Author's notes: This little story has been on my mind for a long time. Now I finally decided to sit down and let my muse take over. A tale of love, loss and sacrifice inspired by having my Elven Mage being abandoned by Alistair after the Landsmeet. It was draining to write, yet also very rewarding. Please let me know what you think of this sad little plot bunny.
Warnings: Character death/Graphic violence
Translations: They may be found at the bottom of the page.
Spineam Coronam
I'll read my triumph in thine eyes,
Behold, and prove the change;
Then leave, perchance, my noble prize,
Once more in arms to range.
I'd die when all the foam is up,
The bright wine sparkling high;
Nor wait till in the exhausted cup
Life's dull dregs only lie.
Then Love thus crowned with sweet reward,
Hope blest with fulness large,
I'd mount the saddle, draw the sword,
And perish in the charge!
(Charlotte Bronte)
"No. Loghain has to die for his crimes."
The words fell from Tara's lips like shards of ice, her dark, elven eyes entirely focused on Alistair. For she neither would nor could meet the anguish in Anora's gaze nor withhold the icy flare in Loghain's narrowed eyes. The Landsmeet erupted in exclamations of shock at seeing a young girl, barely even a woman, condemn its greatest war hero to a traitor's death, yet no one dared contradict her, not after witnessing the lethal power those pallid hands commanded first hand. A voice, ragged with despair, cut through the blood red haze of vengeance, disgust and thinly veiled admiration, it was painfully familiar in its silvery clarity...sharp as a poisoned blade. An urge to cover her ears nearly overcame Tara, her eyes were stinging with unshed tears.
"You cannot do this!" Anora pleaded, naked terror in her dark blue eyes. "My father may have been wrong..." she conceded, barely concealing the trembling of her hands. "But he is still a hero to the people!" A vision of Ser Cauthrien slithered through Tara's mind; a proud, regal woman begging for mercy she must have known Loghain would have denied Tara, had the tables been turned. Before she was able to explain her decision however, Loghain's voice, painfully tender and loving, relieved her of that burden. An unexpected sliver of mercy in a situation rapidly spiraling out of control.
"Anora...hush." he soothed, as if calming a frantic filly refusing to take in the bit. "It's over." He seemed at peace, facing death as calmly as he had met the Orlesian legions at the River Dane. His affectionate tone struck a raw nerve, more so than begging for his life ever could have done. Looking at him now she knew that he was far beyond such trivialities, he seemed relieved rather than frightened. A twinge of admiration arose within her, unbidden as much as it was unwelcome.
"Stop treating me like a child! This..." The young queen's voice cracked with emotion, her composure crumbling more and more with every word. "This is serious!"
"Daughters never grow up, Anora. They remain six years old with pigtails and skinned knees...forever." A hint of a smile ghosted over Loghain's rigid face at the dark jest, other than that his chiseled features betrayed no emotion other than acceptance of his fate.
"Father..." Anora sobbed, burying her face in her hands, unable to keep her tears from falling.
"Just make it quick, Warden. I can face the Maker knowing that Ferelden is in your hands."
No matter how hard she tried to detect a barb, there was naught but sincerity in those words. No sarcasm, no cutting remark, only the quiet dignity of a fallen general embracing the consequences of his actions. And somehow that only added to her distress. A moment of hesitation seemed to stretch into hours of limbo before she was able to meet his gaze evenly. Alistair stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Hatred, seething and untempered, was etched upon his face as his self control shattered with an almost audible snap.
"Enough of this!" he spat, a dark glint of poisonous bloodlust perverting his boyish features. It was a sight that chilled Tara to the core, for she had never seen him like this. Merciless to the point of blistering rage, he seemed a far cry from the hapless boy she had grown to love so deeply. "Tara, if you cannot do it, I'll happily send this..." He blew out a ragged breath. "...this vile monster to the void. His death will be far easier than any of those he condemned to die over the past year, I assure you!"
"No." Tara gripped his arm, stepping between Alistair and his target. "This is not about vengeance, Alistair. This is about justice!" Try as she might, she could not help but be mortified by Anora's quiet sobbing intensifying at her implacable resolve. "I will do it." Her fingers were trembling slightly as she pulled Alistair's sword out of its sheath, almost toppling over at the unexpected weight. The realization of being unable to lift the weapon properly sent a cold jolt of panic through her veins.
"Hold him down for me, Alistair." she ordered, an audible quiver fluttering through her voice.
"Unnecessary." Loghain interjected, obviously amused by her inability to think things through properly. Bowing his head, he knelt down on one knee, brushing his hair aside to offer her his bare neck. "Warden..." he continued with a hint of a defiant smirk, "Strike from the side, it will make things easier..." The smirk blossomed into a patronizing smile. "For both of us."
"Anora..." Tara ignored him, focusing her attention on the grief stricken young woman standing by her father's side. "Would you not rather step aside or..." Her throat felt gravelly, the taste of bile nearly overpowered her. "...Or leave?" she finished quietly.
"Never!" Anora flared, bristling at the idea of accepting any kindness from her father's killer. "Keep your charade of sympathy for those who might actually want it!"
"So be it then..." Squeezing her eyes shut, she gripped the blade tightly with both hands and raised it. After all, she had killed before...men...women...even children affected by the Blight disease. There was no reason for those icy fingers of remorse...even regret pulling at her heart. A shiver ran through her entire body as she opened her eyes to focus and then the blade fell...
A clear cut...a sickening crunching sound...and it was over. The blade dropped from her clammy fingers as fountains of blood sprayed over her, for Loghain's heart was still pumping. How can there still be so much blood in him, she thought as her knees gave way. Hot rivulets of scarlet were staining her from head to toe as she felt Alistair's arms around her in an attempt to help her up.
"Don't touch me!" she hissed, recoiling from him as though he were a poisonous snake about to choke her to death. Anora too had broken down, pressing one of her father's hands to her chest in an ancient gesture of abandonment and grief. She too was covered in blood, hot tears spilling from her eyes as she pressed her lips to the bloodstained hand, the very same hand that had rested on her shoulder so many times...now limp, powerless...dead... Strangled sobs culminated into quiet screams of agony as the finality of the Warden's act was confirmed by the blood flow coming to a slow, agonizing halt.
Later she would not remember much of the events following the execution. Would not recall the bleeding body with its grossly disfigured stump being carried away... Or following Eamon's advice of putting Alistair on his father's throne. Shaken to the core, she merely looked on as Alistair made a desperate attempt to escape this unwanted burden, only to be overcome by Eamon explaining his duty to Ferelden as well as the Grey Wardens. Anora being led away by guards, her wordless gaze more condemning than any ancient blood curse. Being awarded Loghain's position as the leader of the king's armies struck her as odd, given her utter lack of tactical knowledge; however, there was no one else more capable in the eyes of the world, so she accepted her prize with a numb nod of her head. This was not murder, she told herself, this was long overdue justice! Phantom faces of her friends at the Tower arose before her eyes, elven slaves, half starved and plagued by disease wrestled down the pangs of her conscience... Finally, there was Alistair suffering the loss of Duncan as well as the slaughter of the Grey Wardens at Ostagar. So much death and destruction...ending in more bloodshed and turmoil. A more sarcastic mind than Tara's would have viewed it as a fitting end to Loghain's reign of terror. To Tara it was a mere display of justice, leaving her with an ashen taste of defeat that no water would be able to wash away entirely.
"Warden, a word, if you please?" Eamon put a steadying hand on Tara's shoulder, not entirely oblivious to her state of shock.
"Can't this wait, Mylord? I need..." Her stomach heaved dangerously at the sight of her bloodied hands. "I need to wash and..."
"I am afraid this matter is too urgent to wait. Please, accompany me to my sitting room." Alistair made an attempt to follow but Eamon made it quite clear that this was for Tara's ears alone. Frowning slightly, he made his way towards his bedroom; for he too had to come to terms with what had occurred. Meanwhile, Tara, covered in gore as well as tears, followed in the Arl's wake. An elven servant, Maker bless her heart, offered her a cup of water which she gladly accepted. Sipping it slowly, she made a valiant attempt to focus on Eamon's stone faced expression, dread blossoming in her stomach.
"Warden..." he began, clearly uncomfortable at the sight of her in such a state. "Tara..." His voice mellowed into a soothing baritone.
"I am unwell, Mylord, and unless you wish to carry me out of your estate, allow me to take a seat." Clutching the back of a chair, she felt her stomach revolting once more, her ashen face twisted by a painful grimace.
"Please, have a seat, dear girl. Forgive my oversight..."
"I do not want to be rude, Sir...but please tell me your news while I still have enough of my wits about me to comprehend them." she muttered quietly, exhaustion and turmoil evident in her worn features.
"You have done the impossible, my dear girl. And yet, I find myself in the tragic position of asking you for yet another sacrifice in Ferelden's name."
Her head shot up at that, clarity slowly returning to her blank eyes.
"What do you mean? What more could you possibly want from me?"
"Alistair's changed position requires careful handling, I am sure you are aware of that. Please forgive my bluntness, but the lad will need a wife to bear him children. And..." His voice trailed off meaningfully.
"And that wife cannot be me, I am aware of that. An elven queen on Ferelden's throne? Impossible. Never mind her being tainted by magic." she stated numbly, once more surprising him with her quick, accurate thinking.
"Indeed. I have seen the way the lad looks at you, my dear. But it cannot be. I am so sorry..."
"What..." She jumped to her feet, nearly overcome by the implication of his words. "What are you trying to say? That I have to content myself with being his mistress? I have already come to terms with that a long time ago."
"I am afraid there is more to it than that, Warden." Eamon had the grace of looking positively contrite now, which only added to Tara's mounting dread.
"But...I do not understand. You're saying that's not good enough? Should I give them more space once they return from their honeymoon? Stay away for a week or so for them to settle in?" Her sarcasm cut deeply, for he was not used to her raising her voice like this. Her distress was evident, even a blind man would have seen how much it cost her to joke about this in such a sinister manner.
"I am afraid that such an arrangement is inadequate in protecting our new king's image in the eyes of all of Thedas. A more permanent separation will be required for the good of Ferelden once the Blight is defeated. The stability of the kingdom..."
"Surely you are not asking me to give him up forever?" she cut in vehemently, the thought clearly abhorrent to her.
"There is no other way to avoid further civil unrest. Surely..."
"No! Never!" she burst out, clearly beyond her breaking point. Gripping his hand tightly, her eyes sought his in a desperate plea. "Can you not see how much I love him? I..." her voice cracked painfully for a moment as she struggled to find the appropriate words. "I have no family, no friends, no roots tying me to this world. Alistair promised to be all of these things to me and...and...Maker only knows if I will survive the Blight. Please, rather than endure this, I would prefer to die. I beg you, do not ask this of me!"
"I am aware of the gravity of such a sacrifice, Tara, believe me. My own sister went through a similar plight a long time ago. However, please consider what I am telling you. You are both young and beautiful. In time..."
"No, say no more!" Tara turned her back on him, biting into a tightly balled fist to keep herself from screaming out her anguish.
"You moreso than anyone else know of Alistair's commitment to his duty. Find the strength to protect him in the love you have for him. Already the nobles are plotting to pry concessions out of him. His connection to an elven mage would be grist on their mills. Be his guiding angel in this matter, for only you can convince him of the hopelessness of such a dangerous relationship. I am not telling you this to inflict pain but to spare you from a conclusion far more harrowing than..." The sight of her slender shoulders shaking with quiet sobs made it impossible to go on. She was so painfully young and lonely; so deeply in love, so very much like Rowan... Only Rowan had found the strength to go on after seeing her love being sacrificed for Ferelden, never mind that it had not fallen to her to sever the bond tying her to the man whose blood now adorned Tara's robes... The past is always with us, Loghain had once said to a very young Eamon; and it seemed as though he would have the last word, even in death.
"Nothing ever changes..." Her voice, veiled in tears and misery, grew steadier with each word she spoke. "All that remains is duty, sacrifice and, ultimately, death." Fixing him with a downright glacial stare, she crossed her arms, ready to receive his advice. "What would you have me do?" Like a hare caught in a trap, she writhed and pleaded with her eyes, clinging to the faintest shreds of hope.
"Explain to him that this is for his own good. Be kind to him, he has already been through so much."
"I...I know what I have to do, Sir. Thank you for all your advice and support in this as well as other matters."
"What do you plan to do, Tara?" he asked, suddenly alarmed by her blank tone.
"It's best you do not know." she shrugged her shoulders. "All I ask is that, should I fall against the archdemon, you tell him how he was everything to me. Let him know of no matter what I may have said or done, he was, is and always will be the light of my life. Will you promise me that?"
"Certainly. But there is no need to expect that you will die. If what you have mastered today is any indication of what you are capable of, you will triumph over the Blight and live a long, contented life." Aptly he was not referring to her life as happy, a detail that did not escape Tara.
"What I accomplished today was to kill an enemy who surrendered honorably. I highly doubt the archdemon will show me the same courtesy, Mylord."
With that said, she turned on her heel and left, leaving him bitterly distressed. For he was not an evil nor a callous man, merely a seasoned veteran in the grand game of politics who had saved her from a fate worse than death. The more he attempted to believe it however, the more hollow it rang to his ears.
"You know, part of me still expects people to point and laugh at me as I realize that I have no clothes on...This is just so unreal..." Alistair rose from his bed as he saw her entering his room, ever ready to take her into his arms. For she had always been real, always been there...no matter how hard he might try, he was incapable of remembering his life before falling in love with this gentle, passionate woman. This fair young elf, with her honey colored eyes and silvery blond hair, had not only given his life a new direction by giving him the self confidence he had always lacked, but she had also taught him everything he knew about love. To wake up to her beautiful, strangely alluring smile every day would make being king worth it, of that he was certain. Wrapping his arms around her bloodied form, he felt her stiffen at his touch, her face hardening at his attempt to kiss her.
"Alistair...we need to talk." she began, pushing him back gently.
"Oh no, we're not in the Fade again, are we?" he joked, not quite able to disguise the hurt her rejection had caused.
"What?" Sidetracked for a moment, she stared at him quizzically. "No, of course not. Please, just listen to me." Wringing her hands in a helpless gesture of distress, she took another step away from him, unable to look him in the eye.
"Well, whatever I did, I didn't mean it and I'm truly sorry. I mean...what did I do, anyway?"
"This isn't about something you did, mela en coiamin." Her eyes lit up at the tender reference, the only way of telling him how she truly felt without him realizing just what it meant. "This is something I have decided to do. What happened back there at the Landsmeet changed everything and now there is no way to..."
"Well..." His humorous facade had cracked slightly at the potency of those words. "Nothing that matters has changed..." Within an instant he was by her side, taking her hand in both of his. It slipped out of his grasp as she turned away silently. "Has it?" Alistair asked slowly, not daring to touch her again. The chilling cold she exuded was almost tangible and there was something else...he could not quite name it but it terrified him just the same.
"Everything has changed," she repeated, as if forcing herself to believe it was so. "We must change too, for nothing will ever be the same once you are crowned king." Exhaling a breath she had been unaware of holding, she continued quickly. "To every action there is a reaction. This..." her finger drew a line from his chest to hers, "...whatever it is, it cannot continue, given the circumstances."
"Why?" A single word, rasped with wide eyed horror. Why indeed? Because a fate stronger than their love had willed it? For a moment all she wanted to do was to bury her face in his chest as she always had done. Stroke his hair, inhale his scent of leather and heather...console him, heal the wound she herself had inflicted.
"Because I am honor bound to my people as well as the cause of mages. Because there are more important things than a...a..." she struggled with the phrase, knowing its lethal power. "...a camp romance. Being a king's mistress on the side would not only bring dishonor to me, it would damage everything I ever fought to achieve." Checkmate. He reared back as if struck by an arrow, naked anguish spreading over his features like a tidal wave slamming right into her heart.
"So...this was nothing but means to an end?" he whispered painfully, tears in his eyes. "It was just my father's blood you cared for, much like the elven bard in his legend?" Being compared to a slippery schemer who had died a traitor's death at the hands of the man she had grown to love, that struck deeply.
"I am merely being honest..." she lied through her teeth, cursing herself as she spoke.
"Don't you think it's a bit late for that?" he flared. That hatred...she had seen it before. It had raged through his eyes as he had offered to execute Loghain in her stead. Flinching slightly, she took a step back and bit her tongue, unable to control just what she might let slip if she spoke up now. "Get out!" he hissed, clearly beyond his breaking point. "Just...get out!"
"You will understand some day...I swear that..." There must be no tears now, cry when he cannot see you or else all is lost, he tortured spirit screamed in helpless agony.
"Oh, I understand just fine." he snarled, breathing heavily to keep his anger under control. "You are just like all the rest of them. Conniving, manipulative and now your conscience makes itself known? Tell it to someone who actually cares!" His stricken expression belied his callous words, he had always been a miserable liar.
"I am sorry..." she whispered softly, unable to keep her voice from quivering. "Find strength in this as your father did, for you will need it in the times to come."
"Stop it!" A tortured scream wedded to a feral growl. "I am not my father! I am not some bloodline's last hope, I am not a king!" he breathed, terrified at the empty years without her stretching out before him like a dark chasm. "I am a man..." His voice broke, for a moment he was once again the young, hapless recruit she had met at Ostagar. "I am just a man who reached for too big a prize!"
Unable to listen to any more of his anguished words she fled from the room, her hands pressed to her ears. They could not block out the ache in his voice as it followed her to her own bedchamber.
Two weeks later, Royal Palace at Denerim
It was over at long last. The Hero Of Ferelden had defeated the Blight at the cost of her own life. The crowd was singing her praises, already excusing her elven heritage with references to her magical talents. She was to be given a lavish burial celebration, the First Warden himself having expressed an interest in having her interred at Weisshaupt once the celebrations were over. None of it seemed to matter to Alistair who spent his days in as much seclusion as being king permitted him, which was entirely too little. Her barely spoke, did not express much interest in his companions' farewells and refused to visit the chamber where they had put her on display for all to bid her farewell. They were not mourning her loss, simply showing their gratitude for having been spared utter destruction by the Blight. The masses had not known her, never been privy to her insecurities, her sweet smiles, her hopeful encouragement... The people, for all their display of grief, were unaware of what a priceless treasure they had lost.
"Alistair, dear boy, will you not bid her farewell? Rumors are already spreading about this and you would do well to stop them before they get out of hand." Eamon advised kindly.
"If I were to go to her to bid her farewell, the rumors would only be confirmed. There would be no denying it afterwards!" Alistair snapped angrily, unwilling to be told just how to mourn the love of his life.
"I made a promise to Tara after the Landsmeet, Alistair. And I keep my promises!" Eamon countered meaningfully. Sighing deeply he pulled a neatly sealed roll vellum from his coat and handed it to Alistair. "Read this, for her sake and yours. Should you wish to talk afterwards, you know where to find me." Having said his piece, the Arl walked away, a mournful expression on his worn, aged face.
Alistair looked at the letter, unsure whether to throw it in the fire or to break the seal to reveal her final message to him. After a moment of contemplation he chose the latter. He had never seen Tara's handwriting before, Andraste's Flaming Sword, he had not even been aware of her ability to write at all. Most elves never learned... Then again, Tara was anything but ordinary and her upbringing at the Tower would have included both reading and writing... The letter smelled faintly of heather, just like Tara herself had... Wiping away his tears with an abrupt movement of the back of his hand he focused on the letter before him. It read:
Mela en coiamin, my beloved and my friend,
If you are reading this then my final wish has been granted by the Creators above. You are alive to be the king I know you can be. When last we spoke, we parted in anger and all I can do is ask your pardon for her who loved you too well to destroy your life by being a part of it once the Blight was defeated. I have proven my love in the face of your contempt, yet by doing so I have also struck a terrible blow. Seeing you suffer was more than I could bear and so I ran like a coward. My hope is that, one day, you will be able to forgive me.
As for me, I want you to live life to the fullest. And should you one day meet a fair maiden who will love you with all her heart, make her your wife, I wish it to be so, please do it for me. Wherever I am, the Void or the Beyond, I shall watch over you and her and pray to the Gods to keep you safe and happy.
My last request, which I beg you to grant, is not to have me burned and buried like a human hero. Honor my people by giving me back to nature in all her glory. I have but one memory of my mother, an elven song she used to sing when I was little...
The angels came and took me away
Away to the Maker's Side
Where all was light
Where all was golden and bright
Yet it seemed like the Void to me.
I belong to the earth, I belong to the land
I belong to the wind and the rain
And the hills and the heather.
There was no joy for me up there
My restless heart was torn wide apart
Up there, raised so high
I found no place, there was no space there for me
So they cast me out, they sent me back to earth
For that is where I belong.
I belong to the earth.
I belong to the wind and the rain
And the hills and the heather.
That is indeed where I belong. Give me back to Mother Nature so that whatever remains of existence on this earth may nurture new life when the spring kisses the world awake from its wintry slumber.
Be at peace, mela en coiamin.
Yours always,
Tara
The chapel was bathed in dusk's golden light as he entered, giving her honey colored hair an unearthly glow. Be at peace, she had written...and she seemed to be at peace. Smiling serenely she was even more beautiful to him now than she had been in life. Kneeling down before the catafalque, he raised her white hand to his lips. First Warden or no, he would do everything in his power to fulfil her last request. True to his word, with the aid of the Dalish and their new Keeper, the Hero Of Ferelden received an elven burial in a sunlit meadow, surrounded by ancient oak trees and the mournful cries of the halla. Alistair himself planted a young willow atop her grave. Finally he too had found peace in the knowledge only unconditional love can grant.
FIN
Translations and Aknowledgements:
Spineam Coronam = A Crown Of Thorns
Mela en coiamin = Love of my life
"I belong to the earth" is a song from the musical "Wuthering Heights" by Bernard J. Taylor