A fic I wrote for a Tumblr friend. Jesslynn Cousland and Ora Adaar do not belong to me. Spoilers for Inquisition ahead.
In Hushed Whispers
"Mages. Maker, why is it always mages?" Alistair wondered aloud to the seneschal walking beside him.
The smaller man sniffed in mock disdain and replied, "I do not know, your Majesty. Perhaps the same reason that you and the Queen always have to clean up whatever mess is leftover."
"Well, unfortunately, the Queen isn't here to help me clean this one up."
The face of Alistair's wife, Jesslynn Cousland Theirin, Hero of Ferelden, Warden-Commander of Ferelden, and vanquisher of the Fifth Blight, came to his mind. He also thought of what she might have done if she were present. Probably backhand the seneschal for his snobbery, first of all.
"A pity, too."
She definitely would have backhanded him.
The Ferelden soldiers threw open the great doors of Redcliffe Castle and marched into the main hall. As he entered, Alistair took in the scene.
Inquisition soldiers – whom he didn't actually expect to be present – shuffled past him with a man in red Tevinter magister robes in tow. Alistair assumed that the magister was the cause of the ruckus at the Castle and admitted to himself that it was nice he was not in charge of deciding the man's fate. If the Inquisition wanted to take care of it then he wasn't going to stop them.
Also present in the hall was Grand Enchanter Fiona, the underlying cause of the problem he faced and the reason he had gone to Redcliffe in the first place. She looked a little shaken, her eyes skittering about as she watched Alistair's soldiers file in. Several others stood in the hall. He recognized one: a gruff, chiseled woman, Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, who had been introduced to him by Leliana, then just a former Chantry lay sister and now apparently the Left Hand of the Divine and the Inquisition's spymaster.
The others were two mages, an elf and a human, and very large, very tall female qunari. He could only assume that the qunari was the fabled Herald of Andraste, who had reportedly survived the blast at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Maker, she was tall.
Focusing back on the task at hand, Alistair stepped forward and narrowed his gaze at the Grand Enchanter. When he realized he too was shaking – perhaps with a little bit of the fear that always gripped him when it came to being assertive – he put his hands behind his back.
"Grand Enchanter, imagine how surprised I was to learn you'd given Redcliffe Castle away to a Tevinter magister," he said.
The Grand Enchanter made an attempt to bow, but fumbled in her trepidation and squeaked, as if to say something that would make up for her error, "King Alistair…"
"Especially since I'm fairly sure Redcliffe belongs to Arl Teagan."
"Your Majesty, we never intended—"
He huffed. "I know what you intended. I wanted to help you, but you made it impossible." With a shake of his head and a weight in his belly, he said, "You and your followers are no longer welcome in Ferelden."
"But…we have hundreds who need protection. Where will we go?" The Grand Enchanter, whom Alistair recalled was once upon a time a fearless Grey Warden, was now a garbling mess clinging to a dream of freedom. But at what cost?
The qunari woman stepped forward, taking Alistair by surprise. Up close, she was far more intimidating. The same could have been said for any qunari, in his book, but this one: there was something different about her. She carried herself with an aura of authority surrounding her. It reminded him of his wife.
"I should point out that we did come here for mages to close the Breach," the qunari Herald said.
The Grand Enchanter frowned. "And what are the terms of this arrangement?"
"Hopefully better than what Alexius gave you. The Inquisition is better than that, aren't you?" the mustachioed human mage asked.
"I suggest conscripting them. They've proven what they'll do given too much freedom," Seeker Pentaghast added.
The elven mage chimed in as well. "They have lost all possible supporters. The Inquisition is their only remaining chance for freedom."
Grand Enchanter Fiona sighed and said, "It seems we have little choice but to accept whatever you offer."
The qunari woman looked to the Seeker, as if for reassurance, then to Grand Enchanter Fiona. Seeker Pentaghast appeared to have something more to say on the subject, but as soon as she opened her mouth the Herald cut her off.
"We would be honored to have you fight as allies at the Inquisition's side."
Alistair sighed with relief, thankful that the mages had somewhere to go, and hopefully it would be a place of sanctuary for them. At least, more of a sanctuary than being enslaved to a Tevinter magister was.
"We'll discuss this…later," the Seeker of Truth growled at the Herald.
"I pray that the rest of the Inquisition honors your promise, then," the Grand Enchanter quipped, glaring at Seeker Pentaghast.
"The Breach threatens all of Thedas. We cannot afford to be divided now," the Herald continued. "We can't fight it without you. Any chance of success requires your full support."
The Grand Enchanter seemed unsure, even after the Herald's generous offer. She needed to accept it.
Alistair said, "I'd take that offer if I were you. One way or another you're leaving my kingdom."
Fiona nodded. "We accept. It would be madness not to. I will gather my people and ready them for the journey to Haven. The Breach will be closed. You will not regret giving us this chance."
That sounded well and good to Alistair, who breathed another sigh of relief when the Grand Enchanter finished speaking. Now there was just the matter of getting all the mages out of Redcliffe before Arl Teagan lost his temper.
"My soldiers can assist you, Grand Enchanter," said Alistair.
"And our soldiers as well," said the Herald.
"I will contact Corporal Vale at the Crossroads," Seeker Pentaghast finished.
The matter was over.
Alistair spent the next several hours wandering through Redcliffe Castle, complaining to the seneschal walking beside him about the great tragedy that the Tevinters had converted the place into with all their silly and ghastly decorations.
"Arl Teagan will want this garbage taken out, I'm sure of it," Alistair chuckled, tossing a Tevinter banner on the ground.
"It will be done, sire. I will see to it."
"Good. Have your men clean out the main hall first. I'd like to peruse a little bit, if you don't mind. Lots of memories live within these walls."
"Yes, sire. I will leave you, then, and see to the main hall."
The seneschal bowed curtly and then took off.
Alistair was glad to be alone. No, actually he wasn't. He wished that his Queen were there. He wished that Jesslynn had stood with him in the main hall and wished that she were walking alongside him as he wandered the halls and rooms of Redcliffe Castle. But she was gone, very far away. If not for his duty as King, he would have gone with her.
"West," she said as she stuffed a worn leather jerkin into her travel backpack. "To the lands untainted by Blight."
"What do you hope to find?" Alistair had asked her.
"Avernus whispered rumors of a cure to the Calling."
"Cure the Calling? Like Grand Enchanter Fiona?"
She shrugged. "Or something like it."
"Why now? Ferelden needs you more than ever." She turned to grab her coin purse, but Alistair caught her wrist. "I need you, Jesslynn. This war…this insanity – I can't face it without you. Maker knows I'll just mess it all up."
She grabbed onto his other hand with hers and chuckled at him. "No, you won't. You'll be fine, Alistair. You can lead. I know you can. And Eamon will be around to help you. Don't worry."
"I do worry. It is my job as king to worry, and my job as your husband sending you off to some Maker-forsaken land to worry."
Her face grew calm and serious. Alistair knew the look well. Before she faced down all her foes it was the look she wore; the Archdemon, Zathrian, Branka and Caridin, the sloth demon, Loghain, and so many others.
"I have to do this," she said, squeezing his hand. "For future Wardens. For us. I need to do this. For all our sakes."
"Just tell me where you are going then…"
Three years ago she left, just after the nastiness in Kirkwall began and just before the Templars pulled away from the Chantry and abandoned the mages. It had all gone to the Void since then, and Alistair was left to clean up the pieces without his wife.
He found himself in what used to be Arl Eamon's study – now Arl Teagan's, he supposed. One particular memory called out to him. A memory of a simpler time, where the only true enemy had been the Fifth Blight, and the only savior had been Jesslynn Cousland.
An amulet in her fingers. Chain dangling from the edge of her palm. She hands it to him. His mother's, she says to him. Broken but pieced back together. A smile on her face when she sees the look of awe in his expression. A grin on her lips as he talks about what he knows about his mother. About how he grew up. She cares, he remembers thinking.
He stood now in another room, part of the guest wing of the castle. The fireplace still sits there, but the ashes are cold. The room smells stale. The bed looks unused. No one has been in here for quite a while.
Alistair closed his eyes and recalled a conversation. A revealed truth. One that changed his life.
"You're both here. Good. You are new to the Grey Wardens, and you may not have been told how an archdemon is slain. I need to know if that is so," Riordan, the graying Orlesian Warden asked.
"You mean there's more to it than just, say, chopping off its head?" Alistair asked, giggling to himself at the strangeness of the question. It seemed pretty obvious to him – at the time – how an archdemon died.
"So it is true. Duncan had not yet told you. I had simply assumed… The archdemon may be slain as any other darkspawn, but should any other than a Grey Warden do the slaying, it will not be enough. The essence of the beast will pass through the taint to the nearest darkspawn and will be reborn anew in that body. The dragon is thus all but immortal. But if the archdemon is slain by a Grey Warden…its essence travels into the Grey Warden, instead… A darkspawn is an empty, soulless vessel, but a Grey Warden is not. The essence of the archdemon is destroyed…and so is the Grey Warden."
"Meaning…the Grey Warden who kills the archdemon…dies?" Alistair asked.
It was a hard thing to swallow. There were only three Grey Wardens in Ferelden. And two of them were in love.
"Yes," Riordan responded. "Without the archdemon, the Blight ends. It is the only way…"
He opened his eyes again and stared at the bed in front of him. It twisted knots into his stomach, thinking of what he had done – what Jesslynn had asked him to do – so that his life and her life might be spared. Morrigan simply called it a dark ritual. The soul of an Old God born into the body of an innocent child. He often wondered what would have happened if Jesslynn hadn't taken Morrigan's offer, if Alistair had also not consented.
One of them would surely be dead. And if it had been Jesslynn to make the final blow, he would not have been able to go on without her.
He left the room, thinking of how grateful he was that they were alive. That they had each other. Even when she was far away from him, Alistair was still glad that she was alive. It was a balm to his aching soul, that knowledge. Painful, but soothing.
He missed her terribly. He wanted her back. But he wanted them to live without the Calling looming over them. She sought a way to reverse it, to end it. He hoped she could do it. If anyone could, he knew that she would.
As he walked back to the main hall to join his soldiers, a rush of hushed whispers filled his head. Whispers familiar to him, an itch in the back of his mind. The Calling. The lure of the taint living inside him. Recently, the whispers had become louder.
"Hurry, love," he whispered aloud. "Hurry."
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