Disclaimer - Dragon Age: Origins belongs to BioWare and EA Games; it's their sandbox - I'm simply destroying the sandcastles.
Title: Honored Dead
Author: Jade-Max
Genre: Video Game Fan-fic
Characters: Alistair / Anora, Zevran
Timeframe: 1 year post Coronation - no ritual having taken place
Honored Dead
Staring out across the still dark tableau, the sun not yet risen, the silence of the day yet unbroken, Alistair sipped from the goblet in his hand without looking at the contents. He grimace, not caring for the way it slid smoothly down his throat, but even when he'd asked for the cheapest wine in the cellar, it hadn't had enough of an acidic bite to please him.
Nothing could; nothing would; and nothing had since before that fateful day a year ago.
A day when the people of Ferelden had stood on a dagger's edge of destruction or salvation; an edge that had been the backs of three Grey Wardens happy to bear the burden. Or at least, until two of them had become close; so close in fact, he'd often wondered where one of them had begun and the other ended. She'd known him like no other and he'd known her; or thought he had. They'd borne the weight of their shared goals together until she'd refused to take him into that final battle at her side.
A final battle that had sealed the fate of so many, his own included.
Taking another sip of the wine, he watched as the darkness of the sky began to recede, he considered the changes
Anora was his queen, as she'd arranged before that fateful Landsmeet. He'd thought it a harmless enough sacrifice when she had sworn it wouldn't change things between them; that she'd be content being his leman. And while he hadn't been happy about it, he'd accepted it as his fate. For the good of Ferelden he'd married his brother's widow… and hated every minute of it since.
His wife reminded him of all he'd lost: Duncan and Cailin at the battle of Ostagar along with the rest of the Grey Wardens; Elissa and his freedom at the battle of Denerim.
Swirling the remaining liquid in his glass, Alistair dropped his gaze to the rich red liquid, seeing not the high quality wine he'd grown to despise, but the blood on Elissa's face, the trickle of it from the side of her mouth; the way her sightless eyes had stared into the heavens as she'd lain, like a broken doll, on the flagstones.
With a muttered oath, he hurled the goblet away, the sound of it striking the stone reverberating through the room even as the wine spilled like a bloody trail across the wall and floor. He turned away from it, bracing his hands on the sill, and stared into the night. Stiffening, he heard the sound of the connecting door open.
"Alistair?"
"I'm sorry I woke you; go back to bed."
"Are you-"
"I'm fine, Anora."
There was a pause, but he didn't turn to look at her; if he did, he wasn't sure he could hold his tongue.
"Are you sure? I heard-"
"Good night, Anora."
For all he despised her presence, he couldn't bring himself to be rude to her. She hadn't asked for this fate any more than he had and, together, they were making the best of it. But tonight wasn't about her; it wasn't even about him. It was about the sacrifice that had brought them to this impasse.
A year ago he'd agreed to marry Anora. Six months ago he'd married her for the good of his country; six hours ago he'd declined, for the first time since their wedding, to share her bed for the night. Somehow, after how he'd spent this night a year ago, squandering the last night he and Elissa might have had, it didn't feel right to bed his wife.
His queen.
Alistair's lips twisted as the door closed with a soft click behind her.
Every morning he woke from dreams of her to his empty bed with the knowledge that his queen lay sleeping in the next room and he wanted to be sick. Anora might have the hearts of his people but she did not, and would not, ever have his.
How could she when the Hero of Ferelden, Elissa Cousland, had taken it with her to her grave?
With a sigh, he let go of the anger Anora had stirred. He'd married her because he'd agreed to and Alistair had always kept his word. It had been one last way to honor everything Elissa had worked so hard to build. For all her cold beauty, Anora's strengths had served him well thus far, he simply needed to temper her ambition with patience.
The thoughts of Anora quickly faded, as always, and his gaze turned back to the ever lightening sky, the weight on his shoulders seeming to double with each degree of brilliance.
Today was her day; a day for honoring the Hero who'd given her life to free Ferelden from the Blight. It was a day he'd been dreading for months. The closer it had come, the more the memories had plagued him. He'd catch a laugh that sounded like hers and turn to seek her, only to find he'd been mistaken. He'd catch a trace scent of jasmine and honey, and his heart would lurch painfully, images of stolen nights and entwined naked limbs flashing rapidly through his mind and derailing any other thought process.
Tilting his head up, he watched the birds on the Palace eaves flutter their wings before taking flight in the pre-dawn darkness - and wished he could join them. But the freedoms he'd entertained before taking up the crown were lost to him now.
There were no more nights on the trail, camped in a tent on the hard ground. No more Darkspawn battles for him to fight, his sword and shield in hand. No more strange companions to bicker with. A faint smile touched his lips, tinged with sadness, as he recalled them now.
Leliana, the quirky Orlesian Bard; always quick with a story or song for the moment.
Oghren the drunker dwarven berserker; fierce in a fight with no manners to speak of. He'd been a refreshing change from the double talk they'd encountered on some of their journey.
Wynne, the compassionate Mage; a woman of strong spirit and indomitable will who, despite the fact she knew she was dying, had been there to the end and beyond.
Shale, the dwarven golem; a smile flirted about his lips, never quite taking hold, as the pigeons on his eaves drew his gaze at the thought of the golem. Shale would have hated leaving them free; if she'd been here, he suspected his palace would have had several large holes from thrown boulders.
Sten, the stern and unbending qunari warrior; a man of principal and honor who was bound by a code Alistair didn't and couldn't understand... and yet did.
Dog, Elissa's faithful Mabari; a truer friend and companion than any of them, even him.
And of course, Zevran, the Antivan assassin. A man who'd been as quick with a quip as his daggers in combat and someone he found, surprisingly, that he missed. Zevran hadn't been shy about telling things like they were and, despite their rows over proper conversation topics, somehow they'd tolerated each other. He'd learned a lot from the Assassin; not that he'd ever tell him that.
Alistair could have said there was one more, an apostate wilderness mage who knew nothing of human society… or how to curb her acerbic tongue. But he'd never considered her a part of their group; in fact, she'd gone out of her way not to be, only sticking around because of Elissa.
And, when the cards had been laid on the table, Morrigan had failed them all.
No, that wasn't exactly true.
Fair to the last, Alistair couldn't place the blame on Morrigan for this; Morrigan had offered them a way out, a way he'd been too much of a righteous victim to believe or consider.
On the heels of that thought, the price of his pride reared its head once more, driving him to his knees as he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the cool stones under his fingertips. If he'd not been such a fool, Elissa might have been standing beside him now. And if their arrangement had no longer suited her, at least he'd have known she was out there... somewhere.
They'd been together as a couple for such a short period of time before the Blight had claimed her; a short, glorious time that burned in his memory like fireball. Intense to the point of painful, it had bloomed quickly and expired in a conflagration of destruction.
Hers.
Turning, he pressed his back to the wall and drew his knees up, resting his outstretched arms on top as he tilted his head back, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. The pose was dejected, defeated; a pose few would have associated with their king after ruling alongside Anora for the past year. He'd had to learn, quickly, how to deal with her and found the easiest way was to give her free reign. She wanted to be queen; he'd simply been thrust into the role of king. It was easier for him just to give her what she wanted; his heart wasn't in it anyway.
"I never wanted this, Elissa," he whispered to the ever diminishing darkness. "All I ever wanted was for you and I to be together; to be happy."
"And is she not, my friend? Few choose their fates as she did or die with a smile on their lips."
The soft Antivan accent should have surprised him but it didn't. Somehow it was fitting; the Assassin had been Elissa's closest friend aside from Morrigan. Tilting his head down, Alistair's gaze followed the voice back to its source and found the elf lounging on his bed. "Zevran."
"You do not look surprised to see me." He quirked an eyebrow. "I must be losing my touch."
Staring at Zevran for a long moment, Alistair was hurtled back to the day they'd encountered him on the road and Elissa's insistence he'd be useful. Which had proven true in the end; the elf had watched her back during the battle with the archdemon when Alistair hadn't been permitted to go.
For all the good it had done her.
"Where else would you be today?"
"In the bed of a beautiful woman?" Zevran laughed softly at Alistair's frown. "Come, come my friend; surely you did not think the head of the Antivan Crows would give up such pleasures."
"Then why are you here, Zev?" a dry note worked its way into Alistair's tone. "Wrong room?"
"I am here because it is where I should be; where she would expect me to be." Unexpectedly serious, Zevran propelled himself lightly off the bed and began walking towards the monarch. "I, better than most, know what it is you feel this day."
"Really."
"You were not there to watch her die; a blessing in disguise, I think."
Alistair laughed mirthlessly. "I wasn't allowed to be there; remember? I got left behind at the gates like some... some..."
"Spoiled Prince?" The glare Alistair shot Zevran would have stopped most others in their tracks. Zevran, being Zevran, simply shrugged it off, coming to crouch before his old traveling companion. "She did not leave you behind because she thought you incapable, my friend. She left you behind because she knew you would never allow her to make the necessary sacrifice. It has been a year and you still cannot see this?"
"Seeing it and accepting it are two different things."
"Ah - then married life is not what you expected. Alas; I pity your wife."
Exhaling, Alistair tilted his head against the wall. "Why are you here, Zev? Elissa's dead; your oath to her is fulfilled. You don't owe her anything."
"You think so? Ah; you do not know of that - right."
"Know what?"
"Before we stepped onto the roof of Fort Drakon, Elissa extracted a promise from me, and I a kiss from she, but that is another tale and one you undoubtedly do not wish to hear," he flashed Alistair a teasing smile.
The surge of jealousy that arrowed through Alistair's heart was the reaction Zevran was undoubtedly trying to raise, so he ignored it and focused on the rest. "This promise; what was it?"
"Something most distasteful."
"Really."
"You doubt it? I am here, am I not?"
Blinking as he stared at the Assassin, the words seemed to register belatedly. "This? This was your promise?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes. She knew you would not be able to accept her decision and so, every year on this day, I am to remind you of what you had, not what you lost."
"What are you-"
Zevran grinned and lightning quick ducked in, pressing his lips to Alistair's. Just as quickly he drew back and licked his lips. "Hmm, my compliments to the man who selects your wine; a most delightful flavor."
Alistair stared at Zevran, blinking, before he seemed to belatedly register the move and made a disgusted sound, wiping his hand across his lips. "Don't you ever do that again."
"Your loss; I simply did as she asked."
"I doubt Elissa asked you to kiss me." Pushing to his feet, Alistair sought to find even ground with the wily assassin. It was no small feat, but Elissa had been taken under Zevran's wing and he'd learned to deal with her tricks, which in turn were Zevran's. "I need a drink."
"I said the same my first time too, my friend."
"Can't you take any of this seriously? She died a year ago, Zev - a year! Three hundred and sixty five miserable days."
"Yes; she did." Unasked, Zevran stepped back and scooped another goblet from a nearby table, extending it to the young monarch. Despite his proclamation regarding the necessity, Alistair made no move to take it and Zevran, after a long moment, placed it back on the table untouched. "But you did not, Alistair. And that is why I am here."
"Why, because I'm not dead?"
"No, because you seem to be attempting to join her. You loved her. We all loved her, but that does not mean we can join her just yet. She would be most disappointed, yes, if we were to squander the gift she gave at such a high cost?"
"She was supposed to be here to share it with me!"
"There are many things people say and do in their last minutes, my Royal friend; all things that define them as individuals of character. Some chose to plead for their lives; other go down fighting. Others still attempt to flee. In those last moments, all truths about oneself are known."
"And... Elissa?"
"As you would expect; she was ever the fighter, but she was also a woman. A woman deeply in love with you." Turning away, Zevran paced across the room and it took a minute for Alistair to realize that he was uncomfortable about this.
"That bothers you."
Running his fingers over the mantle of the fireplace, Zevran shrugged aside the comment. "It matters not. I was closest at hand before she struck the final blow; Assassins strike best from behind and we worked well as a team. She... had time to turn to me before killing the archdemon; to speak."
The unexpected heaviness of Zevran's words kept Alistair silent, his own heart heavy. He was almost afraid to ask what was said.
"She realized in that moment she would not leave the roof top alive," finally turning back to Alistair, Zevran's unusually subdued expression lent his words a gravity they'd not have otherwise held. "She knew the moment we found Riorden's body, but I do not think she understood it until that second. She... thanked me for my friendship and asked a single boon; I could not deny her."
"What..." Alistair cleared his throat. "What did she ask for?"
Lifting his gaze to the king's, Zevran's lips tilted in a half-smile. "For me to watch your back now that she could not; she did not wish you to mourn her forever and demanded that I see this was so."
Closing his eyes Alistair bowed his head, sagging back against the windowsill as he covered his face with one hand. The knowledge that he had been with her, perhaps not physically, right to the end, was an unexpected gift.
Zevran, being Zevran, had one last thing to add. "I told her you were not my type."
The wry, almost affronted tone of the Antivan drew a startled laugh as Alistair's head came up. "You would have. I think it's more you are not my type."
"Your loss, my friend; you'll never know what you are missing." Shrugging off the awkward conversation, Zevran rubbed his hands together and faced Alistair squarely. "Now, you have a lovely young woman in the next room who is suffering from a lack of attention; might I-"
"That's my wife, Zev."
"No? Alas, I thought to ruin her for all other men."
"I don't think I need your help there." Wishing he was joking, but knowing he was not, Alistair turned to look out the window to find the sun now peaking over the rooftops of Denerim. "I wish this day was over already."
"It is only just beginning and your people will expect you to honor the Hero of Ferelden as you have this past year. The statue is a nice touch, by the way; an excellent likeness."
Alistair wasn't about to admit to the Antivan he'd worked closely with the sculptor to ensure it was a perfect likeness, and he sensed he was being goaded again. If life with Anora had taught him anything, it was that ignoring a jibe was much more effective than rising to it. "I know what's expected of me."
"Good; then you will not be surprised to hear that all but the large qunari will be on hand today - yes?"
"What?"
"I passed Leliana, Wynne and Shale on my way into the city; from their conversation they plan to surprise you this morning. I, regretfully, did not have time to stop and greet them properly."
"What, no Morrigan?"
"Last I heard she was seen in Orlais," Zevran shrugged. "A good fit for her, I think; she will find much amusement among the foppish, foolish courtiers."
"And we all know how much she likes to pick on fools," his tone was dry. "What of Oghren?"
"He plays house with Felsi," the Antivan's lips twisted, though Alistair couldn't tell if it was in distaste or amusement. "Word has it they have a daughter."
"Oghren as a parent - now that's a scary thought. Do you know what they named her?"
Zevran's smile was faint. "Elissa."
And just like that, it was like being sucker punched.
Ignoring the way Alistair seemed to deflate with the pronouncement, Zevran turned to walk about the room once more. "Word has it the three of them are already in the city; the only companion unaccounted for is the dear Warden's hound."
"Fergus Cousland took him back to Highever," and Alistair had protested and fought it, but in the end given in because of just how painful it had been to have the Mabari around as a reminder. "Last I heard, he'd been given free reign of the keep."
"Is her brother not coming to honor her memory?"
"Everyone is coming to honor her memory, Zev; that's the problem."
"If you did not wish her remembered, my friend, perhaps you should not have built such an immutable shrine at Amaranthine." What Zevran didn't mention were the various markers around the city, the likenesses in various gardens and the other such stark reminders of all Alistair had lost. "It is a wonder you are able to leave the palace at all."
Alistair privately agreed. Denerim had been the focus of much rejoicing after the end of the Blight and, as such, there were memorials to those who'd sacrificed themselves to save Ferelden. Elissa's name and likeness topped each and every one and there were many.
"That's not it at all. I don't just want her memory honored. Elissa was more than just the Hero of Ferelden; she was a woman with hopes and dreams… all of which were cut short by that accursed Blight."
"What do you propose, my friend? Ballads to honor who she was and not what? Leliana has already provided you with one. Unless of course you wish to commission a ballad regarding her prowess elsewhere than the battlefield; I would be most intrigued to discover what pleasures I was denied."
"Very funny." He'd been Elissa's first and only lover, just as she'd been his; until his wedding. And Alistair cherished those memories more than any others. He wasn't about to share them. "Everyone sees her as a Hero, but nobody sees beyond the armor to the woman beneath; I don't think she'd like that."
"I tried to see beneath her armor once; I was very firmly trounced." The humor with which Zevran admitted the offence, had Alistair shaking his head. "I understand what you mean my friend, but people do not wish for their Heroes to be people. They wish for figures who are larger than life; people who are infallible. Ideals to strive for."
"She was a fallible as the rest of us."
"Was she? Her code of conduct was almost as strict as your own. That noble upbringing no doubt. I rarely saw her falter."
"Rarely," Alistair's lips kicked into a reluctant smile. "Rarely doesn't mean never."
"True. She struggled with whom to leave behind at the gates."
"She struggled with almost every decision she made, Zev. Some things, like saving Connor or executing Loghain, were easier than others but that doesn't mean she never examined them from all angles."
"True. On our way to the Fort we encountered the elves in the Alienage; she chose to let them defend their homes rather than have them flee."
"And some died."
"True," the elf shrugged as if it were no big deal. Which, Alistair reflected, it likely wasn't to the Assassin. "Death comes for us all. What better way than to die protecting that which you love?"
"Unless you're denied that chance."
"Careless words, my friend; my apologies."
"None are needed; I still haven't forgiven her for leaving me behind."
"For leaving you this?" Zevran waved one hand to encompass the palace and beyond. "Had she left me such a gift, I do not think I would ever forgive her either. Such opulence is enough to make one sick, no?"
That drew another faint smile.
"Fortunately, I am not the bastard son of a former king."
"Or the current one?"
"Seeing as how you have slept with no other woman besides your Queen since our dear Warden, I highly doubt you have any bastards, my friend. Knowing of your humble birth simply makes you over cautious, I think."
Overcautious. His lips twisted. Overcautious and prideful. So much so that he'd refused Morrigan's help, cost them her assistance and, in the end, Elissa's very life. No one, save the absent Morrigan, knew of the ritual she'd proposed and, suddenly, Alistair couldn't remember why the rest of their little party didn't know. Somehow, he'd never been able to bring himself to tell them. Elissa had never had the time and now it seemed like a gross injustice. One that needed to be remedied.
"I could have, you know."
"Could have what?"
"Had a child; Morrigan propositioned me on the eve of the battle with that very intent."
"Who?"
"Morrigan. You know; shape shifting apostate who couldn't stand me?"
Zevran let out a whoop of laughter, turning to face Alistair with a wide grin. "Ha! After watching the two of you bicker, you will forgive me if I am amused to no end by that development, yes? It is not a match I would have foreseen."
"Nor I. I turned her down."
There was a long pause as Zevran absorbed Alistair's quiet confession, his mirth dissipating. "From your expression, my friend, it almost seems as if you wish you had not."
Looking down, Alistair examined his hands for a moment, not seeing his own flesh, but Elissa's as she'd clutched him, begging him to consider the option; as she'd begged him to choose life, not death. Only he hadn't realized at the time he'd been choosing death for her, not himself.
"I do, Zev. I wish I'd gone through with it; I wish I'd... I'd slept with Morrigan."
There.
He'd said it.
Out loud.
"There is a tale here, I think; you sound disgusted by the prospect and yet adamant it should have been done. I am intrigued; why do you wish it thus?"
Lifting his gaze back to the elf, Alistair considered what he could say and decided it was simply easier to tell the truth. "If I had, Elissa would be alive today."
Zevran's eyebrows hit his hairline. "How does one get from sleeping with the most luscious and dangerous Morrigan to saving Elissa; not that I mind, but perhaps you'd best tell this tale from the beginning, yes?"
So he did. Alistair explained what Riorden had told he and Elissa in the privacy of the room he'd been assigned. He recounted Elissa coming to his room with Morrigan's offer; almost tonelessly he described her honesty and how she pleaded with him to consider the option - to choose life. Except his own high morals hadn't allowed it; hadn't allowed him to even consider it, no matter how persuasive Elissa could be.
She'd left him to his rest, presumably going to speak with Morrigan. When he'd woken the following morning, Morrigan had been gone, Elissa looked as if she hadn't slept, and they'd been forced to jump straight into the fray.
"Elissa accepted my decision and I forced her to make one of her own; the one that cost me her. Everything else, you know."
"No, not everything; I do not understand why you did not do as she asked. One night with Morrigan to save both your lives is not such an unreasonable request."
"I knew you wouldn't think so." Shaking his head, Alistair leaned against the window sill and crossed his arms over his chest. "Looking back, I agree with you Zev, but at the time... Even though I was pledged to marry Anora, I couldn't imagine any woman but Elissa in my bed. The thought of tainting those memories with Morrigan..." he shuddered.
"So, it was better to die than to live with it? You, my friend, are a fool."
Alistair laughed shortly, once. "And you, Zev, are one of a handful of people who know it for a fact and can say it to my face. Looking back I know that; knowing what I know now, I know that. It doesn't change the fact it was a hard lesson to learn and the price wasn't worth it."
"I will agree with you on that; Elissa's life was not worth your puritan ideal." The anger in Zevran's tone surprised him. "If you had been less of a righteous... prude, she would be with us still."
"And maybe I'd be able to let her go. Elissa's death is my fault, Zev. I sent the woman I love to her death."
"True… and yet not," with a sigh, Zevran exhaled and released the anger that was misplaced. As much as it was Alistair's fault, the final decision had not rested with him. "She could have chosen to take you with us; she should have chosen to take you with us. She did not; that was her choice, forced by yours."
"I shouldn't have put her in that position; forced her to choose between my life or hers."
"Ah, my foolish friend, you would not have been the man she loved if you had not." Stepping close, Zevran laid one hand on Alistair's shoulder. "Once events were set in motion, there was nothing anyone could have done to deter her. She chose her fate. Honor that choice and do not dwell on your own; it will solve nothing."
"Now you sound like Sten."
"Should I sound more like Leliana?" Zevran withdrew his hand, pursing his lips and considering his words. "What would she say - ah yes." he cleared his throat and began speaking in a fairly good imitation of the Orlesian Bard. "The Maker has separated you as a part of His plan; do not worry, you will see her again when you cross to His side."
Alistair laughed, a real laugh, as Zevran grinned.
"No?"
"That's pretty good, Zev. Another of your hidden talents?"
"One of many. It is good to hear you laugh again; to see you smile. Elissa would not have wanted you to be so melancholy."
"She wouldn't have, would she?" Alistair's smile turned sad. "I can't help it; I miss her."
"We all miss her, my friend; just as we all loved her in our own ways. But, no matter how special, we cannot stop living simply because she is no longer with us. Cherish your memories, hold them here." Zevran placed his hand on Alistair's chest, over his heart. "And honor her with your life. She gave hers so that you could live; the least you might do is live it."
Looking down at the Antivan elf, the surprising words of wisdom having been delivered with a solemn countenance, Alistair covered Zevran's hand with his own.
"As you have?"
Lightning quick, Zevran's mood changed and he flashed a smile, withdrawing his hand. "We all learned our lessons from our dear Warden; you simply learned the ones I wished to know and I, it would seem, learned yours. Care to trade?"
"Get out Zev; go find Wynne and Leliana and Shale and tell them I look forward to their company."
"Do you?"
Alistair turned back to the window, the sun having risen enough to bathe his face in its warmth. And, surprisingly, he nodded. "I do. It's time I honored Elissa's sacrifice properly; by living the life she wished me to have."
His only answer was the sound of his door closing behind the Assassin. Shaking his head, Alistair turned back to his room, his gaze falling on the connecting door that led to Anora's chamber. Squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath, he silently, for the first time since her death, sincerely thanked Elissa for her sacrifice and, in the same breath, promised to try and be worth of it.
Starting now.
fin