Why do I keep accidentally killing Alistair? the world may never know.
He really should have seen this coming.
Of course there would be no easy out, no simple "No thanks," and a wave goodbye. This was politics, and those who could not play the game did not come out of it alive.
To her credit, Anora shows no weakness, no regret, as she stares down at him. The guards wasted no time in detaining him, pushing him to his knees with a force he had no will to fight.
"Anora!" He can tell she is trying to sound forceful, but he can hear the terror that clips her words and the sound is like a knife in his gut. Liv pushes her way through the guards to glare fiercely at the new Queen, her hand on the hilt of her dagger. The guards turn their weapons on her immediately and Alistair can't help the shout of alarm that escapes him. Liv's lip curls in disgust.
"You have your crown! I've given you what you wanted, Alistair is no threat to you!" He can hear her desperation, and he knows by the knit of Anora's brow that the queen can as well.
"As long as he breathes, there is an alternative candidate for the throne. This land must be united under me, and I will not have a potential rival." The two women face off for a long, silent moment, and he is unsure whom is more intimidating. Liv would probably be more fearsome if not for the tears shining in her eyes. Alistair tries to shift against the hands restraining him, to straighten his back for a better look at her, but the butt of a pole arm's shaft is jabbed into his spine, forcing him to hunch forward.
"Please Anora… please… let him go." He almost does not hear her, she is so quiet in her pleading. He doesn't need to see Anora's face to know that she is unaffected.
"Take him away."
Alistair is jolted into standing, and he smiles instinctually when his eyes land on the woman he loves. Her tears have spilled over now, streaming down her cheeks in rivulets that his fingers itch to brush away.
She only allows herself the moment of weakness before she bares her teeth and her hands fly to the hilts of her weapons. "I gave you that crown," she snarls at the Queen, "and I have no qualms about taking it back." She does not care that the guards are still pointing their weapons at her, ready to cut her down at a word. And Alistair knows without a doubt that she would let them run her through in an effort to stop this from happening.
"Stop."
The word escapes his mouth before he's even thought it, and Liv turns to him in shock. He feels tears itching at the waterline of his eyes, threatening to escape him, while his throat burns with a sob he refuses to let loose.
"It's okay, love." Alistair glances to Anora, his eyes entreating, and he's surprised to see the regretful look on her face when he does. She gives the slightest hint of a nod, and he nods in return. With a commanding swipe of her hand, the guards release him.
Liv is in his arms in a flash, throwing her arms around his neck in a vice-like grip. Alistair buries his face in her hair, because he wants to drown himself in her before he goes. He feels her shoulders shake in his embrace, and his chest heaves sharply when a single sob escapes him. He rains kisses upon her hair because he cannot find the words to tell her how utterly precious she is to him, how he would die a thousand deaths as long as the last thing he ever knows is her, in his arms.
She lifts her head to kiss him, and the desperate press of her mouth against his is dizzying. His heart is threatening to rip from his chest and for a moment he hopes he will fade into the oblivion of her lips.
But then he is ripped from her arms, and the iron press of gauntlets against his armor rips him from the bliss of her skin. He is only vaguely aware of her desperate sobs, tries to block her out as she screams his name, and as the guards drag him forcibly away from the woman who holds his very life force within her eyes, all he can tell her is that he loves her, he loves her, he loves her, and thank you, thank you, thank you.