1. Urthemiel Falls

The foreboding turrets of Fort Drakon loomed in the background as the heavily armoured soldiers, bloodied in battle, fought off the never-ending slew of Darkspawn emerging through the city gates. From where they stood, many on the ground claimed to have witnessed the Archdemon fall. It was the moment the horde just stopped in their tracks and retreated from the battlements, shrieking in fear, as if a switch had been turned off. Atop the Fort, a lone figure, sword in hand, was seen to draw his blade with much fervour, deep into the Demon's heart. They described how the creature took its final breath, shuddered violently, and crashed to the ground, dead. It was surely a sight to behold, and a tale that would be told for centuries to come.

Alistair Theirin, brother of King Cailan Theirin, second-born son of King Maric Theirin, great-grandson of King Brandel, Templar, Grey Warden and rightful heir to the throne, had slain the Archdemon. The Blight was won.

The Archdemon's lifeless body lay at his feet. He knew now what was to follow. The Warden's Sacrifice. Alistair sank to his knees, bowed his head, and waited. He was not afraid. He thought only of his love, Solona. He had saved her from certain death, albeit against her wishes, by taking her place as the slayer of Urthemiel, the corrupted God that had led the Darkspawn. It was my duty. Still, he waited for his inevitable, yet glorious passing. And waited some more.

'Alistair!' Solona's voice called to him. She ran up to the lone figure kneeling on the ground. The air was thick with fog. His face was warm and flushed in her hands as she held his head to her breast.

The red mist swirled and cleared a little. I yet live, he thought, bewildered. 'How can this be?' Alistair trembled, his arms reaching for her.

'It doesn't matter now. It is over,' Solona wept with relief, as they embraced.

The people of Ferelden rejoiced at the ending of the Fifth Blight. But they also mourned the loss of many lives and the ravaging of their beloved lands. Times were not easy, and much of the land needed rebuilding. More pertinently, Ferelden needed a ruler. At first, it was decided at the Landsmeet that Queen Anora Mac Tir, wife of the late King Cailan Theirin, would rule the lands, along with a Prince Consort of her choosing. But it was not the outcome that many of the citizens, and nobles too, had favoured.

Eamon Guerrin had asked to meet with Alistair once the celebrations had died down. As Arl of Redcliffe, he held tremendous sway in the politics of Ferelden. Yet, even he had to concede to the wishes of the common folk. Stern but not unkindly, the old man had always treated Alistair as his own son.

"What the people of Ferelden need most right now is stability. They feel that you are the only one who can provide this. If you love your country, by the next moon you will marry Anora and reign together as King and Queen. She has agreed to this, I spoke to her myself. Please consider what I am saying, for I do not wish to beg."

"Have we not discussed this already? You, of all people, should know that this is not what I desire at all. But what I desire for myself seems to be of little importance to everyone," Alistair retorted, the irritation in his voice was clear. "Have I not given them enough? In slaying their Demon, I have only been asked for more!"

"I am merely asking you to take what is rightfully yours. Undeniably you are Maric's son, and all of Ferelden know this. They also revere you as their saviour and hero." The Arl was firm and unrelenting. "You will make an exemplary and well-respected King. Your people expect no less of you. Alistair, it is you duty." Eamon's voice had softened a little and he placed a comforting hand on Alistair's shoulder.

"Does my duty know no bounds? Then I have no choice, I will do as they wish. My birth was a curse, so be it." Alistair said, resigned to submission. "And Anora will never love me, not since her father died at our hands. And neither could I love her as a wife," He bowed his head.

"Eamon, there is only one thing that I ask of you," He paused, looking up. "Solona will remain with me, regardless."

The Arl nodded in understanding.

Solona was barely five years old when she was sent to live amongst the arcane practitioners at the Circle of Magi. She was too young then to understand why. The Circle was a strange place. There were many men and women, whom she did not know, and children too. For many months she was sick with longing for her mother and siblings, crying herself to sleep each night. But the magi were not unkind to her and she had thrived, and eventually the memories of her own family faded away. In time, she was no longer able to recall her own mother's face.

Now a young woman and skilled mage in her own right, Solona was the epitome of pure beauty. She was refreshingly unfussy about her appearance, yet exuded a grace and elegance like no other. She could warm the coldest of hearts with her serene, blue eyes. Her skin was radiant and smooth as a babe's, telling only of her young age. Her pink lips were luscious. When she spoke, she was gentle. She often wore her fair hair in a ponytail, and dressed only in simple robes. Rarely was she adorned with any jewellery, apart from a small silver locket around her neck, the only sentiment she had left of her mother. A tiny, delicate songbird was carved on the front. On the back of the locket, an inscription read,

'She hid me, as the Moon may hide the night, from its own darkness, until all was bright.'

Before joining the Wardens, she had known little of the outside world; only what she could gleam from texts and scrolls. As unworldly as she was, she had more than her fair share of admirers in the form of fellow apprentices as well as Templars at the Circle, who would watch her longingly from afar. But she had never taken a lover, until now. She had irrevocably fallen for Alistair Therein, the Templar and Grey Warden, whom she had willingly given her maidenhood to. Such a scandalous pairing between a mage and Templar would not be permissible at the Tower, but it did not matter to her for she was no longer bound to the Circle.

Alistair gazed lovingly at her as they lay unclothed in the damp grass, acres of empty fields surrounding them. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her body could only be described as that akin to a Goddess. She was slender, yet curved in all the right places. Her breasts were supple and shapely, her pink nipples so enticing to him. Wisps of soft blond hair blew about her delicate face. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted as she lay on her back. Although they had lain together on many occasions during their adventures, he cherished every single moment he had spent alone with her. The sun was not overly bright, but the warmth from it was particularly gratifying to the two young lovers.

Solona had been in a pensive mood since the battle ended, he noted observantly. They had talked about his impending marriage to Queen Anora. Upsetting as it was to her, he could not help feel that there was more she was keeping from him. But she gave nothing away.

"You will be by my side, always, won't you?" Alistair enquired, as he gently stroked her cheek.

"I wish for naught else, Alistair. You know this is true."

"I could not love anyone but you."

"Nor I," she replied. She touched his hand as a single tear rolled down her cheek.

"Please then, don't look so sad, my love. I cannot bear seeing you so." He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering on her skin. He inhaled her lovely scent.

Solona forced a smile. "You are right. I have much to be thankful for. Least of all, we are still alive."

"Indeed, I have wondered much about that. Strange as it is, I cannot help but think that Riordan may have over-exaggerated the risks of killing the Archdemon," Alistair's brow furrowed. "It is almost an injustice that I still live."

Solona did not answer. Alistair thought for a moment, then added, "I don't suppose you had anything to do with it? By means of a warding spell or two..."

"As much as I wished, my magic is no match for Urthemiel's power," Solona sighed. "Tales become embellished over time, for has it not been centuries since an Archdemon was killed by a Grey Warden? Let us just accept that Riordan was mistaken."

She had begun to tire. "Let us speak of other things, my love, or best not speak at all," she said, quickly changing the subject, as she took his hand in hers and kissed him softly on the lips.

"Now I wouldn't mind a bit more of that," he said as he felt himself harden with desire. She rolled on top of him, as he slowly slid into her, their hips moving rhythmically together. She let out a soft moan, biting her lip, unable to contain her pleasure.