Lake Calenhad, 9:30 Dragon
It had been a long day.
Solona stripped off her armor, which was caked in blood and grime from the battle. She peeled her undergarments free from her skin, taking into account the new cuts and bruises that covered her arms and legs and crisscrossed down her abdomen. Naked, she lowered herself into the cool water of the lake, letting the coldness numb her aches and pains.
Taking a deep breath, she plunged herself under the surface, and let out a scream.
Since the fall of the king at Ostagar, nothing had gone right. Two Grey Wardens remained in all of Thedas, and the odds were absolutely against them.
They reached Lothering too late - it had been destroyed by the horde of darkspawn, the small thatched houses and tiny chantry building left gutted and smoldering. The smell of death burned at their nostrils as they picked their way through the carnage, Solona took care not to look at the faces too closely - she couldn't bare recognizing anyone from her childhood. Not right now. Not ever.
Beyond the fields they encountered a small quartet - two dwarves, a chantry lay sister and a qunari. The remaining survivors of the massacre at Lothering, and the first to join the companions since leaving the Korcari Wilds.
Solona and Alistair remained quiet as they trekked through the countryside for Redcliffe, where Alistair claimed that the arl would assist them. She knew he mourned the loss of the other Wardens, and of Duncan, especially. Seeing his handsome features contorted with grief broke her heart, and she eventually coaxed a conversation from him, letting him know she was there for him if need be.
They formed an understanding - they needed each other, now more than ever, if they were to defeat the Blight and bring Loghain to justice.
They grew more excited as the town of Redcliffe came into view, thoughts of hot baths and a square meal lightening the mood of the group considerably.
Until they descended into the valley and were met with more carnage.
Staying to help the villagers of Redcliffe wasn't even worth questioning. To Solona, it was her duty - as a Grey Warden, and as a Fereldan.
They fought through the night, keeping morale high amongst the villagers, and battling through waves of undead. When the sun rose the next day, many of the villagers had survived. They were exhausted, yet still alive.
And then the truth came out - the son of the arl was a young mage, and he was possessed. Arl Eamon was gravely ill, and the arlessa was hysterical.
And then there was Jowan.
Solona was coiled like a snake when she encountered her former friend. Angry, upset, frustrated - they all popped up at once, and she found herself fighting back tears at the pathetic mage before her.
"I trusted you," she said quietly, keeping her emotions in check as her body quaked beneath her blue and silver armor. "You betrayed that trust."
"Trust me now, please," he begged. "I want to help."
And like a sickness that would forever return, blood magic was on the table again.
Lady Isolde volunteered as the sacrifice needed to perform a ritual to save her son. Solona didn't want to slay a child - not even a possessed child - she saw no other way.
But as the noblewoman bled out before them and she readied herself to enter the Fade, Alistair stormed from the room, and her stomach clenched in guilt, like a fist tightened inside her gut.
The demon was easy enough to slay once she entered the Fade, but Alistair was inconsolable once she found him out in the courtyard of Redcliffe castle.
He wouldn't even look at her.
A short restless sleep came that night, and then she roused the group for more travel. They were leaving to find Andraste's ashes.
"I need to make this right," she told Leliana, as Bann Teagan supplied them with provisions and horses for the journey west.
Along the way they encountered an assassin, who Solona disarmed with relative ease - the elf had brought knives to a magic fight, of course - and managed to recruit him to her cause.
Still, Alistair did not speak to his fellow Warden.
A week went by filled with silence and brooding until Solona finally cornered him as they set up camp one evening.
"You need to talk to me," she said.
"I have nothing to say to you."
"Then yell at me, for Maker's sake. Do something. We can't carry on like this."
"Did you have to let her die?" his voice broke on the last syllable.
"Alistair…"
"Blood magic? Really?" he said, his voice filled with disgust. His eyes shone in the failing daylight. She realized he was crying. "I thought you were above that." She flinched at the words.
"I - "
"And now, when he wakes up from this sickness, we have to tell the arl that we murdered his wife." The words hung in the air between them.
She sighed, staring at his feet. "I don't agree with blood magic," she said slowly. "But it was either that or kill the boy. What would you have preferred?"
"We could have gone to the Circle of Magi…"
"That would have been a two day round trip," she said, her voice rising. She noticed the others look over at them then, but she didn't care. "The villagers would never have survived!"
"You don't know that - "
"Did you see how tired they were?" she cut across him. "They were exhausted, Alistair. They had been fighting for Maker knows how long. One more day could have been the difference between life and death for those people - "
"We could have tried," he shot back at her, his voice rising too. "We could have ridden hard for the Circle and tried, instead of killing an innocent woman."
"She was willing - "
"She was upset! She wasn't thinking clearly. We should have reasoned with her," Alistair folded his arms, glaring at her.
Solona threw her hands in the air. "Okay, well, from now on, you make the decisions."
"What?"
"I didn't see you jumping up and down with opinions when we were trying to decide what to do!" she said, her face flushing with anger. He opened his mouth to say something but she continued, the fire within her blazing. "No, you stood there with your hands in your pockets and let me make the decision, even if you disagreed. The same as I have been making all the decisions since we left fucking Ostagar, because you're too much of a coward to man up and make the decisions yourself."
His shoulders dropped as his rage subsided, the winds now out of his sails at her words.
"So, you're right - probably shouldn't have let the arlessa die, but I did what I needed to do with the choices I was given. Connor is alive and the demon is no more. Now we're going to get these stupid fucking ashes and hopefully they save the arl too. After that, I'm done. You pick what we do from now on because clearly I never make the right choice."
At that, she spun on her heel and stormed off into the trees, her mabari, Shadow, hot on her heels as she disappeared into the growing darkness.
The rest of the trek was awkward silence as they ascended the mountain road to Haven, broken only with singing from Leliana and ramblings from Zevran. The air was cooler up here, but nowhere near as icy as the space between the two last Wardens of Ferelden.
And as their terrible luck continued, they ended up fighting their way through Haven, and the caves and the ruins leading to the temple. Crazed cultists and raging demons were around every corner, as well as giant spiders and other nasty creatures she had not yet encountered before. Solona had seen dragonlings in cages at the Circle, but seeing them wild frightened her at first, their mouths dripping with slaver and their eyes hungry. She had never before seen a full-grown drake, and fighting the few they encountered in the caves took their toll on the group.
The Gauntlet itself, leading to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, had been the real test. The Guardian questioned Solona if she had failed Jowan and if she would forever feel responsible for his actions that brought the death of others.
"I see the path that led you here was not easy. There is suffering in your past. Your suffering, and the suffering of others. You betrayed Jowan, and he lost the one thing that mattered. Lily. Jowan trusted you. Tell me, do you think you failed Jowan?"
She hadn't responded, not wishing to bring any attention to her shortcomings to the rest of the group. She felt Alistair's eyes on her and knew the name Isolde hung in the air between them, unsaid.
The ashes retrieved, they left the Gauntlet, to be met by a full-grown high dragon outside, standing in between themselves and the way back to Redcliffe. The beast was snarling and hungry, angry and territorial, and they found themselves in the fight for their lives. Solona conjured up as much mana as she could to battle the enormous mass of fire and scales, and let out a scream when she saw Alistair disappear behind a wall of flame.
Somehow, the party managed to bring the beast done with Sten's great hammer and Leliana's arrows; Zevran's twin blades and Solona's lightning storm; Shadow's fangs and Alistair's sword.
It was Alistair who finished the monster off, climbing atop its great head and plunging his sword through its skull. Solona hadn't realized she was crying until she had wrapped her arms around the warrior, whose armor was scorched and shield burnt to a crisp but was no worse for wear.
"I thought I lost you," she sobbed against his pauldron.
He chuckled from behind his visor. "Not getting rid of me that easily," he said.
"I'm sorry I made you angry," she said as he let her go, hands holding her shoulders gently. "I - "
"I understand," he said gently. "I'm sorry too. You were right."
The reconciliation between the Grey Wardens made the journey back to Redcliffe a joyful affair, all things considered. They compared the fangs they pulled from the dragon's corpse and discussed what armor they wanted to be made from the scales collected. They laughed and joked about their adventures thus far as their horses trotted merrily along, happy to be away from dragon territory.
It was heading back to Redcliffe that Alistair finally told Solona about his true parentage.
"I just wanted you to like me for me," he said quietly as their horses plodded down the valley towards the town.
Solona thought for a moment. "Does this mean you have lots of money?'
"What? No," said Alistair, shaking his head.
"Then I definitely don't like you more," she said with a wink, to which he laughed.
Giving the ashes to the healers at Redcliffe, Bann Teagan urged them to continue gaining their treaties. "The healers say it will be some time before the medicine takes full effect," he told them. "Don't waste your time here waiting."
So after a nights rest, they were on their way again, heading north towards the Circle Tower.
Kinloch Hold loomed in the distance as they made their way to the lake.
"Welcome home," remarked Alistair as they approached the docks.
But something hadn't felt right.
Reaching Kinloch Hold, at last, they learned that the tower was on lockdown, and the Rite of Annulment was a day away from being declared. Abominations were running amok within, and one name entered Solona's mind.
Cullen.
The young templar was not with the ones remaining outside the great doors, and as much as she really didn't want to see him again, Solona was anxious to make sure he was okay. To see if anyone else had survived. She didn't have many friends at the Circle, but she still cared. Dammit, she cared too much.
The battle had been bloody, the abominations hideous and the demons terrifying. A wave of relief washed over her upon encountering Wynne, her old mentor, and friend. Together, they led the party through the hallways, taking down all sorts of enemies. Most were twisted beyond recognition, but the few remaining blood mages she knew - mages who had made her days in the Circle miserable and lonely.
Solona tried to reason, but seeing her seemed to spur them on, hurling magic at her with such force she nearly lost her footing. As she battled them with her own magic, she couldn't help but wonder: did they turn to blood magic because of me? Wynne had always told her that she was a talented young mage, that Irving valued her and favored her because of her abilities. Wynne assured her the other mages were jealous of her accomplishments, and it was insecurity that led them to bullying.
Was it that jealousy that led them to forbidden magic?
Feeling responsible once more, she fought back with newfound gusto and was able to overpower the blood mages as her friends battled at her side.
Smeared in the blood of former roommates and peers, covered in soot and scorch marks and Maker knows what else, they continued onwards, against more demons, until they encountered a demon of Sloth that thrust them into the Fade.
The third time in a year, Solona was able to outmaneuver the dreams of the Fade, rescuing her friends and defeating the demon. She felt tears prickling her eyes when she observed Niall's lifeless body - the older mage had always been kind to her, and he had been brave, in the end.
Feeling as though time was running out, the hurried towards the Harrowing chamber, encountering more demons and reanimated corpses, cutting them down with swords and knives.
Solona stumbled as she came to the stairwell leading to the Harrowing chamber above.
"Cullen?"
The young templar was without his armor, his shirt and breeches torn and bloody. His hair disheveled and his eyes wild, tears streaked down his dirty cheeks.
"This trick again? I know what you are. It won't work. I will stay strong…"
"Cullen, don't you recognize me?" She approached him slowly, aware of the barrier that glowed a ruby red around him. She held out a hand, but it hummed and crackled at her touch, scalding her fingertips. She withdrew her hand. It was blood magic that powered the barrier, but why? Why was Cullen being held? "It's me, Solona."
"How far they must have delved into my thoughts…" Cullen said, his voice hoarse with grief and fear as he crouched away from her, covering his face with his arms. "Sifting through my thoughts…tempting me with my sin. The one thing I always wanted but knew I shouldn't have," he sobbed, hands clasping together as if in prayer. "Using my shame against me, my ill-advised infatuation and lust for her…a mage, of all things. Maker, forgive me for the things I have done, the things we did…I allowed it to happen but my duty was to refrain…"
Solona felt the eyes of her party members on her again, and her stomach clenching in guilt and sadness at the shell of the man she knew as he sobbed in front of her.
"Sounds like someone was quite the heartbreaker," Zevran mumbled from behind. Solona ignored him, though she closed her eyes in anguish.
"I am so tired of these cruel jokes, these tricks, these…"
"I'm here to help you, Cullen - "
"Silence! I'll not listen to anything you say, now begone!" He looked up at her then, his eyes flashing angrily. Understanding seemed to cross his face as his eyes met hers, and she held his gaze.
"I am no demon, I'm here to help." She said, keeping her voice steady.
"Where is Uldred?" Said Wynne.
"In the Harrowing chamber," said Cullen, looking at Wynne, then back to Solona. "Why have you returned?"
"Is that so surprising? This was my home," she said, holding back tears. He hates me. "Where is Irving?"
Cullen nodded back up the steps in answer. "They're all up there. The few mages who survived. Oh, Maker, the sounds coming out of there - "
Solona nodded, turning to her companions. "Let's get going, we need to save - "
"No," said Cullen, his voice cracking with anger. "No one up there needs saving. You need to kill them all for what they've done. They caged us like animals…they found ways to break us. They tortured us and taunted us and many they turned into monsters…or killed. Oh, Maker. Dylan, Rickon…" he voice cracked again, sadness crossing his face. "I'm the only one left. There was nothing I could do."
"I'm so sorry," Solona said, crouching down to be at his level as she looked at the man she once loved through a barrier of blood magic. "Cullen, please. Not all mages are like this. I'm not like this, you know me. Just trust me, it'll all be over soon - "
"You can't save them," he said, looking at her with familiar amber eyes that no longer showed love for her. "You don't know what they've become. To think, I once thought we templars were too hard on you. Only mages have that much power at their fingertips, and only mages can be corrupted in such a way by the whisperings of demons. You have to end it, now - "
"I will not kill innocent people for the sins of others," Solona said, rising to her feet and clenching her fists at her sides. "I need to see them for myself. I do not want the blood of innocents on my hands."
She made her way up the steps to the Harrowing chamber, leaving Cullen behind as her companions followed.
"No one ever listens, not until it's far too late," Cullen said to her back.
Fighting Uldred after he turned into a gruesome abomination had been difficult, but the group endured, as always. The remaining blood mages who had not perished fled, leaving behind many casualties. Irving was weakened, his blood having been used for Maker knows what sort of rituals, but Wynne was able to stem the bleeding with healing spells.
Back down below, knight-commander Greagoir was readying for the Rite of Annulment, Cullen at his side. The sight of Irving, alive and well, however, made him pause.
"It's over," Irving announced. "We have been saved."
Solona supported Irving's decision - the abominations and demons had been cleared out, thanks to her and her friends. She bitterly thought about how it should have been the templars duty to clear the tower and rescue the innocents, not hers.
She tried to bid farewell to Cullen, reaching out a gentle hand to touch his arm. He flinched, jerking away from her. "Don't touch me, mage."
Mage, as though it were an insult. The lips that had once kissed her were pulled back in an angry grimace, the arms that had once held her stiffened. Her heart broke.
"His hatred of mages is so intense," Alistair said as they made their way back across the lake. "The memory of his friends' deaths is still fresh in his mind." But the words did nothing to soothe her.
They set up camp on the southeastern shores of Lake Calenhad, washing their filthy armor and aching bodies in the cool water and letting the newly joined Wynne tend to their wounds.
Solona set up her tent out of sight of her party, with Shadow as her only companion. The mabari lay a couple of feet away, ever watchful of his master.
She just wanted to be alone.
Her scream under the water bubbled before her face, and she let her rage and heartache course through her lungs until she had no breath left. She re-emerged from the water, gasping, breathless, and numb to the cold.
She realized she was weeping when she made her way back to the shore, bare feet slipping on slimy, moss-covered rocks. She wrapped herself in a towel and rummaged through her pack, pulling out clean, dry clothing. She pulled the thin cotton shirt over her dripping head and pulled simple leather breeches up her pale, trembling legs, then pulled thick woolen socks up to her knees. Then, she busied herself with a small fire, letting flames coarse through her fingertips to light it.
She watched the sun set over the distant mountains, the growing darkness spreading through the trees like a bruise. Her hair hung still wet down her back, and she shivered, pulling a blanket over her shoulders.
It was dark when she heard footsteps approaching, and Shadow turned his great head to observe the newcomer.
Alistair emerged from the shadows, carrying two wooden steaming bowls. The smell of stew reached her nostrils, and her stomach growled.
"Thought you might be hungry," he said, placing the bowl in front of her and lowering himself to sit cross-legged next to her. Out of his armor, she could see every curve of muscle through his shirt from a lifetime with sword and shield.
"Thank you, Alistair," she said, taking the bowl and scooping a spoonful into her mouth. The rich taste of wild rabbit, herbs, and spices touched her tongue, and the warmth of the broth spread through her body.
"I've been meaning to apologize," said Alistair slowly. "I know I've been the one moping around a lot and being pretty awful to deal with. I suppose I forgot that you haven't been having the best of times either." He paused, looking sideways at her. "How are you holding up?"
Solona shrugged. "I would be lying if I said I was fine."
"I know today was hard for you," he said. "If you need to talk, you know I'm here. You were there for me when we lost Duncan. Maybe I forgot that along the way, but I know it now." He took a mouthful of stew, chewed, swallowed. "I've been quite the selfish arse, haven't I?"
Solona grinned sideways at him. "You said it, not me."
He chuckled. "You're pretty amazing, you know that, right? You are always trying to do the right thing, no matter what. I admire that in you. I hope it's something you never lose."
She felt a smile at the corner of her lips. "Thank you for that, truly."
They sat in silence as they ate their stew, watching the dark waters of the lake reflect the moon and stars. Shadow grunted in his sleep, chasing some prey in his dreams. The fire crackled merrily, oblivious to the problems of the world.
"You recognized some of the mages, didn't you," said Alistair. "The ones that attacked us."
Solona nodded. "They were in the same dormitory as me. We had research hours together in the library. They were a bunch of bitches."
Alistair laughed heartily at that. "I bet they were."
"I was a late bloomer, so to speak. I came to the Circle much later than many of them, and still, I excelled at magic faster than they did. I know now that they were mostly jealous of my abilities. No wonder they turned to blood magic…" she grimaced, bitter at the thought. "I was the one who let Jowan escape. You know that, right?"
Alistair shook his head.
She placed her empty bowl on the ground next to her. "I didn't know he was using blood magic. I just knew he was going to be made Tranquil and I cared for him. I was his best friend. But then he used blood magic to escape after I helped him destroy his phylactery." She pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them tightly. "I hate him for lying to me, but I hate myself more for letting him escape. If he hadn't escaped, maybe the others in the tower wouldn't have turned to blood magic too. If he hadn't escaped, Isolde - "
Alistair put his empty bowl next to hers and reached out an arm, pulling her to him, wrapping his arms around her slender shoulders. "Don't," he said against her hair. "You can't blame yourself for everyone else's choices."
She wiped a tear that trailed down her cheek, surprised to find she was crying again. "I was a fool."
"We're all fools, sometimes," said Alistair. "Morrigan will tell you I'm a fool all of the time."
"I bet she will," said Solona, smiling though her eyes brimmed with tears. "I know I originally wanted to let Jowan go…to tell the arl to release him…"
"But you would rather he was punished," Alistair finished for her.
She nodded slowly. "Yes. No more blood magic. It's vile and wrong and I hate it, Alistair. I hate myself for allowing it to happen. Oh, Maker," she buried her face in her hands. "The look he gave me, as though it were I who used it directly. I never thought he would look at me with so much venom and hatred. I've really fucked up."
"The templar?" said Alistair, rubbing a hand up and down her back as she let a sob leave her lips. "He was traumatized, that much is clear. During templar training, we hear of the ways demons can torment you. It's…brutal, to say the least. He saw the worst of the mages, and it was wrong of him to lump you in with the rest of them but you can't blame him."
She nodded again, but her stomach still clenched. She worried that she was going to vomit her dinner, but swallowed hard and rested her head on her knees. "He was my lover, once," she said quietly. "All the things he was saying weren't just of visions. The night I left the Circle I ran into him at the Inn…" she nodded her head in the general direction. "We ended up in bed together."
Alistair nodded but said nothing. "I knew he was infatuated with me, and I definitely felt the same way. He was always so kind to me. He used to watch over me while I gardened in the greenhouse and we would sit as close as we dared during Chantry services. I don't even really believe in the Maker - " she said as she felt Alistair giving her a sideways look. "But I liked the music. It reminded me of my childhood and I liked hearing my voice with his. He has a beautiful voice."
She sighed, relaxing into Alistair. "Now he's just another angry templar who hates mages. And I know I can't take the full blame for all the blood magic, but I can take responsibility for taking advantage of him. I know he is a religious man and takes his duty very seriously. I ruined that for him."
She had never said it out loud before, and it felt cathartic, letting the words she had been holding so close be heard by someone else.
There was a fluttering overhead as a bird took off from the trees, and Solona watched as something caused ripples in the dark water, making the reflection of the moon flutter. The breeze was cool against their skin, and Solona pulled another thin blanket from her pack and pulled it up around them as Alistair shuffled back and leaned against one of the trees behind them. Solona curled up next to him, her head resting on his chest. She listened to his heartbeat through the thin material of his shirt, listened to his breaths and tried to match hers to his.
It had been a long time since she had felt so calm, and time seemed to stand still.
"You can't blame yourself for everything," said Alistair, breaking the comfortable silence. His calloused fingertips were running up and down her bicep absent-mindedly, and the proximity made her feel giddy. "We all make mistakes, but as long as you're trying your best, no one can expect more."
She nodded slowly, though still didn't feel much better.
"Take it from me, I'm the king of mediocrity," he said.
"You mean the prince of mediocrity," she said, a small smile curling at her lips.
He jabbed a finger into her ribs, making her giggle. "Smart-arse," he said, chuckling. "We were both there, at Ostagar," he said, becoming serious once more. "The days after I went over the hundreds of things we could have done differently…we could have defied our commanders' orders and gone to the battle anyway, we could have tried to save Duncan and the king…but then I think, more than likely we would have died. Or not, but we will never know. And it doesn't do to dwell too much on what-ifs and could-have-beens."
Solona leaned back so she could look at him properly. "Who are you, and what have you done with the real Alistair?" she said, smiling. "That was quite a bit of wisdom you just spewed."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm more than just a pretty face," he said, tickling her ribs again and pulling her close as she let out another giggle. "You were raised in the Chantry yourself, you understand that they say the Maker has a plan and all that," he continued again as she cozied up against him and convinced herself it was merely to keep warm in the growing nighttime chill.
"You never did strike me as the pious type," she interjected and felt him smile against the top of her head.
"I didn't have a choice," he said. "And throughout the many lectures and lessons, something had to get through my thick skull. Anyway - sometimes it's nice to think that there is some type of force out there, moving us in the directions we are supposed to go, the places we need to be."
"You think the Maker wanted the disaster at Ostagar to happen?" she said, frowning.
"Not exactly," he said, continuing running his fingers up and down her arm. "But I'm starting to think that everything happens for a reason - at least, it gives me some comfort."
"What good ever came of Ostagar?" she said.
He was silent for a moment, and she felt him tense up beside her as he took a sharp breath. "I met you," he said simply. She was thankful that the darkness hid her blush as she snuggled in closer to him. "It hurts when I think of how we lost Duncan and the king and everyone else that died that day. But I'm thankful that I have you."
She found herself grinning as they sat near the fading embers of her fire, and she reached for his other hand and squeezed it. "I feel the same way," she said. "We've had our fights, and our differences, but I'm thankful I have you."
He lifted her hand to his face, and she felt the graze of his stubble as he gently kissed her fingers. "I'm glad we can agree," he murmured.
She turned to look up at him then, and he lowered his face and brushed his lips against hers. It was the gentlest of kisses she had ever had - not hurried and hungry like Anders, not desperate and forbidden like Cullen - but soft and tender, and he ran his hand up to rest behind her head as the kiss deepened, and she brushed a hand through his hair.
They broke apart slowly, both smiling shyly at one another. She rested her head back against his shoulder, pulling the blanket up around them. He resumed running his fingertips up and down her bicep, and she closed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat and his breathing and letting it lull her to a much-needed sleep.
It had been a long day.