Chapter 25

"You know, I never really knew him. Never really knew whether he knew... who I was," Alistair said quietly when he felt Leliana come stand by him. "I think he did though. I think that's why he had Duncan send me to the tower instead of sending me to the field. I guess he was looking out for me in his own way."

He turned and smiled tightly at Leliana when she placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll be alright," he said before she could ask. "It's just... this place, you know? This is where everything went to shit. This is where they all... where he..." He sighed deeply. "It's just hard, you know? Coming back here. But it was worth it too."

Leliana said nothing and he was grateful for that. There really wasn't anything to say. It was a bizarre situation. Alistair thought that coming back to Ostagar would be a whirlwind of emotions, but instead all he had felt was a strange sense of hollowness. Her mere presence was a comfort more than anything words could provide.

So they watched the embers rise from his half-brother's funeral pyre. The darkspawn had stripped him naked and strung him up on a cross to rot. There was hardly anything left to burn after almost a year.

Other than Goldanna – whom Alistair wanted to meet one day – Cailan had been all the family he'd had. Not the best perhaps, but he was a good man. His only crime was having too much hope. Foolish, maybe, but Alistair wouldn't begrudge him that. Being an idiot doesn't beget death.

"We found some... letters," she said quietly and Alistair turned fully to look at her. "In the King's chest itself. Aedan wanted you to have a look at them."

There were three pieces of parchment. Three letters.

The first one was from Empress Celene of Orlais, promising assistance in the form of troops to Ferelden. She'd asked Cailan to look past the bitter history between the two countries – that they needed to stand together during the Blight.

The second one was from Bann Teagan, Arl Eamon's brother, beseeching the King to not ride into the field with the Wardens, stating that should he fall, Ferelden would be left without any heirs. He went on further to state that the Queen was approaching her thirtieth year and was yet to deliver a child. There was a chance that it might not happen and he'd asked Cailan to put Anora aside and find someone else.

The third one was the shortest and by far the most interesting:

Cailan,

The visit to Ferelden will be postponed indefinitely, due to the darkspawn problem. You understand, of course?

The darkspawn have odd timing, don't they? Let us deal with them first. Once that is done, we can further discuss a permanent alliance between Orlais and Ferelden.

It wasn't signed, but the handwriting was reminiscent of Empress Celene of Orlais. Comparing it with the first letter left little doubt in his mind.

"As you can see, this one appears to have been crumpled up and then flattened out and folded again," Leliana said and Alistair nodded. It was quite apparent. "So whoever read this-"

"-got mad and rolled it up into a ball," he finished for her. "Then calmed down and tried to smooth it out again."

"Exactly. But who?"

"What do you mean? It was meant for Cailan. Who else would-" Alistair stopped as a thought struck him. "No. Shit. If Loghain-"

"-saw this, he would be infuriated." Leliana nodded. "Or even Anora, for that matter." She paused. "And if we consider that Cailan saw it himself, him crumpling it up could signal frustration. That can only mean that he was looking forward to Celene's visit to secure a permanent alliance."

"You mean a marriage."

"Yes."

"But it could easily have been Loghain too. He was the military advisor after all. He could have intercepted this." He held up the final letter. "And honestly, if I read this and the other two, I would want to strangle Cailan myself. Loghain loves Anora. If Cailan was getting ready to dump his daughter, I can believe Loghain was getting ready to bid adieu to Cailan too, but in a more permanent fashion."

He looked up from the letters to find Leliana smiling wryly at him. At first he didn't understand why, but when he did, he smiled grimly too.

"Just because I understand why he did," he said, "doesn't mean I'll ever condone it."

"Nobody will ever ask you to, Alistair. Nobody."

He sighed and handed her back the letters. Leliana folded them neatly and placed them in a pouch on her belt.

"Is that all you found?"

Other than Cailan's armour, of course.

"We also found King Maric's longsword."

Alistair raised his eyebrows at that. That was one thing he would have liked to see. "I've heard that it's all glow-y and shiny. Is it?"

"Why not come see for yourself?"

At that, Alistair looked back at the pyre. He smiled at Leliana. "In a bit."

She nodded in understanding. "There was also... something else I found." She held out a sheathed rondel dagger. "I thought you would... want to have a look."

He took it, somewhat curious. It wasn't like Leliana to be fumbling over her words over a knife. Then he looked down at the hilt and knew exactly why.

There was a small inscription going around the hexagonal handguard of the dagger. The engraving was familiar. In peace, vigilance. In war, victory. In death, sacrifice. The motto of the Grey Wardens.

With a trembling hand, Alistair unsheathed the dagger.

It was silverite. The edges were thick, built for piercing armour – maille and padded armour. The blade was about twelve inches in length. But the most suggestive feature was the insignia of the Grey Wardens engraved on the ricasso, a griffon with wings outstretched.

Alistair felt a lump form in his throat. "This... this is... this dagger belonged to Duncan." It got very hard to speak suddenly. "That's his... that's his crest."

"I thought... I thought maybe you would want it," he heard Leliana say and looked up at her. She looked uncertain, looking down at her boots and digging the toes into the ground. "You said you wanted something to remember him by."

"Thank you." He absolutely hated how his voice broke. "Thank you, I..." He hated how his vision clouded over and he clapped his free hand onto his face to stop the tears from falling.

Alistair remembered very clearly the last time he'd cried. It had been ages ago, when he was six or seven, years before he was to be shipped off to Bournshire. His cat, Mister Socks, had died and he'd been inconsolable. That was when he'd learned that things die, that he would die, along with everyone around him. There was comfort in that knowledge somehow. He didn't really know how else to explain it.

It was what had kept him from breaking down after the massacre at Ostagar almost a year ago. Everybody dies. That's just how it is. But now, just because of a bloody fucking dagger-

He felt her arms wrap around him then, felt her shoulders tuck under his, felt her cheek against his chest.

"It's okay," she whispered. "It's okay to be sad."

I know that.

"You have been brave, Alistair. You have been everything we needed you to be," she continued in that gentle Orlesian lilt. "You deserve a reprieve to let down your burdens."

I-

"Let go, Alistair. It's okay."

And he did. He let his shoulders quake and he let the sobs break out and he let the tears fall. Not because he felt the need to do so. Not because the sorrow was too much to bear. Everything died, after all.

Alistair cried because not everything that died deserved to die. Some things... they were worth protecting and treasuring and keeping alive. He cried because the guilt of being unable to save the people who had been so precious to him was melting away and he didn't want to forget that pain. He didn't want to go back to being complacent. He wanted to always remember what it was like to lose everything.

But he knew that it was a stupid sentiment. He would never forget. It would always be there, always be a part of him no matter what. It would always serve as a reminder to do better, for the ones who were still around and mattered.

He had people he needed to protect now without the past weighing down on him any longer. So, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close.

Alistair lowered his face into Leliana's shoulder and cried because finally, finally, he felt that it was okay to let go.