Thirty Years
By tkioz
Disclaimer: Dragon Age is the property of Bioware and EA (along with some others I'm sure I missed) I'm just borrowing the setting for a little while, I'll put them back as good as new.
The dreams had come, as Alistair said they would. Thirty long years had passed and the dreams had come again, stronger, more powerful then ever before. Dreams of dark places and horrible acts, and he knew despair, everything he had done, it was all for nothing, the evil still existed, the rot at the centre of the world, eating away at everything good and pure, it was still there, nothing he had done mattered, not the long years travelling, fighting, doing what little he could to help those around him, rebuilding the order, not even the war long ago, when he was young and so full of righteous fury, none of it mattered.
Not now, not standing before the gates to the Dead Trenches, alone, as all Warden's stand at the end.
Alistair was gone, fallen from his horse of all things, riding with his children. It was proof that The Maker was a cruel bastard, letting the man survive all those battles, only to take him in a moment of inattention. At least he got to live a life with the family he always wanted. He had been a good king, as his son would be when it was his time.
Morrigan... he hadn't seen her since that night, the night after the final battle, he saw her walking away from the castle, he cloak pulled tight around her, he wanted to stop her then, if she had looked back he would have, but she didn't, not once, so he watched, watched her as she walked away from him, carrying a part of him with her, in both a figurative and very real sense. He hadn't looked for her, not really, but he had kept an ear to the ground, there were whispers of a new witch of the wilds to the northern lands, so he stayed away, he couldn't face it, couldn't face her.
The others he lost track of long ago, he knew Wynne had finally faded away one night a few months after the battle, her spirit done, he missed her, her kind words and sound advice, but it was her time. The others he knew little.
And now he stood at the great doors, the Legion of the Dead had followed him for a while before fading away into the darkness of the deep roads, respectful of the Warden's ways.
"You did not think we would allow you to do this alone did you?" a soft voice came out of the darkness to his left.
He spun, his hand leaping to the sword at his waist.
"Sten?" He half asked, already knowing the answer.
"I think it does, perhaps the squishiness in its head has finally given way" another voice came from the right.
"Shale? what are you two doing here?" He asked, relaxing his guard.
"Why else? there are many darkspawn heads to be squished!" the effervescent Golem answered.
"Be silent construct!" Sten snapped, stepping out of the shadows, he had aged, his hair almost pure white, and his face even more lined, "we come, because one final battle remains, one final glorious moment, for many long years I have longed to battle again by your side, the others of the Beresaad, thought I had gone insane, but I know the truth, we will face this and die with our swords in hands, rather then fade away into nothingness like sheep"
The words rang true to the Warden, it hadn't been for nothing! thirty years of peace in this land, and now one last chance to matter, to shine, to fight along side old friends who could understand.
"Then let us go!" he said, his voice strong.
Turning to the gate, Golem to his right, Qunari to his left, and out of the corner of his eye he could see three indescribable shapes, he reached up, slammed shut the visor on his armour, drew his sword and the door opened.
The End.