Last Of His Line

It was one of the rare moments when they all agreed that they needed some fun an that their next mission should be finding the best ale in Denerim. Zevran and Leliana were preparing Airam – that is, they were trying to mask somehow his white skin and dark violet hair, which made him recognizable from three hundred yards even by the most retarded city guard. Morrigan and Oghren were giving them proposals how to do it which made Airam chuckle and Alistair blush fiercely.

Then the maid knocked and let herself in without waiting for a reply. There was a weird guy waiting outside, she said, who insisted that the elf servant Da'len is in fact Surana, the Grey Warden, and that he needed to talk to him urgently. And that her master was angry and would appreciate if they would explain these problematic accusations, as he did not want to be included in any dirty business, even if it was an honourable one, concerning Grey Wardens.

They should have insisted that the Lady Corinne is an Orlesian noble and refuse any such silly accusations. Instead, they told the maid that the Lady Corrine will meet him. They wanted to know how he found out – poor Air almost didn't get out of the room, except after dark, his face and hair always hidden under the hood - and also what he wanted to do with the knowledge.

So Leliana and Zevran, acting as her bodyguard, met the messenger in her room. The guy was in a long white coat with a white hood covering his face, and a long sword at his side. How ridiculous. No wonder the innkeeper wanted to get rid of him as soon as possible.

"I demand to talk to the young master Surana," he said, "please take me to him immediately. I cannot waste my time with ex-bards and ex-Crows."

Young master Surana?

"You know who we are and yet you dare come here and demand something? I would suggest changing your tone and start talking, before we lose our patience."

Zevran never saw Leliana like this. Usually it was easy to forget that she was no simple lay sister, that she used to be a deadly Orlesian bard. Now he could understand why Marjolaine would be afraid of her and consider her a loose end that needed to be tied.

The messenger, however, did not seem worried at least. "I have a message for young master, and I'm not going to tell it to anyone else."

Zevran snorted. His patience was very thin these days, what with all idiotic nobles trying to make problems to his little Warden and petty missions they were doing to earn few coins. And this fool was starting to really irritate him.

"And I am not going to let you see him until you tell me who you are, who sent you and what do you want. There are many ways to make you speak–"

"Look," the messenger interrupted , "you might think you are powerful and dangerous, but you don't know my master. Even if you were the Archdemon himself, I wouldn't risk his wrath. His instructions were clear; I am to give his message exclusively to his grandson – oh shit. I wasn't supposed to say that."

"Grandson?"

Zevran exchanged confused looks with Leliana. As far as they knew, Airam didn't have any living family. Zevran always assumed he was the last living Surana. Of all their companions, only he and Wynne knew what happened to Airam's parents and little sister… but Airam never mentioned any other family.

"I guess we can take him to Air," said Leliana. "We can always kill him if he misbehaves, no?"

He nodded. "I would be very careful and polite, if I were you," he warned the messenger. "If you as much as breathe in a wrong way, you will be squashed, bolted, frozen and cut to pieces immediately."

"Oh I will be polite, don't worry… if he's anything like my master… I certainly don't want to anger him."

A fleeting image of old, even more powerful and short-tempered Airam crossed his mind, and he could suddenly understand why the messenger was willing to rather face the Archdemon than disobey his master.

oOo

"The old geezer is still alive, then?"

Well now… that was not the reaction he expected. The others were equally shocked. Wynne opened her mouth to say something reproachful, but thought better of it. A wise decision, judging by how angry Airam looked.

"Well, yes…" the poor guy didn't know how to react to that. "And he kindly asks you to visit him in his estate here in Denerim –"

"Then tell him I kindly refuse."

"But – please – I can't do that! He will be really mad!"

"And why should I care? He wants to see me now? I don't even know him. I saw him only once, when I was four – and those few memories I have of him are all unpleasant. He never came to visit us, never tried to contact me while I was in Tower, never tried to find me after I left the Circle –"

"That is not true; my master always followed your every step and often says how proud he is –"

"Don't interrupt me, fool. I don't care about that. This isn't my first visit to Denerim. Why didn't he contact me earlier? Probably afraid I'll ask him for help, right? Well I don't care about him, I don't care about what he wants and I certainly don't care about you so if you know what's good for you, you'll get lost now, unless you wish be delivered to your master as a really ugly ice statue!"

To say that Airam was furious would be great understatement – right now he made the rage demons seem like timid, harmless creatures. The messenger was shaking with fear, all previous arrogance long gone; Zevran wouldn't be surprised if the man wet himself. He chuckled under his breath. Airam had gotten much better in controlling his temper lately, but it seemed this poor guy hit the nerve.

"Yes, just like my master…" he heard the man mutter quietly – and Airam heard it, too.

"What? Say that again!"

"Ah – I'm sorry – please excuse me, I have to deliver your reply to my master – here is the address should you ever change your mind –" the messenger pressed a bit of paper in Leliana's hand, and before any of them could say anything else, bolted out of the room.

oOo

Airam didn't change his mind, despite Wynne, Alistair and Leliana tried really hard to convince him that family is important, blood is thicker than water, and other such nonsense. But it seemed his grandfather was just as stubborn. They changed the inn several times, but the messenger always found them. After third time or fourth time, he gave up on speaking Airam, instead having a drink or two with Oghren before leaving with the same answer.

Then, on their last evening in Denerim, they got different visitor.

And it was such promising evening as well. He just taught Airam, Alistair and Leliana how to play briscola, his favourite card game – he would be, of course teamed with his little Warden – when the door flew open. A figure in a flashy golden cloak with deep hood over the face, entered in the most dramatic manner.

It looked around and finally decided to address Wynne. "I need to have a talk with Airam Surana," it – eh, he said in surprisingly young and very pleasant voice. "Could I have few private moments with him, please?"

"And who are you, if I may ask? I do not think we were introduced," she said sternly, after running her eyes over the extravagant cloak.

"Please forgive me, my dear lady," he said, pulling down his hood. He was… a younger, perfected version of Airam. Sixteen, seventeen at most. His hair was the same shade of dark violet, but it was long, falling on his shoulders in cascades, silky and shiny. His skin was smooth and just the right shade of white, his ears the ideal size, his hands delicate, without any calluses, and there was a soft scent of violets around him. Perhaps some forgotten younger cousin? Whatever that boy was, he gave the world "perfection" a brand new meaning.

He didn't realize he was gaping until Airam shot him dirty look and nudged him a little.

"I am Aadishwara Surana, his grandfather," said the young perfection.

"No you're not," blunted Airam. "You're younger than me. My grandfather is above sixty."

"Sixty eight, to be precise," smiled Adirawash – Adiwarash – well, grandpa. Such terrible name for someone so gorgeous. A shame, really.

"I look a bit younger, I know. It's thanks to my extremely high amount of magical energy."

"A bit younger? You look like you should be still in the nursery," said Alistair and Airam gave him an approving smile, before glaring at Zevran again. Wait. Could it be – was his little Warden jealous? No. No, that was probably just his wishful thinking.

"So what do you want, grandpa? Didn't I clearly tell to your silly messenger that I am not interested in seeing you?"

"I want to invite you to my – our estate for a party. It is time you meet your subjects."

"How can you have an estate and subjects when you're an elf? And how come Templars haven't caught you yet, when you're an apostate?"

"I am not just any elf, my dear lad, and neither are you. We are Suranas. Besides, I am a Hero of Thedas, so the Templars cannot touch me. I have diplomatic immunity."

The grandpa's voice was so melodious, and smooth, like sound of many waters… just to listen to it was a pleasure beyond anything else…

Airam shot another furious look at him, and he sobered a little bit. It was embarrassing, to lose control over himself like this… But as far as he could see, the others were just as charmed. Even Rask was wagging his tail and licking grandpa's feet, though normally he was suspicious of any strangers that dared to approach Airam.

"But Dad –"

"Your father was not only stubborn, but also incurably romantic. Instead of marrying the perfect young lady I chose for him, he ran away with your mother," said grandpa dolefully. "Not that she wasn't a beautiful and nice person," he added quickly, when he noticed the murderous look on Airam's face. "But her clan never had as strong magic as Suranas. But your father said he didn't care about it, though he used bit more… colourful expression. Of course, he didn't consider consequences at all. It is one of the reasons, why you are… aging." There was just a hint of disgust in grandpa's voice.

"Yes, thanks the Maker, Dad was normal…"

Grandpa gave small affected chuckle. "You are so much like your father… and like me. We have it in our blood, you know – that stubbornness and determination."

Airam didn't seem happy to hear that. "Don't act as a family, when you didn't care about us at all," he snapped.

"But you are wrong, lad. I cared a lot. I loved your father very much. He was my youngest, my favourite… probably that is why I spoilt him so much," he sighed dramatically.

"Then why you never visited us? You only came once, when I was four! If you cared, you would come more often. Do you even know I had a little sister?"

"Of course I do. But you have to realize, someone with my powers and skills cannot live just for himself. Great power brings great responsibility, as I always say… and if I see a danger that could possibly destroy whole Thedas, it is my duty to step in and save the day."

"You saved Thedas? Like when did that happen? Never heard anything about it!"

"When? Let me see… Last time was three weeks ago, if I'm not wrong. Of course you haven't heard about it. I do not do it for glory, but for the well being of the mankind. And elfkind, of course, as well as dwarfkind and qunarikind."

"You should've come earlier, then. I bet you could trace and kill the Archdemon in a week," snapped Airam, the voice dripping with sarcasm.

But grandpa took it quite seriously. "Yes, that is probably true. But I am an old man," he sighed dramatically again, "and it's time you take over, as the last our line, to become the new Hero of Thedas… But I helped as much as I could."

"Aha. I bet it was actually you who killed the Broodmother."

"No, I did not that, but neither did you, and let me say that I was rather disappointed in that. I gave you so many opportunities to excel, yet you never seem to use any of them."

"And what is that supposed to mean? What opportunities?"

"How you never wondered how is it possible that you always come everywhere in time? Just after something terrible happened, so that you had just enough time to help?"

All the charm was suddenly gone, and they all glared at the – at the perversion with open disgust. They surely noticed that. And they surely noticed how distressing it was for Airam. If this fool was the reason, then might the Maker have mercy with him, because they wouldn't.

"What exactly are you blabbering about?"

"Well, there were many times… the fight with the High Dragon in the Frostback mountains, for example. Such great opportunity to show your powers, and you only managed to get almost eaten… even that was not done properly. Or the attack on Honneleath, for example. You have no idea how much effort it required to make it happen exactly on the morning of your arrival, as well… I had to break several spatio-temporal rules… not that I complain, my dear lad, it really helped me with my theory on the overlapping of the fourth and fifth dimension, which causes – ah, but you probably do not want to hear that," he stopped, with the pleasant smile.

"But – people died there! If you're so great, why didn't you prevent it?" Airam was almost shaking with fury, and Zevran couldn't blame him. He could still remember how heartbroken Airam was that they came too late again…

"Yes, it was tragic and it pains me just as much as you," grandpa explained cheerfully, "but they died for the greater good. Their deaths made you stronger, pushed you forward on your way to become a Hero, and in that, saved the lives of many, many others…"

They stared at grandpa it with shocked disbelief, unable to say anything.

"You don't have to thank me," said grandpa when the silence lasted bit too long. "I am glad I could help."

And that was finally too much.

"Window?" suggested Alistair.

"Window," agreed Airam. "At three. One."

"What do you–"

"Two."

"Honestly, my dear lad, why do you look at me like that?"

"Three."

Before grandpa had time to do anything, before he could even shut his mouth, they grabbed him. They didn't even bother with opening the window.

But the next moment, someone knocked at the door, and their laughter died on their lips, before it even started properly, when they saw who was standing there.

"I just wanted to remind you, my dear lad – you and your friends are all invited for a party this evening! Do not be late, please, there is a special–"

"If I don't come, will you disown me?" asked Airam hopefully.

"Of course not, my dear lad, don't be silly. I would not–"

Airam slammed the door. They could hear a happy chuckle and affectionate "Yes, just like his father!" behind it.

oOo

They didn't even need to talk about it – they all knew what had to be done. Immediately. Packing was never so efficient and quick. In less than half an hour, they were already at the gates of the city.

They never mentioned the episode again.

In case you haven't guessed: Aadishwara = Supreme Being ;o)

Inspired by the discussion about Mary Sue at the Writers Anonymous Forum.

Now: Airam's lovely Granda is not my self-insert. I assure you he's not my wish-fulfilment, either. And, ehm, I dare say he's not poorly written. But, on Litmus test, he scored 65 and I was recommended to "kill it dead". Airam would heartily agree with that, I'm sure… So before Zevran arranges some tragic and gruesome accident, I'd like to know if I finally managed to create "Mary Sue" ("Marty Stu" or whichever name you prefer) or not.

This is AU companion to Failed to Fail, and this version of Aadishwara has very little in common with Aadishwara from FTF.