He'd never thought it'd come to this, but really what had the promises of two emotionally scarred, headstrong individuals meant after everything was said and done? They'd had each other's backs, forever united in arms until they'd come to Denerim where they tore apart everything they'd ever built together.
Love, affection, permanence - they were merely words uttered to pacify and contain, and she would have no more uncertainty. At least, that was what she claimed.
What he didn't know was that she had struggled with this decision for years, consumed and cursed by her love for him. That all this was really about putting someone above herself. She would live for the sole purpose of seeing him happy even if it meant suffering for his well-being.
His crown weighed more heavily on his head with each passing year. Each year she was away on Warden business and he could not follow. Each year that he was steadily becoming more monarch and less the stable-boy turned Templar. Each year that she grew apart from him.
Alistair could not stand it.
He would not admit to her, as he watched her shove her meager belongings into her rucksack, that he wished to cry - or that he would once she was gone. Such sentiments she had shrugged off long ago despite his assurances that his feelings for her would never waver.
"Solona…" he began, unsure of what to say as his voice echoed throughout his cavernous bedchamber.
What could he say? He'd fought for years to retain her within the palace, desiring her despite Eamon's vehement protests that the King of Ferelden could not marry a mage. What would the people think? What if the Wardens used her proximity to the throne to stage a coup, where he conveniently left out the fact that Alistair was himself a Grey Warden? Although he had defended her with everything he had, with every bit of fighting spirit he held, it was then that she had begun to distance herself from him.
For a time she'd made regular visits to the palace to see him even while she struggled to rebuild the Warden numbers in Ferelden. As time drew on the length of her visits shortened, and soon she neglected to come altogether. Each time he let her go, she had refused to look at him like she was doing so now.
"Please." He spoke again, coming around the armoire to brush the backs of his knuckles across her cheek.
She flinched, and he dropped his hand.
"Please," he said again, "tell me why you can't come back."
Alistair's voice broke at the last, the sound at least forcing her to look at him. Her eyes told him everything. They spoke of her sorrow, her regret, and her bone-headed determination to go off and do whatever it was she was so intent on doing.
"I am not the queen you need, Alistair. I cannot stay here and," she gestured wildly around at the overly-decorated room, "be the person you need me to be."
His chuckle was a sad, forced thing. "Whyever not? You are exactly what I need. You have been since the Joining. You know that."
She shook her head, looking almost as if she desired nothing more than to rattle his words right out of her skull.
"No. It worked for a little while, but not now. You're king and I'm-"
"Solona, you chose this for me. Despite everything, you said you would stand beside me."
"And I have!" She argued, a quiet fury building in the depths of her warm brown eyes. "I have and you've become great - a magnificent leader. You were meant for this, but I'm not!"
"That's not true yo-"
"Alistair, you are not listening to me. I am no queen! I am a jaded Circle mage who was thrown into the role of Warden Commander. I bring death and destruction wherever I go. I am not suited to a life of courtiers and finery. If I tried, I would do just as Eamon predicted and bungle the whole thing. I'd disgrace the crown, Ferelden and," her lip quivered, and Alistair thought he'd never seen her so close to tears, "and I'd disgrace you. I can't. I can't do that to you along with everything else."
Solona threaded her fingers together in front of her and begged. "Please. Please let me go. Do not insist I remain because, for you, I will. I have tried for many years to pull away, but you keep bringing me in. You need to let me go, so I can let you go!"
Her words hit him like a blow, and he staggered backwards at the force of them. Was this how she really felt? Had he been forcing her to stay with him out of his own selfish misery?
Alistair suddenly felt like he was going to be ill. "Is it- Do you really not want to stay...with me?"
She nodded her head frantically, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I can't be with you. I can't stay here. You deserve someone refined, regal, royal."
"Solona, I want you! I couldn't give a Qunari's bare ass what Eamon wants, or my advisers, or the rest of bloody Ferelden!"
Solona pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and blew out a shaky breath. "Don't keep me here. Don't make promises you don't know you'll be able to keep. Alistair please, do not make this my Circle."
He reached out again, and this time she did not pull away. His fingers gently traced up the curve of her elbow, her arm, and finally curled beneath her chin to bring her gaze to his.
"But I love you."
She let out a strangled sob, a sound that tore his heart into pieces. "I know, and I'm sorry."
"Don't lie. I know you feel the same." He knew that as surely as he could feel her in his blood.
Her eyes flickered around the room for a brief moment before she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. Before his arms could come around to hold her to him, she had broken away and rushed out the door, and the king was left standing in a cold, empty room with nothing but the memory of her kiss.
That had been three years, one month, and 12 days ago. So one could imagine his surprise when he spotted her at the peace summit.
He'd just been formally introduced to the Inquisitor. The two of them had kept of correspondence for some time since the incident with the mages at Redcliffe, and today she had brought her Commander. It was strange to see Cullen so relaxed, he thought - so at ease and at peace with the world. It was such a stark contrast to how he'd found his former friend ten years ago at Kinloch Hold.
Though seeing him was not nearly so odd as watching her move about the perimeter of the room. She was drawn in heavy shadow, but he could sense her - knew her with an acute stirring of his blood that only another Warden could provoke. Alistair was just readying to excuse himself and chase her down, propriety be damned, when he was waylaid by the Empress of Orlais and her bevy of overdressed peacocks she liked to refer to as courtiers.
Official proceedings and talks would not begin until morning, he was told, and he'd no mind to sit and simper to the nobles despite how badly he wanted to catch up with Cullen or get to know his Inquisitor. Alistair was focused on far more pressing matters.
He stalked the halls when he could no longer feel her within the common room. Up and down each wing he went, scouring the keep for her likeness until he came to a sudden and heart-lurching stop a floor below the rookery.
She stood there, hand poised just over a brass door handle, as she looked at him with wide eyes. He would have called the expression disbelieving if he didn't know that she knew he was here.
"May I-" he began, his voice cracking with emotion before he cleared his throat and tried again. "May I have a moment?"
He knew that look. It was the shifty-eyed take about the room she always did when she was preparing to run. Alistair wouldn't let her get away this time.
As he guessed, her grip on the door handle tightened and instant before she tried to pull it open, but his hand came slamming down on the timbers fast enough to hold it closed. He'd closed the distance between them in only a few strides, and it took her a moment to realize he was the reason the door wasn't budging.
"I can't stay," she grunted, trying to pry his arm off the door.
Apparently she'd forgotten how strong he was in comparison to her. For all her enhanced abilities thanks to the Taint, Alistair was still a warrior, and a hefty one at that.
"I know." He lowered his voice, studying the delicate curve of her throat from his vantage point above her. "But I only asked for a moment."
She regarded him dubiously out of the corner of her eye, but she had ceased trying to evade him. This was probably as good as he was going to get.
"There are some things- I've given what you said before a lot of thought."
Solona straightened away from the door, a sign she was at least listening.
"I didn't want to believe it, but I understand how you feel about...about us. I get it, shocking that I would say such a thing. Teagan would be tickled pink by my overtures of diplomacy, I can assure you."
Ah, there was a smile. It was just the barest hint of a thing, but Alistair knew this woman inside and out and with such familiarity that such subtlety was not lost on him.
He took a steadying breath. "I'm not asking you to return with me to the palace. I'm also not asking you to be my queen or," he twirled his hand about in the air a moment, searching for the word, "whatever. I just wanted to tell you that I realize why you did what you did - why you left, and that no matter where you might be - electrocuting blood mages, slapping the new Arishok on the hand, or kicking the snot out of Darkspawn - that I will always love you."
Unthinking, he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Solona's resulting blush painted her skin a charming shade of pink.
"Alistair, I-"
"Rude," he chastised, though his smile belied his true feelings. "I wasn't finished yet."
"Can you be finished?"
He frowned. "I guess-mmpfff!"
Alistair's words were muffled by the fabric of her cowl draped thickly over her shoulder as she pulled him into a hug.
"Maker, I've missed you." Solona squeezed her eyes shut, burying her nose in the fur of his collar, relishing in how his scent seemed to cling more heavily there. There was so much she had left to do, and although she knew it was foolish to flirt with the idea of remaining with him and shirking her duties, she could not rightly abandon her cause - even if it was for the greatest man she had ever known.
Still, he had not come to demand anything of her, and she had missed him endlessly for years.
"I have to leave soon but-" she bit her lip. Damnit, she wanted this. "Come with me."
She grabbed his hand and pulled him through the door which he, moments before, had held shut. Inside were her modest lodgings. A Grey Warden didn't need a palatial suite as those afforded the King, the Empress, or the Inquisitor. She was merely an old hero of a decade past - one desperately trying to keep a low profile.
"What were you doing up here, anyway?" Alistair asked.
"Oh, just- I needed to go to the bathroom"
"On the...terrace?" His grin was that lopsided, playful thing that made her stomach flip.
It was then she realized that she was not in her room - or anywhere near it, it seemed. She really had intended to use the chamberpot, but it appeared she had no idea where in this monstrosity of a house she actually was.
Damnit again.
"Don't you dare laugh. You know I have terrible internal navigational skills."
"Oho, yes. I do know. Thank the Maker you at least know how to read a map or I'd be sending out a...search party." His sentence slowed as he realized what he was saying. Despite himself, he was still intensely possessive of her. "Sorry. I have a habit of worrying over your wellbeing. You know, feelings and all of that messy love business."
He didn't think she would smile, but she did just before tugging his hand up and pressing a kiss to his calloused palm.
"You're right. Love is a rather messy business."
She realized this might be the last time for a long while that their paths would cross. She knew it last time as well, but she'd been more scared then. She'd been driven to flee by Eamon's pestering and Alistair's slow transformation into the king she always know he could be. He was changing with the world while she stayed the same, and felt as if it was only a matter of time before he grew bored of her and took up with someone more suitable. Someone who wasn't an apostate Warden from a broken Circle with no connections or inheritance. She could offer him nothing, and yet as she looked at him and he looked at her, she saw nothing to support her insecurities.
"Solona, tell me to leave right now, or I'm going to kiss you."
Her heart swelled, and she pulled his lips to hers and kissed him instead. She may not see him again for a while after tonight, or ever again, but she was going to make it count.
She felt the tension melt from his shoulders as he sighed into her mouth, arms banding around her waist to pull her against him. She knew this dance well, and though the pair of them were undoubtedly outside and exposed, it seemed neither of them minded the chill. Solona hopped once and Alistair caught her as she caged his hips with her thighs and forced him to lean back against the unyielding stone wall of the keep.
Solona's fingers worked at the clasps of her armor as her eyes sought his, and what she saw there was a hungry fire burning with an intensity as she'd never seen before. One of his hands braced against her bottom, thumb idly caressing the leathers pulled taut over her generous backside. His other hand drifted up along the long column of her neck, fingertips barely brushing her skin until he finally plunged them into the thick, dark locks of her hair.
"Solona-"
She halted his words by pressing a forefinger to his lips then, slowly, maddeningly, let it slide down his chin, neck, and all the way south until it reached the laces of his breeches between them.
Sweet Maker.
"I know we don't have long, but this may be the only time we'll ever have. If I'm leaving you again, I want it to be a better memory than last time."
"But this- You don't have to do this if you don't want to. Your feelings last time…" He trailed off, unsure of just what sentiment he was trying to put to words. When it came to his Solona, the sheer multitude of emotions that drifted through his body and soul were too fierce and powerful to articulate.
She smiled, bowing her head to nibble at the skin beneath his ear. "I want to do this," was her mumbled reply. I need to do this."
All arguments, and likely all rational thoughts, were flung to the furthest reaches of his mind when she slid her hand into his breeches and touched him.
Suddenly he needed this too.
Gripping her hair in his palm, he tugged her head back and hungrily consumed her in a kiss she was sure might have very well set her on fire were he a mage. Despite the lack of real flames, the heat that spread from their combined embrace coursed through her blood and settled comfortingly in the pit of her stomach. It drove a small, desperate whimper from her.
When he pulled away for air she followed, nipping the inside of his wrist, his forearm, and every bit of exposed flesh between her mouth and his while she stroked her hand against his hardened length. Alistair's breaths were ragged, white puffs of steam coalescing in the air between them while he watched her touch him from beneath lashes so long they should be a sin against the Maker.
"This would be a terrible time to get frostbite," he murmured, brushing his lips over hers.
Solona couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled up from her heaving chest.
"Damn it, Alistair. I'm trying to be sexy."
"Mmm, you're perfect from where I'm standing."
He didn't want to speak any longer. Pulling back the last clasp of her breast plate before letting it fall to the ground, he slipped his hand up underneath her linen shirt. Expert fingers teased across the skin of her ribs, her breasts, causing her to break out into goosebumps and shivers.
Alistair pulled her tighter against him, the warmth radiating from his body enough to stay the cold, though she'd begun to wriggle in his arms.
"Pants. Off," she tried to explain, and her king simply laughed at her, stepped on one trailing pant leg and lifted her off the ground, promptly divesting her of the troublesome garment.
She was on him again, all bare shapely legs that twined sinuously around his body while she rocked her core against him.
Pants off. Yes. Definitely. No two words strung together could ever sound, or feel, better.
Greedy for more of her, Alistair tugged her hair again, forcing her body to bow backward to expose her chest which he immediately lavished with his tongue. Even through the rough fabric of her shirt, he could feel the pert peak of her nipples, and enjoyed himself even more when her hands fled his shoulders to bury themselves in his hair.
Her hips bucked urgently against his while a low guttural moan breathed past her lips, and he felt obligated to assist. He was a benevolent monarch after all. Still teasing her with his tongue above, he freed a hand to drift between them and stroke her where she needed him. Another desperate whimper, another press of her hips to seek that friction she so desired, and he was undone.
Too long without her, it took no time at all to free himself from the confines of his pants and press into her with one impatient stroke.
"Shit!" Solona sucked in her breath sharply at the sensation of him hard and full inside of her. Maker, it had been far too long. Her heart pounding a quick staccato beneath her breast, she pulled herself upright and cleaved her body to his, rocking her hips in a slow, gentle fashion. She hummed pleasantly at the long-desired sensations building up within her, all the while laving his neck with her tongue.
Alistair stilled, letting her love him. He enjoyed watching her take control of their pleasure, he thought as he dipped his head to taste the salt of her skin. Solona's gratified mewls spurred him to bite, touch, taste everything within reach - everything she offered to him. His fingers finally settled between them at her center, strokes quickly bringing her body to release.
She cried out his name, a call he swallowed with his mouth when he pulled her lips to his while her body clenched around him. It was too much to bear. Anchoring her with both arms, Alistair surged into her, allowing her to wring out her pleasure while he sought his own. It didn't take him long to join her.
Head reeling, sweat beading into his finely tailored clothes, he pumped into her as the last vestiges of his release rolled through him. His nose was buried in her hair at the crook of her neck, breathing her in and out of him, realizing that for the first time in years he felt at ease.
Solona lay flat against his chest, listening to the strong and steady beating of his heart beneath her ear as she came to her senses.
She was laying against a man she'd never thought to see again, sweaty, exhausted, and unbelievably content.
"I'll be gone in the morning," she murmured against him, breathing a sigh across his knuckles as she lifted his hand to her lips.
"I know."
"Think of me?"
She sensed his smile, rather than saw it, when he pressed his lips against the crown of her head. "Always."
A/N: Hey all! Hope you enjoyed this one-shot. This is a scene taken from an upcoming chapter in my current labor of love Enduring Knight. Go check it out if you love Cullen/Inquisitor fics. :) Thanks for reading!