PART III

-Laid to Rest-

ALISTAIR

The slums of Denerim were much as he remembered them from the time he spent at the Warden compound, although back then he had only looked at them from afar. They were comprised of hovels with straw roofs, built one atop another. And no matter where you stood, you stood foot-deep in mud. It was not quite so pleasant as the rest of the city, for certain—that is, if anyone at all would call Denerim pleasant. He'd heard foreigners in taverns call Denerim "the piss stain on a yellow blanket", and he'd always found it hard to take issue with that.

The sister—Leliana—had snuck them into the city through a sewer passage south of the walls. They walked the streets hooded and cloaked, in armor they had borrowed from Bodahn's cart, but he had never imagined seeing inside the city walls with Loghain's price on their heads. How Leliana had known about the passage, he gave her cutting glares rather than bother asking. He knew she would give him no real answer anyhow. Those, it seemed, she reserved for Solena.

Solena had done him the courtesy of telling him of the sister's lie, at least. One night at camp when he had finally had his fill of secrets, and vowed to confront her, Solena had stopped him with a hand to his chest and sat him down.

It made him no happier, the truth. But, he supposed, if you were to walk with two assassins in your midst, it was better to know it. And after all, what could he do? For all his bluster, he knew they would not make it a day without the blasted woman. And Leliana would hear nothing of tossing the elf off a bridge, as Alistair had suggested, so it was out of his hands.

At least the man had proved himself useful, Alistair supposed. And he hadn't murdered them all—yet. So things were looking up.

They had entered the city near the market district. Now, he stood on the front stoop of his sister's home.

It was Solena who encouraged it. He told himself he didn't want to do it, but knew his hands shook when he thought of it all the same. It was a silly thing—a stupid thing to think about now, of all times, he thought. And selfish, to boot. He'd tried to argue it; said they hadn't the time, but Solena had seen straight through that. It wouldn't take long, and they could see to it while Leliana and the elf saw to Genitivi. They had asked around, had gotten pointed to a crooked house on a crowded street. And here they were.

So he would do it, and be done with it. And then he could put it out of his mind.

Solena looked up at him from his left with big, encouraging eyes. He winced. He banged thrice upon the door.

With a moment of silence, Alistair frowned.

"Probably no one's home," he mumbled passively. Solena returned him a cutting look with a slow blink.

"I—it's open! It's open—Rion, ge' the bloody door!"

The flimsy wooden door creaked wide open on its hinges and a small boy peered around it—mussed, dirty hair and sucking on his thumb.

Alistair blinked at him.

The boy blinked back.

Alistair's mouth opened to speak, but then the voice called out from deeper in the house again.

"Come in! Just leave your wash by the door. I'll have i' back as soon as next Saturday—I hope you don't mind, there's a bi' of a delay this week, wha' with Bella's weddin' and all tha'. Every Sally and Billy on the street's been stoppin' by with their lace and doilies—"

Alistair cleared his throat, stepping in through the door and passing the young boy still staring up at him with curious eyes; Solena behind him.

"Um, excuse me? Is—is Goldanna here?" he asked the house.

There came the sound of clanging and rustling in the back, shielded by a wall. He glanced around anxiously—at the small fire burning beneath a kettle, bubbling over with steam; at the dusty corners of the house and a half-forgotten broom; at the single child's doll upon a barren floor. The house smelled like old wood, and soap, and faintly damp. He wrung his hands.

From behind the wall, a woman emerged. Red-blonde hair and dusting off her apron. One child clung to her skirts, and another hid behind them. A third trailed behind.

"I'm her," she said. "If it's linens you need done, I won' charge extra, but I—"

She looked up and stopped in her tracks. She stared at the armor they wore. Her lips formed a thin line.

"Can I help you?" she asked, harsher.

Alistair stood, frozen to the spot, mouth closing and opening like a fish out of water.

"I—uh, yes," he stuttered. "Yes, you can, actually, I—or, I certainly hope you can. You see, I—well, this may…this may come as sort of a shock, I suppose. But I…if you're Goldanna, I…I have reason to believe that I—well. That I'm your brother."

She only stood there, and did not move. Her eyes scanned his, and her lips parted slightly. Not in shock, maybe, but…something else.

"I'm Alistair, by the way," he choked out, as an afterthought, hardly able to believe how silly it was that he'd forgotten it. "My name is…Alistair."

"How d'you know my name? What is this?" she asked him, lowly.

"It was Bann Teagan, actually. He led me to you. He believes—" Alistair swallowed, let his brain catch up to his mouth. "Our mother, she—she was a serving girl in Redcliffe, until she died. And she—"

"They told me you was dead," Goldanna spoke, almost breathless. "They told me the babe was dead along with her. Gave me a shiny gold coin to shut my mouth that day, and sent me on my way. But I knew they was lyin'. I knew."

"I—" Alistair frowned. "I'm sorry. I…didn't know that. The babe didn't die. I'm him. I'm…your brother."

Goldanna let out a scoff. "And for all the good it does me."

Alistair blinked again. "I'm…I'm sorry?"

"You killed mother, you did. D'you know how long that coin lasted? A little girl, all on her own? When I wen' back to stomp my foot and demand they give me more, they ran me off. I ran my mouth an' blabbed to anyone who'd listen, but tha' didn' get me no more coin, neither. Had to beg on the streets like a dog to dodge the Chantry sisters an' their bloody orphanage. Spent my life scraping by, all this time. For the sake of you."

He couldn't speak. His brow twisted, but he couldn't speak. He doesn't know what noises he made—stupid, little broken off sounds. Solena shifted at his side and took a small step forward. He hadn't the mind to stop her.

"Of course we're sympathetic. But Alistair didn't know that. He only came here to reconnect with his family."

Goldanna sneered at her. "And who in the Maker's name are you? Some tart, after his riches?"

Solena's eyes grew wider. "I—I—no, I'm—"

"Hey!" Alistair bit, stepping forward and shielding her a bit. "Don't speak to her like that. She's a friend. And she didn't have to, but she came with me today because I asked her to. She's a Grey Warden, just as I am."

"Well, then," Goldanna began, mockingly. "A Grey Warden too, eh? Is that it? An' who am I to think poorly of someone so high-and-mighty compared to me?"

Deeper in the house, a babe began to cry. They talked louder over the sound—straining their voices to near-shouts.

"That's not—"

"I don' know you, boy. You're no family o' mine. Your royal father forced himself on my mother and took her away from me, an' what do I have to show for it? Nothin'. An' look at you. Waltzin' in 'ere, with your shiny armor an' your big, important, empty words. I got five mouths to feed, an' unless you can help with that, I got less than no use for you."

He felt his stomach sink, and he could barely find his words. "I-if it's money you need, I—I'm sure we could spare—I-I don't know, something—" he glanced helplessly to Solena. But she offered nothing. She was frowning, looking profoundly sad, down at the floor.

"Don't you mock me with your loose change," Goldanna spoke through gritted teeth.

"I—I'm not! I wouldn't!" Alistair sputtered.

"You come 'ere speakin' to us about 'family' but unwillin' to make sure your own's takin' care of? A bastard lord and a Grey Warden, too, and you talk about what you can be bothered to spare?" she spat. Alistair could say no more.

"Get out o' my 'ouse. The both o' you." Goldanna's voice shook.

"I—" he began, but Solena turned, placed a hand on his arm, and quietly spoke.

"Come on. We should leave."

The babe's screams now pierced the air. Goldanna clutched her children tighter, and glared at him.

"Now," Solena urged.

Alistair turned into her, and they ushered themselves through the front door with their heads hanging low. On many accounts, Alistair had to stop himself from looking back.

The wooden door clacked shut, and the sounds of the city street returned—bells and pigs and distant shouting. Alistair stood in the muddy road, hands rubbing at his face. Heels of his palms digging into his eyes. So hard he saw stars.

"I just—" he started, muttering to himself. "I just don't understand."

"You shouldn't have told her we're Wardens. You heard her. She'll talk to anyone for gold," came the voice from behind him.

Alistair balked. "Add it to the list, then. Of things I shouldn't have opened my fucking mouth and said. Some idiot, I am." He ran another hand down his face and groveled. "We'll have to move quickly, then. Find Genitivi and leave before sundown."`

Solena inched her way down from the front steps. He could feel her hesitation from where he stood.

"Does she think Eamon was your father?" she questioned.

Alistair shook his head slightly, blinking back at her as his vision returned. "Wh-what?"

"She said…'your royal father forced himself on—'"

"I'm sure she does," he spoke quickly, with a sniffle. "Everyone in the whole bloody village did, at some point or other. It's why Isolde had me tossed out."

Solena nodded her understanding. Then she looked up at him and stepped closer, into the street in front of him. She removed a glove, and reached up with one hand, thumb running under his eye, hand resting on his cheek. There had been tears there, he realized posthaste. Pathetic.

"Wh-why did you tell me to leave? We—we could've…we could've helped her; given her something, we—"

She shook her head, somberly. "Alistair, that wasn't…we only would have made it worse, had we stayed any longer. You can't buy her affection."

Alistair couldn't understand what he was hearing. He parted from her touch, stepping back.

"You—you wanted me to go. You were the one who—"

She breathed in deep. Her mouth opened and the words, for a moment, did not come.

"I was wrong. It was a mistake. We…we couldn't have known. I'm sorry."

His lip twitched.

"A mistake." He scoffed. "A mistake. A whole bloody waste of time. Of course it was. What was I thinking?"

"You wanted to meet your family. There's no wrong in that."

"Of course there is. I told you there was. I said it, I said—I said she'd want nothing to do with me. I said—"

"You had to try."

"I shouldn't have bothered. She'd be better off, I'm sure. I'd be better off, not knowing."

"Don't say that."

"Knowing my only sister's some—some shrew—"

"She lives in poverty, with five young children," Solena raised her voice over his. "She's a right to be angry at the world."

He stood there and swallowed. His shoulders fell. He was tired.

"I only—" he started. "I only wanted—"

"I know," she told him. "I know that it's not what you hoped for. Maybe you think you'd rather not know. But I promise you, you don't. Knowing is better. It's something, at the least."

He watched the way she said it—honestly and full of heart. And he knew what it was she was getting at.

"Right. I—You're right," he said. "Of course you're right. I'm being…selfish. Stupid. I don't know."

She shook her head. "You're not either of those things."

The sounds of the city filled the silence between them. Solena's face grew harder. She stepped closer, and grabbed him by both arms.

"You are a good man," and she said it with force. "I know it. Your heart is never in the wrong place. But life rarely gives us what we want. There are some forces that are out of our control. But trying doesn't make you stupid—or selfish."

His throat felt thick with shame.

"It just seems—no matter what I do I…I'm failing at it. Letting people down."

"I promise you, you're not. Even if it all tastes bitter now," she looked him in the eyes, "when we end this war, it will be because of you."

The funny thing was, that in her eyes, he could almost believe it. In her eyes, he was almost a man.

He stood up straighter. He nodded. "Thank you. For coming with me today. For…for encouraging me to do this. It…maybe it was for the best."

She nodded back at him, and her face became the slightest smile. Like a ray of brightest sunshine, glittering on a lake.

"I'm with you," she told him, the dark and deep tremor of her voice ringing with the truth of it. "Until the end."

A/N:

I am rachelamberish on tumblr.

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