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IV: Flames
. . .
She had not realised how she has been a Cousland all the time, despite everything. A Grey Warden, yes, but still a Cousland to the bone. She thought she had left it behind, but no, never, and Howe's face and words stung like a sword wound.
Now her sword is red with Howe's blood, finally, and even though it might be wrong she whispers a thanksgiving prayer to the Maker. At least justice is done – it gives her nothing, it does not make her feel better, and the empty hole in her heart is not miraculously healed, but that quiet rage eating her up from the inside is gone.
She would have let Howe live, had defeating the Blight demanded it, but she is thankful she did not have to.
In the night, dreaming, she finds herself standing among the smothered stone walls of Highever. There are traces of ash here and there, and she grits her teeth, knowing this is all that is left of people she knew. She goes down to the kitchen. There, she kneels, unsheathes the family sword and lays it down on the ground, dried blood and steel a sharp contrast against the ashes.
"Justice is done," she says solemnly. Rest in peace. You are avenged. She blinks away the sudden tears. "Goodbye, Mother. Goodbye, Father." Saying goodbye to the past she can now leave behind. There are no more unresolved matters, no promises to keep, no other duties but one.
There is a softest sound of footsteps, and then a warm hand touches her shoulder.
She gets up and turns, her gaze meeting familiar dark eyes. A tiny smile floats up onto her lips – slightly bitter, but peaceful nonetheless, because she knows the cost now. She has paid. There is nothing more she can give away but her life, and that price does not seem so high, not after everything. "Lead on, Duncan. I am ready."
. . .
The night is quiet, but it is a silence before a storm. Anxiety is dense in the air, and so is fear. On the morrow they march to Denerim, and there will be only one chance. Will there be anything to save once they get there?
She tosses and turns, but she cannot get comfortable enough to get asleep. After all the time on the road, the bed in Arl Eamon's estate is too soft. There are also decisions, but she would rather not think about them, not now.
Guilford senses her discomfort and lets out a soft whine, then looks up at her.
"I'm all right, boy," she says, though it feels pathetic, lying even to her own dog. She is not afraid of the final duty awaiting her, but... She cannot help but wish there was someone with her on the eve of the battle.
Sighing, she sits up on the bed, then reaches out for her dagger, one she got after helping in the Alienage. One that had belonged to Duncan. She recognizes he had an identical one at Ostagar, and wonders whether the two blades used to be a pair.
Her fingers follow the edges of the blade carefully, then move along the inscription engraved on the hilt: 'In peace, vigilance. In war, victory. In death, sacrifice,' and she wonders if there is true peace to be found in death. Then she looks at her reflection in the steel, and, for a moment, the face she sees there is Duncan's, not hers.
When she falls asleep, she dreams almost exactly the same scene: her sitting on the bed, a warm shawl draped across her shoulders, and the dagger in her hand. Only this time, when she glances at the reflection in the steel, she sees two faces.
"Your dagger," she murmurs, not turning around.
"Ah, yes. Genevieve gave it to me. Two of them; twin blades. But then I switched one for a sword."
She looks at him, puzzled. "Who's Genevieve?"
"She was Commander of the Grey in Orlais when I joined." At her motion, Duncan sits on the bed. For once, he is not wearing his armour, just breeches and a simple tunic, the same she had seen on the road to Ostagar. "It's a long story. And not a pretty one either."
She smiles at him briefly, bitterly. "I know how not pretty stories look like, Duncan."
"Yes... Yes, you do." There is this familiar expression to his face, not quite sadness, but not neutral either.
"Duncan, don't. I'm... I can manage. I do manage."
"I know. Yet I can't help but wish it might have been otherwise."
"But it's not." She reaches out, and remembers about the dagger far too late; there is a brief flash of pain and a red mark blossoms where the blade caught on her palm, right along her lifeline. She curls her fingers around the gash. A drop of blood seeps through her fingers, soon followed by another.
Duncan takes her hand in his, gently, his touch soothing. In a moment, her blood is seeping through his fingers, but he does not break the hold.
. . .
The power of the strike throws her against the stone wall, and she slumps onto the ground. So it ends here. Strange, but she is not afraid, not even moved. She is… glad. All will be over, all responsibilities, everything. She will meet her family again, see Mother and Father… But not yet, not for a while longer. There is one last duty she has to fulfil.
She tries to get up, hissing with pain, prepared for tremendous effort of tired muscles... but there is none. It feels as if someone was holding her, supporting, helping her to get up. She closes her eyes briefly, and right the moment her eyes are both close and opened, there is a glint of silver armour at her shoulder, right behind her. When she is standing on her feet again, she feels strength coming back to her.
Everything that happens next is a whirl of sensations. There is a blast of fire, followed by lightning, and the archdemon roars, the sound boring into her thoughts and mind. Someone – Arl Eamon? – shouts, there is a soothing halo of Wynne's healing magic, another fire blast – Irving? – and the dragon moves, swishing its tail, and when she hits the stones again there is a crunch of bones breaking, and a searing pain in her side. The archdemon's song is soaring in her head. She tries to get up, but cannot, her legs are not listening, her hands are not listening, she can only lie there and gasp in pain. She failed. She failed... on the last step of such a long road... Tears of rage well up in her eyes.
Gritting her teeth, hands grasping at the stone, she gets up. Breathing gets more difficult, but she moves slowly, with grim determination, shuffling her feet with effort.
"Duncan," she pleads, in ragged whisper. "Duncan, hold me up..."
Then she remembers. A part of her mind can still recall the old melody Nan had taught her, the same Duncan had hummed on the way to Ostagar, the same she has sung in the Deep Roads. It is much more quiet than the archdemon's song echoing through the taint, and yet much clearer.
She glimpses Wynne, shoulder in shoulder with Irving, and as the mages raise their staffs, the sound of thunder rolls through the air, followed by twin lightning. She glimpses blades piercing into the archdemon's skull, hers and someone else's, but she can barely see because of the blood trickling down her forehead and over her eyes.
And then there is a blast of light, an implosion, and something in the very air and matter shifts, and she knows it is done.
She slumps onto the ground. There is blood seeping between her fingers – this is the end. When she slips into unconsciousness she is smiling, a full, triumphant smile, first such since Highever.
. . .
The Warden's Keep seems closer, and this time there is light, not unlike sun, but softer. Nothing is blurry now; so she is not dreaming, but has truly entered the Fade.
She walks up the wide stony steps, quickly, quickly, almost there... Duncan is waiting at the top of the stairs, and she slows down, not certain what to do, what to say, not even certain she is supposed to be here.
"You made it," Duncan says, smiling at her, his smile proud, but the look in his eyes is softer than that.
She stops right before him. "Duncan..." She looks up at him, completely at a loss. Hesitantly, slow like in a dream – is it not a dream, since she is in the Fade? – she raises her hand to touch his shoulder tentatively. Duncan is still at first, then she feels his palm cupping her elbow.
And then her arms are around his neck and he is holding her to him, one palm cradling her head. He is warm and real, as real as he has been in life.
. . .
She dreams. There is Wynne's worried face, leaning above her, or her silhouette standing at the door whenever she opens her eyes. There is Guilford's quiet whining from under the bed, and sometimes his furry body warming up her feet.
There is Teagan – and a blurry memory that if not for the demise of Highever and her becoming a Warden, and the Blight, and the fact they both have always resented the very idea of an arranged marriage, he might have become her husband – a kind friend, a worried look on his face. Is this Redcliffe? It is difficult to recognize the place while her forehead and thoughts are hot with fever.
Why is she abed? She was wounded fighting the archdemon, yes, but she is dead, in the Fade, with Duncan. She is... happy. Happier, anyway. The duty here is calmer, much less distressing...
Guildford's howl cuts through the air and she wakes. For a moment, she is not certain where she is, because she has just spotted Alistair and Wynne beside the bed, but it is Warden's Keep, is it not?
Duncan is standing at the door, watching her, and she notices how his eyes are different than they used to be. Deeper. Wiser. He looks as if he is going to speak, and suddenly she is afraid of what he will say, but he remains silent. He walks across the room, kneels beside her and strokes her hair. Then, most gently, he touches her cheek.
When she turns her head to press a kiss into his palm, he does not withdraw.
. . .
They are standing on the top of the tower, looking down. The Pass is pooling with soft mist again.
"The Pass," she begins, glancing at Duncan. "Will you tell me what is it really?" In a way, it feels like that night months ago, when they were both standing on the top of one of Highever towers.
"The Pass is where souls cross the Fade, to... to whatever lies beyond, I suppose. Afterlife."
"And the Wardens?" She saw Sophia again, and Kell the hunter, she met Riordan, she glimpsed Loghain and Genevieve. "How long do we have to stay here?"
"Wardens will guard the Pass until the Black City is purged. But not all of us have to stay. Wouldn't it be unfair to get only this, after years of faithful service?" Duncan asks, with a slight smile.
"I guess." She turns to him. "But you didn't go."
"No. I'm used to the Warden's life, and the Warden's life is duty."
"Isn't it difficult? I mean, there are demons..."
"Yes, there are. But, see, we reside in the Fade, but don't belong here. They have no power over us." Duncan pauses. "It is easier than fighting darkspawn. There's no fear we're too few, or we don't know what to do. And not much actual fighting. I'd say it is a rest, kind of."
"It feels so peaceful here."
Duncan covers her palm with his. "Yes, sometimes it can be."
. . .
She is dreaming, again. There is Wynne, with face tight with concentration, sitting beside her and murmuring incomprehensible spells. There is something warm at her feet, and she knows it is Guilford, only this time he is quiet. Someone leans over her, familiar features drawn with worry. Fergus.
Fergus?!
She wakes up instantly, getting up into a sitting position in one swift move. Fergus? Maker, Fergus? Alive... Fergus is alive.
She laughs, even though tears are streaming down her cheeks. For so long, she had been thinking Fergus was dead... and now when it turns out he made it somehow, she is.
She cannot stop crying, and laughing, and this is nothing short of hysteria... For a time – she knows not how long – she is just sitting like that, her laughter filling the room, her cheeks wet with tears. Finally, she brushes the tears away with the sleeve of her tunic, then gets up and walks out of the room .
The battlements overlooking the Pass are empty, like usual, for no demons could come from there. It is quiet, and peaceful, and, gradually, the mood of the place helps her calm down.
Oh, the irony... But there is nothing she can do about that anyway. Fergus is alive, he will reclaim Highever. It has to be enough. Even if she knows he would rather be with his wife and son and parents, reunited with them in death.
She does not turn at the sound of quiet footsteps. Duncan stops beside her, resting his hands on the wall and leaning on them. It does not take him long to notice something is amiss.
"What is it?" he asks gently, turning to her.
"My brother..." she whispers. "Fergus is alive. And I'm dead." She lets out a quiet laugh, blinking tears away. "He's alive. Alive." This time, her whisper sounds like a grateful prayer, despite everything.
. . .
"This isn't right," Duncan says suddenly. They are both sitting on the stairs right at the main gate, watching as the no-sun settles over the mountains, replaced by a semblance of stars.
"I don't understand," she replies, but they both know she is lying.
"Yes, you do. It's not your time yet." Duncan looks at her softly. "You made stopping the Blight possible. Think how much more you can accomplish."
"I don't want to." She wishes she could meet Fergus. But returning... it would mean fighting and choices all over again. She is tired of fighting and choices. She leans against Duncan, resting her head on his shoulder. "Haven't I done enough already?"
"The price of being able to do so much," Duncan says, "is being able to do so much. This isn't a matter of wanting, it never was."
"Duty," she sighs.
"Yes. Duty. Striving to leave the world a little better than you found it."
"Does it ever end? Duty," she specifies.
"Maybe it does, on the other side of the Pass." Duncan smiles. "Or maybe not."
Sighing, she closes her eyes. He is right. She cannot just give up, even if knowing this does not make anything easier.
"Whenever your time comes, I shall be there," Duncan says quietly, and is sounds like a promise. "In the meantime, please do something for me. Live."
She looks up at him. "I will go back," she agrees. "I will see to the Wardens' rebuilding, I'll do what needs to be done, and some things that don't need to but can be."
"And we'll meet here again some good twenty years from now."
She reaches for his hand and takes it in both of hers, then smiles at him. "It's settled, then."
Duncan gets up, gently pulling her up with him. "There's something I'd like to show you, before you go."
She nods, and suddenly the landscape whirls and changes. They are standing on the road, facing a castle, and her breath catches in her throat because she can recognize every stone in the wall – this is Highever. There are banners billowing on the wind on the battlements and towers, where they used to, only now the banners are grey. Griffons stitched witch grey, white and silver thread, flying over Highever.
"Home..." she whispers, involuntarily. "Duncan, what is it?" she asks, wide-eyed, baffled. Even then, she knows the answer before he speaks it, feels the answer in her heart.
"You've already said that. You just have to return and make it so."
"I will."
He smiles at her, a farewell smile, both saddened and happy, and surprisingly tender. "Then farewell, and when the time comes, we shall see each other again."
She smiles back, finally having found acceptance and peace, and the courage to actually live again. "Meet me in the Deep Roads."