"I'm sorry mate, but I'm cutting you off."
The bartender in The Hanged Man took away Alistair's empty mug, ignoring the latter's protests.
"C'mon! Just one more! You know my coin is good for it." His fingers, clumsy fingers that didn't obey him anymore, groped for the pouch on his belt. After a few tries, two silvers coins rolled on the table.
"Hah! See? Gimme more!"
With a dirty rag the bartender wiped down the bar in an effort to spread the grime more evenly. The oily stain making a pretty rainbow on the top. For good measure, he used the same cloth to 'clean' the mugs.
"Nope. Not going to happen son."
Through swimming vision, Alistair glared at the bartender. Or, he would glare at the bartender if the he would stand still for a minute. All four of them. Oh, no, wait. There was only one bartender again. Slippery fellow. A little voice in the back of his head tutted at him, but he ignored it.
"Oh give me a break," he wailed, "You won't give the prince of Ferelden one last ale?"
"'Prince of Ferelden' eh? And what's a so-called Prince of Ferelden doing in a pub in Kirkwall, drinking 'imself into a stupor?" The bartender shook his head. "I may not be the smartest man in town, but I know when someone is trying to pull my leg. You're still cut off from my tap, y'hear?"
"I'm a prince of Ferelden, I'm telling you!"
A woman near the bar rolled her eyes, "He keeps saying that," she muttered in her cup.
"That's because it's true!" Alistair snarled, "Just because you lot aren't smart enough to understand, doesn't make it not true."
She turned around, leaning back against the bar. "So what are you doing here? Drinking your sorrows? Isn't there some sort of princess pining for you back home? A dog maybe?"
"Oh. Oh, that's low. Sure, kick the traitor while he's down. I mean, that's what everybody else has been doing." With his indexfinger he doodled a little stickfigure in the puddle of ale before him on the table. It was vaguely the shape of a man, holding a sword. "And why shouldn't you?" In the figure's other hand he drew a shield. If you squinted a bit and looked at it sideways, it vaguely resembled Alistair. "She did."
The woman at the bar had turned around and wasn't paying him any more attention. Alistair was fairly sure he had seen her here before. Something of a regular, she was. She reminded him of Morrigan. Both were beautiful women, and both of them had a mean streak.
"Stabbed me in the back, she did. Never even saw it coming," next to the Alistair-doodle he was drawing another stickfigure, almost similar to the first one. "not after all we'd been through together." Two stripes were drawn to represent daggers. "And we'd been through a lot together, let me tell you. Darkspawn, ogres… Morrigan," Somewhere halfway the stickfigure received two circles, apparently branding it as 'female'.
He stared wistfully at the drawing, "And yet, here I am," he whispered, "thanks to her. Thanks to them." Angrily he wiped the drawing away and raised his finger.
"Bartender, another ale please!"
"Are you here again?" The woman looked at him in clear distaste.
"Yes! I'm still here. What do you want from me?" Alistair growled, slumped over his table in the corner. "It's not as if I've got anywhere else to go. Not after what she did to me." He grabbed his mug and downed the last of the ale.
"You still think you're the Prince of Ferelden?" Everyday someone would ask him this. Everyday. As if they hoped he'd slip up and give a wrong answer.
"I don't think that. I am a prince of Ferelden." He muttered, the same as he did every day.
"There you are! So you are here," an all too familiar voice called out near the doorway and Alistair groaned. Not him. Anyone but him.
"What do you want Teagan?" He snapped, not looking up to face his uncle. "Did she send you? Did she ask you to come and fetch me so she could twist the knife in my back one last time? Does she want to laugh at who-" He stopped, chuckled mirthlessly, "at what I've become?"
Teagan grimaced at the harsh words, "That's enough Alistair. I think you've wallowed in self-pity enough, don't you?" he sat down with his nephew.
Alistair snorted. "And what am I supposed to do?" He asked.
"Start again," Teagan said, "Come with me. To Ferelden." Gingerly, Teagan put one hand on Alistair's shoulder.
Alistair sighed, blinking away what definitely weren't tears. A prince of Ferelden did not cry, damnit.
"Start again." He repeated the words, tasting them on his tongue. "In Ferelden. Without her?" It was phrased as a question, but he wasn't sure if it was directed at Teagan, or himself.
"You…" The words were barely a hoarse whisper, but spoken with all the venom he could muster.
Solona was standing in the doorframe of his bedroom, nervously chewing on her lip.
"What are you doing here?" He spat, after a long silence. "You did send Teagan after me, didn't you?"
"I… I wanted to talk to you." She stepped inside and silently closed the door behind her.
"We haven't spoken in years, Alistair. I had hoped-"
His laugh was harsh and loud, "You had hoped, what? Exactly?" Running his fingers through his hair, a nervous trait he had picked up in Kirkwall, he started pacing the room. "That we would, I don't know, kiss and make up? Be friends again? Laugh about 'silly old Alistair'?" His voice picked up in volume. "Make jokes about that one time we faced a blight and you let this silly old murderer run off?" Now he held up his hands, "No, no, wait. It gets better. Let's tell stories about how you left the guy that loved you when you had to choose between him and the previously mentioned murderer."
"Alistair…" Her voice was soft, pleading. "We were losing. Cailan only wanted glory. A lot more people would've-"
"No!" Now he was shouting, "You do not get to talk to me like that." He walked up to her, a finger pointing at her accusingly. "I hated you. What am I saying? I HATE you! Present tense! You brandished me a traitor. YOU let Loghain live, but I was the one who left. Do you-" He stopped to get a breath, pacing back again, "Do you even realize what Loghain did? Do you know that you let a murderer live?"
She sat down on the bed, not replying to his rants. When he said 'murderer' she winced a little, as if he had physically hit her. But other than that, she did not respond to him shouting.
"He left us to die, Solona! He let Cailan die. Duncan died because of him! Hundreds and hundreds of people died at Ostagar… Because. Of. Him! Maker's Breath, he would've killed-" Here he stopped, looking at her as if he saw her for the first time. "He would've killed you."
"Alistair…"
"He… would have killed you in that duel. If you hadn't won…" He sunk down on his knees before her and looked up, a desolate look in his eyes. "Do you even doubt that? He would have killed you without a second thought. And I don't know what I would have done without you."
Solona smiled sadly and sighed.
"I'm sorry, Alistair."
"I have tried so hard to hate you," he muttered under his breath. "You can't even begin to imagine. It was easier to hate you than to admit to myself I missed you." He gingerly reached up to her face.
"Maker's Breath, but I missed you so very much."
Slowly he got back to his feet, leaning in to her as he rose, "Sod this," he growled before pressing his lips on hers. It had been too long. Her scent drove him mad, the taste of her in his mouth made his knees buckle. Their teeth clicked in their frenzied need for each other, neither of them willing to stop just yet.
"This doesn't mean I've forgiven you." He muttered against her lips as he pushed her back on the bed.
"I know." She answered, feverishly tugging at his clothes.
"What you did was really unforgivable." Her sash was thrown on the floor, followed by his tunic.
"I know. We'll discuss it later." Solona pulled him back in her, suddenly very naked, embrace.
"I mean, I might forgive you if you-"
"Alistair?"
"Yes?"
"Shutup." She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him up unto the bed with her, where she easily flipped him over so she was on top.
"You talk way too much sometimes." She breathed, giving open mouthed kisses on his collarbone and slowly making her way down.
"Yes, well-" Alistair began, but he swallowed the sentence when Solona growled softly and carefully bit his nipple as a warning.
"Shutting up. I'm shutting up."
She raked her fingernails lightly over his thighs, going ever lower. When she reached his bellybutton she teasingly dipped her tongue in, before continuing on.
Alistair's breath hitched in his throat when her mouth closed on his length. Her tongue was working miracles on him and he threaded his fingers in her hair. Sweet Andraste, what was she doing?
He pulled on her hair, carefully, and brought her back up to his mouth where he all but devoured her lips in a heated kiss.
"What were you doing?" He gasped, when they came up for air.
"Want me to do it again?" She teased, a glint in her eyes.
"No." He heard himself say that, and hurried to correct it, "Well, yes. But not right now." He planted little kisses all over her face, cherishing every feature that he had missed for all these years.
Then he gently turned her around, so she was lying on her back and he was hovering over her body. Her wonderful, glorious body.
"Did I ever tell you that you're beautiful?" He whispered, kissing her swollen lips again.
"Don't answer that," He went on, murmuring against her mouth.
He let his hands roam her body, starting at her hips and making their way up. Soft, warm skin under his fingertips. Her soft, warm skin. Gentle caresses on her stomach, not as flat as it had been years before, but still gorgeous. Scars of battles long ago, white and smooth against her bronze skin. Most of them he knew, some of them were new and fresh.
She gently guided his hand away from those scars and looked him in the eye, "I'm fine, Alistair," she assured him, letting his hand go again when she was sure he wouldn't dwell on it.
"That you are," he muttered, pressing a kiss in that little dip between her collarbones. His hands found her breasts and he had to stop himself from going crazy when he heard her sigh in satisfaction.
Spurred on by the encouraging sounds she was making, his lips took the place of his fingers. His tongue played with her erect nipples, savoring the feel and the taste of her flesh and branding the sound of her moans in his memory.
When he couldn't take anymore he pressed his knee between her legs and looked at her, the question unspoken between them.
He didn't hesitate when she nodded eagerly, he almost released instantly when she cried out and wrapped her legs around him. But he was completely lost when she cried out his name and dug her nails in his back.
He had fallen asleep with her in his arms. It had been years ago when he had last experienced this.
There was no adequate way to describe his feelings for her at this point. He still hadn't forgiven her for letting Loghain live. But hate? No.
She stirred and mumbled his name. A smile crept on his face while he stared down at her.
"Solona?" He asked softly, his mouth inches from her ear.
"Yes?" She muttered.
"I love you."
"I love you too. Welcome home."