Chapter 6: The Hard Place
Alistair released the breath he had not realized he was holding. With it, his very last embers of anxiety and strain extinguished themselves, leaving only a fulfilled sense of calm within him.
Life had not been easy for the former Grey Warden. Growing up unwanted - a burden - had left him hollow for too many dark years. Too often he had thought the tides of his fortunes changing, only to be left bitterly disappointed. The very worst of it had almost cost Alistair his wife and child.
Alistair smiled, things were right now. He watched his children frolic about with Daro, the great mutt, laughing and chattering with their sweet innocence. His eldest, Duncan, would be six soon and what a strapping young lad he was turning into. Alistair had presented the boy with a wooden practice sword a few months ago and had struggled to maintain a stern repose when his son's eyes lit up with excitement.
Trailing slightly behind, as she wove a flower crown for the mabari, was Wynne, his little angel. She was barely four and had already managed to secure Alistair firmly about her little finger; her slightest smile was all it took to set him aglow. She was strong-willed and clever - the very splitting image of her mother...
Her mother...
From her position, tucked under his arm at his side, Solona turned to smile up at him. She was radiant. No. Radiant was an insult. She was something much more - far surpassing Breathtaking and leaving Divine trampled in the dust. And somehow, against all the faithless odds of the universe, she was his wife. The mother of his children. The keeper of his heart. The other half of his soul.
They shared a quiet life away in the rolling country hills, far away from demands of Denerim. They were no longer Wardens, mages, kings or otherwise. Here, in the bright afternoon sun, they were simply Man and Wife. Mother and Father. It was everything Alistair had ever wanted. It was everything Alistair had always ... deserved.
Deserved.
A chill stabbed through Alistair's heart as the sky darkened. His gaze shot back to the field; his children had vanished. He scanned the horizon too panicked to move, as the lush green hills began to crumble to ash. The corners of Alistair's vision fluttered and faded as his world began to disappear.
Swallowing down the fear in his throat, Alistair turned back to his wife. The sight that awaited him choked him once more: Solona's glow was gone, leaving only a dull husk of a woman. She was ashen, sickly, and dying before his very eyes.
"What do I deserve?" she asked him finally, cold and aching. "What do I deserve?"
With a start and a yelp, Alistair awoke as he landed unceremoniously on the floor. After a moment as a muddled heap of limbs, understanding began to flow back to the templar. Dreams. He wanted to spit at the notion. Apparently the Fade felt it necessary to be extra cruel as of late.
Of course, there was no happy family in a hilly paradise awaiting Alistair. Solona remained in the unending sleep that had befallen her a few weeks before. The mages told Alistair she was "stable", but as the Warden soon came to understand, "stable" had two meanings. Yes, she was not getting any worse: the mages no longer had to force her every breath and her external wounds seemed to be healing. However, Solona was not getting any better either. Her coma could not be broken by any combination of magic, medicine or alchemy they had tried.
To top off all matters, there was the child to consider now too. The thought almost brought the slightest of smiles to Alistair's lips as he knelt back down next to Solona's bed. He was going to be a father. It was wonderful and terrifying and absurd all at once. If had he known of his child a month ago, Alistair would have married his beloved on the spot and then shipped her off somewhere far away where she and the baby could be safe. Instead, he had effectively told his sweet lady to bugger off and then let her die. Oh, and to top it off, he had called her unworthy of being his whore.
Yes, his family skills were phenomenal already.
With Solona's condition now stable - for all the good and bad that it entailed - the constant stream of mages in and out of the chamber had dropped off. In fact, only a handful of Wynne's favourite students still remained in Denerim. Where once he was forced to pace the cold halls outside, Alistair was now welcome to spend long private hours at his beloved's side. Private-ish anyways; Daro lay upon a carpet near the fire, shooting dagger glares at Alistair.
With the gentlest of touches, Alistair took Solona's pale hand in his own and placed a soft kiss upon it. "It's a mess, Sol. I've fouled it all up," he sighed to his lover's sleeping form. He lifted her hand to place it upon his cheek, as she had a thousand times before. "But I'm going to make it right, my love. I swear. I'm going to make this right." Together with their child, they would have a Happy Ending.
A slight cough caused him to spin around. Leliana and Wynne stood with awkward smiles at the doorway. How had he not heard them come in?
"Alistair, what have I said about letting her rest?" Wynne admonished.
The future king of Ferelden could only frown and shake his head at the motherly scolding. Wynne could complain all she liked, but there was no way in the Maker's Thedas that Alistair was going to stop holding Solona's hand.
"At least you've both learned to stay off the bed," the mage sighed, giving Daro a pointed glance.
The mabari rose and gave Wynne an indignant snort. With a shake that started at the tip of his nose and travelled down to the end of his tail, Daro stretched and wandered over to Solona. He was a practical companion. The mabari knew that - intense loyalty or not - there was no point in wasting away at his Master's side. Instead, as always, he had a job to do. With a quick lick at Solona's hand to tell her that he would return shortly, Daro trotted out of the chamber to perform his rounds, find some food and mark a tree or two.
Leliana fidgeted under the uncomfortable silence that followed the dog's departure. "I was going to sing to Solona for a while ..." she said, holding out her lute.
It was subtle, but Alistair could hear the uncertainty in her words; she was asking his permission. "Yes, of course," he replied, backing away to one of the many scattered chairs.
The bard glided to the far side of the bed and positioned herself in the overstuffed chaise waiting there. With a graceful flick, she strummed the strings once to test the tuning and then began her song.
Little Sparrow, little Sparrow,
Won't you please come home?
Your children are crying,
Your nest has gone cold.
Oh Little Sparrow, Little Sparrow,
Won't you please come home?
Alistair watched as Wynne bent over his sleeping lover and carefully poured the contents of a blue vial down her throat. Lyrium. Even in sleep, Solona's body demanded a constant supply. In the first few days following the defeat of the Archdemon, Solona had frequent fits. She would twist and twitch and moan in her sleep; her violent movements threatening to do herself an injury. It shamed them all how long it took to realize the cause; no one had believed her to be that dependent upon the blue poison.
So now Solona was dosed with lyrium twice a day. It made Alistair sick to watch it. They had driven her to it - the frequent battles, their petty requests, and the constant dependency upon her magic. If he had been even half a worthy lover, he would have stopped this from ever happening. He should have paid better attention to the signs. Maker knew that as a templar he had seen his fair share of lyrium withdraw. Yet he had been a selfish fool, too preoccupied by the heady joy of love and sex to notice his lover drowning herself.
Alistair sighed. This too would be fixed. If Solona ever awoke, he would get her off the lyrium by whatever means necessary.
Little Sparrow, little Sparrow,
Won't you please come home?
Your song grows silent,
Your tears fall alone.
Oh Little Sparrow, Little Sparrow,
Won't you please come home?
A hand upon his should startled Alistair back to the present.
"Alistair," Wynne began. "We should have a word outside."
He gave a weary nod and led the mage into an adjoining room. A quick survey revealed it to be empty, leaving Alistair alone with Wynne and ready for whatever scolding she had prepared for him.
"The lyrium is a problem," she stated plainly.
Alistair nodded. They had been over this before.
The old mage shook her head. "Perhaps you should sit down, my boy," she said.
With a deep sigh, Alistair fell into a chair. "Oh. What a relief. I thought you were actually going to give me some good news or something."
"I'm afraid we're still far away from that," Wynne lamented as she drew her own seat forward. She cleared her throat and began again. "The lyrium is a problem. My students have been doing some research - you must understand there is very little studied on this matter." She paused to take in a deep breath. "For Solona alone, it would be ... an inconvenience to her recovery." Wynne looked up to meet Alistair's gaze. It was not fair to keep piling the bad news upon the poor boy.
"But ... ?"
"But, for an unborn child exposed to lyrium for too long," she faltered. "The outlook is not promising."
Alistair let his head fall. Just like that, any hope of a distant Happy Ending vanished.
"It's not certain though - it's much too hard to predict," Wynne continued.
With a hollow voice, Alistair choked the words: "How bad?"
Wynne furled her brows. This was all so wrong. She wanted to spare the boy the pain of it all. She wanted to pull him into a mother's embrace and promise him that everything would be fine in the morning. Yet Alistair deserved the truth, even at the cost of the pain it would bring him.
"I - I cannot say for certain," she began. "If we keep supplying the lyrium for another month or so... it will not survive."
Alistair nodded without looking up. He had somehow been expecting that answer. "In the worst case?" he managed.
"It's too hard to say, Alistair. There are simply too many factors to consider, and -"
Alistair cut her off, "Please, Wynne."
The old mage swallowed. Yes, he deserved the truth. "We'll lose them both," she replied simply.
Alistair nodded again. I'm sorry Solona.
"But..." Wynne began again, uncertain if the boy was even still listening. "Alistair, we have options."
He snapped. "Bloody Andraste, Wynne, just say it. Just say all of it," Alistair shouted.
Wynne made to stand for a moment. She wanted to smack the boy across the ears for his outbursts. Didn't he realize this was hard for everyone? Didn't he realize this pained her too? Didn't he realize ... she stopped herself. She was much too old to snap at someone in agony. With a deep sigh, she explained it all at once. "We have three options. We can continue on as we are now, and sacrifice the health of the child. We can stop giving Solona lyrium, with considerable risk both their safeties."
Alistair nodded, recalling Solona's first distressing days after the Archdemon.
"Or we can sever Solona's tie with the Fade to ensure the safety of the child."
Alistair lifted for a moment. "What happens if we go with the third option?"
In an instant, Wynne regretted ever saying it. But no, she had decided upon the truth. "All the problems with lyrium stem from the Fade. The only way to truly cure lyrium addiction is to move the patient into space barred from the Fade. We had such a place in the Circle Tower, and I believe there is one here in the palace dungeons. If you place the addict in such a chamber and deny them lyrium, they will not grapple with the Veil; they will recover with their senses intact."
Alistair's nervous laugh broke Wynne's words. "Maker's Breathe, Wynne, why didn't you just say that from the start?"
Wynne held up her hand to silence him. There was much more to be said. "Right now, Solona is walking in the Fade. If we move her to such place, it will destroy her path out of it."
Alistair shook his head. He did not understand.
"She will never wake-up."
Alistair stood with such force it knocked the chair behind him over. With a sharp breath, he turned away from Wynne with fists clenched at his sides. Solona's disdain for the Maker was finally beginning to make sense. How heartless would his god have to be to show him a future of love and family, and then wrench it all away? He wanted to punch something. Wreck something. Break everything in the blasted room.
"What are you going to do?" he asked at last without turning.
The mage gave a hollow laugh. "I will do whatever you ask me to do," she said. "It has to be you that decides." Her wrinkled brows grew soft for a moment. "Solona would want it to be you."
The question should have troubled Alistair. It should have agonized him for weeks to come and then, having finally made a decision, drowned him with regret. It should have at least taken him a moment to decide.
But it did not.
"Make Solona well. No matter what."
Solona let herself drop awkwardly onto her bottom with a sigh. She was exhausted. The Fade was exhausting.
She had long since given up trying to true guess the passage of time. When the question would inevitably creep into her mind, she would silence it again with a single thought: Forever.
As she journeyed onwards towards the Black City, Solona talked to the child. At first to keep from going mad, then later since she was definitely already mad. She told the babe of her life within the Tower, and how she was quite certain that sooner or later, at some point before the end of Time, she would come to miss it.
Solona then carried on with stories of her quests as a Grey Warden. The tales spun her through the highs and lows of emotions again and again. Sometimes she would even manage a laugh when relaying a story of Zevran's or Oghren's antics. Often she would vent and shout at the ridiculousness of it all: the petty squabbles, the fool's errands, the secrets that somehow everyone in the bloody Thedas save her seemed to already know.
Yet, mostly, Solona avoided Alistair. She censored her every thought before allowing its broadcast. For all that his memory burned in the centre of her heart, Solona was certain that the only way to tolerate Eternity was to forget Alistair. Forget him and perhaps one day she could cast off his memory as easily as he had cast off their love.
Solona sighed as she gathered a handful of the Fade's sickly brown weeds within her hand. "It's all garbage anyways," she told the child. "I'm never going to reach the Black City. I'm never going to forget him and ..." She held the child up to her eyes. As always, it cooed and blinked at her with eyes like dawn's first light. "And you," she admitted, "Are never going to care."
We care.
In an instant Solona leapt to her feet with the child clutched to her chest. She spun around with a flourish of tattered robes to face a pair of Desire Demons looming behind her.
Together they wafted in the ether like violet mirages. Their black eyes shone liquid bright against the grey sky. Warm smiles hid serrated teeth. We care so much for you, the demons called to her, reaching out with barbed talons.
Solona screamed at herself for being such a fool. How had she not noticed them coming? Had she become so petty in her pity that demons could just waltz up and sink their claws into her spine?
We want you to be happy, they sang. Let us give you Joy.
Solona shook herself back to her senses. This was good. This was different. This was going to be fun. She secured the child back into its sling. With a smile, she held both her palms towards the grey sky before her. "Let me give you fire," she taunted back to the demons as flames poured forth from her hands.
We wish you no harm. Give us the child and we will give you Happiness.
"What?" The flames in Solona's hands faltered. Why in Bloody Andaste's name would they want the child?
Give us the babe. It is a burden to carry. Carry Pleasure instead.
"No."
The demons grew black, and then tall. We will take it from you, they warned.
Solona gave a cold laugh. With barely a flick of the wrist, she began to channel the fury of the Elements and the very essence of the Fade into her core. "You must be joking," she called back, as lightning began to cackle about her.
Give it to us and we will spare you.
"Are you blind?" Solona laughed. "I'll destroy you!"
Not them. In unison, the demons lifted a spiny claw and pointed far off to Solona's right.
Never trust a demon. It was a simple enough rule, and yet the most paramount lesson taught to any Circle mage. Demons lie. One must be a fool to trust a demon. It was that simple.
And yet it was not that simple - for only a fool would not look.
Solona's eyes darted to her right. Her stomach dropped; in the distance a great mass of black and red poured over the horizon. Demons. Thousands of them, of every variety. And they were coming straight for her.
There was no more time to waste. Dust clouded the air as Solona sent flames and lightening swirling towards the Desire Demons. There as brief chorus of shrieks as they crumbled to ash, banished back to wherever demons spawned.
And then, Solona ran.
A/N: What I had originally planned for this chapter had to be split up into 3 (maybe 4) chapters. Translation: I'm bad at estimating lengths.
I also just realized that although I have had this plot worked out in my head for many months now, that you, the reader, do not yet know what this story is going to be about. So here a better hint. It's mainly going to be about ending the Taint once and for all, with some Old Gods, revelations and condemnations mixed-in … which of course doesn't tell you anything really, but makes me feel better. Hurray.