Chapter Three

The breeze had turned silent and held its breath. A solitary crow cawed some distance off; then thought better of it and disappeared into the white skies, perhaps sensing the tension within its radius. Sereda was staring in front of her as though she had been turned into an alabaster statue, her feet seeming to weld themselves into the ground and force her still. The blue pupils set above a red gash still fresh from the ogre's nails grew dilated, glossy as a doll's. Silently, she watched as the man in front of her dropped the wares he was holding and took a step forward, eyes fixed on her with the intensity of burning coals within the Deep Roads.

"I knew you survived," he said, his voice low and deep. "I never stopped believing it. And neither did your father. Before I left for the surface, King Endrin sent for me. It was almost more than I could endure, seeing him so." Sereda felt her body tremble. Echoes from the past, names she hadn't heard from another's lips for so long. Father. King Endrin. And the man whose image she had clenched within her heart for so long…standing before her at long last. She wrapped her arms around herself; her body had begun to shiver. She had waited so long, prayed to her ancestors for respite till her words bled into one another from repetition. But now that she was within it, it overwhelmed her: the moment had grown and become larger than she could fathom. Images flashed through her mind as though she were watching them in front of her, memories from a more generous time. A man, a brave warrior who bowed to her, not out of fear but love. His eyes had twinkled as they stood before others in public and spoke to one another formally; theirs were the secrets of moonlight, warmth, and ancestral stone carved into the darkness by willing smiths. As Sereda stood before him now, she wanted to cry, to fall at his feet and allow all the pain she had felt to flow into the earth, quenching its thirst and releasing her from hers. But somehow she found she couldn't move or even speak. Perhaps this was a dream. A cruel dream. Not unlike many others she had endured in the rare times her body had fallen by mere exhaustion and slept, restless and unsettled.

"King Endrin…it was as though he were long dead and rotten, and now merely an empty husk, collapsing in on itself. He could not even rise from his bed, and the room stank of decay," Gorim said slowly, focused on a point above her head. The clouds shifted past languidly. Almost mocking in their indifference. He paused, eyes scrunching closed as though in great agony. Opened. Impassive. A veil lay over those eyes, one Sereda knew well.

"He asked me…to give you the Shield of Aeducan," Gorim continued. "And this letter." Sereda tilted her head. The world spun round her and she watched, as though merely an observer. Somewhere beside her, two noblewomen laughed about the mishaps of a particularly inept maid. A child ran with his dog, encouraging it to master the trick of jumping on command. The seller behind her said something about swords that she didn't quite catch. Words flit through her mind, but they were fragmented and muddled. There was an odd almost theatrical feel to the encounter as if she were in a play and needed to act her part, but the words had been read far too long ago and all the lines forgotten and unfamiliar.

"The shield…I had almost forgotten about it," she finally said, her voice sounding strange and tinny to her ears. Behind her, she heard the footsteps of her approaching companions. Judging by the sound, they had stopped some distance back and were now watching silently. In front of her, Gorim's face remained expressionless.

"I have carried them with me since I left Orzammar. As angry as I once was with the king, when I saw him that final time…I pitied him. His eyes have haunted me since. If it were possible for a man to die of regret, I think King Endrin did." Gorim exhaled and a glimmer of sadness stole into his gaze. It vanished again in a flash and Sereda wondered whether she had imagined it. It was all so strange. Gorim's words seemed so far away and rehearsed. Sereda felt her insides churning; she knew that blank look he wore. She almost smiled bitterly, remembering the all too many times one of her brothers had said something insulting to Gorim and his face had turned to stone, masking the turmoil beneath. Or when she would tell him she would sooner die than marry another. The same expression, shrouded and hard, a cloak of shadows behind which dwelled wells of emotion.

There was something amiss. Sereda looked at Gorim, frowning slightly. She had always been able to read him during the days of old, back when they knew each other's every thought. For the first time she felt distance between them. The empty space, not spanning more than a foot physically, but as divisive as the walls between the Diamond Quarter and Orzammar Commons. Why did he look so severe, now that everything was to be bearable again?

"But…we shouldn't dwell on the past," he said, interrupting her thoughts. His voice had the barest hint of a quiver. "I can hardly tell you how good it is to see you alive."

"I thought I'd never see you again," Sereda said, voice barely a whisper. She felt a lone tear stain her cheek and ducked her head quickly, pretending to brush away tendrils of her hair. Gorim's eyes turned black and his jaw set itself into a hard line.

"But now you shall rejoin me as my second and everything will be better…won't it?" Sereda asked. She felt as though she were painfully young once more, every sinew of her body vulnerable and pleading.

"I was injured in my travels here. My leg healed crooked and I will never fight again," Gorim said, his voice casual. Too casual. Sereda controlled herself. She wanted to say that she was sorry, that she had missed him desperately, that she would do her best to make sure he was healed. But something told her to wait, to be silent. The air had turned poisonous, viscous and purplish-blue. Something was profoundly wrong. She did not have to wait long; it came swiftly. Sharp. As a knife slicing through the body of an enemy, cold and detached.

"I have a new life now. I married into a surface family. My wife is lovely and her father is the best smith in Denerim. We're…expecting our firstborn before the spring," Gorim said. His tone was nonchalant, as though he were commenting on the weather and oh, wouldn't it be lovely if they had a spot of rain? No. No, this wasn't possible. The ancestors wouldn't be so merciless as to add such weight to her burden. She was suddenly aware of her wounds throbbing and when her fingers grazed her sides, she felt the light dripping of blood. Slowly, she put pressure on the area, wanting to feel the pain, to make sure she was awake, alive, still within her senses. The agony intensified. A part of her screamed at her to run and flee away from this nightmare. But the other part—the part she had locked away hoping to one day allow it to rejoin her, were she to be reunited with her heart—wanted to stay, to beg to know why, to beseech him to remember the vow he had uttered to love her forever.

"But…what about us?" she heard herself saying. The earth was sinking and she almost smiled. She would know oblivion soon. Gorim had turned his head downwards, his expression no longer visible.

"Even in Orzammar, we both knew it couldn't last. I was honored by the time we shared, but…you are a princess. I'm not even a warrior anymore." Almost to himself, he softly whispered, "You are a princess." Sereda knew then that she had to leave. She had to leave before she lost all control of her senses. Rage coursed through her like white fire, and she was spent.

"You jerk," she growled, voice quivering, "I hope you and your ugly wife rot together." As she turned around, she heard him behind her, apologizing, saying that he had never meant to hurt her, asking for her forgiveness. Words. Mere words. Meaningless and futile. Forgiveness? She almost wanted to laugh. Laugh till hysteria took hold of her. Forgiveness. What was forgiveness when compared to the sanctity she had preserved their love within, in a place she only kept her prayers and worship for the ancestors and Paragons. What was forgiveness compared to desperate longing. She had nothing more left to give; how, then, could she pardon him? She took two steps forward, eyes rising to meet those of her companions for a moment. They all seemed stunned into silence. Alistair moved forward, his eyes questioning. She closed her eyes, giving the barest of nods. Without a word, he moved forward and grasped her around the shoulders, leading her away.

...

Sereda sunk her hands into the earth, feeling the moist dirt clench and then release her fingers. The evening was calm, crisp winds making their way through the skies. Her companions had left her alone after they struck up camp. They had walked to the outskirts of Denerim, away from the main marketplace area, and had put up their tents in a clearing near the forests. Noiselessly, Alistair walked up to her and sat down, cross legged, next to her.

"That was Gorim," he said. It was a statement, not a question. She mutely nodded.

"I'm…sorry." They fell into silence for several moments. Sereda traced figures into the dirt, then spread them apart, blowing the pieces away into the wind.

"The others…will perhaps ask questions." He hesitated. "If…if you wouldn't mind too terribly, it may be best to tell them too. I won't, of course, if you'd rather I didn't." Sereda nodded. As quietly as possible, he pushed himself up and walked away. Sereda slowly smeared her hands with the dirt. What did it matter who knew now? Not now, now that the sky had turned red and unfamiliar, and her heart to the dust that gathered on warriors' graves long forgotten. Her father had died of sorrow, and now she would too. One corner of her mouth turned up, twisting her face. She had always been her father's daughter.

She felt the weight on her back and reached over her shoulder. The weight transferred to her palm and she heaved down the Shield of Aeducan in front of her. Her mud stained fingers traced the shield lovingly, as a mother would a child. It was beautiful, etched in grey and emerald and brown. The pride and burden of her lineage. She brought her head down and rested it upon the shield, feeling its presence. Within it she was not Sereda, broken and defeated, but a young girl dancing through courtyards and merchant quarters, with crinkled eyes and laughter flowing like the butter ale she and Gorim had sometimes sneaked from the local tavern, sonorous and carefree. She was a woman who had defiantly pulled the man she loved to her in a much frequented palace corridor and closed her eyes as their lips touched, his embrace branding her body. And she was still innocent, with a heart pure and open, believing that things would work themselves out for the best if she meant no ill will for others. Her shoulders shook. So far had she come since then. So many scars. Visible and hidden. Her body would break before long and perhaps that was for the best. Alistair was stronger than he let others realize. He would make a good leader when the time called upon him to do so. He did not need her. They did not need her. She was slipping already, becoming a burden. She must walk away before she allowed her companions to suffer for her regrets.

...

The night was dark, save for slivers of starlight; perfect for her intentions. With a firm hand, she forced herself to write a note for her companions.

My esteemed friends,

Forgive me, but I must leave. I am no longer of value to our cause and fear my presence shall thrust the rest of you into harm's way. My mind is fleeing my grasp, and I cannot speak for my stability.

I shall travel to Orzammar where perhaps they will allow their wretched princess of late entry so that she may go to the Deep Roads where she was meant to die long ago. I have cheated death, and this is my punishment.

If you shall accept one last missive from your elected leader, please accept Alistair in my place. He is strong, kind, and intelligent; he will make an excellent leader if called upon to be. As for you, Alistair, I beseech you to accept the mantle and burden I leave for you and bear it better than I.

Zevran, you are perhaps the only person I have ever been glad to have been almost assassinated by. You are more compassionate than you wish others to believe, and far more thoughtful. May your life be filled with as much pleasure as this transient life permits.

Leliana, sweet Leliana, may your melodies traverse to the far reaches of the earth into lands that need peace and healing. You have a beautiful soul.

Please tell the others I wish all my ancestors' blessings upon them.

My best wishes be with you all,

Sereda

Silently she reached behind her neck and unclasped the Warden's Oath amulet she wore round it always as a reminder of her promise. She let it rest in her hands for a long moment, feeling each thread and its clasp onto the next. Her hands caressing the amulet, she placed it on top of the note, setting both in the center of her tent. Pushing herself up, she swung the backpack she had prepared over her shoulders and walked out her tent, letting its folds close behind her. She allowed herself one last look. The quiet tents. The gently burning fire, slowly dying out. The water flask and the injury kits Alistair had left nearby in case her wounds should worsen. She exhaled, almost smiling. Turning around, she walked towards the trees and opening her arms, let the shadows claim her.

...

Author's Note: Just thought I'd mention that this is by no means the end of the story, though it may seem like it! And many thanks to everyone who has reviewed/supported my little endeavor thus far, I really appreciate it.