Ashes

The ballroom had emptied hours earlier, the last of the staff extinguishing the candles in the candelabras and chandeliers. The dais had been left standing, and Zevran sat on its edge, his eyes fixed on the last place he had seen life in his friend.

The bloodstains had been scrubbed away, the only evidence of their existence found in the lingering odor of lye, and yet the room was forever changed, the images of Leliana's death seemingly burned into the silken wallpaper that graced its walls.

His emotions warred within him. He was an assassin, a fighter; his entire way of life was owed to death. The end of life was something he had witnessed hundreds, if not thousands of times, but Leliana's loss had stolen his breath from him.

He closed his eyes and replayed the conversation he had shared with her outside of the Landsmeet chamber, when she had so happily related the vision she said the Maker had given her. He could not deny the genuine excitement she had felt in 'seeing' all of her friends' secure futures.

Looking at the shining floor, its gleam almost as gruesome as the death washed from it earlier, the conclusion that she had chosen to submit to the Maker's plan was unavoidable. There was a fallacy to it all, and he could not bring his mind to comprehend it.

He sat forward, planting his palms against his thighs, as he remembered the first time he had met them all.

Annika had been brazen and fast, her beautiful, limber form moving with skillful grace. Alistair had been strong, handsome, and fiercely protective, his eyes locked on his fellow Warden. Morrigan, half-naked and scowling, had laid waste to several of his best men, and Leliana had been bold and lovely, aiming to end his life.

He had never left a fight so aroused.

His time with the bard had always been interesting. She had been unabashedly flamboyant in everything she did; her words, her songs, her actions. She was passionate and vibrant. She was a friend.

Death did not suit her.

Annika had whispered her goodbyes to Leliana before breaking down. Her heartbroken, gut-wrenching sobs had filled the room, shattering the stony silence of the men surrounding them.

Alistair had hurried back across the ballroom, snatching a tablecloth from a serving stand, the cutlery and glasses rattling and clattering as he did so. He had walked past the Queen's body to carefully drape the cloth over Leliana, before he scooped his wife up and looked down at the bodies one final time.

Zevran had watched how Annika had clung to Alistair, how she had buried her face into the crook of his neck. In the few miniscule moments that the warrior and elf had held each other's gaze, Zevran had seen an intense anger in the other man's eyes; none of this wretched business was finished, but Alistair, carrying Annika out of the room, would see to his wife's grief first.

Now, in the dark of the night, Zevran hoped to see to his own.

"It's funny, how rooms stop being just rooms when something horrible happens, isn't it?" asked a gentle voice, interrupting his thoughts.

Zevran looked up to see Liso standing at the entrance of the ballroom, a single candle in her hand. He did not answer.

"I remember, at home," she continued, crossing over to him, "how the most mundane of rooms in the castle transformed into…well, places that held horror for me. It took me months to be able to enter the family's quarters again, let alone the main hall. Many of us felt that way; I think it's why Fergus has worked so hard to restore the home."

"Fergus, is it?" he scoffed. "Enjoy that, fair Liso, for clearly, things do not last."

She came to stand at his side, watching him before she sat down beside him.

"Nothing does, Zevran," she observed.

He did not answer.

"My grandmother used to say that we are only afforded a few defining moments in our lives," she resumed, "moments when we show the rest of the world who we really are. I hope you will understand what I mean when I say I envy your friend."

He snorted. "You envy my friend in her needless death at the hand of an overwrought and skittish guard? You are a very odd woman," he said in a biting tone.

She smirked and straightened back up, walking away from him. He watched her as she came to stop where Leliana had surrendered her life.

"Do I envy her in dying? No," she said, her back to him. "But I do admire how she met her death. To do so with courage and grace is a testament to who she was. Clearly, she was a woman committed to others."

"You say this to me, why? Do you think it will make me feel better? Thinking she died well?" he snapped.

"No, at least, not yet," she replied softly. She turned back to face him, walking back in his direction, and, as she passed him to leave the room, she paused. "But someday it will."

His eyes wandered back to the floor. "Maybe," he whispered, brushing a tear aside.

xXx

Annika walked out into the courtyard, her eyes searching the area for her quarry.

In the two days since Leliana's death, she had spent much of her time enclosed either in her suite or her brother's office, and, during those two days, everything had changed.

A Landsmeet would be held in four days' time, and most of the nobility were already calling for her husband to take the throne. She and Alistair had talked through most of last night, and, despite his assurances, Annika had not relented.

She intended to stick to their plan.

The night that Leliana died protecting her had easily been one of the worse of Annika's life. Alistair had carried her back to their suite, and had stripped her out of her blood-soaked gown, yanking open their door and tossing it into the hall. Someone else could take it away, he'd said; she didn't need to look at it any longer.

He had changed, wiped his bloodied lip – a gift from one of the Queen's guardsmen – and then had moistened a cloth, helping her wash off the crusted blood on her hands and fingers.

He had then lifted her and tucked her into their massive bed, joining her there, settling her against his bare chest.

She had cried all night.

The following morning, Alistair had shed his own tears, his regrets overwhelming him. They were both exhausted, falling asleep after drying their tears, not waking until Fergus had sought them out later that afternoon.

Lieutenant Murphy had been to the estate. While the inquiry into the death of Queen Anora would yield little surprises, as so many of those present at the Cousland ball had witnessed the Queen swiping her dagger at an unarmed Annika, he provided Fergus an update on the status.

Jacob O'Donnell, leading the investigation on behalf of the Landsmeet, also visited the estate. Once completed, he would present his formal report to the Landsmeet, but his initial findings were made available to Bann Sighard, as the highest ranking member of the Queen's council, and to Bann Teagan, the noble leading the Landsmeet's delegation.

The report, in its rough form, highlighted the majority of the Queen's wrongdoings, a cataloging of orders, both public and private, each revealing the theories the Queen had been pursuing. Details of the decision to search for, and eventually enter, the Warden vault in Denerim were also listed. The most basic facts of Anora's death were included, with the caveat that the Queen's Guard had not yet completed its own inquiry.

So much was left to be done, but first, tonight they would say good-bye to their friend.

Annika turned the corner and spotted Zevran. He was seated under a large oak tree, his oils and rags spread out around him. She paused to watch him as he traded one rag for another, and as he dipped a finger into the oil and carefully buffed the blade with the new towel.

"Zev?" she called out, but it was only the hesitation of his motions that indicated he had heard her. With a sigh, she walked up beside him.

"Hello," she said softly.

"Warden."

"Assassin," she replied in a deep voice, intending to tease him, but he did not respond.

She looked down at him and studied the braid at the back of his white-blond hair. This was the third time she had sought him out, the other two times resulting in nothing more than an uneasy exchange of trivial words. His pain and heartache were obvious, but he was unrelenting in his stoic demeanor.

She was worried about him.

She made the deliberate choice to sit close to him. Without a word to him, she snatched up one of his more soiled blades and plucked a rag from the grass, wrapping her forefinger in it and dipping the tip into the opening of his oil jar.

"It's been a while since we've done this together," she commented casually, beginning her task.

"Uh," he grunted, still not looking up.

"Do you ever miss it? Those days of travel during the Blight?" she asked.

"What do you want, Annika?"

She was taken aback by his cold tone, and a pit of fear formed in her stomach. What was happening here?

"What does that mean? What I want is to talk to you, to see if you're all right," she said rapidly. "What I'm getting is you not even looking at me, and oily hands for my efforts."

He reached out and snatched the rag out of her hands. "One problem solved. I do not recall asking for your help with this chore."

She stared at him, gaping. "Zev?" she whispered.

"Love, why don't you go back up to the house," said a strong voice from behind her, and she turned to see Alistair standing behind her. She had been so enveloped in her interaction with Zevran she had not heard his approach.

She turned at her waist, raising her hand to shield her eyes from the sun and looked up at him. "I was talking with Zevran," she replied, determined to find out what her friend was about.

"I can see that," Alistair answered. He offered his hand, and gave her a pointed look, one that told her he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. Glancing over her shoulder at Zevran, her eyes returned to Alistair's, and, sighing in defeat, gave a miniscule nod and took his hand as he gently lifted her to her feet.

He placed a kiss to her brow, and watched her retreat back through the courtyard before he turned back to Zevran.

"What's going on, Zevran?" he demanded.

"I am cleaning my daggers," Zevran replied.

"Is there some reason you're acting like an arse?" Alistair inquired. "Her funeral is tonight, man, and Annie's been trying to talk to you…"

"I will not be attending. Perhaps I've no wish to speak with Annika," Zevran snapped. "Or with you, for that matter."

"Ah," he answered, nodding his head, clasping his hands behind his back and coming to stand directly in front of where Zevran sat.

"Normally I would be happy to oblige, but that was before I considered you a friend," Alistair began. "It was also before I saw you being a complete bellend to my wife," he finished. "So, sorry, but you're going to answer my question."

"Fuck off, Templar," Zevran said harshly, his tone venomous.

"Make me, elf," Alistair challenged.

Zevran shot to his feet, his daggers clattering together as they fell from his lap. Oil jars tumbled against one another as the elf advanced at the human. Zevran formed a fist and swung wildly at Alistair, the motion devoid of his usual characteristic grace.

Alistair slapped the swing down, and shoved Zevran back. "You want to fight, Zev? Fight, then! But after I've pounded your arse into the dirt, you're going to answer my question!"

Zevran backed off a few paces, his fists in tight balls. He relaxed his stance, but Alistair had seen Zevran use this tactic before and remained ready for the rogue's charge.

"Is there a reason you're so eager for me to beat you shitless?" Alistair asked, his muscles tense.

Zevran leapt forward and landed a solid blow to Alistair's belly, before dropping low in an attempt to sweep the warrior's feet out from under him. Alistair didn't budge.

"Maker, Zevran, at least try to hit like a man," Alistair chided, throwing out his own punch. He deliberately aimed for the other man's shoulder, hitting it solidly. Zevran stumbled back.

Alistair watched Zevran carefully, and they moved in a wide circle. He didn't know why the assassin was so eager to fight him, or to snarl at Annika, but he recognized unadulterated rage when he saw it. The look on the elf's face was one familiar to him; he'd seen it every morning in the mirror until Annika had found him in Llomerynn.

"You're pretty angry, there," Alistair sneered in a mocking tone.

If Zevran wanted to fight, there was little he could do to stop him, but he could goad the man into being sloppy and ending the scuffle sooner, rather than later, hopefully avoiding either one of them being injured.

"Did the maids not swoon over your prowess? Or did you run out of lubricant?" he continued. "Ah, the whores at Molly's have the clap again?"

"You talk too much, cazzo," Zevran growled.

"Well, someone has to keep things lively, don't they?" Alistair replied. "I mean, it's not as if you could call this pussyfooting of yours, a fight. I'm practically asleep!"

"You will be!" Zevran again came forward, and this time, he outright tackled Alistair at his waist, pushing both men back several feet until Alistair fell over a tree root. They rolled across the grass, each one of them landing a few lucky hits, until finally they came to a stop, Zevran braced on top of Alistair.

"Okay! Done with you now!" Alistair barked before lifting his head and slamming it into Zevran's mouth. The elf, stunned momentarily, was then easily bucked off.

Alistair got to his feet, rubbing his forehead. Zevran sat back, blood pouring from his mouth.

"Are you finished?" Alistair asked, panting hard.

"Yes," Zevran replied, spitting a bloody wad onto the dirt.

Alistair relaxed, blowing out a deep breath. "Good, because I really didn't…hey!" he cried, interrupting himself as Zevran turned on him and tackled him once more.

This round was much nastier than the first, as each man was now angry. Zevran punched Alistair squarely in the jaw, and made a move to strike again, when Alistair reached up and palmed the elf's face, throwing him back.

Zevran tumbled off of Alistair, who now, good and fed up with their fight, moved with real speed and slammed Zevran down onto the packed earth. "Knock it off, Zevran! Maker's balls! What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded.

Zevran pushed back up, but Alistair shoved him back again, this time with little effort, and Alistair knew the fight was leaving his friend. He kept his large hand splayed across Zevran's chest, and the elf lifted his head, looking down at the palm holding him steady, and dropped his head back onto the ground in defeat.

They sat there, like that, for several minutes, both gathering their wits and regaining their breath. Slowly, Alistair took his hand off of his friend's chest and he sat back on his haunches, his eyes never leaving Zevran.

"I am sorry, my friend," Zevran said quietly and he pushed up onto his elbows before rolling onto his belly and standing up.

"No harm done," Alistair replied as he, too, came to his feet. "Feel better?"

"Not really, no."

Alistair nodded. "I'm sorry you lost her, Zev; I know how close you were," he said, rubbing his jaw.

Zevran's shoulders slumped.

"I should not have struck you," Zevran confessed. "I have seen much death, one would think I would be immune, but I keep replaying Leliana's in my mind. I feel liked a caged bronto."

Alistair sighed. "I felt like that after I walked out of the Landsmeet. I got on a vessel to Llomerynn and I knew I'd made a mistake, walking out on Annie." He shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "I couldn't go back, but everything else made me so…unsettled. My own skin didn't fit."

"When I agreed to Annika help find you," Zevran began slowly, "I was angry with her, but I felt certain that she would lay eyes on you again, and see what I thought you were. When it turned out I was wrong, and I saw her happiness, I almost left."

Alistair grunted. "I figured as much. So what changed your mind?"

"Leliana did. Her ability to see the - what do you call it? – the bigger picture, was always impressive," Zevran admitted. "We shared a great deal, and had much in common. She taught me a lot," he finished, his voice heavy.

Alistair walked back over to the tree he had found Annie and Zevran under, and lowered himself with a groan, taking a seat in the shade. Zevran followed and plopped heavily down beside him.

"She was in love with Annika," Zevran confessed after a few quiet moments.

"I know," Alistair replied. "We talked of it, or rather, we hedged around it, once."

"Does Annika know?" he asked the templar.

"No, Leliana was quite clear about that. She feared it would take Annie out of her life altogether," Alistair responded. "So what the hell was this all about?" he asked, gesturing around the courtyard.

Zevran sighed, touching his fingers to his swollen lips. "Ouch," he muttered. "You hit harder than I remember," he commented. "This was about…this was about the idiotic faith Leliana had in the Maker."

"All right," Alistair said with a nod. "What about it?"

"She let herself die, and I did nothing to stop it."

"Zevran, she stopped Anora from murdering Annika, and a guard killed her," Alistair argued. "What you're saying implies a choice. She didn't let herself die."

Zevran frowned. "Do you ever listen? To anyone?" he snapped. "Her 'vision', do you not recall? She told me about her vision of the future, the one given to her by the Maker, she said. I told you outside the last Landsmeet!"

"Yes, you told me she'd had one; what's that got to do with her death?" Alistair countered, and then his eyes widened as what Zevran was implying, registered. "Are you…are you saying she saw her own death?"

"That is exactly what I am saying."

"And you knew this?" Alistair asked in disbelief.

"Yes!" Zevran answered curtly. "Yes, I knew, damn it! Or at least…I suspected. When she told me of it, she talked of you and Annika. She spoke of your child, well before the two of you announced Annika's pregnancy! She spoke of my future, but she did not speak of her own."

He picked up a dagger and began tossing it blade over hilt, catching the hilt.

"I tried to get her to explain more to me; I knew in my bones that she was hiding something from us," he continued. "I asked her directly, and she refused to speak of it further!"

"She knew about the baby? Before?" he asked, and Zevran nodded once. "Then we really could have stopped it," Alistair concluded, his voice whisper soft. "Damn it, Zevran, why in the Maker's name didn't you tell us?" he demanded, anger flashing in his eyes.

"Me? What good would that have done?"

"We could have pressed the matter together! At the very least, we could have known more of it, could have had Annie speak with her," Alistair rebutted. "We both know Leliana would have done anything for her!"

"Yes! Including sacrificing her life!" Zevran answered, throwing the blade into the soft ground at the base of the tree. "Do you honestly think if Leliana felt she had to follow the Maker's plan, that she alone was to save Annika, that she would have done anything to prevent it? Despite all good reason, she knew she had to be in that room with them," he reminded the templar, referring to Leliana's urgent need to interrupt Annika's meeting with the Queen.

"Once back in the ballroom…" Alistair said slowly, his mind's eye replaying the event. "…She seemed to be watching for something, and I remember Annika being very confused by her behavior."

"Leliana knew what was going to happen," Zevran said sadly. "And we failed her, Alistair; we failed her by not stopping it all."

"What?" Alistair spluttered, taken aback. "How can you even say that? We didn't fail Leliana – she made the choice!"

"Surely even you can understand that Leliana would not have seen it as a choice, Alistair; more akin to an assignment, and a divine one at that," the elf replied. "I want you to swear that you will never share this with Annika," he demanded.

"No."

Zevran's eyes flashed. "This will hurt her, Alistair."

"So will finding out we lied to her. I won't compound this for her," Alistair argued.

The rogue looked down at the ground, the breeze ruffling the grass surrounding them. Neither of them spoke for some time.

"I will tell her," Zevran quietly volunteered. "Since Leliana told me of her vision, or at least, most of it, I will tell Annika. But I will not be going to the funeral."

The warrior sat forward, drawing up his knees and resting his forearms on them, his hands clasped together. "All right. But you will tell her soon," he ordered. "By soon, I mean in the next three days, Zevran, before the next Landsmeet. Annika needs to understand all of it; she's twisting this around inside her mind, why Leliana jumped in between her and the Queen like she did."

Zevran nodded and licked his lips. "Agreed."

"In the meantime, I will handle Annie, tell her why you aren't going tonight," Alistair resumed. "Don't let this fester between you, Zevran. Annie already suspects there is more to what happened, and the sooner she can work this out, the better."

"How is she?" the elf asked.

"Heartbroken," Alistair replied. "Leliana was like a sister to her. She's also very worried about you."

Zevran arched an eyebrow. "Is that why you were eavesdropping on us?"

"We're friends, Zevran. I couldn't have survived her arrest and freed her without you," Alistair admitted. "But she's my wife, and she's the mother of my child. Maybe I was being unfair, but I was concerned with your distance since Lil's death, so I followed her."

"Sounds bad when you admit that out loud, Templar," Zevran noted. "As if you don't fully trust me with her," he stated, and then lifted a hand, stopping Alistair's argument. "This is a good thing, Alistair. If she were mine, I would watch over her always and, friend or no, I would never relent. Perhaps you are somewhat capable of keeping her safe after all."

"Zevran, it pains me to admit it but I think I understand your meaning," Alistair said, frowning.

"It was a compliment, man," the elf said with a chuckle.

"I know, that's why I say it pains me," he answered, smiling back. "So, are you and I fine, now? You'll talk with Annie soon?"

Zevran offered his hand to Alistair and the templar shook it. "Yes, Alistair, I will talk with her soon."

"Good."

Alistair brushed the dust off of his breeches and tucked his shirt tail back in, and then, standing up, turned to leave for the house.

"So they will make you King after all?" Zevran called out.

Alistair stopped and turned back, running his hand through his hair. "Maker, I hope not," he confessed. "Annie's determined to head them all off at the pass, but I won't shirk my duty, not this time around."

"Alistair, if I may, you are a different man then when I met you on the road two and a half years ago," Zevran assessed. "I believe you may have it within you to rule Ferelden, and to do it well."

Alistair offered a half-smile, and shook his head. "Perhaps we will outsmart them all yet," he offered, his tone somewhat hopeful, and then turned to go.

xXx

The pyre had been erected in the newly cleared fields behind the chantry in the Market district. After the Battle of Denerim, with so much of the city wall and surrounding buildings destroyed, the Denerim chantry had taken the opportunity to expand its lands beyond the original sanctuary, the purpose of which was to serve as a memorial garden.

The Revered Mother had willingly allowed the ceremony to take place in the rear of the property, the elderly woman happy to aid in sending off a former lay sister. She had agreed to Teyrn Cousland's request that the gardens be closed off during the service, everyone agreeing that the funeral of a Blight hero would draw too many mourners, when a simple, quiet ceremony was what they agreed Leliana would have wanted.

As the sun set over the back wall of the city, the Revered Mother offered the last part of the requiem Chant. She commended Leliana's soul to the Maker, prayed to Andraste to intervene on Leliana's behalf in seeking mercy from her holy husband, and offered a short benediction.

As the torches were being prepared, a small elven woman stepped up next to the pyre and cleared her throat. In a gentle contralto, she began to sing 'In Uthenera'.

"Ali?" Annika gasped, looking up at her husband.

"Seemed appropriate," he answered quietly.

She fought back her tears and nodded, her chin wobbling. "Thank you," she whispered, and, closing her eyes, she listened and remembered her friend.

It had been at Leliana's mother's funeral that this song of mourning – of the inevitable end of life – had made her begin to accept the large role that death played in her day-to-day existence.

That night, so long ago, Leliana had sung for them, a gesture that was to become one of the many baby steps taken towards their eventual close friendship. Leliana had chosen to trust her, had finally confessed her jaded past and her conflicting hopes for her future: for all of their futures.

Annika smiled sadly, knowing that Leliana would have been very pleased with Alistair for ensuring it was sung for her now, at her own end.

Liso stood behind Fergus, whispering the translation to him as the singer completed the second verse:

"We sing, rejoice
we tell the tales,
we laugh and cry,
we love one more day." *

"One more day," Annika muttered, reaching out to take Alistair's hand, placing a kiss to the back of it.

"One more day," Alistair agreed, placing a kiss to her wrist.

Together, Annika, Alistair, Fergus and Teagan stepped up to the pyre, each taking a torch handed to them by a waiting templar.

Annika looked up, her eyes locking onto Leliana's colorless face. The wind ruffled her hair, stirring the russet locks around her lifeless features.

The Revered Mother lit her torch and stepped up. One by one, Leliana's friends – Leliana's family - lit their torches off of the others, and, with a nod, the Revered Mother directed them to light the pyre.

Annika, closing her eyes tightly, laid her torch against the oil-soaked wood, feeling the searing heat of the eager fire spread over her skin. She heard the motion of the others placing their own torches, and felt Alistair gently tug the handle of hers free from her grasp.

"In the name of your holy bride, Andraste, we return your own to you, Maker. Have mercy, Father, and welcome her back into your fold," the Mother prayed.

"Maker be praised," they said in unison.

Annika swallowed, choking down the lump in her throat. "Goodbye."

*'In Uthenera' was composed by Inon Zur and is found on the Dragon Age: Origins Soundtrack.

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