Author's Notes:
I had so much fun writing this. It's sad... coming back to this so late. I wish I could reach out to all the people who followed this story, just letting them know they were getting the closure they all asked for. T_T
Disclaimer:
Don't own DA.
The hallway rumbled with quiet laughter.
"So it is true — you did turn Ser Calaghan into a toad."
"He was going to arrest me!" Eleni looked over her shoulder, shooting Alistair a pained expression. "Did he recover well? I hope he doesn't hold it against me."
"That depends on your definition of 'well'. He's back to his old self, but he did spend three months post-hex scouring the gardens for bugs to eat and croaking at buxom women when they strolled past."
"He did not!" Eleni breathed, her shoulders heaving as she suppressed a giggle.
"He did. At our summer ball, oh four years ago now, he ribet-ed at Anora in the middle of a very public conversation between us and the Ward of Estwatch."
"Oh no!"
"Oh yes," Alistair affirmed, scratching his chin in idle contemplation. His laughter bubbled in his throat. "I had to leave the room lest I choke on the small canape I was eating." This earned him another sweet look, another appreciative laugh. Alistair could not help but notice she looked younger, less weary. Despite her frayed rags, her weight, the grime and dirt that coloured her flaxen hair a deep grey, her eyes were alight with hope.
Eleni caught him staring and about-face, her hands going instinctively to her matted hair, trying to tame it with long, angry strokes that saw clumps of hair beetle to the floor. It took all Alistair's willpower to stay his hand and say nothing.
They continued their silent trek for a few minutes, muttering curses at wrong turns, hiding uneasy laughter as they found their footing again. Alistair observed her all the while, studying the shape of her, remembering her lopsided, mistempered pace; her wide, masculine shoulders with arms that swung like two wilful batons. At times, he forgot to walk, lost his footing, stumbled, and fell behind. Having her here with him, after so many years, felt so effortless it was hard to believe at times.
"Eleni, I would just like to say—"
Eleni came to an abrupt stop, at the bottom of a story of steps. At the end of their path, slivers of light streamed through a partially open door. Eleni raised her hand in gesture, willing him to stay put. Alistar murmured his disapproval, but as the sound of their footsteps dissolved, the King understood what his companion was listening for. From the other side of the door, there was the subtle crackle of leather intermingled with not so subtle moans.
Eleni leaned on the oak wood, teasing it open a fraction more, and peered inside. She caught the gasp in her throat as the shape of the Inquisitor (and who she hoped was the Commander) appeared behind the door frame. Despite her initial shame and embarrassment, she couldn't tear her eyes away from the sight of Lucretia writhing on the throne.
She felt Alistair before she heard him.
With a sharp intake of breath, Eleni wavered as the King pressed himself into her back, his body radiating such heat her cold body shuddered into warmth. His hand on her shoulder steadied her, and over the hem of her forehead, she could make out the curve of his chin as he gawped at the scene. Unlike Eleni, the noise that started at the back of his throat was noticeable, and as the Inquisitor's head lolled to one side, the mage pushed against Alistair, propelling them both inside the corridor once more.
Eleni stumbled over Alistair's feet, but he held her tight, and cradled the mage to his chest with a firm right arm.
"Well," he breathed after a painful silence. "Aren't they having fun." Alistair's words were laced with overt appreciation, thick with longing. "I don't suppose you remember another way out of this fortress, do you?"
Eleni scoffed. "You pervert."
Eleni felt his chest roll with a tempered guffaw.
"Says the one staring at them slack-jawed."
She elbowed him, urging him to be quiet. He teased the corner of her mouth with his index, wiping imaginary dribble from her lips.
"You oaf," she said, attempting to wriggle free. Alistair's hold was unrelenting.
"No, please," he breathed into her hair, sending shivers down her neck. "Stay like this just a little longer."
"I'm filthy."
"I don't care."
Eleni stumbled through another protest as Alistair nuzzled her head with his cheek.
"How many nights were we on the road together," he whispered. "How many months did we fight in the same tattered armour, bits of dried darkspawn blood under our fingernails, in our hair."
"That was so long ago, now. You sleep in feathered beds; enjoy warm baths."
Alistair chuckled and his grip on her veered. Eleni did not pull away.
"I wonder how we ever grew accustomed to sleeping under the stars, dirt as our bedding."
"People can get used to anything," she said, releasing herself from his embrace, aching as Alistair's hand slid away from her side, his warmth a niggling phantom residue on her body.
"Not everything." He frowned, watching her under a dark line of lashes. "I never got used to being away from you."
Eleni bit her lip and walked the way they came, dragging her feet up the steps of the castle. She didn't respond until they were outside the Inquisitor's dorm.
"I don't know if I can go back," she said to the uneven cobble floors. "I promised myself I'd find a cure for The Calling, Alistair. I made a vow." She turned to him and gestured with a clenched fist, the embers of determination smouldering within her. "I have not resigned myself to a slow death in Denerim."
Alistair took her outstretched hand, ironing the fist into an open palm. His fingers traced the lines of her hand with lazy strokes. Alistair's sudden low chuckle surprised her and she felt colour flush her cheeks in a rush of embarrassment.
"What?"
"Is that what you think we're doing? Dying?"
"Look at me," Eleni spat, yanking her hand from his grasp.
Alistair straightened his shoulders and stared at the mage evenly. "I am."
"If it's not The Calling then what ails me?" She held his gaze until her eyes brimmed with tears.
"Hopelessness," he murmured, shrugging his shoulders as if the answer couldn't be clearer. "Hopelessness and fear."
Alistair opened his arms and flexed his fingers. Come.
In spite of her warring emotions, Eleni did, and nestled into the crook of his shoulder. She felt silent tears stain his shirt.
"The Calling," she mumbled into his chest.
"Yes, yes, the Grey Warden's curse," Alistair returned, smoothing her hair with even strokes. He tutted under his breath in self chastisement. "Duncan and I—no. I didn't do a good job of explaining what it is, how it happens. It's my fault."
"What's there to know," she said, craning her neck to watch him. She saw his artery bulge and listened to his heartbeat as it fluttered against her breasts.
"At some point we die." He powered through her weak interruptions. "We are tied to the Darkspawn, and eventually, it kills us. In reality, we don't really know what happens. Perhaps we go insane; perhaps we turn into Darkspawn ourselves; or descend into madness like poor ol' Hespith, gnawing on cadavers in the deep roads." Alistair swallowed. "Part of our pride as Grey Wardens is not living long enough to find out. Dying as we lived — as fearless warriors."
"But this," he began, putting Eleni at arm's reach to study her, "the hair, the malnutrition, the mania, this has nothing to do with The Calling. This all smacks of fear — fear of uncertainty, fear of death, and..." His lopsided smile was sad, but comforting. "Fear of living."
Eleni rumbled into an angry protest. Alistair silenced her with another knowing chuckle and well-placed shrug.
"You've been running from a life with me all these years, ironically in a bid to give us more time. We have ten to thirty years at best," he said, biting his lower lip. "I don't intend to waste any of it away from you — cure, or no cure."
All at once, Eleni's quiet tears became ugly, heaping cries. She wailed, and Alistair muffled her voice with his chest; she whimpered, and he soothed her with gentle words of love and encouragement.
"I'm not giving up," she huffed in pitted, shaky breaths.
"Nor am I. We'll get through this. Together."
Eleni smiled and smeared her wet face with the back of her hand. A nervous laugh broke from her lips.
"Maker, I just want to get out of here and have a shower. I want to go home."
Alistair dipped his head in the direction of the Inquisitor's room.
"Since we don't know how long those love birds will be, I am sure we can borrow Lady Inquisitor's facilities."
Alistair led her up the steps, shouldering the door open. Even as his grip on her loosened, Eleni did not let go. Still, she hesitated.
"I don't know, Alistair, I don't know if it's proper."
"My good lady," he said with a flourish, leaning down to plant a chaste kiss on her lips. "I am the King, that's got to count for something, hm?"
He kissed her again. This time, her tongue wriggled out to greet him.
