Spring had returned as it always did. It had been her favorite time of year. The hills of Ferelden, often brown under the summer sun's gaze, were green and blazed with lazy slashes of pinks and yellows as the tiny wildflowers bloomed in celebration of another winter past.

Eleven winters had come and gone; eleven springs had painted Ferelden in the brilliant colors that she had loved. Yet each spring was tinged with a regret he could not part with, for each one was a reminder that she was not here to see this beauty. The years had been prosperous for his kingdom and he had found new happiness, but there were still some things that he could not let go.

Birds sang and insects buzzed their warning as he passed. He walked this path less frequently than he would have liked, but she would understand. Duty did not pause for any man. They had both learned that lesson. Their order had built her a tomb fit for any hero in the Grey Warden fortress at Weisshaupt, but he could not visit her there and the people, his people, needed a place to visit her too. She was their hero after all.

So he had built one as well, here on this hillside overlooking the sea. The grass leapt and danced in the ocean breeze before racing away across the open expanse of ground that was empty save for this one, lone monument that stood in remembrance of her.

"Father, where are we going?"

He smiled down at the fair haired boy at his heels; a child who looked so much like him sometimes it still surprised him. But many things had amazed him with his arrival. Duncan. His child. He had helped fill the void in his heart left in the wake of her death. He hadn't thought it possible, but love was ever a surprise. She had taught him that. His son had only reinforced the lesson.

"We are going to pay our respects to a hero, Duncan," he replied, tilting his head towards the tomb ahead. It was the first time he had brought him to this place.

His amber eyes widened slightly as he realized what his father meant. He had been raised on tales of the warrior laid to rest before them. His young mind could scarcely fathom the bravery she had shown in the face of death. He dashed ahead, running up the hill to the tomb while his father continued on behind him. He had asked his father more times than he could count to visit the hero's tomb, but it had always been met with a patient refusal. He wasn't ready yet, but his father had promised he would take him as soon as he was old enough to make the journey.

Some would have scolded a child for showing such exuberance in a place such as this, but not Alistair. He knew Elissa wouldn't have been offended.

It had been too many years since he had heard her voice. Still when he closed his eyes and let everything fall away he could hear her laugh brush across his consciousness and hear her whisper of "I love you" in his ear. It had been her to tell him that his son would help him heal. At the time he hadn't believed he could ever get over her death, but she had been right as she always was. The moment that nursemaid had laid Duncan in his arms there had been a shred of hope in the darkness. A glimmer of optimism that he might wake one morning to find the hole in his heart was a little smaller.

When he reached the tomb Duncan was kneeling before it his hands resting on the smooth stone. "…know that your sacrifice has not been forgotten—"

"Duncan?" Alistair interrupted, kneeling beside his son.

His son smiled up at him. "I'm not a Grey Warden, so I shouldn't say the oath, right? But the words, they're comforting, you know? I thought it might help her to know we still remember what she gave up."

Alistair bowed his head so his son would not see the tears burning in his eyes. "They are comforting words indeed. She would have liked to hear them," he replied softly.

"She can hear them, father. Just because a person is dead doesn't mean they don't hear us still," Duncan assured him.

It was a child's reasoning, but it was comforting nonetheless. Even though logic told him she was beyond hearing he couldn't help but hope that his son's words were true.

Duncan bowed his head but at the last moment he perked back up, regarding his father with inquisitive eyes. "You love her, father, don't you?"

Many would disapprove of the way he and Anora had raised their son, but the two respected each other and had come together to raise a child they both loved wholeheartedly. They did not share a room and did not feign affection that did not exist. Yet what was he to say to his son when posed with this question. He wanted his son to marry for love, even though he had not done so.

In the end he did the only thing he could do. He told him the truth. "Yes. I love her very much."

The admission seemed to reassure Duncan and not confuse him like Alistair had thought it might. "That's good. Mother said you did, but I wanted to know for sure."

That startled Alistair. Anora rarely inserted herself into his affairs unless it was a matter of the kingdom. "What did she tell you?" he asked gently.

Duncan smiled softly, almost to himself as he picked a couple of errant flowers that had bloomed against the grave. He laid them on the stone ledge and then looked up at his father. "You two are married, but you don't act like other people. I was just curious," he murmured as he trailed his fingers across the stone. "She told me it's hard for both of you. You both love me, but you loved other people before you met and those people died."

Alistair sighed and rested his hand on his son's shoulder. "Your mother is right. I loved Elissa very much, just as your mother loved Cailin. And we were very sad when they died, but despite all of that we found something precious with each other. We found you."

Duncan giggled. "You didn't find me, father. You had me."

Alistair laughed softly. "You've got me there, my son. But regardless of how we feel about those who have gone to be with the Maker we are glad that we met and had you. Never doubt that."

A child's trust was given so freely. Duncan simply smiled. "Okay."

Turning back to the tomb he patted the stone gently. "I didn't get to meet you, but people talk about you. They still remember how you saved them. My instructors say that sometimes memories fade and maybe one day they won't remember you or what you did." He paused, "But we will, won't we father?"

Alistair hugged his son against him and reached out to touch the cool stone in front of them. "Yes, we will remember." He scraped his fingertips against the stone in a gentle caress. "We will not forget you, my love."

The breeze picked up setting the wildflowers in a twirling dance that made Duncan laugh. It caressed Alistair's cheek then darted off down the hillside towards the ocean, leaving the grass rippling in its wake.

More than any vow made in some dark ruin, love was the stronger promise. It may have promised him heartache and gut-wrenching sorrow but it also promised him hope and joy. He had lost her, but he had gained his son—a son that had helped him heal, just as she had said he would.

Love certainly was a strange and wondrous thing.