Fic: Eternity
Title: Eternity
Author: reservoir
Pairing: Alistair/f!Aeducan (Kalienra)
Rating: T
Spoilers: Origins and relies a bit heavily on knowledge from The Calling. You can read the wiki for all of the info if you don't mind spoiling yourself.
Summary: Written for The Seven Heavenly Virtues of Alistair - Patience. The unthinkable happens and Alistair must find a way to go on.
A/N: True to my own form, this comes in just under the wire ;) I tried to make my brain write something nice and happy, but it wasn't meant to be and this angst-ridden romance is what came out. Let me know if you spot any typos or weird formatting - I checked this over but it's unbeta'd. I also listened to an embarrassing array of sad songs while writing this, chief among them Evanescence's My Immortal (it's okay, I'm embarrassed for me too).
Though all before me is shadow,
Yet shall the Maker be my guide.
I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.
For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light
And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.
-Trials 1:1
The sky rolled with thunder overhead and a cold rain began falling, needling Kalienra’s skin. She barely felt the cold, barely noticed the sky growing dimmer. The Archdemon dominated the nearby landscape, blotting out any other minor irritants like cold, hunger, sweat or numb feet. She was aware of nothing but her enemy and the two blades gripped in her hands. Everything else around her had faded in to a muffled background landscape, hazy almost like clouded glass.
They had routed the demon - wounded it severely thanks to Riordan - and now had it cornered on the roof. The moment of which they had spoken was nearly at hand. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force back the emotion threatening to overwhelm her. Images came unbidden, of her path to this very moment - her father, her brothers, Cailan, Duncan, Alistair…
At the image of the last in her mind, she opened her eyes and forced herself to look at him one last time. He didn’t know what she planned to do, though it had pained her through these last hours to not tell him, give him some kind of warning. She knew he was prepared to sacrifice everything, ready to end the life that had been nothing but a whirlwind of rumors and scandal, of betrayal and suffering. He had told her as much last night - the last night they would share together. They’d consumed each other for hours with feverish passion, an almost painful intensity seizing both of them. After, they had lain in the dark, talking. About the events that had brought them to this place - the good, bad, the people they had gathered around them. They’d barely spoken above a whisper the entire time, and neither had said a word about the coming battle until the very end. He’d looked away for a moment, and then taken her hand in his.
“You know…you know what must happen tomorrow? If Riordan falls before we engage the demon.”
Kalienra stiffened, unable to meet his eyes. She felt as stone, wanting to push these thoughts away forever and make tomorrow never happen.
He persisted, however. He gripped her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him.
“You know that tomorrow I must strike the final blow. The people have their monarch, their true leader. And they need you to command the Grey Wardens. In the end, I am truly expendable. With Anora on the throne and the Wardens in your hands, I know Ferelden is safe.”
She felt the tears collecting in her eyes, felt her throat begin to seize, unable to speak a word. Unable to object, to shout, to demand or order him not to do it. She knew it wouldn’t do any good. So she said nothing. She simply nodded, then collapsed in to his arms, overcome by uncontrollable sobbing. Then and there she had vowed that he would live. He was too precious to be lost. He still had vitality left in him, a strength and purity of spirit that she had never known. No boy’s innocence, but a man’s proud strength of character. And she had felt herself growing harder as time had passed. She was too cynical, too worn out inside to command for another 30 years. The new Grey Wardens needed someone with fire, with passion. Someone not yet hardened to this world and all of its cruelties. She knew that he would command well, wisely - she had seen the potential in him, the potential to even be king. So she would do what he could not, must not, and offer herself up as a sacrifice for all of Ferelden.
Kalienra opened her eyes. With a fierce cry, with the last of her strength, as she saw Alistair preparing to strike the final blow - an almost serene look on his face - she charged forward, knocked him aside and with one last gasp of effort, plunged both of her swords straight through the head of the beast.
A sharp light hit her at first, expanding outwards. Thousands of images, moving too fast for her to recognize, flew past her. Indescribable pain seized her, vibrating in her limbs and chest until she was certain she would break apart.
And she did.
“NO!”
Blackness seized her, and she was no more. Alistair’s voice was the last thing she heard.
And there I saw the Black City,
Its towers forever stain'd,
Its gates forever shut.
Heaven has been filled with silence,
I knew then,
And cross'd my heart with shame.
-Andraste 1:11
He raced forward from where she had nearly thrown him, tossing aside his sword and shield carelessly. He ran to her prone body, lying slumped over the Archdemon, both of them so still. Her hands still gripped the hilts of her blades, the tension drained from her body. He reached out to touch her but was again knocked aside, this time by Wynne. Energy filled her hands, cool and soothing. She reached out and touched a hand to Kalienra’s face, closing her eyes in concentration. Her brow furrowed after a moment, and the light under her hands increased. Her arms began to shake and sweat began dripping down her face. After a few moments, she sighed heavily. Slowly the light emanating from her hands began to dim, and she covered her eyes in grief.
Alistair crept forward again, not daring to touch either of them.
“Is she…”
Wynne’s voice was hard. After a moment, she spoke.
“Yes.”
He collapsed, kneeling down on the hard wet stone of the roof. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She looked as if she were merely sleeping, waiting for someone to give her a good hard shake so that they could pack up and move on. The lines of tension around her eyes and jawline were finally eased.
He reached out to touch her, smoothing the sweat soaked hair back from her face. In that moment, he crumbled inside. He wept openly, not caring if Wynne or Eamon or anyone else up on the roof saw him. Not caring about any of it anymore. Not caring about anything except that she had left him. Left him. She hadn’t given one word, one sign of what she had planned. And he should have suspected something, because that had been her way. He should have known, should have pressed her harder when they spoke, and should have made her promise to not do anything rash.
He felt as if his chest was cracking in two. It became hard to breathe, hard to focus. The world began to spin. Fingers snapped in front of his face and a cool hand rested on his forehead, easing his physical pain for the moment.
“Alistair, you must hold yourself together. We have many injured that need tending and we have to get everyone off of this roof. I doubt it will hold much longer.”
Her hand slid down to his shoulder, squeezing it gently.
“There will be time to mourn…later.”
He looked up at her wordlessly. His eyes were dark, barely focusing on her. He nodded. Slowly he stood, barely feeling the stone underneath his feet. He walked towards Kalienra’s body now, and slowly picked her up, cradling her smaller form in his arms. Her swords remained embedded in the demon.
“Someone get her blades out of that thing.”
A young knight of Redcliffe hesitantly moved forward, and then jerked them both out of the Archdemon’s skull with a sickening crack. He held them both uncertainly, looking to Alistair.
“Take them down. We will…not burn them with her.” The knight nodded, and moved to leave the roof, helping others to their feet to begin picking their way back down inside.
Alistair stood for a moment, looking up in to the dark sky. Rain pelted down, soaking everyone to the skin. He barely felt it. He cradled Kalienra closely, reaching down to press a last kiss to her forehead. His shoulders shook with suppressed emotion.
He brought her down from the roof, moving until he was outside the gates of Denerim. He stood in the pouring rain, holding her even as his strength began to give out. Lightning flashed once, twice, illuminating the stark scene. No one moved towards him for a long time, until a lone figure crept forward and as it got closer, Alistair realized it was Anora. She said nothing, simply looked at him, then down at Kalienra.
“We will honor her. The highest honors Ferelden can bestow. She is truly a hero of the people this day, and her sacrifice was-“
“I know it wasn’t in vain. I know she did what she thought she had to do.” He turned sharply and looked right in to Anora’s eyes. She who saw the depth of the pain there and averted her gaze, clearly taken aback by whatever she saw there. It was another long moment before she spoke.
“She saved all of us today.”
I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade;
For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light.
And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.
-Trials 1:14
Two weeks later
He’d known this would come - the letter from Harrowmont, expressing his grief and sorrow, his pride that one of his people had saved a nation. The letter explaining that she had unanimously been voted a Paragon posthumously. Alistair managed a bitter chuckle at that part - from casteless exile to Paragon within the same lifetime. Not many dwarves could boast a turnaround that impressive.
Towards the end he finally came to the point:
As you must be aware, dwarves do not cremate their dead. We commit them to the stone, returning to whence we came. It must be so for Kalienra as well. There is no other fitting end for a Paragon.
I trust you will do what is right.
He set the letter aside, adding it to the stack of correspondence he was slowly working his way through. With Kalienra gone, he was set to become the new Warden-Commander out at Amaranthine. The title came with some nice perks but mainly a whole host of unpleasant, uncomfortable tasks, a lot of late nights and a constant churning in his stomach, brought on by the feeling that this was somehow wrong. He’d never been meant to lead a nation, nor the wardens. Everything felt so out of touch, like he was viewing the world through a haze. She should be here, in her rightful place. She had always been meant to lead - had been born with an innate charm that made it easy. He felt wrong somehow, like a usurper. Like he was taking what should have been hers, and a ridiculous part of him wished she were here to take it back from him.
He moved to stand by the window, gazing out as the last rays of sun shone through the glass. Unbidden, his eyes fell to the twin swords lying neatly in the weapons rack nearby - her swords, cold and lifeless without her to wield them. They’d be mounted in a place of honor at the fortress in Amaranthine when he took up his full command.
Until then…there were things he needed to do. His command could wait until he had done Kalienra one last favor. They had spoken once before, of death - her death. She had spoken of the actual event airily, appearing to have resigned herself to a death by duty long ago - whether in service to Orzammar or the Wardens, he couldn’t have said. When they had spoken of her people’s rituals - committing the dead to the stone instead of burning them - a shadow had crossed her face, clearly uncomfortable with any discussion of her resting place. He had pressed her until she admitted what was bothering her.
“I have had…thoughts, lately. Of the future and where we will both stand in it, when we stand against the Archdemon. Most likely we will both fall before our time.”
She paused, seeming to search for words as she gazed toward the horizon.
“You can’t know exactly what this means, but…if I fall in the coming battle, I need you to do something for me. You must take my body back to Orzammar. I wish to return to the stone with my father and brother. Speak with Gorim before you go. He’ll explain.”
At the time he’d nodded earnestly, too ignorant of dwarven politics and the details of her past to realize exactly what she was asking him to do. But now, he thought bitterly, it was a simple task. They’d asked for her body, even. He would make the journey and see her wish fulfilled. And he would say goodbye to her.
After that, whatever came next didn’t matter. He would never be whole again without her.
The next morning, he visited Anora’s chambers early, hoping to catch her before she was swept up in to the enormous whirlwind of tasks that seemed to multiply each night. Rebuilding after even a prematurely aborted blight was still a massive undertaking.
Luck was with him, it seemed, for he managed to arrive at her door right as she was finishing breakfast. A servant showed him in, at Anora’s easy wave. He sat across from her in an overstuffed armchair, feeling entirely out of place and wholly uncomfortable. She looked at him for a long moment, then simply sat back and folded her hands, waiting for him to speak.
He cleared his throat awkwardly, and thrust the letter at her. “I received this late yesterday. It’s a…request from King Harrowmont.”
Anora raised her eyebrows at the mention of the dwarven king, then took the letter and began reading. As she reached the end, her eyes widened and she looked over at Alistair.
“I’m sure this was sent to you because of your…relationship with her, but in all honesty this should have come directly to me. It’s for me to decide if we will forgo the traditional pyre in favor of…more irregular options.
He gritted his teeth. “She’s a dwarf; she deserves to be laid to rest properly as her and her people both desire. What the people of Ferelden want, a selfish event to loudly bemoan their own suffering, should be secondary to her own desires.”
Anora looked at him sharply. “So, she spoke to you of her wishes, then?”
He looked away, breaking her hold on his gaze. “She did, yes. Just once. We talked about…what would happen if we fell in the battle, if we never reached our calling. She wanted to return to Orzammar. She wanted to lie next to her father. From the little she’d told me, they were…quite close. Before whatever unpleasantness led her to becoming a Warden, anyway.”
Anora steepled her fingers and something in her expression softened for a moment. She then sighed, seeming resigned. “I confess I am sympathetic to her wish...inappropriately, perhaps. A girl only has one father, after all…” Her eyes clouded momentarily, but she quickly regained her composure, clearing her throat. “We’ll still have an honorary pyre for her here - we can simply do no less. But if it is truly her wish and the wish of her king, then I hesitate to speak against it.”
She spoke her next words carefully. “Ah…I assume you will be the one taking her there, then? I will allow it, however the Wardens at Amaranthine are most anxious for their new commander to arrive and begin the process of rebuilding.”
He nodded, sighing heavily. “She wanted me to do it, although I don’t think she had quite envisioned…this when she asked. The only other person we traveled with that she became close with was Morrigan and she was nowhere to be seen after the battle, not that I’m surprised. Even if she were here, I’m the one to do it. I won’t linger there, I know the command is waiting for me, but this must be done.”
She nodded. “I will speak to the current temporary commander there and explain the situation - we should be able to buy you some time. Do make haste, however. Times are unforgiving and we must rebuild quickly.”
He stood to leave, then, bowing to her stiffly. As he made his way to the door, she spoke once more.
“And Alistair? For what it’s worth, at least, I am sorry. I…we have all seen too much loss in these final days. I wish you a safe journey.”
He said nothing, leaving the room and slowly shutting the door behind him. He didn’t want to have that conversation with her, not ever. He knew he would never be charitable enough to extend his own words of sorrow at the loss of her father.
Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.
From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.
Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.
In my arms lies Eternity.
-Andraste 14:11
Alistair blew out a long breath in to the cold air, seeing it fog before him. He tried not to think of the last time he had walked this path, with her leading the way. He had seen the tension in her then, even though she had been draped in a vast, furlined cloak. She hadn’t known what would be waiting for her there; back down below the earth where she had nearly died but for a chance meeting. Only the thought of duty had urged her on.
He nudged the horses forward, moving further up the steep and icy path that led to the gates of Orzammar. The wind swirled around him, seeming to tear at his insides no matter how well he had dressed for the weather. Behind him, the small wagon trundled along, carrying its precious cargo. As they approached the gates, something inside him hardened. It had been easier during the journey, even if traveling by himself had hurt more than a gut wound. Lying alone at night in a tent while the wind howled outside had been almost more than he could bear. Memories of laying next to her, of holding her, touching her while she slept - they all crept up on him at night, in the cold. He had stumbled from town to town like one of the living dead, barely speaking to anyone and spending most of his time in the small camp, tending to the horses and…talking to her.
He knew that it was foolish, that she couldn’t hear him. But it made him feel better, in some ridiculous way. Just to be able to tell her everything. How much he hurt. How angry he was, that she hadn’t told him what she was planning, that she had let him think she would move on and live without him. How much he wished he had forced her to talk, to promise him that she wouldn’t sacrifice herself. How the hollow ache inside of him never stopped. How it felt like he had had his heart ripped out and been left with nothing but a gaping wound.
And now he was here, back where she had grown up. Where she had lived, laughed, perhaps even loved, before whatever landed her in the Deep Roads had occurred.
The guards had been expecting him, and easily waved him through, their heads bowed in reverence as he lifted Kalienra’s body from the wagon and carried her up the steps to the gates. A young dwarven lad moved forward to lead the horses to a recently constructed stable nearby - obviously one of a number of small changes that had swept in under Harrowmont’s rule. Perhaps seeing an exiled surface dwarf save all of Ferelden had made them reconsider their opinions of surfacers a bit. He merely raised an eyebrow and moved inside the doors, feeling the heat sweep through him immediately. The doors slowly slid shut behind him, closing finally with a dull boom.
The next few hours moved in a blur. Harrowmont had arranged everything - quarters for Alistair, and a resting tomb for Kalienra to lie in until it was time for her to be returned to the stone the next day. After they had moved through the appropriate murmured pleasantries, the hollow words that were somehow meant to express the sorrow that gnawed and ripped at his insides, Harrowmont told him of the ceremony that would commit her to the stone.
“It’s fairly simple - we have a few prayers that are traditionally said, which are very brief. We do not hold with longwinded speeches about the dead, for they never are truly gone as long as they are a part of the stone. You will be permitted to speak if you wish, then a final prayer will be spoken and she will be placed in her tomb, to be carried down to Aeducan thaig where her father and brother lie. She will become part of Orzammar, strengthening the stone under our feet.”
Harrowmont reached up to place a hand on Alistair’s shoulder. “I am truly sorry that it ended this way for her. After she became a Warden, I thought…there would be a chance for her to still become something, to still be someone. But though a hero in death, I always have felt that she could have given even more to this world, if allowed the opportunity. A strong spirit, snuffed out too soon.” His eyes grew soft for a moment and he spoke again. “Rest while you are here, lad. Mourn. Orzammar’s strength will carry you so that you can go forth and live your life.” A lump rose in Alistair’s throat, and all he could do was nod.
Sleep claimed him easily that night, either because he finally felt thawed completely after the long journey through the cold, or because he knew he had been able to do as she wished. He didn’t feel at peace, exactly, more like he had checked a task off of his list - like he’d done something truly worthwhile by finally settling her here.
The ceremony the next day was as Harrowmont had promised - brief, with no long droning speeches about the Maker. He himself declined to speak. He had already told her everything during the journey here. He had spoken to her for hours, reliving their battles, their glorious triumphs, the close calls. He had said all that needed to be said, and giving some hollow respectful speech would mean nothing, to him or to her. He laid a hand on the cold stone of the tomb for a moment, closing his eyes as memory washed over him. At last, it was real and final - at last she would lie with her family.
He wasn’t due back at Denerim for a good week or more (Anora had made good on her promise, it seemed - her correspondence was sincerely gentle and urged him to take what time he needed) so he took Harrowmont’s advice and simply let the warmth of the city envelop him. He spent the next couple of days simply going through the motions of a routine, normal life. Get up, eat, practice and spar with the other warriors in the palace. Bathe, eat, read, and clean his armor and weapons. He felt like a mindless automaton, doing what he was programmed to do like a golem. Every day he woke up and for a few glorious seconds, he wouldn’t remember what had happened. And then as always, reality would come crashing in and he would remember it all like a terrible nightmare come to life. He’d see her knocking him aside; see her face finally at peace after slaying the Archdemon. He would see her wrapped in a shroud, prepared for burial. And then at last, finally laid down in the stone tomb.
The night before he was scheduled to leave and return to Denerim, he found himself in bed and unable to settle down. He tossed and turned among the sheets and blankets for a few hours, then finally resigned himself to the fact that he simply wouldn’t able to fall asleep. He lit the oil lamp on the table beside his bed and got up, stretching, then went over to sit in the small armchair in the far corner of the room. He’d been reading a few books Harrowmont had loaned him - one on the history of the Aeducan family, a few others about various dwarven customs and one on Paragons. Though he still hadn’t been able to figure out exactly what had happened to Kalienra (Harrowmont didn’t seem particularly keen to discuss the situation with him), he was certainly learning quite a bit more about dwarven society and how delicate the balance between honor and disgrace was. It was all an intricate dance, requiring the calm, pleasant veneer of polite society on the surface and the low-down, double-dealing backstabbing heart of an assassin underneath. Perhaps that was why she and Zevran always seemed to wind up in very involved conversations.
No, he thought, can’t start down this path of remembering. But images came to his mind, unbidden. Memories flooded in to him - the dwarf and the elf talking late in to the night, Kalienra with a tight, unreadable look on her face. Her patching Zevran up after he’d gotten on the wrong side of an ogre, the muffled cursing, asking why Wynne never seemed to be around at the most necessary moments. And of course, remembering Kalienra sparing Zevran after he’d tried to kill them! That one he’d never quite been able to figure out. At the time she’d still been relatively merciful, always looking for an alternative if a solution involved killing someone. As time had passed, and especially as they had drawn closer and closer to the Landsmeet, and she had seen the depths of Loghain’s cruelty, something in her had hardened. But even when he’d first met her, there had been some kind of edge there. Something very bad had happened to her down in Orzammar, else why would a dwarven princess be up on the surface, recruited as a Warden? He assumed, after reading most of these books that someone had betrayed her very badly - which was why he was never able to understand her tendency to be merciful. Perhaps a part of her felt that it was deserved or expected when someone betrayed her, but when someone attacked her friends or people she held dear, she somehow found a way to balance justice with redemption.
He’d never know, anyway. She was gone and he could never ask her.
For what seemed like the hundredth time since that terrible day on top of Fort Drakon, he slowly opened the pack leaning next to his chair and took out a small pouch. Inside were two things - Kalienra’s joining amulet and a tiny vial of deadly poison. Every day since that day, he’d taken them both out and just looked at them. He didn’t know how she expected him to be this strong. Whatever she saw in him, he couldn’t find it within himself. As each day passed, the temptation to just give up, to take the poison and just be with her grew. So far he had managed to resist, scolding himself for even thinking such thoughts after she had sacrificed himself for him - the rest of Ferelden yes, but also for him.
But late at night, when he didn’t have anything else to distract from the horrible, echoing emptiness, it became so much easier to consider. What was he even thinking, trying to be Warden-Commander? He could never lead the way she had. He could never live up to whatever mysterious quality she had seen in him. He had spent his entire life disappointing people and it didn’t seem like that would be changing anytime soon. Perhaps it would be better for him, better for everyone else around him, to just do it. One quick motion, without thinking, and it would all be over. He’d see her again, he was sure of it. It seemed foolish to not do it, really. He could be with her again…
As he sat in the chair, contemplating his life and his immediate future, he became aware of a strange humming noise, almost too faint to hear but definitely real. He looked up, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. As he strained, the noise seemed to get louder and clearer. It was definitely coming from outside of this room, almost…below him. He stood, a puzzled look on his face, trying to discern what it might be. As he raised himself halfway out of his chair, he felt a force pressing back on his chest, pushing him backwards. He stumbled in surprise and collapsed back in to the chair.
Bewildered, he looked around for the source of whatever force had kept him from leaving to investigate the humming - which he noted, had completely faded away. As he looked around the room, a patch of air in front of him seemed to almost…shimmer for a moment. It slowly spread outward, until the entire room was fuzzy and indistinct. The hard stone of the room faded away, his chair faded away and was replaced with a dull green field intermittently dotted with large rocks.
Cursing himself for not keeping his weapons at his side, he cast about, trying to figure out what this place was and who had brought him here. It almost seemed like…but no, it couldn’t have been. He was sure he hadn’t fallen asleep.
“Well, not on your own you didn’t,” said a voice tinged with humor behind him.
O Maker, hear my cry:
Guide me through the blackest nights
Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked
Make me to rest in the warmest places.
-Transfigurations 12:1
He felt his heart stop in his chest. He knew that voice and knew that it simply wasn’t possible. Though he was unarmed, he whirled around and tried to ignore the appearance of what he knew must be a demon.
Kalienra stood in front of him, dressed in the simple leathers that she had worn underneath her armor. She was barefoot and her hair was out of its usual tight ponytail. There was an easiness about her, a softness that she had never possessed in life.
“Don’t come near me, demon,” he growled, trying not to let emotion overwhelm him.
She said nothing, simply stood and looked at him. Time passed - he wasn’t sure of exactly how much - before the tension drained out of his body and he collapsed bonelessely onto the grass.
“Maker forgive me, but even if you are a demon, I can’t bring myself to care. It’s…too good seeing you again. It’s too wonderful for me to even question it.”
Kalienra smiled, a small sad thing, then sat down next to him - though he noted she didn't touch him.
“If I can find a way for you to believe me, I am not a demon. The Fade was the only way I could talk to you - I can’t manifest in any way in the real world. And I can't take you to that...other place. And I brought you here to protect you as well.”
At that last sentence, he frowned, though he also wondered what other place she meant.
“Protect me? From what?”
She didn’t answer right away, nor could she meet his gaze. She idly tore at bits of grass on the ground, tying them in to knots. Finally she spoke again.
“From the calling and from yourself. I would have intervened anyway once I found out you were about to kill yourself - and by the way, I know you’re stronger than that, so I want no more of that. Even if you don’t believe in yourself, I do. My actions should have made that plain, anyway.”
He squeezed his eyes shut at that, not wanting to remember any of it. He opened them, cleared his throat and then asked,
“Wait, you said the calling - was that that odd humming I heard? I had gleaned vaguely what the calling was from some of the older Grey Warden texts that Riordan had, but no one had ever explained exactly what it was. Only that it was some kind of hypnotic force.”
She nodded, still toying with the torn blades of grass.
“I don’t know exactly why you were even able to hear it - perhaps some kind of combination of your grief and your being in such close proximity to the Deep Roads triggered it mistakenly. No warden should hear the calling until nearly thirty years after their joining, at the earliest. There’s simply no way your taint could have advanced that far so soon. So that’s why I brought you in to the Fade - to protect you from yourself and from the calling, as I said.” She reached up then, and touched his forehead with a finger, and a soft blue glow emanated from her hand. He wanted to reach out and seize her then, kiss her with the pent up passion and sorrow that had been building inside him ever since that day. He held back, however, not wanting to accidentally dismiss the spirit or vision or…whatever she was. Better to move slowly, talk to her…make sure it was really Kalienra doing all of these things.
The glow faded, and she pulled her hand away.
“Now you should no longer hear the calling in any way, until it is actually your time. As for yourself, well…” She smiled ruefully. “I can’t do anything about you, except tell you that you have untapped strength within yourself. You are so much more than what you think - there’s such strength of spirit, of character, within you. You have the potential to become the greatest leader the wardens have ever known.” She placed a hand on his chest and he felt himself wanting to break apart with longing.
“It’s all in here - you just won’t reach out and grasp it. I can see it in you - you have to see it too.”
He took her hand gently in his and held it tightly. A single tear trickled down his face and splashed on to their hands.
“I don’t want to reach out and grasp anything but you. You can’t…you can’t understand the pain, the longing…I can’t do it without you. You should be here, leading. You were always meant to. And I can’t go on without you.”
Her expression cracked then, and he could see the sorrow in her eyes.
“For what it’s worth to you now, if it means anything at all…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what I was going to do. You were so…insistent the night before the battle, and I was so conflicted, even then. I hadn’t even truly decided until that morning. Alistair, I’d been through hell and back so many times that I could barely handle myself, much less everyone else with us - and definitely not a brand new contingent of warden recruits. I could feel it in me, feel the betrayal and bitterness welling up, devouring me until there was nothing left. But when I looked at you…I could see everything a commander should be. Strength, nobility, compassion, discipline, honor - to name just a few of your worthy traits. Someone who still had hope for the future, had faith in the world around him. I lost that faith and I lost my strength. When it came down to deciding which of the two of us needed to live, I knew it had to be you. You could accomplish so much, and I…well. I knew things wouldn’t end well for me. I am sorry for how I went about what I did, but I am not sorry that I did it. I made the right choice.”
He couldn’t meet her eyes.
“I…I still don’t know. I can’t even contemplate trying to live the rest of my life without you. Even thirty years seems like an eternity when I have to face it alone. I just want to be with you - is that really so much of me to ask? Amaranthine has its commander already, they don’t need me. They never have. We could stay here, together…please, you can’t know. I feel like I’m breaking in to two every moment of every day. I can’t stand the pain, I can’t.”
She gently cupped the side of his face in her hand, forcing him to look at her.
“I can’t know the pain you’re going through, that is true. But…you have to live, Alistair. You have to promise me that you’ll live. Because if you end it here and now, we won’t be together. Don’t ask me how I know - this place doesn’t exactly come with a rulebook - but I know. You have to live your life, live it to the fullest. You must fulfill your duty. It’s the only way we can be together in the end. The wardens need you to lead them, and nobody else. I know it’s so much to ask of you…so long to make you wait before we can be together, but it has to be this way.”
He wept freely then, letting all of it out as she spoke. She had no reason to lie to him, but…Maker, it wasn’t fair. It simply wasn’t fair that they couldn’t just stay like this forever.
She leaned over and slowly kissed the tears sliding down his cheeks. She ran her hands through his hair and he reached for her, pulled her close, wanting to feel her warmth and smell her scent just once more…
He kissed her then, full on the mouth and with all of the pain and sorrow and love and longing he’d bottled up. The kiss never seemed to end, lasting what felt like an eternity - but was then over too soon. He felt her form beginning to fade, slipping away from him.
“No - please!” He tried to hold on but felt her moving further and further away from him.
“I love you, Alistair. Remember that, and remember what I said. Live well, my love. Live gloriously.”
He woke up on the hard stone floor of his room, every part of him stiff and aching. Kalienra’s locket was in his hand and the vial of poison was nowhere to be seen.
He clenched his hand around her locket and pulled it close to him, willing himself to be strong. It was the only way he would see her again. The only way he would ever hold her again, ever feel her in his arms, smell her scent, and hear her laugh.
He would live, then.
Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,
I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm.
I shall endure.
What you have created, no one can tear asunder.
-Trials 1:10
The gates of Orzammar opened once again for Alistair Theirin, as they had done nearly 50 years ago. This time there was no burden with him, no grief pulling at him. He seemed serene, almost calm about the fate awaiting him. He heard snatches of whispered conversation as a group of guards led him inside, slowly closing the gates behind them. He turned before they were fully shut, and looked up at the sky one last time, catching a glimpse of the setting sun.
As they made their way through the city, the whispers turned to loud gossipy conversations, no one making any pretense about hiding what they were saying about him.
“Is it really him - the commander?”
“I heard them say that they were sure he would never hear the calling, that he had found a way to defy death and live forever!”
“Well that’s ridiculous, he’s obviously not immortal! He’s aged the same as the rest of us. I can’t believe it’s finally his time, though, the wardens will take a terrible blow losing him.”
“He’s not that special, clearly. He’s here, isn’t he - same as any other warden that doesn’t die in battle. He goes the same as we all go, in the end.”
He smiled slightly at their words, listening to others argue back and forth about his purpose here - some not even truly believing that that calling had finally come for him. Some insisted he was here to finally cleanse all of the Deep Roads, to reunite all of the thaigs once more and bring about a new age for the dwarves. Others simply called him an old madman, finally come to be put down. Perhaps he even agreed with them.
As they approached the entrance to the Deep Roads, he felt a lightness come about him and a weight slowly lift from his chest. Finally, he was here. At long last this day had come. He unsheathed his swords - her swords.
The guards bowed respectfully and let him pass. As he moved in to the darkness and the doors swung shut, one of them would later swear that he saw a second figure materialize there in the darkness, moving to his side and drawing weapons of its own.
Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.
From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.
Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.
In my arms lies Eternity.
-Andraste 14:11
Author: reservoir
Pairing: Alistair/f!Aeducan (Kalienra)
Rating: T
Spoilers: Origins and relies a bit heavily on knowledge from The Calling. You can read the wiki for all of the info if you don't mind spoiling yourself.
Summary: Written for The Seven Heavenly Virtues of Alistair - Patience. The unthinkable happens and Alistair must find a way to go on.
A/N: True to my own form, this comes in just under the wire ;) I tried to make my brain write something nice and happy, but it wasn't meant to be and this angst-ridden romance is what came out. Let me know if you spot any typos or weird formatting - I checked this over but it's unbeta'd. I also listened to an embarrassing array of sad songs while writing this, chief among them Evanescence's My Immortal (it's okay, I'm embarrassed for me too).
Though all before me is shadow,
Yet shall the Maker be my guide.
I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.
For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light
And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.
-Trials 1:1
The sky rolled with thunder overhead and a cold rain began falling, needling Kalienra’s skin. She barely felt the cold, barely noticed the sky growing dimmer. The Archdemon dominated the nearby landscape, blotting out any other minor irritants like cold, hunger, sweat or numb feet. She was aware of nothing but her enemy and the two blades gripped in her hands. Everything else around her had faded in to a muffled background landscape, hazy almost like clouded glass.
They had routed the demon - wounded it severely thanks to Riordan - and now had it cornered on the roof. The moment of which they had spoken was nearly at hand. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force back the emotion threatening to overwhelm her. Images came unbidden, of her path to this very moment - her father, her brothers, Cailan, Duncan, Alistair…
At the image of the last in her mind, she opened her eyes and forced herself to look at him one last time. He didn’t know what she planned to do, though it had pained her through these last hours to not tell him, give him some kind of warning. She knew he was prepared to sacrifice everything, ready to end the life that had been nothing but a whirlwind of rumors and scandal, of betrayal and suffering. He had told her as much last night - the last night they would share together. They’d consumed each other for hours with feverish passion, an almost painful intensity seizing both of them. After, they had lain in the dark, talking. About the events that had brought them to this place - the good, bad, the people they had gathered around them. They’d barely spoken above a whisper the entire time, and neither had said a word about the coming battle until the very end. He’d looked away for a moment, and then taken her hand in his.
“You know…you know what must happen tomorrow? If Riordan falls before we engage the demon.”
Kalienra stiffened, unable to meet his eyes. She felt as stone, wanting to push these thoughts away forever and make tomorrow never happen.
He persisted, however. He gripped her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him.
“You know that tomorrow I must strike the final blow. The people have their monarch, their true leader. And they need you to command the Grey Wardens. In the end, I am truly expendable. With Anora on the throne and the Wardens in your hands, I know Ferelden is safe.”
She felt the tears collecting in her eyes, felt her throat begin to seize, unable to speak a word. Unable to object, to shout, to demand or order him not to do it. She knew it wouldn’t do any good. So she said nothing. She simply nodded, then collapsed in to his arms, overcome by uncontrollable sobbing. Then and there she had vowed that he would live. He was too precious to be lost. He still had vitality left in him, a strength and purity of spirit that she had never known. No boy’s innocence, but a man’s proud strength of character. And she had felt herself growing harder as time had passed. She was too cynical, too worn out inside to command for another 30 years. The new Grey Wardens needed someone with fire, with passion. Someone not yet hardened to this world and all of its cruelties. She knew that he would command well, wisely - she had seen the potential in him, the potential to even be king. So she would do what he could not, must not, and offer herself up as a sacrifice for all of Ferelden.
Kalienra opened her eyes. With a fierce cry, with the last of her strength, as she saw Alistair preparing to strike the final blow - an almost serene look on his face - she charged forward, knocked him aside and with one last gasp of effort, plunged both of her swords straight through the head of the beast.
A sharp light hit her at first, expanding outwards. Thousands of images, moving too fast for her to recognize, flew past her. Indescribable pain seized her, vibrating in her limbs and chest until she was certain she would break apart.
And she did.
“NO!”
Blackness seized her, and she was no more. Alistair’s voice was the last thing she heard.
And there I saw the Black City,
Its towers forever stain'd,
Its gates forever shut.
Heaven has been filled with silence,
I knew then,
And cross'd my heart with shame.
-Andraste 1:11
He raced forward from where she had nearly thrown him, tossing aside his sword and shield carelessly. He ran to her prone body, lying slumped over the Archdemon, both of them so still. Her hands still gripped the hilts of her blades, the tension drained from her body. He reached out to touch her but was again knocked aside, this time by Wynne. Energy filled her hands, cool and soothing. She reached out and touched a hand to Kalienra’s face, closing her eyes in concentration. Her brow furrowed after a moment, and the light under her hands increased. Her arms began to shake and sweat began dripping down her face. After a few moments, she sighed heavily. Slowly the light emanating from her hands began to dim, and she covered her eyes in grief.
Alistair crept forward again, not daring to touch either of them.
“Is she…”
Wynne’s voice was hard. After a moment, she spoke.
“Yes.”
He collapsed, kneeling down on the hard wet stone of the roof. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She looked as if she were merely sleeping, waiting for someone to give her a good hard shake so that they could pack up and move on. The lines of tension around her eyes and jawline were finally eased.
He reached out to touch her, smoothing the sweat soaked hair back from her face. In that moment, he crumbled inside. He wept openly, not caring if Wynne or Eamon or anyone else up on the roof saw him. Not caring about any of it anymore. Not caring about anything except that she had left him. Left him. She hadn’t given one word, one sign of what she had planned. And he should have suspected something, because that had been her way. He should have known, should have pressed her harder when they spoke, and should have made her promise to not do anything rash.
He felt as if his chest was cracking in two. It became hard to breathe, hard to focus. The world began to spin. Fingers snapped in front of his face and a cool hand rested on his forehead, easing his physical pain for the moment.
“Alistair, you must hold yourself together. We have many injured that need tending and we have to get everyone off of this roof. I doubt it will hold much longer.”
Her hand slid down to his shoulder, squeezing it gently.
“There will be time to mourn…later.”
He looked up at her wordlessly. His eyes were dark, barely focusing on her. He nodded. Slowly he stood, barely feeling the stone underneath his feet. He walked towards Kalienra’s body now, and slowly picked her up, cradling her smaller form in his arms. Her swords remained embedded in the demon.
“Someone get her blades out of that thing.”
A young knight of Redcliffe hesitantly moved forward, and then jerked them both out of the Archdemon’s skull with a sickening crack. He held them both uncertainly, looking to Alistair.
“Take them down. We will…not burn them with her.” The knight nodded, and moved to leave the roof, helping others to their feet to begin picking their way back down inside.
Alistair stood for a moment, looking up in to the dark sky. Rain pelted down, soaking everyone to the skin. He barely felt it. He cradled Kalienra closely, reaching down to press a last kiss to her forehead. His shoulders shook with suppressed emotion.
He brought her down from the roof, moving until he was outside the gates of Denerim. He stood in the pouring rain, holding her even as his strength began to give out. Lightning flashed once, twice, illuminating the stark scene. No one moved towards him for a long time, until a lone figure crept forward and as it got closer, Alistair realized it was Anora. She said nothing, simply looked at him, then down at Kalienra.
“We will honor her. The highest honors Ferelden can bestow. She is truly a hero of the people this day, and her sacrifice was-“
“I know it wasn’t in vain. I know she did what she thought she had to do.” He turned sharply and looked right in to Anora’s eyes. She who saw the depth of the pain there and averted her gaze, clearly taken aback by whatever she saw there. It was another long moment before she spoke.
“She saved all of us today.”
I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade;
For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light.
And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.
-Trials 1:14
Two weeks later
He’d known this would come - the letter from Harrowmont, expressing his grief and sorrow, his pride that one of his people had saved a nation. The letter explaining that she had unanimously been voted a Paragon posthumously. Alistair managed a bitter chuckle at that part - from casteless exile to Paragon within the same lifetime. Not many dwarves could boast a turnaround that impressive.
Towards the end he finally came to the point:
As you must be aware, dwarves do not cremate their dead. We commit them to the stone, returning to whence we came. It must be so for Kalienra as well. There is no other fitting end for a Paragon.
I trust you will do what is right.
He set the letter aside, adding it to the stack of correspondence he was slowly working his way through. With Kalienra gone, he was set to become the new Warden-Commander out at Amaranthine. The title came with some nice perks but mainly a whole host of unpleasant, uncomfortable tasks, a lot of late nights and a constant churning in his stomach, brought on by the feeling that this was somehow wrong. He’d never been meant to lead a nation, nor the wardens. Everything felt so out of touch, like he was viewing the world through a haze. She should be here, in her rightful place. She had always been meant to lead - had been born with an innate charm that made it easy. He felt wrong somehow, like a usurper. Like he was taking what should have been hers, and a ridiculous part of him wished she were here to take it back from him.
He moved to stand by the window, gazing out as the last rays of sun shone through the glass. Unbidden, his eyes fell to the twin swords lying neatly in the weapons rack nearby - her swords, cold and lifeless without her to wield them. They’d be mounted in a place of honor at the fortress in Amaranthine when he took up his full command.
Until then…there were things he needed to do. His command could wait until he had done Kalienra one last favor. They had spoken once before, of death - her death. She had spoken of the actual event airily, appearing to have resigned herself to a death by duty long ago - whether in service to Orzammar or the Wardens, he couldn’t have said. When they had spoken of her people’s rituals - committing the dead to the stone instead of burning them - a shadow had crossed her face, clearly uncomfortable with any discussion of her resting place. He had pressed her until she admitted what was bothering her.
“I have had…thoughts, lately. Of the future and where we will both stand in it, when we stand against the Archdemon. Most likely we will both fall before our time.”
She paused, seeming to search for words as she gazed toward the horizon.
“You can’t know exactly what this means, but…if I fall in the coming battle, I need you to do something for me. You must take my body back to Orzammar. I wish to return to the stone with my father and brother. Speak with Gorim before you go. He’ll explain.”
At the time he’d nodded earnestly, too ignorant of dwarven politics and the details of her past to realize exactly what she was asking him to do. But now, he thought bitterly, it was a simple task. They’d asked for her body, even. He would make the journey and see her wish fulfilled. And he would say goodbye to her.
After that, whatever came next didn’t matter. He would never be whole again without her.
The next morning, he visited Anora’s chambers early, hoping to catch her before she was swept up in to the enormous whirlwind of tasks that seemed to multiply each night. Rebuilding after even a prematurely aborted blight was still a massive undertaking.
Luck was with him, it seemed, for he managed to arrive at her door right as she was finishing breakfast. A servant showed him in, at Anora’s easy wave. He sat across from her in an overstuffed armchair, feeling entirely out of place and wholly uncomfortable. She looked at him for a long moment, then simply sat back and folded her hands, waiting for him to speak.
He cleared his throat awkwardly, and thrust the letter at her. “I received this late yesterday. It’s a…request from King Harrowmont.”
Anora raised her eyebrows at the mention of the dwarven king, then took the letter and began reading. As she reached the end, her eyes widened and she looked over at Alistair.
“I’m sure this was sent to you because of your…relationship with her, but in all honesty this should have come directly to me. It’s for me to decide if we will forgo the traditional pyre in favor of…more irregular options.
He gritted his teeth. “She’s a dwarf; she deserves to be laid to rest properly as her and her people both desire. What the people of Ferelden want, a selfish event to loudly bemoan their own suffering, should be secondary to her own desires.”
Anora looked at him sharply. “So, she spoke to you of her wishes, then?”
He looked away, breaking her hold on his gaze. “She did, yes. Just once. We talked about…what would happen if we fell in the battle, if we never reached our calling. She wanted to return to Orzammar. She wanted to lie next to her father. From the little she’d told me, they were…quite close. Before whatever unpleasantness led her to becoming a Warden, anyway.”
Anora steepled her fingers and something in her expression softened for a moment. She then sighed, seeming resigned. “I confess I am sympathetic to her wish...inappropriately, perhaps. A girl only has one father, after all…” Her eyes clouded momentarily, but she quickly regained her composure, clearing her throat. “We’ll still have an honorary pyre for her here - we can simply do no less. But if it is truly her wish and the wish of her king, then I hesitate to speak against it.”
She spoke her next words carefully. “Ah…I assume you will be the one taking her there, then? I will allow it, however the Wardens at Amaranthine are most anxious for their new commander to arrive and begin the process of rebuilding.”
He nodded, sighing heavily. “She wanted me to do it, although I don’t think she had quite envisioned…this when she asked. The only other person we traveled with that she became close with was Morrigan and she was nowhere to be seen after the battle, not that I’m surprised. Even if she were here, I’m the one to do it. I won’t linger there, I know the command is waiting for me, but this must be done.”
She nodded. “I will speak to the current temporary commander there and explain the situation - we should be able to buy you some time. Do make haste, however. Times are unforgiving and we must rebuild quickly.”
He stood to leave, then, bowing to her stiffly. As he made his way to the door, she spoke once more.
“And Alistair? For what it’s worth, at least, I am sorry. I…we have all seen too much loss in these final days. I wish you a safe journey.”
He said nothing, leaving the room and slowly shutting the door behind him. He didn’t want to have that conversation with her, not ever. He knew he would never be charitable enough to extend his own words of sorrow at the loss of her father.
Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.
From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.
Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.
In my arms lies Eternity.
-Andraste 14:11
Alistair blew out a long breath in to the cold air, seeing it fog before him. He tried not to think of the last time he had walked this path, with her leading the way. He had seen the tension in her then, even though she had been draped in a vast, furlined cloak. She hadn’t known what would be waiting for her there; back down below the earth where she had nearly died but for a chance meeting. Only the thought of duty had urged her on.
He nudged the horses forward, moving further up the steep and icy path that led to the gates of Orzammar. The wind swirled around him, seeming to tear at his insides no matter how well he had dressed for the weather. Behind him, the small wagon trundled along, carrying its precious cargo. As they approached the gates, something inside him hardened. It had been easier during the journey, even if traveling by himself had hurt more than a gut wound. Lying alone at night in a tent while the wind howled outside had been almost more than he could bear. Memories of laying next to her, of holding her, touching her while she slept - they all crept up on him at night, in the cold. He had stumbled from town to town like one of the living dead, barely speaking to anyone and spending most of his time in the small camp, tending to the horses and…talking to her.
He knew that it was foolish, that she couldn’t hear him. But it made him feel better, in some ridiculous way. Just to be able to tell her everything. How much he hurt. How angry he was, that she hadn’t told him what she was planning, that she had let him think she would move on and live without him. How much he wished he had forced her to talk, to promise him that she wouldn’t sacrifice herself. How the hollow ache inside of him never stopped. How it felt like he had had his heart ripped out and been left with nothing but a gaping wound.
And now he was here, back where she had grown up. Where she had lived, laughed, perhaps even loved, before whatever landed her in the Deep Roads had occurred.
The guards had been expecting him, and easily waved him through, their heads bowed in reverence as he lifted Kalienra’s body from the wagon and carried her up the steps to the gates. A young dwarven lad moved forward to lead the horses to a recently constructed stable nearby - obviously one of a number of small changes that had swept in under Harrowmont’s rule. Perhaps seeing an exiled surface dwarf save all of Ferelden had made them reconsider their opinions of surfacers a bit. He merely raised an eyebrow and moved inside the doors, feeling the heat sweep through him immediately. The doors slowly slid shut behind him, closing finally with a dull boom.
The next few hours moved in a blur. Harrowmont had arranged everything - quarters for Alistair, and a resting tomb for Kalienra to lie in until it was time for her to be returned to the stone the next day. After they had moved through the appropriate murmured pleasantries, the hollow words that were somehow meant to express the sorrow that gnawed and ripped at his insides, Harrowmont told him of the ceremony that would commit her to the stone.
“It’s fairly simple - we have a few prayers that are traditionally said, which are very brief. We do not hold with longwinded speeches about the dead, for they never are truly gone as long as they are a part of the stone. You will be permitted to speak if you wish, then a final prayer will be spoken and she will be placed in her tomb, to be carried down to Aeducan thaig where her father and brother lie. She will become part of Orzammar, strengthening the stone under our feet.”
Harrowmont reached up to place a hand on Alistair’s shoulder. “I am truly sorry that it ended this way for her. After she became a Warden, I thought…there would be a chance for her to still become something, to still be someone. But though a hero in death, I always have felt that she could have given even more to this world, if allowed the opportunity. A strong spirit, snuffed out too soon.” His eyes grew soft for a moment and he spoke again. “Rest while you are here, lad. Mourn. Orzammar’s strength will carry you so that you can go forth and live your life.” A lump rose in Alistair’s throat, and all he could do was nod.
Sleep claimed him easily that night, either because he finally felt thawed completely after the long journey through the cold, or because he knew he had been able to do as she wished. He didn’t feel at peace, exactly, more like he had checked a task off of his list - like he’d done something truly worthwhile by finally settling her here.
The ceremony the next day was as Harrowmont had promised - brief, with no long droning speeches about the Maker. He himself declined to speak. He had already told her everything during the journey here. He had spoken to her for hours, reliving their battles, their glorious triumphs, the close calls. He had said all that needed to be said, and giving some hollow respectful speech would mean nothing, to him or to her. He laid a hand on the cold stone of the tomb for a moment, closing his eyes as memory washed over him. At last, it was real and final - at last she would lie with her family.
He wasn’t due back at Denerim for a good week or more (Anora had made good on her promise, it seemed - her correspondence was sincerely gentle and urged him to take what time he needed) so he took Harrowmont’s advice and simply let the warmth of the city envelop him. He spent the next couple of days simply going through the motions of a routine, normal life. Get up, eat, practice and spar with the other warriors in the palace. Bathe, eat, read, and clean his armor and weapons. He felt like a mindless automaton, doing what he was programmed to do like a golem. Every day he woke up and for a few glorious seconds, he wouldn’t remember what had happened. And then as always, reality would come crashing in and he would remember it all like a terrible nightmare come to life. He’d see her knocking him aside; see her face finally at peace after slaying the Archdemon. He would see her wrapped in a shroud, prepared for burial. And then at last, finally laid down in the stone tomb.
The night before he was scheduled to leave and return to Denerim, he found himself in bed and unable to settle down. He tossed and turned among the sheets and blankets for a few hours, then finally resigned himself to the fact that he simply wouldn’t able to fall asleep. He lit the oil lamp on the table beside his bed and got up, stretching, then went over to sit in the small armchair in the far corner of the room. He’d been reading a few books Harrowmont had loaned him - one on the history of the Aeducan family, a few others about various dwarven customs and one on Paragons. Though he still hadn’t been able to figure out exactly what had happened to Kalienra (Harrowmont didn’t seem particularly keen to discuss the situation with him), he was certainly learning quite a bit more about dwarven society and how delicate the balance between honor and disgrace was. It was all an intricate dance, requiring the calm, pleasant veneer of polite society on the surface and the low-down, double-dealing backstabbing heart of an assassin underneath. Perhaps that was why she and Zevran always seemed to wind up in very involved conversations.
No, he thought, can’t start down this path of remembering. But images came to his mind, unbidden. Memories flooded in to him - the dwarf and the elf talking late in to the night, Kalienra with a tight, unreadable look on her face. Her patching Zevran up after he’d gotten on the wrong side of an ogre, the muffled cursing, asking why Wynne never seemed to be around at the most necessary moments. And of course, remembering Kalienra sparing Zevran after he’d tried to kill them! That one he’d never quite been able to figure out. At the time she’d still been relatively merciful, always looking for an alternative if a solution involved killing someone. As time had passed, and especially as they had drawn closer and closer to the Landsmeet, and she had seen the depths of Loghain’s cruelty, something in her had hardened. But even when he’d first met her, there had been some kind of edge there. Something very bad had happened to her down in Orzammar, else why would a dwarven princess be up on the surface, recruited as a Warden? He assumed, after reading most of these books that someone had betrayed her very badly - which was why he was never able to understand her tendency to be merciful. Perhaps a part of her felt that it was deserved or expected when someone betrayed her, but when someone attacked her friends or people she held dear, she somehow found a way to balance justice with redemption.
He’d never know, anyway. She was gone and he could never ask her.
For what seemed like the hundredth time since that terrible day on top of Fort Drakon, he slowly opened the pack leaning next to his chair and took out a small pouch. Inside were two things - Kalienra’s joining amulet and a tiny vial of deadly poison. Every day since that day, he’d taken them both out and just looked at them. He didn’t know how she expected him to be this strong. Whatever she saw in him, he couldn’t find it within himself. As each day passed, the temptation to just give up, to take the poison and just be with her grew. So far he had managed to resist, scolding himself for even thinking such thoughts after she had sacrificed himself for him - the rest of Ferelden yes, but also for him.
But late at night, when he didn’t have anything else to distract from the horrible, echoing emptiness, it became so much easier to consider. What was he even thinking, trying to be Warden-Commander? He could never lead the way she had. He could never live up to whatever mysterious quality she had seen in him. He had spent his entire life disappointing people and it didn’t seem like that would be changing anytime soon. Perhaps it would be better for him, better for everyone else around him, to just do it. One quick motion, without thinking, and it would all be over. He’d see her again, he was sure of it. It seemed foolish to not do it, really. He could be with her again…
As he sat in the chair, contemplating his life and his immediate future, he became aware of a strange humming noise, almost too faint to hear but definitely real. He looked up, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. As he strained, the noise seemed to get louder and clearer. It was definitely coming from outside of this room, almost…below him. He stood, a puzzled look on his face, trying to discern what it might be. As he raised himself halfway out of his chair, he felt a force pressing back on his chest, pushing him backwards. He stumbled in surprise and collapsed back in to the chair.
Bewildered, he looked around for the source of whatever force had kept him from leaving to investigate the humming - which he noted, had completely faded away. As he looked around the room, a patch of air in front of him seemed to almost…shimmer for a moment. It slowly spread outward, until the entire room was fuzzy and indistinct. The hard stone of the room faded away, his chair faded away and was replaced with a dull green field intermittently dotted with large rocks.
Cursing himself for not keeping his weapons at his side, he cast about, trying to figure out what this place was and who had brought him here. It almost seemed like…but no, it couldn’t have been. He was sure he hadn’t fallen asleep.
“Well, not on your own you didn’t,” said a voice tinged with humor behind him.
O Maker, hear my cry:
Guide me through the blackest nights
Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked
Make me to rest in the warmest places.
-Transfigurations 12:1
He felt his heart stop in his chest. He knew that voice and knew that it simply wasn’t possible. Though he was unarmed, he whirled around and tried to ignore the appearance of what he knew must be a demon.
Kalienra stood in front of him, dressed in the simple leathers that she had worn underneath her armor. She was barefoot and her hair was out of its usual tight ponytail. There was an easiness about her, a softness that she had never possessed in life.
“Don’t come near me, demon,” he growled, trying not to let emotion overwhelm him.
She said nothing, simply stood and looked at him. Time passed - he wasn’t sure of exactly how much - before the tension drained out of his body and he collapsed bonelessely onto the grass.
“Maker forgive me, but even if you are a demon, I can’t bring myself to care. It’s…too good seeing you again. It’s too wonderful for me to even question it.”
Kalienra smiled, a small sad thing, then sat down next to him - though he noted she didn't touch him.
“If I can find a way for you to believe me, I am not a demon. The Fade was the only way I could talk to you - I can’t manifest in any way in the real world. And I can't take you to that...other place. And I brought you here to protect you as well.”
At that last sentence, he frowned, though he also wondered what other place she meant.
“Protect me? From what?”
She didn’t answer right away, nor could she meet his gaze. She idly tore at bits of grass on the ground, tying them in to knots. Finally she spoke again.
“From the calling and from yourself. I would have intervened anyway once I found out you were about to kill yourself - and by the way, I know you’re stronger than that, so I want no more of that. Even if you don’t believe in yourself, I do. My actions should have made that plain, anyway.”
He squeezed his eyes shut at that, not wanting to remember any of it. He opened them, cleared his throat and then asked,
“Wait, you said the calling - was that that odd humming I heard? I had gleaned vaguely what the calling was from some of the older Grey Warden texts that Riordan had, but no one had ever explained exactly what it was. Only that it was some kind of hypnotic force.”
She nodded, still toying with the torn blades of grass.
“I don’t know exactly why you were even able to hear it - perhaps some kind of combination of your grief and your being in such close proximity to the Deep Roads triggered it mistakenly. No warden should hear the calling until nearly thirty years after their joining, at the earliest. There’s simply no way your taint could have advanced that far so soon. So that’s why I brought you in to the Fade - to protect you from yourself and from the calling, as I said.” She reached up then, and touched his forehead with a finger, and a soft blue glow emanated from her hand. He wanted to reach out and seize her then, kiss her with the pent up passion and sorrow that had been building inside him ever since that day. He held back, however, not wanting to accidentally dismiss the spirit or vision or…whatever she was. Better to move slowly, talk to her…make sure it was really Kalienra doing all of these things.
The glow faded, and she pulled her hand away.
“Now you should no longer hear the calling in any way, until it is actually your time. As for yourself, well…” She smiled ruefully. “I can’t do anything about you, except tell you that you have untapped strength within yourself. You are so much more than what you think - there’s such strength of spirit, of character, within you. You have the potential to become the greatest leader the wardens have ever known.” She placed a hand on his chest and he felt himself wanting to break apart with longing.
“It’s all in here - you just won’t reach out and grasp it. I can see it in you - you have to see it too.”
He took her hand gently in his and held it tightly. A single tear trickled down his face and splashed on to their hands.
“I don’t want to reach out and grasp anything but you. You can’t…you can’t understand the pain, the longing…I can’t do it without you. You should be here, leading. You were always meant to. And I can’t go on without you.”
Her expression cracked then, and he could see the sorrow in her eyes.
“For what it’s worth to you now, if it means anything at all…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what I was going to do. You were so…insistent the night before the battle, and I was so conflicted, even then. I hadn’t even truly decided until that morning. Alistair, I’d been through hell and back so many times that I could barely handle myself, much less everyone else with us - and definitely not a brand new contingent of warden recruits. I could feel it in me, feel the betrayal and bitterness welling up, devouring me until there was nothing left. But when I looked at you…I could see everything a commander should be. Strength, nobility, compassion, discipline, honor - to name just a few of your worthy traits. Someone who still had hope for the future, had faith in the world around him. I lost that faith and I lost my strength. When it came down to deciding which of the two of us needed to live, I knew it had to be you. You could accomplish so much, and I…well. I knew things wouldn’t end well for me. I am sorry for how I went about what I did, but I am not sorry that I did it. I made the right choice.”
He couldn’t meet her eyes.
“I…I still don’t know. I can’t even contemplate trying to live the rest of my life without you. Even thirty years seems like an eternity when I have to face it alone. I just want to be with you - is that really so much of me to ask? Amaranthine has its commander already, they don’t need me. They never have. We could stay here, together…please, you can’t know. I feel like I’m breaking in to two every moment of every day. I can’t stand the pain, I can’t.”
She gently cupped the side of his face in her hand, forcing him to look at her.
“I can’t know the pain you’re going through, that is true. But…you have to live, Alistair. You have to promise me that you’ll live. Because if you end it here and now, we won’t be together. Don’t ask me how I know - this place doesn’t exactly come with a rulebook - but I know. You have to live your life, live it to the fullest. You must fulfill your duty. It’s the only way we can be together in the end. The wardens need you to lead them, and nobody else. I know it’s so much to ask of you…so long to make you wait before we can be together, but it has to be this way.”
He wept freely then, letting all of it out as she spoke. She had no reason to lie to him, but…Maker, it wasn’t fair. It simply wasn’t fair that they couldn’t just stay like this forever.
She leaned over and slowly kissed the tears sliding down his cheeks. She ran her hands through his hair and he reached for her, pulled her close, wanting to feel her warmth and smell her scent just once more…
He kissed her then, full on the mouth and with all of the pain and sorrow and love and longing he’d bottled up. The kiss never seemed to end, lasting what felt like an eternity - but was then over too soon. He felt her form beginning to fade, slipping away from him.
“No - please!” He tried to hold on but felt her moving further and further away from him.
“I love you, Alistair. Remember that, and remember what I said. Live well, my love. Live gloriously.”
He woke up on the hard stone floor of his room, every part of him stiff and aching. Kalienra’s locket was in his hand and the vial of poison was nowhere to be seen.
He clenched his hand around her locket and pulled it close to him, willing himself to be strong. It was the only way he would see her again. The only way he would ever hold her again, ever feel her in his arms, smell her scent, and hear her laugh.
He would live, then.
Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,
I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm.
I shall endure.
What you have created, no one can tear asunder.
-Trials 1:10
The gates of Orzammar opened once again for Alistair Theirin, as they had done nearly 50 years ago. This time there was no burden with him, no grief pulling at him. He seemed serene, almost calm about the fate awaiting him. He heard snatches of whispered conversation as a group of guards led him inside, slowly closing the gates behind them. He turned before they were fully shut, and looked up at the sky one last time, catching a glimpse of the setting sun.
As they made their way through the city, the whispers turned to loud gossipy conversations, no one making any pretense about hiding what they were saying about him.
“Is it really him - the commander?”
“I heard them say that they were sure he would never hear the calling, that he had found a way to defy death and live forever!”
“Well that’s ridiculous, he’s obviously not immortal! He’s aged the same as the rest of us. I can’t believe it’s finally his time, though, the wardens will take a terrible blow losing him.”
“He’s not that special, clearly. He’s here, isn’t he - same as any other warden that doesn’t die in battle. He goes the same as we all go, in the end.”
He smiled slightly at their words, listening to others argue back and forth about his purpose here - some not even truly believing that that calling had finally come for him. Some insisted he was here to finally cleanse all of the Deep Roads, to reunite all of the thaigs once more and bring about a new age for the dwarves. Others simply called him an old madman, finally come to be put down. Perhaps he even agreed with them.
As they approached the entrance to the Deep Roads, he felt a lightness come about him and a weight slowly lift from his chest. Finally, he was here. At long last this day had come. He unsheathed his swords - her swords.
The guards bowed respectfully and let him pass. As he moved in to the darkness and the doors swung shut, one of them would later swear that he saw a second figure materialize there in the darkness, moving to his side and drawing weapons of its own.
Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.
From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.
Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.
In my arms lies Eternity.
-Andraste 14:11