Author's note: Well, apparently I had forgotten this one-shot; it has been sitting here since January, before I even had a profile on this site. Angsty, but has romance and a smidgeon of humor dashed in the pot. Hmm, for a happy person, I tend to enjoy writing sad fics. My bad. I will have to write another story, a happier one, to make up for all this going on down there.
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age or the characters. Just playing with their emotions…and apparently killing their happiness. 0_0
A man stood on the precipice of a huge, foreboding cliff. He stood still, looking out pensively across the sea beneath him. The man was clad in fine scale armor, of which scars lay crisscrossed across the dull silver plates. Old bloodstains lay splattered haphazardly in various areas. A large greatsword was strapped to his muscular back, alongside a massive shield bearing the Grey Warden insignia. The man was handsome by any standards, and his attire and physique bespoke his status as a skilled warrior. Grey Wardens were the best of the best, far more infamous than knights. And this certain warrior was more famous than the rest. His given name was Alistair, the famous Warden who stood beside the Hero of Ferelden during her less notorious beginnings. He was with her during her Joining ritual, standing vigilant while she and her would-be Grey Warden trainees drank Darkspawn blood they had gathered earlier. And when Longhain betrayed them all after they had risked life and limb to light that blasted beacon, he, her fellow Marabi hound, Raines, and Morrigan traveled to hell and back, warning the inhabitants of Ferelden the dangers of the Blight. They had faced horrors that which even the most hardened of men could not face, and nearly died on several occasions. They vanquished, conquered; survived. Cousland rose in notoriety for her prowess with a blade and her unerring kindness to all. She was born a noblewoman, but she had a natural, uncanny ability as a warrior. That's why Duncan was so interested in the woman. She was intelligent and she could say the most humorous things…and her beauty…oh, her beauty. She was the most glorious thing he had ever had the pleasure of seeing. Her lean, muscular body, tanned and smooth. She had faint tattoos adorning her face, highlighting her assets. Her hair was the color of blood, rich and untainted by Darkspawn, or evil. Her eyes as blue and fathomless as the sea he was gazing at. The way she would stare at him, like she was staring at his soul. He could let go around Claire. She never judged, never looked at him like she was displeased or disgusted. Claire loved him, and he loved her in return.
But, alas, it was not meant to be. The one night of shared passion and the countless conversations bridled with flirtations was the only thing they experienced together as more than just fellow Warden members. The war…it had stripped everything from him. Alistair closed his eyes, his fists clenching tightly at his sides. He relived the final moments with his love, with Claire. Their final battle against the dreaded Archdemon was upon them. Claire had vehemently refused Morrigan's proposal for Alistair to father her a child at her mother's request. As much as the idea of touching that woman repulsed him, he would have gladly sired the witch a child if it would have saved Claire. As it was, he had offered himself up, the notion of living without her was nonexistent. He would rather fall as a sacrifice for his true love than stand idly by while she died. However, as soon as the words left his mouth, the warrior stopped him. She told him in no uncertain terms that she would not allow him to sacrifice himself. It was not his burden to bear, she said. She told him that she loved him with every fiber of her body, and death would never stop it. Claire asked him to move on, forget about her until they met again in the afterlife. His pleading eyes locked onto her determined, yet saddened, blue. As soon as he gazed into her eyes, he knew he would lose this battle. And in losing, he lost the war. The soon to be Hero of Ferelden turned her back to him and marched determinedly towards the massive beast, and with a final look at her knight and a beautiful smile on her lips, she stabbed the demon. A horrible cry rent the air, and his warrior and the beast were engulfed in a magnificent light. Alistair shielded his hand from the light, and when he finally removed his hand, they were gone. No bodies, no armor. Nothing remained of the two except a pile of ashes...and a pendant. He reached down and picked up the shining necklace. It was Claire's pendant from the Joining ritual. She never took it off. She said it reminded her not only of her fallen teammates, but of her family, her friends, and her past life. He cradled the pendant to his heart, pain ripping through him. Tears flowed down his young face as he cried out his anguish to the heavens.
There were parties. Parties held in the newly praised Hero of Ferelden's name. Statues in her visage were planned to be erected, a tall, stark reminder to her sacrifice. While the rest of the Ferelden jested and made merry, Alistair hid himself away. He could not bear to celebrate when the hero in question was his woman. He was just as much a celebrity as Claire, for he was with her from the start. He grew from a Grey Warden to an admired soldier. Women swooned at the sight of him, and men gawked and whispered of his feats. It sickened him, all this attention. He once craved for the recognition, but not at this price. The cost was too much. Queen Anora and the citizens of Ferelden hollered for him to be their new king in place of Cailan, but Alistair refused. Anora was a kind and beautiful woman, but the thought of holding her, marrying her, bedding her…it was just too much. Claire had asked him to move on, but her death weighed heavily upon his shoulders. No, the kingship was not for him, and neither was the lady behind it. So, the rightful heir to the throne denounced his claim, and, eventually, Anora married a handsome nobleman. He was generous, and just. His ruling was highly regarded for years to come.
So this is where Alistair now found himself. For two years he had wandered the world, slaying all manner of beasts, shielding the world from evil the best he could. He remained a Grey Warden, and became the Head Commander in charge. He threw himself into his work, and became even more renowned than ever before. But the memories still plagued him, in both wakefulness and dream states. He kept seeing Claire before her ultimate sacrifice, saw her blue eyes staring back at him, full of courage and with a touch of sadness. It was killing him slowly. Tears ran in rivulets down his chiseled face. "Why did you take her from me!? WHY?," he shouted in a voice laced with so much pain. He continued to scream and cry, finally collapsing to his knees. He continued to sob loudly, when he heard footsteps. He quickly shot to his feet, grabbing his sword tightly with his hand. A soft chuckle was heard. "Is that any way to greet a friend?" Alistair blinked in shock. He never thought he would hear that voice again. His eyes roamed up the body standing before him. It was a shimmery blue color, and he could tell it was a female warrior by the chest and the armor adorning her body. He reached the face and did a double take. It was Claire. His heart hammered painfully in his chest, and he clenched his eyes shut. No, no she was not here. She..she couldn't be. She was dead. He saw her ashes, her pendant! "You aren't here. You are not real. I am just having another nightmare." He heard her musical voice again. "No, love, you are not dreaming. I am the real thing…well, as real as I can be as a spirit, of course." Alistair shook his head. "No! Begone from my dreams! Let me in peace, why can't you? Can I not live without you plaguing my wake too?" he cried out in sorrow. The anguished former Templar felt cool hands grasp his gently. "It IS me, Alistair. I have come to you." Alistair opened his eyes, staring back at the face he knew as well as his own. The beautiful fallen hero stared back adoringly at him, blue eyes crinkling in joy while a smile played at her lips. "Cl-aire? It-it is you! But…but how? You…are dead. I saw you, I held you!" Claire's smile grew softer. "I am dead, it is true. I am here as a spirit; I will return to the Maker when I am done here, never to walk Ferelden again. But, I had to come to you. You needed to hear what I say."
His heart beat quickly in his chest as he stared at Claire. She was finally before him. He had only seen her in his nightmares, her memory the only thing he had for two years. And now her..spirit…was standing before him. The ethereal beauty removed her hand, smiling wider now. "Sweetheart, you need to let go of this crushing guilt you have held for so long. It has been years, Alistair. What happened was written long before; it was my destiny. Nothing you could have done would have saved my life, and Morrigan's ritual would have brought a foreign evil to Ferelden. Our love was doomed to die in its infancy. Let go, darling." Alistair's deep brown eyes stared at the woman who had swum through his thoughts for years. "How can you ask that of me? How can I forget your sacrifice, and that I did not stop you? I let you walk away, let you die. Now Ferelden is without their hero, and I am without my love." "Alistair, I am not asking you to stop loving me, or even to forget. I am asking you to heal. Heal from this, and live your life. Be the Grey Warden I know you are, and the man I know you to be. I know it is hard, but I am dead now. The time of grief has passed, and the window of opportunity is now. Go, be happy Alistair. Make my sacrifice worth it." The former templar just looked at Claire, remembering all the times they had spent together by the campfire, laughing and talking, escaping just for a little while from the destiny hanging over them both. He had managed to evade the crown, but Claire could not stop her own from claiming her. No, he did not want to heal, did not want to forget the most important person in his life. But maybe…maybe it was time to move on. He would never fall in love again, nor take another woman to be his. Claire was the only woman in his heart, and that would not change, but he could do his best to save lives wherever he went, making others' secure in their own. "Claire…I will do as you say. I will live my life like you wanted, befitting a Grey Warden. But…do not ask me to be happy with another. That I am unwilling to do. My heart, my soul, is intertwined with yours. I could not lie to another and tell them they have my heart; it would be untrue. You are the only one I want, in this life and the next."
"That is all I want for you, Alistair. I will wait for you in the Fade; we will meet again, when it is time." "I hope my calling comes quick, then. I-I miss you, Claire." Her eyes, glowing even brighter in her spirit form, glistened with an otherworldly light. "I miss you too, my knight. But we will not be parted forever. Keep faith, and do not go chasing death. I will always wait for you; there is no rush." Claire lifted her head, eyes staring at something high in the sky, unseen by her Warden. "It is time for me to go. The Maker has need of me." "But-but do you have to leave…so soon? Can we not be together for a few moments more?" Claire's smile was sad, as was her eyes. "I am afraid not. Spirits, unless bound her by their regrets, only have limited time. If it was not for the Maker giving me his blessing, I would not be here before you. Now, I must return." The younger Cousland stepped forward, her form solidifying, looking all the world like she was alive and not a mere visitor. "Goodbye, my knight. I love you, Alistair, and that has, and will never, change." Her lips met his, and her strong hands curled in his soft hair. Alistair felt her body press into his own, could feel her fingers playing with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. He returned her affection with a vigor born of desperation and an overwhelming sense of love. All too soon the passionate coupling dissolved, and Claire had pulled back. Her hand caressed his cheek tenderly, before slowly withdrawing. She walked backwards a few steps, eyes never leaving his own amber pair. Her silhouette slowly faded in front of his eyes. The last thing he saw of her before she disappeared was her smile, strong and full of promise. Tears streamed down his face, his hand still extended towards her form. He slowly lowered his appendage, bowing his head a moment. After a brief while, he slowly lifted up, straightening his body. A deep breath was inhaled, and determination settled in his eyes. The fire that had been extinguished years before was back, roaring into a mighty blaze. The pain that held his heart would never fully go away, but no longer would it cripple him. The sun shone down on his form, glinting off of his armor. His eyes rose to the heavens, imagining he could see Claire Cousland up there, regaling the Maker with one of her jokes. His mouth twitched; the woman had always possessed a wicked tongue with a wit to match. He knew that one day he would stand beside them, hopefully reveling in their shared presence. Maybe…maybe he would see his mother too, and Duncan. Cailan, and his father Maric. One day it might come to pass, but today was not that day. He had a promise to keep, and his duty not only to the Wardens but to his fallen love. He recalled the Grey Warden motto that Duncan had first recited to him after he had survived the joining. In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death…sacrifice. He had experienced war, and the victory that followed in its wake. He had seen death staring back at him in the form of his lover, the sacrifice she made for Ferelden and him. Now…now it was time to find the peace that was spoken of. He saluted towards the sky, and then started walking away purposefully. Woe to any enemies in his path. The Grey Warden was back; Alistair was back.