Disclaimer: I own absolutely and completely nothing. Bioware has that particular pleasure.
Premise: Alistair betrayed the Wardens for the Orlesians. Tabris stopped the King's death by warning Loghain of this, making sure the charge happens and Cailan survives. All Wardens die nevertheless. Sequel to Escape.
Author's note: I can safely assume my writer's block has chosen to go absent for the moment. Good grief. Warning. Change of points of view.
Word count: 1383.
She grew up in the battlefield. Her new life was spent with blades on her hands, twirling between monsters and fencing with nobles, destroying whatever came into her path as her new life demanded to be lived. Go up and down in a country which made no sense, trying to find a way to end a war with no purpose. Many things were taught in a battlefield. When to back down and when to move forward, when to push a little as surrender was just around the corner and an extra word would be more than enough. When to spare a life. When to see a victim which could turn into a murderer in a second, just a moment when her back turned. The battlefield taught the strong and shattered the rest.
Tabris was smarter by then. To live or to die depended not only on being quick or stabbing fast. It depended on the right choices at the right time, in seeing allies, on understanding – something she had never thought before but the battlefield had taught her, the Teyrn had taught her, harsh words whenever she faltered. More than that, she understood what was coming.
If you couldn't escape, what else could you do? What else can I do? Scared, she had asked him, because a scared child asked for guidance and she was a child, she hadn't been more than a girl in Ostagar and he was so much more than her.
If you can't escape, the Teyrn stated simply, chase.
Loghain knew more than she did. Hence, she obeyed. Up and down the country, the Archdemon was coming and they needed help, she bellowed. Help or you'll die, we will all die, you cowards and instead of letting those fools hide on their holes, Tabris chased them down and out, one after the other. It was needed, that was pretty much all she knew. Three papers in her hands that were as valuable as gold and directions into an unknown world.
Well, she knew one more thing. Strength and fear managed to make anyone move, no matter the race.
Dwarves were unfair biased little maggots. Dalish were moronically prejudiced fools with self-importance issues. Humans hated her because of her ears but since that was any novelty? And her people, her own people feared her, despised that side of her which made her different, the new blood on her veins that was dark and poisonous. Fine. Just fine, I don't care. Tabris chased them all out anyway, disgusting bastards. She shouldn't have to fight alone.
From his high perch and safety, the King demanded news with a smile and dreams of glory. She was the last after all – too late, always too late – and she had a duty. She could face danger and win. She could be his legend. Behind him, the Teyrn stared unfazed – always hard, always difficult to read – and it was him who kept her going.
She was a warrior now. Warriors lived for Kings, died for Kings. They sullied themselves so boys could still dream. A nod from him was all the encouragement she needed before leaving once more, chasing the Boy King's enemies, slaughtering as that was all she could aim to be.
On good days, Tabris thought of herself as a protector. A hero. On bad days, she was the killer because everyone else refused to stand up. A murderer. Bad days repeated themselves when she returned from Orzammar, the Archdemon roaring in her dreams and haunting her days. Bad days horrified her after Riordan showed up, after he came close and explained, explained they would die as there was no other way. Bad days, always bad days, one after the other, killing and running, chasing more and more enemies until she was able to return home.
Tabris ignored everyone in her path as she ran up the Fort, up and up until her final enemy. She couldn't face them. Fighting was frightening, scary, horrifying for all, each expression said. But they could survive and she wouldn't. Looking at their faces would be to face the hatred growing in her throat. How could they dare to be scared? They would survive. And in that roof, in that place, in that final moment, she knew she was going to die and none of them had the guts to stop her.
She wanted the Alienage. She didn't want armor or a blade, not even the one he gave her. Didn't want that fear which corroded her flesh and destroyed her courage. She wanted to breathe and her heart to keep beating. More than that, Tabris wanted to cry. Like the girl she was.
"Warden?" Around her, the world changed quickly. Fire and shadows, screams overtaking the space while she waited. Waited for what? Tabris gave herself a light moment of pure ignorance. She just waited. "Warden?" Waited for someone to acknowledge her. "Tabris?" As the elf, the one who is afraid of death and not the Warden.
Tabris didn't turn around, she knew who it was. Who else would it be? He had been her reassurance all that time. Not the King, not the Queen, just him.
"I'm scared."
During the whole time, she had been. Girls like her weren't meant to push forward. He said to do so and she had followed but her heart had trembled, had hurt, wasn't fine, wasn't all right and no one had bothered to see. During that whole time she had feared, installed fear, feared her own fear but forced herself to ignore it. Because she is a warrior and that's all she'll ever be. Without this, she would be back on the gutter until even that was destroyed.
"It's going to die," she continued, dry tongue, dry throat, words gasped out. "And it's going to take me with him. And I'm scared. Why can't people see that I'm scared? This isn't some story. I wasn't supposed to be here or being this. I was supposed to die old with kids. Why am I the only who has to walk out there knowing what's going to happen?"
At the end of the book, Tabris learns. She was good at running but so much better at chasing. Chasing her freedom, chasing the murderer who had touched her cousin, chasing that bastard who had acted against her, chased countless cowards who had hid, had hurt, had killed and now, the last one, the one she had chased for what seemed her whole life was in front of her. She was too good at chasing. A fatal flaw.
"I'm so scared. I don't want to die." The Dragon roared once more, cutting her words short, commiseration hidden somewhere away.
Those were the last words Tabris spoke.
Loghain says nothing, heavy presence right by her shoulder, somewhere on the back, somewhere in the land of the living in which she doesn't seem to belong anymore. A strong girl, always faithful. Still, just a girl. Younger than Anora.
"But it's all right. See?" He knows the blade on her hands. He gave it to her, short time before, a lifetime ago. "I will use it well." It trembles in her hand continuously and he can swear there is something like tears on her eyes. They don't disappear, not even when the Warden starts running towards the fire and the great dragon in its mist.
This is what a Commander does. Sends others to die in his place, in the place of the King and Queen. He is a Commander and nothing more than that. He is a Commander above everything. In that manner, he murders the wish to run after the small form and stop her sacrifice, maybe find another way, maybe save her, maybe, just maybe, tighten his arms around until she stops shaking, this child soldier that he forged. He is a Commander though and does nothing of the sort.
The fools watch her die, in a move of madness and bravery, and call her a hero. As if it matters anything.
The Teyrn watches her die, in a blaze of fire and stars, and calls her comrade. Equal. He calls her Kallian for the very first time.
And, when the night falls, he keeps her words hidden and buries any' might have been' with her.