Queen Luana: And another one! I got like a thousand of these babies. It's going to be multiple chapters this time, but only three or four. You let Alistair marry Anora. Alistair performed the Dark Ritual with Morrigan.

He awoke heaving, gasping in air and clutching for the sheets. Anora remained asleep at his side, her blonde locks still pinned back as she'd always done. She was the sort of woman who'd get up in the morning and looked ready to run a country the second she opened her eyes. Through the years he'd grown to care for her, but the way someone would care for another they respected and deemed worthy of their companionship. It had never been love. Maybe it had never even been friendship, at least not from her end. There had been mutual tolerance and for running a country at each other's side, that had been enough.

Alistair slipped out of bed careful not to wake her and threw on his robes. He walked over to the window and pushed the hair from his face. The city was quiet but never asleep. He'd often spent nights gazing out of the window at night, watching young elves sneak out of the Alienage in search for food and money. Especially the days following his coronation had been nights filled with insomnia. Restless he'd wander the hallways of the restored Fort Drakon, remembering the final steps he'd taken with his fellow Warden on his way to defeat the Archdemon. He had not seen her since that day. They'd spoken briefly at the ceremony, but then she'd crept out of sight and he had not seen her since. For twenty years he'd waited for a sign, he watched the streets of Denerim in search of small woman with fair hair. Even when he left Denerim he looked for her, he'd tried to find her in Kirkwall but to no avail. She seemed to have vanished into thin air.

Anora stirred in bed and he held his breath. But she quickly rested her head back on her pillow and resumed sleep. He looked at his own reflection in the glass of the window. The years had marked him. He was growing grey above his ears and wrinkles were beginning to show. Despite that he felt young at heart still and if anything his years of experience had granted him more respect from the people of Ferelden. He'd ruled as a kind king, the sort of king Eamon had wanted him to be. But every now and then he still wondered what it would've been like if things had gone differently. If Anora had become the sole ruler of Ferelden and he had remained a Grey Warden, at his lover's side.

He rubbed his eyes with a sigh. There was no point lingering on it though. Especially now.

The nightmares were back. He'd had one a month or so back, but now they had become nightly visitors and, much like Duncan had known right before his fall at Ostagar, he knew his time was at hand. The Taint had begun to spread. His days were numbered. He assumed this was the reason why he'd been pondering about the past so often these past few days. He'd thought of her more than he ever had. Somehow he'd always hoped their paths would've crossed at one point or another and now he had to face the facts that this would never happen. Even if she were still alive, he wouldn't see her again, he knew this. Every now and then rumor would reach Denerim, and word would spread amongst the maids in the castle that the Hero of Ferelden had been spotted just outside of Montsimmard in Orlais, or roaming the Korcari forest.

So many regrets…

He headed to the armory, trying to stay clear of any guards, sticking to the shadows in the corridors. He put on a less conspicuous armor than his golden royal one and took his sword and shield. Then he went back to the sleeping quarters one last time, and crept into the room across from his own bedroom, where Anora was still sound asleep.

He had been a just and kind king, offering his country whatever it desired from him. He quietly walked over to his son's bed. He'd always looked much more like his mother than he'd looked like him and he figured it was better this way. He sat down on the bed and placed one hand on his son's head. He was twelve now, and true enough his birth had been a miracle. But his lineage was secure now; they had new blood to secure the throne after his death. Knowing this helped a little, but not a lot. He was very aware he was abandoning his duties in the worst manner possible, creeping out in the middle of the night without even a goodbye note. He rose to his feet. At heart he'd always been a Grey Warden, and this he would be till the end.

Alistair sneaked out through the servant's entrance and quietly shuffled along the walls. If anyone would see him now there'd certainly be questions and complications. He wanted no long goodbyes or elaborate speeches. He just wanted to go and be done with it before he realized this may've been his last regret.

He managed to slip outside without being seen by anyone, and hurried through the alleyways, silently wishing them farewell as he strode by them and gazing upon the stars while he still could. Except for a few beggars, there was no one outside, and it was a clear night, so he made progress through the city much quicker than he'd thought. He'd be long gone when the first sunlight hit the streets. When he reached the market place he allowed himself a quick rest. It was abandoned, safe for the few drunkards that came stumbling out of the tavern as he passed by, but they were far too drunk to notice him, let be recognize him. The city was still marked by what had happened to it twenty years ago. Walls were still blackened with ashes and thus bore the memories of all the lives that had been lost that one night. When he looked up he saw the hill from which the Redcliffe army had marched down under his command, fearless, determined. That was all so long ago, yet remained fresh in his memory up to this very day.

He crossed the square and halted for the moment at the gates leading to Eamon's estate. The Arl was in Redcliffe now, where he was most needed, so the mansion was mostly empty except for the few servants keeping it clean and running. Every now and then he'd return, or Teagan would come in his stead to bring word of recent activities in Redcliffe. Once had he inquired about Lale, the Elven Mage that everyone remembered. Alistair had soberly told him he had not heard from her since the Archdemon was slain, that he assumed she'd pursued her own destiny as they all had. He'd say this with an indifference that baffled even him and Teagan had not mentioned her ever since. Alistair sighed, sadly recalling the Landsmeet where everything had changed in one brief moment and his future had been decided. By the woman he loved.

"Out so late?"

He turned, grabbed his sword, but only saw shadows.

"All by yourself? One might wonder what a king is doing in the streets at this hour…" She stepped out of the darkness and he lowered his sword. Time had been kinder to her. Her hair was still long and fair, tied in a long braid hanging over her shoulder. She was still a tiny thing, and her face was still young, except for some crow's feet by her eyes. She smirked as she'd always had. "The queen must be worried."

"Frankly I think she could care less. She'll have the throne to herself, which, I assume, is what she really wanted from the start. The fact that I haven't ended up being poisoned still amazes me to this day." It's her. It was the only thing he could focus on. It's her.

She smiled. "It's good to see you, Alistair."

It's her. It's her. It's really her. "You too," he said, trying to numb out the voice. "You look good."

"Well, we may have lost our immortality but we do tend to age better than most humans."

They stood there facing each other, at both sides of the street. Everyday he thought of thousands of things he might tell her if he were to see her again, and now he was dumbstruck. He couldn't utter a single word about how he'd missed her, how good and relieved he felt now that she was there. How a burden had been lifted the moment she'd said his name. All was drowned out by her name ringing in his mind, over and over and over again. Why was his mouth suddenly so dry?

"I figure you've been having them too," she said, "the nightmares. It doesn't take a genius to deduct that from your wandering the streets at night."

"I've been having them for some time," he said and frowned then. "You as well?"

She smiled and pushed back a strand of hair. "A week is my guess. I haven't kept track. I managed to block them out after the Archdemon fell but now they're back. I've tried everything to keep them out but it doesn't work." She looked up at the sky. "I remember what you told me the first time I had them, after we'd left Lothering. The Calling is upon us both. You know this. There is no way back." Although her words were directed at him, it sounded more as if she was trying to reassure herself. She put her hands on her hips and nodded her head at the gate. "Orzammar, then?"

Direct as always. Where have you been? He would've screamed. Why did you leave? But his entire being felt numb. He could care less about the Calling. But he said none of these things, instead he followed her silently. She led the way out of the city with quickened pace. Her braid bobbed from side to side as she strode through the early hours of dawn with him at her heels. He watched her cloak sway around her hips as she ran. She truly had not changed.

The first orange glow rose at the horizon when they reached the hill. She lingered a moment and turned to him. "We can wait here, if that's what you need."

He quickly dismissed the idea, his back still turned towards the city. "I've said my goodbyes. I'm ready."

She pulled back her hood so he could now clearly see her face and her granite eyes that could melt anyone with the right look and cock of her head. She reached out a comradely hand. "Come then."

Queen Luana: Like I said, two or three more short chapters to follow. Reviews are always appreciated, as long as you don't tell me how to tell the story.