinking rapidly and spinning from the door, swinging its heavy wooden weight shut just a little too hard. The thud echoed throughout the stone chamber of my room at Arl Eamon's Denerim estate. I winced. Hopefully he had not heard that... hopefully my calm and composed replies to his statements had seemed genuine enough.
I bit my lip and clenched my fists, struggling to breathe against the fire in my heart, the tightness in my chest, the helplessness that writhed in my gut. I bared my teeth, swallowing back a cry of fury. After so long... after so much... after all I had given to this cause, including the rest of my life and eventually, even my sanity, the one small bit of happiness, of pleasure, the one tiny bright spot among all the darkness... had now been snuffed out.
Didn't I deserve just at least that one, small thing?
But of course he was right.
"Well, what did you expect?" I snarled at myself, pacing furiously back and forth at the end of the huge four-poster bed. In all the turmoil over the throne, and all my efforts to put Alistair upon it, I had never once considered what might happen to myself should Alistair actually become king. I had not wanted to be a queen, surely no more than Alistair wanted to be king, even if I were to be his queen. Nor would it have been appropriate for me to suggest such a thing to the people of Ferelden. That would have made Loghain's suggestive claim true, at least in appearance - it would have looked like I was trying to place a Gray Warden on the throne, specifically for the purpose of usurping political power myself.
I had not wanted that power, neither by accident nor purpose.
Choosing whether to offer up Anora or Alistair for the throne had been agonizing enough, not least because of Alistair's poignent protests against being king. Who was I to force him into something he was not comfortable with? And wouldn't it have been easier for us if he were not king? In the end I had managed to push both of our selfish wants aside and trust my instincts. Anora had betrayed her word to me at the Landsmeet, showing a side of herself that reminded me too much of her father. Fereldan needed an honest, caring ruler who also knew how to fight, who had seen the horrors of battle firsthand. Fereldan needed Alistair.
But how had I forgotten one of the most important duties of a ruler? Loghain's betrayal, recruiting allies, finding the Archdemon and stopping the Blight had crowded my mind so much that I had ignored one of the fundamental requirements of a King or Queen: to produce an heir.
I exhaled a long breath, sinking down onto the edge of the bed, holding my head in my hands. Alistair was right. Two Gray Wardens could not have children together. He would have to find a wife outside of the order. To that end, our relationship was... over.
I was not mad at him, I realized, but at myself. I should have taken that into consideration as well. Not that it would have changed my mind in the end, but it would have helped to prepare myself for the ineviteable consequence. Would have helped if we could have discussed such things beforehand... before now, when we were so close to being ready to confront the Darkspawn Horde. Before now, when I needed all my focus to be on getting to the Archdemon and destroying it.
And instead here I was, agonizing over the what-ifs and could-have-beens of a relationship I'd really had no business pursuing in the first place.
My door burst open suddenly, spilling forth a short, round, and red-headed figure who stumbled, caught himself, and then whirled to face me with a broadsword raised high in one hand and a sloshing pint of ale in the other. "Ne'er fear, m'lady!" Oghren bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Og'en's here fer the fight! Show me wer ther are and I'll gitem!"
His intrusion was so unexpected I had not even risen from my seat on the bed, nor moved for my sword in defense. I stared at him, my mouth hanging open, at a complete loss for words.
The Dwarf squinted, looking around my room as if he expected to confront the Horde itself in the shadowy corners. He had somehow lost his shirt - or disgarded it, more likely - and his beard did little justice to the amount of hair that covered his chest. I pursed my lips in an attempt to hold back a snort of mixed amusement and agitation.
"Oghren," I finally choked out, "what in Andraste's name are you doing here? It is customary to knock on a person's door before barging into their private quarters!"
The Dwarf brought his watery gaze back to me, and I could tell from the way he swayed as he stood that he'd had far too much to drink. "Eh?" He blinked, looked around the room one more time, and then lowered his sword. "My apol'gies, Warden. I heard a thun'rous boom and though' you might be in danger!"
I lifted my eyebrows. "I appreciate your concern, Oghren, but there is no danger here. What you heard was my door." I cleared my throat. "I... I accidentally shut it just a little too hard. You know how these castles echo... and anyway, if there were any danger here, I would be fully capable of handling it myself."
"Ah yes, a'course," Oghren mumbled, nodding in an exaggerated manner. "I shoulda known. Jus' a little lover's quarrel then, eh?"
Again I was struck dumb, my face immediately burning in humiliation. Had we really been that obvious?
"Shoulda known Alistair woulda ne'er lef' you in danger." Now the Dwarf was shaking his head, pausing once to slurp down more ale. "A'course, a'course. Makes perfeck sense now... saw him out there in the hall, I did, I though' he looked awful stormy..."
"I beg you're pardon," I finally blurted, "but you are mistaken. There was no... er, lover's quarrel, as you put it. Alistair and I are friends." I didn't like how hard it was to say that word. But I pushed on. "We are fellow Wardens. He will be King of Fereldon soon, and as such will need a Queen and an heir. I... I could give him neither." It made my stomach sour to say such things, no matter how true they were.
Oghren frowned at me. "Tha' so? Really?" He sheathed his sword with a grunt and pulled at his beard. "I coulda sworn..." He was lost deep in thought for a second, but then came out of it with a jolt and shrugged, finishing off the rest of his pint and swiping his mouth with his bare forearm. "Ah well, all the bet'er, eh Warden? Love n' war is too complicated! Always worry'n - are they alive, are they dead, are they safe? Ne'er able ta turn yer back on 'em, afraid the'll be run through the next second!" He shook his head again. "No good ta love another warrior, just looka what happen'd ta me and Branka, ha!"
He chuckled, then waved dismissively. "Ah, I need meself another drink." He wandered out the door and was gone, just as abruptly as he'd appeared, without so much as wishing me a good night.
I sat for a long few minutes in the resulting silence, confused and bewildered, before rousing myself at last. I got up and looked down the hallway in both directions. It was empty and quiet in Oghren's drunken wake. I shut my door again, but softly this time.
Maybe Oghren was right. Maybe it really was better this way, despite the heartache, the frustration. Maybe it was better to endure the pain of seperation now rather than risk suffering the greater anguish of losing a lover in battle. Maybe.
I shook myself from such brooding thoughts. It was too late for regrets now. What was done was done. It had brought us to this point, and now the issue had been dealt with. Fereldon would have a king. Alistair would find a queen, and have an heir. And I would... I would...
Leave.
The notion whispered through my head of its own accord, but I knew at once it was the correct course of action. It was what I must do, for both our sakes. I had asked him if we could still remain friends, but it was a reflex. In the back of my mind I had known, even when asking the question, that it wouldn't be possible. I could not bear to be near him without having him for myself. Best to just leave, disappear. Occupy myself with some other work, or training, or teaching... anything to avoid having to watch him from afar, from the outside. Anything to avoid having to look him in the face, in those eyes, and speak to him as if everything between us had never existed.
It would be a lie. And I could not live a lie.
A weight seemed to lift off my shoulders, and a new resolve hardened in my chest. I turned toward the looking glass, staring at my reflection. I looked as if I had battled through the Fade and back. Sweaty, dirty, still streaked with dried blood, my armor dented and scratched in places. I scrubbed my hands over my face and swept my silver hair up into a ponytail. We had fought through so much to reach this point... and now it was almost over.
And I had a new purpose.
No longer to both get my companions and myself through the upcoming battle alive, but to protect Alistair - the new King. To allow myself to throw all that I had into the fight. It was no longer necessary for me to use caution for the sake of self-preservation. With the Archdemon gone, the Blight thwarted, and Alistair beyond my reach, what was there left for me? To return to the Alienage? Recruit more Gray Wardens as the taint within me slowly gained control of my mind?
No, I would not have that. I would choose my own fate this time. I would allow myself to be selfish, just this once.
My mind decided, I stood from the bed and began unbuckling my armor, shedding it piece by piece in preparation for a wash and then an attempt at sleep.
Tomorrow, we marched to Redcliffe to confront the Horde.
