Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Domnall Cousland is dead. Before you judge me, please understand I never wanted this - any of it. He was my friend, my partner; together we worked to clean up Thedas and clear the streets from the Blight. No one knows how it made its way into the population, but Dom and me? We tried to end it -  finally end it.

Archibald ‘Arch’ Deimon -  this is all his fault. He brought the Blight back to the city. Good people died because of it. Good people.

Then came Solona. I never would have thought a woman would come between us. She couldn’t have known, but she played us both. Was it a way out for her? I don’t know. You can’t be a mage and not expect a few prejudices - there are wounds from history that doom the descendants without mercy. I think she loved us both. Dom walked away from her, said she was too much and he confessed he never loved her.  Problem is - I do.

I’m a Grey Warden. We protect the people, the land and wait. I’ve waited long enough. It’s time to tell my story. My name is Alistair Theirin.  

She stopped taking notes and looked at him. “So you’re Alistair. The real Alistair?”

The real Alistair, he thought, Who else would I be? “I should change my name . . .or something.”

Her name was Madeleine, an aspiring writer; she’d attempted to talk with Alistair for months. Stories and articles speculating about Domnall Cousland’s mysterious death appeared on every paper from Denerim to Weisshaupt since Deimon’s defeat. Conjecture, misunderstandings and misconceptions flowed from every available source except for the two people in all of Thedas who were present; Alistair Theirin and Solona Amell. “Warden Alistair, I’m offering you a chance to tell the story – your story to all of Thedas.” She snatched the Thedas Herald from his desk.

“Hey!” Alistair yelled and then gained control of his voice. “It’s my desk, but go ahead, help yourself.”  

Madeleine pointed to the headline. “Look at this Warden. ‘Wardens Hiding in the Hills, Cover-up Continues’.” She slammed the paper down. “You can silence these bottom feeders, Warden.”

Alistair turned from the window and a sideways glance revealed an arched brow. “I see, and what do you get from me silencing your competition?”

She would benefit, profit even from the story. Solona Amell refused to talk with her. Alistair Theirin was her ticket out of the steno pool. She watched as he fell into his desk chair and lit a cigarette. “Those aren’t great for you, Warden. I read a paper that mentioned the poisons in those things.”

Alistair’s laugh, caustic and bold made her wince. He took an exaggerated drag and hummed in delight before exhaling. “I’m going to die. I mean we all die sometime but the Taint, the price of being a Warden? It’ll kill me long before these things will,” he said lifting the cigarette. Realizing his ill-mannered behavior, Alistair apologized and stubbed out the cigarette. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”

 "No, Warden, I apologize. You and Warden Cousland saved Thedas, you stopped the Blight. I didn’t mean to insult you.” Madeleine worried she’d pushed too hard. “Another time, perhaps?”

 She gathered her waistcoat and hat. Well done, Maddie, she scolded herself, good job. She stood to excuse herself.

Alistair stood out of politeness and sighed. “Wait. If I tell you everything, you’ll present it in my words, all right? Don’t add, don’t dramatize and no editorializing either. If I am to be humiliated and vilified, it might as well be my own words that condemn me.” Alistair looked out the window of his office into the heart of Denerim’s business district. “It should have been me,” Alistair said to no one.

Madeleine returned to her chair but did not speak hoping he would continue.

“Maker’s breath. I . . .do people still believe in the Maker? You really want to hear what happened, don’t you?” He looked to her and for a moment the grief and torment in his eyes seemed to implore her to say no.

Guilt flowed with every beat of her heart; Alistair’s pain was not an act, not at all like the papers claimed. He was no trained animal, carrying out the whims of a fanatical group. She nodded; a slow and deliberate affirmation to herself that she accepted the exploitation she was about to commit. Another look into his eyes and she wavered, “yes, but I’ll go through that door and never return if that’s what you want, Warden.”

He smiled and wagged a finger in her direction, falling back into his chair. “You’re good.” Alistair fidgeted with a few loose items on his desk, twirling a pencil in his fingers. “This is not a fairy tale, you know. The knight doesn’t slay the dragon, get the girl and live happily ever after.”

“Happily ever after is overrated and knights in shining armor riding to the rescue is a dream we tell ourselves, Warden.” Madeleine leaned back in her chair. “Can I ask an awkward question?”

A wry smile, a long inhale and Alistair exhaled as he spoke, “as opposed to the complete non-awkward way you’ve asked me to bare my soul by sharing what happened to Dom?”

Embarrassment and guilt numbed her face. She was asking him to reveal his secrets and faults. “I’ll make you a promise Warden, when finished, if you decide you don’t want to share your story, it’s yours. No strings, I promise.” She blanched at her oath to him. You are an idiot, Maddie - a real gem.  

Alistair laughed, a rich laugh that filled and warmed the room all once. “Sneaky, my dear. Very sneaky,” another wag of his finger in her direction accompanied by a wide grin put her at ease. “All right Madeleine, ask your question.”

She hesitated, if her research was off, the Warden might be offended and throw her out. However, if the rumors were true, the story was of even more interest. “Alistair Theirin. As in Maric – this land belonged to my blood back to the beginning of time - Theirin? Brother of Cailan? Heir to. . .well, just about everything from Denerim to the border of Orlais?”

He hummed in response. “Yes . . .that. Cailan was . . .my half-brother. For the record, I killed the bastards who murdered him. As for the rest? Maric was my father. The land rights are still in dispute. Cailan’s widow still contends it belongs to her, but considering what her father. . .”

“Yes? What happened?” Madeleine prodded Alistair to continue.

Lifting his hands palm up he attempted to slow the conversation. “If we will do this, we need to start at the beginning. Dom told me what happened to his family and how he joined the Wardens, but my memory might be a little fuzzy on some details.”

“Let me get this set up.” She nodded, pulling out the reel-to-reel portable tape recorder.

Alistair grinned watching her fumble with the tape. “Clever. You came prepared. Take your time, I’m not about to run off.” 

Placing a small cradle on his desk, she rested a microphone on the cradle. “This will pick up all you say, Warden. Speak as you have been with me, the microphone will pick up your voice.”

“All right, where should I start?” Alistair asked. Madeleine stopped the recorder and rewound it. ‘all right, where should I start?’ Alistair’s voice chirped back as the tape played. “Is that what I sound like? That is . . . somehow very creepy.”

Madeline nodded, “it can be strange hearing your voice on tape.” She settled in her chair with notepad and pencil. “Whenever you’re ready, Warden. Start wherever you feel is best.” Madeleine pressed the buttons to activate the recorder.

Alistair tried to think of the perfect opening to their story, finding none other than the truth, he closed his eyes for a moment and began his tale.  

Chapter Text

The Set Up

 “How do you know Cailan Theirin?” Domnall hurried to keep up with Alistair.

The two fell into step with relative ease. “Cailan?” Alistair’s eyes focused straight ahead as he answered.  “Played in his paddling pool when we were young.” Dom scrunched his brows and frowned. Alistair tried to keep his expression blank, but after a moment, his shoulders sagged. “Look, it’s a long, boring story and one I prefer not to share. Let’s just say we annoy each other not unlike family.” Alistair paused to talk with Domnall before continuing his path towards the barracks. “How do you know Cailan?”

“My brother Fergus and I played in his paddling pool and I have a pretty good memory. I can say with certainty I don’t remember you.” He saluted, winked and left Alistair shaking his head.

Alistair found Dom less disciplined than Fergus Cousland, the elder of the two brothers. He met Fergus during one of Cailan’s many planning sessions. The elder Cousland left with a small group of mercenaries at Cailan’s request. Cailan seemed to make far too many requests and believed he could lead an army instead of just funding it.   

Walking through the compound at Ostagar, Alistair didn’t understand why Commander Duncan, his superior and friend, insisted on playing Cailan’s game. Theirin Enterprises funded the Wardens, the armies and almost every endeavor from the Amaranthine Ocean to the Frostbacks, but everyone treated Cailan like some damned prince. Calian’s father Maric, claimed ancient royal blood somewhere in his ancestry but the age of kings, queens and knights had ended. Alistair had met Maric only once and preferred not to dwell on the past nor think about the Theirins and their bloodline.

A truck horn honked to announce a column of transport trucks delivering the newest arrivals to Ostagar. Trucks filled with eager recruits rolled through the motor yard packed to capacity; each carrying men and women from the Templars lent by the Chantry or mercenaries and private armies Cailan paid to assist with the upcoming campaign.

Alistair’s quest for a quiet spot and a nap in the Warden’s barracks looked grim. “Please no more little farm boys pretending to be Templars, I believe I’m done.” Alistair’s Warden fatigues; a mix of blue, grey and charcoal seemed to attract every recruit looking to impress. He tired of wearing a smile and acting concerned about the influx of soldiers and mages all signing up to die. None of them understood.

Archibald Deimon. Alistair wouldn’t dare speak of what the Wardens understood. Grey Wardens formed ranks many lifetimes before Alistair was born. The first Blight unleashed on Thedas occurred when Archibald Deimon first appeared. There were rumors, fanciful tales and legends, but none had ever been proven. Some believed he was an ancient dragon awakened by man’s failures. Others claimed Deimon was a name assumed by different villains over the years. Still others claimed Arch Deimon was not a person or creature at all, but an unspeakable evil born of magic and the Fade. With each new Blight, Deimon emerged before the influx of Darkspawn. His army of darkness moved as if of one mind and with one purpose; to wipe every living creature from Thedas.

Alistair’s fleeting thoughts about magic drew his attention to the mage quarter of Ostagar. The east side of the grounds housed Cailan’s pets – the mages. Magic was not a blessing in Alistair’s eyes. Even the Chantry still taught Templars that mages required constant scrutiny. Alistair could not understand how any sane person could think magic was acceptable or normal and he’d been outspoken about the dangers of allowing mages the right to roam free without proper Templar control.

The sound of scuttling boots and frantic cries of Alistair’s name shifted his focus back to the surrounding environment.

“Warden Alistair! Warden Alistair, I have a message from Mister Theirin!” The young man, out of breath and doubled over tried to talk again.

Placing a hand on the man’s shoulder Alistair attempted to give the messenger a moment before delivering his message. “Breathe first, Cailan can wait.”

Behind him, a deep, resonate voice answered Alistair. “I doubt that very much, Alistair, as I believe my presence is required.” Turning to see the face of Duncan, Alistair shrugged before replying.

“Well then, Cailan will have yet another tantrum. How refreshing. Maybe he’ll cry this time.” Alistair quipped.

The young man, at last able to speak addressed both men. “Commander Duncan you and Warden Alistair are expected. Loghain Mac Tir arrived and I’m to warn you he’s in a foul mood. Warden Domnall waits for you in the War Room.”

“You think he’s in a foul mood now, wait until I show up, that’ll brighten his day.” Alistair’s sardonic smile and teasing voice didn’t sit well with Duncan.

“Thank you for the message, young man, please return to your duties. We’re on our way.” A stern glare from Duncan stopped Alistair from saying anything further and the two continued towards the main building neither speaking to the other. When they crossed the motor pool, Duncan stopped. “I appreciate this situation is . . . difficult, but we need to be civil. If the Blight caused the problems we’ve been hearing about, Cailan will need your help.”

“If this is the Blight, we need Wardens not all these play soldiers. You recognize how this will go Duncan and you understand there aren’t enough Wardens here to stop a darkspawn horde.” Alistair dropped his voice to a whisper, “If Deimon has returned? These kids will die.  . . for nothing.”

Duncan smiled, “these kids are your age Alistair; although none are as cheeky or cynical.”

Alistair grinned in response, “it’s a gift, what can I say.” Alistair’s jovial expression changed in an instant. “Duncan, we need to find Deimon and kill him - not just chase him underground. If we succeed, the Blight can be stopped, and the darkspawn will retreat. How many confirmed cases? Are we sure it’s the Blight?”

The Blight had long proved to be an enigma to those who studied it. Generations of scholars and healers studied the strange disease afflicting anything that lived. A corruption of uninterruptible force, to date there is no existing cure. Once stricken, life drains, twists and deforms into a nightmare. A swift death is the most humane for people and animals. Earth, water, plants, and entire infected areas deemed uninhabitable for generations.

The two resumed their walk, Duncan’s hushed voice meant to keep the Warden’s intel secret for now. “Eight. Two were discounted after investigation. The young men found a darkspawn corpse and thought to become wardens.”

Gripping Duncan’s arm, Alistair pulled him to a stop. “Maker’s Breath, Duncan, why?”

“The report explained the two hoped to save their sister who was a confirmed case after an attack in the Wilds.” The Wilds, a technology free zone were people lived unburdened by phones, lights, cars, trains or anything requiring electricity did not allow Warden or Templar interference.

“If I ever find the bottom feeder who printed that rag, I will feed him to the darkspawn myself.”  Alistair and all Wardens around Thedas had fought and won a court case against a tabloid – The Inquisitor – a magazine written for the sole purpose to spread false rumors about the Wardens. Pure speculation as to the Joining ceremony led to many deaths of those wishing to join the Wardens. The writer guessed at the requirements necessary for the Joining and the resulting fatalities painted the Wardens as fanatical zealots partaking in forbidden practices.

A controlled exhale of breath; the sole sign of Duncan’s growing frustration concerned Alistair. “Duncan, I apologize. You should leave me behind, take Domnall with you.”

“There is no need to apologize, but I am afraid I must insist you attend.” Duncan pulled Alistair aside. “Alistair, try to reason with Cailan. By any means necessary, make him understand he is in danger.”

Cailan in danger. Alistair did not want to think about the consequences of any harm to Cailan Theirin. A forced laugh belied Alistair’s discomfort. “So . . . convincing Cailan at gunpoint . . . too much?”

Duncan ignored Alistair’s question, continuing through the grounds. The firing range, an area protected by barriers and sand bags could not accommodate the large influx of soldiers. “Duncan, there’s no elegance to battle anymore. Yes, Cailan’s research teams supply the weapons to the Wardens, the Templars and the private mercenaries, but what’s wrong with a well-made sword and a shield?”

Grey Wardens all used short swords for close combat; there were still a few smiths who practiced the art of sword making in Thedas.  A few Wardens used crossbows but Alistair studied combat in all forms. If he could swing it, chuck it or throw it, the item could be a weapon.

Duncan patted Alistair on the back. “You were born at the wrong time, Alistair. Regardless of your opinion of firearms, do not discount them.”

The two continued their conversation entering the main building and through the first guard post and passed through every checkpoint without question until Alistair’s impatience at the incompetence of Cailan’s armies angered him. Ostagar’s War Room sat in a secured area near the rear of the main building. Cailan’s presence should have carried the highest level of security, but Alistair fumed as the guard stationed outside the doors sat reading and ignored those passing in and out. Alistair pounded his fist on the desk causing the guard to drop his book.

Alistair’s soft tone of voice and pleasant smile hid his fury. “Is this your scheduled break, perhaps a lunch or a mid-morning nosh?”

The soldier shook his head. “N-n-no sir.”

“I see and were your orders clear?” Alistair heard Duncan’s sigh behind him.

“Yes Warden, very clear,” the soldier replied.

Duncan knew what was to come. Alistair would change in an instant, gone would be the gentle tone, the calm voice replaced in earnest by a commanding presence and more often than not leaving the subject near tears.

“Maker’s Blood, man! If anything happens to Mr. Theirin on your watch, I will personally send you into the Deep Roads wrapped in raw meat!” Alistair leaned in closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “Have you ever seen a deepstalker? They come at you from the dark on two legs, looks like just an ordinary lizard – until you see the mouth – a gaping maw like a worm lined with teeth so sharp they can shred flesh. But the worst thing about the deepstalker? There are always more . . . in the dark, hiding in the crevices . . . waiting.”

The man’s voiced cracked as he tried to speak and his hands shook. “I-I-I’ll do better Warden.”

“See you do,” Alistair said, glancing back at Duncan to roll his eyes. Moving aside to let Duncan pass, Alistair shot a final glare at the soldier and pointed from his eye and back to the man. An audible gulp left no doubt as to the comprehension of Alistair’s message.

A few quick steps brought Alistair to Duncan’s side, and the two continued down the secured hallway towards the elevators. Repeated glances from Duncan prompted Alistair to ask, “what?”

The slight upturned corners of Duncan’s mouth showed a hint of a smile. “Mr. . . .Theirin. Cailan would be pleased Alistair.”

Entering the elevator, he responded, “don’t get used to it; I will no doubt offend everyone at least once over the course of the meeting.” He grinned as Duncan stifled a groan.

The Elevator doors opened to a large vestibule with a set of double doors in front of them. “Will you at least attempt to be civil?” Raised voices and angry retorts penetrated through the heavy doors.

 “I always attempt to be civil,” Alistair flashed a mischievous grin at the senior Warden, “I seem to suffer from a rather large failure rate, although I couldn’t say why.”

Grumbling at Alistair’s continued sarcasm, Duncan placed a hand on Alistair’s shoulder. “Try harder.” Duncan hesitated and his brows pulled together. “Alistair, keep vigilant. Look after Domnall.”

“Duncan?” Alistair had never seen Duncan so conflicted. “Are you all right?”

Duncan’s answer, delayed and preceded by a heavy sigh unnerved Alistair. “We may have to pull our support, Alistair. The murder of the Couslands is not coincidental. We’ll talk more after the meeting.”   

_________________

Several hours of arguments, insults and disagreements in varying degrees left Domnall and Alistair both uncomfortable and itching to defend the Wardens, Alistair watched and noted those around the room whose support of Loghain over Cailan seemed suspect. Alistair held back each time Duncan asserted the Warden’s view. Domnall joined Alistair and faced the wall to block his voice.

“If I were to take out Mister Slick over there, would you turn me in?” Alistair coughed to hide his laughter.

Cailan stared at Alistair from his position opposite the large table. A slight smirk alerted Alistair Cailan knew what the two Wardens discussed. “Something you’d like to add Warden Alistair?”

Loghain’s expression soured at the mention of Alistair’s name. “So, we’re acknowledging the little family secret, Cailan?” Loghain’s disregard for protocols, from his ceremonial dress uniform of the Wardens to his inability to defer to Cailan offended Alistair. Cailan did not miss the clenched fists and tightened jaw as Alistair fought to remain silent.

“Loghain, you’re out of line,” Cailan snapped back, “this is still my operation. If you dispute my authority, let’s have it out right now. I need every person in this room focused on their part.” Cailan ran Theirin Enterprises, but Loghain retained his seat on the board and served as Cailan’s Chief Operating Officer after Maric Theirin disappeared five years’ prior.

“I do have something to add,” Alistair began, “the uniform, you haven’t earned the right to wear it, Loghain.” Deliberate steps brought him closer to the table. “As for dirty family secrets,” Alistair ignored Duncan’s gentle hand on his arm, “it must have been quite a shock when Theirin Enterprises voted you down as CEO and named Cailan as Maric’s true successor.”

Loghain’s eyes narrowed and attempted to intimidate Alistair; he met only with a steeled gaze and a grin. “Do your part, Loghain, honor your promise of support and I promise you will never see me again.” Several more steps towards Loghain forced the man to back step into a chair. “Fail to deliver and I’m afraid you’ll find out what ‘by any means necessary’ implies.”

In the uncomfortable silence and tension left after Alistair’s exchange, Cailan took control. “Thank you Alistair, perhaps you’d like to take the lead on this debriefing?” Cailan’s brow raised but the slightest hint of a smile revealed he approved.

"Me? No, I wandered into the wrong room. I thought this was a dancing class. I’ve always wanted to learn the Remigold. Imagine my surprise.” Alistair returned to the back of the room to face Domnall and far too many questions.

 The junior Warden whispered a barrage of questions but Alistair did not answer. “Not now, I’m trying to listen.”

 I went too far, he chastised himself, now is not the time to take on Loghain. Alistair ignored the blood pulsing in his ears and focused on the plan. Cailan and Duncan would lead the troops. Duncan on the ground and Cailan from the Command Post. Loghain would direct both the Eastern and Western forces in place of Bryce Cousland. Glancing at Domnall, Alistair wondered if Duncan’s warning held true. Did the Couslands’ murder play out in Loghain’s favor? Who would go to such lengths?

 “Wardens, would you remain? We have another matter to discuss.” Cailan’s invitation carried more weight than a casual request. Alistair waited as the room emptied, but his mind continued to work through the possibilities. He didn’t comprehend Cailan’s words as he outlined a special mission for Domnall and Alistair. He didn’t answer as Duncan summarized the timeline. Alistair’s attention remained fixed on Loghain Mac Tir.

______________

 “I.S.H.A.L tower?” Alistair complained to Duncan. “We should protect Cailan at least, or aiding you.”

 Duncan, Domnall and Alistair prepared in the Warden’s armory. Domnall tightened his body armor. “what’s ishal?”

 Putting his harness  down, Duncan explained, “when we arrived, do you recall the large radio tower across the bridge?” Domnall nodded. “Intelligence Security Hub And Logistics tower." Duncan spelled out the letters. " I . . .S. . .H . .A . . .L . . .I.S.H.A.L.”

Final preparations made, Duncan added to the original orders, “send the signal, then find Cailan.”

 Alistair disagreed. “Duncan, send two Templars to the tower, we should be with you.”

 The armory phone rang three shrill rings in succession. Duncan lifted the handset. “Understood,” Duncan replied into the mouthpiece, “ . . . and with you. Cailan, do not leave the Command Post, I implore you. Allow those around you to fight.” Alistair slid several knives into his chest sheath as he listened. “I have no doubts,” Duncan listened to the caller, “be that as it may, seek Alistair at the tower before considering joining the fray.”

Duncan’s somber expression troubled Alistair. Cailan would risk his safety to fight. “Duncan, let me protect Cailan, Domnall can handle the tower.”

Domnall nodded, “Yes, allow me to head to the tower alone, Alistair can do more on the ground.”

“No. Alistair, you have your orders,” Duncan said, “Maker watch over you, my friend.”

_____________

Madeleine stopped the recorder. “No one survived the Battle of Ostagar, except you two, Warden. The papers claimed you deserted and never signaled the battalions. Loghain Mac Tir condemned the Wardens as traitors to Ferelden and enemies of Thedas.”

Alistair sank in his chair. “I assure you, none of it is true. We made it to the radio room and sent the message, only Deimon had a surprise waiting for us. We weren’t supposed to survive - if it wasn’t for the witch and her crazy mother . . . I wouldn’t be here talking with you.”

Chapter Text

Phantom Lady

Madeleine stopped writing to meet Alistair’s stare.

“You don’t believe me,” his words did not carry the inflection of a question. Sighing, he pushed up from his desk. “It’s been a genuine thrill, my dear. There’s the door.” Alistair gestured behind her with a nod of his head.

She scrambled to apologize. “Warden, that’s not true, there’s been no proof of the events, it’s not that I don’t believe you - but Loghain Mac Tir-“

“Loghain Mac Tir is dead,” he cut her off. “I suspect you know that to be true. Perhaps you recall the trial? A parade of witnesses so eager to prove the Wardens' actions fell within the purpose of saving Thedas.” Alistair’s feigned crying and sniffling underlined his distaste of the whole affair. “The tears shed in court at the lamentable tales of Loghain’s treachery, his daughter’s collusion and the terrible death of Warden Domnall at the hands of Arch Deimon.”

“Warden, please.” Madeleine feared she’d angered him. 

Facing the window, Alistair pried open the slats of the window blind with his fingers to look out over the city, “Cailan, Duncan and how many countless others.” He huffed, a half kind of laugh and a sigh. “Little family secret. Nothing little about it, Maric’s fucking illegitimate son.” He paused. “A  few still protect the truth. Cailan, of course, had this way of getting under my skin,” his voice trailed off into contemplation.

“Warden?” Madeleine’s exposure to veterans of the Blight extended to her own family. Fifteen years’ prior, many of those who fought and lived matured much like Alistair. In years, almost mid-thirties, but his experiences and losses aged and hardened him. She witnessed a renewal in his youth whenever he talked about the past. She hoped he might find release from his burden.

A deep exhalation and a roll of his shoulders brought Alistair back to the present. “I’m just Alistair here. No need for titles.” He continued as though the break never occurred. “I went back to Ostagar, much later, mind you.”

She pressed the recorder buttons in time to catch Alistair’s words. “I found Cailan and Dom helped me return his body. He deserved better . . .the idealistic fool.”

Madeleine’s question,  the one spoken in whispers when anyone mentioned Ostagar, burned her tongue and ignited her guilt anew - Duncan’s fate.

“The answer to the question I see churning around in your head is I don’t know what happened to Duncan.”

Madeleine gasped, “how did you know?”

“No trick, I assure you. Everyone eventually asks me about him. Sometimes I think I see him crossing a street, or disappearing around a corner.” Alistair seemed to catch his breath several times, as if the next words to come carried so much weight, he had to build the courage to speak them aloud.  “We found his weapons and harness but . . . nothing more. Dom and I searched countless bodies - countless bodies- searching for Duncan. We didn’t . . . I’m sorry.” Turning back to the window, Alistair fell silent again.

Madeleine did not push as she waited for Alistair to compose himself. I was warned to be cautious around Alistair, but he is neither cold nor vicious. This is a man carrying blame.

He glanced back to her once before he returned to their conversation. “Duncan was a good man. One of the finest. You will make that clear, Madeleine. Say what you will about me, but you will give him respect. Duncan should be remembered well.”

Another pained silence gripped the small office. She wondered if Alistair was too emotional to continue his story. Madeleine offered a quick prayer for peace to find the Warden. He’d lost so much and she had nothing to give. It’s time to leave, Maddy.  

His eyes fixed on the far wall, Alistair shook out of his memory and smiled. “Are we stopping?” He asked, “I got lost there for a moment. Where was I?”

She fumbled again to grab her notebook and realized she’d never stopped the recorder. “The witch and her crazy mother?” Madeleine prompted with Alistair’s final words on Ostagar.

His laugh was genuine, a full laugh tinged in delight. “Morrigan. Maker’s breath that woman needled me from the moment we met in the Wilds until she crawled back under a rock.”

“Needled you? I thought she was a friend?” Madeleine asked as she settled back in chair.

Alistair coughed. He choked. He almost hit his head against his desk from laughter erupting from him. After a minute or two, he wiped his eyes and looked into Madeleine’s wearing the biggest grin she’d ever seen. “No. Never would Morrigan ever be confused for a friend. Her coming along with us was Dom’s fault.” 

____________

A team. Domnall and Alistair. A shared purpose and a plan decided between them: to find Deimon and bring him down. To do so they would need help. “So Domnall, after I secure a vehicle in Lothering, where to next?”

“Dom. Only my mother and Duncan called me Domnall. So do you go by Al?” The junior Warden preferred to stay on Alistair’s good side.

“No, Alistair or Warden but never Al,” the thought of any nickname bothered him.

Dom, ever affable, smiled. “As for our destination, you’re the Senior Warden now, you should decide.”

A scoff behind them alerted the Wardens Morrigan had joined the conversation. To say she’d been antagonistic and combative in her exchanges fell short.

Turning to walk backwards, Dom tried to find out why Morrigan needed to interject. “Problem, Morrigan?”

“Yes, and dire one since you asked. If Alistair is the best hope for success, might I suggest digging a large hole now and resigning yourselves to failure and doom.” Morrigan delivered a sweet smile a stark contrast to her biting words.

 “Right, I’ll get back to you on that part of the plan, Morrigan.” Dom offered before turning back to Alistair.

“Oh, please do. I’m all a twitter.” Morrigan remarked.

Alistair rolled his eyes. “Miserable witch, who’s bright idea was it to bring her along? Oh . . . that’s right, yours.” 

Dom explained why he couldn’t leave Morrigan behind; he understood they’d need a mage at some point. Alistair had a knack with poisons, bombs and traps. His training as a Warden gave him far more tools to be useful. Dom couldn’t brew a simple broth, let alone any of the complex recipes the Wardens required.  Morrigan possessed knowledge of potions, poultices and proper food, but Alistair wouldn’t let her touch the rations at all to help.

“If you fall over every pair of breasts we come across, Dom, we’ll never secure the help we need.”

Morrigan interrupted. “I am walking behind you, Alistair.”                                                                        

“Enjoying the view then, are we?” Alistair quipped. Morrigan’s angry exhale and muttering ended the latest round of words between them.

The constant bickering between Alistair and Morrigan carried them from the Wilds to Lothering. The last outpost dividing the Imperial Highway east to Denerim or west to Redcliffe and the Frostback mountains, provided the best location to begin the long campaign.

Lothering prospered as a hub of commerce, travel and trade; its central point on the Imperial Highway would help the Wardens on their way.  Alistair expected to find supplies and secure a vehicle upon arrival. The party had to fight through a group of bandits outside the city limits; nothing too difficult. Dom and Alistair decided once prepared they would head west to Redcliffe to meet with Eamon Guerrin.

Taking Morrigan with him, Dom left Alistair to find a vehicle and heavy equipment while the two moved further into town for additional goods. Dom’s plan might speed up the time spent in Lothering and allow the party to leave for Redcliffe by nightfall.

Alistair guessed the usual banking accounts for the Wardens, supplied by Theirin Enterprises, might be cut off or limited. He had no doubts given the whispers and strange looks received from passersby, their presence would draw attention. Duncan and Alistair set up numerous fund accounts in cities all over Ferelden as they traveled to Ostagar. A common practice on long journeys in case any Warden found himself in need.

Alistair needed to lose his fatigues, the colors far too recognizable. Following the path Dom and Morrigan took into the city a Chantry sister approached him. Her face obscured by a hood, the only sign of her affiliation revealed in the sunburst-embossed emblem on her neck cowl.

A slight nod of her head preceded her greeting. “Welcome to Lothering, the weather is foul today; I offered your companions the same gift to hide from brewing storms.” She extended a Chantry robe in her arms to Alistair, which he accepted without speaking. She inclined her head a second time, “Leave as soon as you are able. If you require anything more, find me at the Inn. Maker watch over you.” She slipped away without waiting for Alistair’s gratitude. 

The Orlesian lilt to her speech was subtle enough to be recognizable to his ear, but the woman’s measured words and inflection hid her origin well. Her strange words didn’t concern him; the possibility their safety could be compromised so soon troubled him.

Word traveled quickly in the Commerce District. The three travelers came to buy and the doors that closed at first, welcomed their business. Alistair pieced together Lothering’s plight from the various merchant’s tales; refugees poured in from everywhere the darkspawn attacked and the city did not have the means to support the ever growing population. Those who escaped the horde left their homes with little belongings and even less money.

Alistair secured almost everything, except the much needed transportation. Those with means snapped up anything with wheels to travel west hoping to find safety from the darkspawn horde. Alistair would try for better luck in Redcliffe.

Still disturbed by the presence of the helpful Chantry sister, Alistair sought the inn, Dane’s Refuge. He hoped to find his benefactor.  No one hands over Chantry robes to hide a Warden; nothing is ever as simple as it appears. She might be one of Cailan’s agents or maybe a Templar or even a Warden from Orlais.  Whoever she was, he needed to find her.

Alistair crossed the small bridge in search of the inn but the lack of street signs or any signage meant his search would take time. The sounds of shouting and a brawl inside a large building showed Alistair might have found his destination.  Climbing the steps, a hand gripped his collar pulled him backwards choking him.

“Hey! Hands off!” Alistair pulled free and turned to find a woman sitting on the railing and eating.

She dug in a small pouch and offered him something in her hand, “cookie?” Alistair declined. “The uniform you wear is supposed to be a Theirin mercenary uniform.” He recognized the same accent from the Chantry sister he met earlier. But her short cropped red hair and merc uniform were not Chantry approved. “Sorry to inform you, your new uniform is a knock off. I hope you didn’t pay too much.” She popped the cookie into her mouth and jumped down from her perch joining him. “Your friends are inside, I tried to intervene – call for peace and all that – but Loghain’s men wouldn’t hear of it.”

He lunged towards the door to help Dom. “Relax. He’s fine – as is the witch. Which gives us,” she pointed back and forth between them, “time to chat.” She grinned and motioned for him to follow. When Alistair did not move, she returned to his side and pulled him off toward an empty corner of the deck. “I know who you are. Now, in my line of work, a nice pay off, a place to stay and I’d call us even.” Her expression darkened, “Times being as they are . . . you need me, Alistair Theirin.”

Taking her out with all the people milling about invited trouble. If she made the first move, Alistair would be within his right to defend himself. Lothering followed Ferelden laws, as long as he remained on the defensive,  he remained in the right.  She worked for Loghain, he was almost sure. “How much is Loghain paying his assassins these days?” Each stared at the other to intimidate, Alistair’s left hand movement hidden by his stance as he reached for his dagger.

Dom and Morrigan burst out the door in the middle of the tense standoff. “There you are!” Dom laughed. “You missed the fight!” He turned to the woman across from Alistair. “Leliana! I wondered if you took off.”

Her eyes never left Alistair as she responded her lilting voice calm and even, “no, I’m right where I promised to wait for Alistair. I’m trying to determine if he means to use that dagger he appears to be reaching towards or if  Alistair means to be a good boy.”

Realization pushed Dom to intervene. “Alistair, she’s not a threat. Leliana helped us.” Alistair’s piercing gaze remained fixed on his would-be assassin. Dom pulled Alistair away. “Listen, she needs our help to get her partner, he’s in prison. We help her and she helps us. We need allies, Alistair.”

“Allies, Dom.” Alistair rolled his eyes. “This is not a day trip where all the kiddies get to tag along.” Returning to face Leliana, he extended his hand to her. “So we spring your partner and you help us with the darkspawn and Blight? Seems skewed in our favor.”

Morrigan poked her head around and grinned.  “This should be delightful. Tell the Warden why you’re following us.”

Leliana grabbed her pack and motioned for the others to follow her. “Well, I have a truck, my own supply network thanks to two dwarves I saved and. . . well, the Maker sent me to help you.”

Alistair stopped. “I. . .see. I must have angered your Revered Mother at some point and you’re my punishment is that it? Look, run back to the old crone and tell her this: I’m not a Templar; in fact I never completed my initiation. Tell the old bat to bugger off and leave me alone!” He stalked off ahead of the group.

I never wanted to be a Templar. Half-crazed zealots chasing after mages in a drug induced state. Alistair would apologize to this Leliana later.

“Alistair! Hey, Alistair!” Dom tried to catch up but Alistair’s long strides and anger pushed him further and further ahead of the group.

Thinking about the past disrupted Alistair’s focus. Dumped at the Chantry, a filthy secret to be swept away and given nothing in return. I have no love for Eamon and the Guerrins, but we need their help. A sharp exhale slowed Alistair’s angered steps, allowing Dom to match pace.

“Leliana has a warehouse further into the city; we can use it as a base until you’re ready to go.”  Dom glanced over at Alistair a few times before continuing, “You were a Templar? I don’t figure you for all that structure and rules. You’re better suited to the Grey Wardens.”

A noisy exhale helped Alistair balance his mood a little more. “I wasn’t, not like you think. I didn’t go through with the initiation. I spent most of my time in the kitchen for being cheeky to the Revered Mother or the Lieutenant on duty or if I was really adventurous the Knight Commander. I learned the same skills as the other recruits, but I thank the Maker for Duncan’s arrival. I didn’t know why he sought me out back then; but I owe him so much. . .”

The two talked of Duncan and planned a memorial in Highever near Dom’s family home once their mission succeeded. They traveled in silence as Leliana guided the group through darkened alleyways and hidden paths until they reached a warehouse. Metal chains clanked and the scrape of a large rolling door lifted before them revealing a huge storage area filled with gear and equipment. “In here, the boys are out taking care of the inventory you purchased and I promise everything accounted for by the time we return. You all have the run of my stock, take whatever you need. So Warden Alistair, will you help me?”   

___________

The rainstorm outside Alistair’s office intensified. Thunder and lightning played off one another until the lights flickered. Alistair continued his story while he rummaged in a supply closet. “We found her partner, in case you were wondering.” Alistair peered around the closet door. “Sten. A qunari.” He returned to the closet, shifting items around and talking at the same time. “We were supposed to ignore the fact he’d committed the crime he was accused and convicted of because he wanted to fight darkspawn. I’d planned to leave them all in Redcliffe and continue on once we contacted the Guerrin family.” 

“Much better!” He grinned and held up candles and a lantern. “I can’t very well send you out in this mess, can I? I’m afraid there isn’t much in the way of food, but at least you can see should the power give out.”  Alistair finished his preparations and returned to his desk.

The long pause brought Madeleine’s attention back to him. “Do you need a break, Warden?”

“Alistair, please.” He studied her as he spoke, “I’m fine, it’s you that concerns me, my dear.”

“Me? Why would you worry about me?” Madeleine shifted in her chair.

“From this point in the story, much of the information I’ll share remains in dispute despite the trial and verdict. You realize what it could do to your reputation, right? The Wardens, the Corporations, all those families - regardless of the current climate, the backlash never seems to end. Are you prepared for what could follow?”

Madeleine tried to find the right words. “My family. . .does not approve of what I do. They are . . .let’s just say if they knew I’d end up in a Chantry cloister or just another potted plant at the Tranquil Gardens. If you’ll allow it, I’ll publish this under a pen name, so as not to embarrass the family name.”

“I see. Then the aspiring writer before me is, in truth, part of one of those many families; noble in name but not in deed?” His words were not accusatory, Alistair understood. Wealth and power did not negate the lack of decency so many of the elite in Ferelden possessed.

She cleared her throat and stopped the recorder. “My sister. . .Alistair she was five years old when my mother discovered she was a mage. There was no possible way a child of her bloodline was a perverted abomination. Five. They took her to Tranquil Gardens. I was in school at the time as was my brother. Do you know what they do there? After a single night’s stay they all have the same hollow stare, the same monotone lilt to their voice.”

He sighed, “I’m so sorry. So young.” Tears fell on her cheeks and Alistair handed her a handkerchief, but she refused to wipe them away.

“How does a mother condemn a child with no remorse, no thought to the cruelty of it all?” Madeleine asked. “Tranquility should be a respite, not a prison.” Madeleine, realizing she’d interrupted him, apologized and asked Alistair to continue.

“If you’re sure?” She nodded in response to his question.  “Then allow me to dispel the myth surrounding Eamon and Connor Guerrin and how a mother can condemn a child with no thought to cruelty to any of those around her.”

Chapter Text

Six years old and I learned to hide - not for games but for survival. I learned to listen for angered footsteps. Connor wore the same fear – the same mask. Hide or she’ll find you. Connor locked his mind away for protection and in doing so his magic lashed out in his stead -  he was no demon. Unlike Connor, I wasn’t a mage. I remember every word and every mark.

 Alistair’s muscles tightened thinking about Redcliffe and Isolde, Eamon’s wife.

 ‘ALISTAIR WHERE ARE YOU!’ Small, dark spaces. Hide like a mouse. I did nothing. She calls me names. If I pull my knees close and press my head down, she won’t hear me. I can’t cough, but it hurts to breathe. Why won’t they help me? Teagan is opening cabinets and closets, whispering for me. I didn’t DO anything. Someone’s coming. No, no, no. It’s her. Please don’t let her find me.

Madeleine cringed as unmistakable pain crossed Alistair’s face. His muscles tensed as if he were bracing for a blow. “Alistair? Are you all right?”

An exhale worked to release his clenched muscles. Tightened fists unfurled and white knuckles disappeared with the easing of his tension. “It’s . . . nothing. A memory.” The sudden change to Alistair covered the small room in a new discomfort.

She noticed the presence of fine lines around the corners of his eyes and lips, the subtle puffiness of the skin beneath a saddened visage.  He’d somehow aged before her in the recollection of a memory. As she watched him, Madeleine’s perception of Alistair changed. This is Alistair; wounded, abandoned and left to carry the guilt for the transgressions of the past. The other a façade, built with great care to shield the real man underneath. 

 "You asked how a mother can forsake her child; with the Guerrins, look deep enough and you’ll find lies and misdirection. Teagan Guerin constructed meticulous tales to carry half-truths into the public domain. The events in Redcliffe are not for the faint, my dear.” The weight of Alistair’s memories dragged him down more; his body slouched in the chair.   

 The official version, outlined how Connor Guerrin poisoned his father Eamon and using magic set the entire city of Redcliffe into chaos - including claims of undead rising to take the city and a demon-possessed child. Madeleine didn’t buy the story.

 Undead creatures didn’t exist. The Chantry explained the stories were a misunderstanding; these so-called undead were the victims of plagues found throughout Thedas. The Fallow Mire in southern Thedas long abandoned to time and walled off to contain the infected created a city of the walking dead. Plagues and illness necessitated an asylum for the afflicted. The so-called undead were victims left to die in the swamps. Demons, undead and monsters were stories, nothing more.  

When she looked up at him, the wide smile on his face confused her.

He pointed towards her and gestured towards her forehead. “You get this little crinkle in your forehead every so often. I’d guess you were contemplating or attempting to work something out in your head.”

A light laugh escaped her followed by a quick nod. “I was thinking about the stories the tabloids tell about the undead and demons. Whoever spun the tale was quite the storyteller.”

A raised eyebrow and the hint of a smirk from Alistair drew her attention. “Is that right . . . a story you say? Madeleine, don’t tell me you believe the Chantry’s assertion? Demons and monsters are pure fabrication, right?  No sane person could ever believe in something so frightening, is that it?” She could hear the sarcastic lilt to his voice and it troubled her.

Madeleine leaned forward, “You’re saying it’s all true? Demons, undead . . .Dragons?”

The thunder intensified rattling the windows. “Shall we upset the Chantry’s precious balance together? Are you prepared to dispel myth and fantasy all in one blow?”

She blanched, unsure of what he meant.

“A little melodrama, forgive me. The truth has more than enough drama to take us through the weather.” Shifting in his chair, Alistair propped his feet up on the desk. “Somehow since leaving Ostagar, we’d gained a witch, an assassin, a homicidal qunari with a cookie habit and two dwarves.  In the middle of all this insanity, our destination - the city of Redcliffe, thanks to our feisty assassin and her well-stocked armory, lay before us. She claimed to be a reformed sister of the Chantry, but I knew the Chantry and its methods. Judging by her skills and her attitude she was no religious nut. I thought Cailan hired her but Dom didn’t care; if she and her strange companions could help – Dom convinced me we needed Leliana’s help.”

__________________

On  the Road to Redcliffe

 You can do this Alistair. Ask for help and then go. He tried to strengthen his resolve sitting on the lift gate of the truck alone.

 The scuff of boots on the truck bed followed by Dom settling in next to him told Alistair it was time to share a few important details. “There’s something. . . where do I start. . . Dom. Redcliffe. . . the Guerrins and Theirins are related.”

 Dom nodded looking out over the landscape. “Common knowledge, Alistair. I met Eamon and Teagan Guerrin many times with my father. Rowan Guerrin was Cailan’s mother. She passed away before I was born, but I remember hearing about her and the strong ties between the families.”

 “Yes. I never met Rowan either.” He stuttered before continuing, “that’s not the point I’m trying to make.” He cleared his throat trying to find the right words.  “Look, the truth is-“

Dom cut Alistair’s awkward speech short. “Relax. I know. You’re Maric’s son. We all know, Alistair. It’s been in every tabloid rag ever since I was a kid. You and Cailan look like brothers. The resemblance,” Dom laughed, “plain as day, my friend.” A pat on the back to reassure Alistair prompted another grin from Dom. “So, that means…. all this,” he made a grandiose sweeping gesture showing the surrounding land, “is yours, oh inheritor of all things Ferelden. I’m putting in a request right now, when we get back, I want a corner office, my friend.”

Running his hands through his hair, Alistair groaned, “no please, don’t start. That witch wife of Cailan’s or the Geurrins will try to take control. I’m not good enough.”

Dom disagreed and attempted to convince Alistair the importance of keeping Loghain out of control. “My parents died because of Loghain. We have to stop him. Loghain is hunting us, Deimon is hunting us, it’s time to do something about it. Getting Eamon’s help and backing is vital to secure others. The Knights of Redcliffe Alistair, do you know what they are?” Dom leaned back. “Fergus prodded me to consider applying, but I’m good here, with the Wardens.”

The Knights of Redcliffe Elite, or KORE, soldiers born not from privilege but of valor and a desire to protect Fereldans and their homeland; created by Maric and Eamon years prior they couldn’t be confused with ancient armor-clad warriors bent on slaying dragons. Those who wished to serve had three choices in this life, Templar, Warden or the Knights. Unlike the others or the invitation only Seekers of Truth, a Knight recruit was free from rituals, magic, or any requirements other than surviving the grueling training and a willingness to defend Ferelden to the last. If Eamon agreed and lent the Knights to their cause, the support would be invaluable.

Hours passed on the road to Redcliffe leaving only Alistair and Leliana awake. While she drove, Alistair’s mind prepared him for the visit with Eamon.

Alistair never set out to cause mischief as a child; it always seemed to happen; what made it worse - Isolde always found out. Eamon’s wife despised Alistair, and all he represented and she took every opportunity to express her opinion. When Isolde gave birth to Eamon’s son, Connor, she banished Alistair to a small enclosure in the basement and her torment of him began in earnest.

His hand moved of its own volition to rub his arm, remembering the marks, the pulled shoulders, the hollow smack of her hand against his cheek. Her taunting words returned to his waking mind: worthless bastard child . . . someone should have thrown you away . . . how a child can be so stupid.

Teagan knew. He’d always bring a healer and sit with Alistair whenever Eamon was away until she would screech for him in her horrid Orlesian accent. He learned to hate the sound of her voice, her heels on the stairs, even the sound of her huffing through her nose when she was angry. At six years old, he relied on the house staff to hide him away from her wrath.

Six years old, Alistair thought, and all I wanted was to disappear. A loud sigh escaped him before he could stop it, forcing Alistair to bury his head in his hands. “Ignore me,” Alistair offered, “I’m tired.”

“I know what concerns you, Alistair.” Leliana offered.

 “So you do work for Cailan – did - work for Cailan.” He sighed, shaking his head. How long will it take to sink in, he wondered.

 She laughed, “no, try again, but I’ll tell you this, you’re close more or less.” Leliana reached over to latch the back window. “Now we can talk . . . maybe not about everything.”

 “Who are you?” Alistair shifted in the passenger seat to face her. “You’re far too well funded to be out on your own.” Leliana’s silence fed his curiosity. “A qunari bodyguard –“

 “Sten is not a bodyguard; he was left for dead in a field after a darkspawn attack. I found him and offered a trade. He doesn’t understand everything we do has consequences.” She’d explained in Lothering Sten and others in his scouting party had survived an attack only to be attacked again by humans. He killed them all thinking them darkspawn. The only reason he ended up in prison was that he was qunari. “When you complete your goals, Alistair, I’ve promised to help Sten return home.”

 “Commendable, but you keep avoiding the question; tell me or don’t but dangling the information will only piss me off.” He turned from her to stare out the window, the faint glow of the city over the ridge a clue they would reach Redcliffe soon.

 “You’re more like him than you know.” Her cryptic words pulled his attention back to her, “Maric. I never met him - I inherited the contract. I have several recordings of his voice; they’re yours if you want them.”

 Leaning back in his seat, Alistair mumbled a few unintelligible words before speaking again. “So you’re telling me, the man who ignored me, discarded me and essentially told me to fuck off by his lack of action hired you to help me fight?”

 “No,” she said, turning the truck towards the secondary highway, “your father sent you to Eamon. Isolde wasn’t a factor back then. As the years passed, Maric heard the rumors and whispers about her and hired my predecessor. When she delivered proof of what you endured, Maric sent Duncan to retrieve you, only by then you’d been shipped off to the Chantry before Duncan arrived – you were ten years old. Duncan advised Maric to leave you in the Chantry until you were at least eighteen.” She looked over, “you still with me, Alistair?”

 She’d been exact in her recounting of his life. Alistair examined what he understood and compared it to his memories. Her predecessor infiltrated Eamon’s staff; it would have been the only way. To pull it off, Isolde would have to approve the person. One person came to mind. Orlesian, she did not cower around Isolde. Marjolaine. That was her name. She checked up on him every night, cleaned his injuries and promised she’d make it right. She worked in the kitchen, he remembered. “Marjolaine. She disappeared from the house, when I was nine.”

 Leliana said nothing at first. A few deep breaths and she found her voice. “Yes. Once she delivered her information, Marjolaine returned to Orlais. However, the rest of her story is not important. Teagan Guerrin will confirm all I’ve said. He holds the contract now - I thought you should know. I spoke with Teagan when you arrived in Lothering; had you not chosen Redcliffe as your next destination, I promised to steer you to Teagan.”

 “For what reason?” Alistair’s eyes widened as he made the connection – Theirin Enterprises. “Not a chance, I’m not. . .” His voice trailed off and Alistair completed the thought to himself. I’m not Cailan. I can’t do what he did. I don’t want the responsibility. Lost in thought, Alistair lurched forward when the truck skidded to a halt, his seat harness kept him from harm.

 Opening his door, Alistair jumped down to examine the reason for the short stop. A roadblock, at least 10 feet high cut off the main road. The river entrance to the city accessible by a footbridge would be their entry point. Leliana joined him looking over the area. “What now?”

 Alistair suggested Sten and the dwarves take the truck several miles up the ridge on the city outskirts. An inn on the ridge would be the best place for them to wait. Once Alistair convinced Leliana she’d have access to her gear; she let the truck go and followed Alistair and Dom into the city. The pump action sound of a shotgun fore-end sliding back preceded a verbal warning to turn back. Morrigan hissed as Dom yanked her behind him.

 Leliana explained Teagan Guerrin expected them. After some whispering and arguing, permission to continue and an escort led them through the empty city streets.

 She stopped in the street and scanned the area and buildings unhooking her bow. “Does this seem odd to anyone else? The air is expectant, how is that possible?”

 Alistair’s instincts agreed. A deep breath. The city braced itself.  “It’s not darkspawn. I can’t quite put my finger on it. It is odd.”

 Dom pushed his way towards Alistair, “Morrigan feels something strange too, she claims there’s strong magic at work Alistair.”

 Morrigan’s claim solidified for Alistair, a reminder of his days with the Templars. The surrounding area quieted until a sudden charge built around them; poised to strike. Silent words thanked the Maker for Morrigan; bullets did nothing to magic, only enchantments and spells could counter their own.

 “’Tis here!” Morrigan whispered, “draw blades and nothing else!” The escort pleaded with the party to take shelter, and left them in the street.

 A violet glow crept in with a light fog. Alistair and Dom spoke in gestures; a nod in Morrigan’s direction followed by a quick jerk of his head told Dom to look after the witch. Dom in turn leaned his head towards Leliana, prompted a single nod in return.

 “Enough both of you, there is no need for this foolishness,” Morrigan huffed, “must I show you how to draw your blades as well?”       

 Alistair fought to remain silent drawing the two short swords from his harness. As soon as Dom readied his, the blades ignited in flames illuminating the Warden’s faces. “Maker’s Breath!”

 “Your Maker had nothing to do with it, Alistair,” Morrigan said, priming another spell, “they come!”

 Up from the earth and through the fog they emerged, ancient helmets covered skulls of skeletal warriors. One, then two more arose and everywhere the party looked another group appeared. Dom gawked and looked to Alistair, “Are they real or illusion?”

 “Both,” Morrigan replied, “there is a mage at work here, do not be fooled! These summoned creatures are not corporeal at first, but when risen to the full they can harm you and in return, you can defeat them. The blades! Fight with the blades!” She focused her attention on the approaching soldiers.

 Free of his awe, Alistair squared off against two of the intruders. Crossing his blades in front of him, he pulled his hands apart slicing clean across. The warriors staggered backwards and burned as Alistair continued to hack and slash until one fell, its head severed at the neck, followed by the other. Flaming arrows soared ahead igniting those out of reach. He glanced towards Leliana impressed at the speed she could load and release an arrow.

 “Eyes front Alistair! There are more!” Leliana yelled as she unleashed another volley. He sidestepped to avoid the sluggish sword of the skeletal warrior. Their movement unnatural, like a child’s puppet hindered by the strings. The use of magic repulsed him. Alistair never trusted in the skills he’d learned as a Templar.

 Alistair rolled his eyes earning him a stern glare from the Knight Commander. “Is there a problem?” The Knight Commander took every opportunity to point out Alistair’s faults and used him as the example.

  “Yes, there is a problem. We’re to guard against the misuse of magic and yet that’s what we’re using here.” Alistair’s question met with agreement from the others around him.

  The Knight Commander stood so close to Alistair he gulped prompting a loud laugh. “Excellent point! Nice to see you join us for once.” Alistair listened as the Knight Commander explained.

“A Templar does not use magic, Alistair! He denies it. Remember – magic feeds from the Fade, what I will teach you is how to strengthen reality – declare this to be the true existence under the Maker and in doing so deny access to the Fade. Weapons and tactics are no match for magic and demons. Trust in the Maker and all his works. Trust you are an instrument of the Maker. I assure you, all of you – you will not fail.” The Knight Commander stood before Alistair again, his eyes fixed. “You alone affirm this world is real, Alistair.”

He didn’t have time for memories and flights of fancy; every skeletal warrior beaten seemed to give rise to more. Dom preoccupied his time protecting Morrigan as she unleashed alternating attacks of fire and ice until she had to rest. Leliana danced around slicing with her daggers and chucking small knives in between volleys of flaming arrows.  Alistair didn’t think, he barreled forward and stretched his arms out and with a single yell an almost imperceptible wave spread from his center outwards.

The warriors crumpled to the ground and remained motionless. Morrigan narrowed her gaze, angered at Alistair’s sudden proficiency, “what have you done?”

Securing her weapons, Leliana snickered, “looks like Alistair finally joined the party.” She ventured over to the remains of the creatures. “Looks real enough,” she said moving the fallen corpse with her boot. She pulled out a flat bottle and popped the top, shaking the clear liquid over the bodies before lighting a match. The burst of blue flame startled all of them, except for Leliana. “You can come out now!” Leliana called out to their escort. “Let’s go, they’ll catch up to us,” she said, chuckling as she walked further into the city.

The Guerrin estate, a throwback to ancient Thedan architecture, had stood for generations on the cliffside. The once red rocks around  lake Calenhad were all but depleted, the stone’s popularity with builders had removed everything except the sturdy cliff the estate held in perpetuity. Once called Redcliffe Castle, the outer walls and gate still projected an imposing sight. Inside the walls, the estate grounds boasted a large mansion and multiple buildings used by the Knights.

Leliana hurried ahead to the guard post while Alistair and Dom followed close behind.  “I hated coming here,” Dom said, “Eamon and Teagan were nice enough but something always seemed. . .off.”

Dom’s conversation ended when Leliana returned. “We’re to wait in the main barracks,” she pointed to a grouping of buildings to the right, “Teagan will meet us there.” She continued to speak with Dom as Alistair fell behind, eyes fixed on the large mansion ahead of him.

Morrigan’s laughter warned him of her approach. “What do I see before me?” Her words drenched in sarcasm and a derisive tone, “could it be fear I see in you, Alistair? What secrets shall I uncover, I wonder?” She continued on leaving him staring after her.

He didn’t understand Dom’s fascination with Morrigan. Brusque steps brought him within whispering distance of her. “Careful Morrigan,” she stopped turning to face him as Alistair continued, “it seems you overestimated your chosen protector.” Alistair nodded towards Dom and Leliana. Under the harsh lights of the courtyard, Morrigan and Alistair’s unobstructed view showed Dom’s hand rested on Leliana’s shoulder, the two laughing. Alistair faked a gasp of surprise and covered his mouth in mocking. Recovering, a sly grin spread across his face, “Is that . . . fear I see before me?”

Alistair’s grin carried him towards Dom and Leliana to see Dom beckoning him closer. “Alistair! You’ve got to listen to this; Lil here is a serious badass!”

“While I appreciate you are comfortable enough in my presence to want to use the familiar, I prefer Leliana.” She looked over Alistair’s shoulder, “What did you say to Morrigan? I can’t tell if she’s in pain or angry.”

Before he could answer, the three caught sight of several men advancing towards them. “Thank the Maker! Nightingale! You’ve done it! Nightingale!” Teagan Guerrin waved as he approached.

Turning to face Leliana, Alistair did not bother to hide his shock. Leliana is the Nightingale. The name carried with it fear and reverence. A trained assassin and bodyguard from the age of eight, she’d navigated the Orlesian political machine and survived. Accused of espionage in Orlais, rumors of an elaborate ruse to secret her out of the country and into Ferelden kept the newshounds salivating for weeks – despite the denials from both sides. Alistair no longer cared if Leliana was a religious zealot; if half the stories of her exploits rang true, the balance tipped in their favor.

Chapter Text

Teagan droned on about Redcliffe’s troubles and Dom listened in for the both of them allowing Alistair to his private contemplation. He’d remained at the rear of the room, taking in everything around him. The three points of entry lay to his left, right and a door at the far end of the room, he’d see anyone who entered the hall. Dom and Teagan discussed options.

Alistair’s fascination with Leliana continued throughout Teagan’s ramblings. He watched her leaning against the wall, not far from him. Troubled by her admission of the contract, he tried to understand how Maric Theirin dismissed him growing up only to hire spies to look after him. He’d met his father once; at the time, he didn’t realize the purpose of the meeting.

Eamon walked Alistair through the office at One Drakon Tower, the tallest structure in all of Ferelden. Alistair tugged and scratched at the starched shirt and uncomfortable clothes.  Eamon said little on the limousine ride from the Guerrin estate; his silence worried Alistair as he sat clutching his hands tight staring at the floor.  ”Alistair, when you enter the building stay close to me. I’ll need you to be on your best behavior.”

The young boy did not look up. “I always am. I’ll be quiet.” Alistair kept his promise. Not a word spoken through the lobby, he nodded when the guard asked him if he had an appointment. When the guard questioned him, Alistair didn’t understand the questions were in jest, a tease, and stared for an instant before hiding behind Eamon in fear.

Guiding the boy towards the private elevator, Eamon attempted to console Alistair. “You must be strong, my boy. Mr. Theirin is a busy man. Answer his questions, be polite and then you will meet Cailan – he’s a little older than you, but is eager to meet you.”  Alistair didn’t understand why he’d traveled to meet any of these people. He worried Eamon planned to leave him; he knew Isolde wished him gone and no one would ever know what happened to him. Clutching the handrail in the elevator, Alistair’s dread continued to build with each passing floor.

A loud chime announced their arrival on the top floor. “Come along, Alistair.” Eamon held out his hand, but Alistair did not grasp it.  The sounds were wrong, hollow and empty as he tried to quiet his shoes on the polished floor. The echo of their footsteps alerted a beast to their arrival. Alistair wanted to run. His eyes searched the corners and furniture looking for an escape. A backwards glance towards the elevator sealed his fate; the descending cables in the glass revealed his predicament: trapped at the entrance to the monster’s cave with no means of escape. He knew the beast waited for him, Eamon would leave him alone in the silence at the mercy of the creature who dwelled within.

His ten year old mind created a ferocious beast, standing upright with sharpened claws. It hated sounds for its sensitive ears detected the slightest vibrations. Alistair understood a simple truth, he would not survive if left here.

Every action seemed amplified by the silence of the space. No phones rang, no voices spoke and no noise save the clatter of his shoes on an empty floor. When a woman appeared and hurried towards a set of double doors, Alistair thought she’d appeared out of the Fade. Hurrying to Eamon’s side, Alistair gripped Eamon’s hand and tried to lead him back towards the elevator.

“Alistair, what’s wrong?” Eamon bent to his knee taking in the boy’s widened eyes and rapid breaths. “You have nothing to fear, I promise you. Be brave, my boy.”

The office doors opened and the rush of sound and life almost knocked the boy to the ground. A man paced behind an immense desk, sleeves rolled up, talking on the phone; he’d flip the long cord around him and change direction as he talked. Screens filled both walls. Some flickering still images, picture after picture of farmlands and swamps, mountains and rolling hills, and cities teeming with life. The other side held moving pictures, people walking, construction of buildings, children playing - so much Alistair never imagined could happen all at the same time. The boy, so engrossed in the magic images before him, did not see the man stop and stare at him.

“You’re Alistair,” the man closed in on Alistair’s position so fast, the boy stumbled backwards. “Forgive me; please don’t be afraid, I will not hurt you, Alistair.” He knelt as Eamon had and held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alistair. My name is Maric Theirin.” Alistair’s tentative steps brought him closer to the man who looked nothing like the beast he’d imagined a few minutes earlier. His tie hung loose around his unbuttoned collar and the eagerness used to offer his hand lulled Alistair into a numbing state of uncertainty. The man looked to Eamon and smiled back at the boy, “I won’t bite, son. Take my hand, I promise.”

Eamon’s displeasure at Alistair’s reluctance rang out in his words. “Alistair, you’re being impolite. I thought we understood each other.”

Alistair jumped as Maric Theirin growled and glared at Eamon. “Wait outside Eamon, thank you.” Maric’s dark tone towards Eamon reminded Alistair of his fears and he backed away.

He didn’t want to be alone here, Eamon promised him. “Wait, please. It’s my fault. Here.” Alistair hurried towards Maric hand outstretched. “Please don’t send him away. It’s my fault.”

Maric’s face changed. Unsure if he’d made the situation worse, Alistair apologized again holding out his hand in earnest. Maric’s eyes softened as he took the boy’s hand. “You’ve done nothing wrong Alistair, remember that.”

For a moment, it seemed to Alistair the man planned to grab him, but neither reacted, staring at one another. An awkward silence filled the space, in spite of the cacophony from the multiple screens.  

 Alistair shook the memory from his prescient mind. Yes, we Theirins – fantastic at sharing our thoughts when it matters most. Thank you, Maric.

Trying to get his bearings once again and tune in to the briefing, Alistair turned his focus towards Teagan. Dom tried to engage Alistair several times but Alistair’s attention wandered to Leliana.

She’s beautiful, anyone can see it, he mused, but to be so young and a perfect soldier? I need someone like her. She’d understand. He glanced over at Leliana several times before she joined him.

“You should pay attention, Alistair. I assure you, I’m still here.” She pressed her lips together, but Alistair observed her budding smile and the slight flush, he might have earned her attention.

“Are you still here because of a contract to watch my back or because you want to watch my back?” He grinned, cringing on the inside at a less than impressive attempt at flirting with Leliana.

Leliana turned her head, but not before he caught her full smile. She coughed and looked back at him. “You’re almost endearing Alistair, in an awkward way. It’s cute.”

“Cute? I’d hoped you’d go for charming or even intriguing  . . . but cute?” He chuckled and faced her again.

Leliana raised her hand in a gentle gesture, “Alistair, I like you – but I should tell you something.”

Alistair readied for what was sure to follow. Here comes the kind yet firm rejection. “It’s Dom, right?”

“Dom?” Leliana asked, “you think this is about Dom? Alistair, if I can help you defeat Loghain and Deimon, I will gain the favor of the most powerful man in all Ferelden and for my part I will see you succeed in whatever you plan to do.” Teagan called them closer. “We’ll continue this conversation another time.” Alistair stepped away from her, dejected. She grabbed his elbow before he moved too far; her soft tone and gentle smile meant to reassure. “You’ll find the right woman Alistair, when you least expect her. When it’s meant to be, the Maker will see it done.”

The Maker will see it done. Alistair wanted to believe, but he couldn’t see why the Maker would take note of him now.  

Teagan clasped Alistair’s shoulders in his hands; his awkward yet warm token of affection did nothing to Alistair’s mood. “It’s so good to see you, Alistair. Cailan’s loss is a tragedy. As much as it pains me to move straight to business, you must be briefed on the state of Theirin Enterprises.”

Disbelief and scorn delivered in a mocking laugh and narrowed eyes preceded Alistair’s contemptuous tone. “As my fellow Warden may have mentioned, I’m a little preoccupied, uncle.” The disdain dripping from Alistair’s use of the familial term coaxed a nervous cough from Teagan.

“Yes, well. Sort of uncle, but Teagan will suffice, don’t you think? Eamon’s illness has me concerned we may face additional hostility towards you, Alistair.”

At the mentioned of Eamon, Alistair confronted Dom. “What illness?”

Dom closed the gap between the three men. “He’s in a coma, some sort of chemical compound or poison. Eamon lives, but for how long no healer can say. Magic, medicinal potions, even the experimental drugs Theirin Pharmaceuticals provided have no effect. Teagan will give us the knights, but we need to find a cure.”

Wringing his hands, Teagan offered a solution. “The Ashes of Andraste.” A mix of gasps and exclamations did not stop the conversation. “With the sacred ashes Eamon could be healed.”

The idea of chasing a legend did not appeal to Alistair. “Deimon’s army is not about to take tea for Maker knows how long while we search for some non-existent dust in a cup!”

“Alistair, please.” Leliana pleaded with him from her unobtrusive position. Turning to Teagan, she continued, “I know what you seek Teagan, and it’s a legend, at least there is no proof to the validity of its existence.”

The group stared at Leliana. “I know a professor in Denerim, he’s a bit eccentric, but he claims Andraste’s Ashes are hidden in the Frostbacks. There used to be an old abandoned town. The problem is it’s not so empty anymore. I took Sten with me months ago and there were too many for just the two of us, but with you and maybe another mage. . .we might get through.”

“Tsk-tsk, you seek Haven.”  Morrigan’s derisive tone filled the room. “The Chantry has its zealots, but Haven? The Children of Haven wait for Andraste’s rebirth and those who seek Her shrine never return.”

Alistair glared at the witch, tired of her venom. “Thank you, Morrigan. Now please, hush and go away – the grown-ups need to talk.” He returned to their conversation. “Fine, we’ll find this cure, but you’ve got a tiny problem with undead things running amok.”

Teagan’s shoulder drooped. “It’s Connor, he’s . . . not well. A nasty fall broke his arm, and he’s been upset.”

Dom shook his head. “What does a fall have to do with those creatures outside?”

Teagan’s eyes met Alistair. “He’s a mage. He won’t wake up and ever since, these creatures. . .”     

“A nasty fall?” Alistair’s anger bloomed. Alistair had several nasty falls as a child, all caused by Isolde Guerrin. “Perhaps someone helped – just a little? If Connor is a mage and is causing harm to the people of Redcliffe, we should take him to the Circle and let them help.”

The far door burst open bringing with it the one person Alistair wanted to avoid -  Isolde Geurrin.

“Who are these people, Teagan? Why are they in my house?”

The sneer on Alistair’s face made Isolde step back. “We’d heard about Connor’s accident and I couldn’t help but come – auntie.”

Recognition carved a deep scowl onto her face. “Alistair,” she hissed, “get out.”

“Not without the boy, he’s the cause of these disturbances and I’d guess you’re the cause of his injuries.” Alistair’s slow and deliberate steps brought him closer to her. “The Circle will help him as a mage and protect him.”

The Circle came into being at the behest of the Chantry and to  counter the unpredictable nature of Magic. When a child exhibited signs of errant magic, parents allowed the Circle to assume temporary guardianship. Alistair believed Connor’s safety and the end to the nighttime attacks on Redcliffe both rested in the hands of Ferelden’s Circle.

“You will not touch my son,” Isolde’s weak command spurred Alistair.

Keeping his eyes locked on Isolde Alistair called out, “where is he Teagan?” Alistair waited for a response.

Teagan attempted to intervene. “He’s safe here, Alistair.”

“Do something other than stand there, Teagan!” Isolde’s shrillness rekindled Alistair’s rage sending him to face off with Teagan.

 “Don’t lie to me. Don’t you fucking lie to me! Where is the boy?” Connor would not spend another minute in the company of Isolde. Alistair’s convictions outmatched his common sense.

Raising his hands to project calm, Teagan tried to reason with Alistair. “Let me handle this please, you’ll only make things worse. Help Eamon, please Alistair and forget Connor.”

“Forget Connor? Forget Connor? Like you and Eamon forgot about me? No fucking way.” A light touch on his uniform twisted Alistair around to find Morrigan behind him. 

“I require the truth. Do you contend the child is in danger if he remains?” Her earlier displeasure and maliciousness disappeared in favor of quiet concern. “I have no love for the Chantry or your Circles, but if a child is in danger from his mother, I will not sit idle and allow such an injustice to continue. Speak true, Alistair – is it unsafe for the boy to remain?” 

Alistair stared at Morrigan, stunned at the change in her behavior. He recovered his voice and answered. “Yes. Connor is not safe, and the city is not safe. If we bring Connor to the Circle, we save both.”

Morrigan turned from Alistair and casual steps brought her before Isolde, “Do not lie, where is the child?” Morrigan stretched out her right hand palm flat gripping an invisible ball. A plume of purple flame danced in her outstretched hand. Isolde took several steps backwards, fear painted on her porcelain features.

“Teagan! You must stop them!”  Backed against the wall, her frightened eyes widened as Morrigan advanced with Dom close behind.

Morrigan’s face darkened and she unleased a single spell, “sleep.” Dom shot forwards catching Isolde’s collapsing body,  his concerned expression focused on Alistair.

None spoke at first, Alistair understood Dom’s concern; from Isolde’s point of view, he’d entered her home, allowed a witch to attack her and if he continued with his plan – Connor would leave without permission. He needed to protect Leliana, Morrigan and Dom. “Teagan, when the time comes – all of this falls on me and no one else.”

Protests rose from the group but Alistair held up his hand. “Are we agreed?”

Teagan shook his hand and walked in a circle. Running his hands through his hair, he found his voice. “No. I knew and allowed it to continue. The fault is mine. I will handle it. It may be too late, but I am here for you Alistair, should you need anything to reach your goal, you have but to ask. The knights, supplies, funds, whatever you require.” 

Unsure what to say, Alistair nodded.

“Enough prattle!” The witch called out over her shoulder, “Alistair, find the boy.”

___________

Madeleine had read the transcripts of Alistair’s trial. Teagan Guerrin testified Alistair had saved Connor and refused to implicate him or the Wardens in any wrongdoing. Isolde rested in a private room in the Tranquil Gardens and had for many years. Madeleine understood the Guerrin family requested permanent residency for Isolde.

“Have you spoken with Connor at all over the years?” Before Alistair answered her question, a secretive smile appeared on his face and disappeared within seconds.  “Forget I asked.” Madeleine met Connor Geurrin and all he would say about his experience was the same story as Teagan spun years ago; the two Wardens saved him and he could never repay the debt.

She stifled a yawn, eager to glean as much from Alistair as possible, Madeleine’s attempt to hide her fatigue failed. “I believe someone needs a break.” Pushing away from his desk Alistair peered outside. “The rain seems to have stopped; we’ll continue this little trip another time.”

Madeleine shook her head, “Please. If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to keep going. I’m fine.” Another yawn betrayed her proclamation.

A light chuckle followed Alistair as he cross the office floor. Grabbing her coat, he held it for her, “I promise to finish my story; but you need rest. All those secrets you search for have remained silent and hidden for years, what’s another night or two?” A gentle pull of his head towards the door and a shake of her coat expressed it was time to leave.

Madeleine’s reluctance to leave met with Alistair’s reassurance she could return the next day. Climbing into her car, she imagined his smiles and laughter melting into the solemnity of his self-imposed exile.  

____________________

He stood staring out the window; lights winked out as the streets rolled away for the night. He didn’t want to return home and opted to stay in the spare room. Removing his suspenders, Alistair tried to push her image out of his mind. Solona. Sol. “Well,” he said to the empty room, “if Madeleine is looking for a romantic tale, this isn’t the right story.” Isn’t it? The voice in his head always challenged when it came to Solona. You’ve forgotten, that’s all. So keen to shoulder the blame. Keep on punishing yourself there, Alistair. Miserable bastard. Alistair slammed the door to the spare room. “Shut up!” His aggravation followed onto the mattress, springs squeaking as it gave way under his body. “Great. Now you’re arguing with yourself.”

He wondered if she remembered him after so many years. An inappropriate laugh filled the room remembering how they met. “Intelligence, beauty and gifted – yes. Graceful. . .not so much.” He drifted to sleep to images of stumbling mages and locked closets.

“Umm, hello? I seem to be stuck, give the handle a tug, would you?” Alistair leaned closer to the large closet door. The muffled voice sighed and called out again. “I can hear you out there. I’m stuck, would you help a girl out please?” Her soft pleas for help drifted out into the room. 

A firm yank on the handle yielded nothing; Alistair grabbed both doors and tugged harder and still the doors would not budge. The pleasantness he heard before sharpened as impatience grew. “Perhaps you might try to find someone capable of opening a bloody door.”

Alistair huffed at the slight, “Hey! Perhaps you might keep a civil tongue in your head. I’m not the one stuck in a closet.” A loud thump from inside, sounded as the trapped woman raised her voice.

“I wouldn’t be stuck in a closet if you bloody Templars weren’t so bloody quick to blame all mages for the few upstairs who’ve gone raving mad!” A sharp turn of his head towards Leliana sent her and Dom racing back to the entrance. Leliana returned first.

“We’re locked in,” Leliana said, checking her weapons. “We must rely on whatever we’re carrying and whatever we find.”

The Knight Commander lied to him; Alistair understood why he’d been reluctant to allow Connor entry. He’d have to trust Connor was safe until they found Irving and get out. The trapped woman might share enough information to help them piece together what gripped the Circle in such fear. “We’re not Templars,” he offered, “listen to me, if we can’t get this door open, I’ll have to hack through it and I’d prefer not to put you at risk.”

The woman’s earlier anger changed into alarm. “Hack through it? No! No, there has to be another way or just leave me here. Yes, that’s best. Leave me.”

Alistair leaned against the door and spoke through the gap in the doors. “Hey, it’s all right. I’m Alistair and I will not hurt you. I’m a Warden.”

“Solona. Solona Amell. My friends call me Sol. Are you really a Warden?” She asked the panic lessening in her tone.

Morrigan’s dramatic sigh prompted a stern glare from Alistair. “Glare at me all you wish it doesn’t change our situation. While you entertain the princess locked in the closet, the Circle is falling apart. Leave the girl and let us go!”

Alistair ignored Morrigan and put his plan together. “Don’t listen to Morrigan, no one does.” He continued through Morrigan’s squawks, his soothing voice attempting to keep Solona from panicking. “Solona, I will count to three. Two of us here on this side will pull the doors and you push in the center as hard as you can, on three - all right?”

Solona’s assent to continue sent Alistair and Dom into action. Dom gripped the left door with Alistair on the right. He counted in a loud voice as both men readied. Dom stared at Alistair shaking his head, both men certain they would fail. As he called out the final number, Alistair pulled until he felt the door give way. He called out to Solona, “Again, Solona – push again!”

The second attempt, he felt the door opening, and meant to move out of the way. Too late to move, the door flung open, and a figure stumbled out.

Turning to Dom, she held out her hand. “Thank you, Alistair.”  Leliana suppressed a giggle as a shake of Dom’s head followed by a quick lean towards the right turned Solona to face Alistair. “You’re Alistair?”

He grinned. “So sorry to disappoint you, but yes I am Alistair.” Her face burned as she stammered over her words and when she tried to step closer, tumbling over her feet into his chest. He helped Solona find her balance, lifting her up and offering his hand; she gripped his hand with such force he blinked away the pain. “Might I have my hand back in one piece?” Alistair tried to keep his tone casual.    

She released her hold on his hand shoving hers into the pockets of her lab coat mumbling a quick apology. Dom stood behind him and whispered into Alistair’s back. “Grin any wider, my friend and it’ll start to look a little creepy.”

Morrigan added several stinging remarks to the conversation before Dom guided her out of the room allowing Leliana and Alistair to talk with Solona.

“Something had been wrong for weeks. Irving, the Grand Enchanter arranged the meeting on my behalf with a Warden from Ferelden, but he never showed. I can only assume he meant one of you.” Her words may have been direct, but there was no malice in them, Solona spoke her mind. Alistair listened as her explanation resumed. “One instructor survived Ostagar and tried to convince the Templars to work together and gather resources to offer aid.”

Her story did not address Alistair’s concerns. “Solona, what changed? You said something had been wrong. In what way?”

Taking a deep breath, she recounted the events of the past few nights. Mages disappeared, teachers, students and even Templars vanished. Each side blamed the other until Templar turned against mage. The Templars cut the phone lines, restricted access in and out of the Circle.  “My friend . . .Cullen. He shoved me in here and told me to keep quiet until he returned to help me escape the tower. That was yesterday, I think. Maybe longer. If he hasn’t come back –“ Solona’s face contorted into a mask of pain. Alistair’s heart dropped as her eyes welled. He’d help her.

Alistair interrupted her sadness, “We’ll find him.”  Through reassuring smiles and gentle prodding, Alistair discovered more about the Circle. Her friend was a Templar, he’d tried to help groups of the mages and the younger Templar recruits to escape. “Solona, you keep using that word, escape. Escape what?”

“One of the Senior Enchanters, Uldred I think. He’d sided with Loghain Mac Tir and promised to deliver the Circle’s aid to his cause. A few of the other Senior Enchanters disagreed and Uldred declared them blood mages.” She met Alistair’s concern. “I’m not a blood mage, but I opposed taking sides. I don’t think the Circle should get involved. After I’d spoken my views to the Knight Commander, Cullen hid me in here and that’s all I know.”

He believed her. Alistair had no love for magic in any of its forms; Cailan’s fascination with magic confounded him but something in this tower had corrupted the mages and Templars alike. To find Irving, help Connor and get the support they needed -  Alistair would have to choose sides.

Chapter Text

Ch. 6

Four floors to go. . .

Alistair shoved the dagger back in his boot. His breath came heavy, lungs burned and the acrid smell of sulfur and charred flesh threatened to upend his stomach. His ears rang from the explosion. That was a demon. A real demon.  The Senior Enchanter spoke to him but Alistair couldn’t quite make out her words.

Closing his eyes, Alistair focused on his breathing and heartbeat willing them to slow and return to his senses. “That was a demon,” Alistair said.

The way she smiled at him and patted his shoulder, he wondered if this is what it felt like to have a mother. Wynne. They’d found her at the entrance to the first floor holding back whatever lurked inside the tower. In this moment, Wynne tending to his wounds and his doubts, solidified she would remain in the party.

“Yes, Alistair,” Wynne started, “that was a demon.” Wynne and Solona treated to the burn wounds on Alistair and Dom. “When threatened, that discharge of magic will injure you, try to finish them from a distance.”  Wynne finished wrapping his hand and stood back, dusting her hands and digging into her pack.

Solona tended to Dom and Leliana opposite them. Alistair’s fixed stare coaxed a soft chuckle from Wynne. “She’s beautiful, intelligent and quite gifted Alistair.” Wynne continued watching the flush creep into his cheeks. “There is only one flaw that will stand in your way.”

Before Wynne could continue, Dom and Leliana joined them with Solona in tow. Dom’s excitement hadn’t waned. “Did you see that? Alistair, are you all right?” Dom looked over his friend.

“No,” Alistair replied, “I’m pretty fucking far from all right.” He slapped the tops of thighs and straightened. “Darkspawn is one thing, this is . . . this is. . .I can’t find the right words.”

They agreed the tower might be more than the group could be ready to face. “The problem, if I may, is we are all locked in.” Solona joined the conversation pointing out the crux of the situation. “To leave, we must survive and reach Irving.” Alistair wanted to run. Forget the mages and the Templars, if they died here the darkspawn would take over, the Blight would consume Ferelden and Archibald Deimon wouldn’t stop until he’d destroyed all of Thedas. But he wouldn’t run.  I am a Grey Warden. Save as many as you can or die trying.

“Break’s over,” Alistair called out, “Dom, take Morrigan and Leliana with you. Solona and Wynne, you’re with me.”

Leliana disagreed. She could not allow him to be unguarded and Wynne concurred. Alistair’s survival would be assured. Taking her place behind Dom, Solona looked back at Alistair and attempted a smile. Her earlier confidence had waned. The pallor of her skin, her rapid blinking and her breathing bursting out with effort revealed her fear.  He hurried forward and offered his hand.

Not meeting his eyes, her hand shook as she reached towards him. Alistair covered her hand between his, bending his head to meet her downcast eyes. “I’m right behind you–every step.”  She inhaled long and deep. Leaning his head closer he whispered, “If you can’t find me, hide behind Morrigan–“

At the sound of her name, Morrigan wheeled around and wagged her finger at the two,  “I’m standing right here, you fool. If you seek to insult me do so elsewhere.” 

Alistair winked at Solona eliciting a renewed brightness and flush to her face.  She’d calmed enough to continue.  Alistair lingered, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before returning to Leliana and Wynne.

Clearing her throat, Leliana checked her harness. “That was sweet Alistair, but keep your head here. You’re no good to any of us unfocused.”

 Rain pelted the metal stacks of the office building, metallic plonks mimicking gunfire. Alistair’s dream took him back to the Circle and the higher they climbed the deeper the descent into horror.

 Three floors to go . . .

“You’re a Templar?!?” Solona met Alistair head on, earlier fears forgotten.  “You lied to me Alistair. I trusted you and here you stand hunting mages. ”

Alistair had to act, the corrupted blood mages were too strong. Dom rushed Morrigan and Solona away before Alistair had cleansed the corner where the blood mages stood.

 “Solona, I’m a Warden. I trained as a Templar but never took vows. We didn’t come here to hunt mages, my . . .cousin needs Irving and we need your help. I wouldn’t lie to you.”  Alistair’s shoulders sagged but her anger didn’t wane.

She stalked to the opposite side of the room with Dom running after her. Alistair understood the hatred between mages and Templars. He lived it. He didn’t hate Solona or Wynne. Even Morrigan proved useful albeit annoying. The loathing in Solona’s words; the way her jaw clenched and face burned he knew her hatred.  He left her alone; moving aside while the party tended to their wounds.

Wynne’s attempt to reassure him did nothing. “Alistair, you must understand Solona didn’t have a noble upbringing like Domnall. She arrived here as a terrified child, labeled an abomination for her skills.” Wynne packed her remaining salves and potions.  “The Templars are our keepers, Alistair. Some of us learn to accept our position and work to better ourselves; others still crave a normal life.”

“The flaw you mentioned.“ Alistair stared across the room taking in Dom’s reassuring hands on Solona’s arms. “She hates Templars. It doesn’t matter who I am, but what I was.” His stomach dropped. She’s a mild crush, nothing more. I’ll live. It’s better to end before it starts, right? A heavy sigh pulled Wynne’s attention towards him.

Shouldering her pack, Wynne answered his unspoken lament.   “No, it’s not about your past Alistair; the flaw pertains to your future.  She’s a mage and you’re a Theirin,” Wynne offered, “when you succeed in this endeavor and take your place, a mage has no standing in that world.”

Alistair hung back as the others continued into a large meeting space.  If being a Theirin means associating with only the right sort of people, I’ll pass. He didn’t flinch when the undead rose and attacked the party. Dom kept up a running commentary of puns eliciting laughter from those around him. Annoyed at his fellow Warden’s antics, Alistair threw himself in front of each of his companions taking the blows and finishing each of the creatures in turn. When the last of them fell, Alistair turned his frustrations on Dom.

“This is no joke!” Alistair ranted, gesturing at the others, “you need to remember we’re responsible for their lives too. Stop trying to impress and be a fucking Grey Warden!” Alistair stomped away. “Maker’s Breath! There’s too many to protect as it is.” 

Dom joined Alistair. The two talked in hushed voices as they kept an eye on the others. “That’s what I’m talking about, Dom.” He pointed to Solona digging in the rubble of a statue.

The pulse of Alistair’s blood behind his eyes deepened a growing headache. “Maker’s Blood. Must you dig around in everything? Be a good little mage and-“ Alistair saw a small vial crumble in her hands. Morrigan and Wynne cried out their fear in unison.

Revenant. Mythical phantom warriors. “This isn’t happening.”  Pushing off from the pillar, Alistair’s scream echoed through the hall. “Solona, move! Move now!” He couldn’t be sure if she understood the creature turning towards her would kill her. Alistair couldn’t let Solona die.

The Revenant floated towards her, broadsword pointed at her chest.  His alarm grew, Solona’s movements seemed hindered, slowed.  If he didn’t act, the Revenant would pull and impale her on the massive broadsword it carried. Without armor, she wouldn’t survive. He pushed off a broken bench and leapt in her direction. 

Pushing her away from him, Dom expected Alistair’s move grabbing Solona and whirling her behind a pillar. Morrigan’s hex magic sigil illuminated the stone floor, warning Dom to stand back. A magic force gripped Alistair’s large frame speeding his limp body towards the Revenant.

Armor buckled and crushed his skin. Alistair screamed as the metal punctured his torso,  cutting the flesh at his ribcage, bone cracked and crunched as the air drained from one lung. The scream stolen from his throat, Alistair’s flesh tore anew as the searing blade retreated. He staggered unsteady on his feet and dropped to his knees before he blacked out.

________________

Magic woke him, the strange syrupy warmth spreading outwards.  Alistair’s hand wandered over his torso. My body armor, he thought, it’s gone.  His fingers discovered bandages wrapped around his chest. “I can’t feel anything,” he said to the room.   He lifted his head with considerable pain, to find a gentle hand push him back down on the mattress.

A quiet feminine voice spoke above him, “I’ve dulled the pain for now, it won’t last long.”

He tried to rise again only to meet with a stronger hand. “Morrigan was right - you’re a fool, Alistair.” Solona knelt next to the bed. “You’re one of them and to make matters worse for me - a Theirin and you risked your life for a mage.” Solona turned from him and cleaned her hands in the basin near the bed.

He sighed and winced, attempting to reach the bandage. “I’m less of a person than you realize. I’m Alistair. Bastard child, forgotten son and cast off. I didn’t have a family name until Cailan located me a few years ago.“  He swallowed hard, blotting out the discomfort as he spoke. “All I am is a Grey Warden on a mission to stop Archibald Deimon and the Blight. If I die trying, I accept my fate.  Say  what you want, it isn’t me.”  Alistair pushed off the bed and groaned as his body argued.

Gentle hands coaxed his shoulders back to the bed. “Don’t fight me on this, Alistair. You’re on bed rest at least a few more hours. Let the magic do its work. Bones don’t mend in an instant, if I’m right about you, perhaps an hour or two if we’re lucky.” She smiled as she left him, but he recognized the weak sentiment behind it. Leliana entered the small room acknowledging Solona’s request to watch over him while she searched for Wynne.

Grabbing a chair, Leliana sat near him. “Impressive heroics, my friend.” A wide grin and a giggle from the Nightingale threatened to force a laugh from Alistair’s mending body.

“Don’t make me laugh, everything hurts.” Alistair frowned as Leliana’s grin dissolved. “What is it?”

She leaned over the chair and checked over her shoulder. “This floor is secure. Dom barricaded our point of entry and the mages set magic traps near the next staircase.” Another glance over her shoulder and Leliana dropped her voice to a near whisper. “We might not be able to save the tower, Alistair. Have you considered what happens if you fail?”

Dom entered the room and closed the door. “We won’t fail. Alistair needs to stop throwing himself in the path of every enemy.”  He crossed his arms and glared. “You’re an idiot, Al.”

Alistair winced again at the admonishment from his friend. “So far I’ve been called a fool and an idiot. Leliana, do you care to add your assessment?”

Dom talked over Leliana’s reply. “I’m not fucking around here Alistair. I can’t gather all these allies without your help. We’ve lost enough - both of us; my parents, Fergus, Cailan and Duncan. I need to know you’ve got my back, my friend.” Dom relaxed and crouched near the bed.  “Otherwise I’m dead too.”

Rolling her eyes, Leliana stretched and yawned. “You boys are far too dramatic. Dom, go check on the old woman, and make sure she has everything she needs. Raid every chest, drawer and closet on this floor.”

“Yes Miss Nightingale, right away.” Dom saluted in mock obedience before leaving the room.

“He will push me too far at some point. I’m warning you now - don’t get too attached to your snarky friend there.” She waited saying nothing until Dom’s footsteps retreated. “He’s loyal to you, Alistair. All of them are. Even Morrigan, her magic is impressive and a little scary. She and Solona took on that Revenant with some serious magic for Dom and me to land some effective blows and defeat it.” 

 He closed his eyes reflecting on Solona’s words.  “Thank you. I’ll be ready to move soon.”

Scratching her head with both hands, Leliana shook her neck and shoulders loose. “Your personal healer might disagree with that assessment.  She slid closer to him and whispered, “Regardless of her words, she’s chased every one of us away while she sat with you; interesting wouldn’t you say?”

Alistair cocked an eyebrow.  “Yes, interesting.”

“Here.” Leliana handed him a two way radio emblazoned with the Theirin Enterprises corporate logo. “Theirin Enterprises to the rescue.”  She tested his handset and hers.  “Dom has another; we can keep in contact this way. I found them along with some other useful gear in a Templar storage room.”

 A storage locker would not be left open to the general populace in the Circle. “Do I want to know how you bypassed the security locks on the storage room?” Alistair guessed Leliana had far more skills than she shared.

“I have no idea what locks you refer to, Alistair. I found the room wide open.” Tapping the side of her nose, Leliana offered a few parting words.  “Pay attention to your surroundings and exercise a little patience, my friend.”

Two floors to go . . .

Dom, Alistair and Leliana sank to the floor. Leliana’s shrill whistle called to the others; Morrigan stepped into the room first. “A cozy sight with you three, shall we leave and close the door?”

Unable to laugh, Alistair held out his left hand to her. “No, don’t leave Morrigan. Come and give us a kiss.” Leliana and Dom cackled at Alistair’s comment ushering in Wynne and Solona.

Morrigan scoffed and waved her hand toward the three seated in a heap. “Alistair has a head wound no doubt; he seems to have developed a sense of humor. Be a dear and fix that, would you?” She left the two mages to tend to the group.

They worked in silence, Solona taking in the carnage in the room.  “I. . .know these men. Why would they attack?”

Solona searched Alistair’s face for an answer. He frowned, an automatic reaction to being lumped together with the corrupted men and women of the Order. “Why look to me? Because I was a Templar I can explain their reasons?”

“Alistair!” Leliana and Dom tried to intervene, but Alistair continued.

“Is that it mage, you want me to prove that every last Templar in Thedas should be reviled?”  He grunted as he stood, pain pushed aside in favor of frustration. Clutching his injured side, he had felt the rupture during battle, and despite the warm ooze of his blood through the bandage, Alistair had suppressed his feelings long enough.

“Well? I’m a fool and an idiot, remember? Perhaps I get a free pass in life because my mother was too stupid to resist Maric Theirin and his lies – right? Everything I’ve ever wanted handed to me without a thought to others.” Alistair grimaced as the pain intensified, but he refused to stop. “Wait – I know - I became a Warden on a whim, nothing better to do on a weekend than condemn my life to protect Ferelden.” The slow crawl of blood seeping down his leg intensified pulling his attention down to the droplets of blood dripping from his boot to the floor.

Alistair swayed. Removing his hand from his side, a bloody palm evoked gasps and alarm from his companions. Leliana reached him first.

“Alistair . . . how long?” Dom took Alistair’s injured side supporting him as the two moved him out of the chamber. “Focus Alistair, how long have you been bleeding?”

Shaking his head, Alistair’s thoughts muddied. “Bleeding? Who’s bleeding?” Dom touched Alistair’s uniform revealing a red tinted finger. “Oh, well that can’t be good at all. I need to sleep.”

“No!” Solona slapped Alistair’s cheeks as his eyes closed. “I’m not done with you yet, Alistair. Look at me!”  Solona’s backwards steps brought them towards one bedroom. “Put him on the bed, but be gentle, his wound is open.” Issuing orders gradually, Solona took control. Leliana and Dom cleared out the few bodies remaining in the room and hurried to find Wynne leaving Solona alone.

Light touches necessary to determine how severe the rupture produced repeated sharp breaths. Alistair ground his teeth in an effort to hold back the pain. “Since you’ve stopped yelling, I will answer your question. I asked you what happened to those Templars because you promised you wouldn’t lie to me.”

Opening his eyes, “I said that, didn’t I?” When Solona answered him, Alistair groaned. “So I made an even bigger idiot of myself. Wonderful.”

Wynne’s voice drifted towards the room. Raising a finger to her lips, Solona stood to wait for her mentor.

“Solona.” Alistair wanted to apologize.

She turned around and hushed him again. “Not now. Trust me. Hush.”

Alistair counted no less than twelve times Solona cut him off while Wynne looked over his wound. After the third time she rolled her eyes as her mentor lectured Alistair on the importance of moderation, he understood. Wynne did not know of the argument and Solona aimed to keep it from her.

“You, young man, are grounded.” Wynne announced with a grin. “I’ve always wanted to use that line, and this seems the perfect opportunity. I am afraid you cannot continue Alistair; to do so might prove too much.” Wynne asked Solona to bring in the Warden and Leliana.

Unable to hear everything Wynne discussed, Alistair pasted a smile as Dom dragged a chair towards him. “Give it to me straight, will I live?” He tried to feign a light laugh, but grimaced.

Looking at Alistair’s reaction, Dom’s expression soured. “You and Solona will stay here. Keep your radio on and charged.  I’ll take the others and continue.” Dom’s eyes remained fixed on the floor, refusing to meet Alistair’s own.

“What aren’t you saying, Dom?” Alistair waited. Leliana tapped Dom on the shoulder switching places with the Warden. “What? One of you just say it.”

Leliana leaned closer. “Alistair, you have to rest. Several days. . .maybe. . .more.” She explained the limitations of magic and their predicament. “If you don’t, you must return to Redcliffe and Dom will continue without you.”

One floor to go. . .

Dom, talk to me. What do you see?

Pods of red flesh. . .shit Alistair what is this stuff?

Listen to me, forget that, what else?

A Desire demon.  She. . .bewitched a Templar. We had to kill him, too. Even when she died, he wouldn’t stop. Alistair . . . the bodies, what if. . .there’s no one left to save?

Leliana cut into the radio chatter.

Leliana here. We’re about to enter an anteroom of some sort. Hang on, there’s something here. Who are you? What have you done to these people? Answer me!

The shouts and battle cries of the party gave way to silence. Alistair tried to contact Leliana or Dom without success.  Static crackled through the radio, but Alistair was sure he heard a voice through the static. A deep guttural, unnatural voice utter a single word – sleep.

Alistair shifted on the mattress to look at his watch. Three hours of absolute silence – not a sound from above or below.  He might be able to climb the stairs to the fourth floor, but fighting would be out of the question. His brow creased and eyes narrowed planning scenarios and possible ways to work around his injury. He flinched when Solona touched his arm.

“Alistair, you should rest.“ She continued preparing potions and salves tossing an occasional glance towards him. “Trust in the others. Whatever they face – they will conquer it.”

“All right, I am resting. I’m not allowed to do anything other than breathe and sit my ass on this bed counting stones in the wall while something waits up there.” Attempting to cross his arms Alistair groaned from the pain in his side.

She placed the pestle on the table and swiveled in her chair to face him. “No, by that crease in your forehead and the way you’ve not responded to a single thing I’ve said the last hour you are plotting something.”  Solona tapped her foot and waited.

“Plotting? Me? No, I don’t plot.” He searched for an excuse; finding none Alistair sighed.  “Fine. If you help me, I can make it up the stairs-“

“No,” Solona cut him off and returned to her task.

Preparing several responses he hoped would be clever, Alistair waited for her to argue. Minutes passed and Solona remained quiet, engrossed in filling the small vials. “That’s it? No reason?”

“Don’t you know?” Her movement sped and her gentleness grew rougher as she finished the batch. Her nostrils flared and chin quivered as she cleaned out the mortar. “You couldn’t understand, Alistair. When we find Irving and the Knight Commander finds out what happened to you – because of me – everything will change.”

She talked about the treatment of mages; disobedience led to dismissal from the Circle. She’d be sent to the Tranquil Gardens.  “Do you know what happens there? Do you, Alistair?”

“The Rite of Tranquility.” Alistair offered what little he comprehended. “It calms a troubled mind.”

Twisting her hair in hands, Solona exhaled before her hushed voice spoke again. “It steals your soul. Everything you are, everything you were, all of it; memories, happiness, sorrow, the ability to reason and experience passion all becomes meaningless.” He followed her movement around the room, wringing her hands and tugging on her clothes he held back waiting for her. She opened and closed her mouth several times, dismissing words until she turned to him again. “Alistair, can you imagine becoming an empty shell? Imagine if you could never dream, experience joy, learn from mistakes - think on it – to be aware of nothing.” She sank into the chair next to him and rubbed her face. “If I can save you now, maybe I save myself.” 

This was what Cailan meant.

“Help me, Alistair. You and the other Wardens will stop the Blight from taking Thedas’ future, but when we succeed, I need your help.” Cailan joined him at the large window overlooking Ostagar. “The mages are not beneath those of us not blessed.”

Scoffing, Alistair turned away. “Blessed? Cailan, Magic exists to serve man and never to rule over him. Mages need to be controlled, not revered. I don’t understand your fascination with these creatures.”

It wasn’t fascination. Cailan wanted to help mages break away from the Chantry and the Circles. In doing so, a war would ignite – Cailan understood the repercussions and wanted Alistair to stand with him. Solona wasn’t corrupt; Wynne and Morrigan proved to be loyal allies. He could help them.

An oath formed  on his lips and before he could pledge his aid, madness engulfed the floor above them.

____________________

Leaning back in his chair, Alistair sighed. “Dom and the others took down a Sloth demon.  To this day, I don’t know if I believe all of them journeyed to the Fade.”

Madeleine stopped the record and fell back against the chair. “That’s it? What happened for all those hours you were with Solona?”

He laughed and stretched. “If you’re looking for salacious gossip, I assure you, there’s none to be found, my dear.”

Liar, she thought, he’s hiding something. “What aren’t you telling me? It’s admirable to want to credit Cailan for the movement to dissolve the Circles, but something else happened with Solona, right? What about this friend of hers  - Cullen?”

“You do realize the sun rose less than three hours ago. I didn’t quite expect you so early. If you would, meet me here at midday and we’ll continue.”

 Madeleine pursed her lips. Annoyed with Alistair’s secrecy but not wanting to anger him, she agreed. He knows I’ve read the transcripts and talked to many people. Blame these events on demons, dragons and Maker knows what other fabrications, Alistair. Domnall Cousland died because of something that happened with Solona and I will find out what happened.  

Chapter Text

Ch. 7

Every deliberate step Madeleine took quaked through Alistair’s head. Liar, murderer, traitor. The truth lay within one of those labels and regardless of Madeleine’s disbelief, Alistair no longer wished to hide.

The streets of Denerim, empty save for passing delivery trucks reminded Madeleine of the early hour; climbing into her car, she realized uncovering the truth would require discipline. She’d been too eager to continue, and Alistair far too accommodating. She could not deny Alistair’s mental anguish touched her. His childhood, Isolde’s torment and his abandonment by the Theirin family did not excuse what happened during the Blight. “Why does everyone keep defending you, Alistair? What did you do to earn such loyalty?”

Alistair waited until the car pulled away from the curb before leaving. He needed to relieve the sitter and the short walk to his building afforded little time for contemplation. Climbing the steps to the three-story brownstone, Alistair rang the bell for his neighbor. Bothan, a retired KORE knight, often helped Alistair whenever his travels kept him away. The lack of noise from within concerned him until the lock tumblers disengaged.

The door opened to Bothan sporting a wide grin. “I wondered if you’d forgotten, so I brought him here before the storm started. He’s asleep in the back bedroom.”

Rocking back on his heels, Alistair’s eyes widened. “Asleep? This I have to see.” He pointed further into the foyer and Bothan moved aside.

“He’s all yours–I mean that too, I’m leaving for Redcliffe tomorrow. You might as well take him with you.” Bothan talked to Alistair’s back moving through the apartment.

The two reached the room to find a huge mabari hound, taking up the entire bed. He lay on his back, head hanging off the foot board. Seeing the beast in his relaxed rest embarrassed Alistair. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m sorry Bothan. Thanks for putting up with his bullshit.”

Kneeling at the foot of the bed, Alistair tried to wake the mabari. “Tank! Lazy bastard, let’s go.”

Bothan’s laughter spread to Alistair as the Warden continued his attempts to wake the sleeping hound. “How about a treat? Treat? Walk? Steak? Does Mister Sleepy want something to eat?” Tank rolled over away from Alistair. “Fine, I’m sorry - I fell asleep. I’ll take you to the office with me, all right?”

A soft whine proved Tank heard every word. “I’ll take you to the office and get you a sandwich–no, two sandwiches!” Tank’s half-hearted bark was enough of an agreement to get him moving. Alistair thanked Bothan for taking Tank in for the night before heading next door. He’d have a few hours to order Tank’s breakfast, get cleaned up and back to meet with Madeleine as promised.  Punching the code into the alarm, Alistair entered his apartment.

_______________

Fed and relaxed, Tank’s contented snores drifted from the second floor allowing Alistair to focus on himself. He’d been away only a day, but the steam-filled bathroom relaxed him. Alistair did nothing in moderation any more, and the scalding water stung as he stepped inside; gritting his teeth until his skin numbed to the pain.

Hands resting on the cool tile wall, his head bent as the water spray enveloped him. Emptying his mind, Alistair didn’t want to think, but his mind wandered.  Solona.

“I’m not sleeping with Morrigan. Why can’t Dom?” Alistair couldn’t bring himself to agree.

Solona grabbed his shoulders.  “Can you please stop for a moment and listen?”

Shrugging free of her grasp, he sighed. “I hope you’re both very happy together.” He attempted to close his bedroom door, but Solona wedged her body into the frame.

 Not wanting everyone to hear, she tried to calm her voice. “It’s not what you think,” soft words meant to comfort steeled his anger. His eyes moved to the rose locket resting against her throat. Lost to her concerns, Solona tried to appeal to him.  “Morrigan won’t allow Dom near her, she believes he betrayed her. We’re trying to save you–both of you. Alistair, I don’t know how else to make you believe me, there is nothing between us. Dom didn’t betray you or Morrigan.”

Alistair rolled his eyes and snorted. “Didn’t he?” He stepped closer, fists clenched. “Didn’t you? I don’t blame her, in case you were wondering. For once, I agree with Morrigan.” His corded neck and tightening muscles matched his mounting scorn. “What was it you said? Don’t worry about Alistair, I can handle him.”

She paled as Alistair repeated her words. “But my favorite part of this little game . . .if you do this, if we do this, Alistair might never forgive me or you.” He stepped back arms open wide. “Guess what, Sol? You were right.”

Hesitant steps towards him met with crossed arms and a piercing gaze. “Alistair, wait! You’re wrong! Please, listen to me.”

“Miss Amell, I’m tired. Archibald Deimon issued his challenge and I plan to meet him. Taking Morrigan to my bed will not happen. She’s delusional if she thinks sleeping with a Warden will better our chances. Please do me a favor and go - the fuck - away.”

The image of Solona clasping the rose locket, her shocked and tearful face staring at him closing the door still burned bright in his thoughts. Alistair’s fist pounded on the tiled wall as if to drive the image from his prescient thought and substitute the physical pain for the mental anguish of that night.

Alone, defenses crumbled and emotions swelled until he allowed them to escape. Tears fell, but the consolatory water took pity on him until Alistair reclaimed his control. 

____________

Tank could stretch a three-block walk into a two-hour affair. The mabari, well known in the neighborhood for his pleasant disposition and insatiable appetite, stopped at every person, stoop and shop for attention. Repeated glances at his watch confirmed they’d be late if Tank continued his slow trek through the neighborhood. “Hey, your majesty,” Alistair shouted, “move it, we’re late.”

Continuing towards his office, Alistair heard Tank’s barks growing louder as the hound caught up to him and settled at his side. “Bothan left for Redcliffe, so you’re stuck with me. If you want to go home to Fergus, just say so.” Tank pressed his muzzle into Alistair’s hand and whined. Sad eyes looked up and Tank’s wistful howl answered. “All right, buddy. I don’t want you to go either.” Alistair patted the mabari on the head as they entered the office building. “Do me a favor and keep the snoring down.” Tank bounded up the stairs barking. When he fell silent Alistair guessed Madeleine had arrived before them. “Hang on, on my way.” Taking the steps two at a time, Alistair almost tripped when he saw two people waiting at his door.

The man seemed familiar; his curly blonde hair fell loose to his shoulders. He knelt, scratching and petting Tank talking in low tones to the mabari. His uniform, mottled grey with red accents and striping and the red flaming sword on his patch and the bars on his shoulder revealed his rank. A Templar Knight Commander–wonderful.

“Knight Commander, something I can do for you?” Alistair braced for whatever slew of angry words the Templar planned to unleash. He’d grown accustomed to their attitude over the years. His brow furrowed as the woman pulled out a bill and slapped it against the Templar’s arm.

“Damn it, Alistair,” she sighed, turning to face him, “couldn’t say a word to me first–bastard.” Gloved hands ran through short-cropped black hair and brilliant blue eyes smiled back at him. “Even if I lost the bet, it’s good to see you. Carver told me where to find you. I never got the chance to thank you.” She held out her hand. 

Marion. Ignoring the Templar, Alistair pulled her into a crushing hug. She yelped, but settled into his arms and returned the embrace. The Templar cleared his throat several times and eventually Alistair released her. “It is good to see you Hawke. After Kirkwall, I wondered if you were safe.”

Reaching for the back of his neck, the Templar’s strained voice spat out his words. “She is.”

“Cullen, relax. For the hundredth time, Alistair is a friend. He’s  not about to hoist me up and throw me on his desk.” Planting a light kiss on his cheek, Cullen flushed. “A friend - say it with me Cullen or you can go wait out in the truck.”

The stoic stare from the Templar loosened Alistair’s tongue. “It’s all right, Hawke. We’ve been on opposing sides before.” A quick gesture between them solicited a curt nod from Cullen.

A slight pucker formed on her lips. “Is that right? This is news to me, Cullen. Care to elaborate?”

“Not really, no. I . . . regret my actions. I should have apologized much sooner. Please accept my apologies, Warden. I tried to find Solona, but–“ Cullen stopped.

Holding out his hand to the Templar, Alistair accepted Cullen’s apology. “No need, but thank you, Knight Commander. I don’t know where Solona is, but I’m sure she would say the same.”

“Don’t let the uniform fool you, Alistair. Cullen resigned his commission. We’re helping out an old friend of yours . . . which brings us to our visit. We need to talk.” Hawke’s attention moved to the stairwell. She addressed someone behind Alistair. “Hello, are you lost?”

Alistair turned to find Madeleine staring at them. She hurried up the remaining steps and joined them. “You’re Marion Hawke.”

“Last time I checked.” Hawke’s usual sarcasm covered the hallway in a jovial familiarity. She leaned closer to Alistair, dropping her voice to a near whisper “We’ll talk more later, my friend. We’re staying in the Market district. I’ll call you before we head out.” 

Alistair unlocked his door, asking them to wait. He returned a moment later handing over a set of keys. “Here. Take the third floor, I insist. It’s private and we can continue this little reunion.” Hawke grinned and jiggled the keys in Cullen’s direction as the two turned to leave.

Hawke’s smile vanished as she halted next to Madeleine. “I remember you now. The eager little writer bent on besmirching my friend here. Might I make a small suggestion?”

“Please, I want to tell the truth, I’m not out to hurt anyone.”

Narrowing her eyes, Hawke delivered her parting words. “See you don’t.” Cullen ushered Hawke down the stairs leaving Madeleine staring after her.

The heaviness of Hawke’s warning clung to air around them. Alistair conjured up a strained laugh, but it failed to lighten the mood. “Sorry about that, my dear. Hawke is. . .well–Hawke. I guess. Do we continue or reschedule for another day?”

Madeleine assured Alistair she was fine, but then he caught the tremors in her hand as she set her notebook on the desk. Same old Hawke, make a mess and leave others to clean up. “You asked me about Solona’s friend - Cullen.” He nodded towards the outer hallway. “The Templar traveling with Hawke? Cullen Rutherford.”

 She swiveled in her chair. “That was Knight Captain Cullen from Kirkwall? He led the Templars after the city fell.”

“He’s a Knight Commander now, if I understood his uniform markings.” Alistair offered none of Hawke’s information. Once settled, Alistair led them both back to the Circle tower and his first meeting with a certain Cullen Rutherford.

_________________

Two days. Two days of listening to Dom chatter on about being in the Fade, darkspawn, mages mad with power, stone creatures and chaos. Two days of Leliana unsheathing a dagger when someone tried to enter his room. Two days of poking, prodding, salves, potions, magic and inane questions.

“Yes, it still fucking hurts when you press on it!” Alistair’s foul mood encircled every word, every breath to the point where the idea of talking with him elicited dread for any who approached. “Are you satisfied? It’s healed.”

Solona and Dom exchanged eye roll for eye roll breaking out into laughter as Alistair voiced his frustrations until Leliana hushed them all. “There’s a commotion down the hall.”

Stepping out to judge the danger, Dom followed leaving Solona and Alistair.  “Thank you,” Solona offered, giving his hand a light squeeze.

Unsure what he’d done to solicit her thanks, Alistair sat up, in spite of her protestations. “Why thank me?”

She glanced at the door and turned back to explain.   “I heard your report to the Templars left out my mistake in the chapel. You lied for me Warden Alistair. I know you promised to help, but I thought they were empty words.”

“We promised no titles, remember? Alistair.” He pointed towards his chest and then at her. “Solona.”

“Sol. My friends call me Sol.” Holding out her hand again, Alistair took it.

He leaned towards her, in spite of the dull ache from his wound. Leliana skidded to a halt not wanting to interrupt what she was sure was an intimate moment. “Sorry to break this up, but we’ve got a tall, blond and pissed off Templar headed this way demanding you release Solona.” Ducking her head out into the corridor and back in again she continued, “whatever you two were planning to do can wait. One of Irving’s guard said the young man has been screaming since rescued–by us, no less–about annihilating the entire complement here.” Leliana met Solona’s worried gaze. “Except for you, Miss Amell. I believe mysterious orders from your family arrived demanding you travel to the Circle in Kirkwall . . . with the aforementioned young Templar.”

 Solona’s shoulders sagged and her hand slackened in his. Alistair pulled his hand away troubled by her reaction. “Your friend lives. Cullen, right?” She nodded, hesitant steps carrying her towards the door. “You should go, Sol. At least you’ll be safe.” Shouts rang through the corridors; Alistair guessed Cullen found where Irving had hidden them on the floor.

“Just a crush,” Alistair muttered, returning to the bed. Just a crush.

Leliana squared off with the Templar. Rolling her shoulders, she blocked the door. “Mister Theirin is not accepting visitors. Please move on.”

Alistair hardened his expression. Leliana had a plan. He’d have to figure it out along the way. “What is it Nightingale?” His use of Leliana’s alias evoked wide-eyed awe from the Templar.

“Ser, this Templar wishes to speak with Miss Amell. I explained you were indisposed, but he insisted.” In most situations, Alistair would have diffused  tension with humor or sarcasm, but he wanted to make this Templar uncomfortable.

Thrusting out his hand, Alistair used his slight height advantage to transform a few inches into strength. “Alistair Theirin. You must be Cullen. Sol’s told me all about you.”  The emphasis on his family name and on the familiar for Solona worked to unnerve the Templar.

“Alistair. . .Theirin?” He reached up to rub his neck looking down at the floor. “Solona . . . is she . . .unharmed. . .Ser?”

Alistair’s vindictive elation at Cullen’s increasing discomfort fueled his words. “I assure you, Templar, Sol has my complete protection.” Alistair blocked the doorway preventing Cullen from entering the room. “I’m afraid you must excuse us, you interrupted a private conversation.” He felt Solona’s presence behind him.

“I’d like to talk with Cullen, if it’s all right, Alistair.” Nodding towards Cullen, Solona rubbed Alistair’s arm. He stepped aside, surprised at the lingering touch as she passed.

Alistair wondered if the gentle show of affection was real or part of the act.  “If you need anything, I’ll be right here.”

The conversation rested with Cullen. The slew of words he strung together was inflammatory. Alistair gleaned that the Templar viewed the Circle in Ferelden, the Templars, the mages even Alistair and his party as untrustworthy and a threat to her safety. He planned to take her to Kirkwall.

Alistair grinned as Solona refuted each of Cullen’s claims in turn. She agreed a change might help, but refused to accompany him.  Straining to hear more of her words, Alistair cursed as his radio crackled with Dom’s voice.

Alistair, pick up! Come on. . .pick up your radio!

“Dom, not now.”

Alistair. I need to talk with you now, meet me at the stairwell.

Picking up the radio, Alistair held it close to his mouth and hissed, “not now!”

This can’t wait.

“Yes it can.” The longer he talked with Dom, the more he’d miss out on Solona’s discussion with Cullen. “Whatever the problem, I trust you–deal with it.” Alistair turned off his radio and tossed it towards Leliana. Using the radio as a pointer she gestured towards the discussion in the hall.

Gone was the calm and even voice of the Templar Cullen. Alistair couldn’t tell if frustration or anger fueled his words. When Cullen reached out for Solona’s wrist, Alistair had seen enough.

“I think we’re done here.” Alistair commanding voice filled the corridor. Solona’s head snapped towards him. “Let her go.”

“This is Templar business and not your concern.” Cullen loosened his grip on Solona. “Do not challenge me, Warden.”

Alistair crossed his arms, maneuvering between Cullen and Solona. “Are you threatening a Warden? Because that’s what it sounds like.”

Cullen swallowed hard but stood his ground. “Miss Amell is a mage of Ferelden’s Circle and under my protection.”

Pursing his lips and nodding in mock understanding, Alistair circled Cullen in slow marked steps. “Protection? I always wondered how you Templars kept order and here I’ve seen it. Violence and fear. Be a good little mage or I’ll teach you a lesson, is that it?” Alistair meant to taunt and belittle Cullen. Narrowing his eyes, he delivered what he hoped would push Cullen even further. “The Templars are nothing but drug addicts pretending to be soldiers. Is that how you boys get women? Rough them up threaten them and then force your way in?”

“You go too far, Ser,” Cullen said through his clenched jaw. Cullen lunged forward attempting to knock Alistair off balance. The two grappled with each other until Alistair pushed Cullen.

“Seems you boys can’t fight either.” Alistair’s taunt aggravated Cullen into taking a swing. The Warden dodged and sidestepped to his left.

When Solona realized she could not stop the two men, she ran down the hall disappearing around a corner.

Alistair knew better than to injure Cullen. The Wardens had enough trouble, and he didn’t need the Order snapping at his heels.  Watching Cullen attempt blow after blow while he dodged and pushed the Templar away repeatedly proved too much fun until Alistair miscalculated the distance between them. Cullen’s right fist connected with Alistair’s jaw sending him staggering backwards several steps. 

 Cullen advanced on the distracted Warden as Solona returned with Irving, the Knight Commander and several other Templars. The Knight Commander yanked Cullen and Alistair apart.

“Ser Cullen! What in the Maker’s name are you doing?” The Knight Commander barked out additional orders to the Templars behind him.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, Cullen tried to explain his actions catching his breath as he spoke. “I . . . forgive me. This was . . . my fault. The Warden . . . was removing a mage from the Circle.”

Irving addressed the Knight Commander. “I am afraid your information is incorrect. The Warden Commander requested a mage recruit several months prior. Miss Amell agreed to accept the position. We waited for the Warden Commander’s arrival but other events delayed him. I believe if the offer is still valid from the Wardens, Miss Amell has only to accept.”

She looked to Alistair but spoke to all gathered. “I accept your offer, Warden Alistair.”

Alistair held out his hand to her, and she took it turning back to Cullen. “This is my choice Cullen. I consent to this without reservation.”

Cullen tried to move, but the Knight Commander held him back. “Solona, think about this please. You’re making a mistake. All those conversations, I thought we . . . maybe the mistake was mine. It doesn’t matter. Ser.”  Something in the inflection of Cullen’s words, the slump of his shoulders as he walked away with the Templars unsettled Alistair.

“What was that about, I wonder.” Alistair didn’t want the answer.

Irving suggested Alistair and his party leave as soon as they were able. Irving pledged the Circle’s aid and promised an emissary would depart for Redcliffe to confer with Teagan Guerrin. “Leave the boy with me. Connor is resting, and he poses no threat.” Irving offered to send updates on Connor’s progress, but Alistair cautioned Irving to speak only with Teagan. The Senior Enchanter spoke with Solona in the corridor while Alistair settled in the room to wait for Dom.

He tried not to speculate about the relationship between Cullen and Solona. Cullen’s impression of their rapport seemed far more familiar. If it were true, he’d owe Solona an apology.

She entered the room wearing a half-hearted smile. “Thanks, I guess.”

Unsure of her mood, concerned steps carried him closer. “I went too far Sol. It wasn’t Cullen’s fault.” Alistair waited before continuing. “He seemed a bit emotional. Are you sure you want to leave without him?”

“You misunderstand, we are or were friends.” Moving away from Alistair, she rubbed her arms. “We. . .flirted, but nothing more. I’ve been here since I was four. I don’t have many friends. Cullen arrived a few years ago and unlike so many of the Templars and mages here, showed me kindness.” Alistair said nothing.

“He called my family, Alistair. Cousins I don’t even know. Cullen stood there, pleased with himself because he’d arranged for someone to take care of me. I don’t need someone to take care of me.”  He searched for the perfect words to offer but found none.

“No, Sol, you don’t.  You could walk out of here and go wherever you wanted. Of course that would mean I’d have to let Wynne patch me up every time I did something stupid,” he teased. “I’d prefer it be you.  Can you imagine? Morrigan shouldn’t touch anything vital.” Alistair widened his eyes as he stared at her, his features melting into a soft grin. “Point is, I’d like it if you stayed, Sol. I was this close to a fight with a Templar.”

Shaking her head, she faced him. “This close? Alistair you were fighting.”

He waved her words away. “That was a minor disagreement. Nothing to worry about.”  

A relaxed silence fell between them.  He realized he’d wasted far too much time in the Circle.  Alistair and Solona worked well without words, moving around each other preparing to leave.  The sounds of a chase and shouting through the corridors interrupted their quiet time.  Alistair stepped into the corridor.

Solona screamed as a mass of fur barreled into Alistair knocking him to the ground.  He’d felt the impact, his body thrown to the ground; Alistair’s vision blurred from the force of his head hitting the floor.  The crushing weight atop his chest hindered his breathing.  Solona laughed as Dom and Leliana rounded the corner. Commands shouted, the beast climbed off of Alistair allowing him to breathe.

Rubbing the back of his head, Alistair couldn’t understand her reaction. “Sol, I hardly think laughing is an appropriate response to an attack." He pushed himself up, leaning on an elbow. “What was that?”

She pointed to his left. A young mabari sat on his haunches, tongue lolling to the side and panting. “Your adversary, Alistair.”

The mabari tilted his head and stared back at Alistair. “Don’t do that, it hurts.” The young pup barked in response. “Did you just answer me?” Another bark from the hound and Alistair stared up at Solona. “Did he answer me?” She shrugged and tried to offer an explanation.

 A nudge of the mabari’s head to Alistair’s hand seemed to convey he wanted attention. Alistair sat petting the hound until Dom’s voice called out to him. “Tank! Come away!”

“Tank? Your name is Tank?” The hound barked again his hindquarters wriggling as Dom approached. Alistair shook his head. “Tank? What made you name this mabari Tank?”

 “I didn’t, the pack master here named him. Seems little Tank here likes to crash into things or people just about whatever he can–head first.” Dom scratched Tank’s head. “So, can I keep him?”

Dom reached out to help Alistair stand. Rising to his feet, Alistair looked over the party; he’d planned to leave the group back in Redcliffe and hunt for Deimon alone.   Whatever they were before, each one pledged to help Alistair and Dom succeed. “You’re the leader here Dom, if you want to keep Tank, he’s in.”

Leliana recommended heading towards Denerim. The professor from Denerim Academy could provide maps and valuable information. Without enough information, Leliana feared a frontal assault on a town might lead to further injury; with the professor’s help, the advantage would shift. Alistair hoped to find the Warden’s safe house in the city and get a message to their headquarters in the Anderfels or even appeal to the Wardens in Orlais.

The unspoken concern rested with Loghain. Denerim was his domain.

 _____________

The clunk of the recorder stopping drew Alistair’s attention. “Is something wrong?”  Turning towards Madeleine, her wet cheeks moved him closer. “Did I upset you?”

“Tank was Dom’s mabari.” She said, wiping the tears from her face.

His brows knit together, unsure why the revelation troubled her. “Yes, Tank was Dom’s mabari. He needed a home, and he’s been with me ever since.”

“I don’t understand.” Madeleine wrestled with her thoughts. “If you killed Domnall Cousland, why would his mabari remain at your side?”

Madeleine understood a mabari’s loyalty never wavered. Tank would not have chosen his master’s killer as his companion. There were countless stories and legends of the famed war hounds exacting revenge for the death of their masters. Why had Tank let Alistair live? She had to keep going to understand what happened. 

“That is an interesting question, my dear. Why would he remain with me, when he had so many to choose from–yes, quite interesting.” Turning back to the window, Alistair readied to continue. “If you’ll start your machine again, Madeleine, we’ll head out on the road to Denerim.”

Chapter Text

Ch. 8

The cadence set by the truck’s tires beat a steady pulse; the road to Denerim offered little more than farmland, rest stops and the occasional residential development. The sprawling farmlands remained one of Maric’s legacies to Ferelden. He’d designated thousands of acres as protected lands for the purpose of agriculture. Cailan reinforced Maric’s edict when he’d formed the Landsmeet Foundation. Comprised of the wealthiest landowners across Ferelden, this governing body presided over all decisions from construction to preservation.

Sten and Alistair lost the night’s draw and took up the first leg of driving. Sten never seemed to tire; his pointed words waking Alistair each time the Warden’s eyes drooped. The Qunari viewed the lack of development and structure as a weakness and voiced his opinions.

“Ferelden needs more lights,” Sten announced, “dark roads invite danger.”  Alistair had spoken little with Sten, finding him critical in his scathing observations of Ferelden and their companions.

Rather than argue, Alistair sought to stay awake by attempting conversation. “Your home is different?”

“Yes,” Sten replied.

Holding back a sigh, Alistair tried to keep the conversation moving. “Yes. . .what?” Conversation with the Qunari could be challenging.

“Yes,” Sten offered again, “it is different.”

The Warden shifted in his seat, adjusting the harness to face Sten. “Listen big man, conversation is an exchange of information between two parties. These curt answers don’t work.”

Alistair’s attempts to engage Sten failed. He amused himself counting the rhythmic thumps of the tires over the road joints until sleep carried him into dreams.

Alistair knows he rides in an elevator, in spite of the absence of light. He stares at the panel above the door as the numbers illuminate in succession. A feminine voice calls out the floors as they pass; she is cold and impersonal, a machine without regard for her charges. Where she carries Alistair is a mystery.

Twenty-one. . .Twenty-two. . .Twenty-three. . .

The air turns sour as he rises and sweat forms on his brow and upper lip. A faint trace of red and orange intensifies in the crack between the doors. Real fear surfaces in the realization he is trapped within the rising car with no means of escape. Her sterile voice mocks every breath.

Twenty-four. . .Twenty-five. . .Twenty-six. . .

“Fire,” he hisses aloud, and a cautious hand reaches out to touch the doors; the lack of heat and cool metal confuses his senses. Adrenaline flows freely through him urging him to the ready. Mocking turns to scorn as she continues to announce his impending doom.

Twenty-seven. . .Twenty-eight. . .Twenty-nine. . .

The final chime of the elevator resonates as the doors open onto the thirtieth floor. An empty hall swims in hues of red, orange and yellow, its source a viscous curtain of molten rock flowing down the walls. Resisting the urge to reach out and test if what he sees is real, Alistair fights his curiosity and continues through the hallway.

Massive doors loom before him, and his fingers meet obsidian unaffected by the heat. Opening under extreme effort, Alistair’s tentative steps carry him into the office space within. A wall of screens flicker to life in front of him filled with nothing but static. The muted glow casts an unnatural pallor in the room. In the center, a single oversized office chair rests, facing away from him.

The sound of the chair moving alerts Alistair he is not alone.

“I wondered when we’d meet.” The voice is unfamiliar, grating and harsh.

A figure stands, his back facing Alistair as overhead lights slowly illuminate the room; his bare skin tattooed in a strange pattern. At first, Alistair sees what he believes is an ink stain or splash of blood. A figure takes shape from the amorphous mass as the light increases. Wings. Claws. Teeth. A beast is forming from within the stain. Alistair steps forward in awe of what he is witnessing. A dragon stretches his wings across the man’s back and settles again; the impossible image sharpens on the man’s skin.

Alistair wonders if his eyes mislead him. The dragon. . .it breathes. The tail whips back and forth around the man’s waist. “What are you?” Alistair asks without thinking.

The flap of fabric catches Alistair’s attention as the man covers his torso in a dark shirt. “Welcome, Warden. Shall we begin?”

Alistair’s slow return to awareness confused him. The images of his nightmare still lingered; the tightness in his muscles and chest were unexpected, but Alistair dismissed the dull pain as an after effect of such a vivid experience.  Familiar voices, unclear in his haze, all spoke at once added to his waking confusion.  His eyes focused and sharpened on Solona’s amused face and her gentle hand smoothing his hair.

“Alistair, if this is your idea of an adventure, I will need to work on my healing skills.”  Alistair didn’t respond. His eyes followed her as she moved around him.

“You’re staring, you know.”

“Your eyes . . .what color would you say they are?” Alistair asked. He’d meant to say something witty and clever about her eyes, but the words didn’t quite match his intentions.  

 “It’s called blue, Alistair,” Solona replied, handing him a packet. “Take these. The latest from Theirin Pharmaceuticals, time release healing.”

“I was asleep, Solona. What happened and where are we?” He tried to recall events and found them a blur of images. “I had a dream, I think.”

 If disbelief carried a sound, Leliana discovered it.  The noise fell somewhere between a scoff and a yell, a combination of anger and doubt. “A dream? Alistair, whatever happened to you and Dom makes this job even more dangerous.” Solona tried to calm Leliana and failed. “Stick to healing please and let me do my job.”

“Hey, now,” the frown on Alistair’s face cut hard and deep, “play nice Leliana.”

Defiance met annoyance as Leliana and Alistair squared off in silence. “I’m not taking another step Warden until you tell me what in the Maker’s name happened to you.”

Pushing to his feet, the first real pain washed through him. “Maker’s breath, what-?”

Solona hurried to his side. “You really don’t remember?” She glanced to Leliana before continuing trying to make light of the situation. “The next time you and Dom jump from the truck, kindly wait for it to stop moving.”

The truck pulled onto the road, tank filled and ready to resume. Leliana hoped to relieve Alistair, but he would not wake. Gripping the top of Alistair’s seat, the interior allowed enough room for her to crouch between the two staring out the windshield. Military supply trucks, made for storage and delivery, didn’t provide additional passenger space. 

“You should have let me drag him out of the seat.” Sten’s stoic delivery didn’t trouble Leliana; she understood he respected the Wardens.

Patting his shoulder, she explained it was better to let both Wardens sleep. Sten glanced towards Alistair deep lines creased his brow. “A strange sleep.”

“Strange sleep? What do you mean?” Leliana looked over at Alistair, her concern rising.

“Tell me. Does the other one sleep the same too? No movement, no shift just stillness?” Sten’s questions sent Leliana’s awareness to recall all she could.

She nodded as remembered images of Dom sleeping towards the back of the truck, wedged in the corner near the lift gate confirming Sten’s observations. “What does it mean?”

“Strike him.” His words carry the weight of command.

She stared at the qunari wondering if he’d lost his senses. “I’m not about to hit the Warden.”

Muffled shouting and banging on the walls of the interior distracted Leliana and Sten. He pointed to the red warning light indicating the lift gate in motion. “What are they doing? Sten, pull over. Pull over now.”

The clunk of Alistair’s seat restraint drew Leliana’s attention from the road. “Just pull over, Sten. I don’t care where.” Sten picked a farm to his left and veered off the road. Leliana touched Alistair’s shoulder, “Hey. Nice of you to wake up, Warden.”

Alistair opened the passenger door as the truck decelerated over bumps and uneven ground.

“Alistair! What are you doing?” She reached out to grab him as the Warden poised to jump. Only someone with sharpened reflexes would have connected in time with Alistair’s empty weapon harness. She grappled with the stronger man, wedging her body behind his seat to hold on. “Alistair, please!”

Open field in front of them, Sten held the wheel with one hand trying to aid his benefactor. She would lose this struggle and die along with him if he did not act.

Leliana’s muscles burned with effort to keep Alistair inside the truck. The tires would crush him if she let him go. “I will not fail, damn you!”  She felt Sten’s hand reach for her arm. “No, pull the harness, anchor me!”  Instead of listening to her, he slipped a short knife from its sheath. Leliana could not let go, she could not stop what was to come. “He’ll cut Alistair loose,” she realized and yelled over her shoulder. “Don’t you do it. Don’t you dare, Sten.”  She tightened her grip, but the position of the seat prevented her from reaching Alistair’s right side.

She fell back as Sten sliced the center belt first, without the harness and its hold on Alistair, Leliana’s strength alone kept the Warden from falling out of the truck.

“There is no other way, it must be done.” Sten’s words, while logical, did nothing to lessen her horror as two precise cuts freed Alistair and sent him tumbling out of the door.

Solona detailed her experience inside the truck with Dom. He’d released the rear doors and attempted the lower the lift gate when Morrigan and Wynne intervened. “Morrigan singed him a bit to wake him up, but Dom wasn’t injured as you were. I’m sure Sten didn’t intend to harm you, Alistair.” She carried on about Sten finding him in the field and bringing Alistair to rest in the barn where they waited.

 Scratching his chin, Alistair voiced the only thing that made sense given what he knew. “Deimon. It had to be Archibald Deimon.”

Both women asked the same question. “How?”

He’d been a Warden a little over six months, but Duncan trained him well. “The older Wardens talked about this after my Joining. I can’t tell you much about what that means are how it’s done, but the Taint–this unpleasant side effect of what we experience–it changes you and not all for the better.  A Warden trades a long life for the most cursed connection a living being can withstand–I know where to find darkspawn and through them Deimon.“ Oblivious to the expressions of concern and fear around him, Alistair continued, “the dream or nightmare must be the reverse–Deimon found us first.”

Tightening her harness and gloves, Leliana stepped towards Alistair. “If that is true, the situation has changed. You’re restricted from riding in the cab and I’m afraid you, me and Dom are about to get a lot closer.” She approached Solona with cautious steps, ignoring Alistair’s protestations.  “Solona, no one else is to know any of what you’ve heard here; I need to know I can trust you to protect Alistair and by way of extension-Dom.”

Solona nodded through Alistair’s objections. He muttered a brief apology to Solona and wheeled to face Leliana. Disturbed by his dream and aggravated at Leliana’s need to control and manipulate without any regard for others set Alistair even further on edge. “Don’t push me. You may have manipulated your way in, but you can’t take on two Wardens alone. We’ve wasted enough time here.” Alistair stalked towards the exit.

 He cried out as an object smacked into his back staggering him off balance; a force slammed him into the wall and cold steel pressed against his neck.  Leliana, he thought, attempting to break free.  

Through her exertion, Leliana wrenched his arm to keep Alistair pinned against the wall. “One down, one to go. I may not be strong enough to face you, but listen well, Warden. Don’t get in my way.” She loosened her grip. “You have a choice, Alistair. I will see you through to the end or I will see Warden Domnall to the end and my choice is not to anger the Guerrin family,” she said, tucking the blade out of sight leaving Solona and Alistair alone.

His face burned, angered and humiliated by Leliana’s actions; his feelings intensified by Solona’s presence, Alistair relied on his internal defenses. “Well, this has been a lovely little trip!” His false grin meant to hide his feelings met with Solona’s disbelieving scowl.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, Alistair,” she said, “in fact, I wish you wouldn’t.” Her rebuke melted the smile from his face. “Leliana was out of line, but I agree with her reasons. You are far too important.”

He rolled his eyes and waved her comment away. “Why? I’m important because I’m Alistair fucking Theirin?”

“No Alistair,” she answered, “because there are no heroes left in Ferelden.”

 _____________

The weight of Solona’s words carried Alistair in bewildered silence. She thinks I’m a hero.  His thoughts carried him in and out of awareness sitting in the back of the truck. Wynne had the presence of mind to arrange blankets, bedrolls and cots to make the ride more comfortable, but the harsh looks directed at Alistair projected nothing but disappointment.  He held his breath waiting for her latest reprimand.  Her silent message delivered to her satisfaction, Wynne closed her eyes and leaned against the interior of the truck.

He wondered what his most recent affront could be. Wynne’s mothering and interference no longer intrigued him. She’d turned every experience into a lecture and in doing so expanded into new ways to aggravate him. Dom rested against the opposite wall, both Wardens under the constant observation of Leliana; between her constant scrutiny and Wynne’s latest displeasure, Alistair lamented his failure to leave the group in Redcliffe.

The mages pledged their help, in spite of their weakened status; Irving’s influence convinced the Templars to lend several garrisons to help combat the darkspawn. Alistair realized with the KORE knights and either a contingent from Orzammar in the west or the Dalish in the east he’d have the ground support needed to meet Deimon’s darkspawn army. If Alistair could find the Warden base in Denerim, the communication equipment could get a message to Orlais, the Marches or Weisshaupt. He wondered why no Wardens had tried to contact Ferelden until the stark realization of the truth crystallized. No one is coming. Based on the limited information, no doubt the Grey Wardens believe we’re all dead.

Dom whispered Alistair’s name several times before Alistair broke free and answered him. “Why are you whispering?”  A shift against his shoulder and a sleep induced hum alerted Alistair to Solona resting next to him. She stirred, relaxed against him and fell silent. Alistair resisted the urge to shrug and smiled. Dom’s waggling brows threatened to incite laughter from them both, but the near silent scoff from Wynne ended their wordless conversation.

Any relationship with Solona would be problematic. Alistair understood how Thedosian society worked. Mages didn’t mix with men like him. Dom could get away with it as the head of a powerful family; if Dom married Solona, no one would question him. Alistair couldn’t -not without proof of his lineage. Eamon and Teagan were the only men of enough influence and wealth to help him assume the Theirin name. Solona could not be a part of that world. His lingering thoughts on the woman next to him soon faded as the truck slowed and stopped.

When the cab window slid back, Leliana called Dom and Alistair towards her. “We have a problem. There’s a woman on the road flagging us down for help.”

Without hesitation, Dom wanted to assist. “We can’t leave anyone stranded. There’s plenty of room, she can travel with us to Denerim or the next rest stop.” Dom asked Morrigan and Sten to assist while the others waited inside.

Taking the opportunity to stretch his legs, Alistair tried to move away from Dom.  “Hold on there, Senior Warden Alistair. Would you care to explain how Miss Amell decided to use you as her pillow?” 

“I was nearby?” Alistair guessed. “Miss Amell didn’t ask, Warden Domnall. Leave it.”

Dom winked and saluted as Sten slid the cab window open.  Sten and Morrigan offered their opinions after a conversation with the stranded woman. “We must not offer assistance, Domnall. She lies - I am certain. The woman claims an accident overturned her vehicle.” Morrigan’s certainty convinced Alistair he’d investigate even if the others refused. He neither liked nor trusted her. He believed Morrigan would lie to support her own agenda.

Sten’s assessment, however, challenged the Warden’s dismissal. Sten had no reason to lie, his goal, to see Leliana to the end of her contract and in doing so return home lent no room for foolishness. “The witch speaks the truth. The claim is false. I could not see marks on the road, the grass is undisturbed, and she is uninjured. She is of the north; her accent is not of your country.”

The discussion deteriorated into an argument between Dom and Leliana. “Alistair,” Dom tried to garner support through persuasion, “you understand our obligations here, right?”  

As much as Alistair wanted to deny Leliana a victory, he could not agree and sided with Leliana and Sten. Morrigan, however, seeing Dom’s disappointment offered another solution. “If all will agree, perhaps allowing the woman to join us without sending aid into the woods would satisfy Domnall’s concerns.” 

Despite Leliana and Sten’s opposition to the proffered solution, Dom sent Wynne and Sten to invite the motorist to travel with them until the next rest stop along the highway.  Pulling Alistair aside, Leliana apologized. 

“I must apologize. My actions were insensitive and undermined you as a Warden. Any attempt to justify my actions cannot hide the fact I embarrassed you Alistair. I will apologize to Solona as well.” Leliana waited for his response.  Solona interrupted them, her repeated glances towards the back of the truck overshadowed the need to continue with Leliana.

Solona led a life of the observer. Never part of the crowd, always on the outside looking in–much like Alistair. She’d shared pieces of her since they’d met. Even Leliana could read the uncertainty in Solona’s eyes. Narrowed and focused, the mage followed the newcomers as they climbed into the back.

Solona suspects them, Alistair thought, taking in the woman and her companion. “They’re elves.” Alistair whispered to her, prompting a subtle nod from Solona.

She faced him to mask her voice, speaking into his chest. “That is not what troubles me. Sten is right. They are not Fereldan and yet the man claims to have arrived only days ago, but seems to be extremely well informed as to who you are.”

Leliana faced away from the two, but remained a part of the conversation. “Explain, please.”

“His words - ‘imagine my surprise to learn that it is Warden Alistair and his companions to offer us safety.’ Neither Sten nor Wynne would have revealed your presence.” She looked up into Alistair’s face.  “Put them out, this is wrong.”

“No,” he replied, “but be ready for anything.”

Zevran and Renata. Zevran claimed both had escaped from the slave trade in Antiva and traveled to Ferelden to find work.

While Zevran spun his tale of servitude and woe, Renata attempted to engage Alistair in conversation. Solona interrupted each attempt giving answers to fictitious questions.  After repeated attempts, Solona abandoned passive tactics.  “You’re intruding on a private conversation,” she snapped, sending Renata to sit further away from them. Solona lifted Alistair’s arm and rested her head against his chest whispering, “sorry about this, but there’s something not right about her.”

He played along, wary of their guests. He noted several pointed looks between the two elves, similar to the methods used by Wardens when silence was vital to survival. When Sten pulled into the next rest stop, Solona and Alistair waited for the others to exit. Alistair found as soon as Solona moved away from him; he missed the nearness of her. In this distracted state, he watched Renata and Zevran carry on a hushed conversation.

Both elves were slender, both with light blonde hair and with skin several tones darker than his companions were. Never having visited Antiva, Alistair could only guess their appearance to be the norm in the country.  Alistair stared at Renata. The way Zevran pursed his lips and the gestures of his head towards the truck, Alistair guessed to be a reprimand. She fidgeted as he spoke, playing with her hair and pulling it off her neck. He stared at the strange nervous tick until Alistair saw it. A tattoo. Not like the ink he’d drunkenly agreed to get after joining the Wardens; the Warden insignia on his left shoulder now a source of pride. She let her hair drop and then repeated the motion, gathering her hair and holding it up revealing the image of a black bird on her neck.

It’s not a tattoo, he realized, it’s a brand. Alistair called after Solona just as she reached the steps of the lift gate. “Sol! I almost forgot!”

He held out his hand to her and pulled her close. “Listen, find Leliana. Tell her the two elves are Crows, at least Renata is, she wears the mark.” Solona’s eyes widened.

“Then come with me, don’t stay here,” she pleaded, “you can’t fight them on your own.”

If anyone else had said those words to him, Alistair’s reaction and response would have been swift and scathing, but his attention shifted to Renata’s approach. “Go, I’ll be all right.”

The Crows. Assassins, thugs, spies and pirates for hire. I should be flattered to warrant this attention, he mused, waiting for Renata to make the first move. She wandered towards him, hands clasped behind her back.

“You’re the other Warden, aren’t you?” Her question seemed odd after her repeated attempts to engage Alistair earlier on the road. Her earlier timidity with Zevran dissolved with each step closer to Alistair.

Alistair assumed Renata planned to block him in using the truck interior to her advantage. In response, Alistair shifted with each approaching step, a subtle lean, a shuffle never allowing her access to him head on.

The tilt of her head, her sweet smile and gentle laugh all meant to disarm him annoyed Alistair; he continued to lead her where he wanted, a strange dance to turn her around to his advantage. He hoped she’d mistaken his avoidance for fear.  Two more steps to the left, he plotted, that’s a good little assassin.

“There’s no reason to fear me, Alistair. I will not hurt you.” Renata offered patting the wall next to her. Following her lead, he leaned on his left side facing her.

“Is that right, Renata,” Alistair checked the area and licked his lips, lowering his voice to whisper in her ear, “I wish I could say the same.”

She stiffened, confusion crossing her face. He twisted towards her, his left hand grasping her throat. Alistair’s face contorted speaking through his clenched jaw. “Who hired you?” Renata wheezed, clutching at his large hand to loosen his grip. Alistair ignored the scratches she inflicted and increased the pressure on her throat.  “If you want me to stop, answer the question.”

She croaked out a response and Alistair understood he’d have to release her to get the information he needed. “I will let go, Renata, but if for a moment I hear a lie in your voice, I will end you. Have I made my position clear?”

She nodded and coughed as Alistair pulled his hand away. “Zevran hired me.” she managed to get the few words out before coughing again. 

“Now why don’t I believe you, Renata?” Alistair rolled his shoulders. His movement enough to intimidate her into putting her arms up to hold him off.

She looked towards the open back of the truck and back to Alistair. “Loghain . I swear. It was Loghain Mac Tir. The contract was Zevran’s. He was to infiltrate your party, steer you towards an ambush in Denerim.”

“Where, Renata?” The force of his voice, the distance between them unsettled her more, she shook as she shared everything she knew including the location of the warehouse in the market district belonging to Loghain.

“See? That was easy. Now, a very important question, my dear Renata. What would be your role in the ambush?” Alistair held her frightened eyes in his.  

“Please! I was just supposed to distract you long enough for Zevran to kill the other,” she blurted out Zevran’s instructions to her and how she would keep Alistair occupied until Domnall Cousland was dead.

The crunch and scuffle of approaching footsteps alerted Alistair to the return of the others. “If you wish to live Renata, listen to my words; not a glance, not a word, not a sound, and if you alert this Zevran in any way - you will join him.”

Sinking to the floor, Renata rested her head and waited.

Solona came into view first hurrying ahead of the others; her hand flew to her chest to see Alistair safe. Zevran and Dom followed several paces behind, but Alistair spied Leliana, her deliberate steps just behind Zevran and the single nod of her head answered his thoughts. Leliana readied for his signal.

The elf raised his hands in greeting. “Warden Alistair! I see you have enjoyed Renata’s company. It pleases me you have such a keen eye for beauty. I have seen fit to offer my services to you and your party. I may not be as skilled as you, nor do I possess such magical strength as the beauties you have gathered, but I believe such an agreement could benefit us both.”

Alistair nodded, “don’t you mean benefit your employer?”

Zevran looked around and shrugged. “I am afraid I do not know of whom you speak.”

Dom questioned Alistair with a look, but Alistair continued. “Renata shared what she could.”

The elf sighed, “does she live? She is no danger to you.”

“Renata lives,” Alistair explained, “but you accepted a contract on my life, Zevran.” The lie felt natural on his tongue. Leliana may have let Zevran live if she learned Dom was the assassin’s target.

Zevran stepped away from Dom’s side. “No! The contract was not for you, Warden Alistair!”

Several more steps backwards brought Leliana and Zevran together. “Please, dear lady, you must believe me.”  His body stiffened as her blade pushed through his back.

__________________

Madeleine shifted in her chair, trying to process Alistair’s revelations. “You lied, Alistair. You told Leliana the contract was for you, not Warden Cousland. ”

“Leliana would have killed him, regardless. I gave her a solid reason at the time.” Alistair reasoned. “By any means necessary, remember?”

Shaking her head Madeleine answered, “I’m not liking the Wardens very much at this point.”

I know what you mean, he thought. Alistair rubbed his face and suggested they pick up the story tomorrow as Madeleine gathered her belongings. He watched her take the stairs and waited for Tank to join him.  Alistair speculated that whatever brought Marion to Denerim wasn’t pleasant. 

Chapter Text

Ch 9 Roses and Bullets

In the hours afforded to Marion and Cullen, they’d attempted to make sense out of Alistair’s home.

“The mabari has his own room,” Hawke called out. “Can you believe it?”

Cullen wanted no part of Marion’s snooping. He understood the friendship between the two stemmed from Alistair’s help with Marion’s family.  Alistair intervened on behalf of Hawke’s siblings, Carver and Bethany; both saved by that run down Warden in wrinkled clothing somehow. He’d freed Bethany from the Circle in Kirkwall without being discovered and Carver became a Warden thanks to Alistair’s connections.

Shaking his head, Cullen trudged down the stairs to find her before she rummaged through the man’s private papers. “What about the mabari?” Cullen found her in the dining room staring at a mound of mail. “Maker’s breath. . .what is that?”

Marion pulled out a chair and rolled up her sleeves. “A project,” she smiled, “one that requires your skills, Cullen.” She pointed to another chair. “Come on, let’s see how long it takes for me to aggravate you to the point you take over and finish this on your own.”

“Go, Marion. I’ll sort this out.” Cullen pulled her closer for a kiss. “You owe me.”

“Put it on my tab, Cullen.” Hawke’s laughter carried her from the room.

________________

Home is a feeling; smells, sounds and even the way the air seems to fit between one’s belongings creates a sense of sameness and serenity. No matter the walls, there is always some part of the inhabitant that anchors the senses.

Tank sensed it first. On most nights, he would break free and run to the kitchen for his food. Alistair recognized the change in the air, the usual scent of old books and stale air chased away by open windows and nighttime breezes.

Retreating moisture on the floor and shifted furniture confirmed his suspicions. “She cleaned,” Alistair groaned, “sorry my friend. We’ve been invaded.” The mabari looked up at Alistair and whined.

Alistair called to Hawke several times, only to reveal Cullen stepping from the dining room. “Alistair, I’d offer an apology but instead allow me to take advantage of the quiet.” He joined Alistair in the hall and handed an envelope. “I’d hide that before she realizes you’re back.”

Raising a single brow, Alistair slipped the envelope into his coat pocket.

Cullen checked the kitchen entry and lowered his voice. “It’s from a friend. She reached out to me.” Cullen gestured into the dining room, “I don’t wish to pry, but there are piles of unopened letters, maybe you might look through them?”

Graceless clomps down the stairs signaled Hawke’s arrival. Alistair grinned at her less than unobtrusive entrance. “Is there anything you do that is even half way quiet?”

Tapping her chin, she paused before looking at Cullen. A wide grin and a wink in his direction brought her back to the conversation. “No, not one bloody thing.” Cullen’s pink tinged neck and ears set Alistair’s eyes to roll once before he removed his coat.

“Hawke, I’ll pass on the details thanks.” Wandering into the kitchen, Alistair couldn’t believe the work she’d done. “Hawke, you cooked too? What’s the catch? Let me guess, you ran off with the Knight Commander here and now need a place to hide? Fine. Hands off my stuff.”

A pointed glance between Hawke and Cullen troubled Alistair. “It’s more than that. Isn’t it?”

Hawke wandered into the living room. “If I were booze, where would I be hiding?”

Cullen sighed. “Marion, that will not help.” He turned to Alistair. “After Anders died-“

She cut him off, shouting from the other room, “don’t you mean after Hawke killed Anders—the whole fucking city went mad!” The clinking of a glass and the satisfied moan from the living room signaled Hawke had found the stash of alcohol. “Andraste’s ass, that’s good. You should dust out your cabinets Alistair. Looks like you haven’t been in here for years.”

 Cullen heard Alistair’s soft reply. “I haven’t. It changes nothing.”

Former rivals stood facing another, neither sure of the proper words. Alistair spoke first, “thanks for bringing her and for your help. The older I get it’s easier to avoid,” he pointed into the dining room, “whatever all that is supposed to mean.”

 “It means there are many of us who still admire the hero, Alistair, no matter what the papers print.” Cullen held out his hand.

Shaking the proffered hand, Alistair grinned. “Thank you, Cullen. Nice to see you grew out of your asshole stage.”

 “Nice to see you haven’t.” Cullen quipped. “Help me get the bottle away from her; we have much to discuss.”

___________________

The mention of Leliana’s name threatened to end the conversation before it started. Alistair wanted no part of Leliana’s schemes or machinations and he cautioned the pair to be wary of her. Cullen offered enough information to quell Alistair’s concerns.

“The Chantry explosion and the Circle rebellion set Thedas on a dangerous path; pulled apart by two powerful groups, something must be done. The Templars have attacked mages in the streets and the mages are preparing for war. I resigned my commission but wearing the uniform has kept Hawke free of scrutiny. The Divine asked for you, Warden. She tasks the Right and Left Hands to gather those who can help. Sister Leliana sent me to find you.”

“What about Warden Stroud? He’s a good leader.” Alistair wanted no part of whatever Leliana planned.

Hawke snorted into her glass. “Stroud. I believe his words were the polite equivalent of ‘piss off’. The Wardens have their own issues right now. Not that you’d know anything about that.” The alcohol talked for her, continuing her passive rant. “You know what, Ali?”  Alistair cringed at Marion’s use of his nickname. “Forget it. Sit here, avoid everyone and everything pretending to be this wounded animal. The world is falling apart and you’re too wrapped up in your own misery to care.”

Cullen mumbled his apologies and helped Hawke up the stairs leaving Alistair to wander through his home. The perfect piles of envelopes arranged in careful rows amused him. Sinking into a chair, Alistair flipped through a few of the envelopes; all of them addressed the same:

Warden Alistair

Theirin Enterprises

Denerim City, Denerim

“No doubt this pile of letters has Teagan and all his good intentions somewhere in all this.”

A pink envelope caught his attention. The writing belonged to a child, its blocky lettering covering the entire face of the envelope. Inside, matching pink paper revealed a smiling rose. The flower grinned wide and one of its leaves looked to wave if it could move. A smaller folded card slipped out of the envelope; this message written by an adult:

I don’t know if you remember me, we met in Lothering. You bought my mother’s rose locket from me. I didn’t count the money until later that evening. You saved us, my daughter and me. We had nothing but a box of old junk. You gave us a chance, Warden. Thank you.   

The date on her signature read nearly eight years prior. Alistair fell back against the chair, reading her note again. “I remember you, Helena. I remember Annalise, too.” Alistair had emptied his billfold; several hundred in bills into the toddler’s waiting hands. The child handed him the oval shaped locket with a carved rose on the face and then clutched his leg in a hug. Alistair had never shared that with anyone. “Well, almost never.” The muted padding of Tank’s paws on the hardwood floor ended Alistair’s reveries. “Bed time already?” Tank huffed in reply, pulling Alistair from the chair to stand. “All right, I’m going.”

Tank waited at the landing, eager to return to sleep but not wanting to leave Alistair alone.

“You’re worse than a nanny,“ the Warden complained. “Do you think she still has the locket, buddy?” Tank huffed again and climbed the stairs. “I know, I know get over it.” Alistair climbed the stairs his thoughts thick with the events of his past.

______________    

No one spoke until they reached Denerim, Alistair dismissed his lie as a necessary precaution. The assassin Zevran’s death, while unfortunate, proved useful. Renata would return with a message of failure and warning to leave the Wardens to their business or more would die.

What kept Alistair occupied centered on Loghain’s contract. It would make far more sense for Alistair to have been the target for the Crows. Eliminating the only Theirin left would guarantee Anora Mac Tir Theirin’s bid to run Theirin Enterprises, at least until the board considered all their options. The contract made little sense. Why Dom? What would his death accomplish? He mulled over the possibilities following the others in a contemplative daze.

“Good to see you Warden.” A familiar voice anchored Alistair’s alertness to his surroundings. Kelvin, Teagan’s assistant waited to greet him. Kelvin worked as the Guerrin’s liaison to Theirin Enterprises since Alistair was a child. The answer to Alistair’s question of how to navigate the intricacies of Ferelden politics and the machinations of the families stood before him; Kelvin possessed a unique view of every meeting he’d witnessed over his sixty years.

“Kelvin! Please no formalities between us, you know more than enough about me to be dangerous. Thank you for opening the city residence for us.” Alistair introduced Dom and Solona allowing for pleasantries and small talk before Kelvin offered his arm to Solona and led her through the entry promising to divulge embarrassing tales of a young Alistair.

The hand on Alistair’s shoulder applied just enough pressure to convey it wasn’t a greeting. “So are you going to tell me why Leliana killed the elf or am I supposed to believe what I saw?” Dom eyes, unfocused looked everywhere but at Alistair. Devoid of any emotion he continued, “this distance you’ve put between yourself and everyone else, it's part of whatever you’re thinking about, Alistair and I can’t dismiss the feeling that the elf and the woman. . .that was about me.”

Opening his mouth to protest, Alistair changed his mind and his posture sagged in defeat and Alistair nodded. “You were the target, not me.”

“But you let Leliana-,” he checked the entry for others and dropped his voice to a whisper, “-kill Zevran thinking she was protecting you.”  Dom’s disbelief stopped him, staring at Alistair.

His actions were questionable. Alistair could admit that freely, but Dom, still new to being a Warden, new to the horrors of the Blight, would need to trust in Alistair’s decisions. “Listen my friend, no reinforcements will arrive, no help except for those we recruit. Even if we send a message to the West or the North, it may be too late. Archibald Deimon knows who we are.”

Dom swallowed hard, shaking his head. “But it was a dream, right? That place doesn’t exist.”

“It does. I’ve been there before. I was a child, but I know that hall, that office. It was my father’s and Cailan’s. The thirtieth floor of the One Drakon Tower.” The flash of memory of the living tattoo breathing and moving on its own sent waves of unease through him. Fists held tight, Alistair’s arms remained close to his sides trying to hide the nervous tremors in his hands.

Dom’s voice cracked through his response, “I still see it too. That thing on his skin. . .it moved. What  was that?”

A practiced roll of his shoulders and a deep breath helped to steel Alistair against the images invading his mind. Just a dream. You’re a Warden, not a child. Breathe. Releasing his hands and pasting a soft smile before answering, Alistair reassured Dom. “The Fade, Dom.” Feigned laughter, and a practiced voice continued, “There’s one thing Theirin Enterprises can never control, my friend, the Fade. It was here long before us and doesn’t bend to the whims of progress.”

Dom nodded absently and followed Alistair up the stairs. Kelvin waited for the Wardens and directed Dom towards his shared room with Sten. “Alistair, a few words if you’re not too tired?”

The two walked towards Eamon’s office, reminiscence carrying them on their way. When Kelvin cleared his throat and fumbled with an opening, Alistair guessed at the topic tripping the older man’s tongue.

“She’s a mage, Kelvin.” Alistair offered.

“Not a woman then?” Kelvin teased, coughing to hide his laughter. ”She seems rather taken with you, dear boy. What a shame to allow such labels to come between you.”

Biting his lip to hide his smile, Alistair resumed a faster pace towards the office, forcing Kelvin to match his steps. “I see,” he said, just before closing the door. “Take it from me, don’t wait. When given a gift, you give thanks and accept it.”

“You didn’t ask me here to discuss Solona, Kelvin.” Alistair’s attempt at changing the subject met with laughter as Kelvin directed Alistair to sit. Realizing his curt words were disrespectful, Alistair apologized. “I’m sorry. I should thank you for taking in the group. I’m grateful for your help.”

“Hold your thanks, Alistair until I share what I’ve discovered, then you can grovel all you like.” Reaching into a drawer, Kelvin pulled out a thick folder. “Here. You’ll need this to earn your place. Even Teagan is unaware of the implications of everything contained within this folder.”

Alistair flipped through the papers. Memos, letters, photographs, page after page with information concerning Loghain, Anora, Cailan and Maric. “How did you. . .what am I looking at?”

Kelvin detailed Cailan’s directive to the older man. “He wanted to bring you in and push the Mac Tir family out. A vote was scheduled by Bryce Cousland to remove the Mac Tir presence from the board. Cailan suspected that Anora or Loghain had been passing trade secrets to Par Vollen and Tevinter.” He sifted through the papers extracting an exchange of communications detailing payoffs and merger plans once Theirin Enterprises fell to Mac Tir control. Kelvin shuffled through the folder once more. “Here, I discovered these documents during my research. One of the Mac Tir’s ordered the Cousland murder.”

Alistair fell back in his chair, skimming the pages. “This is vague at best; I can’t tell who wrote this.”

Voicing his agreement, Kelvin pulled out another page. “These are additional contracts. One outlines an agreement signed by Maric and an unnamed bodyguard. I believe you’ve met her successor.” Alistair nodded in response. Leliana, he thought, this is the original.

“And the other?” Alistair believed it was the contract on Dom.

Kelvin sat down, seemingly to review the papers in his hands. “The other, Alistair, are the conditions we must now discuss given Eamon’s unfortunate illness.”

This was the conversation Alistair hoped never to have. “I’ll find the bloody ashes. You’ll have Eamon back.”

“Alistair, I have never doubted your abilities. You will succeed and not because of your blood.” The older man moved around the desk. “When the Blight is removed from our streets and Archibald Deimon disappears, you will return to Denerim.”

The strain of unwanted obligations and lofty expectations ignited Alistair’s need to push back, but his respect for Kelvin and his dedication to the families demanded respect. “I’m afraid I am only a Warden. I could never be Maric or Cailan.”

“Maric and Cailan did their best. You will do better. I know this because you care what happens out there. You put Fereldans first Alistair, and that is what the people deserve when this fight is over.” The gentle smile accompanying such pointed words settled Alistair’s growing concerns. He could not commit to anything other than the Blight, but Kelvin saw something within him that strengthened his resolve.

“The Blight first and then . . .we’ll talk.” Alistair offered. Gesturing to the pile of papers, Alistair wondered if he could take them. “May I?”

Nodding his assent Kelvin asked Alistair if he remembered which room was his. Pleasantries exchanged Alistair turned to the left wing to find his room. He didn’t expect to rest, but finding Solona sitting in the hall confirmed sleep would be difficult. “Sol? Everything all right?”

She clasped her hands in her lap and spoke to him not quite meeting his eyes. “Alistair, could we . . .talk somewhere private?”

Unprepared, he stammered for a moment before suggesting the enclosed garden. Stashing the papers in his room, Alistair guided Solona through the halls to the small courtyard. A bench overlooking a water feature afforded a little privacy.

“We’re alone. What’s on your mind.” He cringed at his formality, something troubled her; always so self-assured, but she sat with him, closed off and distant. Her slouched posture and the sudden timidity to her presence concerned him. “Sol?”

He searched her face for hints of what had quelled the spirit he so admired. The woman who faced off against Renata, who had yet to shrink and hide as they fought now seemed so fragile. “Hey, talk to me. Would you . . . should I get Wynne or Leliana?”  He’d never been good at saying the right thing at the precise moment it mattered most.

“Do you like me Alistair?” Solona’s question stunned him.

He grappled with so many thoughts and responses at the same time nothing came out. Alistair scratched his chin trying to find the perfect words. Instead he blurted out a halfhearted reply. “Yes?”

Her shoulders sagged, “Oh. I see. So, you will leave me here in Denerim then?”

His thoughts raced faster. Leaving her here? She’s not coming with us? “Wait. What? No!” His voice grew louder than he’d intended. “I mean, why would you-“

She shifted away from him. “It’s ok. You have Wynne, Leliana and Morrigan. I’m nothing but a Circle Mage.”

He reached out for her hand and then pulled away. “No, Solona. I mean Sol.” He groaned. “I like you. You’re more than just a little amazing. Overwhelming sometimes, but in a good way.” He rubbed his face and found himself unable to stop. “How could I possibly want you to go? I don’t care what you are. Maker’s breath, you’re beautiful and smart.” Alistair groaned again at his seemingly shallow words. “I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t know how to say the right things here.   Please don’t go.”

Alistair pushed off the bench and stepped away. Brilliant work. Not only are you incapable of basic speech, but you sounded like a complete idiot. “The witch is right. I am an idiot,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.  

 A gentle hand touched his arm. “She’s wrong.”

 Turning to face her, an idea took root. “Sol, we haven’t known each other long, and I’m not great with words; I have something I’d like to give you.”

 “What is it?” Her tentative back step almost caused him to abandon his plan.

 “I found it in Lothering, before I met you. A young mother and her little girl, Helena and Annalise, sat with a box of their belongings selling possessions to buy passage to the west.” He continued, Solona looking on. “There wasn’t much, a few trinkets and not worth any real money. The way she looked at me so hopeful, so appreciative of my age and decision to become a Warden that I couldn’t walk away without helping.”

 “Alistair. . .that was kind of you.” Solona offered.

He exhaled. “No it wasn’t, I didn’t want to disappoint her; I saw this locket. Nothing special but a simple locket with a carved rose on the face.” Alistair pulled the locket from his breast pocket. “She told me it belonged to her mother.  Helena told me she had no need of such luxuries. When a memory becomes a luxury, I couldn’t let it go.” Alistair looked at the locket in his hand. “I gave her whatever money I had.”

Solona didn’t reply, but Alistair spoke on. “Maybe it’s too soon for something like this between us Sol, but I’d like you to have this. Memories aren’t luxuries. They’re precious.” He stared up into her eyes and her silence pushed him back into embarrassment. “I’ve said too much. I’ll. . .just . . . go.” Holding the locket by the chain, he handed it to her. Solona clasped it tight and still did not reply.

Alistair nodded once and headed towards the interior door.

“Wait! Alistair, don’t leave.” Solona hurried after him, her closeness familiar once again. Touching his cheek, she pressed her lips against his.

She kissed me, he thought. Unsure if he should respond in kind or thank her, he stood still. She stepped closer and waited.

Realizing she waited for him, Alistair asked the one thing buzzing through his head. “I guess this is where I kiss you?”

She smiled. “That might be a good idea.”

Leaning towards her, his tentative lips touched hers, giving way to gentle sighs. He wanted to remember every detail of her, the curve of her body fitting to his, the way she smiled between each kiss. His mind raced with fears of disappointment and rejection, but he fought back his fears with tenderness. In the end, it was not disappointment but shock that pulled them apart as the sounds of screams and gunfire drove them to the ground.  

Chapter Text

The letter Cullen had given him would rot in his coat pocket. It’s from her. No one else would go through Cullen to reach me. The mere thought of Solona’s betrayal didn’t rest well with Alistair. Embittered and tired, he did not want to relive another painful memory of their past, but these poisoned thoughts lived on invading his need to sleep–a constant loop of sour memories to hold him awake.

“Alistair, can you please stop for a moment and listen?”

“I hope you’re both very happy together.”  

Unable to sleep, the soft light of the bedside lamp illuminated the room enough for him to see. He raked his fingers through his hair, wondering if Marion had left the bottle out. One, and then I can sleep, he promised himself. Listening for any signs that his houseguests might still be awake, he took to the stairs and crept to the first floor. Arguing the justification for his destination in Alistair’s head kept Marion’s presence in the living room hidden until she spoke.

“I know about Sol’s letter. Cullen’s compassion outweighs his cleverness and Sol? Not as sharp as she once was.” Hawke’s sarcasm and snark, fueled by alcohol left little room for misinterpretation.

“Hey. Play nice Hawke. I’ll pour the rest of that crap down the sink if all it gets us is a nasty attitude,” Alistair snapped, but couldn’t be sure if it was her remarks about Cullen and Solona that irked him or if it was her presence blocking him from his goal. She swirled the ice in her glass and the discordant pings reminded him of how long it had been since he’d even looked at those bottles. “Not going back,” he muttered leaning his head against the back of the couch. 

Hawke, realizing what the words meant, returned the bottle to the cabinet and carried the glass to the kitchen.

“You don’t have to do that, Marion.” Alistair sighed, he’d been a mess after Dom’s death, running away to Kirkwall hadn’t helped. A year passed in a haze of alcohol until Marion found him and contacted Teagan.

“You know, you only call me Marion when I’m not pissing you off.” She returned and slouched into the overstuffed chair. “Ten years, Ali. When are you going to stop believing the shit you think happened and look at the truth?”

He waved her words away, not opening his eyes. “Since when do you know the truth?”

Hawke scoffed and leaned forward. “Sol came looking for Cullen after you left.  She’d even asked Anders how to become a Warden.”

“Don’t. I really don’t want to talk about. . .her. Can we leave it alone?” Alistair’s weak words fell short.

Unyielding, Hawke continued. “If you were done, that letter would have been tossed or ripped or burned.” She gestured towards the fireplace, the empty space roared to life. “Here you are, Alistair. Get rid of it.”

Unmoving he glared at her, not wishing to engage in an argument. Both looked towards the stairs as Cullen’s heavy steps carried him towards their conversation. 

“I thought so. Spew your bullshit elsewhere, Ali. Somewhere in that thick head, you still care. Read the fucking letter.”  Hawke rose, her hardened features softened looking at him. “Ten years, time to stop hiding, my friend.”

“Marion,” Cullen’s hand rested on her shoulder, “leave him. It’s bad manners to drink a man’s booze and then dissect his life.” Turning her towards the stairs, he looked back at Alistair. “I am not alone. Even as I stumble on the path.”

A half smile formed on Alistair’s lips. Even in Kirkwall, Cullen always had the perfect verse, the perfect words to offer from the Chant. Solace through solemnity. In Kirkwall, Alistair had been less than accepting of the then Knight Captain’s answer for everything falling to the Maker.

Years later, free from his need to disappear into fermented spirits and alcohol to forget, Alistair understood it wasn't about faith. The words were real, tangible and anchored him in this world.  Recollecting the passage, Alistair joined in, “With my eyes closed, yet I see the Light is here.”

Hawke’s obscene noise at the recitation coaxed a light laugh from Alistair. Cullen shrugged and led her away, leaving Alistair in peace.  “I know what happened,” he whispered. Wrong or right, to change his perception now would reveal more than Alistair wanted to face.  

______________

Alistair’s suspicions grew each time Kelvin or Eamon required his input. Solona appeared to leave as soon as Alistair departed and despite his appeal for her help, the Nightingale refused to follow Solona; she’d grown annoyed at his constant accusations.  “Solona is not that kind of person, Alistair,” she warned, “this jealousy of yours will tear you apart and I refuse to play a part in your little drama.”

Leliana’s refusal strengthened his distrust of all of his companions; Alistair could not dismiss his notions as false. Determined to prove his theories correct, Alistair planned to catch Solona in her lies. A phony memo left in their room set the trap. Alistair left Eamon’s estate, driving instead of his usual walk, he wanted to leave no doubt he did not plan to return for some time.

Hiding the car near the Market District, Alistair returned to the estate in time to see Solona following a man through the main courtyard to the Redcliffe Knights guardhouse. He waited, shadowing them both as the two moved in silence to the meeting hall. He slipped in to the room and hid inside an empty office.

Solona stood off to the side, wringing her hands and throwing quick glances around while she waited. Her lover called out to her, securing the back entrance. “What about Alistair?”

Yes, Alistair wondered, what about me? His new hiding spot beneath the office window blocked them from view, but his proximity allowed him to hear their words.

“Don’t worry about Alistair, I can handle him.” Her callous words cut through him.

Alistair resisted the urge to burst out and confront the two. He knew they were young, maybe too young to have come this far. If not for the forced closeness, the constant pushing from all sides and repeated reminders of expectations, Alistair wondered if what held them together was love or the drive to survive. Breaking free of his thoughts, he turned his ear back to the conversation.

“You must distract him for this to work. Can you do that?” The man’s voice, masked by a hushed tone, gave no clue to his identity.

Alistair waited for her to respond and swore he could hear her voice quiver. “Can you? if you do this, if we do this, Alistair might never forgive me or you.” Solona cried. Alistair no longer believed in emotion behind her tears; using him to leave the Circle, manipulating every step to get whatever she wanted. Her sobbing only hardened his heart. You’re right, Sol. I’ll never forgive you.

He risked detection and rose as much as he dared. Anyone who claims to have been in love knows of heartbreak and pain. Alistair never wanted the distractions of love and yet, he found Solona at the worst possible time of his young life. The worst–until now. His heart stopped and lungs froze mid breath as his eyes told him the truth. Dom was Solona’s secret. His friend, fellow and brother Warden. Dom. Alistair tried to focus on them once again, but the sting of tears blurred his vision. Before sinking to the floor one final image burned into his eyes, Dom held Solona in his arms.

______________ 

The fire still burned in the fireplace when Alistair woke. He took a few moments to realize it was his living room and the stranger in his kitchen was Cullen. The Templar returned to the room with two mugs. Sliding one across the low table, Alistair accepted it. The pungent aroma wafting through the steam, brought a smile to his face.

“Ever the Fereldan, Cullen. Milk and honey in tea.” Alistair took a sip, remembering cold mornings in Redcliffe, sneaking towards the kitchen and his favorite morning drink.

“Old habits, Warden.” Cullen conceded.

“Alistair. If you plan to stay with Marion, might as well call me Alistair. Maybe it will sink in with her.”

Cullen nodded. “Ali. Right. It sounds like one of Solona’s pet names. I would guess that’s why you cringe whenever Marion uses it. If it helps, Solona called me Cully-something or other as a joke once. Marion still uses it to goad me.” Cullen took a deep breath. “I should not have interfered. When Solona asked me to deliver the letter to you yesterday, I debated handing it over at all. I remembered seeing you in Kirkwall. I remembered the Circle. Could it be possible that both of us misunderstood or that both of us simply believed what we wanted to when it came to Solona?” Taking another sip from his mug, Cullen recanted. “I’m not saying Solona is innocent nor implying the opposite. It is you she seeks, Alistair. After so many years, would it be so difficult to spare a little time and a few words?” 

Not wanting to continue discussing Solona, Alistair redirected the conversation. “You seem different. Calm.”

The strange conversation between the two men, each one dancing around his own insecurities continued. Cullen shifted on the couch. “Thanks to Sol. She recommended me for the lyrium trials. It’s been almost six months. The nightmares are not as bad, and I don’t need lyrium anymore. Another year and I should complete the treatment.”

Alistair sat forward. “What does Solona have to do with the lyrium trials? I thought Theirin Pharmaceuticals worked on that project?”

Sarcastic laughter accompanied Hawke down the stairs. “Wake up, Alistair. Solona has been working for Theirin Pharma since you took off for Kirkwall.  Her two pet projects should come as no surprise; the first project a huge success for the test subjects comprised freeing the Templars from the need for lyrium. She offered a trial slot to Cullen. Her second and most anticipated project–wait for it–a cure for the Taint.  I wonder why?”

Cullen turned towards her his discontent tingeing his face. “Marion, enough. That’s not why we’re here. If you expect Alistair to help, a little kindness would be good practice. Maybe now would be a good time to share your other information?”

Her face pinched in confusion for a moment until she snapped her fingers. “That’s right!” Hawke climbed over Cullen and sat down. “I had Varric research something for me earlier.”

Alistair laughed. “You mean snooping, Marion. Varric doesn’t do research.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, all right snooping. Your little interviewer? She’s well connected, or rather her family is and there’s more. She’s already shopping your little tale around to every publisher from here to Tevinter and it seems the Vints are very interested. Varric is killing the deal and plans to funnel it through his publishing company.”

Alistair had guessed Madeleine’s motives were not altruistic in the least. He expected the young woman had grand plans for the story. Marion loved gossip and intrigue; to stop her now would be pointless. “How noble of Varric,” Alistair quipped.

Cullen’s snort met with a curt rebuke from Hawke, before she continued. “My point,” she glared at Cullen daring him to laugh again, “is you need to stop talking with her, Alistair. This will backfire and you’ll be the center of another manhunt.”   

Marion’s concerns were not baseless. The First Warden had sent a thinly veiled threat to Alistair months after he resurfaced from Kirkwall, but Teagan’s reply–threatening to pull all Theirin Enterprises funding and support if they sought any reprisal concerning Alistair, ended her campaign for justice. The possibility remained the Wardens could still seek him out. Stroud and Marion’s brother Carver led a faction of the Wardens who sought to strengthen their numbers and position rather than hunt after their past. 

Looking at his guests, Alistair figured out a way to continue his plans and help his friends. “Marion, I will help you and Cullen with whatever you need. Keep Leliana away from me that’s one condition. I will also continue talking with Madeleine.” Hawke protested interrupting him, but Alistair raised his hand. “Let me finish. I will continue to talk with Madeleine tempering the facts and situations so as not to incite any of the groups or individuals to seek my head. Besides, I still technically own everything from the Amaranthine Ocean to the Frostback Mountains.” Alistair grinned.

Marion’s face dropped. “I thought you turned it down? All this? The crappy office? You bastard! How could you keep that from me? Why would you not tell me?”

“Oh,” Cullen started, “I can think of a few reasons.” Cullen held back his laughter. “Isabela, Varric, Fenris for a start. Maybe your uncle while we’re at it. Give me a few minutes I’ll add to the list.” He hugged her, kissing the top of her head.

Alistair felt a small sense of relief telling Hawke about his secret. Everything about his past and his present stayed out of public view thanks to Teagan’s careful crafting. “Someone once told me being a Theirin was more than just money and power. Bearing the name was a chance to make Ferelden stronger and safer for all Fereldans. Anora wouldn’t do that, she cared about her status and the bottom line.” He gestured around the apartment.  “All this, is to remind me I’m no better than anyone else. Maric forgot the people and buried himself in his ideas and Cailan? He believed himself to be the hero. I’m just Alistair and as full of shit as the next person. But as long as I remember who I am, Theirin Enterprises will put Fereldans first.”

“Well, shit.” Hawke said, eyes opening wide. “Leliana knows, doesn’t she?” Alistair nodded as Hawke continued her thought, “that’s why she sent me. She wants Theirin Enterprises to help.”

“Good guess, and now you know my little secret. What do you plan to do about it?” Alistair asked.

Cullen answered before Hawke could speak. “Nothing, you’ve already agreed to help, isn’t that right, Marion?”

Pursing her lips, Hawke shook her head. “I’m still pissed you kept it from me, but I see why it’s better to keep that hidden. Just. . .watch your back with the little reporter, all right? If you need Varric to kill the story, tell me.”

The two men exchanged a glance before Cullen put his arm around Hawke. “That was almost sweet, Marion.”

Leaning into him, she scoffed. “Don’t get used to it.”

__________________

The predawn hours in Denerim City ticked away as Alistair and Tank headed out on their morning walk. Tank had his rituals, following his nose to neighborhood bakery and the mabari’s favorite fried apple confections covered in sticky sweet glaze. Alistair never accepted the proffered treats and attempts to pay always met with refusals. He waited until he could slip money into the tip jar or lay a bill on a counter before continuing on to his office.

Finding Madeleine waiting outside his office door brought back Hawke’s warnings. Alistair put on a large smile and greeted her. “Good morning to you, dear lady. Imagine that, you waiting outside my door. Early.”

Madeleine apologized. She’d been too excited to wait. “The raid on the estate! I realized that’s where we are, Warden–I mean Alistair. You took on forty men!”

“I don’t quite remember it that way, Madeleine. I faced three, not forty.” Hanging up his coat, Alistair’s eyes lingered on the coat pocket once again before turning back to Madeleine. He sat down planning his tale, his words slow to come choosing them with care. He explained how his conversation with Solona had ended when the gunfire started.

Eamon’s KORE knights repelled the attack on the front gate taking several men for questioning. Body armor strapped and weapons loaded, he met the captain on duty outside the guardhouse.  “Warden. Fifteen men, heavily armed, attempted to rush the main entrance and ten more to scale the eastern wall. Six men survived and based on preliminary information this is the whole of their attack force.” He led Alistair towards the meeting room. “One agreed to talk in exchange for his freedom, but I have denied his request.”

Alistair nodded in agreement. “We need to conclude our business here and move on.”

Alistair returned to the main house to locate Dom. He found the junior Warden waiting in the foyer.  “We can’t remain here, Alistair. Leliana took Sten and Morrigan to talk with the professor in the Market District, but there’s been no word from her. The dwarves took care of the supply run so we’re ready to go.”

The two searched room after room, sending those they found to Eamon’s office for safety. Alistair’s instincts disagreed with the guard captain’s assessment.  “This isn’t over,” he muttered, drawing Dom’s attention.

“How do you figure?”  Dom didn’t have the benefit of Duncan’s training. Alistair pulled Dom towards the delivery area explaining Duncan’s theories about effective assaults. The two stopped outside the rolling dock door. “What’s your point Alistair? I understand how a distraction works, but anyone attempting to breach here would have to scale the walls and the rear wall here is sixty feet high.”

Alistair paused. “Do you hear that?” The scrape of heavy objects on the other side caught his ear. A lone voice, muted by the wall and heavy door met with a sharp rebuke beyond the barrier.

Dom leaned closer and whispered. “Rats?”

Alistair’s brow raised, his disbelief carried through in his words. “Dom. Rats. . .who talk? ” Alistair shook his head. “If that were true, these are some talented fucking rats.”

Dom grinned resisting the urge to laugh, “fine, not rats. So it’s to be the two of us against how many?”

“None. Watch and learn Warden.” Alistair pointed to the bolts at the top and bottom of the sliding door. Continuing to whisper, Alistair explained the bolts weren’t used as a rule.  “I once got stuck out there accidentally. . .maybe on purpose, but that doesn’t matter. It changed the procedure to bolt these doors all the time.  Long story and we don’t have time.“ Sliding the bolts into place, Alistair sent Dom to find the others. “This may not be about us, after all,” Alistair said, thinking on the folio from Kelvin. “I need to retrieve something from my room, forget the others–find Kelvin.” If Loghain sent mercenaries to the estate, he might be looking for more than the Wardens.

Alistair hurried towards his room, reviewing what little he knew. Kelvin’s information could destroy Loghain in the eyes of the board and he could lose his seat on the Landsmeet. If the Landsmeet Foundation learned of the contract on the Couslands or the plot to ally with Tevinter, the Mac Tir family faced expulsion from the board and forfeiture of assets in recompense.  “Public embarrassment aside, would you kill a man to prevent exposure?” Reaching the door to his room, the power cut off, and a dull thunk echoed through the halls as emergency lights activated. “I think that answered my question.” He dug his private pack out from under the bed. He’d been caught unprepared in the past six months and Duncan had hammered the notion of vigilance into his head. The result had been this emergency pack. He wouldn’t be able to carry the pack, weapons and fight at the same time; Alistair would have to carry light for stealth.

The combat vest he wore had pouches and concealed areas to stock ammunition and a few grenades, but inside the estate, grenades were too dangerous. Digging around in the bag, he found the radio Leliana had given him at Kinloch. “I doubt Leliana has her unit on, but it’s worth a try.” The satisfying click and resulting static grew from a low rush of noise to voice repeating a message.

Damn you. Alistair, where are you?

“I’m here. Location and situation. Over.”

Outside the gates. Twelve on loading dock. Firearms only. Six on each side entrance. Over.

“Dock secured from breach. Take the side groups.  Out.”

He slid the radio through a strap on his armor, guessing they’d need to connect again soon. Alistair talked through his situation aloud, checking his equipment one final time. “All right Warden Alistair, what’s the plan? If Leliana and her group take on the twelve at the side entrances, that leaves the remaining men for us, but do we engage them on the dock or attempt to ambush from the outside?”

The feminine laugh behind him caught him unaware. The discovery of his monologue, embarrassing enough, but there was no doubt Solona had caught him talking to himself. “Alistair, we do neither. Move the staff to the cellars. Kelvin explained the entrances can be secured from the inside. Then we need a diversion to catch the intruders off guard.”

“A diversion could work, but what can we do with limited help?” A sudden awareness to her change of dress troubled him. “Why are you wearing those clothes?” She’d traded her street clothes and lab coat for kitchen garb, all white, her hair stuffed in a white skull cap.

Solona’s sharp inhale and sheepish smile sharpened Alistair’s focus and plans of her diversion solidified. “You want open that door and pretend to be the kitchen staff?. Sol, you can’t. What if they. . . no, Sol. I’ll open the door; you take Kelvin and wait with the others. I can’t justify the risk.”

Shoving a few more clips of ammunition into his vest and giving a final check to his short swords, he issued a final order. “Go. I’m not going along with this Sol. If something happens to you, I’d. . . it’s my responsibility.”

He turned from her and headed out into the hall to collect Dom and take on the dock. An intermittent red glow flashed from his arm. “Must be Leliana,” he muttered. Alistair turned the handset on. “Go ahead, over.”

West side clear. Proceeding east. Will join at dock. Out.

Swift steps carried Alistair through the dim halls, his eyes scanned each doorway and corner for signs of intruders or frightened staff. The lack of sounds troubled him. The path to Eamon’s office, silent and empty of any the staff or voices convinced Alistair to run. Reaching the office to find it empty, he realized Solona hadn’t brought him an option but the plan instead. She was the decoy, and he failed to comprehend the meaning behind her words.

Cursing his short-sightedness, Alistair hurried to the main hall, cutting through the bulk of the estate. His imagination sent images of Solona falling as if through water, her arms flailing as she fell. Red splashes from deadly blooms on her stark white tunic clouded his reason compelling him to sprint towards the kitchen and loading dock. Duncan’s voice in his head chastised emotion and recklessness as Alistair vaulted over several crates stacked between the kitchen and the hall to the dock.

Dom’s jaw dropped as Alistair landed nearby and took position opposite him. “I don’t know if I should be impressed or worried.”

The piercing glare of Alistair’s eyes silenced Dom from any further quips. “We,” Alistair gestured towards Dom and then to himself, “will have a lengthy discussion about putting others at risk. What the fuck are you thinking, letting Solona do this? Did she hex you? Hold a weapon to your head or did you open the dock door for her thinking she needed a bit of fresh air?” Alistair stopped ranting. Taking out his frustrations with Solona on Dom wouldn’t change anything. “Where is she, what’s the situation?”

Dom scooted next to Alistair. “She’s inside,” he whispered, “I couldn’t stop her, Alistair. She returned from talking with you and sent Kelvin and the others away and then stomped here on her own, threw open the door and walked in. What now?”

Anger churned and rolled inside Alistair. “Do you think you can cover me or am I asking too much of you?”

A scream from deeper within the dock ended their exchange. “Take the left side and stay put,” Alistair hissed, a silent prayer passed through his thoughts before he ducked around the entrance. Slipping the radio off his armband, Alistair needed his eyes on Solona to make his plan work. He slid around a stack of crates to his right for a better view. There could be twelve men inside targeting Solona he guessed. She stood just far enough inside and away from him that to reach her, he’d provide an easy target.

Turning the volume of his radio to maximum, he’d have to activate the tracer beacon and throw it far enough to draw attention away from Solona. The beacon was a sign of trouble, needing only a flip of a switch on the side, Leliana would react as soon as the alarm sounded through her unit. A bead of sweat traced a slow path from Alistair’s hairline to his chin. Keep it together, Alistair. This will work. Alistair’s silent affirmation served as his final preparation.

A sharp inhale. A nod of readiness. The switch activated, chaos descended inside the dock. The beacon shrieked the instant Alistair activated it, throwing it away from him, the radio smacked the floor and skidded, shrieking its plea for aid.

“Alistair! Alistair!” Leliana’s voice boomed through the unit. “Break it down, break it down now! Now, damn you! Alistair, hold on!” Shouts within and calls to cover the street entrance coupled with the sounds of boot heels on the stone floor pushed Alistair to act. What took place next occurred in seconds for Solona. For Alistair, each action stretched for an eternity.

Using the stacks of crates to conceal his movement, Alistair positioned himself in line with Solona, her body frozen in place, hands still raised.  He sprinted across the dock grabbing her elbow and waist, leading her across to the other side behind a wall of shelves. Grateful Solona did not cry out as he led her away, Alistair helped her sit, hidden well. She fiddled with the locket around her neck, pulling it back and forth against the chain. Despite the overwhelming need to offer her comfort, ridding the estate of the intruding force demanded his attention.

Alistair readied to take on the large dock. Sweep and clear. The Wardens practiced this tactic often in drills. Close quarters, often alone versus multiple targets. Solona sat behind him, Dom covered from his left near the door; Leliana, Sten and Morrigan could be in front of him, but he could tell both women by their slight frames and Sten’s larger presence would stand out from the human men. Twelve men, Alistair recalled, take it one at a time.

He exhaled, and along with his breath, his mind cleared. The dock, still packed with the day’s deliveries, afforded Alistair sufficient cover. From his hiding spot, Alistair dug through a half-emptied tray, finding several metal containers–food he guessed. Now to see how trained you lot are, he mused. Picking up a round can, he rolled it towards the shouting men.

A voice barked out of the dark sending three men towards his position. Another exhale, his sight lined up, Alistair waited. That’s it, he thought, a few more steps this way. Three shots. Merc issue uniforms and no body armor coupled with the obvious lack of formation told Alistair these were likely young recruits. None carried their weapons with confidence. His observations changed Alistair’s plan. Wound them, nothing more.  Three quick shots brought howls of pain as handguns rattled to the floor.

Leliana’s voice carried from the dock entrance stairwell, her orders clear. Stand down. Alistair heard the slide of a shotgun and a refusal to comply. A single shot reverberated through the area followed by a mass clatter of weapons.  “Dom! Do you have eyes on Alistair?”

Keeping his weapon on the downed men, Alistair responded to Leliana’s bellowing voice. “I’m right here.” Leliana appeared with two of Eamon’s knights who took control of the three men.

“We’ve got this Warden,” said one knight, “these three will receive proper care. Thanks for your help.”

Alistair directed Dom to check on Kelvin and the others and turned to return to Solona ignoring Leliana’s requests for information.

He found her still seated, fiddling with her locket. Unsure how to help, he awkwardly attempted to join her. A few repeated attempts to kneel, stoop and sit met with light laughter. Settling next her, his back against the same crate, he tried to console her. “I can’t think of a less graceful entrance, but I thought you might like company.”  

“Thank you,” she said, her voice timid she did not look at him. “I should have listened to you.”

“But you didn’t. You wanted to help,” he offered.

Solona shifted towards him. “Then you’re not angry?”

Restraint coated his laughter. He wanted to yell, but snapping at her as he often did wouldn’t help.  She put herself in danger and that’s what disturbed him. Alistair cared what happened to her–enough to forget her foolhardy plan.  

His soft tone carried his affection.  “I’m more relieved you’re safe.” Offering his hand to her, she took it and the two sat together while the knights came and went, clearing out any sign of the intrusion. “Rest tonight, Sol. We leave for Haven in the morning.”

Chapter Text

A mechanical whir interrupted Alistair’s recounting of the long road from Denerim to Haven. Madeleine scurried to stop the machine from destroying her recording; her apologies and quick action saved the tape. “All right, we’re set Alistair. You were nearing the area south of Redcliffe, but why the detour?”

“Nothing exciting, I assure you. Morrigan asked Dom to return to the Wilds in search of her mother, but we found nothing but a few old books. That seemed to satisfy Morrigan enough for us to continue.” Alistair recalled. “Had Morrigan not insisted. . .well, it’s better if I explain as we continue the story,” he pointed to the recorder and relaxed in his chair.

_______________

The encounters with darkspawn had been far less than Alistair expected; empty roads and homes proved Fereldans listened to the evacuation warnings. He worried the lack of conflict dulled the party’s awareness on the road.  Morrigan’s little detour over a book had set them back more than a few days and Leliana’s patience had disappeared. The truck rested near a small village southwest of Redcliffe due to a minor incident with wandering darkspawn.

Wardens kept detailed maps of fissures and cracks where darkspawn often hid. The map in Alistair’s possession identified the small town as Honnleath. Until the truck could be sorted out, they’d be stuck on foot and this added to their vulnerability. Far more critical, was the surrounding evidence. Once green fields crunched underfoot, the vibrancy of life taken by the Blight. These fertile farmlands turned to dust and decay from the poisons and corruption Deimon spread like a plague.

Alistair didn’t blame Leliana for the truck’s damage, she took out quite a few of the advancing darkspawn leaving only a small number for them to fight. The damage to her truck fueled Leliana’s foul disposition leading her to stomp off towards the village of Honnleath alone.

“I wasn’t the one who drove through the wire fence, Leliana.” Alistair shouted ahead of him. Her clomping steps on the winding road towards the village should have been a clear enough warning to the Wardens, but Dom couldn’t help but belabor their predicament.

“So . . .Warden Alistair. How does one scrape darkspawn guts out of truck engine?” Dom asked.

Thinking Dom meant to interject humor into the situation, Alistair met his challenge. “I don’t know Warden Domnall, how does one scrape darkspawn guts out of a truck engine?”

Shoving Alistair in jest, Dom shook his head. “No joke. I’m at a loss how you even begin.” Dom and Alistair stared at one another until both erupted into laughter.

The exaggerated sigh from Wynne preceded a simple warning. “You two best let this go. Calling attention to the problem will not solve it.” She pointed towards Leliana’s deliberate steps in their direction.

Alistair felt the pull first. A warning coursing through him as Alistair’s blood reacted to something nearby. “Dom,” he said, checking his sidearm.

“On it,” Dom pulled out his spare gun sight using it to look towards the village. “Shit. Darkspawn.”

Wynne waved Leliana closer. “Are you sure, Domnall?”

He nodded, checking his weapons. “Fifteen or twenty; at least from what I could see.”

Leliana’s earlier anger forgotten, she released her crossbow from its harness. “Warden Alistair?”

Alistair’s attention remained fixed ahead, expecting a surge within him signaling the enemy’s approach. Even though he heard the repeated questions from Leliana and Wynne, Alistair tuned out his companions.

Fighting darkspawn up close -perhaps the most alarming task for a Warden no matter how seasoned. Genlocks, stocky creatures with oversized hands and grotesque features often used as rogues and assassins; even a small band of these creatures can overrun a distracted Warden. A hurlock stood as tall as a man, and sometimes taller. He’d never forgotten his first encounter.

They needed blood. Darkspawn blood. Duncan refused to explain, and it was his mentor’s deliberate silence that troubled Alistair more than the task. Duncan never passed on a lecture. Not . . . ever.

“Up ahead,” Duncan said, readying his weapons “don’t bother with your sidearm  - it’s useless here.”

“U-u-useless? What . . .what kind of darkspawn is that?” Alistair hadn’t realized fear permeated his question. Murmurs in the small group of recruits and another Warden revealed a shared concern.

“An Alpha. We don’t know where this mutation began, but bullets won’t stop them.” Duncan signaled for half the group to flank the creature on the left. Taking their positions, a series of hand signals spoke in place of words. Once acknowledged, they would advance. The signals were crude, but clear. Duncan identified their target, the Alpha. A slicing motion explained their goal. Eliminate the target.

Duncan’s ferocity in battle shocked him. Without hesitation, the Senior Warden sliced the Alpha’s throat and backed away before the creature could react. Several recruits tried to use their sidearm to find Duncan’s warning rang true. Nothing happened. The Alpha snapped the neck of three recruits before repeated blows and blood loss ended the fight. 

Charged with gathering whatever blood remained, Alistair removed the Alpha’s headgear. “What are you?” His skin, grey and mottled with the Blight, veins dark almost black on his neck, the Hurlock was more frightening now than during the fight; the Alpha’s sunken eye sockets and sallow cheeks a mockery of life. Alistair felt a hand on his shoulder. “Is this what the Blight does?” Anger took the place of fear, he’d be a Warden and stop the Blight to prevent whatever caused this to happen.

A slight pause and an almost inaudible sigh struck Alistair as an odd reaction. Looking up at Duncan, the Senior Warden shook his head. “No. This is something different. We must hurry.”

“You know Alistair, when you and Domnall stop your childish behavior; the two of you are quite formidable. I am impressed both of you took on so many and with little injury.” Wynne’s healing magic worked on a small wound on Dom’s arm. “You can go now, Domnall.” Wynne gestured for Alistair to step towards her, but his attention strayed to a large statue.

Circling the massive statue, Alistair examined it from several feet away. “I think this is a copy of those Golems from the Orzammar Metal Works,” Alistair said. “I had a toy once, a model from Eamon, when I was young.”  He continued to scrutinize the mass of metal and rock. “Strange, how similar this is to my old toy. Same alloys, same configuration. I wonder why it’s here.” Empty woven baskets littered the area around the statue drawing Dom’s attention.

“Well,” he said turning over an empty basket with his foot, “this mechanic we needed is probably dead. We should go, Alistair.” Domnall scanned the village square. “The darkspawn either killed the people and settled here or the they abandoned the village before the infestation.”

Alistair peered into the face of the statue. “I wonder what material they used for the eyes, I don’t see my reflection.”

A disembodied voice, taut and gruff replied. “I am not a mirror. If you wish to see your reflection, look elsewhere.” Metal groaned and stone grated as the statue moved. “How wonderful.” Despite the unique hollow and mechanical quality to its voice, words flowed naturally. “More humans, just when I’d gotten used to the solitude. Shoo.”

Dom grinned, walking around to the golem’s front. He stumbled as the golem stretched and made a noise reminiscent of a yawn. “Did you just . . . yawn?” Dom asked, eyes wide his tentative arm reached towards the golem to touch it.

“I suggest you restrain yourself, if you intend to keep that arm.” The Golem’s warning changed Dom’s demeanor and earned Alistair’s scorn.

“Careful now, you don’t want to upset a couple of Grey Wardens do you?” Alistair’s smug expression and crossed arms meant to convey his status fell flat.

The golem stepped closer. “I suppose I should be impressed, but I do not understand what a gray warden is and I don’t care.” A sigh escaped the creature. “Seeing as one of you awakened me, that means I have the misfortune of meeting the control crystal’s bearer.”

Dom and Alistair looked to one another and shrugged.

The golem labored to step outside of the patch of grass and join them. “Shall I use smaller words? You. Human. Shiny blue crystal?”  The golem pointed to Dom. “You. Come here.” Dom stepped in front of the Golem. “No, you’re not him.” Turning towards Alistair, the golem sighed long and loud. “That leaves you–the pretty one who checked his receding hairline in my eyes. How thrilling.”

“Hey! I do not have a receding hairline.”

Dom tapped Alistair on the shoulder and whispered, “I’d be more concerned that a golem called you pretty, Alistair.”

The senior Warden wheeled around and with raised brow silenced the other. Dom whistled and raised both hands before stepping away.

 Satisfied for the moment Dom would remain silent, Alistair’s curiosity outweighed his annoyance. “What exactly are you?”

 “I am not a what but a who, and my name is S.H.A.L.E. or to be more correct I am a Superior Hostile And Logistics Entity and you are late, Cailan Theirin.”  

Alistair had not thought about Cailan in some time. His voice lost its earlier bravado. “I’m not . . . he was . . . Cailan’s dead.”

The golem drooped forward, a strange almost human reaction to the news. “Unfortunate. I have no response. You may leave me here. The contract was non-transferable.”

Unsure how to help, Dom’s mind raced. “Shale, that’s your name right? If you woke up because Alistair is here, doesn’t that mean the contract is still valid? He must have this - what did you call it?”

“The control crystal.” Shale paused. “Where is it?”

The golem’s lumbering steps toward Alistair jolted his awareness. “I don’t know.” Cailan hadn’t had time to give anything to Alistair. “Unless–the amulet?” He dug his fingers into the collar of his armor and pulled out a silver chain with an oval disc.

He’d been at the compound in Ostagar for two days when Cailan sent for Alistair. Duncan warned him that Cailan would seek him out. The meeting did not concern Alistair, the two had kept in contact over the years. Their communications consisted of perfunctory calls and messages but Cailan’s hope for Alistair to join him had pushed Alistair to distance himself even more; Alistair’s escape from the notion of family took him to Weisshaupt and leave Ferelden behind him.

Standing outside the makeshift office, Alistair watched Cailan argue into the phone; the scene surreal, reminiscent of his childhood. Cailan’s sudden awareness of his audience stopped the conversation pulling the receiver away from him. “Alistair! Let me get rid of Loghain, have a seat.”

Cailan continued his conversation with a smile, directing the conversation to an end. The receiver dropped into place, Cailan sat behind his desk. “Loghain operates under the assumption that I’m still a boy and incapable of complex decisions. I think we’re in a good place right now, going forward I must remember to watch him.”

Alistair hadn’t meant to sigh; he couldn’t relate to Cailan and this language he insisted on using. “Can we get this over with, please? I have recruits that need attention and you and your good place can go forward and watch whatever.”

“Alistair.” Cailan’s smile faded. “Theirin blood, right? Can’t say the right thing when it matters most. You on the other hand-“

Holding up his hands in surrender, Alistair conceded, “I’m sorry. Let’s start over, all right?”

Cailan slid a small velvet box across his desk. “I have something for you.”

Raising a single brow, Alistair quipped. “You know we’re related, right?”

“Just open it.” Cailan rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair.

Inside the box an oval shaped medallion bearing the image of a woman, a pointed crown resting on her head, eyes closed in reverence. “Is this . . . where did you find this? I thought I destroyed it.”

Cailan grinned, “Eamon kept the amulet, he hoped one day you might want it. I had it fixed, the chain is stronger than the original, and the amulet reinforced. I think you could run a truck over it and the piece will not break.”

Turning the medallion over in his hands, Alistair shook his head as he spoke. “Before I left the estate, I argued with Eamon; I stupidly threw this at the wall in my anger. It took me a while to understand leaving was the best thing for me.”

A silence fell between the two, brothers unable to speak to one another. Cailan broke the uncomfortable silence. “I could use my brother’s help.”

Closing his fist around the amulet, Alistair realized Cailan had a far better grasp on his situation. He’d ensured Shale’s safety in giving Alistair the control crystal.

“Shale,” Dom started, “if Alistair has the crystal, do you have to follow his orders?”

The golem seemed to study the Wardens, shifting its attention between them. “Follow his orders? Shall we test your theory? Allow me to attempt to crush,” Shale pointed to Alistair, “that one’s skull. If he can issue orders for me to stop, then he will survive. If not, you shall be in command.”

Alistair crossed his arms. “There will be no crushing of skulls. We need to repair an engine, perhaps if we take you apart we can fix our truck.”

Shale ignored Alistair’s comment, addressing Dom instead. “Is he always so ill-tempered? You appear to be level-headed and good-natured.”

Snickering from Leliana and Wynne earned Alistair’s disdainful glare ending the conversation and carrying him away from the others. It wasn’t until he’d trekked south of Honnleath and turned on the road alone that Alistair’s destination crystallized. Solona. She’d stayed behind with Morrigan and Sten with the truck to setup camp. He couldn’t understand why she kept him centered and calm, but the reasons concerned him less than the results. Halfway through the eight-mile walk to the truck, Alistair realized his mistake. He’d left the group giving no indication of his destination. Leliana and Dom would assume he’d be nearby and Solona and Sten had no way to know he was heading in their direction.

The afternoon sun gave way to long shadows creeping to meet his steps.  “You let a machine get the better of you,” he scolded himself aloud, “get it together Alistair.”

A familiar grating voice laughed, one he’d only heard in dreams. “Yes Warden, don’t lose your head, not yet.”  Alistair froze. The truck rested not far ahead of him, he could see the tents in the distance. “Oh, they can’t see or hear me–or you for that matter.” The man before him, well groomed, his shoulder length hair held back in a black ribbon, straightened his long dark waist coat. “A few human vanities I’m afraid,” his grin stretched unnaturally wide, “tell me Warden Alistair. . .how do you like my little Blight?”

Archibald Deimon, Alistair thought, the Wardens in Weisshaupt were right. He can talk through us. Fear would not serve Alistair, the vision before him traveled through his taint, Deimon wasn’t truly near him, he used the corruption within to speak with Alistair. “Rather boring, if you must know.” Alistair stepped closer in defiance despite the thundering heart in his chest. “You might want to rethink your lackeys. My mercenary made slop of them with her truck–how embarrassing for you.” Alistair’s sarcastic tone and mocking steps brought him closer to the vision. “Not very well thought out I’m afraid and now it seems I’ve acquired Cailan’s golem. Seems you misread Cailan’s plans and missed the creature entirely.”   

“I noticed.” Arch Deimon pressed his lips together, a move Alistair took for annoyance until he met Alistair’s gaze with a renewed glint; his honeyed voice meant to taunt Alistair. “Good thing I didn’t miss Cailan. Now, only you remain.” Deimon winked.

Fury ignited within the Warden, but attacking Deimon would solve nothing other than satisfy Alistair’s need to lash out. Eradicating the Blight from Fereldan and destroying Archibald Deimon–not this twisted vision- had to be Alistair’s focus; success depended on recruiting either the dwarves or the elves. 

Picking lint from his suit, Deimon sighed. “Ever the hero, Alistair.”  Deimon held out his arms in a mocking embrace. Closing his eyes, his words carried through on rough tones. “Do your worst. You will fail and this time–this time Alistair there will be nothing left of your precious Ferelden.” Opening his eyes, the vision of Archibald Deimon peered into Alistair’s face. “You can’t win, Alistair.” Deimon’s deliberate steps brought him closer. “The Wardens are finished. Only the two of you remain.” He stopped advancing, pausing inches in front of Alistair. “Who will it be? You . . . hero? Maybe the other. Who dies Alistair? It’s not a difficult decision. Choose.”

Anger clenched Alistair’s jaw, his speech measured to maintain his control. “I’ll choose. You, Deimon. You die.”

“I see,” Deimon’s flat tone revealed nothing, “could it be the Wardens never told you what it will take to vanquish me?” His head tilted down, and eyes remained fixed on Alistair, he explained, “one of you will die Cousland or Theirin–makes no difference.  In order to win. . .you lose.” Deimon gave Alistair his back and with a perfunctory wave, his image dissolved leaving no trace behind.  Deimon’s disembodied voice echoed in Alistair’s head. “See you real soon, Warden.” 

Heavy steps carried Alistair toward the glow of the fire pit in camp. To win, you lose, he thought, Cousland or Theirin. Deimon is wrong. The choice matters.

Sinking to the ground in front of the fire, Alistair stared unblinking into the flames until his eyes watered. This is real, he concluded. He nodded without comprehension as Sten talked to him. The qunari gave up after repeated attempts to learn of the situation in the village. A vague recollection of Duncan’s briefing before Dom arrived in Ostagar crossed into Alistair’s mindful trance, his eyes fixed on the fire.

“Cailan wants the younger of the two considered for the Wardens? Why?” Alistair didn’t disagree, most families had one or more heirs enter a life of service, but if the Cousland family’s connections ran as deep as Duncan explained, giving their youngest son to the Wardens seemed off.  “Hang on, better question. Does Bryce Cousland know about the invitation to join the Wardens?”

A soft smile from Duncan answered the question.  Alistair leaned on the table. “Before you say anything, Duncan–I’m not questioning your decision. I’m asking why you allow Cailan Theirin to choose suitable recruits?”

Duncan’s features softened, but the warning tone in his voice spoke to Alistair’s presumption. “Alistair–a look. That’s all this is. Cailan grew up with Fergus and Domnall, he has knowledge of their skills.”

“A look, “ Alistair scoffed, “that’s all it was supposed to be.” He sighed and leaned against the bench. “Fergus is likely dead as is the rest of Dom’s family.” He continued to weigh Deimon’s words. “Dom needs to take his family seat on Landsmeet board.” It’s all about who is left standing at the end, Alistair thought. Greater good and all that- might as well be Dom, right?

_______________

The shifting rustle of Madeleine’s clothing didn’t mask her discomfort. Alistair couldn’t quite decipher her expression and thought it best to stop his story. “Something troubles you?” His question wasn’t delivered in his usual lightness. Digging in the muck of his past soured Alistair’s mood.

“You’re saying you wanted Dom to live?” She scoffed, “I want to believe you Warden, but the fact-“

He slammed his fist down on the desk before catching himself. “Forgive me. The memories of-,” Alistair didn’t want to say Deimon’s name again outside the context of his story, “-that creature still disturb me.” He relaxed before continuing. “As for Dom? Yes. He should have lived. That was my plan, what I decided that night; despite Leliana’s constant interference and Dom’s ridiculous optimism. You would be talking with him–had everything gone as planned.”  He held up his hand to prevent interruption. “We should have avoided Orzammar. Politics, dirty deals, double cross–I’d never seen so much corruption and even with Solona next to me, I got lost.”

He stood, mumbled apologies and escorted Madeleine to the door with promises of more the next day. The door slammed behind her to another apology from within. Before she could collect herself to leave, the acrid smell of cigarette smoke permeated into the hallway and she knew Alistair would be lost to his thoughts.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

Regret. A word I’ve grown to despise.

I remember the Guardian asking me about my failure at Ostagar.  Duncan and Cailan. My family, my friends, my failures.

Solona had heard every word; we’d found the ashes of Andraste and all I worried about on that ride to Orzammar was what Solona thought of me. . .some fucking hero.

Alistair couldn’t face Hawke. She’d see the weakness in his resolve and exploit it-not consciously but it’d happen. He planned his words with care before picking up the phone. As long as he stuck to the mental script, the conversation with Marion would be quick and painless. Alistair relaxed when Cullen answered the phone. A few brief words explained he would stay at his office that night and offered his home as long as they needed. When he tried to end the call, Cullen’s concern surprised him.

“Maybe being alone right now isn’t the best thing, Alistair. Marion’s asleep. I’ll meet you in ten minutes–make that twenty,” Cullen’s voice trailed off, “Tank will eat anything, right?”

Alistair nodded before realizing he was on the phone. “Yea, but you don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, Alistair, I do.” Cullen said before disconnecting the call.

Sinking back in his chair, Alistair found himself face to muzzle with Tank. “Looks like you’re getting take out, buddy.”

The mabari tilted his head to the right and raised his ears before resting his head on Alistair’s leg. “Sorry buddy, I guess maybe I’m not doing so well.”

Tank whined and trotted off to the back room. The mabari reappeared carrying his beloved toy, what was once an oversized ogre doll. The horns had been chewed off, and the ogre had endured years of attacks and shaking to where it resembled a large gray lump, but Tank kept the toy in the office for a little piece of home. He dropped the slobber-coated toy into Alistair’s lap.

“I should get you a new one; I think this poor creature needs to be retired.” Alistair’s offer of a replacement elicited a defiant growl forcing the Warden to recant his offer. “Fine, he stays. Thanks for offering him pal, but he’s yours.” Tank’s desire to lighten Alistair’s mood proved once again- he wasn’t alone.

Alistair pushed away from his desk and grabbed his coat. His fingers trembled once as he reached for Solona’s letter in the jacket pocket. Pulling the envelope out, he tossed it to his desk, as if his hands would burn from the contact. He sat and stared for a few minutes debating if he should open it or toss the letter in the garbage chute. “It’s a letter. Hi, how are you? Do you still hate me? The usual.”

Only if she’s a child who hasn’t learned how to write and that isn’t Solona, he thought. The flap opened with little resistance and a stack of papers–as many as ten sheets unfolded in his grasp.  Unwilling to read through the flowing letters and sentences in his present state of mind, Alistair turned to the last page.

She signed her name with a single uppercase letter s, written with flourish and curved with such perfection; it couldn’t belong to anyone else. But it was the closing she used that stopped his breath and tightened his chest.

I miss your face. 

The pages fell from his hand and scattered atop his desk. She’d said those four words to him so many times when missions would separate them. She’d stroke his hair, kiss the tip of his nose and whisper those words. He sighed, scooping the pages up and tossing them into a drawer. Dropping into his chair Alistair’s face burned in both excitement and anger at the notion she still cared for him.

Alistair lost himself in an absent stare. Ten years, he thought, before shaking away his next thought.  No, there is no going back.

The sudden scurry of Tank’s nails on the wood floor and his deafening bark meant his dinner had arrived. The fact Tank had Cullen to thank for food wasn’t important, but the mabari would demolish the door if he wasn’t let out. Opening the door, Alistair called out a warning at the same time a large sandwich wrapped in paper sailed up the stairs. Tank caught it with little effort and hurried back to the spare room. Cullen’s heavy steps carried him up to Alistair’s office.

“Sorry about that Cullen,” Alistair said, “I’m still working on his manners.”  He turned towards the back room. “Don’t eat the paper!”  A muffled bark signaled Tank had heard Alistair’s words of caution.

Waving away Alistair’s apology, Cullen laid out far more food than Alistair expected. “Are we expecting company?”

Chuckling, Cullen handed over a water bottle. “This is not my fault. I made the mistake of mentioning my order was for you and Tank. I was warned that the Tank Special should only be given to the mabari.”

Alistair sniffed his sandwich turning it over in his hands, satisfied, he unwrapped the paper. “Yes. Tank’s sandwiches are loaded with everything imaginable plus dried fish on top. It’s revolting–but it’s his favorite.”

The two ate and chatted about Hawke and Kirkwall until Cullen took control of the conversation. “This trip through the Blight is eating at you. Marion is concerned.”

“I’m fine,” Alistair said unwilling to confirm or deny the concerns. “We’ve all led interesting lives so far Cullen. I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t think about escaping in some way; maybe telling this story is what I need.”

Shifting in his chair, Cullen shook his head. “Forgive me but I believe Solona would be a better listener than the public at large.”

A deep frown cut Alistair’s face, drawn and sullen he pushed aside his displeasure. “You don’t know what happened.”

“Alistair, Solona told me what happened.” Cullen leaned forward, keeping his voice even. “I understand Solona all too well. She’s reaching out Alistair and you’ve ignored every attempt–talk with her.”

A mix of anger and embarrassment filled Alistair’s chest.  “You couldn’t understand. She lied to me, used me to get what she wanted.” Alistair cut off Cullen’s attempt to speak. “You want to talk? Let’s talk.”

_____________

Mining City of Orzammar during the Blight

“I’m out!” A howling wind masked the voice, but Alistair guessed Leliana couldn’t offer suppressing fire. He leaned against the tree looking over to Solona and Wynne. The party had been split; the others were pinned down by gunfire, leaving Alistair high above them in the forest outside Orzammar Metal Works.

“Wynne, tell me you can do something with magic to help us out!” Alistair tried to keep his voice even, she excelled at healing, not combat and Solona possessed the same skills.

Shaking her head, Wynne admitted there wasn’t much she could do against the gunfire. “Wait! Alistair, the golem -I mean Shale. Can you send Shale?”

Unhooking the radio, Alistair pressed the communication button. “Dom! Is Shale with you?”

“Yes. What are you thinking?”

“Send that thing to take down the group. The golem is-” Alistair meant to say Shale could withstand the gunfire and eliminate their opponent, but Shale’s voice echoed through the radio’s speaker.

“Shale. Shale, not golem, not creature and I am not a thing. You, flesh bag, can rot!”

He rolled his eyes in response. “Just what I need. An emotional golem with an attitude.”

He watched as Wynne and Solona joined him behind the large tree; Alistair offered his hand to help the elder mage. Pushing it away, Wynne wagged her finger at him. “You may be in command here, but you have a lot to learn, young man! Give me that thing.” Wynne snatched the radio from Alistair, soft words and pleading phrases uttered to calm and reassure Shale added to Alistair’s frustrations.  

The pain started at the base of his neck. Alistair tried to stretch to stave off the encroaching headache, but not even the slow roll of his neck worked. “Fucking Loghain,” he muttered, “has to be.” A small group of mercenary fighters had pinned them down, and since Sten and the dwarves could not maneuver the truck up the mountain pass, it had been Alistair’s decision to travel light.

Get it together, he chastised himself, we’ve got to push through this and get inside. If Alistair could get the Mining Guild behind the Wardens, they’d have another powerful ally. Loghain had the same idea; they’d had the misfortune to arrive at the same time as Loghain’s men.

Alistair tensed as frustration rooted his boots to the ground, the constricting muscles sending pain through his core.  Clenching his fists tight, he closed his eyes and tried to breathe deep. He felt the disturbance of air and the closeness of another near him and opened his eyes to see Solona searching his face with a smile.

“Hey,” her soft greeting and light smile caught him at the right time. Alistair couldn’t help himself as the corner of his mouth raised. She pointed down the hill from their position toward Shale’s lumbering walk and the storm of bullets doing little to slow the golem’s pace. “See? There’s Shale.”

It took a moment for Alistair to comprehend what he witnessed. Shale held a struggling form in one hand and two others lay at the golem’s feet while the last man emptied his firearm in vain. Tossing the still struggling mercenary into the underbrush, Shale sent the last man into the iron gates of Orzammar.

Alistair instructed the two mages to wait while hurried along the slope. When he could jump to the road, Alistair pushed past Dom and Morrigan to face Shale. Both stood silent, but Alistair understood his role-Wynne’s words rang true. All of them, including Shale were his responsibility.

“Shale, I apologize. You’re right– you deserve the same respect as the others. Without your help, we would still be fighting.”

Giving no sign in posture and no response, Alistair wondered if he should apologize again. He hesitated, but kept his eyes locked on the golem.

After a few minutes, Shale let out a long exaggerated sigh. “One of the worst apologies ever delivered, I should squash your head like a grape, but my programming denies me the pleasure.” Heavy steps carried the golem away from Alistair.

The hours passed in a blur of glad hands and fake smiles as the Wardens entered Orzammar’s mining complex. There were two types of dwarves in Thedas, those who lived topside with humans and elves and then the true children of the stone–as they called themselves.  Alistair walked with an escort toward the Chamber of the Assembly. The political body of Orzammar functioned as board of regents, finance and a parliament. Dom and Alistair followed along as their guide led them through the halls and into a large inner chamber.

Multiple arguments raged in the circular room, each voice clamoring to overpower the others.  Their guide instructed the small group to wait until a break ended the current discussion. Alistair and Dom guided Solona toward the back of the chamber.

The room, sparse except for the circular risers where the Assembly members gathered held one other item. A large iron sculpture in the shape of a dragon coiled around an ornate broadsword. Alistair’s fascination with weapons drew him to the sculpture. Solona and Dom exchanged a single look before following the Warden. Solona kept a low volume, more for Alistair’s benefit than out of respect for the proceedings. “Maybe you should leave the pretty sword alone, Alistair. We don’t want to draw too much attention.”

Even before she finished, Alistair had his hand wrapped around the hilt. “This is magnificent. The metal, it hums,” he said, lifting it with care from the dragon’s hold. The scrape of the blade against the sculpture and the twang that followed silenced the room. But an audible gasp stopped Alistair’s motions.

All eyes fixed on him, the heavy silence unnerving. Without hesitation, he grinned and addressed those gathered. “Sorry, bit of thing with swords, I didn’t mean to offend.” Slipping the sword back into the dragon’s care, Alistair waited in an uncomfortable silence.

Two dwarven males hurried from their respective seats to face him again. “A Warden by the griffin crest, but who are you? By what family?”

Dom watched as Alistair’s jaw stiffened and took the lead. “We’re here to request aid in the fight against Archibald Deimon.”

The younger of the two dwarves dismissed Dom’s words. “Yes, fine. You shall have whatever you require Warden.” He stepped closer to Alistair. “Answer the question. Who are you?”

Uncomfortable with throwing his name around, Alistair tried humor. “Did I do something wrong? Don’t tell me I just released some ancient sword making me king under the mountain or something like that?”

The older of the two dwarves laughed. “Hardly. The monarchy has long been abolished, and I’m afraid the sword is nothing more than an eyesore, but as it is with all things ancient the story, such as it is, is interesting.”

The younger dwarf dismissed the speech. “The age of greatness has ended.” He pulled Alistair aside, “In this case however, if you will confirm your family name, I swear you will have all you require and more. Bhelen Prince at your service Warden.”

Alistair recognized the family name. The Prince family had been the controlling family of the Orzammar Mining Company for generations. To secure the family’s support, Alistair dismissed his usual caution and answered Bhelen’s question.

“Warden Alistair Theirin.” Alistair tried to sound official in hope it would prevent a lengthy negotiation.

Bhelen stroked his beard. “Theirin Enterprises. Excellent! You have my word until agreements can be drawn.” A quick handshake caused an uproar in the room.

The older dwarf stepped between them. “Point of order! We have not determined who has controlling interest yet, Bhelen! You are in no position to broker deals!”

Several others joined the discussion. “Harrowmont, if you think to steal the mining rights, you must go through me!”

“And me!” Cried another. A wave of agreements and an equal number of condemnations set the room ablaze again in multiple arguments. Bhelen ushered Alistair into the waiting room. “I’ll help you, but this needs to be settled first, Warden Theirin.” Bhelen waved over several dwarves.

“See the Warden and his party to my home and hurry, before that son of nug humper Harrowmont figures out what we’re doing.” Bhelen ushered them out and returned to the Assembly room.

Bhelen’s assistants escorted Alistair’s party to a large palatial home. For a subterranean complex, the architecture proved impressive. The building, carved into the rock face, imposing to any visitor. Curious glances and pointed stares followed the short walk and necessitated steering the Warden and his party inside Bhelen’s home to meet his steward.

“Mr. Prince requires your help,” the steward explained, “in order to win the confidence of the Assembly, three tasks must be completed.”

Leliana scoffed dropping to a large plush couch. “Here it comes,” she grumbled.

Ignoring the comment, the steward outlined Bhelen’s expectations. “First, one in your party must win the tournament in the Proving Grounds. The combat is hand to hand only, no weapons.” 

Alistair rolled his shoulders in response, he’d take on the physical challenge.

“The second task, will depend on your success. You will require the help of a certain dwarf. His loyalty, such as it is, will be bought with the combat victory. With his help, you will find your goal, a certain map and path in the Deep Roads.” Wynne’s scrutinizing glare fixed on the Wardens. Alistair could only guess she did not approve of any trip into the Deep Roads.

Dom, curious as to their final task, prompted the steward to continue.

Nodding, the steward outlined their third task. “With the help of your dwarven guide, find Branka and more importantly, bring back a certain artifact–you will know it when you find Branka. Complete these tasks, and you will want for nothing as long as you live.”

_____________

The Orzammar Proving Ground, once an arena for competitive combatants, now housed one of the most extensive betting houses in Thedas. Competitions featured anything a patron would lay odds to win: from magic competitions to combat, the Proving Grounds hosted the famed Darkspawn Demolition; a closed arena pitting Darkspawn against manned vehicles. Depravity and double-dealing the only way to navigate through the various competitions.

Alistair ignored the complaints of his companions, despite all–including Morrigan- attempting to dissuade the Warden from entering the combat arena. “Thanks for the confidence. Look, I can do this. Bashing things is what I do best.”

Solona disagreed. “Alistair, you can’t.” She tried reasoning with him and found only stubbornness.

“Trust me,” Alistair said, “we need this dwarf. If anything happens, you have Dom.”                 

They followed the signs through the large betting room to the training area. A human and a dwarf scuffled in a small squared off space.  Multi-colored ropes threaded through posts in the corners creating a confined ring. The fight seemed simple enough, each one trading punches and swinging at one another while the other dodged and shuffled around the square.

“They’re sparring!” Alistair’s exclamation did nothing to calm his companions dislike for the task. “I used to do this in training with the Templars and in the Wardens.”

The party watched as the dwarf took advantage of his stature, his fists pounding into the side and back of his human opponent. Dom whispered to Alistair, “this isn’t sparring Alistair–it’s dirty fighting. Don’t do this. We can go to the Dalish campgrounds instead.”

Facing his fellow Warden and friend, Alistair grinned. “I've got this. Trust me.”

Solona yelped as the dwarf and his opponent collided into one post; the force knocking them back to the hard floor in a heap. When neither moved, Wynne and Solona rushed forward.  A loud groan and movement stayed their advance. “Shit!” A gruff voice swore from the bottom of the pile. A few grunts accompanied the rocking of the man’s body until with a shout, the dwarf emerged. “Another fucking topsider without a pair of stones. Heh. Nug licker.” A group of attendants rushed the ring, asking for instructions.

Not bothering to dust himself off, the belligerent fighter chuckled and clapped his hands. “Get that,” he pointed to the fallen man, “topside knobhead outta here.” The dwarves pulled the man out of the ring and went to work on him. Within a few seconds, the man nodded and showed signs of improvement.

The dwarf leaned on the ropes, a lascivious grin on his face. “Hello ladies. Name’s Oghren. Heh heh.”

Taking exception to the rudeness of the fighter, Alistair stepped in front of Solona.

“So that’s how it is” the dwarf said, sizing up Alistair. “A Warden too. Never kicked a Warden’s ass before. This should be fun.” Oghren twisted the tight braided beard hair in his pudgy fingers before belching loudly. Pleased with himself, eyes narrowed and bored into the Warden’s unwavering stare before speaking to Alistair. “You’re next, kid.”

Chapter Text

“Ok, kid. Here are the rules; there are none!” Oghren laughed. “Kicking, biting, elbowing, head-butting, tripping and throwing are expected. If you land a few good punches-fine, but don’t show off too much. The spectators want a show, not a sparring lesson.” Oghren added, “the only body parts off limits are the family stones -got it?” 

The frown on Solona’s face deepened. “Is nothing else illegal?”

Oghren slapped his thigh. “Illegal? Listen, lady. This isn’t topside. If you want to be a Paragon, you’ll have to ignore the rules and do what’s needed.”

The dwarf explained that no matter who you are and where you came from, if the Assembly made you a Paragon, you never need lift a finger ever. “Heh heh, unlimited credit, bottomless casks, it’s the best.”

“Hang on, if you’re a Paragon,” Dom asked, “why are you still fighting?”

An explosion of snorts and laughter burst from Oghren with such zeal, Alistair worried he might lose his chance to fight in the real ring. “You might consider breathing.”

Wiping imaginary tears, Ohgren waved Alistair’s concerns away. “Me. . .a Paragon, Heh.” Oghren wagged his finger at the Wardens. “You had me going! That thunder humper Bhelen sent you to get Branka’s map, didn’t he?” 

Dom attempted to explain their position, but Oghren refused to listen. “Save it, topsider. You want the map, you gotta enter, and to enter-you gotta get by me.”

_____________

Solona and Leliana paced across the locker room, both throwing worried glances at Alistair while the Wardens talked in hushed voices. The concern not lost on Alistair, he grinned and attempted to laugh,

“Would you stop worrying? How rough can this be? We need that map, a little support would be helpful,” Alistair said.

Leliana shook her head in rapid movements. Pursing her lips, she joined the Wardens, adding, “this smells funny. Bhelen set you up. There’s more going on here and now we’re in the middle of this mess. We should go. The Dalish may be less than pleased to see us, but they, at least, use reasonable methods.” 

Ignoring her remarks, Alistair hopped off the bench and adjusted his shorts. “I look ridiculous.” Alistair looked in the half size mirror; his boots laced halfway up his shins, providing minimal protection but except for the shorts he wore and the fingerless gloves, Alistair’s legs and torso were bare.

Solona joined him, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Please don’t do this.”

He turned, confused by the pained expression on Solona’s face. Her eyes wide, she bit her bottom lip pulling it towards her to stave off a pout. The locket he’d given her held tight in Solona’s fingers, its chain straining against her neck. Maker’s breath, he thought, she really cares what happens to me.

“Hey,” he said a light touch under her chin, “I’ll be fine.” He winked. But his cool reaction belied his increasing heart rate.  

An exaggerated cough from Morrigan interrupted their conversation. “Enough. Any more of this drivel and I may vomit.”

Solona let loose a slew of obscenities, surprising all as she turned on Morrigan. “I have had enough of your commentary, Morrigan. Your constant criticizing of Alistair ends. Why are you still here? Are you waiting for him to make a mistake just to gloat?” She pointed toward the witch, each word accentuated by a directed gesture. “Attempt a speck of civility or go!”

Her words hung in the room, even after Solona rushed out. Head held high, Morrigan allowed an air of indifference to the scathing words carry her out followed by Dom. Alistair tested the lacing on his gloves, an absent action meant to deflect the uncomfortable silence.

“Let me help, Alistair,” Leliana held out her hands. She tightened the laces and spoke without meeting his eyes. “It might be good to send Solona to Redcliffe or Denerim. I’m not sure if she should continue with us.”

Alistair flinched at the thought of losing Solona, but recovered, thanking the Nightingale for her help. “I get it, but I disagree. Where would she go?” Stepping back, he leaned against the wall. “The Circle is a mess. You heard Irving, Duncan meant to recruit her, but the massacre at Highever must have changed his plans and there wasn’t time to get to the Circle before Cailan-” He stopped, Leliana’s expression of concern pointed out his argument on Solona’s behalf.  “Fine. Don’t look at me like that. I want her to stay, all right. Is that a problem?”

A wide grin spread across Leliana’s face, but she quickly adjusted shaking her head. “No, no problem. I think it’s sweet,” she offered, “head in the fight now, and get the girl later.” Leaving him to prepare, she turned back as she reached the door. “For what it’s worth, Alistair, I’m happy for you.”

He nodded once and followed her out into the training area; Oghren leaned on the ropes chatting with Wynne. He stood apart, taking in his companions until Dom approached. “Crisis averted. Morrigan and Solona apologized to one another, and all is well. . .at least seems so.”

Alistair raised a brow; believing Morrigan had the capacity to apologize baffled him. Dom hummed in response, but offered nothing more. The two fell into a comfortable silence, allowing Alistair to turn his thoughts back to the fight.  

“So Dom, as a Warden I’m not sure this is the best decision, but I don’t see another way to get that map.” Alistair climbed into the ring and waited for the bell. He exhaled long and slow. No different from sparring, he thought.  

Finishing his mental preparation, Alistair crouched. From his squat, a hand touched his boot. A quick glance revealed Solona’s shamefaced stare. “Alistair, I want to apologize. I couldn’t listen to Morrigan anymore. I know you don’t need my protection.”

With a shake of his head, Alistair shifted toward her. “Says who,” he said, dropping his voice to a near whisper, “Maybe. . .I liked it.”

She chuckled. “May I ask a favor?”

“Name it,” he responded, his affection for her softening his voice.

She leaned closed, looked straight into his eyes and spoke without hesitation. “Kick his ass.”

Three separate clangs indicated the start of the fight. Oghren stamped his feet and yelled an attempt to intimidate Alistair.

Crossing his arms, Alistair shook his head. “Let me know when you’re done.”  The snickering and laughter from the Warden’s party enraged Oghren.

“That’s it, topsider. Let’s do this.” Oghren charged, but Alistair the quicker of the two, dodged without effort.

Maker forgive me, he thought, taking advantage of Oghren’s turned back.

_________________

Alistair sputtered as cold water woke him, unsure of his surroundings. A faint glow to his left-shifted from blue to red hues. A harsh voice snapped at him, “Get up!” The Warden’s eyes adjusted from the dark to this new sterile electronic glow.

“How did I?” Alistair started to ask questions but as he stood, the room solidified into his father’s office, the oversized black chair facing the row of monitors. The impossibility of traveling to Denerim City instantly from Orzammar and the sterility of the office meant one thing to Alistair. “Deimon.”

From the oversized desk chair, a slow clap sounded. “Very good, Warden. I missed you after our last little chat.”

“You’re not my type, Arch,” Alistair’s emphasis on Deimon’s name was meant to provoke.

The chair swiveled around to reveal Archibald Deimon, master of the Blight, leader of the Darkspawn Horde. His maniacal grin spread as he leaned back. “Come now, Alistair, keep a civil tongue. All I wish to do is sit and talk.” The refined accent Deimon spoke with added to his arrogance. “It’s such a rare opportunity to meet with one’s adversary, I am so very grateful to the dwarves for this chance.”

The frown on Alistair’s face deepened. “Get to the point.”

Deimon leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and tented his fingers. “Yes, the point,” Deimon said, “the point, my dear Alistair, is you need to abandon this foolish quest. Ferelden is mine.”

Had Alistair not curbed his response, his anger would have overtaken his hope to discover more. “Yours?” Alistair crossed his arms and settled on his feet, “how exactly is Ferelden yours?”

Deimon spotted some offensive spot on the desktop. Lifting the unsightly speck with a pressed finger, he flicked it away. “Not very bright, are you?” Deimon stood in a slow calculated motion. “I took your mentor. Then your brethren of your antiquated order, and then, my dear, dear Alistair. I took the only family you had left.” Deimon let his words hang for a few moments before adding, “if you do not stop this ludicrous quest of yours, I will take the lovely. . . little. . . mage.”

“Never,” Alistair hissed, lunging at Deimon.

An arrogant laugh descended all around Alistair as the figure of Deimon vanished. “Ah, I seem to have found a weakness. Give up, dear Warden or lose everything.” Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang three times. “Tick tock. Tick tock. Time to wake, Warden.”

________

Another dousing of cold water brought Alistair out of his dream. Leliana, Wynne and Dom talked above him; their words muffled and vague as his haze lifted.

Wynne’s light taps on his cheek helped Alistair focus and open his eyes. “There!” Wynne inched closer. “Tell me your name.”

Still groggy from his dream, Alistair closed his eyes again.

“No, no, look at me and tell me who you are,” the elder mage demanded his attention.

 Alistair attempted to lift his head. “My name is Alistair Theirin and I’m king of all Ferelden.” Sarcasm lost on Wynne, Alistair resorted to a more direct approach. “Maker’s breath, Wynne, let me up!”

His irritation mixed with fear at the notable absence of Solona. Deimon’s threat coursed through him, poisoning his thoughts. Dom blocked his view and chattered without stopping.  

“That was. . .the best! Alistair! When Oghren plowed head first into your gut, I thought you were done!” Dom’s wild, excited gestures continued even when the junior Warden paused. “But then! Where did you learn that thing. . .with the elbow?” Mimicking a jabbing motion Dom fought against and invisible foe.

Frustration enflamed Alistair’s waning calm; attempting to interrupt Dom’s recap of the fight Alistair resorted to gestures. Dom, however, continued.

“What I want to know is how you knocked him out. It happened,” Dom snapped his fingers, “like that. I mean, I saw you crouch, sprint and then-”

Alistair snapped, unable to think straight, “Maker’s blood! Shut up!” He pinched the bridge of his nose and spoke through a clenched jaw. “Where’s Solona?”

The strangeness of Alistair’s demeanor registered with Dom; the way he scanned the room eyes wide, his rapid breathing and corded muscles stretched in Alistair’s neck. Alistair grappled with fear. “Something happened, didn’t it? When you were knocked out.”

The exhalation of relief passing though Alistair slowed his mind; Dom could help if Alistair shared his vision. “Deimon. . . he. . .threatened Solona. Help me find her.”

Dom held back his shock, the hard and audible swallow the sole sign of the junior Warden’s concern.  “She left when the fight started.” Dom shook his head, “it’s my fault, I should have followed her.”

The two rushed out of the training area into the betting room to gasps and pointed stares; the crowd not used to seeing combatants in their fighting gear. Ignoring the attention, Alistair spotted a human woman talking with a bald male dwarf.

His body armor caught Dom’s attention; similar to the Wardens, the only exposed skin on the dwarf-his head and hands. “Legionnaire. Legion of the Dead. Call them what you want. Ghosts, Special ops, and if you believe my brother Fergus,” Dom said, “they’re even crazier than Wardens.”

Alistair raced ahead calling Solona’s name.

The dwarf crossed his arms before addressing Alistair. “You’re tough, Warden. I’ll give you that, but letting your wife wander around without an escort?  Not smart.” Kardol said adding even more. “And forget about Oghren and Branka–that’s an unbelievable mess -steer clear. Name’s Kardol, Commander Kardol.”

My wife, he thought, ignoring the rest of the dwarf’s admonishment. “My. . .wife?” He ears and neck carried his embarrassment at the misspoken assumption. Searching Solona’s face for a hint of what was happening she shrugged.

“I told you not to fight, love. Did you win?” She asked, crossing in front of Kardol, eyes wide in silent warning to play along.

His flushed deepened, the endearment only reinforcing the dwarf’s view.   Alistair scratched his head, unsure what happened during the fight. “I . . .don’t know.”

The loud guffaw from Kardol forced the Warden to step back, “fighting Oghren will do that. It doesn’t matter, my boys were impressed.”  Kardol called over several dwarves in similar gear. All offered their hand to Alistair and Dom along with their admiration for his action in the ring. Kardol dismissed the small group and led Alistair aside. “Warden, your wife explained your predicament. I’ve been hunting Archibald Deimon and his corrupted army since I could wield a blade.”

Alistair tried to interrupt. “But, she’s-”

Holding up his hand stopping Alistair’s denial, Kardol talked on. “The point is-we have a common enemy. I’ll give you a group of my men to lead you into the Deep Roads; they’ll get you through to Branka. I’m offering you an alliance. Take it, Warden.  I’ll lead the rest of my men to Redcliffe and help mobilize the armies. Think before you turn me down,” dark eyes locked on Alistair before delivering a final warning. “You need us.”  

The hand offered revealed thick scars and even thicker calluses. This was the hand of a warrior, his strength of determination etched into each deep line, and it hungered to find the creature plaguing Alistair’s nightmares. Warden and Legionnaire sealed their pact with the oldest of contracts-a handshake of honor. Alistair said nothing, deferring to the older warrior.

“You’ve got stones, Warden. Need to work on that head of yours.” Kardol glanced toward Solona. “None of you are prepared for what waits in the Deep Roads. Take time to live in the next few days; the Deep Roads change you, believe it.”

The dwarf thanked Alistair and promised to have his men ready in two days. He recommended they travel heavy and offered the use of the Legion’s gear and subterranean carts.

Dom, seeing the end of the conversation, joined to learn of the new alliance. Curious as to the need to continue the fights, Dom asked after their plans to find Branka.  Kardol promised his men were a more reliable guide, having seen Branka’s camps during their patrols.

“We know where she’s headed, and she’s not strong enough to bring it back,” Kardol said, “nor should it be. If you find Branka, bring her back but leave the artifact.”

The Wardens traded glances, neither quite sure what to make of Kardol’s request.

Leaving them with an ancient blessing on his lips, Kardol’s loud whistle revealed the numbers of men within the gambling hall, numbering near twenty-five, as they filed out of the Proving Grounds.

Alistair’s attention traveled to Solona, curious how Kardol had assumed the two of them married.

“He wouldn’t talk to me, Alistair.” Solona explained, “but when I assured him I had your ear and could,” she looked away from him finishing her explanation, “sway your loyalties from Bhelen back to the search for Deimon- he opened up.”

The frown on his face grew without permission. “You lied to him.”

Shaking her head, Solona tried to clarify. “No, a necessary misdirection, I needed something and using a few vague statements it worked. Are you angry?”

___________

Cullen sighed, knowing Solona’s pattern all too well. He’d blamed her too until Kirkwall. Cullen realized he simply ignored any signs of Solona’s polite disinterest. The infatuation was his alone. Listening to Alistair’s recounting, Cullen read some similarities, but he knew better. Solona shared her feelings about Alistair more than once.

When she’d arrived in Kirkwall looking for Alistair, Marion kept his whereabouts hidden. Solona had begged for help from Anders and when the mage refused, she approached Cullen for help. He’d denied Alistair’s presence in Kirkwall under Marion’s direction, even though his deception pained him.

Cullen met Solona again during the trial in Denerim City, asking Hawke and others to arrange a meeting with Alistair; again meeting with careful roadblocks to keep her away from the Warden.

Solona’s letter to Alistair ended up in his hands during treatment. Pleading for Cullen’s help, her usual guarded vagueness and carefully orchestrated words convinced him to deliver the letter and now Cullen could see the root of Alistair’s need for distance; his pain had remained. Alistair believed Solona betrayed him, and every action underlined Alistair’s conclusions.

 Watching Alistair rub his face, Cullen understood the Warden needed rest and gathered the still wrapped sandwiches. “I’ll leave these in the icebox, for Tank.”

A soft smile and gentle nod acknowledged the hidden message. Cullen would leave Alistair to rest without passing judgement, with no dissection of Alistair’s memory. Even in that unspoken show of compassion, Alistair’s guilt returned.

“So, she’s married? Maybe a family?” Words tightened the muscles in his chest and throat, hoping Cullen would deliver bad news to ease Alistair’s remorse.

“No.” The quiet answer gave way to a forced clarification. “Solona. . .she hoped maybe one day. . .you-”

“Stop.” Alistair couldn’t listen, he needed to believe his recollections. “You’re right, I should rest. Thank you, Cullen.”

Unsure if he’d added more to Alistair’s anxieties, Cullen excused himself with an offer to lend an ear for as long as he remained in Denerim.

Once alone, Alistair wrenched open the drawer and yanked out Solona’s letter. Grabbing his lighter and the trash bin, its flame sparked to life, ready to destroy the offending papers. He waited, watching the flame reach for the edge of the paper.

Frustration escaped in a growl, and Alistair covered the lighter with its metal top before tossing it on his desk. Shoving the pages back into the drawer, he slammed it shut before leaning back in his chair.

“Burn it. Why can’t you just burn the blasted thing?” Closing his eyes, Alistair let his heart respond. You love her that’s why.

Chapter Text

Archibald Deimon died at One Drakon Tower, and since then Alistair’s fear of sleep had waned. Instead of darkened halls of black glass and glowing screens, Alistair feared his past. Tank’s loud snoring often kept Alistair awake, but fatigue and emotional strain would see him to sleep.

As his head hit the pillow, he prayed in silence for a dreamless sleep.

___________

Orzammar Metal Works

He hadn’t meant to snap at her. She tried to help. “Not tried,” Alistair said aloud, “succeeded. And you had to play the man in charge, didn’t you?”  Solona had secured an alliance even the Wardens failed to gain. Alistair argued both sides of the problem. On one hand, Solona used half-truths and manipulation to get what she wanted.  On the other hand, the Legion of Death and its Legionnaires would give Alistair and Dom an advantage over the darkspawn and Deimon.

The more he examined the problem the cloudier his mind grew. Something about Solona made it a near impossibility to think straight. Knowing she cared about him made focusing even worse. “Maybe Leliana is right and Solona should go to Redcliffe.”

You can’t mean that, he thought taking his argument silent once more, your heart's pounding just thinking about her. Kardol said take time to live, so go talk with her.

Resolved to apologize, Alistair paused at the door from his room. His hand hesitated reaching for the handle. “Maker’s blood, just go already!” Uncertainty pulled his hand back, and the frustration of his indecisiveness led him to hit his forehead against the door once; repeating his plan like a mantra. Talk to her. . .talk to her . . . talk to her, he droned on until the door opened by his hand and Alistair’s slow steps brought him to Solona’s door.

I can do this, he thought, apologize, smile and leave. Easy. “Easy. Sure.” He knocked on her door and waited, taking deep breaths to keep steady.

The door opened revealing Solona. Her hair, wet from bathing, hung loose around her face. She’d dressed in a simple shift. He’d gotten so used to her lab clothes and white coat, this glimpse of femininity almost sent him away. “Alistair, is something wrong?” Solona’s brow furrowed and Alistair took her expression to be displeasure, launching straight in his apology.

“I apologize for what I said. Back there. I mean, at the Proving Grounds.” Alistair’s rambling words and unsure voice bothered him. “You were trying to help and- wait. Not trying, you did it. The alliance, I mean.”

The amusement on Solona’s face embarrassed him further and Alistair sighed. “Why can’t I talk with you without sounding like a complete moron?”

She met his downcast eyes. “You’re not a complete moron, Alistair, that’s Morrigan talking.”

Solona smiled. Maker take me, but that smile, he thought. “See? The problem here is that when I’m around you, I can’t think straight.”

The smile on Solona’s face dissolved. “So you want me to go.” Not a question, but a statement.

“Yes,” he said, and then raised his voice. “No! No, I don’t want you to go.” He closed his eyes and breathed deep. “Whenever I’m near you I feel like my head will explode and my heart jump straight through my chest. That’s not the kind of man I thought I was. But then we found you, and now. . .” He stopped, afraid to continue.

“Now. . .what?” Solona asked.

“I wanted to tell you that. . . well.” He paused, and for the first time since becoming a Warden, Alistair didn’t hide. “I love you. There. Not romantic, but I’m afraid of what might slip out if I keep talking.”  Knowing he’d botched up his apology and professed such a perfunctory expression of love, he hoped the pain in his chest hadn’t been visible on his face.

Solona stared at him, leaving Alistair with the perception her silence equaled rejection. “All . . .right. Well, that went well. So. . .” He pointed awkwardly over his shoulder. “I’ll just go then. Right. Anyway . . .I’m sorry.”

As he turned to leave, Solona’s voice cracked, “Stay.”

Unsure if he’d imagined the response Alistair faced Solona. “Did you?” His embarrassment rose again his inability to talk with her without stumbling over words continued.

The light pink tint to her cheeks drew his eyes first. “Alistair.  Do you. . .would you like to spend the night with me. . .here in my room?”

_______________

Waking to the warmth of her bareness against him, Alistair delighted in the wonder of Solona. Careful to use a gentle hand, he traced a path along her skin; his fingers memorizing the gentle slope of her neck to the soft arch of her shoulder as it led his admiration. She stirred, a long sigh signaling her wakefulness.

“Hey,” he said. Surprised at the casual sound in his voice, he tried to think of profound words to offer. Finding none, Alistair slipped his arm around her. Solona, for her part, shifted around to face him, her cheek resting against his chest.

Alistair grew more aware of the increasing rhythm of his heart and apologized. “This is all -well- new, Sol. I don’t know what to say and if you knew me.” He stopped, realizing his words. “I mean of course you know me, but I’m . . .well, I’m . . . what happened between us-”

She snuggled closer. “Alistair? Did you mean it when you said you loved me?”

His heart skipped as he sighed, “yes, I do love you, Solona.” Relaxing his arms, he added, “and do you think you might feel the same. . .about me?”

Part of him didn’t want to know, if their night together meant nothing to her, she’d reject him or deflect the question. He wanted to be ready and still he wanted it to be true. A little happiness, he thought, to know someone could love me, unlike my family, just something to carry me through until I face Deimon.

Burying her face in his chest she nodded first. A deep breath and a shaky exhale left her as she answered, “I think I already do.”

He craved her eyes, her face. To see her, to hear from her lips he had worth and meant something, Alistair couldn’t wait.  Shifting on the mattress, his muscles tightened. Her eyes, so filled with tears, the need to see her happy shifted his focus. “What is it, tell me.”

Solona shook her head. “I’m not sad. A little overwhelmed. I’m in love with a Warden and Templar.”

He closed his eyes as he kissed her resting his head against her forehead. “They’ll have to wait, this is my time.” She laughed before returning his kiss, letting their bodies find one another.

____________

Pounding echoed through Alistair’s ears, wrenching him from sleep. The heavy fist against the door of his office pulled him into awareness. Disoriented and unsteady, he tumbled out of the spare room.  When he crossed into the office proper, the cacophony included Tank’s piercing bark in the office, shouting from the hall and a horrible discordant melody coming from one of the lower floors.  

Three loud raps preceded Hawke’s warning, “Dammit Alistair, answer me or we’re breaking through the door.”

Gripping a chair, he steadied himself and stumbled toward the door. Unlocking the locks, all but the atonal music ceased.

Hawke pushed through into the room first, followed by Cullen and Madeleine. Alistair’s pallor, his unsteady stance and his disorientation set her in motion. “Cullen, get her out of here now!”  She turned on Madeleine, eyes blazing. “One hint of this to the outside and not even daddy’s money will keep you hidden from me.”

Madeleine stumbled as she backed away, Cullen leading her down the stairs.

Alone, Hawke lifted Alistair’s arm around her to support him. “How much, Alistair?”

“Turn the music off.” He responded, the tune so loud his eyes hurt. “Too loud.”

“Alistair, there’s no music. You drank too much.” Hawke snapped at him, shuffling him to the back room.

The sharpness behind his eyes spread around his head. Alistair tried to explain, but found the wave of pain too much to dismiss in order to speak.

As Hawke and Alistair neared the back room, Cullen returned and took Alistair’s opposite side.  “Almost there, Alistair.” Cullen shouldered most of the burden, guiding Alistair to his bed. Hawke searched every drawer and hidden corner for Alistair’s stash.

“Where is it?” Alistair flinched as Hawke slammed cabinets and doors. “Where the fuck is it Alistair?! I told you I was done picking you up off the floor!”

Alistair gripped Cullen’s arm and shook his head. Cullen understood addiction; this was neither. Alistair’s eye’s widened meeting Cullen’s own.

“Were you drinking?” Cullen asked.

The slow shake of Alistair’s head and his near silent denial seemed genuine to Cullen. Tank shared the mattress, resting his head on Alistair’s leg. The mabari whined in protest to the accusation. A thought formed, but to give it credence and speak it aloud troubled Cullen.

“Your condition, if not caused by alcohol, do you know what it is?” Cullen witnessed the strain and locked jaw as Alistair’s eyes closed again. “You’re in pain.”

Eyes still shut, a single nod acknowledged Cullen’s statement. The wave passed allowing Alistair to move. “I need the phone.”

“No, you need to rest.” Cullen called to Hawke to join them.

She entered the room, her confusion overtaking her earlier anger. “I can’t find a single bottle, I don’t get it.”

“Marion,” Cullen said, “please stop talking.”  His harsh words delivered in his soft, controlled voice silenced her until he returned with the phone and line. “Where?”

Alistair pointed to the far wall and once connected, Cullen held the phone, handing Alistair the handset before resuming his seat near the bed. Punching in a series of numbers, Alistair waited; the silence in the room afforded Hawke and Cullen the ability to listen along as a voice answered the call at the other end. “Alistair?” 

The number dialed existed for a single purpose; a lifeline for the Theirin family. Teagan maintained the secret number, known only to a select few. “Teagan. I think I’m in trouble.”

Teagan’s calm and even voice asked a series of questions, and with each response Hawke and Cullen grew more concerned.

The one-sided conversation revealed more than either Cullen or Hawke were prepared to hear.

“Yes, Teagan. About a year now.”

A hand offered by Cullen taken in earnest by Alistair. Clasping the Warden’s hand the only means of support as he spoke, Cullen listened to the bits of conversation.

“This is the worst one. I’m all right now, it’s subsiding, but we can’t deny it any more. It’s real, Teagan.”

Hawke saw no fear in Alistair’s face as he continued. “No. I forbid it. At least give me some dignity.” Alistair paused sighing. “Teagan. Our Lady of Sacred Ashes. The family still has some pull there if I recall, do not make that phone call-are we clear?”

Nodding through the remainder of the call, Alistair’s fatigue more evident in the lack of conversation. The cool reservation in Alistair’s voice lessened as he ended the call. “A car is on the way. I’ll need help-”

Cullen interrupted promising his aid. “Until then, what can I do?”

The debilitating headache reduced to a dull twinge allowing Alistair to sit upright, Tank shifting to rest alongside him. Patting Tank’s flank, Alistair’s feigned smile and weak gaze looked to Cullen. “I’m sorry to even ask, but Tank. Would you?”

Without hesitation, Cullen agreed.

Hawke refused to accept the unspoken. “Cullen, don’t be ridiculous. What will I do with a mabari? Alistair, Tank belongs with you.”

She continued to argue with Alistair until Cullen set himself in front of her. “Marion.” His soothing tone and gentle touch on her chin stopped her words. “We’ll give Tank a home. Why don’t you wait for the car outside?”

 A hushed argument began between the two, allowing Alistair to retreat. Teagan will not let this go, he thought, but it’s time. I want to think I’ve made my peace, but what does that mean? I accept the wrong and right I’ve committed?

“Maker’s breath, Alistair.  It’s too soon.” The hurt in Marion’s voice, a rare gift from her. “But Sol-she. . .she can stop this. Don’t you see Ali?” Her use of Sol’s pet name chafed against his already strained emotions.

He knew full well what Solona’s research might do. Even Teagan tried to push him on the phone. “No,” he said, giving no further argument.

Hawke had never been one for propriety; in fact, she often spoke without a filter or a care for others’ perceptions of her. “What a load of horseshit! Damn your wounded pride!”

Reaching out for her, Cullen attempted to intervene, but Hawke slipped out of his grasp. “Back off!” She snapped at him, forcing Cullen to step away.

She stood next to the bed, pointing at Alistair in repeated jabs. “You know what? You’re a coward! That’s right, a coward!”

“Marion, maybe you’re right or maybe I’m too tired of fighting.” The resignation in Alistair’s voice reminded Cullen of himself in Kirkwall, and it had been Marion to help him through the darkest times. This time, she didn’t understand.  

“That’s enough,” Cullen found a more forceful tone, “this is not your decision, it lies with Alistair. You need to understand this can’t be fixed, Alistair is going to-”

She cut him off. “Don’t you say it, Cullen. Maker take you, don’t you dare say it! Since neither one of you have the balls to do what’s needed, I’ll do it my own damn self!” She snatched the phone and dialed. As soon as the connection activated she launched into her speech.

 “He’s sick, Sol.” She paused, before growling at the response given to her. “No! Not him!” She scoffed and turned around daring either man to challenge her. “Sacred Ashes hospital. Look, fuck him and his nonsense! He’s fucking dying Sol and you can stop it!”

Slamming the handset down, she shook the phone in her hands and screamed sending the phone crashing to the floor, its fragile housing shattering from the impact of her anger. The two men watched in silence as sobs shook her shoulders. “Dammit, Alistair.” 

“You know Marion; those were the first two words you ever said to me. Remember?” The attempt to lighten the tension in the room didn’t quite fall as Alistair had hoped.

“Fuck you.” She said, “there’s two more.” Facing away from the two men, she hugged herself. “Cullen, Solona and you . . . are family. Alistair, please.” She faced him, tears falling now and again, wiping her face clean she exhaled gaining composure once more. “We did it before. You did it years ago, remember?  I’ll help you through this too.” 

Their conversation ended as a small army of men in dark suits arrived to collect Alistair. Cullen and Marion found themselves ushered into the same large black van along with Tank. “Apologies Mister Theirin, we’ll have you in a private room inside fifteen minutes, Sir.”

Hawke couldn’t help but snicker. “Mister Theirin.”

Seeing the opportunity to deflect the mood even further, Alistair continued. “Hey… I’m not the one with the fancy title. What was it again? Bestest Kirkwaller Ever? Marion the Hammer Hawke? Cullen, help me out here.”

One of the men securing equipment stopped. “You’re Hawke? The Marion Hawke?” She rolled her eyes but still offered her hand.

“Yes, that Marion Hawke and this is-“ Marion meant to introduce Cullen, but the man interrupted.

He saluted Cullen before offering his hand. “Commander Rutherford, it’s an honor. Thank you for looking after Mister Theirin.”

Marion glared at the attendant. “Thank him? Oh, that’s just,” Marion stopped, seeing the grin on Alistair’s face, “you’re enjoying this too much, my friend.” 

Alistair leaned back in his seat. “Probably, but at least you stopped yelling at me.”

A momentary annoyance crossed her face until she remembered their destination. “Alistair.”

The levity gone, he turned away as they pulled into a garage. A few overhead lights buzzed and flickered as Hawke stepped from the side door; the cold starkness of the area, void of any vehicles or identifying signs raised suspicions. “Hang on, this isn’t the hospital.”

Alistair argued with the attendants insisting he could walk and talked over their admonishments. “Private,” he struggled to break one man’s hold on his arm, “entrance.” Wrenching free, Alistair stepped closer to an unmarked door. “When I’m unable to stand up straight and either drooling or grunting to communicate, then you boys can carry me around.”

“Nice image,” Cullen quipped.

A quick raised brow and flash of a smile preceded a deep inhale from Alistair. “Yes, I thought so too.” Stepping before the entrance and finding no handle, he talked to the door. “What do I need to open you now, hmm? Drop of blood, some secret password no one ever bothered to tell me.”

One attendant coughed. “Press the button on the side panel, Sir.”

“Ah, of course. The button on the side panel. One would think to just put a bloody handle on the door.” 

“Alistair!” Hawke hissed in warning.

He shrugged. “What! You were thinking the same thing.”  Following the attendant’s instructions, Alistair located a flat panel with a single button and pressed it.

The clacking of heels echoed from within, followed by the squeaking wheels of a conveyance. The door opened inward. He saw her eyes first, steel blue grey and golden flecks that still haunted him. Their weariness reflected his own. It wasn’t until she spoke that Alistair realized he’d been staring; she tilted her head and smiled. “Alistair.”

He’d forgotten her voice. Rather than speak he wondered how it was possible to have forgotten the way she exhaled and spoke his name, alluding to a sigh of relief or something far more intimate.

His voice failed him, her name catching on his tongue. After the third attempt, he managed to speak. “Solona.”   

Chapter Text

It had to be today. Every morning the shrill ring of the phone grabbed hold of her spine and shook her awake. Every morning. Desperate words delivered in practiced calm, his words emotionless and cold. To her ears? The future slipped further away with each passing day. Despair coated in a series of polite phrases.

She’d reached her limit inhaling the scent of pungent cleaning solutions; every bar used them in a futile attempt to cover the acrid stench of spent cigarettes and putrid cigars; the same in every bar and hall across Kirkwall yielding no sign of the missing man.  

Marion replaced the handset on the phone. Fucking Teagan Guerrin. Fucking Theirins. Thanks a lot, Dad. Malcom Hawke, one of the old-school Wardens had some connection with the Theirin Enterprises that remained a mystery to her; when he died, Cailan Theirin stepped in and provided for the Hawke family until the shock of loss passed enough for her mother to continue.

Despite the early interruption, Marion’s contentment still lingered.  She stretched, used to the empty bed at this hour. Cullen had to report to the Gallows well before sunrise. He’d stay the night, leaving her with a promise to find her as soon as he could. Her smile faded, remembering why she’d been woken so early.

Alistair. She’d met him in passing with Warden Commander Duncan. She remembered little, except for the lingering feeling that his smugness stemmed from the same superiority complex all Wardens seemed to wear.

Teagan’s message had been the same, another sighting, another request she investigates. Marion had a debt to repay, and if finding the missing heir freed her of that debt, she’d do whatever proved necessary.

Her hometown of Lothering had been almost decimated by the Horde. She escaped with her family, owing thanks to warning from the Wardens. When Alistair’s small party defeated Archibald Deimon, every publication from Ferelden to the Free Marches carried the story. Alistair, for his part, admitted to complicity in the death of Domnall Cousland and it was this claim to drive him away and hide among the homeless and forgotten in Kirkwall’s darkest corners.

She’d searched from Lowtown to the broken-down watering holes at the docks and found nothing. Still the calls came in claiming the presence of one Warden Alistair Theirin among the patrons. Marion couldn’t spend her days searching every inch of Kirkwall; Cullen’s Templars and the City Guard all searched for the missing heir and found no trace. The notion she might succeed where these trained men and women failed seemed absurd.

Regardless, Marion hurried through the pre-dawn hours to the Hanged Man. She’d asked a friend to keep his well-honed skills of observation tuned to locating Alistair. Varric Tethras had his own secrets, but in simpler terms he was a nosey bastard with an uncanny ability to be right where he was needed.

The dwarf seemed to have his hand in everything in Kirkwall, thus making him the perfect partner. She hoped he’d not retired to his permanent room above the bar.  Marion had to pound on the door until she heard the locks disengage. The Hanged Man opened after sundown. In the harsh light of the sun, the bar resembled a building long abandoned.

The door stuck in its jamb, forcing both parties to force it open. A swift kick from her met with a shout and grumble from within. Pushing the door, Marion witnessed a dwarf bent at the waist. “Sorry about that. You really should get that damn door fixed, Varric.”

He straightened, and despite the fatigue from another late night, Varric Tethras smiled. “Gives the place character Hawke! Trust me. I know character.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes,” Marion said, not willing to allow him to shift the conversation to himself or his pulp novel, “where’s my friend?”

He led her through to one of the side rooms. “I can’t be sure it’s him,” he gestured to the rear of the room. “I found him after we locked up.”

Marion stepped closer, she’d met him before Cailan’s death; although her recollection vague, he appeared to be the same man. “Dammit Alistair,” Hawke muttered, finding his slumped frame half in a chair and not quite upright. Had the wall been a foot more to the right, he’d have been passed out on the floor of The Hanged Man.

Her words woke him, a wide grin brightening his face.

Clasping Marion’s hand, Cullen’s reassuring squeeze as she told the story broke her concentration.

“So, that’s how I found him,” she said. “Took months, if you remember, to get Alistair prepared to return to Denerim. Somehow, in that time he’d helped Carver join the Templars and Bethany-”

The sullen grumble from Cullen reminded Marion that Bethany’s disappearance from the Circle still bothered him. “Let’s not indulge that particular memory. Although I recognize wherever Bethany may be was infinitely better than Kirkwall.”

“Cullen, the point is Alistair is strong. He can’t.” She couldn’t use the word die, it refused to pass her lips.

“There’s Solona,” Cullen said his unobstructed view of Alistair’s room attracted his attention to Solona. He observed her closing the door as she left. She paused, and in a strange display rested her forehead against the closed door. Her hands rose to rest flat as well; to his eyes almost in veneration to the man within the room.  He looked away, realizing his intrusion on a private moment.

The squeak of soft soles on tile; slow at first, increased in speed until Solona sat next to Marion. “He’s resting,” Solona’s voice caught as she fought to keep control, “the first treatment-did not go well. There is something different with Alistair from the other Wardens I’ve treated.” Falling against the back of her chair, her struggle to keep her composure failed. Her voice barely above a whisper attempted to explain “The pain he endures. It should not be so. I may. . .I may not-” Solona paused again, expelling air in an attempt to even her voice. “I’m going to ask for another to oversee Alistair’s treatments. I can’t Marion. I won’t lose him again. There’s a way, and I need to find it.”

None of the three spoke, Solona’s admission weighing on each. Wiping her face, her sadness dissolved into a blank expression. “Go home. Come back in two days. We’ll try again.”

_____________

Two days became four and then eight, each day Solona and her team failed to find why Alistair suffered with each treatment. By the end of the fourth session, the attending healer suggested ending the treatment as the most humane course of action.  

Solona would have to let Alistair go. She had proof the taint lessened each time, but with many more sessions to endure, the results were minimal.  Alone in her office, Solona poured over Alistair’s latest results, unaware of the steady flow of tears until her vision blurred. The knock on her office door interrupted her private time. The breach of unspoken rules shifted Solona’s focus, her sadness replaced with a fierce anger.

Slamming her open palm against the desk, the chair scraped against the floor chafing her nerves even more. Solona wrenched the door open to find Madeleine holding out a large canvas bag. “I thought we understood one another? I want nothing to do with your little project.”

Madeleine held fast. She hoped Solona would listen. “Yes, I know. But this is about Alistair’s condition. Something he said,” she stammered, “I mean, he was talking about what happened in Orzammar and then there was a sword, a gift, right?” Madeleine rambled on, her speech picking up speed. “He joked about some silly thing in the chamber and it got me thinking. I made a few calls. It’s not a joke.”

A scathing stare cut through Madeleine. “How exactly do you know about Alistair’s condition?”

Madeleine’s exuberance fizzled. “I paid an attendant,” she said. “I’m not proud of what I’ve done, but you have to look! For him, please?”

Something in the way Madeleine’s eyes widened, so eager to help Alistair reminded Solona of her time with Alistair. She nodded, stepping aside to allow the younger woman entry. Madeleine hurried around to Solona’s desk emptying the contents of her bag. Metal containers containing all the recordings she’d made with Alistair, clanked and clunked on the desktop, but it was a large book that captured Solona’s attention.

The Dragon King

Sliding the book to face her, Madeleine flipped the pages. “Look!” She pointed to a portrait.

The figure stood imposing and regal, clad in the red and yellow tartan of a warrior clan. His reddish brown hair long and scraggy, the figure pointed off in the distance staking his claim against an unknown foe. His features sparked a vague recollection as Solona lifted the book to look. “Calenhad Theirin. Lived during the really dark times of Thedas,” Madeleine offered. “Turn the page.”

Nodding once, Solona complied and nearly dropped the book. “That’s . . . Alistair!” Confidence and strength stood with the man with Alistair’s face. His slicked back hair fell long to his shoulders, and the sculptured beard framed a sly knowing grin. The impish twinkle in his eyes and familiar teasing smile roused her own. So sure of himself, his padded green armor and green cloak, accented with white fur left no doubt to the status of the man within the vestments. He was king and liked it.

“Weylan. Calenhad’s son.” Madeleine explained, returning the book to the desk. “Alistair told me he was a bastard, but no doubt he’s a Theirin, and here’s where it gets complicated.”  

The two poured over the pages, the Theirin family history chronicled from their emergence as a strong clan out of Highever to Calenhad the Great. A few passages caught Solona’s attention. The words dragon’s blood and magical rituals stood out. “Is this true? Calenhad and blood magic bound the dragon’s strength to his line?”

Madeleine’s excitement grew. “That has to be the answer! It has to be. Dragon’s blood.”

Solona closed the book and slipped it to her desk. “It’s a legend; a reason for Calenhad’s success. If he received the dragon’s blessing as the story says, then any defeat suffered fell to his superhuman strengths.”

An argument ensued. Madeleine pulled out her transcripts. “Please, just suppose it’s true. Here. Read this. . .or do you have a recorder?” Madeleine lifted one of the metal casings. “You can hear Alistair tell the story.”

Solona’s persistence earned them delivery of a recorder allowing Madeleine to find the corresponding audio. The machine whirred to life, and using the dials, sped up the recording only to stop it and listen for a moment.

The sudden stop and reveal of his melodic voice, a laugh here and then a quick sardonic phrase captured her thoughts until Madeleine stopped. “Here it is. Orzammar before meeting Bhelen.”

Turning the dial once more Alistair’s voice, tinny and hollow from the recorded word spoke.

Here I am, sword in hand and all these dwarves staring at me. Knowing me? I laughed or something equally embarrassing. I couldn’t just stand there, so I tried to make a stupid joke. “Did I do something wrong? Don’t tell me I just released some ancient sword making me king under the mountain or something like that?”

The older of the two dwarves laughed at my words, but something felt forced. “Hardly.” The older dwarf said.  “The monarchy has long been abolished, and I’m afraid the sword is nothing more than an eyesore, but as it is with all things ancient the story, such as it is, is interesting.”

Here’s where the younger one stepped in. “The age of greatness has ended.” I always wondered what that meant. “What age of greatness and what was the deal with that sword?”

Madeleine stopped the recorder and reached for the book again. Two fabric flags stuck out of the pages, turning to the first. “Here. This chapter title reads ‘The Age of Greatness’.” Flipping to the second, another image sparked Solona’s memory. Madeleine read aloud. “The King’s Blade.  Runes glow along the blade’s length and when paired with the Dragon’s Shield, the bearer never weakened in combat, his stamina regenerated without end. Returned to the dwarves by King Brandel Theirin, he claimed should ever the blade be drawn, the human child wielding the ancient sword was of Theirin blood and to be given whatsoever aid he required.” She stopped reading and noted the paleness of Solona’s face. “That’s the sword, isn’t it! The one from the Orzammar! Alistair took it from its rest where it sat for ages.”

Leave it Alistair to do something quite profound completely by accident, Solona thought, I miss that. Even if Madeleine’s revelations were true, it still couldn’t fix Alistair’s reactions. “Dragons are extinct now. Right? Is there anyone who even knows about their physiology still alive?”

Madeleine smiled. “Alistair sparked my need to learn more. There are dragons in Thedas, but so far removed from all settlements, they do no harm.”

Head swimming, Solona tried to understand. “Fine. They live but how does that help? I’m not quite schooled on the language of the beasts. How do we find out more?”

Without asking permission, Madeleine reached for the phone and dialed. “Maeve. It’s me. No time for small talk. I need a list of all natural plants toxic to dragons.” A short silence showed Madeleine listened to the person on the phone. “I don’t care how extensive, Maeve. A man is dying! Just tell me!”

The intensity in the young woman’s words stunned Solona, and the flush on Madeleine’s face worried her. Taking what little she knew and by the multitude of metal canisters, Solona guessed the two had spent an immense amount of time in each other’s company.  When Madeleine looked away from her papers, Solona met the young woman’s eyes.

“You care for him,” she said. “That’s good. He deserves it.”  

Madeleine saw the slight downward slant of Solona’s lips. “No! No, you have it all wrong! For me he’s more like that lost boy on the street you stop and help find his way, or keep him company until his family returns.” Madeleine straightened. “Alistair tries to make you believe he’s tough and doesn’t care, but he cares about many things; most of all I believe he cares about you.” She gestured to the desk. “When we’re done, you should listen to those. You’ll hear it as I have. Everything he did was to be sure you and Warden Domnall survived. He loved you both, and even though it hurt him to see you together, he wanted to give you both a chance.”

Awkward steps carried Solona to her chair. He still believes it, she thought, even now he believes the lie. Closing her eyes Solona fought to keep the swirling mass of hurt and anger within her. He needs my help at this moment, she reminded herself, when he wakes. . .then he’ll get an earful. She heard the conversation start once more and with Madeleine’s help, the two compiled their list.

_____________

Three days of tests and substitutions yielded a vial of serum that did not react to Alistair’s blood. Solona forced her team to test until the repeated result showed no possible conflict. Only then did she return to Our Lady of the Sacred Ashes. The amount was not enough to be considered a dosage, but Solona refused to inflict any more physical pain on Alistair. If this test proved detrimental, she’d have to wake him and confess her failure.

Solona asked Madeleine to accompany her to Alistair’s room. The two waited both eyes fixed on his sleeping form. “Madeleine, he’s wrong. Alistair, that is.” Solona clasped his wrist, checking his heart rate. “It’ll be awhile before we know if this worked. Orzammar changed him and I never figured out why. But Dom . .  . he kept a secret from Alistair. Maybe if he’d just said something. Will you allow me to explain?”

Solona found the Wardens in the large meeting room, the two laughing as they checked through the supplies for the trek into the Deep Roads.

“Boys,” Solona called out to them, and meetings with no response yelled to get their attention. “Hey!”

“Yeeeeessss?” Alistair’s smirk and single raised brow along with his exaggerated acknowledgement stressed his happiness. His expression changed taking in Solona’s clothing.

Leliana helped her purchase appropriate body armor much like the mercenary wore herself with one addition; a heavier fabric and plates offered Solona additional protections. Alistair’s earlier joviality melted into concern.

“No. You’re not going, Sol. That’s final. Tell Leliana I said no.” He turned back to Dom.

Huffing through her nose, Alistair’s overprotectiveness diminished her earlier excitement at the notion of helping the Wardens. “You don’t get a say in this Alistair. Wynne is staying behind, Shale is staying behind–which is a poor decision on your part- and Morrigan would sooner see you rot than help you. So, when Kardol’s men arrive in two days, I’m going. How’s that for final, Warden Alistair?”

Solona returned to her room, stripping off the armor, tossing it to her bed. She dressed and paced, working through her frustration. Fighting the urge to lash out at the surrounding objects, Solona tried to slow her breathing as Alistair taught her. He’d explained how to clear her mind taking deep breaths, pushing the negative thoughts away.

The light knock on her door did not surprise her, Alistair likely wanted to talk. But the Warden who waited outside her room was not Alistair, but Dom.

Dom ran his fingers through his hair, she’d seen him do this before with Alistair and waited for the phrase he spoke often to his friend and fellow Warden. “Can we talk?”

Solona let Dom enter, just as Bhelen Prince passed her room. She smiled, inclined her head in greeting and noted his neck crane to see who’d entered her room. “I have business to discuss with Warden Domnall, is there something you needed Mr. Prince?” She tried to be cordial or failing that, somewhat polite.

Bhelen’s false smile added to her frustration, even though he assured her privacy, he lingered far too long until she closed the door; the dwarf’s odd behavior forgotten at the sight Dom’s agitation. Crossed arms held close to his body tightened against his chest with each pacing step. When Solona asked if he was unwell, Dom uncoiled and hurried to her side, gripping her shoulders.

“Sol, you have to help me. The dreams. Deimon. . .he’s going to. . .he’s going to kill Alistair.”

Chapter Text

The revelation surprised Madeleine. If both Wardens had to fend off dreams from Deimon, and kept the incidents from one another, she wondered if Solona knew. “Did Alistair share he experienced similar dreams?”

A gasp, covered quickly with her fingers held back Solona’s shock. Shaking her head, the timidity in her voice almost covered up by her action, Solona replied. “No. Had I known . . . are you sure?”

Madeleine explained Alistair’s experiences in Redcliffe and Orzammar, and as she delved deeper into Alistair’s experiences, Solona’s concern etched deeper lines onto her face.  “I must confess. When I’d first met him, I–like so many others- believed Alistair responsible for Domnall Cousland’s death.” 

No words passed from Solona’s lips, her anger unmistakable in the fixed glare she directed toward Madeleine. Lips forced together to control and soothe an unquiet mind appeared almost white from the effort.

“Solona, wait.” Gesturing to the sleeping Warden, Madeleine defended her statement. “Please understand, I didn’t know, I couldn’t understand what Alistair experienced, but after the fight in Orzammar, my preconceptions-they changed.” Madeleine paused, wondering the consequences of her meddling, and continued. “Deimon threatened you in Orzammar, Alistair never finished the story of what happened in the Deep Roads, but he was clear his mission changed.”

The idea took root even before Madeleine continued. Alistair didn’t trust me. He either hovered over me or pushed me away, always extremes, never explaining his actions. He seemed so angry all the time. I assumed Bhelen must have tried to poison Alistair’s impressions of me or of Dom.   Glancing now and again at Alistair’s peaceful state and forgetting her earlier refusals to Madeleine, Solona spoke.

____________

His grip on her shoulders hurt as Alistair shook Solona, fingers tightening around tender skin. “Solona, look at me!” Alistair’s voice raised in alarm, Solona’s dazed eyes and mind still processing what they’d seen. She couldn’t be sure if it or her had been a living being once, but what faced them existed only in nightmare.

Conversations continued around her, muffled and vague to her ears. I’m in shock, she concluded feeling an odd separation of mind from body. Her healer’s mind recalled the ingredients for a nerve draught; Solona’s muscles locked and eyes fixed in wide horror at Alistair’s frantic words.

“I’m not getting through to her! Morrigan, do something!”

Another pair of hands turned her away. Morrigan raised her hand to strike Solona’s face, despite her stupor Solona registered every moment. When Alistair stepped between them, Solona’s awareness shifted; his anger controlled and yet the menace in his voice remained as he chastised Morrigan. Dom intervening sounded far more immediate and prescient than before.

Blinking away the confusion, Solona tapped Alistair's shoulder. “I’m. . .I’m all right.” He wheeled to face her, relief and a halfhearted smile crossing his face. “That was. . .surprising, that’s all.”

Alistair met Solona's attempt at reassuring with a raised brow. “You’re a terrible liar, Sol.” Pulling her close he whispered in her ear, arms offering her his protection. “I’m not ready to lose you.”

His words struck Solona as odd, but the warmth of Alistair’s body enveloping hers soon overshadowed any concerns. Dom, his adrenaline still high, rambled on recapping the fight.

“That. . .was. . .incredible!” Wild gestures and nervous laughter fueled his tale. “Solona, you were brilliant! When you realized that we needed to hit those,” he wiggled his hand upright, “tentacle things first!”

She blanched, feeling ill as a wave of nausea gripped her mind begging not to think on the creature. Solona’s eyes betrayed her sensibilities falling beyond Dom to the heap of flesh and blood unmoving behind him.  The grotesque compilations of multiple hanging teats, a dark and twisted illusion of motherhood; crowned by monstrous visage and misshapen head–a mockery of life.

Alistair warned Dom to let it alone and supported Solona’s body, leading her away from the carnage. Entering the passage, Solona feared her stomach would upend in front of Alistair and shrugged free to spare her dignity. As she ran off, Alistair called to Solona hurrying after her.

Facing away, dry heaves and tears took control, sending her to the ground.  Had it not been for Alistair’s soothing voice and gentle touch, Solona feared she might succumb once more and retreat within her mind.

The feel of his thumb’s light brush on the nape of her neck, how he shifted to support her weakened body countermanded the shock that gripped Solona. Alistair mimicked her breathing, fast and choppy at first, slowing with each breath, leading her from panic to calm. His words brief, praising her as she relaxed. One Legionnaire attempted to interrupt, but Alistair refused to leave her, pushing all away from them.

Looking on his concern and his dismissal of the Legionnaire, she grasped how disruptive her presence proved to be. “I’m fine! Please let me be.” She hadn’t meant to sound harsh, but the sudden sharpness in her voice saddened him enough he moved away without a word.   

The confinement in the Deep Roads tested her. Even with the body armor, the sidearm Alistair trained her to use, and the familiarity of her magic nothing helped to carry her through the darkened passageways. The acrid stench of rot laced every inhale. Stagnant humidity hung heavy on any exposed skin; memories of lakes and rivers in Ferelden, once the source of joy and pleasure, now haunted her in nightmares.  The passage of time evidenced through a series of marks in her notepad. By the time they reached an abandoned camp, Solona had covered pages and pages with marks.

Despite Alistair’s affection and presence, Solona saw through his joyful façade. She knew his discomfort mirrored hers; soft whispers during forced rest periods confirmed even he wondered if the decision to travel this path had been the right one. 

When the Legionnaires prepared to leave the party, Solona talked with several of the dwarves in hopes they’d guide her back to the surface. She couldn’t continue. The Legionnaires had seen it many times; traveling the Deep Roads changed a person, some for the better and some, if they stayed too long, would remain lost in fear and uncertainty.

The fast road to the surface would not be easy; darkspawn and creatures roamed the paths and left little time for rest or contemplation. She listened without interrupting as the dwarves explained the perils of the journey.  Despite the unease settling within, Solona assured the Legionnaires she understood and accepted the danger. Before she could finish, one Legionnaire levied a single condition; both Wardens had to consent to her departure.  

While Solona understood the reticence to guide her to the surface, she tried to present her case to Dom and Alistair glossing over the difficulties she might face. Despite her effort, neither agreed. Dom’s usual jovial nature had decayed, and it was his voice that denied her first.

“No, Solona. You wanted-no . . . demanded- a place on this journey. You don’t get to change your mind. Not now.” Dom’s mood darkened further. “Leave now and you place all of us in danger.”

She hadn’t expected Dom’s reaction. Unsure how to convince him to change his mind, she turned to Alistair for help.

Alistair pulled her aside. “He’s right, Sol. You’re here because you gave us no choice.”

Her lip quivered, and she quickly pressed her weakness away and nodded in agreement. She had insisted. Leliana remained behind, even she would have been better for the Wardens down here. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Alistair peered into her eyes, holding them with a gentleness and calm reassurance she expected. “If you’d been a recruit or a Templar or even one of those Legionnaires, I’d be ripping into them to get a grip.” He sighed and looked away for a moment before meeting her eyes once more. “But you. Yelling at you will do nothing other than prove your point-and you couldn’t be more wrong than you are now.”

“What?” Solona wondered what game Alistair intended to play. She guessed he’d try to trick her into staying, but set herself against any possible change of heart.

He sat down resting against an ancient stone building, patting the stone next to him. “Hear me out, Sol. If you still want to go at the end of the conversation, then I won’t argue.”

“Alistair-”

“My turn. You, my dear, hush and listen.” Alistair didn’t face her as he spoke. “Irving said Duncan had planned to recruit you. We know that much. You may not know why, but I’d like to think I know Duncan. I admire him, even though he’s gone.” A deep inhale followed his opening remarks. “Duncan saw something in you, Solona. I see it too. You would have been an exceptional Warden. You are a gifted mage. Coming from me, you know it has to be true.”

“But-”

He held up a hand to stop Solona. “No interruptions. The point I’m trying to make here, and failing miserably I might add, is we need you here, Sol. I feel as you do, the walls shrink with each passage and I’m not sure I’ll ever be rid of all this dust and stale air; I’m sure each corner we turn will be the last, but with you here I have a goal. I want to give up right now and push my way past those Legion guys and screw the whole thing. I’ll face Deimon alone if I must; that’s how strong my need is to leave. But you’re the reminder, Sol. A reminder of what I’m fighting for no matter how foolish I sound.”

Solona laughed, wiping away a tear.

He slumped forward at the sight of her tears. “No, Sol. Don’t do that. Listen, when we get out of here-and we will-how about your very own lab? I’m a big shot on the surface, in case you didn’t know. If I’m going to play at being a Theirin, I might as well take care of those who matter most.”

“Oh, Alistair. You don’t have to do anything,” she said.

He grinned. “When we’re topside again, I have many things planned for us, my dear.” A waggle of his brows pulled another laugh, stronger this time.

He’d done it again, at her lowest point he’d said nothing in particular but found a way to set Solona at ease.  “So, you’ll put aside this distaste you have for magic and allow me my own fully funded magic lab?”

“Yes, I will, even though I don’t like magic, in fact I never have.” He looked out over the camp. “I could never quite understand why Cailan put so much trust in mages. I guess I should have asked him.”

Cailan’s support of the mages in Ferelden wasn’t a secret, she wondered how Alistair didn’t know what had transpired. “Alistair? I can tell you, but I’m not sure if you’d rather hear from your family.”

He scoffed. “Teagan tell the truth? Ha! You’d sooner teach the darkspawn a song and dance number. Not that it wouldn’t be a sight, but it's damned unlikely. Although, your reluctance and mention of family means this involves me, doesn’t it?”

Nodding she waited for his permission. “How far back can you remember when you lived in Redcliffe? Do you remember riding lessons?”

She watched Alistair look off in the distance, she assumed he searched for the memory. “I remember riding lessons. Three weeks of torture. Nice man, Dennett. Told me and Eamon that I had no business riding on or standing anywhere near a horse. His horses didn’t like me.”

The story wasn’t a secret. It had been passed around the senior enchanters for years. “Apparently, there was a young boy in Redcliffe with a bit of a knack for trouble. He’d been thrown from a horse when several mabari were loosed near the makeshift ring. The Guerrins immediately contacted the Circle and sent vehicles tearing through the paths and roads to bring Irving to Redcliffe.”

Alistair’s face paled and his voice faltered. “Yes. I remember several bones had broken in the fall.”

“The most serious included his neck. The boy couldn’t move, and they were certain he would not live through the night.” Alistair remained quiet allowing Solona to finish. “Irving arrived in time to heal the boy’s injuries and set him to mend. Not even magic could knit bone together in an instant, but magic could set things right and give the boy a chance to live.”

Alistair touched the back of his neck.

“Maric Theirin appeared within days of the incident. First to Redcliffe, promising whatever aid the boy required. He even demanded nothing be done to the horses or the mabari.” She gripped Alistair’s hand. “When Maric Theirin arrived at Ferelden’s Circle, he had an agreement drawn by Teagan Guerrin. Whenever needed, the Circle could call on the Theirin line for support. The agreement had no expiration. The rumor still circulates it was payment for saving the boy. I’d always thought it was Cailan. But now I understand. It was you.”

 “I still have a scar.” He turned toward her. “Tell me something, Sol. If I needed you. . . if there comes a time when I really needed you, would you help me?”

____________

A soft groan brought Solona back to the small hospital room. She slid towards Alistair checking his heartrate, his pupils, and the long tube snaking around from a hanging bag to his hand. Satisfied the line remained clear, Solona straighten the bed sheet around him.

“Is he all right?” Madeleine asked, concerned for them both.

“Dreaming, I’d guess,” Solona replied.

Madeleine offered to return with tea and left Solona in the room. Once the sound of retreating steps guaranteed their privacy, Solona brushed his mussed hair aside. “I’m here, Alistair. Wherever you are right now, I’m here.”

His breathing, slow and even, confirmed her suspicion. Alistair likely dreamed. The treatments kept him in this state until the full course could be completed. They’d lost two Wardens who had remained conscious. Feeling the tears fall once more, she cursed softly. “Damn the protocols,” she said, pressing her lips against his temple.

Hearing a man clear his throat, Solona hid her face to wipe her tears. Within the first two words, she knew who stood in the door.

“Forgive me.” Cullen’s soft words floated in the darkened room. “Madeleine will return soon, but I wanted to be sure you- both of you-were all right. Marion has to go back to Kirkwall for a few days, but neither of us feels right leaving you. We’ll take Tank with us and come back as soon as possible.”

She appreciated their presence over the weeks since Alistair had arrived. Cullen continued to push Solona and Marion to focus inward and care for themselves. He’d taken care of Tank and served as a buffer between Teagan and the hospital. Marion provided emotional support, keeping the curious away through her unique brand of intimidation, or simply by name-dropping. Ten minutes of pure uncensored Hawke still sold papers. Solona would feel their absence. “Thank you Cullen.”

He handed a slip of paper to her, nodding his head towards the slip. “Friends. Anyone on that list is expecting your call should you need it. I’m afraid Leliana may already be near. She knows well enough to steer clear of you and Alistair.”

Shaking her head, Solona tried to explain. “Cullen, you misunderstand. Alistair had it wrong.”

Standing in a darkened corner, Leliana argued, her hushed voice carrying no less weight. “You’re making a mistake, Solona. If you interfere with Alistair, I won’t hesitate.”

Solona backed into the wall, with no room to move, she asked without thinking, “you would hurt me just to make sure Alistair dies?”

The icy blue stare answered part of Solona’s question. “I consider us friends, Sol. If this Riordan speaks the truth, then I must overlook my contract and allow the Wardens to do what is necessary.”

Solona’s scoff, louder than she’d intended, risked drawing attention. Lowering her voice to a whisper once more, she challenged the information. “He could be wrong.  See what we are trying to do here, please!” Hearing the increase in volume, she exhaled to calm her rising panic. “Dom will take whatever the risk, Alistair must not face Deimon. If we are as you claim, then as my friend you will help me.” 

For the first time since they’d met, Leliana looked away as she answered. “I . . .am sorry. I understand how special he is, but Solona ask yourself why you wish it so.” She stepped closer to the window. “To prevent Alistair from this path is wrong. Perhaps this is why he survived all his trials. This is his fate. Who are you to deny it?”

The light shake of her head grew more pronounced as Solona weighed Leliana’s warning. “No. This is most certainly not his fate. If another will take his place who are you to deny the willing!”  No longer caring who overheard them, Solona’s anger mixed with tears levying all at Leliana. “You kill without thinking! That elf?” She swung her arm gesturing at no one in particular. “That assassin you killed? The contract in question named the Cousland brothers not Alistair! Did you stop and think then? No!”

If Solona’s words troubled the Nightingale, she gave no sign. Her response to Solona’s ranting as quiet as before. “I suspected; Loghain wouldn’t be so careless in Alistair’s death. It would be too convenient, but I could not allow the elf to live.”

Turning back to the window, Solona could hear the approaching footsteps, hurried and loud. She guessed Alistair and Dom heard her shouting. Allowing herself one final chance, Solona continued. “How many more in our party will you kill if it suits you?”

Cullen rested against the doorframe. “Leliana refused to explain the divide. It’s far simpler than I had imagined. You lied to Alistair,” he concluded, “you used Alistair’s feelings for you to sway his decisions.” His eyes shifted from her to Alistair. “Solona, while I understand why you sought to interfere, you risked everything.” His brow creased, as if still contemplating the story, but Cullen offered nothing more.

Surprised at his reaction, Solona admitted her transgression. “You’re right.” She looked to Alistair’s face. “I did more than lie, and at the time I felt it justified.”

Crossing his arms, the disapproval in his set jaw and direct stare could not be misunderstood. “And now? Leliana thinks you might welcome her help, but Alistair was adamant in keeping her away from him. So which is it?”

Solona understood Cullen’s question. He wanted a sign of remorse, proof she had learned a lesson. “I’m sorry Cullen, I know what you want to hear, but I can’t.” She sighed, another glance toward the man resting in the hospital bed. “I’ll tell him everything. He may not like what I have to say, but I want to help him first, then I’ll face the consequences of my actions- no matter where they lead.”

He stepped out into the hall and then turned back. “It’s not me you have to convince of your trustworthiness, Sol. We’ll be back in a few days.”

Chapter Text

A Stranger Came Home

“You’re not thinking about jumping . . .right?” Alistair’s weak laugh dissolved into a long, audible exhale. Solona sat apart from everyone, near the edge staring into the lake of fire beneath them.  She couldn’t dismiss what she’d witnessed. He’d considered using the Golems, pressing them to serve the Wardens, she thought.

Tossing small stones over the edge, she refused to meet his concern. “If we are to be honest with one another, tell me something,” she said.

Solona felt the displacement of air as Alistair knelt behind her.  A gentle hand rested atop her shoulder. “I’ll always be honest with you, Sol. Is this about Caridin?”

The party hadn’t wanted to leave yet, perhaps out of respect for the former Paragon. He’d invented the perfect warrior, immune to corruption of the Blight and to all manner of limitation except one. Minds corrupted by the lust for power using the golems themselves and failed to respect the living essence within the stone.  Rather than allow those who freely sacrificed fall victim against their will, Caridin and his Golems disappeared until Branka found them and the cycle repeated.

Still refusing to face him, she nodded. “Yes. Would you really have conscripted them all? They were bound by their allegiance, then by Branka and you would have bound them to the Wardens’ will.”

“No, Solona, it’s true the golems could have been a powerful ally against the darkspawn but I couldn’t tell Caridin to destroy himself–or decide for any of them. That’s why I offered the Wardens as an option.” Alistair continued, “Cailan would have offered them a place and the protection of Theirin Enterprises, but he’d find a way to make their agreement profitable.” He picked up a small pebble and tossed it over the edge. “Now, Maric? I don’t know what he would have done, but every story I’ve heard or been told suggested Maric knew how to manipulate anyone to get what was best for the company. That’s not who I am, Sol.”

Listening to his words, Solona wanted to believe Alistair, to think he could trade lives for strength disturbed her. Despite her increasing devotion and affections, Solona questioned if Alistair would remain unchanged as his influence increased.  Alistair’s radio buzzed, startling them both; unbalanced, he wobbled and Solona instinctively reached for him, clutching at his harness until he shifted away from the edge.

 “Thanks,” he said, choosing to sit beside Solona. “That would have been embarrassing, not to mention messy.”  Alistair leaned into her, a playful gesture to lighten her mood.

“In that order, Alistair? Never mind the grievous injury, imagine the embarrassment?” Shaking her head, Solona shifted once more on the ground to face him. Alistair’s face burned from his ears to his neck. “You are embarrassed! That’s just . . . too cute, Alistair.”

He groaned and buried his head in his hands. “Cute, she says.” Lifting his head, Solona realized the color had deepened and spread to his face. “I could have been melted and you think it’s cute. Strange woman,” he said raising an eyebrow in mock scrutiny, she laughed and all traces of his teasing disappeared.  “This isn’t about Caridin entirely, is it?”

Caridin and the golems were the catalyst for buried concerns. He’s a Theirin and you’re a mage, the best you can hope for is a little attention, she cautioned herself, help Dom to keep Alistair safe. Stick to the plan. She’d resolved to do whatever necessary to that end, but Solona’s heart and head clashed whenever time allowed her to think beyond immediate survival.

Alistair’s expression darkened. “You can tell me the truth, Solona.”

Taking in a deep breath, Solona sighed as she said his name. “Alistair.” Solona looked away searching for the best words. “Where do you see this going. . . between us?” From his downcast eyes to the growing frown, Solona understood. She wouldn’t like the answer.

Despite his silence, Alistair’s eyes held hers. She sighed far louder than intended, her shoulders folding inward reading his expression as proof. There could be no future between them. Faking her best smile, she straightened giving him a playful push while swallowing her disappointment. “Sorry, bad timing. Let’s forget I asked and get out of here.” She rose, turning from him disheartened, despite the knowledge she had her answer.

Her legs refused to budge- heavy and unwilling to move- holding Solona still. When he appeared in front of her and started to talk, Solona had no choice but to listen.

“Hey. You didn’t give me a chance, Sol.” His eyes glanced down to the ground. “The short answer is I love you.” Taking her hands in his, he delivered the rest. “If I could promise you the stars I would, but I’m a Warden first, and being a Warden I have certain responsibilities.”

Solona couldn’t fully comprehend what being a Warden meant to Alistair, but she heard the reluctance in his voice. “I wish I could give you a better answer,” he said, before leaning towards her and placing a lingering kiss on her cheek. The radio strapped to his body armor buzzed again. “What’s the point of having this thing if it doesn’t work,” he raised his voice, “when I’m trying to be charming! Blast!”

Morrigan yelled from across the chamber. “Tune it properly, you fool!”

Widening eyes stared back at Alistair, Solona pressing her lips together to hold her laughter. Rolling his eyes at Morrigan’s annoyance, Alistair shrugged. “It’s so nice to have her around, wouldn’t you agree?”

Arriving nearer to Solona and Alistair, Morrigan continued to mock Alistair. “’Tis a simple thing, Alistair and as such should be easy for even you to operate.”

Dom spoke to Morrigan asking she avoid another argument, his words while delivered soft and low, met with more scorn. “Shall you wipe his chin next, Domnall? I tell you truly, abandon this fool now and come away.”

Grateful the focus had shifted from her to Alistair; Solona excused herself from the inevitable game of abuses and name-calling between Morrigan and Alistair. The break gave Solona a chance to regroup and push the disappointment out of mind and prepare for the return to the surface. A light tap on her shoulder interrupted her thoughts. Dom knelt and picked up a few of the potions she’d prepared for the return trip.

“You know, we wouldn’t have made it without your help, Sol,” he said handing her the bottles. He hesitated, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Have you . . .given any thought to what we discussed? He’s not going to just walk away from Deimon. I think I know him well enough to guess he’ll try to face him alone.”

Dom spoke of Alistair. That night in Orzammar when he visited her room, he’d been distraught.

“Sol, you have to help me. The dreams. Deimon. . .he’s going to. . .he’s going to kill Alistair.” Dom paced in her small room staring at his feet. He rubbed his face and pulled at his hair.

Unsure how to help him she offered him a sleep draught and herbs to calm him.

“Dammit! If I wanted to sleep more, I’d have asked you!” His body tensed, and Dom’s uncertainties reflected in choppy movements and several starting words only to stop and start again. Facing her with his eyes closed, she waited for him to steady once more. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. Morrigan thinks I’m. . .insane and offered to leave this place with me.”

She nodded in understanding, even if it was unclear to the others Solona could see the bond the two of them shared. Solona couldn’t deny the sting of jealousy in the difference between Dom and Morrigan and her feelings for Alistair, but this wasn’t about her, Dom asked for her help. “You’re not insane, you are more than aware of what’s happened around you and where you fit in.”

He dropped onto the end of the bed and quickly stood, opting for a chair instead muttering. “Bad enough Bhelen followed me here. Last thing I want to do is give anyone in this place any ammunition against one of us.” The subject changed with little effort with Dom, often he’d broach several topics over the course of a conversation. “Tell me you see it too, Sol. These dwarves- especially in Bhelen’s place here-they watch every little thing you do.”

“I have seen it. Bhelen’s always calling after Alistair every few minutes; you’d think Alistair owned the Metal Works and not Bhelen’s family.” Taking Dom’s words to heart, Solona opted for the small vanity bench near the door, in case anyone entered, no one could mistake their conversation as anything more than casual.

Dom relaxed more as the topic shifted to Alistair. “Sol. . .Theirin Enterprises owned the Metal Works. It was gifted back during Calenhad’s time. Humans didn’t have the fortitude to remain underground, and the dwarves already occupied much of the Deep Roads. A few years of excavation connected the Metal Works to the main lines already utilized by the dwarves.”

“I had no idea.” Solona’s response was no lie; she failed to grasp the enormity and reach of the Theirin bloodline. Recognizing the tangent had taken them away from Dom’s concerns, Solona tried to steer him back to the reason for his arrival. “You didn’t come here to talk about Alistair’s family.”

He slumped in the chair and exhaled his voice so soft she strained to hear him. “No. You’re right.” He paused and then sat back in the chair. “Archibald Deimon talks to me when I sleep, he has a score to settle with the Theirin line and aims to wipe them out.”

Dom allowed his revelation to hang heavy in the room before continuing. “Here’s the thing, Sol. I can’t let that happen. I’ve been thinking about this and it’s my responsibility to make sure Alistair lives. I owe to my father to ‘do a Cousland’s duty' as he used to say. I can’t ask Morrigan, she . . .well let’s say Morrigan wouldn’t shed a tear if anything happened to Alistair. And the Nightingale? If I try to ask her for help, she’ll tell Alistair and we can’t let him know.” Dom met her eyes and asked his final question. “Will you help me?” 

Solona had agreed that night to help Dom, she’d made him a pack full of the strongest potions known. Modern body armor and fancy weapons worked against the modern times. Archibald Deimon, however the Wardens, the Templars and many others saw him was not a product of this Thedas; Solona and Dom speculated he was an ancient evil. Dom would need every advantage; from regeneration potions, to those brewed to thicken skin, and protection from magic. She worked at night away from Wynne; her mentor would note the ingredients and methods used and object. Solona convinced Morrigan to teach her how to imbue weapons and their body armor with enhancements and protections.

One problem remained. The party would return to Denerim and united with their allies demand a final stand against Deimon; the singular hindrance to their plan revolved around Alistair and preventing him from fighting. 

Ascending to the surface would take time, but once above ground the return to Denerim would take but a few days. If Leliana proved as resourceful as she had so far, Solona expected to see a fleet of trucks, fully stocked and waiting for them.

___________

Madeleine said little, noticing the break in Solona’s recollection. After a few minutes of silence, Madeleine followed Solona’s stare to the sleeping Alistair.  “He’ll be all right. Alistair’s too stubborn to stay content with all this attention.” Silence covered the room again until the younger woman posed a question.  “It was all real then? Those creatures, the darkspawn-that thing you saw with the teats and the-”

Solona interrupted Madeleine. “Yes. All of it. I still wake from horrible visions sometimes. I’ll admit having Tank around did chase the bad dreams away. The worst still come from the fight atop Drakon Tower.” She glanced down at Alistair. “I wonder if Alistair’s sleep is as restless as mine. He’s been fairly quiet, but I suspect all the concoctions we’ve given him have something to do with his quiet rest. He’s not exactly quiet when he sleeps.” Solona waved her comment away. “Forget I said that, inappropriate to have mentioned it.”

Madeleine leaned forward a smile crossing her face for the first time that day. “You can’t share something like that and take it back.” She tossed her notepad into her bag. “See, no notes, I’m curious.”

Glancing once again at him, a half smile graced Solona’s face. “He talks or talked, in his sleep. Sometimes I could have these strange and wonderful conversations with Alistair and in the morning, he claimed I made it all up. One day, maybe he’ll admit that he knew all along and wasn’t really sleeping.”

What should have been a sweet and endearing glimpse into Solona and Alistair left Madeleine with a bitterness she hadn’t expected. Alistair’s depiction of Solona did not fit the woman she’d listened to over the past few days. Madeleine’s conflicted view refused to allow Solona to continue under the pretense of a possible reconciliation with Alistair. “It’s not my place, but you should know Alistair believes you betrayed him, and he said as much on numerous occasions. I’m sorry, but you’re doing all this for him and he talked about you in such a-”

Closing her eyes as she nodded, Solona replied, “I know.” The arrival of the afternoon reports halted their conversation.

Madeleine shifted uncomfortably in her seat, concerned she’d crossed a line by sharing her impressions, but Solona Amell proved to be the opposite of Alistair’s claims. A mage, yes, but one so focused on Alistair’s health and survival rather than his assessment of someone so self-involved she planned to deceive him from the beginning. It disturbed Madeleine. A piece was missing; some critical event unshared, and Madeleine believed once revealed, might alter the futures of these two. Everything rested on Alistair. “Good news?” Madeleine had to ask twice, Solona so focused on the pages.

The rustle of flipped pages, followed by soft-spoken words and a loud sigh suggested the results were not to Solona’s liking. “The change is far slower than I’d hoped, but he is improving.” Closing the door, Solona returned to her seat near Alistair’s bed. “I should thank you for your concern, but it’s ill placed.”

“But I thought Alistair’s accusations were wrong,” Madeleine explained. “Are you saying you and Dom-”

“Never,” Solona interrupted, “Dom was. . .so special, but other than friendship and a desire to protect Alistair, neither of us ever considered the other. Dom loved Morrigan. When she’d found the ritual, he volunteered immediately, without full comprehension of what Morrigan had planned.” The confusion on Madeleine’s face led Solona to continue her story. “The road to Denerim offered little, save rising anxieties and plans within plans. When we arrived, everything fell apart.”

_____________

“Alistair, you have responsibilities. There are thousands of people counting on Theirin Enterprises and you continue to operate under an assumption of total freedom.” Eamon dropped a stack of papers and folders in front of Alistair. “These require your attention.” Standing before Solona and Dom, Eamon sighed. “Thank you for seeing Alistair to Denerim, but I’m afraid both of you must leave. Mister Theirin has much to learn prior to the Landsmeet Foundation assembly, and the distraction will not help him prepare.”

Gripping the side of the desk, Alistair issued a warning. “You’re out of line, Eamon.”

“Alistair, I will not embarrass you in front of your friends out of respect, but I expect the same.” Eamon delivered his speech, but his condescending tone underlined the reprimand.  “I would prefer you address me as your uncle. In spite of your belief, we are family.”

The smash of the desk chair against the wall startled Solona; Alistair’s anger, evidenced by the snarl on his lips and rising red tinge to his face exploded into the small office. “What gives you the right to question my freedom and my friends?” Alistair raised his arms gesturing around the room. “At what point did I agree to any of this?” Stepping around the desk Alistair stood next to Solona. “I am a Grey Warden. My mission is to stop the Blight and destroy Archibald Deimon; now that it’s convenient for you to recognize me, uncle, I have no need of you or family other than the two people standing here with me.”

The older man’s shoulders dropped. “Alistair.”

Solona gripped his hand. Not to stop the flow of words, but to tell him he mattered.

“No. That will not work on me Eamon. Where was all this concern a year ago? Five years ago? Ten years ago?” Giving her hand a squeeze in return, Alistair shrugged out of her grip. “Shall I go back until the first time that woman broke my arm for being a boy of five and getting in her way? Tell me, Eamon? Why now?” He pointed at Eamon, accusatory and directed words cutting to the core.  “Because I am the last living meal ticket you will ever have. Lose the seat on the Landsmeet and you stand to lose everything. I’m not nearly as stupid or pliable as everyone seems to think. You need me. Theirin Enterprises will fall to the MacTir family if I refuse to take the lead. The Landsmeet Foundation falls to the MacTir family if the board refuses to accept me as its head.” Alistair snatched a piece of paper from the desk. “Every precious little thing daddy built,” he said crumpling the paper in his hand, “destroyed- taking you along for the ride.” Tossing the paper in the waste bin, and pleased with his tirade, Alistair concluded. “Now get the hell out of my way and let me finish what I set out to do. If I live through that, then we’ll talk.”

Wide eyes stared back at Alistair, neither Solona nor Dom certain if they should leave or stay. After several moments of stifling and uncomfortable silence, Alistair directed the two toward the door. “Let’s go. I’m done here.”

The conversation shifted to Dom and Alistair. Both wanted to meet with the leaders of each of the groups who pledged their help, but Solona’s thoughts returned to Alistair’s words. The convenience of Loghain’s plans to take Theirin Enterprises and Deimon’s return engrossed her. “Alistair, we need to talk. Now.”

The two men stopped mid conversation. “Sol?”

“I need a phone and the number to reach Kelvin.” She turned to Dom, “Find Leliana, too. We’ll need a place to talk. The guardhouse should work; I don’t want to explain it more than once because I’ll likely dismiss my idea as a complete loss of reason.”

The click of the radio and a moment of static gave way to a hurried conversation between Dom and Leliana. Alistair asked question upon question, but Solona refused to explain, pulling him through the halls and out into the courtyard toward the guardhouse. She waited as Alistair explained their needs to the guard captain and found it curious when several of the men rushed out of the building

Alistair returned to her side, his expression relaxed. “Well my dear, you are in luck. Master Kelvin apparently arrived while we were in Orzammar and the captain assured me his men would bring Kelvin here for your meeting. I can tell you’re plotting something, but I can’t figure it out,” he said, wagging his finger at her.

The need to change the subject until the others arrived took Solona to an even darker thought. “Alistair, your childhood . . .the things you said. . .who would do that to a child?”

A slow nod confirmed Alistair’s experience. “Hate is a strong word but Eamon’s wife, Isolde, she hated me. Despised me. What I said back there? That was one broken bone. Let’s just say there were many falls, many more clumsy mistakes and even more convenient absences by those who could have stopped her.” 

She wanted to console him, tell him he was safe with her. Solona had never experienced such cruelty. What amazed her was his capacity for love and joy in spite of what he’d endured. A thought occurred to her and without hesitation, she blurted out, “you need to take over Theirin Enterprises, Alistair. You. It’s never been more important a Theirin continue.”

He disagreed, and when Alistair attempted to protest, Solona stopped his speech, touching his lips with her fingers. “Being a Theirin means more than just money and power, Alistair. Bearing the name affords you the opportunity to make Ferelden stronger and safer for all Fereldans. Pretend all you like with me, but you have the compassion and understanding of what it means to live and survive without protection. You can change it. You will change Ferelden and not for any other reason than it is the right thing to do.”

His head shook back and forth; meeting her eyes, he forced the words out. “Even if it means that you and me. . .that we. . .Solona. You don’t understand what you’re asking of me. There’s more to this.”

The sharp jangling ring of the phone cut their conversation. The guard captain’s discussion with the caller, short and harsh, caught their attention. “Ser! Two men have arrived, both injured.  Fergus Cousland and a Warden from Orlais claimed they escaped from a nearby estate.” 

Chapter Text

Folding her arms, Solona waited for the laughter to subside. Neither Alistair nor Dom took her discovery as a serious observation. Loghain is helping Archibald Deimon, I couldn’t have been clearer, she thought, lips pressing together; Solona’s annoyance grew as the two men laughed.

Her glassy stare and raised brow caught Alistair’s attention. “Sol, thank you. That was great! I needed the laugh.” He straightened seeing her reaction. “Only. . .you’re not laughing.” Alistair smacked Dom’s arm, hoping to get the other man’s attention. “Wait. You’re not actually serious about this. If that were true he’d be. . .well I don’t want to imagine what it means.”

A thickly accented voice spoke from the doorway.  “It means the lady speaks the truth, Warden Alistair.” Riordan, the Warden from Orlais, struggled to stand with Leliana’s help. Seeing his difficulty, Alistair rushed to his side.

“There is no need to fuss, I need a day of rest, but we must plan on both fronts. Preparations to face Archibald Deimon require precision tactics and someone must uncover the proof of Loghain’s treachery.” 

A thick folio of papers spread before them, Solona shuffled through the pages pointing out each document as she explained. “Kelvin gave this packet to Alistair. I’d taken it with us to Orzammar, at Kelvin’s insistence,” she said, “this is the proof you seek and this is the reason for the raid on the estate.”

A light brush of Alistair’s warm fingers turned her attention away from the group. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His question, laced with concern and disbelief drew a sigh from her.

Solona attempted to justify her actions. “You were preoccupied, and I had to be sure. To accuse Loghain MacTir of conspiring against the Theirin family required more than a guess. Dom helped fill in the politics of the Landsmeet Foundation and his father’s business dealings.” She did not miss the slight lift in Alistair’s left eyebrow, a tick indicating he didn’t quite trust what he heard. “Dom had the knowledge I needed to piece this together.”

She pulled out a land agreement from Highever. “These are the land rights to Dom’s family holdings. I couldn’t figure out why they were mixed into this pile until I found the handwritten letter.”  Heart pounding at the thought of disappointing Alistair she tried to hand the letter to him. “Look at it,” she said, the strength of her voice waning with his disapproving demeanor.

Unable to watch the exchange any longer, Leliana took the letter and read it aloud. “Deliver the line to me as promised and at the close of our transactions, the rights are yours.” Leliana turned the paper over. “I don’t see how this explains anything.”

Holding his hand out, Dom asked for the paper. “Of course it does. Deliver the line. My family, none of us were to survive. The rights are yours. The survey and deeds, those are copies from the Landsmeet Foundation. You can see the LF embossed in the corner. Someone paid for those documents.” He crossed to show Alistair. “Look at the script. It’s burned right into the paper. This is not normal writing.”

“It’s Deimon,” explained Riordan. “He’s sent his demands in the same manner. I’ve seen these pages in the archives at Weisshaupt HQ.” He sat awkwardly, rubbing his head. “We must wait for Archibald Deimon to issue his challenge.”

Riordan explained that Deimon, should he sense his chances for success diminished, would issue a challenge only to those Wardens he deemed worthy. “It has been done so in ages past, I assume it shall be here as well. While we wait, Loghain must be dealt with, you will find Rendon Howe locked away in a cell at his estate,” he said turning to Dom, “Your brother found me in his search for you. I am grateful.”

Dom gripped Solona’s hand. “Thanks to this lovely lady and the Nightingale, of course, Fergus is on his way back to Highever with a contingent of men.” Releasing Solona’s hand, Dom offered his hand to Leliana. “Thank you for arranging the passage for my brother. I owe both of you so much.”

As Dom talked on, Solona shifted her attention to Alistair. The deep crease in his brow and pronounced scowl drew her to his side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, “finish your conversation, I have. . . Eamon’s expecting me.” Before he finished speaking Alistair turned from her leaving the guardhouse, Solona staring after him.

She hesitated, wanting to talk more with Riordan and enlist his help to keep Alistair from harm, but she followed him out into the yard. The training area held target posts and bales of hay, and there is where Alistair paced. His hands gestured wildly as he paced back and forth.

Keeping her distance, she witnessed his silent tirade escalate as frustration gripped Alistair’s frame, arms covering his head. It pained her to see the turmoil he faced alone, and while Solona could never hope to understand what Alistair experienced, she could not sit back and leave him to his torment.

So engrossed, Alistair did not react to Solona’s approaching steps. Only when she called to him, her voice unsure and timid did he acknowledge her sighing as he spoke. “Solona. Is there something you needed?”

Uncertain how he might react, and yet unwilling to be cautious, Solona hurried to him, enveloping him in a hug. He stiffened, but Solona held tight. His lack of response worried her that she might be the cause of his exasperation. Despite Alistair’s rigid stance, Solona refused to let go; her hand traveled up and down his back to soothe him. Resignation took the place of hopefulness, a soft admission of her love for him offered as he shrugged free, leaving her in the training yard.

_________________

Madeleine searched her bag, but Solona reached across the bed with the box of tissues. “Are you all right? I didn’t realize that would upset you.”

Shaking her head Madeleine explained. “I’m upset because Alistair got it all wrong,” she said, “Solona, Bhelen’s men must have lied to Alistair, told him of your meeting and set him to believe that you . . .that you and Dom-”

“It’s likely, yes,” Solona conceded, “but some blame must fall to me, even if Bhelen set things in motion, I should have involved Alistair in my discussions. At the time, it seemed the right thing to do, but it wasn’t.” Stretching, Solona invited Madeleine to accompany her on a brief walk. “He’ll be all right without us for a little while.”

The two women took a leisurely pace through the sundrenched gardens, Solona closed her eyes and smiled. “I used to come here during my breaks. There’s a rose garden just beyond that row of hedges, Theirin Memorial Rose Garden.” She laughed. “What do you call a woman unwilling to let the past fade?”

Madeleine couldn’t think of a response. “I don’t know.”

The two walked in silence, finally returning to Alistair’s room to administer another treatment. Madeleine watched the practiced motions of a healer as Solona tended to the Warden. When she sat, Solona picked up the conversation where they had stopped.

“When I was asked by Teagan Guerrin to join Theirin Pharmaceuticals, I almost declined,” she explained, “it should have been clear at that point any possibility of reconciliation had passed. I tried to talk with Alistair during the trial, you know. My cousin Marion proved effective in blocking every attempt. Even after I’d completed the Joining, he refused. I hoped maybe some sort of Warden code would force him to talk with me.”

“The. . . the joining? You became a Warden? How? When? Why would you do that?” Madeleine’s disbelief at Solona’s apparent devotion carried through in her words. “I’ve read the transcripts, the Joining isn’t certain, more than half die in the process.”

Leaning back in her chair, Solona’s gaze unfocused. “Duncan chose me for a reason, I gambled that I might have a chance at survival and I had a theory to test, a way to free both the Templars from their addiction and grant a Warden a second chance at life.”

Madeleine’s attempts to justify such extreme measures failed. “You risked death to save him?”

“Yes, and no, not just Alistair. Within the Templars, there were enough retired soldiers willing to give anything a try to end their lyrium dependencies, and the supply of lyrium proved readily available.” Solona leaned forward. “Not so with the Wardens.”

“I don’t understand.” While the secrecy surrounding the Warden initiation had remained intact during Alistair’s trial, there were plenty of speculations, each more disturbing than the last.

“Unfortunately, my former association with the Wardens prevents me from discussing the process, but without the knowledge, I could not find a cure.” Solona’s explanation, no matter how vague, piqued Madeleine’s curiosity.

“You willingly accepted the risk just to devise a cure?” The idea of self-sacrifice for a greater good just didn’t happen anymore. There had to be more to the story.

“I formulated the cure and tested it on myself, if I failed, no one else would suffer my failures. Unethical to be sure, but I saw no other way.”

A barking laughing from the door pulled their attention. Marion Hawke stood arms crossed. “Leave it to our family to do stupid shit without a plan. If I ever find the asshole who agreed to help you.”

Solona pursed her lips and faced her cousin. “You did. He’s dead.”

Hawke’s face darkened as understanding took hold. “Anders?” Forgetting her surroundings, Marion surged deeper into the room, causing Madeleine to recoil in her chair.  “Are you saying Anders did this? The bastard lied to me!” Her anger descended on the small room, but Hawke quickly adjusted to a whisper. “You know what? The two of you,” she pointed to the sleeping Alistair, “really do deserve one another, it’s too bad you’re both too damn thick to make it work.” Marion wheeled around leaving the two women stunned.

“I guess Marion is back,” Solona offered. “Don’t let her intimidate you, Marion really does care about Alistair; I’d like to think she still cares for me somewhere deep in that angry head of hers.” Solona paused as if she planned to continue her train of thought. “When Alistair left me in the yard-"

Eyes widening Madeleine leaned in, “wait, he left. . .really left you?” She stammered trying to make sense of Solona’s words, “you mean he left you standing alone, right?”

Rubbing her arms, Solona attempted to clarify.

__________________

Still reeling from the coldness Alistair had shown, Solona sought out a friendly ear. There was one person she could trust would keep her confidence; Solona guessed Eamon’s steward Kelvin would likely be in his office. Remembering the way, she guided herself to the small office near the residential wing and discovered Kelvin reading through stacks of papers and files.  Concern etched deeper lines into the older man’s brow, but he smiled in genuine kindness at Solona’s approach.

“Miss Amell, have you further questions that I might answer? I believe I have discovered another piece of information that might be of interest.” Gesturing to the chair across from his desk, he stood as she approached to her amusement. “There are still those who rise when a lady approaches, are there not?”

“A practice that has all but disappeared, I’m afraid,” she said, “I’m a mage, not a lady.”

Kelvin’s rich laugh covered the room in warmth. “I see. Then forgive me for clinging to such antiquated beliefs, dear lady.” He sat, folding his hands resting them on a pile of papers. “Then how may a servant aid a mage.”

Solona had to concede Kelvin’s veiled words. “I apologize. I meant no disrespect, thank you for your kindness.” The words struggled to form for Solona, she opened her mouth to speak and found nothing.

Leaning back in his chair, Kelvin’s grin faded. “Ah. Alistair,” he said, “he is more like his father than perhaps even he realizes and you, dear lady, have a decision to make.”

She wondered what Kelvin meant shifting in her chair. “A decision?”

“I wasn’t always the Steward for the Geurrin household, when Cailan was young, I assisted Maric Theirin.“

The idea intrigued her, the stories of Maric Theirin stretched across Ferelden spoke of his generosity but also his shrewd sense of loyalty to Fereldans. “Was it true, the story of Loghain and Maric? They worked together to reclaim Theirin Enterprises after Maric’s mother passed away?”  Shuffling papers on his desk, Solona could see the restraint as Kelvin did not answer immediately. “What is it?”

He sighed, a weary smile still managing to crease the lines around his eyes. “Loghain MacTir was not business oriented. He had very little, no land, no funds, but he was taken in by the world Maric represented.” Kelvin leaned back, continuing his story. “Loghain did help, that is true. But what he gained corrupted him; Maric gave him a deed, a home, and a job.”

“That wasn’t enough for Loghain though, right Kelvin?” Behind her, a caustic and bitter voice interrupted. She turned to see Alistair leaning against the door. “And in return he killed my brother to steal it all. Why have but a little when you can own it all?”

Worry crossed her face seeing Alistair so jaded, so angry. “With the documents we have, you can demand Loghain’s removal from Theirin Enterprises and the Landsmeet Foundation.”

She wasn’t prepared for the deep frown that followed her assurances. When he fixed his stare to her, she gasped. “And you, my dear Solona, what will you take from me?”

Appalled, Kelvin stood ready to defend her. “Alistair. Exactly what are you saying?”

Deliberate steps carried Alistair closer to Solona. “What did the Couslands promise you?”

“Nothing,” she said, meeting his steeled gaze. “I asked for nothing, and they offered nothing. I was helping you.” Solona paused thinking of his cold reaction to her affection, adding his accusation and scorn she formulated her next statement with care. “Whatever the misunderstanding between us, Alistair, you and Dom have a task to complete.” She thanked Kelvin and asked for his help. “Kelvin, make sure the information we discovered is used to remove Loghain.“

Solona refused to allow emotions to take hold of her, returning to her room to gather only her personal effects, leaving anything Alistair or Leliana provided. No one stopped her as she walked through the halls, her bag slung across her body. She offered no explanation when the guards opened the gate of the estate. 

The walk into the city would take time, but Solona welcomed the quiet.

 At first, the presence of the dark car behind her did not trouble her until it sped ahead and blocked her path. Priming her magic, she prepared for the worst.

Chapter Text

Eyes followed Solona. Searching the chamber, none of the families gathered acknowledged where she stood. What had Deimon said? Insignificant.

In a rush of air a scent enveloped her, familiar and altogether terrifying. Earthy and rich at first, changing, growing more pungent and acrid until her eyes watered. The Deep Roads.  Charred flesh and rot filled her nostrils threatening to upend her stomach.

Frantic searching of the room yielded nothing, until one attendant on the far end moved aside. Hand covering her gasp, her vision focused on a man standing alone; head bowed, his long hair obscuring his face.

Deimon. Instinct demanded she react, shield the people or shout for Alistair’s help, but she feared Archibald Deimon’s appearance to be vision. To reveal what she was to those gathered would hurt Alistair, she’d have to be sure to risk exposure.

Deimon’s pale hands gripped an onyx cane tipped in silver. The long charcoal coat fluttered around his legs as if he stood in a steady breeze, but the air inside the Landsmeet chamber remained still.

Eyes fixed, she stepped back watching him reach for a watch on a long silver chain.

His mocking voice whispered into her ear as the man across the room stared at his watch. Tick, tock, my dear, with every word Alistair slips away from you. Only you can save him. Pity.

Unable to move, Solona stared as Deimon lifted his head slowly to meet her eyes; his grin growing at her visible horror. He bowed, an exaggerated flourish and deep bend at the waist quickly hidden as attendants moved in front of him. When the path cleared again, Deimon had disappeared.

Solona shivered, a tingle of air at her ear. Dread rising, the displacement behind her revealed someone stood far too close, whispering to her. “Tick. Tock.”

Wheeling around, the space behind her proved empty. A firm hand gripping her elbow caused her to wobble in fear.

“Sol,” Dom asked, his voice low, but no less filled with concern. “Are you ill? You’re pale.” Dom quickly waved Alistair over to her, despite her protests.

Seeing the two together, Alistair frowned but recovered as Solona closed her eyes and gripped her hands tight. “Deimon,” she croaked. “There across the room. I swear it was him.” The tremor in her hands proof enough for the Wardens something had frightened her.

Before they could investigate, the meeting came to order. Alistair exhaled, and took Solona’s hand, a brief kiss on her palm. “Wish me luck,” he said.

“You don’t need it. You will succeed.” The words sounded strong in her ear, but a crooked glance back from Alistair made her wonder if she’d said something off.

Dom would be at Alistair’s side, but he lingered long enough to talk with her. “Sol. Meet me tonight at the guardhouse, I saw a note in his papers. Alistair has to see Eamon. We need to figure out how to handle Drakon Tower.” Gentle hands touched her shoulders and sighed at her concern. “Sol, trust me, I will not let Deimon near Alistair. I promise you,” he said. “First, we need to get Cailan’s seat back.”

___________

At the conclusion of the Landsmeet, Loghain MacTir waited in an antechamber under guard. Thanks to Solona and Kelvin, the clerks in the records division found Anora MacTir’s signature on the information request. Only Loghain’s assertion he coerced his daughter to cooperate would keep her from prosecution.

Not only had Alistair reclaimed the Theirin seat, he’d secured the vote to succeed Cailan as the head of Theirin Enterprises, setting Teagan Guerrin to act in his name. The return to Eamon’s estate proved less joyful.

Eager to return to Denerim City, the chauffeured car offered Alistair and Solona time to talk in private. The ride from the Landsmeet Foundation, several miles outside Denerim City, wouldn’t take long, but Alistair remained silent, staring out the window.   

“You’re sulking,” Solona said, reaching for Alistair’s hand, “why is that?”

Slipping his hand away from hers, he shifted to face her. “What is going on between you and Dom?”

She sighed, unsure how to convince Alistair of their friendship. “Alistair, I have no interest in Dom. None. I love you.”

Alistair huffed through his nose and turned away. “See, here’s the thing. When a concerned party tells you that your . . . well, you and Dom ran off to be alone in your room in Orzammar, how is that nothing?”

Eventually Solona expected this conversation. Bhelen had to have painted their innocent meeting as a clandestine tryst going on behind Alistair’s back. “We met in my room. That is true.”

His grumbling response and shift further towards the window prompted Solona to explain further. She struggled to keep calm; any emotional outburst, Alistair would believe an act on her part.

“He sat against one wall, and I sat near the door. At no time did anything inappropriate pass between us.” She continued unsure if he listened, but Solona could not stop. “He told me of his nightmares and asked for my help. Alistair, please, nothing happened.”

Without facing her, he spoke in between long sighs and a resigned tone he leaned his head against the car window. “I keep thinking back to Cullen in the Circle. He was surprised when you didn’t want to go with him. Do you remember that?” Pausing, Alistair leaned back against the seat, eyes closed. “I want to believe you Solona. I can’t stop thinking about you. . .but maybe I need to try.”

“If that’s what you want,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Still refusing to face her, he continued. “It’s like Wynne said, you’re a mage and I’m a Theirin-”

Solona pounded on the roof of the car interrupting him. “Stop the car! Stop the fucking car right now or I’ll jump!” She couldn’t continue the constant pleading with him, always having to justify her conversations and interactions. Alistair had changed and the man who emerged no longer listened to her.

The driver slowed pulling to the side of the road; even before he came to a complete stop, she wrenched the door open to Alistair’s surprise. “Solona, what are you doing?”

The ferocity of her anger surprised them both, cursing at him as she left and stalking away from the car.  The way he’d said the word mage; to her ears he’d reduced her to some inferior class to justify his jealousies.  

“Solona, please, get in the car.” Waving him away, she continued on foot, Alistair running after her. “Solona.”

She wheeled around, ignoring the tears on her face. “See, here’s the thing!” She threw his words back at him. “I can’t stop thinking about your words, that night in Denerim. Maybe you’ve forgotten. Maybe all this ‘I’m a Theirin’ nonsense is who you really are.” Refusing to close the distance between them, she continued to yell. You told me you didn’t care what I was, that you wanted me,” she pointed to her chest, “Did the mage misunderstand you, Mister Theirin?”

Alistair rubbed his face, revealing a downturned mouth. His earlier stoic behavior gave way to kinder voice, his hands reaching towards her. “I meant what I said- I still do. Sol, forgive me. Just tell me the truth and I’ll believe you.”

“I have been!” Solona spied a service car and flagged it down. “I’m done. I don’t care what Deimon said, I’m not staying to watch anything unfold.” Climbing into the car, Solona instructed the driver to drop her off at the Geurrin estate offering him a bonus for a quick arrival.

At the gate, she pushed past the guards and continued without speaking to any. Even Wynne and Leliana could not deter Solona from leaving this time. Packing her gear once more, this time she opted to take the body armor. “I can still fight, even if I am just a mage.”

She could see him in the mirror. Alistair waited at the door his saddened expression an early attempt at apologizing. “Don’t worry, Alistair, I’m only taking the things that belong to me. No need to assume I’m a thief as well as a filthy mage.”

“Solona,” he sighed.

Shoving the last few items into her bag, she removed the locket from around her neck. “Here. This is yours,” she said holding it out to Alistair. He opened his mouth to answer and then said nothing. “I wouldn’t want to be accused of taking advantage of your kindness.”

“Stop,” the earlier edge to his voice gave way to a softer tone. “Solona. I want to believe you. . .no, I should believe you. Without your help, none of this would have happened. Without you, there’s no reason to fight.”

Once more, she held her hand out to him, grasping the chain tight in her fingers. “You don’t trust me.”

Rubbing his face once more, he growled, forcing her to step back. “Sol. It’s . . . complicated.  I never wanted this. I. . .don’t want any of this. Not the company, not the foundation-I don’t care about being a Theirin, whatever that means. You want to know why I put Teagan in charge?”

She stared at him, knowing and yet dreading the answer.

“I’m going to die, Solona. For Cailan, Duncan and for you I will face Deimon and end this.” He looked at her and then glanced at the locket, a half smile on his lips. “Keep it, maybe at some point you’ll forgive me for being so taken with you, the thought of you with anyone else-I’m sorry. Teagan will give you whatever you need. Please stay.”

One final chance to convince him would slip away as soon as Alistair walked from her room. “Alistair. I have not lied to you.”  He reached out to her, and for a moment Solona thought he meant to embrace her.

A light tug on the locket chain released it into his hand.  “May I?” He asked, shifting his body behind hers.  Not waiting for her reply, Alistair draped the chain around her neck, fastened the clasp and kissed her cheek. “I have to meet with Eamon, but will talk with you later, if you’ll let me.”

Her assurances given, Solona hoped Alistair’s meeting would last long enough to cover her own with Dom. Hoping their plans to discuss Alistair’s safety at the Tower could not be misconstrued in any way, Dom’s choice of the guardhouse, remained a public place, where they would be seen talking in full view of any passersby.

Frayed nerves set her on edge, but Dom’s calming presence helped her to focus. “What about Alistair?”

“Don’t worry about Alistair, I think I can handle him.” Surprised at her conviction, Solona had to fake an injury or deliberately injure herself to slow Alistair down.

“You must distract him for this to work. Can you do that?” Dom rubbed his neck and paced in a small circle.

Solona took in his uncertainties lessening her earlier confidence. “Can you? If you do this, if we do this, Alistair might never forgive me or you.” The quiver in her voice turned to tears. So much resting on keeping Alistair away from the thirtieth floor, and Solona’s doubts grew as they spoke.

Holding her, Dom’s soft words of reassurance did little to end her tears. “Forget I asked. I’ll go on ahead once we meet with Riordan. I’ll get Morrigan’s help. She’d love to thwart Alistair’s plans of glory. Her words, not mine.” Dom stood with her until Solona calmed enough to return to the estate.

On the walk back, Dom explained one of Morrigan’s strange ideas. A ritual she’d discovered in her mother’s book-a way to save the Wardens from death. The more he explained Solona laughed. Dom, seeing her relaxed continued to make jokes. “I told her she didn’t have to come up with an excuse for sex; a knock on my door was sufficient ritual enough.”

Solona waited in her room for Alistair's return well past midnight. When he did not visit as he’d said she took to the halls to find him. Dom found her first. “Solona. . .Alistair told Morrigan he found us together.”

“What? But, that’s not. . .we didn’t!” She understood why Alistair hadn’t returned.

“I messed up.” He said, rubbing his face. “Morrigan . . .she’s furious.” Dom explained she’d thrown him out of her room, ranting about her mother being right about the fallacy of a truthful man.

“Dom, she’ll be all right. Give her time, let’s get through tomorrow.” Solona offered, knowing it was never as simple at that.

“Sol, that’s why I’m looking for Alistair, but maybe you can convince him,” he said, “Morrigan’s ritual, what if it’s real? What if none of us have to die? What then? Maybe Alistair. I thought I could ask him but I can’t.” Frantic, he gripped her shoulders. “ I really don’t want to die.”

“I won’t let that happen,” she promised, “to either of you.”

Planning her words carefully as she walked, Solona didn’t believe in Morrigan’s ritual, but Dom did. Convincing Alistair to listen to her at all, let alone take part in a ritual that might be nothing more than the rantings of a lunatic witch would be a near impossibility.

She knocked on his door and waited, still unsure what to say.

The door opened, revealing Alistair’s mottled face and blank expression. “What,” he said. Just a word, no meaning, no inflection.  

Solona launched into her explanation of Dom, Morrigan’s ritual and how it would guarantee their survival.

He waited until she stopped to take a breath. “Let me understand this, because I must be missing the punch line,” he began, “you want me to fuck Morrigan because you and Dom messed up. Have I got that right?” His eyebrow raised as he continued. “But it’s even better than just sex with that venomous witch, am I right? If I do this. . .we are guaranteed to walk away from the fight tomorrow.”

He’d never spoken to her with such hatred. All her efforts to appeal to him met with the same disdain and condemnation.  The resulting argument revealed Alistair had hidden in the guardhouse and witnessed their discussion, or pieces of it from his hiding spot. Alistair’s anger had been absolute, Solona did not sleep her thoughts focused on him, and the weight of what would come with the sunrise stealing all hope of rest.

_____________

“Sol, I don’t know where Alistair is, we have to go. It’s almost noon, I have to get to the tower in time.” She’d left before dawn and joined the Legionnaires not caring about her survival, following them on the push toward One Drakon Tower. When Dom found her, she’d been fighting alongside the dwarves for hours against the advancing horde.

“Morrigan’s gone, I can’t find her. Leliana and Sten are keeping the residential area clear with Shale and Wynne. I need your help Sol.” Deimon’s instructions were clear. He would face the Wardens at noon on the thirtieth floor of the Tower.

Solona explained her departure to the Commander, and Kardol promised to follow as soon as the Legion cleared the market. The closer the two advanced to the office tower, Solona noticed the darkspawn weren’t attacking them, they waited, eyes to the sky. The thirtieth floor, she thought.

One Drakon Tower stood empty. The polished tiles in the lobby reflected only their presence and not their forms. A trail of blood drops and splatters caught Solona’s attention leading them to the elevator bank; someone was injured and needed help. Pressing the call button, only one door opened, and inside she found a man slumped against the wall in body armor, his blood pooled around him; the hint of reddish brown hair set her into motion.

“Alistair!” Solona rushed forward, the doors sealing her inside. Dom’s frantic calls to her futile in effort as the elevator rose.

Pulling out potions and poultices, Solona turned Alistair towards her to see his face change, a grotesque grin taking the place of Alistair’s own.  In seconds, the bloody body armor and visage of Alistair dissolved until Archibald Deimon stood on his own, brushing the dust from his coat and straightening his tie. “Oh dear. Did my little ruse fool you? I’m sorry my dear, but I’m afraid you’re the bait.”

Trapped inside the elevator, the floors passed slowly Deimon rocking back and forth on his heels. “Right now, our heroes converge in the empty lobby, young Cousland recounting the blood trail and the bloody Warden within.” Picking at an errant piece of lint, Deimon watched the floors pass. “No doubt the valiant Alistair vows to save you, or is it young Cousland? I dare say both men are quite confused who is more worthy to be your Champion.” A mock gasp from Deimon set Solona’s heart racing. “I may have toyed with Alistair’s sense of what was real; for my part in this delicious drama I do apologize.”

Solona understood. “It was you. I never asked him to send Leliana away, Dom convinced her to stay in spite of Alistair’s rantings. Bhelen’s men never told him anything! It was you who poisoned his thoughts.”

Whistling a happy tune, Deimon did not reply.

Solona backed into the far wall. “No, dear Solona, there is nowhere to go. Rest assured you will arrive at the appointed place unharmed,” he sighed, “but your beloved, the last of the Theirin line dies and with it, Ferelden is mine.”

The doors opened onto the thirtieth floor. Solona walked behind Deimon, slow and steady, waiting for her moment. When they ventured out into the open lobby, she ran.  A wall of flame rose in front of her halting her escape.

"It’s another illusion, just another illusion," she said reaching tentatively toward the flames. A searing hand grabbed her wrist.

“I promise you the flames are quite real. If you wish to run headlong into a burning wall at the conclusion of the evening, then I shall oblige, but for now I need you unharmed. Sit, if you would.“

She continued to struggle, forcing Deimon to lose his amicable tone. “Sit and be still or I shall bring one of my ogres to hold you still. I guarantee it will not be as agreeable.”

Conceding the truth of his words, Solona dropped into one of the oversized waiting room chairs. The chime of the elevator resonated in the open space, setting Solona to the edge of her chair. The flash of a blade moved her back.

Three Wardens exited running towards her, but the sight of a gun pointed at her in the hands of her captor terrified her. Remembering his words, she’d outlived her usefulness and waited.  

“No!” Alistair shouted.

Solona could not see Deimon’s expression, but the wide eyes and looks of horror from Alistair and Dom told her she would likely die in seconds.

“Choose, my dear,” said her captor. “Who dies?”

Dom held Alistair back, Solona’s heart ripped seeing the pain on Alistair’s face. “I’m sorry,” she said, meeting his eyes. Turning to face the creature standing next to her she stood. “Me,” she said, defiance taking the place of fear, “you want to hurt Alistair and the best way to hurt him is through me. I choose me.”

Alistair shouted once more breaking free of Dom’s hold. “Sol, don’t do this. I’ll get you out of here. Solona, Dom explained everything.”

Deimon laughed, sardonic, scathing and rude. “And so the hero stands before the villain seeing his beloved in her last moments and voices the promise of his devotion.  How touching.” Deimon’s eyes narrowed. “I should kill you first just to spare me the drivel you’ll no doubt insist on spewing, Warden Alistair.” He inched closer to Solona and spoke each word crisp and clear to her ear. “You will choose one of the Wardens or shall shoot them all while you watch and then slit your throat for denying me my challenge.”

Solona looked to each of the men before her. Riordan, still weak from his ordeal at the hands of Rendon Howe and Loghain MacTir, Riordan would not win against Archibald Deimon.

Alistair called to her first. “Solona. Sol. It’s all right.” He smiled, touched his hand to his chest. “I’ll do it.”

“Spoken like a true Theirin, Alistair,” Deimon agreed pointing the gun at Alistair, “Who am I to deny your last-”

“Riordan!” Solona screamed. “I choose Riordan!” The older Warden shouted to Dom sending a blade across the floor with his foot. Riordan straightened. The sound of the gun firing rattled through the open space. At first, she thought the shot had missed, as Riordan stood still, he swayed forward on his boots and then back, falling to the floor.

“Alistair, we need to accept the challenge. Riordan explained it! That’s what he’s waiting for us to do!” Dom said, gripping the blade. “I accept the challenge!”

Archibald Deimon’s hands dropped as if disappointment filled his being. “I’d so hoped Alistair would have figured it out first. No matter. Prepare yourself, Domnall Cousland.”

Solona jumped as the first clatter of connecting swords signaled the start of the battle.

Dom circled around his opponent advancing in measured steps, meeting each swing and thrust to block with precision.

“Dom’s better than I thought.” Alistair explained. “Duncan had me learn the basics of sword fighting when I joined the Wardens.”

Sidestepping around Dom, his opponent laughed. “The basics? Well then, allow me to dispatch young Cousland here and then your final lesson will be my pleasure.”

Deimon lunged to Dom’s right; an easy deflection for the Warden.  

Dom countered missing the first, but the tip connected to Deimon’s shoulder. The hiss in response revealed a momentary break in confidence.

They circled one another, each trying to unseat the other, Dom’s habit of terrible puns and constant chatter angering his opponent much as it did his companions. The Warden continued his advance, wide swings forced undisciplined moves until Dom held the balance of strength in the fight.

Sensing a shift, Dom cut to his right, then left and a quick right pressing Deimon to follow at the pace he set. Dom’s assault continued, the sequence of blows unbalancing his opponent forcing Deimon to backstep blindly, until Dom shoved him into the wall, pinning his opponent.  

“Get her out of here Alistair! Do it now!”  

Grinning, Deimon grabbed Dom’s left wrist, until screams of pain forced them apart. The skin around his left wrist appeared burnt; the red flesh mottled with charred black bits.

She’d risk the spell to help Dom. If Deimon took exception to her interference and attacked her, this would be her last chance. He’d easily deflected her spells before.  Solona needed Alistair’s help and flung herself into his chest. At first, he stiffened trying to push her away. Hoping he would hear her, she whispered her instructions, pressing the flask into Alistair’s hands. “Nod if you understand,” she whispered. A final declaration raised her face to his, “no matter what you think of me, do me one favor. Live, Alistair. That’s all I ask.”

Using him to shield her action, Solona focused her magic as much as she could manage, spirit magic was not her strength but all she needed was to distract Deimon long enough. “Dom! Incoming to your left!”

Solona released the blast of telekinetic energy knocking Deimon into the wall. Alistair tossed the flask to Dom and joined him, both Wardens taking advantage of the momentary incapacitation to attack and weaken their opponent further.  

The two worked trading blows until Dom took the lead, trading his long sword for the short from his harness, and plunged it into Archibald Deimon’s chest.  For a moment the room fell still; Deimon slumped against the wall and dropped to the floor.

Solona allowed a moment to breathe before rushing to the Wardens to help them. “Is it over?” She asked, searching their faces for a sign of relief.

“A challenge accepted has its price, my dear.” Deimon coughed. “Rules are rules.”

Pushing Solona behind him, Alistair shielded her with his body, the two Wardens drew their firearms shouting for Deimon to stop. “Put the gun down!”

Unable to see, Solona flinched when the three guns fired. The ringing in her ears disoriented Solona, fear kept her still behind Alistair. She tried to talk, but the muffled sound of her voice stopped her words. It’ll stop soon, she told herself giving her ears a chance to recover, Alistair is safe. It’s over.

When Alistair fell to his knees she screamed.

“Alistair!”

Hurrying around him, Solona  searched for the wound, sending a wave of healing magic through him.

“Sol,” his somber tone and strong grip on her arm forced her to stop. “I’m fine.”  Head bowed, Alistair shook his head. “I’m so sorry.”

She shifted, realizing it was Dom who lay bleeding, his hand to his chest, coughs sputtering blood.

“Dammit Alistair! He’s breathing. Let me go!” Solona struggled free, not caring if Deimon lived; she could still save Dom. “He doesn’t have to die. Help me.”

Pulling out flask after flask, Solona instructed Alistair to keep administering everything they had while she worked. There was something at play she could not fight, the bullet removed, nothing stopped the blood flow. She barked at Alistair, focused on her task, tiring with every spell she used. She’d ignored Alistair’s words of apology and admission, fearing in her anger she’d allow Dom to slip further away. The tears flowed freely, knowing she was failing Dom and in doing so, failing Alistair.

“Sol,” Alistair’s voice cracked as he spoke. “Solona.” Removing his hand from Dom’s chest, he placed the blood slicked hand atop hers, holding it still. “He’s gone.”

Chapter Text

Something in the way Solona remained silent disturbed Madeleine; Solona’s blank expression and painful silence worried Madeleine. The bloodwork report showed little improvement.

“Well?” Madeleine’s curiosity grew.

Nodding without speaking, Solona flipped between two charts; unwilling to accept the gesture, Madeleine repeated her question.

A quick word of thanks to the technician, Solona asked the reports be returned to her lab for safekeeping. Leaning over the hospital bed, she turned off the fluid dispensers removing all the tubes associated with her treatment. Madeleine did not miss a light caress on Alistair’s hand before Solona placed it gently at his side. “He’s clear,” she said, “once he wakes, he’ll be free to leave- with a little help. I’ll call Teagan.” Solona offered her hand to Madeleine. “Good luck with your book, Madeleine. Be kind to him in your words.”

Watching Solona, Madeleine realized she was saying goodbye. “Wait, you’re leaving? But you can’t! Don’t you see? You’re here-together- you can’t leave.” Madeleine had heard both versions of the story and the one thing she took from both was the deep connection shared between these two people. “You said you wanted to apologize to Alistair, and you haven’t yet.”

The way Solona squared her shoulders and met Madeleine’s eager eyes, the younger woman expected some admission of love but what Solona said deflated her hope.

“I don’t believe Alistair will listen,” she offered, “and it is his right to believe the story as he experienced it.” She looked back to him and then continued. “I hope he finds some comfort with his friends or another heart, but I’ve done what I set out it to do. Theirin Pharmaceuticals will make both cures available to those who ask without seeking profit-that I assure you.”

“But, Solona.” Madeleine tried to reason with her, and Solona raised her hand to stop the conversation.

Knowing she had shared parts of her life Solona swore she would never speak of, taking a moment to acknowledge what it had meant to her felt appropriate. “Madeleine, I want to thank you for listening, and for your company. The cure succeeded with your help. I misjudged you when you first approached me, and I am sorry, but it is time for me to let Alistair go. I’m a mage and it’s dangerous to be a mage in Ferelden. No matter who I might know, or what I have accomplished, it can’t change what I am.”

Madeleine understood. The Circle in Ferelden had been the first of many events, but the attacks in Kirkwall, the Chantry explosion and the civil war that nearly consumed Kirkwall in the aftermath were the widely covered in the press. There was far more happening from city to city, so much that the head of the Chantry offered to intervene. Divine Justinia’s radio broadcasts called for the parties to reach out to her. The Divine suggested a series of negotiations- a conclave-if the Templars and mages would agree.

 “Where will you go?”  The question was not asked to pry, but Madeleine’s intentions were selfish, this wasn’t how she expected the story would end.

“I don’t know,” Solona answered, “until today I’d thought . . . it’s not important. I really do need to return to the lab. Take care.”

Hurried steps carried Solona through the secured doors and into the restricted area.

_______________

Within a week, Alistair left Our Lady of the Sacred Ashes and moved temporarily to the Geurrin Estate in Denerim City. Teagan remained unconvinced Alistair could remain alone so soon after spending several months in the hospital.

In the weeks that followed, something in Alistair had changed. Marion Hawke, Alistair’s self-appointed private guard, commented often that his soul seemed unburdened.  Moreover, it was this change in his being that troubled her given the delivery she had received.

Hawke walked through the estate carrying a large box addressed to Alistair. The package had arrived by messenger and not post, which meant the item’s arrival had been tracked.  “Shit,” Hawke said with each step, as if somehow the profanity could bleed away the rising dread. The writing wasn’t Solona’s, but Hawke was almost sure the package had something to do with Solona’s disappearance.  

Marion didn’t knock, she walked into the makeshift office staring at the large package in her hands. The weight was too light to be letters, and the contents scraped and shifted when she turned the box.

Alistair hadn’t bothered to look up, only Marion would walk in without announcing her arrival. “Hawke. I’m not quite sure if you’re familiar, spending so much time in Kirkwall, but they’ve invented a little something called a knock. You tap your knuckles on a door and ask if it’s ok to enter.”

She stared unblinking.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Alistair pointed to the box, rubbing his hands together. “Marion, you shouldn’t have, but you know how I love gifts.” A quick wink and the hint of a smile elicited the exact reaction Alistair hoped to get from Marion. She scoffed and grumbled, placing the box on his desk.

“I think I liked you better when you moped all the time.”

He laughed at her complaint, leaning down toward his ankle and producing a small knife. He sliced the tape before leaning in his chair to return the knife to is sheath around his ankle.

Shaking her head, Marion waited for an explanation. “Well? Expecting an invasion? Who wears an ankle sheath? Damn uncomfortable.”

Pulling the flaps open Alistair didn’t look up as he answered. “I like it. That’s why. Hawke, you should really do something about that foul mood you wear,” he said, “try being pleasant.”

She stretched, ignoring Alistair’s words. “By the way, she’s still waiting. It’s damn rude, especially when you made the appointment.”

He lifted a stack of small metal canisters, all the same size, Alistair recognized the tape cases from Madeleine’s sessions. “Well, look at that,” he said, “seems like there should be more, but I’m impressed she sent them.” Emptying the cases on his desk, an envelope rested at the bottom with his name printed in neat script across the front.  Opening the envelope, he read the letter aloud.

“I hope this finds you well. . .blah blah, nicety, politeness, so on and so forth,” he droned on skipping through the letter, all the while Marion covering her smile. “Ah, here it is. After a long deliberation, and an opportunity of a lifetime thrown in for good measure, I have decided not to write and publish the book as originally discussed. Enclosed are the sole copies of the taped discussions. Please accept them with my fond wishes for a long and prosperous life.”

Unimpressed, Marion remained silent.

Alistair, knowing his friend, pursed his lips in thought before putting the letter back in the box. “I’d bet this opportunity comes courtesy of one Varric Tethras, at the behest of his loyal friend Marion Hawke.”

Waving away his comment, Marion shook her head. “No clue what you’re talking about, Ali,” she replied, “how about I show your guest in?”

He slumped in his chair. “Fine. But if this doesn’t work, I’ll do it myself.” 

Hawke paused, deciding against offering more commentary on his behavior and left. A muffled conversation outside the closed door forced Alistair to assume a more controlled posture in his chair. A firm knock announced his guest.

As the woman entered his office, even with her face obscured by a hood, he remembered her walk. Cautious, and still annoyingly confident, she moved with silence and grace. Slender hands pulled the hood back, revealing her familiar short-cropped red hair.

Leaning forward in his chair, Alistair spoke first. “Nightingale.”

_____________________

Leliana listened while Alistair explained the terms of the agreement, annoyed at her silent stare and unwillingness to participate in a conversation. He conceded the estrangement was entirely his fault, but the urgency of his request fueled the one sided conversation.

“What else must I say, Leliana? Will you help me?” He hoped the appeal to her in person might sway the Nightingale to overturn her previous refusals of help.

She sat watching him. Saying nothing, Leliana’s eyes narrowed now and again as if she were searching for any sign of malice on his part. Frustrated, he dropped his head into his hands and all pretenses flew away. He spoke freely. “You’re all I’ve got, Leliana. How can I make you understand? I was wrong. I see that. I wish I had been strong enough to admit what an absolute ass I made of myself back then.”  Still cradling his head Alistair continued. “I can’t go back. . .don’t you think I know that? What’s said is said and all that.  But Sol-dammit why did she leave? I could have protected her. I will protect her. What good is all this without the one thing that made sense?” 

He stood, moving behind his chair and continued. “You know what kills me? I mean absolutely makes me feel like I am losing my mind? I hear her steps in the halls at night. I smell that. . .that scent that she wore. That’s not possible, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer running his fingers through his hair before pointing at nothing in particular. “But then . . .there are nights I feel her in the bed next to me and I realize I’m alone in the room. That has to mean something,” he offered, “maybe I’m not trying hard enough to fix this. Maybe she needs me and I’ve missed some message. She doesn’t know where I am.” His eyes searched Leliana’s face for some hint that she understood. “What do you need to hear from me to prove my intentions?”

“Nothing. I believe you, Alistair.” Pushing off the chair, Leliana covered her head as she rose.

The tension he’d built in his body released, his head falling forward as he exhaled. “Thank you,” he said, although unsure if it were an appropriate response.

“You could have leveraged the aid Hawke and Cullen secured, or even paid me outright, Alistair. But you chose to appeal to me,” Leliana explained, “which I appreciate.” Approaching his desk, she slid a folded paper across the desktop. “Divine Justinia is indebted to you for the mercenary force and the promised aid to those areas needing relief.”

Absent nodding at her formal speech covered his disappointment. Appreciate it, Alistair, but still not going to help, he thought sitting in his chair again. He’d have to find Solona on his own.

A soft laugh caught his attention. “Check the paper, Alistair.” Without further explanation, Leliana left him staring at the small folded paper on his desk.

Hawke returned; seeing the hint of a frown concerned her. “So, didn’t go well then.”

“I haven’t looked,” Alistair said, tapping his fingertips on the paper.

Confused, Hawke’s confident steps carried her toward the desk and quick reflexes snatched the paper to Alistair’s protestations. She unfolded the slip and stared at him. “This is a joke, right?”  Hawke flicked the paper onto his desk; Alistair’s greedy reach earned him possession of Leliana’s note once more.  

Turning away, he read the handful of words on the slip. “It’s impossible to think she’s been there all this time.”  Shoving the note in his pants pocket, Alistair hurried toward the door.  “I’m taking a car. Alone.”  Hawke tried to convince Alistair to wait for Cullen’s return later that morning; when she failed, Hawke’s concern pushed her to seek out Teagan in hope he might appeal to Alistair’s sensibilities. The interference ignited Alistair’s determination.  

The hall grew cramped with Marion and Teagan flanking Alistair, throwing various reasons for him to wait. Alistair refused to listen.

“It’s simple Teagan, if you don’t hear from me in. . .let’s say five days. . .I’m lying dead somewhere. Congratulations, you just inherited everything.” Pushing past the older man, the edge to Alistair’s voice diminished while he thanked Teagan’s eager attendants for their desire to help, Alistair wished to prepare without all the buzzing around him.

Hawke refused to let Alistair alone. “So what’s the plan? You roll up in a fancy car; manage to convince someone to let you talk with Solona and then-bam-happily ever after?” She scoffed, “that’s not how life works, Ali.”

Shoving clothes into an overnight bag, Alistair talked without looking at her. “Hawke, I know that’s not how it works. My plan is . . .my plan. . .fine. I don’t have one. I’m going to ask to talk with her. If it’s by phone-I can accept that. Maybe she’ll listen, maybe not.” Zipping up the bag, he met Hawke’s eyes. “Don’t you understand? I heard every word she said while I lay in that bed, unable to answer her. Every. Fucking. Word.” He sat on his bed facing away from her. “Do you have any idea what that was like, realizing everything I had thought to be true was Deimon messing with my head? Waking to find Solona gone?” Alistair shook his head, passing judgement on his mistakes. “She tried to talk to me so many times, and I refused to listen. I want the chance to tell her something other than meaningless apologies.”

“I . . .don’t know what to say,” Hawke offered, sitting opposite him. “You realize, the meeting might not go as you hope.”

He grabbed the bag slinging it over his shoulder. “I’ll figure out what I want to say along the way.” Before leaving, he stopped in front of Hawke, giving her shoulder a light squeeze. “I’ll be fine.”

Hawke’s protests followed Alistair out into the courtyard where the car waited for him. Turning to face her, Alistair placed his bag down before giving his assurances. “Marion, I have been on my own before. As touched as I am by this strange and rather creepy motherly thing you’ve got going here-give me a little credit. A few hours that’s all this is. ”

Marion pulled Alistair toward the vehicle. “And if she refuses to see you?”

He’d have to accept the possibility, and while the thought pained him Alistair understood. “Then I will continue on to Redcliffe and return tomorrow. Will that be all right, mother?”

A playful shove from Hawke sent him toward the car. “I definitely liked you better when you were moping.”

Alistair tossed his bag into the back seat and turned around to face her. “Do me a favor Marion–don’t burn the place down. It’s on loan to me.” Climbing into the front seat, he lowered the window. “You don’t exactly have the best record, my friend.” Hawke’s slew of obscenities quieted once he pulled through the gate out into the city. He knew the way without a map, and would arrive sometime in the early afternoon.  Alistair wondered how much the Circle Tower had changed.

“The Maker has one wicked sense of humor,” he said aloud, turning the car onto King’s Highway. “Solona chooses the last place I’d ever look for her.” Denerim City behind him, Alistair played conversation after conversation in his head, searching for a way to reach Solona. He’d chosen not to announce his arrival, hoping to take advantage of his name to gain entry.

The Circles that still functioned were cloistered, allowing very few visitors; taking into consideration those Templars who’d continued their service entry might not be possible. Alistair rested his hopes on Theirin Enterprises continued support of Ferelden’s Circle. After Irving passed away, the decision to do so Teagan had thought an act of guilt on Alistair’s part, but the truth proved far simpler; it was the right thing to do. In a land torn apart, Alistair followed his predecessors and family. Keep Ferelden alive, enough blood had drenched the land for lifetimes to come and he viewed those losses as failures. 

Alistair had taken a different path than even his brother Cailan. Funds normally spent on military endeavors funneled into Theirin Pharma, increasing the distribution and availability of the discoveries beyond Ferelden’s borders. During the previous weeks, Alistair had directed Teagan to form a Council of controlling interests throughout Thedas-the largest humanitarian treaty ever presented. Only Tevinter and Par Vollen had refused thus far. All hope rested on Divine Justinia’s success with her negotiations between the Templars and the Mages; her success would give Theirin Enterprises a solid foundation to shift the focus back to the people.

The Circle, still imposing in its decaying state now boasted a secured entry post. The setting sun and evening sky reminded Alistair of his first visit years prior. A Templar in full body armor approached Alistair’s waiting car. “Sorry sir, this location is off limits.”

Alistair presented his Warden identification. “Alistair Theirin. I’m here to see Miss Solona Amell.”

The Templar laughed. “And I’m the Queen of Orlais.” He scoffed. “Nice try. On your way.”

“Actually, she’s amassed an impressive empire, so perhaps she might be considered an empress of sorts, if we’re going to toss around titles for the fun of it. And trust me, she’d be pretty put out to be impersonated by the likes of you.” Alistair smiled. “Now,” he said holding up his identification card, “this is no fake. I really am Alistair Theirin and while I may seem rather pleasant now, I see a very short career in your future if you do not pick up the phone and announce my arrival.”

The Templar stomped off toward the booth, glaring at Alistair he snatched the handset and waited for the line to connect.  Alistair grabbed his bag lingering near his car; the animated discussion in the guard booth revealed the Templar on duty argued with the person on the other end of the line. Across the lake, a sudden brightness cut through the waning light as floodlights illuminated the dock on the far side. The sound of a boat engine running at high speed brought the Templar guard to the dock gate with a mumbled apology.

Alistair, his anxiety growing at the thought talking with Solona, nodded and walked to the end of the pier. The large craft carried four Templars and to his surprise Knight Commander Gregoire offered a hand to Alistair to help him board.

“Welcome back, Warden. Please accept my apologies for the mistake. Templar Lewis,” Gregoire explained, “he’s bit mad sometimes.” 

Smiling, Alistair shook hands with the aging Templar, still impressed with the steel grip of the man’s handshake. “Aren’t we all,” Alistair replied, accepting the offered seat.

After a few quick words, the short line released the boat from its temporary mooring and the party sped toward the Tower. Alistair took the opportunity to offer his name, greeting each Templar in return. He’d gotten used to the constant need to put himself in front of others over the past weeks. After the introductions, the group fell silent until the boat safely arrived at the Circle dock. Helped once more to disembark, the group welcomed Alistair and left him in the care of the Knight Commander.

Gregoire paused at the main entrance. “There’s no easy way to say this, but Miss Amell asked that you be given a room.” Alistair could see the man’s discomfort and tried to reassure him.

“Please, I should have called to be sure,” he started, “I’m sorry to have put you in such a position. Thank you for the hospitality. I’ll leave in the morning when it’s convenient.” Alistair followed Gregoire into the entryway. “Am I confined to the room or may I wander? I’m not quite sure sleep will find me easily.”

A low chuckle lightened the tension between them. “You are free to roam. I hope you will respect the mages within and leave the residents to their business.”

Assurances given, Alistair followed another Templar to a small room on the third floor. “Sorry for the size, Warden Theirin. This floor is left empty although you might hear others in passing. The floor below is for the Senior Mages and the Templars are one above you. If you need anything, the desk at the entrance to the Templar wing is at your disposal.” Unwilling to explain he knew the way; Alistair sat at the desk chastising himself for not thinking his plan through.

“Did you really think she’d be happy you showed up?” He talked to the empty room, pounding his fist on this leg. “Idiot.”  Alistair declined to eat; remaining hidden in the room afforded him. When the bell tolled hours later signaling the evening Chant, Alistair almost joined the Templars, but decided against leaving the empty floor. Alone with his thoughts and the mounting regret, Alistair remained awake.

Venturing out into the Great Hall, Alistair sat on one of the benches. Several passed him during the night, inquiring after his well-being. One Templar sat and talked with him offering his thanks.

“Ser, my father served for almost thirty years. Without the work of Miss Amell and Theirin Pharma, he would have forgotten all of us- my brothers and my mother.  Maker watch over you, Ser.”

I think the Maker has better things to do than watch over me, he thought, returning to his room. First light I’ll head for Redcliffe. Resolved to leave in the morning, Alistair wandered down to the first floor, carrying his bag. He’d decided to push through the remainder of the night reading to take his mind off his mistake.

Entering the library, he nearly bumped into a pile of books with two legs navigating the maze of tables. Alistair tucked his bag under a nearby chair and offered to help.

“I think I could use the help,” the pile of books giggled. “Doing too much again, I should sleep but with so much to learn could you? I’m on the cusp of at least ten different breakthroughs! Sleep is for the weak!”

He knew the voice, the stature and the boundless enthusiasm. They’d met in Orzammar. “Dagna?” The pile tilted and threatened to topple over, but Alistair managed to grab more than half.

“It's you!” The bright eyes and rosey smile coaxed a grin from him. “Alistair! I mean. . .Mister Theirin, ser.”

He’d nearly forgotten the infectious nature of her joy. “Alistair is fine. We’re friends, right?”

“Sol will be so happy to see you!” Dagna said, placing her books on the nearest table. “She never stops talking about you, you know. Everything reminds her of you. That locket, she plays with that every time we talk.” She pointed to his bag. “Did you just arrive? We need to get you over to her office. Well it’s not really her office; there was this little accident,” Dagna talked on, “nothing I did, of course. She’s only visiting here until the two students are well.” She grabbed the books he’d rescued and added them to her pile. “Well, coming or not?”

 A sudden realization struck Alistair. “That’s why she didn’t see me when I arrived. I figured she’d been told. I’d thought. . .it doesn’t matter.”

Dagna scooped up his bag and beckoned toward the stairwell. “Come on! I’d bet you a hairy nug the Templars didn’t tell her a thing. It was one of the Templars who caused the accident. He’s been reassigned to the gate, but he sort of overreacted while two students were practicing.”

She explained that Templar Lewis stumbled on a complex summoning, nothing dangerous, and assumed the two were working blood magic. He used the most powerful counter a Templar utilizes, and both students suffered multiple injuries.

Leading him up to the second floor, she peered over at him several times.

Alistair ran his fingers through his hair, self-conscious. “What, something odd?”

The smile returned to her face, her eyes bright once more. “No. Solona’s right though, you look good with longer hair and the beard. It suits you, Alistair.”

“She told you that?” Alistair felt the flush in his face turned away, eliciting a healthy laugh.

“You really don’t get it,” Dagna shook her head, “Solona keeps trying to get back to you. But every time she decides it’s time, something else pops up.” Stopping on the landing outside the second floor entrance, Dagna took a few minutes to share what she knew. She held up her index finger. “The first time, Solona planned to see you at the end of the first week in Denerim. Teagan called some big meeting at Pharma that she had to attend. That’s one.” She held up a second finger. “The second time? A Templar in Amaranthine fell ill, severe lyrium poisoning. Solona had to set up the treatment and teach the hospital staff what to do.” Seeing Alistair’s confusion, she tried to remain sympathetic. “I know this is a lot to take in, but Solona has an amazing heart. She kept pushing her personal plans aside to help others. She’d tried twice more, and this was the latest event.”

“I wish. . .I shouldn’t have come, Dagna.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong, Alistair.” She opened the door, waiting for him to enter. “Follow me, you’ll see.”  Dropping her voice to a whisper, Dagna quieted her steps and Alistair followed. “They all sleep light in this place, so keep it down in this hallway. Solona is using the First Enchanter’s office; he’s on the way to that meeting with the Divine in the Frostback Mountains. He’d asked Solona to go, but I’m trying to convince her to skip it.” The residences gave way to another empty hall.

Once the door separating the areas closed, Dagna sighed, resuming her normal speaking voice. “I hate walking through there. Cranky mages are never fun.”

The door to the First Enchanter’s office drew his attention. “It’s closed Dagna, what if she’s resting?”

“Trust me. Knock.” Flashing a quick smile at him, Dagna left him alone outside Solona’s room.

Alistair battled with himself standing at the door, recalling that night in Orzammar where he tried to tell her how he felt. 

The rising doubt in his chest spread out to his muscles, preventing any movement. Thoughts of refusal and denial crawled through his head, insisting he just wasn’t good enough. The need to leave fought against Dagna’s assurances. Rejection would sever him in two. It was happening again.

Hands moved without orders, knocking on the old wooden door; the sound foreign and surprising. He heard a voice denying him entry, but naming another. Dagna. A moment of strength raised his hand to try again, but the sound of a man’s voice froze the attempt.

“Whenever I’m near you I feel like my head will explode and my heart jump straight through my chest. That’s not who I thought I was. But then we found you.”

 A clunk ended the conversation and then it started up once more.

“Whenever I’m near you I feel like my head will explode and my heart jump straight through my chest. That’s not who I thought I was. But then we found you.”

His voice. His words.  That’s what she was listening to. Not someone else. Alistair knocked again, this time confidence flowed, and he reached for the handle hoping the door would grant him a chance to say what he needed. He held his breath as the door gave way. 

 Solona’s exasperation carried in her words. “Dagna, enough. I’m fine.” Harsh lines softened at the realization of Alistair’s presence. “Ali? What are you doing here? How?”

His stomach knotted, thoughts urging him not to slip up. “I wanted to get your attention.”

Chapter Text

Every morning since leaving the Circle Tower, Alistair woke early hoping Solona might fulfill her promise. He’d returned to his home with Tank, preferring the quieter trappings of familiarity to the constant buzz of Teagan and his army of attendants.

That night at the Tower Alistair had shared everything with Solona; tearing down the protections he’d built around himself for so long. She’d been shocked to learn he’d overheard her conversations with Madeleine, and the emotions he’d experienced listening to her words but unable to wake and talk with her.

When he’d finished his confession, Alistair sunk to the bench resting his head in his hands. Sweat dotted his forehead; Alistair realized he felt no better. Nothing changed, he thought, willing back the wetness gathering in his eyes. He couldn’t cry -not in front of her. His voice cracked asking for a minute to himself.

Wondering how to recover, he walked toward the far wall. He’d expected his life to end in the hospital, but Solona changed everything. What he felt surpassed gratitude; he’d lived so long on guilt, and the pain of loss Alistair never imagined being alive would leave him wanting.

“I wish I could start over,” he said, “and this time, learn to listen.” Even grasping what he needed most, Alistair couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Stay with me. Heels clacked on the stone floor, Alistair exhaling to settle his emotions once more before she spoke to him.

Solona rested her hand on his shoulder. “Then start now.” Turning him to face her, she held out her hand. “Solona Amell.”

Confused, Alistair stepped back.

“Are all Wardens as rude as you? I offered you my hand in greeting.” She said, her brow wrinkling. “Must be the Templar in you.” Winking at him, Alistair stuttered before responding.

“You’re messing with me.” Alistair couldn’t decipher her intention. “I’m trying to fix things between us.”

She’d promised once her obligation to the Circle ended, she’d return to Denerim City. One week stretched into two, and Alistair feared Solona had decided to attend the conclave in the west. The commencement of the talks scheduled for the end of the week attracted Templars, mages and the curious from all over. Madeleine’s daily column in the paper captured Alistair’s attention.  She, unlike so many others, remained neutral in her reporting, sharing her experience and stories of those she met.

Madeleine had surprised him and impressed him gathering a following through her focus on the people, not the purpose of the conclave.  She’d been right about her family, a very public denouncement of her involvement set Alistair into motion. He’d made an anonymous donation to Tranquil Gardens for the continued care of Evelyn Trevelyan.  Madeleine’s younger sister had been confined to the institution when the Trevelyan family discovered Evelyn was a mage.  The younger Trevelyan would be given private quarters and whatever care she required.

Despite his curiosity surrounding the conclave, Alistair listened to the cautions repeated from Cullen and the Nightingale. They’d set up a base in the renovated city of Haven, giving the conclave itself a wide berth from their relief efforts.  After the blight, some unknown person or persons had leveled the town and toppled the old church sealing off the access to the underground mountain passage.  Alistair still wondered if the person responsible had a penchant for a certain bird.

Putting his paper aside, a loud thud from the second floor followed by Tank’s excited bark alerted Alistair to something out of the ordinary occurring outside. Past collisions with the large mabari warned Alistair to stay away from the stairwell. When Tank made the turn to the main floor, he slid into the wall, Alistair shaking his head at the ever-widening impact crater in the wall.

“Real smooth, buddy.”  Tank charged toward the front door, his barking growing more excited and urgent as Alistair wrestled with the locks around the hulking mabari. “Look pal, I can’t get the door open if you block it.” Sitting back, Tank tilted his head to the left and whined. “And pretending you don’t understand is getting old!”

Finally able to unlock and open the door, Solona’s laughter greeted Alistair first; her bright eyes peering around to catch his.  “You two still have these conversations?”  

A contented sigh followed her as she entered; Alistair paused at the sight of numerous bags on the stairs. “Sol, there’s quite a few here.”

She wrinkled her nose before admitting to the problem of over packing. “Still haven’t quite mastered the art of packing light.” Tank looked at the two and huffed, pushing past Alistair and grabbing a bag. “I have a room at the Noble, until I can find a more permanent place. You were my first stop.”

With a low growl, Tank ran inside and up the stairs with the first bag. “I think Tank has other ideas,” a nervous laugh from Alistair set him babbling. “You could. . .stay here. I mean, it’s not the Noble, but there’s plenty of space, and there’s,” Alistair pulled Solona out of the open doorway, giving the mabari room to get through, “Tank, of course and me, if you don’t mind having us around.” 

Tank continued to pick up bags and carry them up the stairs while they talked. She laughed again. “It’s your home, Alistair.”

"Yes, it is, but we talked about starting over. This is kind of jumping ahead a bit, true.” He scratched under his chin, face flushed he pressed on. “Sol, what do you think?” Alistair grabbed the remainder of her luggage, closing the door.

“I’m afraid I have a few requirements.” Her somber tone and creased brow worried him for a moment, but Alistair resolved to do whatever necessary. “If you would indulge me?”

Before he could answer, she’d found the long neglected space precariously close to his chest. He yielded to her without a word, inhaling the scent he’d thought but a memory. She smelled of sun-drenched skies and apple blossoms, a secret place saved for him.  Slipping her arms around him, Alistair held his breath as she rested her head against him. 

Whispering his name, Solona stepped back; Alistair protested the loss of her. He followed her without hesitation after ten years of separation, missed chances and loss dissolving into this exquisite moment. He shifted, the tip of his nose touching hers.  But it was Solona who led, the softest touch of her lips to his bottom lip, once, then again. When she hovered over his mouth, his name fell once more before claiming his lips.