A year ago, Warden Cousland would not have believed this to be the outcome of her life. She would have laughed had someone told her that her family was to be betrayed. She would have rolled her eyes at the notion of being recruited into the Grey Wardens ("Ser Gilmore is the better option. He has more experience than I, fair ser."). She would have guffawed at the possibility of all of those things happening at once, as well as leading an army in arms against the Blight.
She never would have believed herself capable of falling in love. Not after all that she had been through. Not after the battles and the blood and the memories of her mother and her father and her home.
But, it wasn't home, now was it? And it had been a year and she had to mold herself in a battle-ready woman – a warrior who took quite firmly after her mother in many ways.
She'd nearly been assassinated, befriended said assassin, saved the Circle from abominations, saved Arl Eamon and Redcliffe from an abomination without killing him, found the Urn of Sacred Ashes, saved a clan of Dalish elves and freed Werewolves from their curse, gave Orzammar a king...
And, of course, she fell in love, too. Another haughty thing to add to her list of things she in no way should have been able to accomplish. Never would have been able to accomplish had it not been for her comrades.
For Alistair.
Alistair who had been at her side since nigh beginning. Since her Joining. Since Morrigan. Since Ostagar.
She loved him. He loved her.
It was in no way going to end happily; she'd steeled herself for this since she'd found out he was Maric's son, but, she dared to hope even just a little.
She was a nobleman's daughter; she knew how this would go. Duty and responsibility would always come first and that was why she had to break up this little fantasy.
She had to make Alistair king. Arl Eamon was right, of course, in that. Stability needed to be brought to Fereldan. Alistair didn't want it - Warden Cousland didn't want it, but it was to be done. With Loghain dead, by her hand all ready stained with blood, it was inevitable since the start.
She fought this battle and Alistair needed to be safe. He needed to be King and Anora needed to be at his side and they would have beautiful babies together (probably because the throne would need an heir, if the Taint could even allow for that; Cousland wasn't expert enough on the subject to know).
Warden Cousland needed to remain Warden Cousland.
She would fight this alone, because now, there would be no warmth in her tent to wake up to. No more little sneaky kisses when no one looked. No more gentle touches of hands.
No more roses from her sweet boyish Alistair who had made her laugh when all she had wanted to do was cry.
She had all ready mourned when she had to make this decision; he was predictable if nothing else, but she loved that about him too.
And so when the reality of the situation weighed heavily upon the young Warden's shoulders as she walked the halls of the Arl's estate, she was prepared for any onslaught of emotions she should have been feeling.
She should have been angry.
She wasn't.
She should have been numb.
She wasn't.
Heartbroken? No, not that either.
What she was feeling was an indescribable feeling of indifference because there was nothing else to feel. Her emotions were spent and there was nothing left. There was still much to be done and no time could be wasted on feeling sorry for herself. It was unexpected, but not unwanted.
"So, this is it. It's over."
"I think it is best. For both our sakes."
"You'll be a good king."
She meant it when she said it and she still meant it now. Alistair would be an excellent king; he had much to learn, it was true, but, this was the way it had to be. It was his decision to make, and she accepted it, as much as she hadn't wanted to. Having known from the start that this would be how it ended made it easier, somehow. Though, likely not by very much.
Why should she try to fight him on this decision when she had been the one who had pushed it? Her energy needed to be saved for battles to come, anyway. The end was coming. They needed to leave for Redcliffe as soon as the dawn.
That didn't mean she slept easy.
"Do not be alarmed. It is only I."
Morrigan's voice flitted easily throughout the small room in Redcliffe castle. Warden Cousland hesitated in her steps before closing the door behind her, frowning.
"Morrigan?" There was concern, because it was so incredibly rare for the witch to seek her out personally; they were friends, yes, most certainly, but even so, this was concerning.
"Is everything all right?"
Morrigan, to her credit, didn't miss a beat.
"I am well," She said, not bothering to even cast a glance towards the Warden; Cousland stiffened.
"'Tis you who are in danger."
And that is when Cousland knew, because how could she not? Morrigan would not seek her out specifically to warn her of the obvious dangers of the upcoming battle in Denerim. The witch had to have come for other purposes and those purposes, she must had to have either guessed at, or known from the start.
Warden Cousland had only just found out about the Sacrifice.
It didn't weigh so heavily on her as she had once thought death would. It was a necessity. An End to the ever-going nightmare of the Blight. Riordan had said he would make it, because he was the eldest and Alistair had stiffened when Cousland had so readily had made her own offer instead.
Alistair hadn't said anything about it after the conversation, however, and Cousland took that as a sign of his blessing; though it was more likely that he was being naive.
There were only three Grey Wardens in all of Fereldan. One of them had to die.
"I have a plan, you see. A way out. The loop in your hole." Morrigan turned now, expression that of something Cousland couldn't quite place; the Warden remained still as the witch stepped closer.
The fire burned hot, but Cousland's blood was cold. She had already killed for this woman – readily. What else now would Morrigan ask of her? There was far less time than there used to be – the End was here and Warden Cousland very well couldn't go out and just do whatever bidding came of her, surely Morrigan knew that?
Dark tresses fell into those yellow eyes and Morrigan smiled; she was pleased with herself, or pleased that she could help Cousland? It was difficult to say.
"I know what happens when the archdemon dies." No more guessing, it was out and all thoughts confirmed.
"I know a Grey Warden must be sacrificed, and that sacrifice could be you. I have come to tell you this does not need to be."
"Does not need to be? What do you mean?" The words were out and steps were taken before the Warden could regain her composure.
Face to face and eye to eye, she stood with Morrigan; lips pursed and body exhausted. She was fairly certain that she wasn't going to like this, but there were a lot of things that she didn't like. Morrigan, at the very least, had come with the possibility of saving her life.
As long as it didn't involve sacrificing someone else or running away, Cousland may very well have considered it.
"I offer a way out. A way out for all the Grey Wardens, that there need be no sacrifice."
All of them...
They would all be safe? Alistair? Riordan? Herself?
"A ritual," Morrigan continued, point and hopefully honest. "Performed on the eve of battle, in the dark of night."
"Well, that doesn't sound ominous." Cousland snorted, eyes searching Morrigan's carefully.
"Not that I'm against it point-blank. The idea of rituals performed on the eve of any battle any night is pretty downright terrifying."
"I am trying to save your life."
"What does this ritual entail, Morrigan? Is it blood magic? If no Grey Wardens have to die, where does the archdemon soul go?" Questions asked that Morrigan was probably trying to get to in her own way; Cousland just wanted answers now.
She was tired and sore, and there was a battle still to be fought and won and she was terrified.
"What I speak of is old magic. Long before the Circle of Magi were ever created."
"Goodie."
"Some would call it blood magic. That should mean very little to you." It did, Morrigan was right – it depended on what itself was going to be sacrificed to save three lives.
Blood magic came with costs.
Cousland dreaded her next question.
"Should I even ask where you got this ritual from...?"
"You know the answer to such a question, Warden. My mother. Flemeth."
"Of course. I shouldn't even be surprised." Why did her throat feel so dry?
Was it because obviously Morrigan had known this from the start? Or because Cousland was seriously contemplating blood magic in order to save her life, Alistair's life, and the life of Riordan? Cousland wasn't even sure anymore – at what point had blood magic lost its touch of terrifying?
"Nothing comes without sacrifice."
"Tis true, but such a sacrifice you would likely consider quite menial in comparison to life. What I am proposing here, Friend, is that you convince Alistair to lay with me here tonight. From this ritual, a child shall be conceived within me."
"What."
"The child will bear the taint and when the archdemon is slain, its essence will search out the child like a beacon."
This was sounding to be a very, very bad idea.
"You are fretting, Friend. What I am proposing shall not hurt the child. At such an early stage, the child can absorb the archdemon's essence without being harmed. The archdemon is destroyed and no Grey Warden dies in the process."
"This...child, it...won't become a darkspawn?" Why was she even considering this?
She should just say no. Alistair wouldn't even agree to this.
"Not at all. It will become something different. A child with the soul of an Old God."
"...Morrigan..."
"After this is done, you must allow me to walk away and never follow. This child shall be mine to raise as I wish."
Why was it not so hard to imagine Flemeth proposing this same deal in many Ages past? Perhaps once, perhaps many times. Cousland felt her stomach sink at all the possibilities and hated herself for considering this for so long when she had known the answer from the beginning.
"If you are not yet convinced, consider this..." Morrigan stepped aside with such a grace that Cousland was almost jealous.
Seating herself upon the bed, the witch continued, not breaking eye contact with the Warden.
"Do you think Alistair will fail to do his duty as the future king and save his country?" No, Cousland thought mournfully.
"And if you take the blow instead, he loses the woman he loves. How do you think he would feel about that?"
"That's...that's low. I...we can't have our...feelings get in the way of duty." Cousland stumbled over her words more than she had intended, left breathless by the imagery and the horror of it all.
Even though they were no longer coupled, she still loved him. Terribly. She would do anything for him. All those nights ago, Wynne had been right, but also wrong.
It was still worth it all – even though the hurt now came because of Morrigan.
Cousland didn't even want to know what Morrigan would want with this child. Was she irresponsible to not ask? Perhaps so.
"It is too late for that, my friend." Morrigan told her, a sudden change to her voice and her eyes.
Sympathy.
"Though I care not for the oaf, I care for you. You have shown me many things in this world and have become someone I...respect. I would not have you needlessly throw away your life when I can help you save it."
"There will be no more Alistair and I...it has been decided, you know that."
"Even so, the feelings will forever remain. You know that."
"Even if we can never act upon them? It's cruelty."
"You put him on the throne. 'Tis your responsibility to see that he lives, is it not?"
"Yes..." But, how could she do it?
Would he even believe her?
Why was she still considering this?
"If you say no, I leave tonight and you shall never see me again."
"Morrigan..." Morrigan wasn't lying – Cousland knew it too.
The woman, at least, had the decency to warn her about it.
Warden Cousland straightened her spine and Morrigan's gaze hardened; she knew where this was going. Cousland, however, couldn't do it. As much as she pondered, as much as she wanted, Alistair already had too many things happen to him that he didn't want – at least death was expected.
She would not force him unto a woman he despised – she would just have to take the blow herself. Formulate a plan to keep him as safe as possible. Especially since he was king.
"No, Morrigan." As strong as her voice was meant to be, the Warden's voice was soft.
"I'm prepared for tomorrow. I know what will come – what may come. I know you will leave. I know I will miss your company. I cannot ask Alistair of this and...to say such things as you have nearly convinced me. This will be an added stress to him in the upcoming years. This child you wish for. He'll already have enough to worry about."
And before the words "I'm sorry" left Cousland's lips, Morrigan was gone into the night.
Two brisk knocks. Not hesitant, nor intruding. It was still well before dawn and Cousland still had not slept.
"Come in."
She was only half-surprised to see Alistair in her doorway, eyes flitting over her carefully before closing the door behind him.
"You raised your voice." He said it simply, as though it were the sole reason for his coming into her room; she knew he couldn't sleep either.
Too much was unsaid between them – he couldn't be satisfied. But he had to be. He ended it. He chose to. Cousland wouldn't be able to do what she had to do if he played with her now.
"Morrigan is gone." The words were sadder than she'd intended them to be – mournful.
"Why am I not surprised?" He quirked a brow and hesitated at her bed before she invited him to sit beside her.
At the very least, he was here and it was soothing as much as his presence could be at the moment.
It shouldn't be. She should have been furious and crying and kicking and screaming.
But she let him go.
"She knew all along, you know." Cousland laughed, lifting her head from her hands to gaze at him with the faintest of smiles.
"You were right – so long ago. Flemeth sent her for another reason other than to help us. Still, what she'd offered, I almost took it. Almost. Almost..." Her smile faded and her head dropped down – Alistair hesitated again before touching her shoulders.
"Don't..." He pulled back quickly at her meek protest.
"You ended this. Don't start that now. I don't know if I can take it."
"I'm sorry." His words, though, only made her hurt more.
"Maker take me." Cousland sighed, closing her eyes.
"I love you so much you stupid oaf, but don't do this now. I let you go in the name of duty. Your duty. My duty. Even Wynne was right." She scoffed and pulled her arms closer to herself.
"What did Morrigan say...?" Change of subject was welcome – at least he sometimes had good sense of timing.
"Something silly." Cousland lied.
"About a baby or something. I wasn't really listening. I just heard 'keep Grey Wardens alive' and was pretty much ready to agree to anything."
"...it was blood magic, wasn't it?"
"Something like that. I don't want to talk about it. Regardless of how you felt, she was still my friend."
"I'm sorry."
"Stop saying that."
Heavy silence.
"You're going to have beautiful children." Cousland spoke now, downcast and quiet.
"They'll all have that stupid grin and pointy nose you have. Ugh...look at me. Morrigan has me all pathetic now. I was fine. All ready for this whole battle of doom and then she mentions you and dying and I shut down. I don't know how bad the situation is going to be when we get to Denerim, Alistair."
"I don't either..."
"If I don't have time to say it then, I'll say it now, no matter what happens –"
"Maker's breath, don't –"
"Be happy."
He stopped, startled because he'd obviously expected something else and she looked at him, smile wide, but eyes wet.
"...why wouldn't I be happy?"
"Too many things can happen." She told him softly, closing her eyes.
"And no matter what, even if we can't be together, our time was special. To me...it was like this big bright light in this suddenly dark world that was trying to kill me. We looked out for each other – protected each other. Even with the whole Blight going on...it was always give and take. It didn't end in any ways I didn't expect it to – I just wanted it to last longer than it did. Which is expected. I mean, I don't need any explanations. I'm familiar with how this works and-" Cut off suddenly with his hand catching her face, turning it and catching her lips firmly in his.
She didn't have the energy or the will to shove him off as her clothes came loose.
"Maker, I'm not King yet." Was his reason.
"We could die tomorrow." She agreed.
"One more night can't hurt."
It did hurt.
The look in his eyes when she left him at those gates was almost enough to change her mind.
She didn't.
"No matter what happens. Be happy." She wanted to say 'I love you' one last time, but she didn't.
He probably wanted to say it too, but last night he'd said it enough for the both of them and it was enough to leave her satisfied that she'd made the right decision.
"Look after him." She'd told Leliana and the bard must have known how this would end because she looked so incredibly sad, but still smiled and still nodded as Warden Cousland stepped into the fray.
Then when her sword came down on the archdemon, the Warden Cousland became the Hero of Fereldan.
"Here. Look at this. Do you know what this is?"
"Is this a trick question?"
"Yes! I'm trying to trick you! Is it working? Aw, I just about had you, didn't I?"
Memories of happier times, despite it all, came easy to her then, dying. It would almost be ironic, were she there enough to notice.
"I picked it in Lothering. I remember thinking 'how can something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?' I should have left it alone, but the darkspawn would come and ruin everything with their taint, so I've had it ever since."
"And...you're...giving it to me?"
"W- well, I thought I might...in a lot of ways, I see the same thing when I look at you."
She stumbled, bloodied sword clattering loudly when it hit the stone of Fort Drakon. She almost laughed at the irony of it all, but didn't have the energy. Any moment now, death would claim her, and she was okay with that.
She was okay with a lot of things.
"Warden!" Nameless voices surrounded her; bodies with no faces.
Her knees hit the ground first.
"It's over." She breathed out.
"He's alive. Isn't he?" Because if he wasn't, that wasn't okay; she didn't do all of this just for Alistair to go and die to some genlock or hurlock.
Not when she was dying to the archdemon. If he did, she'd hold it over his head forever in whatever came after life. If anything came after life.
At least they'd get to be together then.
Maybe her family would be there too.
She never found Fergus either.
Still so much left to do, but now no time to do it.
She could feel it – eating away at her. Destroying her. Destroying it. It hurt, but it didn't. She figured then that dying usually didn't make a whole lot of sense and she was okay with doing it just once.
Just once.
And then she fell, never to get back up.
Never to smile or laugh or kiss again.
But she would always love.
In the distance, a lone wolf howled, as though in mourning of a dear friend's passing.