So, I realize that I say "tomorrow" for the story beneath (you'll see), but for my own sanity's sake I must mention that the forced march (especially dragging the army these two lovely Wardens' built over the last year) from Redcliffe Castle to Denerim would take at least 10 to 15 days if they are lucky. More likely this march took 15-20 days.

I hate it when logistics do not match up in my stories, but for this story I went along with the canon dialogue where Alistair and the Warden refer to the battle as tomorrow purely for the flow of the story. But I just HAD to point it out that the actual battle would not take place until at least 10-15 days after this conversation happens, realistically. The reasoning/proof/source for this at the bottom of the story if you guys are curious.

Thank you for reading this rambling. I guess I'm a little finicky when it comes to stuff like these.

Alistair sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as they walked down the hallway. His mind kept on replaying the words Riordan had spoken, the words that spelled the inescapable doom for one of them three.

I will take the final blow, the man had said, his eyes stern and thin lips grim. I'm the eldest, and the taint will not spare me much longer.

But, the man had added, if I fail the deed falls on you.

He sighed, clenching his fists and looking down at the woman walking besides him. Their footsteps echoed loudly in the hallway, dark and ominous.

Solona's eyes had hardened as Riordan uttered those words, and since then she hadn't spoken a single word.

Riordan would take the final blow, Alistair reminded himself. But Solona's beautiful face remained frozen. The clanking of his armor echoed loud and hollow against the stone floor.

A strangled laugh escaped him, his mind wandering these halls over a decade ago. These walls had been lit with warm torches, the guards laughing kindly as they watched him play with the mabari pups. These were the very same halls he'd raced down smiling, now splattered with blood stains of the walking corpses they'd slaughtered months ago. And now he'd just received her death sentence. Here, in his childhood home.

No, not hers. Riordan's.

He gritted his teeth, feeling the muscles clench painfully in his jaw. Riordan will take the final blow, he repeated to himself. Their steps echoed darkly here, her face carved of ice. He stopped, pulling at her hand to make her pause as well.

"Hey, Sol. Hey, look at me." He murmured, tilting her head up with a fleeting touch to her chin. Her eyes remained cold, her dark eyes that flooded so often passionately now closed up and frozen. His heart ached to see her chilled so.

"We'll be alright. You know that, right? We'll be okay. Riordan will take the last blow tomorrow, and we'll both come out of this alive. You'll see." He whispered, his thumb stroking her cheek.

She stared up at him with dead eyes, cold and still.

"Hey, hey. We started out together on this. You and me, we survived Ostagar together, and we survived everything else despite the odds. We're almost there – just one more night and this will all end. You and I, the two last remaining Wardens in Ferelden. We will survive this, just like the heroes from those old legends the Revered Mothers tell the children. We will be legends, two Wardens that saved Ferelden from certain doom." He whispered desperately, his other hand clenching into a tight fist, shaking like a leaf. "We will survive this!"

"Alistair," she finally opened her mouth, his frozen name falling from her cold lips. "Riordan won't take that blow."

His hand dropped from her soft face, her frozen face.

"No," he whispered, anguished. "No, Sol. No, don't do this."

"You know it too." She spoke, her musical voice frozen. Her voice did not sing.

"No, Sol! We don't know that. You don't know that. We have a plan – Riordan will fight. He has a chance!" He pleaded, his limbs trembling.

She laughed, a harsh crude noise, so alien on her gentle lips. "Alistair, when has our plan ever worked out?"

"There's a first time for everything, Sol. Please, don't do this. Sol, please!" He begged, each word bleeding out from his lips.

She shook her head, her eyes cold and dead.

"I'm sorry, Alistair. I really am. But you know, don't you? You know it too."

"No." He breathed, the jagged word trapped in his throat. "No!"

He lied.

He knew it too. His instincts shrieked that she spoke the truth.

Her frozen eyes searched out his, and she knew he was lying.

"It's me, Alistair. It's me. It was going to be me from the very start."

"No!" He screamed, gripping her shoulders and shaking her. A denial. A final denial. But a denial of one mortal man cannot change the Fate.

She stared at him with those frozen eyes, watching dispassionately until he bowed his head with a pained groan.

"Solona…" He breathed, a tear rolling down his cheek. "Solona…" He sobbed.

She paused for a moment, her frozen eyes finally melting. She stood on her tiptoes, pulling herself up to his lips and kissing him with bruising force. Wet and salty with tears, honey-sweet, citric, and scorching as their lips crashed onto each other.

They moaned for each other, their silent tears flowing freely, their teeth nipping.

"It's okay." She whispered against his mouth, her molten eyes now blazing. "It's okay, Alistair. You'll be fine."

"No, Sol." He wept, pulling her into his embrace. Their armors prevented him from feeling her skin, but he did not care – he needed to hold onto her, to cling to her with all his might. "I won't be fine, not without you."

"You'll be king." She murmured, her soft voice lilting, singing, laden thick with the tears they shared. "You'll be a good king, loved by your people."

"Sol…"

"And you'll have our friends. Leliana will come sing at your court whenever you ask her to. And Barkspawn really, really likes you. You can keep him, since you're going to be the dog lords' king." She wept, each of her words a drop of her tears.

"Sten will be gruff, but he'll send you letters. Especially if you send him cookies. Oghren will grumble and smell, but the court will deal." She choked, her laughter getting entangled in her chest.

"Solona…"

"And Wynne will return to Circle, but she'll write too. Shale will never stop calling you squishy, but maybe she'll be your bodyguard? And Zevran will kill anybody who dares to oppose you – you'll have your own personal Crow to watch your back. You won't ever get assassinated with him watching you. And, and he can comfort you, and you can comfort him. It'll be like how things are like right now, almost."

"Sol, stop." He gripped her, burying his face in her hair and howling. "Just, stop. Please. No more." He screeched.

They wept silently, standing still in the dead hallway where he used to laugh a lifetime ago.

"I love you. No matter what happens, I love you." He moaned, wishing he could press her into him.

"I love you too. I'm so sorry." She cried.

He cursed the sun that would rise on the morrow, despised the ticking of the time passing by.

"I love you, Alistair. So much. But it'll be me." Her voice shook, sobs wrecking her body.

"I will take the blow, Sol. I will take the blow for you. Let it be me." He begged. Please, Maker, let it be him.

But she was already shaking her head, her tiny hands grasping desperately at him. He loathed the Maker for taking her from him.

"No, Alistair. It will be me. You can feel it too. It's me."

And they wept while clutching each other, cursing this cruel, cruel world.