Thank you all for reading! Particular thanks to suilven for the beta!
"Your Majesty?"
He turned, watching as the Champion of Kirkwall climbed the stairs toward him, marveling again at how similar she looked to her cousin. If he squinted, he could almost imagine it was Leyden coming toward him. His heart constricted, and he frowned involuntarily.
Lilias Hawke must have seen the look on his face, because she stopped several steps below him. "You're still angry," she said ruefully. "I'm sorry, I must have given you a terrible impression of me. Meredith brings out all my worst qualities."
"Angry?" He tried to think what she could have done in their brief meeting earlier to make him angry. She had been short with the Knight-Commander, but in Alistair's opinion, the Knight-Commander had richly deserved it. "No, nothing of the kind. I was just thinking—" Some impulse kept him from finishing the sentence, from telling this undeniably beautiful woman in front of him how much she reminded him of someone he used to love. Close up the resemblance was less strong; Hawke's eyes were a brighter, bolder blue, her mouth wider, her features farther apart. Leyden had been strong but delicate, and there was little of delicacy in the woman before him. "Just thinking," he said at last. "Woolgathering. Surely they must have told you I do that."
"I can't say that anyone has mentioned that particular attribute."
He moved down the stairs until they were standing on the same step. "Really? They don't call me the absent-minded king?" Alistair sighed dramatically. "All that work nodding off in council meetings, gone completely to waste."
Hawke laughed, and again, he couldn't help the comparison. Leyden's humor had been fierce, the laugh shining in her eyes, a triumph, but Hawke's was warmer, inviting him to share, and he found himself laughing, too. She said, "I think I see your problem, Your Majesty. You're supposed to woolgather with your eyes open."
"I'll take it under advisement. But only if you'll call me Alistair. And …" He hesitated, thinking what a bad idea this was on many levels, but as so often before, his mouth got ahead of his brain. "And have dinner with me."
"I'd like that, Alistair. But only if you promise not to gather any wool."
"I promise. I'll collect it all beforehand."
The King's retinue approached the gates of Skyhold, looking up at the majestic stone building. Panos, riding next to Alistair, gave a low whistle. "Did you know it was that big, Your Majesty?"
There was a very crude joke in there somewhere, Alistair thought, wishing for a moment that he was accompanied by Oghren or Zevran … or Leyden … came the thought like a passing breeze through his mind. "No," he said belatedly, realizing that Panos was staring at him waiting for a response. "No, I didn't know it was this big." How was a fortress this large perched on the edge of Ferelden's borders and no one had known about it?
"How long do you think it's been here?"
"According to what I've been told, ages. Ages upon ages, possibly." He wondered how the Inquisition had known it was here. The Inquisitor was a dwarf—perhaps the hold had some entry to the Deep Roads? Alistair shuddered to himself. He hoped not. He'd seen enough of the Deep Roads to last him until—well, until the Deep Roads were the last thing he would ever see.
Ten years; eleven, really, since his Joining. And what had he done with them? Ruled the kingdom, yes, but any chance of creating an heir had passed a long while ago, he was sure. He thought of Leyden, of the plans they had made in those cozy tents, whispering softly to one another. She was gone, but she had never really left him, and that was as much the problem as the taint in his blood.
Here in Skyhold, he would see Leliana, whom Leyden had loved; and Cullen, her youthful first love from the Tower. He hadn't seen Leliana since the death of the Archdemon. Feelings ran too deeply in both of them: the loss of Leyden, the rivalry over who would win her love in the end.
And Cullen he had last seen in Kirkwall. Kirkwall, where his heart had reawakened only to be torn again. Lilias Hawke had done as thorough a job as the cousin she resembled so strongly. Cullen had seen it, too, to judge from the haunted look in the man's eyes as he had watched Lilias. But it had been Alistair she had smiled that wonderful smile for; at least, for a time.
The song came to mind again, the elusive haunting melody that had been stuck in his head, repeating itself off and on, for the past few months. He shook his head, impatient with it, like an itch he couldn't reach to scratch. In the dark of night, he lay awake terrified, wondering if this was it, if this was the Calling, but the dreams were no worse than usual, and physically he felt fine, so he tried to ignore it. He caught himself humming the song now and stopped, pressing his lips firmly together.
The gates of Skyhold groaned open before him, and he and his retinue rode through. The courtyard was muddy, the ground churned up by horses' hooves and wagon wheels, but there was a dwarven groom at Alistair's side almost before he had reined his horse to a stop.
"Welcome to Skyhold, sire. We'll have your mount right as rain in no time, ready for you whenever you need."
He dismounted, pressing a coin into the dwarf's hand. "Thank you. Do you know where I might find—" The words ceased of their own volition as his eyes lifted to a set of stairs that wound around a tower and he saw her there, standing perfectly still. "Never mind, I see her." He couldn't make out Leliana's face under the hood she wore, but there was no doubt in his mind that it was her.
He climbed the stairs, admiring her ability to command the entire courtyard by simply standing still and silent. That had never been his way; he needed to talk, to move. Long meetings in which he had to listen and carefully weigh his options were the bane of his existence.
"Alistair," she said carefully.
"Leliana."
They looked at one another, Alistair uncertain how to proceed. This woman had been one of the most important people in the world to him in a time of great danger that had nonetheless been one of the best periods of his life. Now they were little more than strangers, and that made him sad. Leyden would not have wanted this.
Leliana must have thought the same, because her face lit with a sudden humor. "This will never do. After all, I have eaten your terrible cooking!"
"Hey! It wasn't that bad," he protested, out of habit, relaxing with her. "How are you?"
"I am well, all things considered. The times are … well, they never do seem to get any better, do they?" She sighed. "But the Inquisition is thriving, and I have found my purpose at last."
"I'm glad to hear it."
"And you? Have you found running a kingdom bearable, at least?"
"I'm still here, and the country hasn't entirely fallen to ruin. And I don't forget that I owe thanks to your Inquisitor for all his work in the Hinterlands and on the Storm Coast." He frowned. "I got your message about the Grey—"
Leliana put her hand on his arm. "Come with me." She led him up the stairs to a protected walkway just at the top. "This is one of the few places in Skyhold where I feel free to speak about matters that are … delicate," she said. "And it is unfortunately true—the Grey Wardens are gone, from Ferelden and Orlais both. Only one remains; he is one of the Inquisitor's companions. Something …" She paused thoughtfully. "Well, I will be interested to know what you think of him."
Alistair felt a pang of fear. If the other Wardens were gone—maybe the song really was his Calling. Maybe they were all hearing a Calling. Or an Archdemon was about to rise. Wasn't that just what the world needed, with some ancient darkspawn god running around trying to tear open the sky. "I hadn't heard from my people in Amaranthine in some time, so when I got your message, I went there myself. They had been gone … I don't know how long. The place was deserted. And then I went to Soldier's Peak, and … Avernus was dead, the old bastard. Levi Dryden said it was around the time of the explosion at the Conclave."
"None of your people told you they were going?" she asked. "That is … concerning."
"Very."
"I have not been able to find any trace of them, or the Wardens from Orlais. And Blackwall, the Warden who is assisting us, knows no more than we."
"Blackwall. That name sounds familiar." Alistair frowned, trying to place him.
"He says he was in Ferelden during the Blight, recruiting, and fighting darkspawn."
A black anger swept through Alistair. "He was in Ferelden? Another Warden? And we didn't know about it?"
"No." Leliana pressed her lips together. "I felt the same, when I found out. But—as I say, there is something about him … I would not take his story at face value."
Alistair shook his head, trying to push back the anger. If there had been another Warden, he could have taken the blow, could have saved her … He felt vile wishing to sacrifice someone he didn't know, even in longing and memory, but there you had it. Apparently he was vile.
Leliana watched him, understanding. At last she said, "There is something else I think you should know."
"More delightful news? I can hardly wait."
"Apparently Varric lied to us; hardly surprising, in the grand scheme of things. In retrospect, it was a poor decision to let Cassandra interrogate him. I might have gotten much more out of him." She sighed. "But that is water under the bridge. As I say … apparently he knew where to find the Champion all along."
The Champion. Lilias. Alistair's head spun, his heart thumping crazily. He had tried to put her out of his mind, tried not to hope that when things went wrong in Kirkwall she would come to find him. After all, they had hardly parted on the best of terms. But not to know where she had gone, not to know the truth of what had happened that day, beyond Varric's heavily embroidered tales … "Where is she?" he asked hoarsely.
"She is coming here."
Alistair gripped the railing to hold himself steady as the rush of blood to his head made his knees weak. "When?"
"She should be arriving within a few more days."
He got hold of himself with an effort, looking Leliana in the eye. "How did you know?"
"I met her, too, you know. I knew her in Lothering long ago, and I saw her again in Kirkwall. How was I to know that when faced with a woman who looked so much like Ley— like her, you would lose all control?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm, and Alistair turned his face away, remembering that argument in the forest, Leyden standing between them, begging them not to make her choose, remembering that Leliana had been as unable to consider sharing her love as he had.
"I am sorry she chose me, you know," he said now. "I truly am."
"Oh?" Leliana asked coldly.
"Yes. Because if she had loved me less, she might have let me die for her." He cleared his throat. "Now, if you'll excuse me." He turned and went back down the stairs, where his retinue waited for him.
Leliana watched him go, wondering if he thought he really meant it. Oh, he would have faced the Archdemon at the cost of his life … but given the choice, would he really have chosen not to have been loved by Leyden? It was hard for her to believe.
She remembered that moment, facing off against him, Leyden caught between them, hurt and angry and desperate, and a flush of shame stole over her face. If either of them had truly loved Leyden the way she deserved to be, they would have wanted her to be happy whatever way she could. Looking back now, Leliana knew they had lost her in that moment, both of them, set her feet on the path that led to the roof of Fort Drakon.
What Leliana knew that Alistair did not was that there had been a choice. She had been listening when Morrigan made her offer, when Leyden chose not to approach Alistair with the idea of the ritual Morrigan claimed would make it so no Grey Warden needed to die. Leliana had wept silently so that neither of them could hear her, knowing that it would be her love who faced the dragon and burnt the flame of her life away in that sacrifice.
A shiver worked its way through Leliana. That moment had altered the course of her life, as well. She had put aside the last part of her that looked for happiness, determining that when the Blight was past she would use her skills on behalf of the Maker. Her devotion hadn't been enough for Him; perhaps her blades and her cunning were what He had truly desired all along. She no longer knew for certain; He had not spoken to her again since that night. Had Leyden taken away her connection with the Maker? Had Morrigan? Had she severed it herself?
Perhaps it no longer mattered. Because she was here, in the Inquisition, doing the Maker's work on behalf of all His children. And her duty called.
Wearily, she opened the door and re-entered the Rookery.