Author's notes: Hello to all my readers, I'm glad you're still reading! To all my reviewers: you guys are spoiling me! Each and every one of your reviews mean so much to me!
Special thanks to my very efficient beta Epiphany sola Gratia!
He was walking to her room when he heard voices coming from the end of the hallway. One of the voices he recognized as Kallian's. The other he was less sure of, but it sounded like the queen. Curious, he took a couple more steps towards the door, listening. The queen was talking about Loghain, saying how he had been a good father and a great hero. There was a short silence after the queen was done talking, then Kallian spoke, her voice soft, respectful.
"I understand, Your Majesty. All fathers are heroes in the eyes of their children, but yours was a true one. Would you… permit me to speak of my own father?"
Silence followed, during which Alistair assumed the queen had nodded, because Kallian continued.
"When my mother died, my father was left alone with a daughter in his care. Times were tough, and he took whatever disgusting job he could find, often working double shifts for half the salary. Each night, when he got home, exhausted and sore all over, his first stop was always my room. I was waiting for him to come by, snuggled under the covers, pretending to sleep. He would always tell me a story."
Alistair heard the soft tenderness in her voice as she spoke of her father and his heart swelled with emotion. He couldn't bring himself to enter the room and interrupt, and he felt bad that he was spying on them but he couldn't help wanting to hear the rest.
"I would tell him that I was too old for bedtime stories but in truth I loved them. He told me stories about the Dalish and the dwarves, about handsome, charming princes and beautiful, kind princesses with long blonde hair and soft blue eyes. He told me stories about heroes of legends, nobles with hearts of gold and arms of steel that won battles and saved nations."
She laughed, then, a bitter, humourless chuckle.
"It doesn't take long for a young female elf living in the alienage to learn the true face of nobility, Your Majesty. We see clearly the monsters under the crowns, the beautiful hair and clothes. I had one true hero. When I had to leave him, my heart broke to pieces. I found him again, when the alienage gates reopened. He was in a cage, his hands and feet clasped in chains. He looked like he hadn't eaten in days."
Her voice broke and she breathed with difficulty.
"They were going to send him away, to Tevinter. A free citizen of Denerim and he was sold into slavery. My own father… Do you want to know, Your Majesty?" she asked, spitting out the title as if it was an insult. "Do you want to know who authorized this atrocity?"
Alistair was pretty sure he heard the soft voice of the queen murmured: "No…" then the sound of shuffling papers.
"Teyrn Loghain. Your father."
He heard a soft gasp.
"So you do what you need to do, Your Majesty. You can be assured that I will as well. Justice must be served, don't you agree?"
Kallian bumped into him in her rush to get out of the room. He caught her in his arms and pressed her lips to his in a passionate kiss.
"I'm so proud of you, love," he whispered in her ear.
"That… that was the bloody Queen of Ferelden, Alistair… Andraste's ass, I'm shaking like a leaf…"
"But you did it. You told her."
"Did you hear the whole thing?"
"Almost, I was looking for you." He let her go and took a step back. "Eamon wants to see you. The Landsmeet is about to begin."
She straightened her shoulders, looking back at him almost defiantly. Her expression hardened, her eyes became colder, determined.
"I'm ready."
She was magnificent.
He knew her so well. He could see in the set of her shoulders, in the tense lines around her mouth, how much it was costing her to just stand there under the scrutiny of the noble assembly. Her hands kept curling into fists, painfully uncurling before closing again, and he could tell it was all she could do to keep the rage from her voice as Loghain threw false accusations in her face. He was bursting with pride when she answered each one with her own accusations. Alistair tried not to laugh when Zevran caught the regent's eyes, throwing him a mocked salute and Loghain clenched his teeth in silent frustration. It was worth having kept the assassin around so long just for that glorious moment.
When Loghain accused her of kidnapping his daughter and the queen made her entrance, siding with them against her own father, he could see Kallian's eyes closed in relief. The vote was almost unanimous, only one noble siding with Loghain. Then the rules for the duel were set, and Kallian named him as her champion.
Loghain snorted, saying something about testing the future king. He didn't correct him. Loghain was going to die believing he had lost everything if he had anything to say about it. He was wearing Cailan's armour and holding Duncan's sword and shield. Justice could only be done. He never even thought he could lose.
When his sword came slicing down, decapitating the teyrn, he did not feel the relief and satisfaction he thought he would. He stood there, his sword dripping with blood, feeling utterly spent and oddly… empty. She came to his rescue again, discreetly putting a hand on his shoulder, making him step back and bringing his focus on the discussion.
Then she made Anora queen, and relief finally washed over him. It was all over.
"Did you see it? I opened the doors and people were all gasping and backing away. It was like an honour guard just for me! I felt like I was seven feet tall! Did you see?"
Eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed with excitement, Kallian was gesturing emphatically as she retold the events of the Landsmeet for what must have been at least the tenth time that day. She was walking backwards on the dusty road, facing him as they made their way to Redcliffe castle.
"Loghain was all, 'Orlais this!' and 'Wardens that!' and I was like, 'Oh yeah? Take that!' Did you see me?"
"I was there, love," Alistair reminded her patiently, unable to keep from smiling at her enthusiasm. "Although I have to admit I do not remember you gesticulating at him so."
The others had all reached the limits of their patience days ago and were now walking a short distance behind them, enjoying the small pleasures of discussing anything other than the Landsmeet. Not him. He could not tire of seeing her smile.
"Then I told him 'You sold the elves into slavery!' and people were gasping and mumbling and yelling 'What?' because everyone could see how terrible that was, right? And then, the nobles, they all agreed with me!" She burst out laughing and he laughed with her, "Did you hear them?"
He did, very well. He remembered that overwhelming sense of pride and joy when all of the assembled nobles sided one by one with the Wardens. Well, except for that one ugly bald guy with the squealing voice, but then again, who would have wanted that guy on their team, really?
"Then Arl Eamon asked, 'Who do you think should lead the country?' and I was all nonchalant and said, 'Oh, I think Anora should be queen,' and bam! Anora was queen! I put a queen on Ferelden's throne! Did you see?"
He wasn't about to admit that he didn't, in fact, see that. His eyes had been closed in sheer relief. What he did see seconds later though was Arl Eamon's face as Anora took the leading of the Landsmeet from him. Seeing his expression had been both utterly satisfying and downright scary. It held promises of numerous future, very unpleasant conversations, but right then, looking at Kallian's overjoyed face, Alistair found he didn't care. Let Eamon be angry.
"We did it, Alistair! That had to be the hardest thing ever and we did it and we even made it look easy! Nothing can stand in our way!" She was exulting.
"Well, there's still that little Blight thing with that small Archdemon leading it…"
She scoffed.
"Bah, killing stuff we're actually good at! Politics… bleh…" She continued walking backwards a couple of steps, her expression thoughtful for a while.
"When the Archdemon is dead, it's just you and me, Alistair. Can you picture it: you and me, together, happily ever after? The scrawny little elf from the alienage and her handsome prince are getting their happy ending. We could…"
They both stopped walking at the same time, looking at each other as the goofy smiles faded from their faces.
"Speaking of killing stuff…" Alistair murmured as Kallian yelled: "Darkspawn!"
They charged through the village and up the hill to the castle, eradicating darkspawn on the way. Alistair had to admit, not without a certain dose of smug pride, that they really were good at killing things, especially evil, tainted things, which boded well for the obligatory Archdemon slaying.
Inside the castle, the situation seemed no less dire, although maybe less immediate. Eamon was still glaring daggers at them but he found out he could quite easily ignore him, and it looked in fact like Kallian was not too bothered by it either.
Something was definitely different. They had both decided to go after their own desires and follow their hearts and somehow the world had not exploded around them. They had found out at the Landsmeet that Kallian's voice actually carried more weight than Eamon's in these difficult times, and the fact that Eamon didn't speak to them again about it just confirmed that the arl knew it too.
Something was different with Kallian too. She wasn't bowing anymore. Under the desperate scrutiny of the men looking at her for guidance she stood tall, her back straight and her chin up. Even Eamon lowered his eyes when her angry gaze fell on him at the news that Denerim was the real target of the darkspawn horde.
He was witnessing the making of a true hero and it made his heart burst with pride when she turned to him and her eyes widened for a second in excited joy at seeing all those powerful nobles hanging on her word. He felt privileged to be the one she chose, the one she loved. She was still that crazy little thing from Ostagar, and yet she had become so much more. He smiled softly to himself, knowing that tonight, when everyone would retire to get some sleep before the march on Denerim, he would be the one to hold her in his arms.
He was nervously turning the little wooden box over and over again in his hands. Yet again, he had something really important he needed to say to her, and yet again the timing could not have been more screwed up. That hadn't stopped him before, though… maybe that was their thing.
He extended his hand, handing the little box to an invisible Kallian in front of him.
"So, how about I make an honest girl… woman… elf… person out of y… no."
He breathed deeply.
"So, all of this time we've spent together… you know, the tragedy, the brushes with death, the constant battles with the whole Blight looming over us… huh… I feel like I've heard this before…"
He breathed again.
"Here. A ring. It's very shiny! Do you want it? Although I should tell you, the ring comes with… well, me."
That time, the breath sounded more like a sigh. He cleared his throat.
"Kallian Tabris, I love you. I can't live without you… You already know I would do anything for you. I want us to spend the rest of our lives together. I want nothing to stand in the way of our love, nothing that could separate us. So, would you maybe do me the honour of… um, maybe I should kneel here…"
He was about to get on one knee when he saw her coming around the corner. He hastily straightened up, hiding the little box inside his armour. She walked up to him, smiling.
"There you are!" he told her with a smile, taking her hand. "Let's go see what Riordan has to say."
He tried to remove his armour but found out that his hands were shaking too much to undo the buckles so he left it on, deciding to wait until she came back to help him. He just stood there by his bed, arms hanging by his sides, his brain having a very distressing discussion with itself.
One of them was going to die.
No, not necessarily. Riordan insisted on being the one to make the sacrifice.
But what if Riordan couldn't make it?
Riordan was a great Grey Warden: experienced.
Old.
Experienced! He knew Duncan. He knew what to do.
He wasn't even outside the castle to help the guards battle the handful of darkspawn that was attacking Redcliffe. Maybe his injuries were still hurting too much.
Riordan would kill the Archdemon.
But if he didn't…
Then… then Alistair would have to do it… and he would die.
Or she would.
Something was pressing uncomfortably on his heart and he plunged his hand under his breastplate to dislodge the distracting object.
A little wooden box in his hand… He closed his fist around it. He could not cry, not now. She was coming.
He turned his back on the door when he heard the knob turn, putting the box on the bedside table and taking a minute to get a hold of himself.
"I see you can't sleep either," he said, his back still to her, forcing his voice to take on a cheerful tone. He heard the door click shut, but she didn't answer him. He finally turned to face her and saw that she was pale as a ghost.
"I love you," she breathed softly. "You know that, right?"
"Could you make it sound more ominous?" Maker, it had never been that hard to smile. "What's going on?"
She walked up to him, slowly, her eyes boring into his, and all his fake levity evaporated. Something was wrong, even more wrong that he realized.
"Morrigan knows of a way that a Grey Warden can kill an Archdemon without dying and still prevent the beast from coming back. It's… a ritual. Old blood magic. She needs…"
"She needs what?" Alistair asked in a whisper, not daring to hope…
"She needs to have sex with you, to conceive a child."
He stared at her with eyes wide. Holy Maker, she was even worse at fake levity that he was.
"Cute," he tried. "That's payback, right, for all the jokes?"
She wasn't smiling at all, but it had to be a joke, right, because if it wasn't then she was really asking him to…
He fell to sitting on the bed, his knees giving out from under him.
"You're not actually asking me to…"
"No…" she said softly. "No!" she repeated, and her voice grew louder. "I… I can't! You're right, I'm sorry, I can't ask you to do this! I can't tell you to go in there and let her… touch you and use you like you're some kind of… thing, a mere means to an end… to be touched by her even… even if you despise her, to have her force her tongue in your mouth, her hand on your…" she stopped and bit her lip, tears brimming in her eyes, and he felt his heart sink when he realized what she was saying.
"You… you told me it wasn't that bad," he whispered. She looked up at him as her tears started falling silently, and his ears rang as loud as if she had actually said the words.
She had lied.
"I'm sorry. I'll go tell her," she breathed, walking backwards to the door and slipping out.
He sat there stunned for a while, his brain at war with itself on a completely different subject than before.
His decision reached, he was on his feet and out the door… where he got rammed into by a wolf, of all things, smack in the middle of a hallway in Redcliffe castle, hard enough to send him to the floor. In a second he was lying on his back with an armful of dishevelled and very pissed Morrigan.
"Out of my way, you fool!"
"Shut up."
He got on his feet and helped her up, then pointed to his bedchamber.
"Get in there… and keep shutting up."
Denerim reeked.
The city was still standing, but barely. Raging fires were burning everywhere and shouts of terror and pain could be heard over the noise of crackling flames and collapsing buildings. Above them, the gigantic, purple form of the Archdemon circled relentlessly, its shadow gliding ominously across the empty streets.
The smell was the worst part of it, though. A nauseating mix of burned hair, rotting flesh and darkspawn blood floated everywhere, along with a black, thick smoke.
They fought their way through impossible horrors, from the market to the alienage, killing ogres and generals and whatever monster the Archdemon cared to throw at them. They both raised their heads at the Archdemon's deafening roar, just in time to see Riordan plunge to his death, the wounded beast crashing on top of Fort Drakon. A single look was exchanged between them, heavy with meaning.
She knew, of course, that he had participated in the ritual. The second thing he did after throwing the witch out of his room was run to her and tell her everything. The first thing was take a very hot bath, scrubbing his skin until he saw blood.
Their lives now depended on whether or not Morrigan had really been truthful with them… and whether or not Flemeth had been truthful with Morrigan.
That is, unless the Archdemon just stomped on them or something.
"Stop!" he yelled, catching her by the arm before she could start running.
"What?"
"I'm not letting you do this! Let me make the final blow!"
"In your freaking dreams you will!" she yelled back over the roar of battle, wiping the blood from her face.
"Kallian please! I can't bear the thought of seeing you dead!"
"What about me? You think it's easier the other way around?" She tried to shake her arm free but his grip was rock solid.
"Kallian Tabris, I love you! I can't live without you! You already know I would do anything for you!"
Her gaze locked onto his. Around them, the battle was raging, but their dwarven allies were keeping the darkspawn at bay. The Archdemon was struggling to get back up, its short arms clawing at the ground.
"So there's no changing your mind about this?" she yelled, her expression strangely calm.
"No!"
She sighed. "Very well, then."
She punched him, square in the jaw, so hard he saw stars.
That crazy little thing… He never could see her coming.
By the time he could see straight again, she was already rushing to the Archdemon, sliding on one knee to slice its throat open. She got back on her feet, both hands clamped on her sword hilt, and she shoved the blade into the Archdemon's head. The world exploded into light and he was knocked on his back, stunned.
"She's flying," he thought confusedly as the strength of the explosion blew her away, letting her land a few feet from him, her body torn and limp - unmoving.
-oOo-
She doesn't wake up. He's shaking her, calling her name, but she doesn't wake up. All around them, the white light continues to shine, forming a blinding pillar that reaches to the sky. Confusedly, above the noise of battle, he hears the horns, trumpets and drums of war, calling for the troops to regroup and pursue the fleeing darkspawn.
So here they are at last, the thundering music, the shining white light. Here they are, the signs he has been waiting for, announcing his love for her to the world. They're here now, now that she is taken from him, now that she is dying.
They say your whole life flashes before your eyes when you die. How is it, then, that as she lay dying, it is him that is remembering all of the little moments that composed their life together?
"You promised me," he whispers in her ear, holding her tight against his chest. "You promised me a happy ending. You promised me ever after."
"Damn… straight…"
His eyes opened, searching her face frantically. Did she just talk?
"Alistair… love…" Her hand finds his face, her fingers caress his cheek, moving upward.
She's talking. She's talking!
"Yes, my dear?" he asks, feelings of joy and relief washing over him. Her fingers find his eyes then move upward still.
"Are you… a healer?"
"No, no, of course not, my love," he says, surprised. Did she hit her head too hard?
She smacks him on the forehead.
"Then go… get… Wynne… you… stup…"
Her hand slides down as she falls unconscious again.
"Wynne!" He yells at the top of his lungs in a powerful, exulting roar. "She's alive!"
-oOo-
Author's notes: No, it's not over! One more chapter to go!