Title: The Last Farewell
Author: KalenCaelli
Rating: M
Disclaimer: Dragon Age and its characters are the property of Bioware. If I had produced the game there would be at least one scene with Alistair in a dress dancing the Remigold.
Author's notes: I know, I know… I'm a hopeless tease. First with Second Chances, which I will, eventually, finish; and then with The Long Road Home, which will, eventually, have another chapter written. I even have a 75% finished R&I one shot for you, Leo, that will eventually get finished.
But you can rest the blame for this one solely on Snafu1000.
Yep, that's right, it's her fault you all are getting a sequel to The Last Dance. In truth, I had written two to three chapters of a sequel about a year ago, and then I became incredibly uninspired and shelved it, assuming that one day I would eventually feel the urge or inclination to toss or rewrite the damn thing. Then Snafu had to go and repost her goddamn story (okay, okay, so maybe, just maybe a few threats were involved), and now I've gotten the bug to turn out not just a sequel but probably even a trilogy out of the whole damn thing.
In short, you can all blame Snafu too. In fact, you all should flood her PM Inbox with favs, follows, and all kinds of irritatingly pleasant but wonderful reviews telling her just how much you love her damn story because it really, truly, is probably one of the best DA stories out there. It's terrible, really.
Anyways, enough about that, really. For those of you who are new to this crazy fandom we all know and love – play the game(s) first. Then read The Last Dance first (unless you're one of those annoying people who skips to the end of the book first because really, who could be bothered with such silly nuances like plot), preferably with all sharp, pointy objects confiscated so you don't slit your delicate little wrists.
As always, this story is dedicated to the love of my life, my beautiful wife Lauren, without whom I would be truly lost. And this is also dedicated to Snafu, who stubborn determination to finish her amazing work has inspired me to face my own writer's block with that same dogged determination.
Then, sit down with a nice cold beer (but only if you can do so legally and only if it's really good beer, like Shiner) and read my latest project, the long-awaited sequel to The Last Dance.
Prologue
Now this is not the end.
It is not even the beginning of the end.
But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.
~Winston Churchill
Cousin, wake up!
Tired… she was so tired…
Do you know what day it is today?
No… it can't be…
Your dress is so pretty… and Nelaros, he's so handsome…
A crimson river, pulsing through her fingertips, blue eyes clouded in death…
Take me home. Please, just take me home.
A river of tears, falling from auburn lashes, streaming down pale cheeks.
Shianni?
I can't go on. I can't do this without you.
No…not Shianni.
I'm sorry, my love. Please forgive me…
Leliana…
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
First one eye opened, and then the other.
Too bright. It's too bright…
Her eyes slammed shut.
A cool hand pressed against her forehead, the melodic hum of a familiar lullaby echoing in the recesses of her memory. Familiar, but still, she had some difficulty remember exactly where she had heard that tune before.
"Da'len…"
She opened her eyes, ignoring the way they instantly clouded with tears, blurring her vision. Only with some difficulty was she able to lift her hands, pressing them against her eyelids until she was able to move past the pain. It seemed like an eternity passed before she could finally open her eyes, and when she did, she gasped, startled.
"Mama?"
A warm smile stretched across pale pink lips, the familiar green eyes crinkling at the corners, as they so often did when she was younger. A cool palm pressed against her cheek. Kallian leaned into the touch instinctively, eyelids fluttering closed as she savored the tender caress.
"I've missed you so much…" Blinking back tears, Kallian lifted her head, meeting her mother's gaze for only a moment before she launched herself into Adaia's arms, a choked sob escaping her mouth as they folded around her.
How long had it been since she'd felt her mother's hug?
"I know," Adaia's voice was a soothing balm, calming the younger woman, filling her with an unusual sense of peace.
Sniffling, Kallian drew back, unable to resist the urge to drag her fingertips through the silky strands of her mother's ebony hair. Glancing around the room, she realized very quickly that she was back at their apartment in Denerim, and that it was evening, not daytime as she originally expected.
"How did I…" Kallian frowned, pursing her lips as she studied the room – it certainly looked like their apartment in Denerim, down to the peeling paint and familiar crackle of the logs in the fireplace. But that was impossible – the alienage had nearly razed to the ground when the Darkspawn had attacked…
"The Blight…" Kallian's voice held a bit of a panic as she darted off the bed, her eyes darting around wildly as she searched for her mother's dagger. The Blight. Denerim was under attack and she needed to…
"Peace, daughter." Adaia's hand gently grasped her daughter's bicep, turning her around. "The Blight is over. You won."
"No," Kallian attempted to jerk away, though her mother's grip tightened and would not falter. Suddenly, her surroundings grew sinister, nameless shadows flickering along the walls, which seemed to press closer and closer. "You don't understand. Only a Grey Warden can slay the…"
…the Archdemon.
"Where am I?" Her voice rose, dread beginning to fill her as she tugged futilely at the iron grip, meeting eyes that were no longer inviting, no longer warm. "Where are we?"
"You're dead," each word piercing her soul like a dagger. "Another useless pawn of the Grey Wardens in their futile struggle."
"You're wrong," Kallian hissed, her eyes narrowing as she suddenly lunged towards her mother, though she knew for certain now that this creature was most certainly not her mother.
The tactic worked, throwing the creature off balance and weakening its grip enough to allow her to break free. Kallian raced towards the front door, ignoring the angry shriek of the demon as she flung open the door and stepped out onto…
…the woods?
Spinning around, Kallian looked, but the door she had just opened was no longer there.
What the…
Somehow, she had stepped out into a clearing, a small dell ringed by a densely packed forest, trees expanding in every direction as far as the eyes could see. The night was moonless, the campsite illuminated only by starlight and the small firepit that resided in the center of the campsite. A single canvas tent stood a few feet from an overturned log that appeared to have been dragged into place near the small blaze, offering an alternative to sitting on the snow-covered forest floor.
Resting atop the fire was a small spit, from which appeared to be hanging a small kettle filled with a sort of dark stew.
But there was no other sign that the clearing was occupied. In fact, there was no sign of life in any form.
Kallian's eyes fluttered as the weight of reality settled upon her shoulders like an avalanche.
The demon … her mother … she'd been telling the truth.
She was dead.
Reviews are never expected, but always appreciated. Thank you all for joining me on the start of this epic adventure.