Written for the People of Thedas "Stages of Life" event. Thanks to Mutive, as ever, for beta reading.
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Garahel gamboled into a bar and bought a round of drinks for the crowd. This would be his last night in Antiva, he suspected, and he intended to enjoy it. They raised their glasses to him and cheered. At the same time the women pressed closer, smiling at him through dark lashes and laughing too hard at his jokes. Over the years he had earned something of a reputation, and he had not really discouraged it.
His eyes scanned their faces. Twenty some years later, and he was still looking for her, the dark lady he left in Hossberg. She had jet black hair and eyes like gold coins, and when she touched him he swore he could hear five notes of music, one of them sharp.
He found a girl who had dark hair, not quite black, and she was a little too stout but she had a pretty smile. Garahel tipped back his tankard and drained it, and then she was leading him into the back alley, giggling and hiking up her skirt. In a haze he shuddered and cried out and she collapsed against his shoulder.
Afterwards Garahel stumbled back to the Warden compound. He threw himself down on his bed and closed his eyes before he heard the faint sound of music. The warrior sat bolt upright in his bed. A black-haired woman stood beside his hearth, watching the fire blaze. He reached for the dagger concealed in his boot.
"How did you get in here?" he asked.
"Your lieutenant let me in," she explained, crossing her arms behind her back. "Nervous fellow. He seemed to think I was your type."
Garahel relaxed a little, as this seemed like a reasonable explanation, although he left his hand inside his boot. He caught the scent of jasmine. He was reminded of warm spring nights in the Wandering Hills, and he found himself homesick for the first time in years.
"You remind me of someone I used to know," he said.
The woman laughed. "And yet you think I can't be the same girl, because that was half a world away and another life besides, and you would be right. I am never the same girl." Then she turned, and firelight danced in her golden eyes. "But you did know me once."
She crossed the room to him, the fabric of her robes flicking against her legs as she moved. He pulled his eyes up to her face. "You can't be..." he began, and then he shook his head. He might have had too much to drink. "Why are you here?"
She reached out and took his chin in her hands. Her fingers were cool against his skin, and he felt himself falling back through time. He remembered how she had read his aura with her hands. Her voice was soft when she spoke.
"You plan to engage Andoral at Ayesleigh tomorrow." It was not a question, but he nodded. "Do you know what happens when a Warden kills an Archdemon?"
"Of course I do." Garahel closed his eyes and let his head tip back. "You shouldn't, though."
"You should never be surprised by anything that I know. Anyway, your Order's secrets are poorly kept." Her fingers moved lower, tracing the tendons of his neck. "I also know a way out, a loop in your hole."
Garahel winced, remembering how she had found him. He was only a thief back then, on the run from the shems. The witch had pointed him towards the Wardens and saved his life. "I don't run away any more," he said. "I'm not afraid to die."
"That is only because you do not know any better." She lowered her hands and he opened his eyes. "When you slay Andoral, her soul will shatter against yours, and you will both be immolated. The pain is indescribable." Her voice caught, and she looked away. "Dumat was the worst. You cannot imagine what it is to hear a god of silence scream."
He swallowed. "How do you know this?" She did not answer, only let him rest his head against her stomach. After a moment he asked, "What are you proposing?"
"Lay with me tonight," she said, and when he looked up at her she smiled. "That is not so much, is it? But you must be wondering at the price." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "I will conceive a child, and that child will carry your blood and the taint. When you slay the dragon, her soul will pass into the child, and both you and Andoral will be saved."
Garahel snorted. "Grey Wardens kill Archdemons. We don't save them."
"Come now, Andoral herself is not an Archdemon. You were always prone to hyperbole." She smoothed his hair with her hand and sighed. "If you only knew how beautiful she was. She had a voice like the lash of a whip, and she wore chains made of toil and hardship."
The elf grunted. "She was the dragon of slaves. Somehow I'm not terribly inclined to know her." His dark lady shifted, and he pulled her closer to him and drew a long breath. "I can't tell you how often I've dreamed of you back in my bed," he said. "My body would make me a traitor."
She quirked an eyebrow. "And yet?"
"I'm not a young man any more. I know better." He exhaled and pushed her away. "I've been a Warden for most of my life, now. If I did this I would betray myself." He frowned and looked away. "I don't have much time left anyway."
"In this life," she allowed, "But I could give you more than your life. I can give you forever."
He took note of her smooth porcelain skin. She was much younger than he remembered, when by all logic she should have been older. "Perhaps you could," he said. "But I've lived a long time. Forever doesn't sound that appealing."
She drew back and stood straight, considering this. "Not to you," she mused, "but there are others who care about you a great deal. Your lieutenant—"
"—knows his duty as well as I do." His voice hardened, and he felt his head clearing. Garahel rose to his feet and took her by the arm. "We are done here. I will show you out."
"There's no need. I can see when the die is cast." She pulled out of his grasp, her face setting into a frown. "Such a stubborn old man you've become." She clicked her tongue. "This is a game better suited to the young, I think. I will remember that next time."
She turned sharply and made her way to the door. Garahel was aware, suddenly, that she would go on where he would not. He followed after her.
"Did you know, in Hossberg, that it would end like this?" She turned back to him and cocked her head to the side, and he looked down at his hands. They were hard and calloused now, but it was not always this way. "I always wondered why you chose me."
The witch shook her head. "You were chosen long before I found you." She leaned against the door frame, her black hair falling half over her face. "If you could have seen yourself as I saw you. Your light shone in the dark."
"It occurs to me," he said, "that you've never told me your name."
She waved her hand. "I have several," she said. "They are of no consequence." Her voice had a faraway quality. "But your name is like a song... Gar-a-hel. It trips off the tongue." She closed her eyes and nodded at the rhythm. "They will sing it for centuries after you're gone."
And then she leaned forward and pressed her lips into his, a kiss of farewell, and he heard his own name in fives notes of music, one of them sharp.
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