Chapter 44: Of Kisses and Keys
Alistair / Ser Sellose
Once again I found myself in the company of my doppelganger in the Fade. Instead of the throne room of Denerim, we were in what I perceived to be a fine hall, though I could hardly tell, for the room was enveloped in a thick mist. The only thing that indicated that we were in a hall was the fact that he and I sat at opposite ends of a long, ornate table. The table looked to be set for a feast and two candelabras had long white candles ablaze, but the brightness of their light did nothing to ease the thickness of the mist that obscured all else.
I sat glaring at him, displeased to be here once again, while he looked mildly uncomfortable and slightly sad, even from the other end of the table. He sat with his elbows resting on the table edge, his index fingers steepled next to his lips as he sat regarding me in silence.
In our time together I had become accustomed to his incessant nattering and I found myself becoming impatient with his silence, and I spat, "Well, get on with it…what would you have of me this time?"
Regardless of my urging, he continued to sit in silence, as if considering what he was about to say very carefully and I was forced to wait and endure. The whole situation was quite maddening, with not even a tune to break the spell of forced quiet. I would have given anything for a shriek or a tune, even the clatter of armor.
"Damn, where are the darkspawn when I need them?" I thought to myself, refraining from speaking the words aloud.
"Be careful what you wish for," my doppelganger chided, seeming in response to my random musing.
"Oh, are you reading my thoughts now?" I sneered impatiently.
He shook his head wearily, "They are my thoughts too, or have you forgotten that I am you?"
"You are not me, I am me!"
"You are so damn stubborn," he huffed, bemoaning my behavior, "and why quibble over my silence now? You have kept me silent for so long, I assumed you preferred it that way."
"Stop toying with me!" I demanded, standing up quickly from where I sat and slammed my fist against the table.
He too got up and mirrored my stance, refraining from slamming his fist against the table as I had done, though he looked frustrated enough to do the same. He growled, "I have no desire to toy with you or anyone. In fact, I am on the verge of abandoning you completely and being done with this whole business. You are unhappy without me, you are unhappy with me…you cannot seem to make up your damn mind! It is not easy being the heart of someone who is striving to turn themselves into a heartless bastard!"
"I was already a bastard, what does it matter if I have a heart?" I growled.
"So that is it, then," he nodded, "you want to be heartless. You want to give up everything and just exist in a tepid reality with nothing to bring you joy or pain, truly?"
"You are asking this of a man who has just seen a woman hanged, who has watched the people he loved suffer, who was never loved by any until…."the words trailed off as I felt tears stinging in my eyes and hastily tried to wipe them away with the back of my hand.
"You reason it is better to feel nothing, then?" he inquired, his voice softening slightly.
"It would be better to feel nothing. It would be better to live heartless and avoid the pain and disappointment that I have suffered. It would be better to cease longing for a soft word, a gentle hand, a scrap of joy that people are so reluctant to offer." I whispered brokenly.
"Then tell me, oh King," the doppelganger needled, "when I have abandoned you as you seem so insistent to abandon me, what will prevent you from becoming like Ser Manning? What will prevent you from performing such outrages in the name of piety as he has committed?"
I shook my head violently, "I would not become like Manning. I know what honor is. I know the difference between right and wrong. I would not hurt people."
"That is easily spoken by a man who is still in possession of a heart," he taunted, "for the heart tempers the bent of honor and balances justice. Mercy lives within the heart, Alistair. Could you be a good king without it?"
"Of course," I scoffed, but I was suddenly unsure.
The doppelganger rubbed a hand against his chin, "Have you so soon forgotten another man who followed his own honor over his heart?"
"Of whom do you speak?" The question was reluctant, confused for I truly had no idea of whom my companion referred.
"Loghain!" The doppelganger hissed the name and made a face as if it were rancid meat that he would prefer to spit from his mouth, "For honor Loghain abandoned his king and the Wardens to die. He reasoned that it would be better for this country to fight the darkspawn alone than allow the help of the Orlesians, spurning the aid of the Wardens, oblivious of how necessary we truly were. He too had been lowly, he too had been raised to a position of power, he too had lost friends and struggled alone to do what he felt his honor dictated. What will prevent you from becoming as he?"
"I will never be Loghain!" I bellowed, slamming my fist against the table again for emphasis.
"But what will prevent it?" he questioned again, "When your heart is gone and you have nothing to guide your senses of honor and justice, what will keep you in balance?"
"I will never be Loghain!" I insisted again, the words rasping in my throat as I hung my head, lacking some of the self-righteous vehemence that had emphasized the statement before.
"Perhaps," the doppelganger allowed reluctantly, "but before I take my leave of you, let me show you what I will take with me and will be yours no longer."
With his right hand, the doppelganger made a gesture that caused the mist to dissipate slightly. A scene began to come into focus, one from the past, a moment that I had forgotten in the past year and played out as pale shadows before my eyes.
I saw Nerine, her auburn hair neatly plaited and coiled near the nape of her neck. She wore a set of ancient Dalish armor she had salvaged from the ruins in the Brecilian forest. A craftsman from the Dalish clan we had allied with had modified the breastplate and helmet to better fit her. The color of the armor was a pale gray with a greenish hue in its sheen when the sun hit it. I vaguely recalled at that moment when I had first seen her proudly wearing it.
Her midriff was exposed, though that had seemed a design flaw to me, but she had been so pleased with it that I could not bring myself to criticize the design. It suited her far better than the clunky, unflattering, mismatched scale mail that she had been wearing up to that point. In fact, to see her look so lovely had caused my ears to grow hot and my mouth had become so dry that I could not even whistle. (Not that I would have whistled…I simply could not have whistled, provided I had wanted to whistle, which I didn't and couldn't.) I had to cast my glance askance rather than continue to watch her lithe figure displaying the armor and mused that perhaps the goal was to distract one's opponents.
The scene that played out before me was one that must have occurred shortly after we had revived Arl Eamon, for a past phantom of me still carried that ridiculous Templar shield and wore the old Warden armor that I had since Ostagar. The shadow approached Nerine shyly, beckoning her to a place away from the rest of the camp so they could speak privately.
"Nerine," the shadow spoke, "now that we are back at camp, I want to talk about Redcliffe, about what happened."
"You were there, you saw what happened," Nerine replied.
"Yes, I know. I've had some time to think about it now. I just wanted to thank you. You went out of the way to save the Arl and his family and you did it, even though it would have been easier not to." The shadow of me observed these things awkwardly to Nerine and I had a sensation of embarrassment at how self-conscious I was at that moment. Speaking to her had always been easy, and yet it was at that moment that I realized how unworthy I was to even do so, how lowly I was compared to her, for she was everything I could have ever wanted, she met every ideal I had carried within myself of what I desired in a woman.
When Nerine did not respond, the shadow gushed on, "There has been so much death and destruction, it…well it…it makes me feel good that at least we were able to save something, no matter how small..."
"Like the rose you plucked from Lothering?" she inquired, her lips curving into a soft smile as she recalled the little flower I had previously bestowed on her in a moment of rampant sentiment and the shadow colored at the words.
"Yeah…well…" the shadow stammered.
"If we can stop the Blight, we will save much more," she reminded the painfully uncertain warrior who far more resembled a little boy wearing borrowed armor than an actual Grey Warden. It was painful to recall how awkward I was then.
"You're right! Hopefully by that time there will be enough left of Ferelden to save," the shadow quickly added, nodding solemnly before rushing on, reverting to humor to shield me from my discomfort, "Good, now that the warm fuzzy portion of the day is over with, we can get back to the ritual dismemberments. Oh wait; today is not Tuesday, is it?"
Then she did something that took me completely by surprise, she purposefully closed the distance between us. She was small compared to me, diminutive and delicate in her features, but they looked determined as she looked up at me and I could see my shadow visibly swallow nervously. Standing on tiptoe she reached her arms around my neck and whispered in chiding tones, "Alistair, I know what Arl Eamon means to you. Even if he were not vital to our mission, I would have stormed the Fade itself to save him."
The shadow's eyes grew wide, disbelieving, "So…you did it…for me…because…?" The words trailed off, as if I were unable to wrap my mind around what she spoke, but she cut them off with a tender kiss, feather light.
"I love you, Alistair, one of the last Grey Wardens of Ferelden," she breathed, releasing one of her hands long enough to tap me gently on the nose, "Even if the whole of Thedas falls, never forget that."
With that, the shadows of the past faded, as if thinned to nothing by sunlight. As the image of her disappeared from sight, there was a sensation of pain in my chest, wringing my breath from me and I was gasping.
I had forgotten that moment, or more accurately I had cast the memory away from myself, denying how much it had meant in the days following the Archdemon's defeat. I had filled my days with rebuilding the capital, signing new laws, arranging for the transfer of Arl Howe's estate into the Grey Wardens' possession and returning the rightful lands to the surviving members of the Cousland family. I conferred with architects and builders on how to improve the city and surrounding towns, but most especially in making necessary improvements to the Alienage in Denerim, as I knew she would have desired, though I refused to even consider my true reasons for doing it.
The only time I had allowed myself to dwell on her, to think of what might had been in the intervening months, was during the ceremony to honor her. Her remaining family had been in attendance, her father and two of her cousins, and I could barely look at them. It was hard to see their resemblance to her and know that she was no more. They had been gracious, in spite of their losses, and I had sworn to them that she would be remembered, that the lives of her brethren would be improved in honor of her sacrifice.
I had ensured that she would be remembered, though I strove to forget, to numb the pain her absence had created.
"Are you certain you wish to be free of me," the doppelganger questioned, breaking me from my reverie.
I shook my head, unsure if my own words would serve me because of the roiling emotions washing over me. When I could breathe properly again I implored, "Why are you doing this to me? Why can you not leave me be? Do you want to break me?"
"No, I would not harm you, though you seem insistent on harming yourself," he observed, approaching me and standing at my elbow, "I do not pretend to have the answers, for I cannot exist apart from reason. You require balance."
"But what causes you to remind me of this?" I insisted.
"Reality had triggered the memory, and it conflicts within me even now, but I cannot make sense of it unless you are willing to acknowledge me once again. You need to stop hating me for loving her and stop hating yourself for choosing to leave her to her end. This is no good for us to constantly despise one another." He said this evenly, maintaining his composure while I struggled to do the same.
"Reality?" I choked.
He nodded his head and gestured again, this time, rather than seeing a scene of the past playing before me, I was thrust into reliving a recent moment. I stood beneath a tree at a crossroads, and I was not alone.
Svenya threw herself into my arms, though my wrists were shackled, and claimed my mouth with her own. The kiss was strong and sweet, demanding in its spontaneous urgency. On the back of my neck I could feel her fingers: they were slightly calloused from playing the lute, though even calloused they were still gentle. They ruffled my hair at my nape, drawing me to her face, holding me captive.
It vaguely occurred to me that this was the closest she had ever let me be to her. When I had taught her forms with Rian's great sword there had been very little touch involved, save for a few firm brushes of the hand to adjust elbow levels and hand grips. In those moments were muscles were tense, self-conscious, driven to be hard in order to maintain a battle ready demeanor.
However, at that moment, she felt strangely soft in my arms. The strong tone of her muscles were still there, but they melded into my body, filling the contours of the embrace, though they could not erase the feel of cold metal from the shackle chains stretched like a barrier between us.
Her action had startled me and I was momentarily frozen, but her mouth moved insistently against my mine, open and nipping at my bottom lip, encouraging me to respond in kind, her tongue massaging open my own mouth. I felt myself comply, though hesitantly at first. It had been so long since I had been kissed that I was stunned by the sensation.
My hands found purchase of her hips and my fingers pressed into her flesh, gripping her to me so hard that I wondered if it hurt. There was a pounding in my ears, rushing with heart. My face felt hot; as if the kiss were an inferno and I would be incinerated by it.
I opened my mouth at the insistence of her tongue and finally allowed myself to be overcome, inhaling deeply the mingled smells of Andraste's Grace, straw and earth. The taste of her mouth was salty and vaguely…metallic?
A hard, oddly shaped object was being pushed past my lips along with her tongue. Opening my mouth wider, my own tongue explored the contours of a metal circle and bluntly barred end. A sense of realization dawned that she had stolen the small shackle key from Manning's waist when she had made a show of pleading on her knees before him. This thought eclipsed all the confused emotions the kiss had initially inspired and filled me with a deep tenderness, realizing the wondrous compassion of her actions. Her concern had been for me and enabling my release.
I had just tucked the key into my cheek with my own tongue when Manning had pulled Svenya from my hands. The physical absence of her body from me felt like the unwelcome opening of a door during the winter. The cold of it made me gasp, and my own body staggered forward slightly to reclaim her warmth and close the emptiness between us, but rough hands prevented me from completing the action.
Then the vision was gone and I stood before my doppelganger once again, my fingers still outstretched as if I would once again snatch Svenya back to me from the very air.
"I am so broken," the doppelganger nearly sobbed at me fervently, "I know not what I feel. I am empty, unused to these caresses and tenderness. She calls to me and part of me yearns, but it is not the same. I cannot tell if something lacks, or if it is a failing in me. I do not know you any longer. I do not know myself any longer. I cannot continue to exist in this fashion: either reclaim me or release me, but do not continue to trap me here in chains."
I looked down and could see that he was shackled in the same fashion as I was in the waking world, though on a closer look I could see that his own wrists were raw and oozing, as if he had been chained for a long time and fought against the binding. The injuries looked angry and painful. His eyes implored me to respond.
"I am sorry," I muttered, hanging my head.
The doppelganger sighed, visibly wilting in his chains, "I understand why you do it, but it does not make it easier to bear. Please consider what I say. This confinement is killing me, just as it is killing you."
With that, I could feel myself floating away from him, but before I had completely withdrawn from my doppelganger, I became aware of another voice posing a question to him, "Will he relent?"
"I am not sure I know him well enough any longer to say," the doppelganger replied with heavy tones bordering on despair.
I returned to consciousness, registering the smell of the horse whose back I was slumped over. My arms dangled over one side and my legs dangled over the other. The beast swayed and snorted under my burden. To my left I could make out the presence of another body pressed beside me, the labored breathing of another with the horse's back pressing against his abdomen.
On considering my state, I gingerly ran my tongue over the outline of the key in my mouth. Miraculously, even in the assault from the other Templars, the key was still pressed between the side of my cheek and my gums. I had not swallowed it and it had not fallen from my lips when my face had gone slack in unconsciousness. The coppery taste of the key blended with a saltiness from my own blood since the key had cut into the side of my mouth when the Templars repeatedly struck me and I had kept my jaw clenched to prevent from losing the key.
Feeling reassured, I gently nudged the body next to me and whispered, "Murchad?"
I was greeted with a muffled groan and I sighed in relief. He was responsive and alive. When we had the opportunity we could escape together. From there we would be able to decide how best to retrieve Svenya and then make our way back to Herferien, and from there, return to Denerim, raise an army and crush Ser Manning's entire perverted order.
For the time being, I waited patiently, feigning continued unconsciousness, I whiled away the empty hours of travel reviewing what I would do to Manning once I had the opportunity and was again in control of my being. All I could think of was poor Letha dangling from a rope and resolving that Manning needed to die slowly. I could not conceive of any mercy for Manning and all who shared his ilk.
That night, when we reached clearing along the road, the horse stopped abruptly and I was roughly hauled from the back of the horse and dumped onto the ground near a tree. The same individual dropped Murchad on top of me with an unceremonious, "whuff!"
A harsh kick against my side caused me to open my eyes, though one was swollen to a thin slit from the beating I had received earlier that day. I gazed up at the face beyond the armor that glared in the firelight and Manning returned to look, his eyes cold, "Tomorrow we will reach Heidrunscap, and then your misery will begin. You will be ground into the dirt and I shall rejoice for every hour of your travail. When you die, I will dispose of you like all other refuse. Enjoy the air, rogue, for you will not breathe its fresh sweetness again past tomorrow."
I refrained from speaking, fearing that opening my mouth would reveal the key that was hidden within, but I stared at him, endowing my glare to fill with how deeply I despised him and thought in my mind, "You take much for granted. Gloat while you can. When I am free there will be a reckoning betwixt you and me."
He stalked away after that, chuckling malevolently, and I rolled to my side. I got to my knees and helped Murchad to sit up. He too had been beaten badly and had a nasty gash on his brow and I encouraged him, "Come on, Murchad. We have to wake up. Let me see your wounds."
Ripping my sleeve from my shoulder, I tried to bandage his head. He looked pale and confused, so I continued to talk to him quietly until he finally responded, "They took Mae…"
"Yes," I affirmed, "but we will get her back, I promise."
"How?" he demanded, cringing in pain as I tied the fabric tightly.
With that I winked and stuck out my tongue, the small key to our shackles balanced on it. Murchad's eyes grew wide, disbelieving, taking in a shuddering breath, "Where did you get that?"
"Your sister found a way to save us with a kiss," I smiled ruefully, trying to push away the memory of her lips on mine.
"Only Mae…" Murchad shook his head, but cringed again, the wound causing him great pain and I helped him to sit against a nearby tree. When the young man opened his eyes and looked at me again, the orbs were watery with deep emotion.
I nodded, understanding what he was unable to speak. Only Mae could find a way so clever and do so with no thought for herself
"Should we wait until the Templars sleep and then try to slip away?" Murchad whispered.
I answered, "No, I doubt they will give us an opportunity, not considering what occurred last night. We need to bide our time. Besides, you and I still need to find out the state of affairs at Heidrunscap. I admit to being greatly intrigued to discover what has happened there."
"There is nothing good there. They will send us to the mines and we will not have another opportunity to escape," he argued quietly, trying to avoid drawing the attention of our captors.
To this I smiled, "You know very little of mines, Murchad. If you did, you would know that if there is a mine, there are tunnels, and all tunnels either lead or can be made to lead the Deep Roads. That will be our escape."
"The Deep Roads?" squeaked Murchad weakly, "How can we navigate the Deep Roads?"
"Trust me," I reassured him, "I will be able to lead us through the Deep Roads and find a way back to the surface away from Heidrunscap. They will not find us."
"How do you know enough about the Deep Roads to say this with such certainty?" he demanded, still visibly incredulous.
Smiling, I returned, "Though it seems a lifetime ago, once I was a Grey Warden…"
"But…you are obviously of Ferelden, otherwise you would have an accent. After the Landsmeet had convened and the Blight had ended, word had been sent from the capital: we had been told that all of Ferelden's Grey Wardens had been massacred at Ostagar, except for…" as he spoke, a spark of realization flashed in his eye and Murchad became silent. His eyes grew wider and he seemed to be searching my face for some indicator that I jested.
"Now you know my secret," I confirmed, "I am Alistair Theirin, former Grey Warden and current King of Ferelden."
Murchad's mouth opened and closed a couple of times before replying, "Does Mae know?"
My mouth curled in chagrin as I insisted, "Not yet, but she will…"