THE VISITOR

There was a storm raging in Denerim that night. Outside the Royal Palace, the rain lashed against the solid stone walls as if to tear them apart with the slick of water that cascaded off the rooftops and surged down to the ground below. Thick heavy clouds rumbled together, the sound of their collision echoing across the entire city, shaking the very foundations of the buildings and resembling nothing so much as the deeply ominous growls of an ancient and terrifying dragon. Every now and then, a stark flash of jagged white lightening would lance through the sky, briefly illuminating the mostly deserted streets and sending those unfortunate enough to be caught in the tempest, scurrying for the nearest available cover. It was a night where animals trembled in fear, children cried in their beds and adults were deprived of the comfort of sleep.

After tossing and turning, unable to relax in between the soft sheets or to read in the flickering firelight, King Alistair Theirin finally slid out of the Royal bed and pulled on a thick woollen robe.

"Majesty…" His Lady wife, the former Bann Alfstanna rolled over and looked at her husband anxiously. "Majesty, where are you going at this late hour?"

"To the Chapel, my Queen." Alistair answered softly, fastening his belt and trying not to notice the empty notches showing where his waistline had increased over the years. "I can't settle in this blasted weather. I need to find some peace."

"But…I could comfort you here, Majesty. We could sit out the storm together?" Alfstanna smiled up at him with her sad blue eyes and Alistair wished for the hundredth time that he could have loved her as much as she deserved.

With a heavy sigh, he leaned over and kissed her lightly on the forehead, his beard brushing against her skin. "Get some rest, dear wife. The morning will come all too quickly and we have that Orlesian Ambassador and his retinue to deal with."

"And what of your rest? Does not the King require to be on top of his game tomorrow?" She patted the mattress beside her and nodded her head. "Come back to bed. At least we may enjoy the comfort of each other's arms."

"Alfstanna, please…" He turned away from her concerned gaze, pain creasing his handsome features. "I just want to be…alone for a while."

The silence was deafening. He could feel her loneliness as if it were a great weight pressing down upon him.

"You don't have to be alone." She whispered in a small voice. "You could just let me hold you, as you used to when we first loved…"

"Alfstanna, it wouldn't be fair." The words came easily, but not without pain. "I couldn't do that to you."

A flash of lightening shattered the darkness and for a second he saw not his lady wife, but a young woman with hair the colour of jet and eyes as grey as the clouds outside.

"Alistair, this isn't fair…I can't do this to you."

"Forgive me, my dear." He whispered hoarsely as the image faded, replaced by the melancholy expression of his queen. "I cannot stay."

As Alistair Theirin closed the door behind him, he tried not to listen to the sound of her weeping.

The Chapel was cold despite the burning coals in the brazier representing Andraste's Holy Flame. Tapestries hung against the walls, their colours diffused in the amber light and where there was naught but stone, shadows flickered and danced as if with a life of their own.

As he passed the empty pews, Alistair felt the pain and guilt of his marriage weighing down upon him like a great chain. Once, long ago, he was certain that he could have grown to love his wife. She had been only slightly younger than himself when Eamon had suggested the union. She was a powerful woman in her own right, the Bann of the Waking Sea no less, and marrying her meant securing the north-west coastline of Ferelden.

Meeting her had been a revelation. With her short brown hair and playful blue eyes, Alfstanna had been the one to make him feel at ease once again…to make him laugh and take away the hurt of his many losses. He found it easy to be in her presence, enjoying her chat and her company and later still, enjoying the closeness of her body as they made love. As their wedding day had approached, he felt certain he could be a husband to this woman and that she could be the Queen to his King.

The wedding itself was celebrated all over Ferelden, the people happy to once again see their King married and this time to a woman who promised to be faithful and devoted to the Crown, not dividing her time and loyalty between their most beloved King and the legendary Grey Wardens.

Oh yes. It was all going to be so perfect and for a time, Alistair supposed it was.

Alfstanna had a natural talent when it came to the running of the court and her Queenly duties. She became his partner in all things, supporting him, loving him and even acting as Regent when he was forced to leave Ferelden shores on Kingdom business. Over the years she had become as popular with the nobles as she was with the people and the Kingdom was content. It was only behind closed doors that the cracks had started to appear.

Alfstanna had desperately wanted a child yet no matter how hard they tried, the Queen did not fall pregnant. It was hard for her, knowing that he had already fathered a son with his first wife and harder still not to tell her that the boy was not his, but the bastard child of an elven assassin. Even so, he still felt the pain of his loss as much as he did when Bronwen Cousland had walked out of his life with the babe in her arms all those years ago…

At the mere recollection of her name, Alistair dropped to the ground and felt tears begin to pool in the corners of his eyes. He could see her now as clearly as he saw her then, concern on her beautiful face as she spoke the words that forever haunted his dreams.

"I will always care for you. You mean so much to me, despite everything."

She had cared, maybe even loved him once and that was his torment. He had never, never loved anyone as much as he had loved Bronwen and depth of the feelings he carried for the Grey Warden ranger had burned into his very soul, eating away at his heart until he was unable to ever truly love another…

Not even his new wife.

He had thought that the years would soften him, that the care and devotion of Alfstanna would in turn lead him to love her as she loved him, but it was not to be. Without a child to bring them together, they had simply drifted apart, or was it he that had pulled away, he could no longer be sure. Their marriage had become one of companionship, fire and passion lost to familiarity and duty.

And so here he was, alone in the Chapel, the storm raging outside nothing compared to the storm in his soul.

"Your Majesty…?"

Alistair span about at the oddly familiar male voice, adrenaline carrying him to his feet even as his hand reached for his absent sword. As he peered into the gloom behind him, he spotted a hooded figure perched on the end of one of the pews. "You there, identify yourself! Your King commands it!"

Slowly and cautiously, the figure rose and stepped into the flickering light of a nearby torch. Alistair watched with a growing sense of unease as the stranger lifted up his gloved hands and slid back the hood from his finely boned face, revealing the white gold hair and long pointed ears beneath.

"You…" Alistair breathed, not daring to believe his eyes.

"It has been a long time, no?" Zevran Arainai offered him a cautious smile and held up his hands.

"Bastard!" Seventeen years of pain and anger powered the blow that streaked out toward the Antivan's face. "You filthy bastard!"

The slender assassin easily dodged the punch and Alistair snarled in outrage as he hurled himself toward the elf. Rage clouded his thinking but gave power to his fists as he launched blow after blow toward his enemy, but Zevran was fast. In the blink of an eye, he had neatly sidestepped Alistair's clumsy attacks and then pushed him to the ground. A blade was at his throat a moment later, Zevran holding it in place with calm detachment as Alistair struggled beneath him.

"So this is it?" Alistair gasped, the cold steel biting into his skin as he talked. "The assassin is finally here to kill the King?"

"If I had wanted to kill you, I would have done so already." Zevran hissed, as he carefully angled the blade so that it no longer drew blood. "I am here to talk, if you Majesty will permit me to do so?"

"Talk?" Alistair managed to snigger despite the pressure upon his spine. "What could you and I possibly have to talk about?"

"Come come, Alistair." The elf replied, easing his grip and slowly removing his knee from Alistair's back. "Is she so easily forgotten or has your new wife driven out all thoughts of my own beloved Warden?"

The words crashed over him like the freezing waters of the ocean and Alistair ceased his struggle. Moving slowly, the Antivan released him and stood to one side, sliding his dagger back into the sheath at his hip.

As he climbed to his feet, Alistair studied the elf. The years had done little to change him. His face was still narrow and almost feminine in appearance, his eyes still glittered like orbs of polished amber and the curving umber lines of his tattoo still enhanced the sweep of his cheekbone. There were a few more lines here and there, streaks of white in his golden hair but otherwise, he appeared much as he did the night he took away his one true love and her baby son…everything that ever meant something to him.

"I could call the guards." Alistair snarled as he straightened his robes, suddenly very aware of just how much weight he had put on and how much older he appeared than the elf before him. "Have you killed for even being here without permission."

"You could." Zevran agreed, inclining his head in agreement. "But you won't. Not until I have said what I came to say. Besides, I have already taken care of the two rather careless fools who let me slip past unnoticed." He grinned as he dropped down onto a pew, his leg casually thrown over the back rest. "Perhaps you should review your security, my dear Alistair…anyone could just walk in here!"

"Anyone already has…" With a curl of his lip, Alistair sat down opposite the elf and stared at him coldly. "So, you will forgive me if I am blunt, but I have no wish to prolong any exchange with you. What is it exactly that you want?"

Alistair felt a shiver run down his spine when he saw the look that ghosted across the Antivan's face. In fact, the elf turned deathly white and the smile that was upon his lips faltered as he cast his eyes to the ground, gathering his thoughts before speaking.

"Tell me, Alistair." He said quietly. "You bear the taint of the Wardens, do you still suffer from…the nightmares?"

"What?" Alistair was slightly stunned by the question. It was certainly not what he expected. "You mean, do I still hear the chatter of the darkspawn? No, well, not much since the Blight ended…why do you ask?"

"My beloved wife has had them every night this past year or more." Zevran's voice had lost all of the usual confidence and was now choked with emotion. "They are bad nightmares that leave her trembling and shaking in my arms and each time it grows worse, as if a part of her is left in that dark world." He swallowed hard. "Alistair…sometimes when she wakes, she does not always know me as her husband and it is only with the coming of morning that My Heart returns to me and I am complete."

"Does she remember anything about the dreams?" Alistair felt a knot of fear begin to twist inside his belly.

"She speaks to me of Orzammar…of the dark places beneath." Zevran answered as the first tear began to roll down his cheek. "She tells me she wishes to go to the dwarves...wishes to enter, to enter…"

"The Deep Roads." Alistair finished for him. "Bronwen wishes to heed The Calling."

"As you say." Zevran wiped angrily at his face, his natural bravado seeking to cover his grief. "I tell her it cannot be so, it is too soon. We still have so much time left together, to love and to live…but now this has come upon her and I cannot stop it." He looked up and Alistair wanted to weep, so desperate was the pleading expression in the elf's amber eyes. "I cannot stop it…can I, Alistair?"

He had no words.

For years and years he had resented this elf…hated him for being loved by the one woman in the world that made his heart ache with longing…despised him for being the real father of the baby he had brought up for the first three months of his life…wished him ill for all the hurt, betrayal and pain that he had caused when he took what had once been Alistair's beloved family and his reason for living.

How many nights had he lain in bed, calling upon the Maker to exact some measure of retribution upon this treacherous Antivan that would show him what it was like to lose someone you never thought you could live without.

Someone you would have given everything to be with.

Someone like Bronwen Cousland.

And now she was succumbing to the taint and there was nothing, nothing he could do to make it stop. There would be no more magic rituals or dark pacts to save them this time.

Alistair was helpless.

"You cannot stop it." He answered, looking into the anguished face of the elf. "Zevran, if there was a way to save her…"

"You would tell me, I know." Zevran whispered hoarsely as he stiffly rose to his feet. "There truly is no hope, is there?"

Alistair shook his head and felt tears of his own begin to flow freely down his bristled cheeks as the Antivan stepped up to the altar. Through a haze of sorrow, he watched as the elf bowed his head and fell to his knees. Whatever had passed between them, whatever pain each had inflicted on the other…it all seemed so pointless now.

Bronwen Cousland Theirin Arainai, Grey Warden Commander and Hero of Ferelden was going to leave them and the world would be a darker place for her passing.

Join us, brothers and sisters…Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant…Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten…and that one day we shall join you.

The words of the joining ritual flooded Alistair's mind as he knelt beside the Antivan. Never before had they been so poignant as now…not even when Duncan was lost and yet, he felt uneasy with his grief in the presence of the man beside him, for whatever he was going through, then Zevran was surely suffering a thousand times more.

"She will not be alone, you know." The Antivan said softly and Alistair looked up to see a sad smile creeping across his handsome face.

"No." He agreed, laying a hand upon his shoulder in gentle reassurance. "The spirits of all the Wardens who have followed the Calling will watch over her."

Zevran laughed, the expression at odds with his tear streaked face. "Ah poor Alistair…you always did misunderstand me. The Warden, you say she will not be alone…well that much at least is for certain." Alistair's face creased in puzzlement as Zevran climbed to his feet. "You see, my dear Alistair, I am going with her."

"You are going with her…?" Alistair simply looked on open mouthed. "Zevran, there is no coming back from that…you'll die down there."

"I know this and I am ready to do so." The elf regarded him with a determined look on his face. "Thing is, Bronwen is and always has been, my one true Heart and a man cannot live without his heart, no?"

"Maker Zevran…" Alistair felt hopelessness churning inside him as he considered the implications of his words. "You can't do that! If it were just the two of you, I could understand…but you both have a son! He is already losing his mother Zevran, must he lose his father too?"

"Alejandro is almost a man now. He is…aware of my decision." Zevran sighed heavily and fought back a fresh wave of tears. "He too has seen the darkness inside my beloved Warden. He has heard her screams in the night and comforted her when I was not there to do so. He would no more see his beautiful mother face the darkness than would I…but you are right, I would also not see him left alone in this world to face the future alone."

Alistair stared in shock as Zevran knelt before him and seized his hand.

"What I am about to ask is difficult no doubt and maybe for you, a painful reminder of what could have been…but I must do this." The elf was shaking now, raw emotion tearing through him. "My son is a good boy Alistair, a skilled ranger like his beautiful mother and trained of course by the best and most handsome elven swordsman in all Antiva…yet he is young, headstrong in need of guidance. So I am here to ask you, Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden, please would you do us the honour of looking out for him after we are gone?"

Alistair felt his breath catch in his throat. "I…I don't know what to say, I mean the lad has an Uncle in Highever after all. Does Bronwen know of this decision?"

The elf smiled sadly. "She knows. It was she who bade me come to you and ask this most difficult question, though I agree completely with her choice of guardian. I will never apologise for loving her Alistair, nor can I ever express regret for fathering a boy as fine as Alejandro but I am sorry that you were hurt by our love and despite the differences between us, I can think of no other man I would trust more with the life of my son. Please Alistair, please do this for us…if not for me, then do it for the love you still bear her and for the sake of Alejandro…he was ever the innocent in this."

Never, never in all their time together during the Blight had Alistair ever seen the elf so open as he was now. All of the bravado, all of the cocky self-assurance and sweeping arrogance were drowned beneath a father's desperate concern and a husband's ravaging grief.

"Zevran…" Alistair's throat felt dry and tight as he coughed back the emotion welling deep inside. "It would be my honour not only to look out for Alex…Alejandro, but to accept him as my ward here in the palace and see that he is loved, well cared for and treated as befitting the son of two of the greatest heroes of Ferelden."

His control finally breaking, Zevran let out a relieved sigh and let his head fall onto Alistair's knees. Suddenly, his whole body was wracked with deep shuddering sobs and Alistair couldn't help but pull the man into his arms and hold him while he wept. The Antivan may have been the man to come between him and Bronwen, but there could be no doubt that he loved her with such a passion that he was unwilling to leave her to face her fate alone, even if it meant his own death. At that moment, Alistair truly understood just how deserving the elf was of her love.

Gradually, Zevran's breathing eased and he moved awkwardly out of Alistair's embrace.

"So…" He began, climbing to his feet and turning away as if ashamed of his outburst. "It is settled. I will go back to Antiva and bring both my wife and son to Ferelden."

"If that is what you wish." Alistair answered solemnly.

"I take it I will not be…arrested the moment I set foot ashore?" Zevran asked, straightening his cloak and pulling his hood up over his white gold hair and pointed ears. "After all, you did declare my wife an exile and order my execution were I to do so…"

"There will be no arrests, I swear to you." Alistair slowly climbed to his own feet and sighed heavily. "That is all in the past now. Just send word when you are due to arrive and I will see to it that you get to the palace safely."

"Gracias por todo, Alistair."

Moving to the doorway, Zevran peered cautiously up and down before stepping out into the corridor beyond but then he paused and looked back into the chapel with his amber eyes burning brightly.

"She told Alejandro of you, you know. My son knows that once you and she were…close. I think he should very much like to meet the man who was for a time, his father."

Alistair smiled. "As I should like to meet the boy who was, for a time, once my son…"

With a melancholy smile, Zevran acknowledged his words and then disappeared into the darkness, as stealthily as a cat on the hunt. It was only after Alistair had been stood in the silence of the empty chapel, that he realised the storm outside had finally abated and that the night was at last, at peace.

Two weeks later…

The party had left at the breaking of dawn. One carriage escorted by four riders had set out from Denerim on that crisp autumn morning, the passengers, an Antivan elf and a Ferelden Grey Warden, making their way to the Frostback Mountains and the hospitality of the Dwarven King Bhelen.

From there, the journey onwards would be only for those two.

A journey from which neither would ever return.

High atop the battlements on the Palace walls, Alistair felt his heart fit to break as he watched the dust settling on the Imperial Highway, the only evidence of their passing.

"Do you think I shall ever see them again, Majesty?" The young man beside him spoke in heavily accented Antivan.

"I don't think so, Alejandro." He answered truthfully. "Though maybe we'll all meet again in the House of the Maker."

"Forgive Majesty, but I share my mother's views on such things." Alejandro Arainai snorted and turned away from the landscape and leaned back against the stonework.

There was no mistaking the fact that the lad was Zevran's son. Though he was a full head taller than the Antivan, he had the same slight build, natural grace and smooth bronzed skin as his elven father. His eyes were the same glittering amber and his face was finely featured but with a definite masculinity to the set of his broad jaw. However, in the raven-black colour of his long braided hair and the sculpted shape of his pouting lips, there was enough of the Cousland look to remind Alistair painfully of Bronwen.

"Your mother never was much of a believer." Alistair sighed as he leaned beside him. "She always believed that we make our own fate."

"The Grey Wardens decided the fate of my mother when they forced her to drink tainted blood!" Alejandro snapped, hurt warring with pride as he sought to contain his emotions. "If she hadn't done that, then she would still be well and living with my father in Antiva…not ready to die by the sword of some filthy darkspawn, leaving me behind in a country that smells like wet dog!"

"They didn't force her to drink the blood, lad." Alistair said softly, acutely aware of the pain in the young man's face. "She joined the order willingly and if she hadn't, then she would never even have met your father."

"I know but…" Alejandro's face creased as he struggled to stem the flow of tears that cascaded from his eyes. "It's just not fair, Majesty. I love them both so much…and now they are leaving me!"

Alistair placed his arm about the boy's shoulders and hugged him to his broad chest.

"Alejandro…" He began as he held the trembling boy in a comforting embrace. "They will always live on in the songs and tales told by the bards and in the hearts and minds of those people who were spared from the Blight because of their sacrifices."

He gently pushed the boy back and looked deep into his tearful amber eyes.

"And when I look upon the face of the young man here before me, I know I will ever be reminded of them and I swear to you…as long as you carry their memory in your heart, they will never truly leave you at all."

As the sun climbed higher into the sky, Alejandro took a deep calming breath and turned to look out over the western horizon. What future he saw there, Alistair could not be certain, but the one thing he was sure of was that they would face it together.

…and as long as he drew breath, Alistair Theirin would see to it that the names of Zevran and Bronwen Arainai, Heroes of Ferelden, would never be forgotten.

Okay, I admit I was totally indulging my melodramatic side here ;-P

Quin xXx