Ultimate Sacrifice
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age: Origins or any of it's characters. All credits go to Bioware.
'Normal' - Storyline
'bold Italic' - Alistair/Zevran speaking in memory
'Italic' - Quote/Thoughts/Lyna speaking in Memory
Authoress' Note: Just a one-shot based on my second playthrough as female Dalish Elf: Lyna Mahariel (default name). Hope you can figure out my decisions from this. Good Luck!
-xxx
In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.
Those words seemed so much simpler to say in oath the day he became a Grey Warden. But now, hearing them echo again as he floated between the semi-consciousness of life and death, Alistair could have wept; for not once did it occur to him that he could lose a lot more than his life.
Suddenly, light overcame the darkness he drifted in, as his heavy eyes fluttered open to view a world of fuzzy shapes and shadows. Pain flared from every part of his body, confirming his theory that he had indeed survived the final battle against the darkspawn. Alistair blinked in an attempt to clear his vision, and with deliberate slowness, started to sit upright to better observe the destruction around him.
The Grey Warden-King clutched his pounding head, and tried to recall exactly what had happened before he slipped into unconsciousness. He remembered, the siege upon the Tower; Riordan's death at the hands of the Arch-demon after he tried to slay it. Then it had been Alistair's turn. He had stood alongside Wynne and Oghren, facing their enemies together. He remembered how they had fought their way to the arch-demon; how they delivered blow after blow on his resilient scales; how his sword flew from his hands when a strike from the draconian God's tail had knocked it out of his blood-slicked grip.
Another blow, and the young warrior was sent sprawling on the ground, at the mercy of a beast that would delight in, even savour, the taking of yet another human life; a Grey Warden's life at that. Alistair recalled, how he had laid there, wide-eyed and utterly helpless as the arch-demon reared back it's head and opened it's hungry jaws in anticipation of the it's finishing attack. The young King had looked over at where his sword was embed in some forgotten corpse nearby, and yet so far away. Wynne and that constantly drunken dwarf would never reach him in time as they struggled to overcome wave after wave of darkspawn. All they could do was try to break through the horde with all their might. Only stopping, when the last scream of their king had ceased echoing across the battlefield.
Despite his fear, Alistair stared up at his fate resolute and defiant. If he was supposed to be a king then he was damn well going to die like one. But to his surprise, his acceptance of untimely death was abruptly shattered by the fierce battle-cry of an all-too familiar female voice: "FOR THE GREY WARDENS!"
His heart lifted in joy as the unmistakable tread of armored feet came running full pelt behind him. He could not help himself but to turn around and watch her come towards him; her blade held high above her head angled directly at the arch-demon's exposed neck. When Alistair's gaze returned to the monster that had just about to take his life, it's attention was now focused completely upon the only female Grey-Warden left in Ferelden; ignoring him completely.
Taking the distraction as an opportunity to escape, Alistair sprang back to his feet and sprinted towards his discarded sword. But by the time his hand closed over the hilt, a piercing shriek of agony caused him to whirl back around and observe the scene before him with horror.
Black blood spat out of the gaping wound running down the length of the arch-demon's neck. It's ear-splitting screams subsided as it came crashing forward into a deathly slump on the floor. All was still except for Her heavy panting, as she moved towards her fallen foe to deliver the killing blow.
Alistair tried to cry out. Tried to plead with her not to go through with this. Tried to cut off her path to offer himself in her place. But he could neither move or speak. Only watch as she swung her Elven Blade above her head, and with a final roar plunged her sword straight through the head of the Arch-demon.
He remembered the force of that incredible power that surged from the corpse of the ancient Draconian God and flowed into his fellow Warden as she struggled to keep her blade imbedded in it's skull. She glowed, radiant with the energy channeling into her from the Leader of the Blight, as his soul desperately sort out her tainted blood and join with her inside her body.
But she was no soulless Darkspawn, and resisted the arch-demon's intrusion with every fiber of her being. Her lips bled from where she was biting into them, and her once green eyes were aflame with incandescent light. Alistair winced when his fellow Grey Warden's mouth opened in wordless agony and for a fleeting, selfish second was grateful he had not taken the final blow.
Guilt and bitter resentment rose in his throat as he dismissed that awful thought from his mind. But it was too late to regret. All he could do was stand there powerless, and watch his sister-warden in her final moments.
Suddenly, the build-up of the Arch-demon's power burst out of her body and exploded across the roof top of Fort Drakon, knocking Alistair clean off his feet and into the cold dark of unconsciousness, from which he was just emerging out of.
Fully awake now and clearly remembering what had happened only minutes ago, the warden-King sprang to his feet and ran over to where the dead Arch-demon collapsed with it's head still impaled by her sword.
It didn't take long for Alistair to find her. She had not been thrown too far away from the Dragon God's body after the energy blast. Her motionless form lay as limp as a rag-doll across a mound of rocky rubble. Her eyes had regain their forest-green color, but they were glazed and dull now. Alistair approached her cautiously; his heart tearing itself apart with every step as he was reminded of Duncan's death at Ostagar. He had been devastated when Flemeth had told him that the only man he ever considered a father had perished from Loghain's betrayal. But during his moments when the grief became too overwhelming, a warm hand would rest on his shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze to let him know that he was not alone. He would always turn around and meet his fellow Warden's understanding gaze, knowing full well from Duncan before she was initiated, that she too had only recently lost someone dear to her.
Tamlen.
That was the name she used to mutter as she slept when she wasn't seized by Darkspawn nightmares. The same name she whispered in the Gauntlet when confronted with a spirit from her past to test her worthiness. And the same name she screamed, when the disfigured remains of her beloved friend; twisted by the taint; tried to kill her that night the camp was attacked.
Each time she ever said it, were the only times she cried. But despite her own grief, she would comfort and console Alistair over the death of Duncan instead; and be the strong Grey Warden Leader their companions expected her to be.
The Warden-King fell to his knees besides her and gently stroked a loose, snow-white hair out of her face, and remembered.
"Do you want to talk about Duncan?"
"He was like a father to you. I understand."
"The Dalish don't practice cremation do they? How do your people honor their dead?"
"We bury them and plant a tree over their remains."
"That sounds quite beautiful. Life Springing from Death."
"Maybe I'll go to Highever with you, when you go."
Maybe I'll go to Highever with you.
Highever
With you.
With you.
Alistair...
"Alistair!"
She's gone.
Tears started to course down his cheeks as he looked at her lifeless face. Tanned from sunlit years of running through the Brecilian Forest with her clan; streaked with Darkspawn blood she'd shed, and her lips were curved in the faintest hint of the smirk she had whenever doing a job well done. Even in death, she was satisfied.
And she was dead. Truly gone, but Alistair couldn't see her corpse in front of him. Only fleeting memories of her life. Their life. Together.
"You are a very strange human... Pleased to meet you. My name is Lyna... I look forward to traveling with you."
"I've licked my share of lampposts and then some."
"I guess my home is with the Grey Wardens now. With you."
"Yes. They all involve strangling you."
"Here, look at this. Do you know what this is?"
"Your new weapon of choice?"
"I thought that I might... give it to you actually. In a lot of ways I think the same thing when I look at you."
"Feeling a little thorny, are we?"
"Will you miss it once it's over?"
"It makes me tear up just thinking about it?"
"I've come to... care for you a great a deal. I think maybe it's because we've gone through so much together, i-I don't know. Or maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe I'm fooling myself. Am I? Fooling myself? Or do you think you might ever... feel the same way about me?"
"I don't know. It's too soon to say."
"Well, is it... too soon for this?"
Our first kiss.
"No, not really. I liked it."
"Good. I'll take that as a good sign. Maker's breath but you're beautiful. I am a lucky man."
"Here's the thing. Being near you makes me crazy, and I can't imagine being without you. Not ever. I don't know how to say this another way. I want to spend the night with you; here in the camp... I want it to be with you. While we have the chance. In case-"
"No need to say anything else. I agree."
"You do realize the rest of our little party here is going to talk, right? They do that."
"First smart comment and I feed them to the darkspawn."
"I love you too."
"See, was that so hard?"
"Your desire is my command."
"So... you're not just a bastard, but a royal bastard?"
"You're a prince. Somehow I find that very... thrilling."
"Alistair. Kiss me."
"I think you'd be a great king, Alistair."
"Being king, that raises some questions about us. About you and me."
"What sort of questions?"
"As king, I'll be required to have a child. Even more so because my death is assured. That's assuming that someone with the taint can or even should have a child."
"I still don't see how that affects us."
"I will need to find a wife, one who can bear a child. Who will live to raise it."
"I love you. More than I ever thought possible, but... I have to face what this means. I can't run away from it any more."
"I think I understand."
"If this is what must be, then... then I have to do it now. I'm sorry."
"Wait. There's no need for you to die. Let me take the final blow."
"I can't let you do that."
"I know how I feel about you. I won't let you die, not when I can do something about it."
"No. I won't let you die either, Alistair."
Reality came crashing down around him. She had disobeyed his order to stay back with the others and took the last blow herself when Alistair fell at the last hurdle. If only he had been quicker or more careful, then maybe she'd be alive instead of him. Tenderly, the Human Warden reached out and pulled the Dalish Elf's body into his embrace. An embrace she once would have returned eagerly whenever they lay together in camp. Cradling her motionless form in his arms now, he felt the familiar stab of loss chopping away at his heartstrings. He couldn't bring himself to close those beautiful green eyes starring up at him emptily. It would only reinforce the fact, that if he did, they would never open again.
Soft, padded footsteps sounded behind him over the cracking flames of fires the Arch-demon spread. Alistair did not need to turn around to see who approached. The squeak of Antivan Leather against stone had become all to familiar to his ears from their travels across Ferelden.
Another stab to his aching chest when he remembered that She had been the one who gave the Assassin those boots.
Zevran stopped short next to the only remaining Grey Warden and took a moment to study him.
"Alistair. Give her to me." The Antivan Crow knelt down beside him and held out his arms expectantly. The Warden-King tried to glare at the elf through tears, but failed.
"No... I-I can't. She... I... I love her." His voice shook with sobs.
"Alistair." Zevran said with the tone of a parent negotiating with a difficult child. "You chose your Throne. Chose to become King and cast her aside. So she chose Me."
"No! She wouldn't have! If I hadn't pushed her away, she would never have run to you." He was making a fool of himself in front of an Assassin but he didn't care. And neither did Zevran how blinked at the accusation.
"Whatever her intention, never forget that I loved her too. And she accepted those feelings." The Antivan elf reached out and pulled away her loose, white hair to reveal a single golden earring in her right ear. A gift, or rather a 'proposal' as Zevran had referred to it in camp when he gave it too her. It had been mere days after the Landsmeet, when the wounds of their break-up had been still so fresh, that the Assassin had made his move on the Dalish Warden.
"You must think I'm royally stupid."
"I think you're royally tough to kill. And utterly gorgeous. Not that I think you'll respond to simple flattery. But there are worse things in life than serving the whims of a deadly sex goddess."
"Ahhh, my dear Warden."
"Tsk. You look so tired, my dear. It is all this constant walking and fighting. I think I know what you need."
"Oh?This I have to hear."
"My thought is this. We retire to your tent and I show you the sort of massage skills that one only learns growing up in an Antivan whorehouse."
"That sounds good to me."
"A willing victim it is. And if I might ask, if the opportunity to proceed past the massage should present itself...?."
"I'm sure I'll think of something."
"Then why are we still talking?"
"See? I knew this would happen eventually. I should have warned you right from the moment you refused to kill me. It was inevitable."
"Here I thought I seduced you."
"O-ho! Why aren't you the saucy little minx, then? I've been used and I wasn't even aware of it. A masterpiece!"
"Now that we have mentioned tying me up in that context, do we have any extra rope about?"
"It was recited to me, as I recall, by a rather wealthy target of mine. Let's see... 'The symphony I see in thee/ It whispers songs to me. Songs of hot breath upon my neck/ Songs of soft sighs by my head/ Songs of nails upon my back/ Songs of thee come to my bed.'"
"Here I thought you might be cheered up by some naughty poetry. You simply look so... unhappy. Such an unflattering expression for such a lovely face."
"Again! What must the others think?"
"Arr! Pirate Zevran reporting for duty! Prepare to be boarded!"
"It seems an appropriate moment to give you this."
"Is that an earring?"
"I acquired it on my very first job for the crows. A Riveini merchant prince, and he was wearing a single, jeweled earring when I killed him. In fact, that's about all he was wearing... I'd like you to have it."
"Thank you, Zevran. It's so beautiful."
"Don't get the wrong idea about it. You killed Taliesen. As far as the Crows will be concerned, I died with him... It's really the least I could give you in return."
"Thank you. I appreciate it."
"It's meant a lot to me, but so have... so has what you've done. Thank you. I have no better way to say it."
"I thought it was the same between us. Something to enjoy, a pleasant diversion and little more. And yet-"
"Are you saying you're in love with me?"
"Everything I have been taught says what I feel is wrong. Yet I cannot help it. Since you asked me into your tent, I have been nothing but confused. Do you understand me at all?"
"I do. And I feel the same way."
"I am Yours."
"Zevran..."
Every moment had been torture for Alistair, watching another man take his place alongside the only woman he had ever loved. He reminded himself constantly whenever they retired to their tent, that he had let her go. He couldn't force her to stay away from the Assassin just because he was jealous. They had no future together after all, and Alistair wanted her to be happy without him.
So he endured, and made sure that whenever she kissed the Antivan elf, she would not see her former lover look away in self-pity.
"You are not the only one who will mourn her passing Alistair. There are many who adored her just as much," Zevran said softly; his hand no longer in her hair, but on her face, rubbing away the imperfection of Darkspawn blood.
"How can you be so calm?" The elder Warden asked in disbelief.
"Because I made a promise to her. One that I intend to keep." Zevran replied, causing Alistair to look away from her peaceful face for the first time.
"What was it?" His curiosity briefly overwhelmed the guilt he felt. The assassin cocked his head slightly and simply said:
"I swore that if the worst should happen and she perished, that I would treasure her memory. So I will not shed a tear and allow them to corrupt those precious, however fleeting moments we shared. And if you valued her more than your own life, you would do the same.
"She spared my life; she gave it meaning again; and she taught me what it felt to love," Zevran continued. "And for you my friend; she saved your life a dozen times over and even made you king. We both owe her a great deal. The least we could do to honor her; is to live for her." Alistair regarded the Antivan Crow's words and turned his attention back to his beloved.
"Just give me a moment with her, that's all. You can carry her out of this awful place to the others if you grant me that," The Warden-King found himself mumbling. Zevran needed no further persuasion and stood once more; pausing only to let his hand linger across her tanned cheek.
Alone with her once more, Alistair kissed her naked forehead and whispered: "You will be missed. More than I can possibly say."
It was then that Alistair remembered the traditional prayer, said to all Grey Warden's prior to their Joining. It seemed only appropriate to repeat them now:
"And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day, we shall join you."
With his final goodbye done, the last surviving Grey Warden let the Antivan Assassin take her from him into his own arms.
Tenderly, Zevran closed her eyes.
"Fare you well, my Love."
Fini