It was a rare night to see everyone in Skyhold so somber. From the ever-reticent barkeep to the lively Iron Bull, none were jovial with what lay ahead. For it was only a decade prior that the Grey Wardens defeated the Blight and became heroes again, and now… Now all gathered in the castle were going to lay siege to their ancient fortress and bring the Wardens to heel.
Bull slammed his pint down on the table, shaking it and gaining the attention of everyone there. Three heroes of recent memory, two storytellers, and some of the companions of said heroes, yet not one glorious story? Instead, all fifteen of them were playing Wicked Grace as if the cards had the Blight and talking would kill a person.
Well, Bull wasn't going to stand for this. Not tonight. The eve of wondrous battle should be just as great. He pointed down to where Alistair and Leliana sat. "You! You must have great stories of the Hero of Ferelden. Let's get some glory up in here!"
Leliana smiled, folding her hands in front of her. "I do, in fact, have some wonderful stories of her."
Alistair shook his head and groaned. "Maker, no."
"Maker, yes!" Hawke said, leaning forward. "I've been trying to get that wet blanket to share some stories of my cousin, but his lips are sealed tighter than a lay sister."
If it was possible, Leliana's smile grew with wickedness. "Oh, where should I begin, then?"
"How about at the beginning?" Treveylan said. "I have to admit, I'm curious. There were so few stories of her in Ostwick. Just the one about the archdemon's death." And Alistair took that as his cue to wave down the poor waitress and order three drinks, purely for himself.
"Hm, I think that is one story I can tell then," Leliana said. Her smile lost some of its wicked edge now that it wasn't directed at Alistair. "The Hero of Ferelden, she is… She was called many things by the end of the Blight. But I—we—had the pleasure of calling her friend, our dearest one, in fact. And of knowing she had a name: Solona Amell."
"A rare woman, indeed," Cullen added quietly.
Both Leliana and Alistair nodded. "She was. She came from Kinloch Hold, a mage who had just passed her Harrowing before she came into the service of the Grey Wardens. And to Ostagar, where it truly began, I suppose."
The drinks arrived and Alistair slammed the first one back as if it could block out the sound of Leliana's voice.
"After the betrayal at Ostagar, only Alistair and Solona walked away of the Grey Wardens. They say a dragon flew in and plucked them out of a tower before they could be overrun by darkspawn. But it was merely Flemeth—"
"Maker, Alistair!" Hawke cut in. "You never told me Flemeth did the swooping to you, too!"
"Because I'd rather forget that time," was the reply he gave more to his cup than the group.
"I guess you really didn't make that part up." Varric sighed. "There's no way both of you would lie about that old bat."
"Old bat is right."
"Andraste's ashes, don't call her names. She might hear you and do the swooping again, cousin," Alistair said. For a moment, he glanced up at the roof as if in wonder if it could survive Flemeth.
"She's dead, Alistair. We killed her, remember?" Leliana pointed out in the hopes of calming him.
"Ah, well, about that," Hawke began.
"We kind of revived her. It was something about payment for Hawke's life and Dalish rituals, and then Flemeth stepped out of an amulet and flew away," Varric finished.
Everyone at the table became quiet and stared down at Varric and Hawke. "How come that didn't make it into The Tale of the Champion?" Trevelyan asked.
"Too unlikely. I mean, really, Witches of the Wild turning into dragons and reviving themselves through ancient magic and talismans?"
Alistair turned to Leliana and raised an eyebrow. "Am I stupid now for fearing that crazed woman coming back to life and killing us all?"
In response, Leliana sighed and shook her head. "And yet Flemeth gave you both purpose after Ostagar. And her daughter to help." Alistair shook his head and muttered something about 'looking gift horses in their mouth next time.' "And with Morrigan's help, they were able to reach Lothering, where their quest to unite the land truly began.
"It was in Lothering that I first met them as well." Leliana smiled again, one filled with nothing but fondness that had her resembling that younger girl who traveled with a hero. "We were such a collection of misfits, yet it spoke of Solona's own will and charisma how well we worked together. The last two Grey Wardens, one a harrowed circle mage and the other a Templar recruit. Morrigan, an apostate daughter of the Witch of the Wilds. A mabari cured of the Blight. Myself, a lay sister. Sten, a disgraced Qunari soldier looking for redemption through death. Wynne, a senior enchanter of a fallen Circle. Oghren, a drunken disgrace of a fallen noble dwarf. Zevran, a Crow assassin sent to kill her. And Shale, a forgotten Golem of times long past."
Leliana paused as Alistair was nursing the third cup he ordered. She looked down at the table with a bitter laugh. "We were all so broken, yet she took us all in as we were. She loved us as we were, never asking us to change. She always stood behind us, in everything we wanted to do. And the only thing she asked of us in return was that we stand behind her at the end. She gave us courage, redemption, honor, forgiveness, and love.
"And we followed her through the undead siege of Redcliffe. Through floors of demons and blood mages in Kinloch Hold. We traveled the Brecilian Forest and ended a curse. We even found Haven and passed the trials of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. We stood behind her and her decisions in the Landsmeet. I thought there was nothing we couldn't weather, nothing we wouldn't face down together…"
"And then she left us behind." Alistair also couldn't meet the eyes of anyone at the table.
"What do you mean? The stories always said how she fought the archdemon with all her companions by her side as the armies clashed in the streets of Denerim," Varric said.
Alistair scoffed. "It's supposed to be a rousing story about friendship and how a few can save the world. Not the truth."
"Yes, and the story they tell is a better one. It romanticizes her in a time when heroes needed to be," Leliana said. Then she sighed. "But the truth… We were in Redcliffe when the darkspawn lay siege to Denerim. We left the army behind and rushed our way there, barely stopping to rest. And we all attacked and claimed the city gates. We were to hold them back at the gates until the army arrived, but…"
"The archdemon appeared. Just like an unwanted guest, they show up and disrupt all your plans. And eat all your food."
Leliana chuckled and lay a hand upon his arm. "It was decided that we would divide into two groups. One would stay in the city and hold off the darkspawn as long as need be. The other would climb Fort Drakon and face the archdemon. Solona, Zevran, Wynne and Shale were to face the archdemon. Alistair, Sten, Oghren, Dog and myself stayed behind to secure the city. And we said our goodbyes there. For we knew, no matter the outcome, we would never fight together like that again."
When Leliana looked up again, it was with tears in her eyes. "She spoke to us all as if she was going to return. She never said goodbye, instead telling us how honored she was to have known us. Honored to know us. She even told Dog that she would see him again. And he died after waiting years for her to return."
Alistair slammed down his cup, splintering the sides. Without a word, he pushed away from the table and walked to the other side of the bar, pacing. Leliana was the only one to watch him go with understanding in her eyes.
"To Alistair, she spoke of her love for him. That she was not taking him in case she failed, then there would be at least one Grey Warden left to save the world." She sighed and looked away from him, this time looking straight to Treveylan. "The stories all tell of how, in the middle of fighting in the street, there was a sudden rumble and the brightest light shown from the highest point of Fort Drakon before a cataclysmic explosion rocked it. The sign of the archdemon's death. Darkspawn, now directionless, fled from the battlefield chased by the swords and cheers of the righteous.
"But what they do not say is how our hearts lodged in our throats when we saw that. Because we knew what the price was, what it had to be. They do not tell of how Alistair threw down his weapon and ran to the tower, or how we followed making sure his way was clear. And they will never tell of our anguish when we arrived. Of how Alistair cried as he held her broken body, of how we all cried. And of how, even to this day, our world is lesser for her not being in it."
Alistair returned, slamming his hands down on the table again. The anguish on his face made them all feel like the Fifth Blight had ended only yesterday. "'In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.' If only that was just some saying of the Wardens."
Treveylan narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"
"He means," Hawke said, "that being a hero is the most selfish thing a person can do. Peace or war mean nothing to anyone if their friend isn't there to share it with them. And that's the thing, heroes never get to stick around to enjoy the world they helped create."
In response, Bull and Blackwall both raised their cups and took a drink. But Trevelyan couldn't get past the tone of voice Hawke used. She, and she was sure everyone else was as well, was used to hearing Hawke make light of everything. The woman had a quip for every situation. But not this. This was spoken the same way Alistair recited the Warden motto and the way Leliana's voice cracked as she spoke of the Hero's death.
"You say that as if you know. But you're still here, you still get to enjoy the world."
"Ah, see, here's the thing," Varric said. "I may have left something else out of The Tale of the Champion. You see, Trevelyan, much like how people kept quiet on how the Hero of Ferelden and the other Warden were shacking up, I kept quiet about Hawke and Blondie. People want heroes, not…other normal people with romances."
"Waitwaitwait—you're telling us all that The Champion of Kirkwall and the apostate who blew up a Chantry were bumping uglies?"
"Oh, for the love of Andraste's tits, yes. Anders and I were knocking boots long before…any of that whole terrorist business went down."
Alistair actually looked over at Hawke with amusement. "Here you've been giving me nothing but shit for the last few years about never talking about my own relationship, and you've been holding out on your own."
Hawke grit her teeth and cup. "Yes, dear cousin, it would appear that we're more alike than we thought. We both made terrible decisions about who to love."
"But," Trevelyan cut in as everyone either started teasing them for their relationships or asking for more details, "the stories say you killed Anders."
Varric, Hawke and Alistair sighed. "Yes, I did," she answered, looking straight into Trevelyan's eyes. "When we first started to become somewhat serious, I had given him a knife. As a joke, you know. Since he was a mage. I figured he needed something else to really catch anyone who would come after him off-guard. And it was that same knife he placed in my hand as he asked to die for what he did. I could've and was willing to overlook everything, but he..." She trailed, unwilling to finish that thought and shook her head.
"Being a hero isn't heroic, Inquisitor. It's selfish and cowardly. Whatever may happen tomorrow or beyond, remember that. Though we're all likely piss-drunk right now or going to be, if you remember anything from tonight, it's to think about who you love and what being a hero will do to them."
Varric clapped Hawke and Alistair on the shoulder. "I think this is the perfect time for me to tell the tale of how I got Bartrand and I banned from the Winter Gathering of the Smith Caste for two lifetimes."
"Oh, this I have got to hear. What'd you'do? Piss in the punch?" Bull said, earning a laugh from the table. Even Trevelyan chuckled, though her gaze was stuck on Cullen.
The tales she had heard… Alistair and the Hero of Ferelden. Hawke and Anders. Perhaps Varric was right and the best tales were the ones where the hero died. But now she knew, they were more than tales. They were people. And while they were two of the best stories of recent history, the effect of those sacrifices showed on those around them.
Alistair looked as if he hated his lover for leaving him behind. Leliana rarely smiled. Dog died waiting, apparently. She hadn't heard anything about the other companions of the Hero. Hawke was nothing like Varric's tales, as there was a heaviness in her heart that made all her quips seem bitter. Even Varric had an air of guilt about him that made him seem less easy-going than in his tale. And Cullen had suffered enough because of events both women had had a hand in.
If she gave him another bad memory, what would it do to him? Would she even be able to live with herself, even after death, for hurting him in that way? Even if it was for the greater good? She both did and didn't know the answers to those questions, and it scared her.
But tonight, he noticed her staring and discreetly smiled at her with eyes full of promises he would never say out loud in front of anyone. And, for tonight, it's enough. She smiled back and jumped back into the newly restarted game of Wicked Grace. Tomorrow and the days after would come soon enough, and she would worry about them as they happened.
And in the days to come, it will be that first and last evening everyone spent together that she remembers. Of how, in their own way, they all tried to tell her to live.
This is just a one-shot I couldn't get out of my head based on my own playthroughs. I was so sad to see there wasn't more ribbing between Hawke and Alistair, especially with a Mage!Warden.