Chapter 2: The Storm
The quartet trudged into Arl Eamon's Denerim estate. The day had gone nothing as they would have expected.
Following a day's rest and recovery from their ordeal at Fort Draken, the Grey Wardens had set out to investigate the rumors of unrest in Denerim's Elven Alienage. It was only meant to be a brief information-gathering excursion; most of their companions had opted to remain at Eamon's estate. Only Zevran and Solona's mabari hound, Daro, had decided to trail along. Zevran, curious to see if his brethren in Denerim faired any better than those of Antiva. Daro, wishing to mark the massive tree in the Alienage.
It was a disaster.
They had barely entered the Alienage when Solona caught a foul air and went running to a gutter to be ill. She had seen her fair share of death, but this was different. The Alienage reeked of something new: slow death. Decay. Hopelessness.
The diseased elves they passed in the streets had a special greeting for each of them. To Zevran, they glared with mistrusting eyes; he was an elf, but he was not one of them. In Alistair, they saw another guard come to abuse them. A handful recognized Solona to be a mage. They swarmed around her and fell upon shaking knees, begging her to heal them.
The excursion declined considerably from there.
Their quiet investigation had the Wardens scour the very bowels of the Alienage. Empty rooms whispered tales of stolen lives. And - oh Maker preserve them - the Orphanage. Their dreams would be haunted by the echoes of lost children for many nights to come.
It was late evening by the time they returned. They had gone directly to Eamon and related their awful tale. Solona could not help but feel a tremor of disgust in her stomach when Eamon revealed how pleased he was that Loghain was selling elves into slavery.
The Arl confirmed that the Landsmeet would begin the next morning, and urged them all to get some rest.
"Alistair," Eamon called as the party began to depart, "I would like a word with you."
The Wardens paused, passing each other questioning looks. Alistair took Solona's hand and pressed a light kiss upon its back. "I'll catch up with you later." Solona gave him a small smile, and made her way downstairs to check in upon their companions.
After nodding through Wynne's scoldings of worry, Sten's admonishments for irresponsibility, and handful of Oghren crude jokes, Solona trekked to her quarters to bathe and sleep. She was in no mood to entertain any more of Eamon's or Anora's ambitions tonight.
As she settled herself into bed, Solona felt shame well up from deep within. Back in the Alienage, the Master Slaver, Caladrius, had offered to augment her powers with the slaves' life forces. Solona rarely prayed, but tonight she begged the Maker to forgive her – she had considered accepting Caladrius' offer. At the time, she had told herself that any measure to end the Blight was worth it. The elves in the cages had looked so pitiful – so lifeless - anyways. If it had not been for Alistair's stern refusal, Solona feared she may have accepted.
Downing two vials of lyrium, Solona doused her worries and willed herself to sleep.
Alistair followed Eamon back into his study. The Arl motioned at him to close the door behind him. Alistair raised an eyebrow. It was rare for Eamon to require secrecy from his own household. Even the arguments with the Queen had been done with an open door for all to hear.
Suddenly at ill ease, Alistair flopped onto one of the waiting lounge chairs and began fiddling with a candelabrum on the adjacent table.
"I've been wondering," began Eamon. "How much thought have you given to being king?"
Alistair shrugged. "Oh, you know, just what colour of throne and whether I'll look good in tights. I've always been partial to trousers, but you really never know until you try something new..." He looked up meet the Arl's gaze. Eamon was not amused.
Eamon rubbed his brow. "Please my boy, be serious for once."
Alistair turned back to the candelabra. What was he supposed to say? Sorry Eamon, but Solona picked Anora and I'm too much a coward to object? "You know I've never wanted to be king." he said instead.
"But Duty compels you," replied the Arl, "And there are things you must consider before the Landsmeet."
Alistair remained silent. With a distant look, he flipped a candle over to examine its bottom.
After a few drawn moments, Eamon broke the silence, "What of Solona?"
"What about her?"
"Well, for one thing, she's a mage."
"Oh good," Alistair replied. "It's so nice when people notice. It saves the whole awkward 'watch out, she might turn into an Abomination and eat your soul' talk."
Eamon ignored this and continued on "And, she's a Grey Warden."
"Huh - me too!" Alistair chimed in.
The Arl sighed. "The point is, Alistair, for all that you may love her, she can't be your queen."
Alistair sobered. This was not the conversation he had expected. "My queen?" he asked. "You're getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren't you?"
"We're talking about the future of a country. We have to think far ahead," Eamon replied. "You've been together for nearly a year now, yes?"
Alistair nodded carefully.
"And you love her, yes?" the Arl continued.
Eamon took the silence that followed as a confirmation. "Then you must end it, my boy," he spoke gently to his former ward. "She is a mage, a commoner and a Grey Warden. The Landsmeet will never accept her. It will look like we're trying to give the country to the Wardens. Besides, you know mages can't have titles."
"… Wardens can't have titles either. So I guess I can't be king then" Alistair argued.
The Arl disregarded this and continued on, "You will need an heir to stabilize Ferelden. Any child Solona bore would belong to the Chantry."
"Then I won't take the blasted crown," Alistair stated.
"As king, you could do so much good for Ferelden," Eamon coaxed. "Those elves you saw? You could change all of that – give them a real chance. Anora does not care about them. You said that things need to change; Anora will only maintain the status quo. Yes, you will have to make sacrifices, but this is the right thing to do."
Alistair rose to leave. He was tired and wanted nothing more to do with it.
"Please Alistair. Think about it," the Arl called after him.
Alistair made his way through the estate to Solona's chambers. He was not in the mood to fake propriety and pretend to sleep in his own room for once. Eamon asked the impossible. Having lost both his birth family and his adoptive Grey Wardens, Solona was Alistair's last tether to this world. Without her, crown or not, he would have nothing.
Alistair opened the door and crept silently towards the bed. A single candle illuminated his sleeping lover. He tucked himself into bed next to Solona's sleeping form. She must have been exhausted; for once she did not toss restlessly about. With gentle hands, he pulled her into his arms, and placed a soft kiss against her crown.
"Alistair?" Solona mumbled, half awoken.
"Shh," he whispered into her hair. "Go back to sleep."
Let Anora have the bloody kingdom. He would keep his beloved.
The next morning was a flurry of chaos. Arl Eamon had gone ahead to the Landsmeet, urging the Wardens to follow as quickly as possible. There had been some debate as to who should accompany them. An apostate would hardly gain them support, and Morrigan was only too happy to remain. Likewise, Leliana, Sten, and Zevran were foreigners and not welcome at a meeting of government. Bringing a dog, mabari or not, would be seen as disrespectful and bringing a golem would just be … distracting. That left only the Wardens, Wynne and Oghren.
They had been waylaid by the usual confrontations of guards, assassins and thugs, but this was hardly anything new. They were late, but they arrived at the palace in relatively orderly state.
With a final deep breath for courage and calm, Solona Amell entered the Landsmeet. At her side marched her companions. Behind her, Ser Cauthrien knelt and begged whispered forgiveness from Andraste. Before her stood Loghain Mac Tir, Teyrn of Gwaren and Regent of the Crown.
"… and here she is now: the Puppet Master." Loghain shouted as he gestured grandly at Solona. "Tell us, Warden, how will the Orlesians take our country? Will they deign to send their troops? Or will they simply issue their commands through this would-be prince?"
"...wanker..." came a cough. Solona spun around to scowl at Oghren. The warrior would only shrug, "Just saying..."
Solona made her way to the front of the Landsmeet. The Teyrn glared at her, but she held her ground.
"What did they offer you?" Loghain snarled. "How much is the price of Ferelden's honour now?"
The air became thicker as the tension of the hall rolled against it. Solona fought to retain her composure. "The Blight is the threat here, not the Orlesians," she spoke clear and true.
A chorus of agreement came tumbling down with the nobles in the balconies above.
Loghain scoffed. "The Wardens claim only they can end the Blight, yet they failed spectacularly at Ostagar," he began. "They would have us invite four legions of Orlesians into our homelands. And once we open our borders to the Chevaliers, can we really expect them to return from whence they came?"
Solona glanced around the hall. Most of the nobles had darkened at the mention of Ostagar; she dared not try to defend the actions of the Wardens. "You sold Ferelden citizens into slavery to fund your war," she shouted instead.
"What is this? There is no slavery in Ferelden!" a cry came from a Bann.
Loghain rallied effortlessly. "There was no saving the Alienage. After the riots, it was in ruins; bodies still lie in the streets." He turned to Solona. "I would not send my worst enemy there. Despite what you may think, Warden, I have done my duty. Whatever my regrets for the elves, I have done what was needed for the good of Ferelden."
The Landsmeet grew silent once more as fury festered within Solona. The nobles did not care about the elves. The Warden attempted another tactic. "Was sending an apostate to poison Eamon your duty as well?" she asked.
Loghain scoffed. "I assure you, if I was going to send someone, I would send my own troops. I would not trust it to an apostate."
From high on a balcony above, Bann Alfstanna stepped forward. "My brother tells another story," she shouted. "He says you snatched a blood mage from his grasp. Coincidence?"
It was now the Revered Mother's turn to speak. "Do not think that the Chantry will overlook this, Teyrn Loghain," she warned. "Interfering with a templar's sacred duty is an offense against the Maker."
A torrent of whispers rose from the Landsmeet. Apparently, selling elves into slavery was frowned upon, but attacking a noble – one of their own – was unforgivable.
Still, Loghain remained unapologetic. "Whatever I have done, I will answer for to the Maker," he said. The Teyrn focussed his attention upon Solona once more. "But tell me Warden, what have you done with my daughter?"he asked.
Solona was taken aback. "What have I done? I rescued her from Howe. I've protected her from you!" she replied.
"You took my daughter, our Queen, by force – killing her guards in the process," accused Loghain, taking an offensive strike. "Does she even still live?" the Teyrn feigned a tragic tone.
"I believe I can speak for myself," came a call from the back of the hall. A collective gasp filled the room as Queen Anora stepped out into view. "Lords and Ladies of the Landsmeet, hear me!" she ordered. "My father has gone mad. He is no longer the Hero of Riverden. He abandoned his king at Ostagar, leaving Cailan to die bravely fighting the Darkspawn. He took Cailan's throne before his body was even cold. He then locked me away so I could not reveal his treachery."
Solona tried not to grimace. Anora's take was mostly truthful. Yet, Ostagar was almost a year ago, and the Queen had only become concerned with the truth in the last fortnight.
"So, the Warden's influence has poisoned even your mind, Anora. I wanted to protect you from this," lamented Loghain. He turned his back to his daughter. "My Lords and Ladies," he called to the Landsmeet. "Ferelden has been conquered, divided and liberated times uncountable. But we have shown that so long as we remain united, we can never truly be conquered." The Teyrn seemed to grow taller before Solona's eyes. "Stand with me," he shouted, "and we shall defeat this Blight!"
There was an awful moment of silence as Doubt began to fester within Solona. What would they do if the Landsmeet stood against them? The Teyrn was obviously mad, but surely some pompous nobles would support him. They would need every vote they could muster... and where the bloody hell was Teagan?
"The South throw their lot in with the Grey Wardens, Maker help us," a noble shouted.
"Waking Sea is with the Warden!" cried Bann Alfstanna.
Solona breathed a sigh of relief as more support followed. They did not receive every vote, but it was enough.
Loghain was furious. "Traitors!" he screamed. "Which of you stood against the Orlesian Emperor when his Chevaliers flattened your fields and raped your wives?" The Teyrn spun about, sparing none his accusing glare. "None of you have spilled blood as I have spilled blood. How dare you judge me?" He drew his sword and advanced towards the crowd of nobles. Behind him, his guards followed suit.
In an instant, Oghren and Alistair were at Solona's side. Alistair's hand landed upon Solona's shoulder, ready to push her behind him; she shrugged him off. There were too many innocents here to risk a fight.
"Call off your men and we will settle this honourably," she urged.
The Teyrn considered for a moment, and then nodded to his guards to sheath their weapons. "Then let us end this," he conceded. "I suppose we both knew it would come to this, but I would have never thought it would be you." He shook his head lightly. "We are judged by the quality of our enemies – Maric told me that. I wonder if it says more about you or me..." He took in a deep breath. "Very well. The Landsmeet shall decide the terms."
Solona blinked. Terms? What terms?
Bann Alfstanna took the floor once more. "It shall be fought according to tradition: single armed combat, until one falls. And we of the Landsmeet will abide by its outcome."
A duel? Solona was not prepared for this. She had only meant that if Loghain surrendered, he would be given a fair trial and due process. Not a duel! She scanned the crowd. They were set upon this. There was no backing out of it now.
Alistair stepped forward and drew his sword. Solona stopped him. "No, it should be me," she whispered.
Alistair shook his head. "I'm not going to let you fight him. He's huge! He probably eats little mages for breakfast with toast and jelly. And frankly, my dear, you're awful with a sword," he answered in a hushed tone.
"No," Solona said. "I'll have him hexed asleep in half a second. No blood. No gore. No one gets hurt. It's better like this." She gave him a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine."
With a deep sigh, Alistair nodded in defeated agreement.
Solona drew her sword, the Spellweaver, more for show than intent. She stepped forward. "I will fight this duel myself," she announced.
Loghain nodded. "It is you or me the men will follow. Prepare yourself," he commanded.
The pair circled each other with cautious steps. Around them, the members of the Landsmeet had formed a tight ring to gain the best view. With swords drawn and a mutual nod, the duel began.
Solona cast the hex of sleep upon Loghain; his eyes barely fluttered. She frowned and quickly cast it again. This time, he did not so much as blink. Solona's confidence waned – the Teyrn had Willpower like she had never before seen. No one had ever resisted her Entropy spells so effortlessly before. Even Morrigan would have been napping soundly on the floor by now.
The Teyrn took a step forward, narrowing their circle. Solona floundered for a different spell. If she wished to bend Loghain to her will, she could use that other sort of magic. No. She crushed the idea. Grey Warden or not, using Blood Magic here would lose them all support. She reached into her knowledge of the Primal Schools instead. She wanted nothing more than to conjure a Tempest where they stood and be done with this, but there too many bystanders. Why were the fool nobles standing so close? They were dueling not dancing!
With a shout, Loghain raised his sword and charged at her. Solona readied a simple charm of frost to freeze the Teyrn in place, and … the Veil vanished. Solona panicked – Templar magics! She jumped back and clumsily lifted her sword, blocking most of the blow.
Loghain sneered at her and whispered. "Thirty years upon the battle fields...Did you really think I didn't pick up a trick or two?" He gave her a forceful shove, and Solona went flying onto her back. Spellweaver went skittering off towards the crowd. The Teyrn lifted his sword to make a killing blow, but Solona managed to roll away – a heartbeat too slow. His blade sliced down the side of her arm before contacting the cold stone below.
Solona gave a hiss of pain as she sprang back to her feet. She clutched at her wound as her sleeve soaked through with blood.
From the crowd, Alistair shot forward to come to her aid, only to be held back by Oghren. "She's got to do it herself, boy. You can't stop a duel."
"He's cheating!" barked Alistair. "He's using Templar techniques to block her magic."
"What? Usin' magic ain't cheatin' too?" the dwarf asked. "Here, have a swill of Ol' Oghren's brew," he added, handing a flask to Alistair. "It takes the sting outta it."
Alistair shoved it back to his companion in disgust. Nonetheless, he remained with the onlookers, praying that Solona would be unharmed. Or at very least, that she would know when to surrender.
Solona was frantic. A thousand spells ran through her mind; yet, none would work if she could not find access to the Fade. Her mind reached blindly for any hint of the Veil. There was none; she was alone.
Her opponent seemed to be taking his time, savouring the impending victory. He continued to circle her, but Solona had no illusions that this would last; the circle was getting smaller with each pass.
The memories of her lessons with Alistair broke free into Solona's mind. Her lover had shown her how to throw off a Templar's hold. Taking a sharp breath, she began to unwind the ties that Loghain had placed before the Veil. A small hole appeared; it was enough to reach through to the Fade for small spells. She would have to build up her magic slowly in pieces. There was only one option for such a spell: a Crushing Prison. Grimacing as she stretched her mind to grasp upon the distant threads of the Veil, Solona cast the first bar.
Sensing a change, Loghain shot forward to strike once more. Solona ducked and dove across the ring towards her sword. She grasp the pommel and rose to her feet in a single move. A gasp and applause came from the crowd. She paid them no attention as she cast her second bar. The Teyrn charged towards Solona once more. She parried weakly, her arms threatening to give out.
Loghain's foot shot out, delivering a crushing blow to Solona's stomach. Once more she went flying backwards. She curled up weakly upon the unforgiving stone.
Loghain advanced, almost swaggering, towards the mage as she clutched at her stomach. She writhed pitifully, and coughed up a slew of blood and bile.
"Give in," he coaxed, as he approached. "Without your magic, you are nothing."
Solona moaned from her position upon the floor. He was right, without magic she was weak. No. No. Stop it. She shook her head; she would not surrender.
The Teyrn advanced. "Then I will make it a clean death," he announced, taking another step. Loghain readied himself to strike – and froze. With a look of puzzlement, he dropped his sword and pushed at an invisible barrier. Solona had cast her third, and final, bar. Loghain was trapped within the triangular prison.
Solona winced and tried to sit upright. Before her, the Teyrn beat against the invisible walls to no avail. She could feel him once more try to hide the Veil; she had to act quickly. With a simple flick of the wrist, the walls of the barrier began to close in upon themselves. The prison shrunk and shrunk, until Loghain was being crushed within it.
A sickening crack reverberated throughout the hall as the Teyrn's arm broke. His hold upon the Veil vanished completely, giving Solona free reign of her magics once more. With a relieved groan, she began casting a healing spell upon her stomach, stopping her internal bleeding. Unfortunately, Creation had never been her strongest school; her arm would have to wait.
From his prison, the Teryn finally gave in. "Enough!" he cried.
Solona relaxed the spell. Loghain was still imprisoned, but no longer crushed by the force. She stumbled to her feet to approach him.
Loghain let his head fall in defeat. "I underestimated you," he breathed. "I thought you were like Cailan – a child playing at a war. I was wrong. There is a strength in you that I have not seen since Maric died." He fell down upon his kneels. "I yield."
Solona struggled to remain calm. Her arm continued to stream dark trails of blood down and along her finger tips. She clenched her hand into a fist. Why had Loghain surrendered? Weren't knights supposed to die in battle? What was she supposed to do with him now? Cackle madly and scorch him to embers, or pat his head and send him merrily on his way? Surrender was not a noble choice.
From all angles of the hall, Solona could feel the eyes of the Landsmeet baring down upon her. She winced as Wynne rushed forward and began to fuss over the gash in her arm. Lyrium called to her, but she could not indulge in front of the nobles. "I accept," she relented, finally.
Alistair tore his eyes away from the Teyrn, "I did not just hear that. You're going to let him live after everything he's done? Kill him already!" he shouted.
"Wait!" a call echoed from the behind a crowd of noblemen. Riordan stepped forward.
"There may be another option. The Teyrn is a warrior and general of renown. Let him be of use. Let us put him through the Joining." The Orlesian Warden turned to Alistair and Solona, and continued, "There are only three of us in all of Ferelden. And there are … compelling reasons to have as many Grey Wardens on hand as possible when we face the archdemon."
Anora spoke up, "I understand the Joining is often fatal. If my father survives, you will gain a general. If he does not, you have your revenge."
Alistair shot forward. "Absolutely not!" he shouted, slicing his arms across his chest in emphasis.
The flurry startled Solona, and she took a cautious step backwards. This was not the Alistair she knew. The jokes and awkward indecision had fled, leaving a man with rage and want. He was a mirror to Loghain.
Alistair pointed himself towards the elder Warden. "Riordan, this man abandoned our brothers and blamed us for the deed. He hunted us down like animals. He tortured you!" he shouted. With shaking fingers, Alistair ran his fingers through his sandy hair. He shook his head and turned to Solona for support. "How can you simply forget that?" he breathed.
Inside her mind, Solona screamed to the heavens above. 'Compelling reasons'? Riordan knew something import – something dire and would not say it. More mystery and lies! How many times would she be Harrowed? Solona gave another mental scream, and fought the urge to run to Riordan and shake the very truth from his lips. Why had Duncan not told them more?
We must live a selfless life. It is our duty and our privilege. Duncan's words rushed through Solona's mind. They could not allow their selfish need for vengeance destroy the Greater Good. Surely Alistair would understand this. Solona pulled a deep breath deep into her lungs. All she need do was remain firm upon her ground, and Alistair would surely follow.
"Riordan is right," she spoke. "We should put him through the Joining."
And that should have been that.
Alistair's face sang red. He was not relenting. "Joining the Wardens is an honour, not a punishment," he argued. "Make him a Warden and you cheapen us all. I will not stand next to him as a brother. I won't!"
This time, Alistair's words had been directly solely to Solona. He was being selfish and childish and foolish, and yet it was she that was being overcome with guilt. Solona glanced downwards, suddenly unable to hold her lover's gaze. "We need all the help we can get," she mumbled.
The hall was hung in silence save for the soft falling of Alistair's pacing footsteps. Solona waited with heart racing. A moment passed. A lifetime passed. Finally Alistair pierced the quiet, "I never wanted to be king," he addressed the Landsmeet. "I still don't. But, if that is what it takes to see Loghain face Justice, I'll do it. I'll take to the crown."
Solona's world shattered.
"Listen to this!" shouted Anora. "Can you see how disastrous a king he'd be, putting his own selfish desires above the needs of his country?" She stormed towards Solona and glared into her eyes, "You can't seriously support him?"
But she did support him. Solona knew Alistair had the potential to be an unparalleled ruler. Perhaps it was Maric's blood within him, but for all that Alistair followed her, he truly was a born leader. Yes, right now, at this single moment, he was being a selfish fool; yet, how many times had Solona seen him willing to sacrifice all that he was?
Solona had seen the shade of ego and mercilessness in Anora. The queen had simply stood by and allowed her father to take to the throne. And the elves. The poor elves, rotting in their own skins. Anora had to have known. It had been nearly a year since Ostagar, and only now was the queen attempting to make amends. It was too little, and much, much too late.
Which left only one thing: Solona's heart. If Alistair took the crown, it could very well be the end of them. For so long now, she had harboured a dream of defeating the Blight and riding off into the Grey Warden sunset, with Alistair at her side. We must live a selfless life. The words pulsed through her mind once more. Solona knew what she must do. And yet, perhaps this would not be the end of their romance. If he loved her so very much as he claimed, or at least half so much as she did he, Alistair would fight for her. And she would fight for him.
"I stand by Alistair. He will be the new king," Solona announced.
The hall erupted in a torrent of whispers.
"You can't do this!" exclaimed Anora. "My father may be wrong, but he is still a hero to the people."
Kneeling and, for the first time in his life, humbled, Loghain spoke, "Hush now, Anora. It's over."
The former queen turned and spat at her father "Stop treating me as a child. This is serious"
Loghain closed his eyes, and slowly shook his head. "Daughters remain six years old with pig tails and skinned knees forever." He affixed his gaze upon Solona, "Just make it quick. I can face the Maker knowing that Ferelden is in your hands." His words rang with sincerity.
And suddenly, Loghain was just a man. In Solona's mind he had been everything from a hero of legends, to the very archdemon itself. But never just a man. He knelt with eyes closed, and chest rising sharply with each breath; Solona could not help but see the traces of fear he tried so hard to hide. He was just a man - an old man - for whom his daughter now cried silently.
Solona drew her sword with shaking hands. This was the moment of which Zevran had warned: the moment when she would cut down a human with her own hands. In their brief training sessions, the elf had advised that it would not be the same as using magic. There was something entirely different about ending a life with a blade. The feel of piercing flesh. The reverberations of draining away a life. The first time, Zevran had cautioned, would cut her as deeply as it would cut her victim.
Solona's gazed drifted between Loghain's kneeling form, and Anora's silent tears. Her arm gave out and the tip of her sword fell to the ground. Solona turned away. "I can't. I can't do it," she whispered.
Alistair stepped forward. "I'll do it," he spoke firmly as he drew his sword. "I owe Duncan that."
With a flash of silver and a stream of crimson, it was over.
In the dining hall of Arl Eamon's Denerim estate, a clock ticked away with maddening pulses. The mage Warden and her companions sat in near silence, awaiting the return of Eamon and their future king.
The Landsmeet had concluded some hours earlier. Alistair was given the throne, and Anora was sent to fester in a tower. The Arl had urged Solona and her companions to return to his estate to rest; he and Alistair were to meet briefly with the nobles and join them presently.
For Solona, the seconds drew by as years. She had not managed to pull Alistair away from a private word following the Landsmeet. Her heart raced with anxiety; Solona needed Alistair to reassure her of their future.
Around her, Solona's companions were no more at ease. In the chair next to her, Leliana plucked at her lute tunelessly. Next to her, Wynne had produced a book and pretended to read. Oghren nursed a skin of some variety of ale. At a safe distance, Zevran tossed a dagger up and down, mindlessly. Meanwhile, Sten, Shale and Morrigan tried their very best to feign indifference; they failed.
The tedium was broke with a piercing crack as the hall's doors burst open and Alistair marched through. Solona's breath caught within her chest; he was suddenly very much a king. When she did manage to breathe once more, Solona scrambled to her lover. She wanted to fly into his arms and hear him say that everything was fine.
Alistair's arms shot out and he stopped her short of his embrace. "We need to talk," he said plainly.
Solona nodded, painfully aware of the eight sets of ears straining to hear their conversation.
"I don't question what you did or why you did it," he began. "You knew I didn't want to be king … but being king raises some questions about you and me."
The words stung Solona. What did he mean, what she had done? It was his choice to take the crown. It was his choice to kill Loghain. She had given him everything that he asked. The room seemed to shrink around them as Solona's heart quickened. "What sorts of questions?" she asked, not truly wanting to know the answer.
Alistair's tone softened as his kingly aura faded. "First, there is the fact that you and I are both Grey Wardens. It's not just a question of obligation, but of blood," he explained. "You know that Grey Wardens don't usually live to become old…" Alistair's voice trailed off. He swallowed hard. It was clear he did not want to say the words; his eyes begged for understanding.
Solona could feel what was coming. Sorrow and anguish began to boil within her stomach. No. She would not believe it until he said it. She loved him. She must fight for him. Solona lifted a soft hand to his cheek. "We don't have to grow old together, do we?" she whispered hopefully, a sad smile upon her lips.
Alistair pulled away from her touch. His eyes fell downwards, unable to meet her gaze. "Maybe not," he choked. "But that's not in the cards anyways… even more so, since my death is assured. That's assuming someone with the taint can, or even should, have a child."
Cold tears began to form in the corner of Solona's eyes. "I … I don't…" she tried to speak, but could not find the words. She was falling.
"Both of us have tainted blood. Both of us will die young. I will need to marry a wife that can bear a child and live to raise it." Alistair tried. His voice shook as though he, himself, could not believe his words. He took a sharp breath, and forced his eyes to meet hers. "I love you. More than I ever thought possible...but I have to face what this means. I can't run away from it anymore. I can see it being very hard to tear myself away from you. If this must be … then, I have to do it now. I'm sorry"
The tears now followed freely down Solona's cheeks. She wanted to fall to her knees and beg him to stay; didn't he realize that without him, she had nothing left? She had no home, no family, and without him, she would have no heart.
"Why do this now? Why not wait to see what happens" she asked, desperate for any chance. "We could die before this Blight is over."
Alistair shook his head. The sorrow written upon him only broke Solona's heart twice over. "If I don't end it now, I fear I will never be able to," he answered, voice hoarse and wavering. "I'm sorry, but I have no choice."
Solona gave a soft sob. "So this is it. It's over…"
"I think it is best. For both of us." Alistair replied.
"Don't do this, Alistair," she whispered.
"It has to be," he said, as he turned away. "I need to go to camp… be by myself for a while."
With that, the only man Solona had ever loved – the only man she would ever love – walked away. She dropped her knees with a strangled cry.
A low growl came from behind "Sodding nug humper…"
Solona flushed crimson. Her broken heart now had a companion: Humiliation. Her entire conversation with Alistair had taken place under the watchful eyes of their friends. In her self-pity, Solona had forgotten all about them. She turned her head to regard them. Some looked at her with sympathy. Some tried very hard not to look at her.
Solona looked up when she felt a hand upon her shoulder. "My dear..." Wynne began with a sad expression, "perhaps this is for the best…"
Leliana appeared silently at her side, and wrapped Solona in a crushing embrace. "You do not need a foolish man," she cooed. "You are strong and beautiful and -".
Solona broke away from the pair away and stumbled blindly towards the doors. She could not face them.
It was late evening when Solona finally reached their camp on the outskirts of Denerim. She had wandered the city's byways aimlessly as the sun had set, and somehow, she had ended up here. A full, silver moon now shone down upon her. In her pocket, a half dozen empty bottles quietly rattled in apprehension.
The camp was eerily empty, save for Alistair. He sat upon a fallen log next to a sickly fire; he was slumped forward, with head clutched in hands.
Solona approached him with shaking legs. "Alistair?" she questioned in a soft voice.
Alistair shot to his feet, drawing his blade in an instant. The tip sliced dangerously close to Solona's nose; the gush of air left her braids trembling.
Alistair's eyes widened in shock as he recognized his target. "Maker's breath," he choked, and dropped his sword. It landed with a rustling thud upon the grass behind him. Solona furled her brow; he was never so careless with his weapons. But that was just the start of it. His hair was tussled and his eyes were cracked red. She wrinkled her nose; his breath smelled of ale.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, finally.
Solona swallowed hard. Her heart quaked in broken pieces within, and yet, she was still not ready to give in. "I want to talk to you…" she began. "About us…"
Alistair rubbed a tired hand against his forehead. "I was pretty sure we already said everything that needed saying," he answered. His gaze remained downcast. He would not meet her eyes.
Duncan be damned. Didn't she deserve to be selfish, just once? Solona stepped forward until they almost touched. "I love you. I … I can't…Can you really end it?" she breathed. "Just like that?"
Anger suddenly overcame Alistair's expression. "You think this is easy for me? It isn't!" he barked. He let out a sigh, and forced himself to calm. "I love you. I'll always love you, but there are things that are more important than what I want. I wish it were otherwise." He stepped away from Solona, and slumped once more upon the log.
No. He loved her. No. She would not take this.
Solona kneeled before Alistair. Taking his hands in hers, she said "It doesn't have to be like that." She willed herself to be hopeful. "We have thirty years still. That is more time than either of us had with our parents. Cailan took the crown before he was thirty." She had no idea if this working. "You said you had never seen a female Warden. Maybe because we both are Tainted …" It was a foolish hope, and she knew it. "Please. We could try. We still have lots of time to raise a child."
Alistair shook his head. "I can't place the fate of all Ferelden on a 'maybe'. Please don't ask me to. Thinking about you is just too painful… and too tempting."
Tears had managed once more to escape in long trails down Solona's cheek. She was desperate now. "I don't need to be queen," she begged. "I don't need to be your wife. You could marry someone and … and have your heir. I just need to be with you."
"And what? Marry some poor woman, knock her up and then abandon her?" Alistair was fuming now. She was losing him. "Maker, Solona, you're asking to be my whore! My wife and child would deserve better than that."
"And what do I deserve?" she whispered.
He threw off her hands. "Bloody Andraste, what do you want me to say, Solona? You're a mage? You have the Taint? You're not of noble blood? You're probably barren? Any one of those is enough! We have a duty. We can't be together," he shouted.
It was a knife in her heart. Solona was defeated; she could neither fight nor beg anymore. She stood. "You're a coward," she choked. "If you were willing to fight - if you were truly willing to burn for it, we could be together – duty or not. But you're a coward." She turned and willed herself to disappear into the dark forest before she fell to pieces.
A/N: And that concludes the Landsmeet and its aftermath, which you all already know. Next chapter will be the march to Red Cliff and the final battle of Origins, which you also all know. And then in Chapter 4, finally, the real plot of this story can start. Huzzah.
I tried to get the dialogue to match the game more this time. I also added and removed some bits as I thought necessary. On that note, did anyone else find that fight Loghain as a mage was a bit … anticlimatic?
Edited: 12/12/14