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[maxernst]

21.    WEISSHAUPT: PREPARING FOR DEPARTURE
 
Alistair’s heart was troubled when he woke the next morning. He supposed that how the First had learned of his separation from Aedan did not change his duty, but it angered him none the less. Why had the First read the letter, and perhaps the previous one as well? Perhaps he sought to see if Aedan revealed information to Alistair that had not been provided in his letter. Maybe that could even be justified, because the Council had reason to distrust Aedan. But it bothered him that he had concealed it with the false seal, pretended that he knew no more than he should: He had been honest with the Council and they had repaid him with distrust and deception. Anger was not a sufficient reason to ignore the First’s orders, but it left him more hesitant to fulfill them.
 
For someone who thought Wardens should not love, the First was remarkably willing to take advantage of his relationship with Aedan. Alistair found the idea of lying to Aedan, leading him to think they could start over to be revolting. But maybe he was a fool to think it would be deception. If he let him back into his life, would he ever find the strength to leave again?
 
After packing his things, he went to the training grounds to say farewell to the instructors and young Wardens he had worked with in Weisshaupt. None of these goodbyes were hard; he had not formed real attachments here. He had only made one real friend in Weisshaupt and he delayed taking leave of her until the end. Though he had been hurt by her rejection, he still felt the need to see her before he left. 
 
Adelheid was not at the archives when he went there after his afternoon training, so he decided to stop by her house after dinner. It was shortly after sunset when he knocked on her door. “Hi,” he said, as she opened the door.
 
“Alistair,” she said, her voice rising in tone, as if surprised. “How nice to see you. I was wondering how you were doing…”
 
“I’m going back to Ferelden tomorrow. I wanted to say goodbye. Maybe you don’t want to see me. I know that I was abrupt when I left that night and I should have wrote you back but—“
 
She shook her head. “Please come in. It was my fault. I’m sorry that I didn’t foresee what would happen.” She opened the door fully and he entered, wiping the dust from his boots.
 
She served him a glass of that peculiar Tevinter wine and lit a fire in the hearth, then they talked in her sitting room. After a while, he told her that Aristomachus had returned from Minrathous, claiming success in his experiments.
 
“He did?” Her eyes opened wide and she bit her lip. “I did not think it possible.”
 
“The First wants me to convince Aedan to come to Coteaux du Roche, so they can do this ritual. 
 
The muscles in her forearms tightened before he had finished speaking, but her voice was level. “And do you intend to do this?” She tilted her head to one side and frowned. “Alistair, maybe there are arguments for this as a Warden, but I can’t believe—do you think you can live with this?”
 
“I’m hoping Aedan will see that it’s the best thing and that I don’t have to—the First wants me to promise to be his lover again and if I don’t want to I can change my mind later, but—“
 
Her hands clasped the sides of her head and she stared at him. “What?” She paused for a moment and her hands slid down and her mouth opened wide. “Oh. They didn’t tell you. Of course not. What was I thinking? Alistair, if you do this, there will be no later. The ritual depends upon Aedan’s death.”
 
His mouth fell open and his head pitched forward as if he had been punched in the stomach. Gasping for breath, he could not utter a word before she started into her explanation.
 
“Because you’re so familiar with magic—I guess because of your Templar training and the mages you’ve worked with as a Warden—I sometimes forget the limits of your knowledge. You’ve probably heard of people saying that they knew when someone they loved had died?”
 
He nodded, still struck dumb.
 
“They are not mistaken. When someone dies, their soul passes through the Fade on its last journey but it visits those who were closest to the person’s heart. When Aristomachus said ‘blood calls to blood’, that must have been…what he meant.”
 
“But he said that he had tested this. How—“
 
“Slaves. Maybe a Warden whose time had come but…in Minrathous, I’d guess slaves.”
 
Choking down bile, he asked her, “So you’ve known they were planning this for months? Why didn’t you tell me?”
 
“I—I didn’t know for sure. And I didn’t think it was possible. But—when you told me they needed Aedan to go to Orlais, then I knew. Why did you think they had to get him out of Ferelden?”
 
“They said they needed to be close to where the girl left our world.”
 
“Pfft…it’s the Fade. It’s a realm of thought, of emotion, not space. They wouldn’t dare try it in Amaranthine; they’d never make it out alive.”
 
He should have thought of that. It made sense in terms of what he had been taught as a Templar about the Fade, but he hadn’t been expecting the First to lie to his face. His stomach knotted up as he thought how he could have been used to lure Aedan to his death. Adelheid had it right: he could not have lived with such a betrayal on his conscience. He took a deep breath and planted his forehead in his right hand, his elbow on the table in front of him. Where do I go from here?
 
After a while he looked up. “After leaving Aedan, I felt being a Warden was all I had but I can’t—how could the First use me this way?”
 
“I warned you that being only a Warden would be a cold thing indeed.”
 
“But if I’m not a Warden, if I don’t follow him…”
 
She sighed. “You’re still a Warden. You’ve taken no oath of obedience to the First.”
 
He knew that, of course. The Wardens were not that rigid a hierarchy. “But if I can’t trust the First…and I don’t trust Aedan anymore…I don’t know what to do.”
 
“Trust your heart, Alistair. Trust your instincts. You’re neither a fool nor a child and it’s high time you time you stopped looking to others for guidance—and yes, that does include me”,: she added with a wry smile.
 
He took a swallow of wine and frowned. “I—I’m afraid I’ll make mistakes.”
 
“You will. We all do. Wouldn’t you rather make your own mistakes than other people’s?”
 
“I suppose you’re right. But I still don’t know what to do now.” 
 
“What do you want to do?”
 
“Part of me wants to go back to the First’s office and let him taste my anger.” Or even his steel…
 
“But?”
 
She had sensed his hesitation. Well, he had said only ‘part of him’ wanted to do this. “If I tell the First that I’m not going through with this, that I would warn Aedan…” he frowned. “He might not let me leave.” He remembered when they first talked of needing him to persuade Aedan to help them, before Aristomachus had gone to Minrathous, thinking he might be a hostage. “If Aedan thought I was in danger, he’d come here.” Even now, when he had left him alone, he knew Aedan would come for him.
 
She nodded. “And so…?”
 
“I suppose I must leave tomorrow as planned, without speaking my mind. The First mentioned a courier I could travel with, who would be going to the port of Asariel. And I guess at this time of year, it would be faster to go by sea… I should warn Aedan as soon as I can but I…get sick.”
 
“No need to be embarrassed, my dear, it’s not that uncommon. But I know an herb that can remedy that. I’ll make the preparations tonight so I can give the potions to you in the morning. You may find it makes you feel dizzy and a little…sleepy and unfocused, but it’s better than being sick all the way to Ferelden.”
 
He nodded. “But…it’s already dark. Are you sure you don’t want to wait until tomorrow.”
 
“No, I think it’s best if you leave as soon as possible. I can go without a little sleep. It’s the least I can do.” She fell silent, looking into the fire in her hearth for a moment. “I am sorry that I could not be…more for you but—as painful it is—I think sometimes we need to be alone, to find our own way.” She reached across the table and clasped his hand. “Alistair, whatever happens with Morrigan’s daughter, your story—and never doubt that is yours, as much as it is Aedan’s—will be remembered, here in Weisshaupt, and in Ferelden. I am glad that I had the chance to meet you. After more than twenty years in Weisshaupt, I thought I knew what it meant to be a Warden…and you make me think about what it could mean, instead of what it does.” She rose to her feet. “But you have a long journey ahead of you and you should sleep. I will give you your potions in the morning.”

[maxernst]

22. WEISSHAUPT: THE THIRD LETTER
 
Alistair awoke early the next morning, gathered his things, and met one last time with Adelheid to receive the potions. After thanking her, he left her a white runestone—one of the little treasures Aedan had given him during the Blight—as a token to remember him. While he was waiting for the courier Kurz, with whom he would be traveling as far as Asariel, the guard at the gatehouse asked, “Say, aren’t you Alistair of Ferelden?” When he nodded in confirmation, the man continued, “I have a letter for you from Ferelden—it came in yesterday and it says to deliver to the First but since you’re here—“
 
“I’ll take it, thanks.” He looked at the seal: it was from Aedan, and he decided he would wait until he was alone to read it. At least this letter would be private.
 
When Kurz arrived, he retrieved Sommerled from the stable master and they followed the road downhill toward Asariel. It was not until after dinner, in the privacy of a room at an inn in a village on the border between Weisshaupt and Tevinter, that Alistair read the letter.
 
My dearest love,
 
I have waited all these months through the fall and winter, praying to hear some word from you. I know that you reached Weisshaupt safely, for the Dalish warden Menashe brought me news of your testimony before the Council more than a fortnight ago, but it seems that your silence is the only answer I will receive to my letters. 
 
I love you. I always will. But I have spent every day these past months suffering disappointment with every courier that arrives without news from you and I can’t continue like this. It seems that I have lost you, and I must accept your decision. I will always treasure the memory of the years we spent together, and rue my failure to keep you. Maybe I tried too hard, was too afraid to let you see who I really was, out of fear that you wouldn’t love me as I am. Perhaps you’ve found another worthy of your affection. Or perhaps I fooled myself, and I never made you as happy as you made me.
 
Alistair winced as he read these lines. But what good is happiness if it’s based on lies?
 
I thought of returning your rose with this letter, giving you a chance to bestow it upon another but I find myself unable to part with it. I have decided to keep it as a memento of how I lost the most precious thing in my life. Perhaps I will seek out the cavern in the Deep Roads where you gave it to me and take it with me there, when the time comes.
 
It would be easier to let go if I were angry at you, but I cannot hold bitterness against you for you gave me so much joy in the years we spent together. You came into my life when I had lost my home, my family, and my position, and you gave me something to fight for, to live for, a future to hope for. I don’t know what I shall do without you. 
 
I wish you only the best, my love. If you don’t return to Ferelden and I never see you again, know that wherever you go, whatever you do in this life, my love goes with you always.
 
Yours forever,
 
Aedan
 
Despite the closing words, it seemed clear that the letter was a farewell, indicating that Aedan no longer awaited his return. He supposed he should be relieved. If Aedan did not expect him to be his lover, shouldn’t that make it easier? Would it even be possible for them to work together as Wardens…no, it would be better for him to find another post.
 
He wondered if Aedan had already found someone else. After all he was handsome, charming, still young, and perhaps the greatest hero in Ferelden’s history. He would not lack for suitors. The idea was surprsingly painful to Alistair, but it shouldn’t be. He had, after all, been the one who had left. He supposed Adelheid had been right: Aedan was still part of him. He had merely blocked him out, avoided reflecting on him. But if Aedan was himself releasing his hold, surely Alistair should do the same. 
 
It shouldn’t be so difficult…except that Aedan had come into his life when he too had lost everything that had mattered to him. Just reading his words from half a world away filled him with the sound of Aedan’s voice, his smile, the touch of his hand, the way it had felt to hold him in his arms. Bedding down alone in a cold bed again, he willed himself not to think of the warmth of his lover’s embrace.

[maxernst]

23.    THE SEA: A LONG VOYAGE
 
Either there were no ships traveling to Ferelden or they were Tevinter ships. Alistair had avoidedthose, as he had no desire to be on a slave vessel. However, it was not difficult to get passage as far as Antiva City. He was not even required to pay a fare, for Captain Ferrarius was more than happy to have a Grey Warden aboard his ship. Their course would run near to Llomerryn, an island infamous for pirates, so a fighting man of skill was a welcome passenger.
 
Alistair was glad that the ship stopped in a number of ports along the Tevinter coast along the way rather than sailing straight for Antiva. At first, that was because he feared becoming violently ill and was prepared to abandon ship and take to land as early as Vyrantium, if necessary. But just as she had promised, the potions Adelheid had prepared saved him from the perpetual nausea and vomiting that had plagued him on his last sea voyage. However, they also left him dizzy and confused. A day in port was a day when his mind was freed of the fog that the potions closed around his mind, as dense as any morning fog the ship encountered.
 
It was also an opportunity to eat real food, and to venture into the cities on the Nocen Sea. He was initially nervous traveling in the Imperium. He had imagined it full of crazed wizards summoning demons, but he saw little magic actually at work there, and the warmth of a Tevinter spring was welcome after the bitter winter of Wesshaupt. Only the ubiquitous presence of slaves with their iron collars and brands burned into their skins, laboring on every road and aqueduct, reminded him of the brutal nature of the Empire.
 
Recalling the story Adelheid had told him about Carastes, he ventured up to the ruins on the hilltop overlooking the port. The fortified high city or acropolis had been abandoned when Carastes had fallen to Minrathous. The crumbling remains of the old citadel were overgrown with olive trees and wildflowers, but he was able to find the lion statue that Adelheid said had been erected to honor the Sacred Band. The names of the fallen men had been eroded by exposure to wind, rain and air over the centuries and he doubted he could have deciphered them, even if he could read the old Tevinter script. He sat and stared for a moment, wondering what it would have been like to fall beside one’s lover in a hopeless cause. Perhaps not so different from what his brothers had experienced at Ostagar.
 
The ship did not visit many ports of call beyond where the dense forests of Arlathan crowded the shore. As they passed over open waters, sometimes beyond sight of the land, Alistair felt the certainty that had possessed him when Adelheid had explained the First’s plan receding with the shoreline.
 
Was he behaving like Aedan, placing the world at risk for selfish reasons? Would he have reacted so strongly if it had not Aedan’s life, but some other Warden’s life, even his own, that would be sacrificed in the ritual? Could the First be right? After all, the Warden’s were bidden to fight the Blight at any cost.
 
When his mind was clear enough, he wrestled with this idea. There was no Blight, not even any real evidence of a danger of a Blight from the girl, he argued with himself. It was only a hypothetical, a mere possibility of a Blight. Aedan was not convinced of that danger, and the First would not even have had him know that his life would be sacrificed in an attempt to avert it. It could not be right to take a man’s life on those terms. Aedan had a right to choose his end, not have it thrust upon him. This thought quieted his doubts for a time.
 
They made only one stop between Tevinter and Antiva: a brief port call for supplies at a Qunari controlled Rivaini port called Kont-arr. Although his stomach stayed stable even as they entered the rougher waters east of Rivain, Alistair longed to walk on firm ground and taste anything other than heavily salted fish, dry biscuits, and old root vegetables in the weeks they circumnavigated Rivain.
 
They were fogged in nearly every morning on the east coast of Rivain. Captain Ferrarius said this was normal at this time of year and was not concerned, though it slowed their passage, for the winds did not pick up until the sun broke through the fog. The fog kept them hidden from pirates and made for good fishing, or so the captain said. 
 
But on those grey mornings, doubt began to gnaw at Alistair again, and his path seemed as obscured as the sea around them. It occurred to him that thousands of Wardens had given their lives for hypothetical Blights, for centuries had passed between the Fourth and Fifth Blights. And they were often given little choice about the Joining, or warning of what the Joining meant.
 
He had accepted that as necessary, to guard the Warden’s secrets, and ensure continued recruits. But was it necessary? Granted, having only two wardens to fight a Blight, as had befallen Ferelden, was too risky, but did they really need to maintain a force of a thousand in Weisshaupt for centuries when there was no Blight? And Adelheid had said that people continued to join, despite the fact that it was known in the Anderfels that the trial to become a warden was often fatal, and their lives short, even if the reason why remained secret. Was what the First had planned for Aedan really so much more unjust than what had befallen countless Wardens before him? 
 
Trust your heart, Adelheid had told him. Well, his heart said that this ritual could not be allowed, and he could not allow himself to be used to deceive Aedan. But what would his heart have told him about Ser Jory? Had he simply followed Duncan as blindly as he had followed Aedan? By the time he reached Antiva City, he was no longer certain that he believed in the Warden’s ethos. He had thought Aedan the truest man and the truest Warden he had known, but he had proven false. Now he began to wonder whether he too was a false Warden, telling recruits that only fighting the Blight mattered, that no cost was too great, when he did not believe it himself. He thought of Yves’ contempt for how he was captured in Orlais: You’re a Grey Warden on important business. You should not have delayed yourself for such petty reasons. What’s next, looking for stray pets? And of Halfdan and the First’s reaction to the news that they had destroyed the Anvil of the Void. From the moment he had been recruited by Duncan he sought to be a good Warden, and he had believed that he was; now, he was not so sure.
 
Antiva City was huge, even larger than Orlais, sprawling across a series of small islands laced with canals in Rialto Bay. The wealth of its merchant classes was expressed in the grand palaces that lined the canals. Alistair sat by a fountain in a plaza surrounded by grand arcades and watched the crowds bustle by. Sellswords and smiths, merchants and midwives, Templars and tanners—and no doubt a few artists and assassins, as well—jostled against one another. 
 
If not as a Warden, where would he fit in such a world? Fighting was all he knew. He had not the temperament of a mercenary and he doubted Anora would welcome his service in the Ferelden army, for all that he had renounced his lineage. Eamon might have him in his retinue, but Anora would surely fear a renewed bid for the kingship if he went there. Perhaps he would better off in the Free Marches, but he had no friends to call upon there.
 
When dusk fell, he went to an inn Captain Ferrarius had recommended. It was expensive, but after the long weeks on the ship he sought comfort, a hot bath, and a good meal, and it did not disappoint. The heady Antivan wine, the exotically spiced roasted lamb and the white asparagus were all good but it was the insalata that preceded them that he had most savored: a soft, very fresh cheese served with greens and tomatoes in olive oil. After weeks of ship food, it was almost enough to take his mind off his doubts.
 
The following day he was unable to find a ship to carry him to Ferelden, but he did find one bound for Kirkwall. Kirkwall had close ties to Ferelden; indeed many Fereldens had fled there during the Blight. From there, he was confident, he could find a way home, if it was still home.
 
He had suppressed a superstitious shudder when the captain mentioned—after he was already aboard and port was far astern—that they would be stopping in Wycome. His father had set sail for that port and been lost forever; would the son fare better? But as it turned out, the only danger he found in Wycome was of drowning in ale. He had been persuaded to join some of the sailors in a tour of the port-side dives; Wycome was famed for its revelry. Sadly, Adelheid’s concoction proved no remedy for the nausea brought on by excessive drinking.
 
It was Bloomingtide, more than a year after he had left Amaranthine in response to the message from Weisshaupt, when he at last arrived in Kirkwall. The crew were on edge as they approached, for they had heard many rumors of troubles in Kirkwall: a shipwrecked troop of Qunari that refused to leave, apostate mages, a weak Viscount. He could not help but feel as sense of foreboding as they approached Kirkwall’s harbor. Though nearly as rich as Antiva City, it seemed to him grim and forbidding, its architecture heavy and lacking the delicate, almost frivolous touches favored by the rich in Antiva. Heavy chains that could be used to close the harbor dangled from huge statues that loomed over it like sentinels, reminding him of its history as a center of the slave trade in the old empire. It was said the mages in Kirkwall were actually kept in the old Imperial slave pens. He knew something of Kirkwall from his time as a Templar in Denerim, and it would not have been his first choice of cities to visit, but he reminded himself that he would not be staying long.
 
 
 

[maxernst]

24. KIRKWALL: A DRINK AFTER THE WAR
 
It was not difficult to find passage to Ferelden. Every ship captain in port was eager to get out of Kirkwall as fast as possible. The explanations for the panic that gripped the city were multitudinous and confusing…rioting elves, poisonous fumes, homicidal blood mages. There was some story of a chantry sister assassinating the Viscount’s son, the Qunari murdering chantry sisters, and sheltering elvish murderers.
 
It all made little sense to Alistair, but no matter. He would be leaving for Highever early the next morning. Highever…as if he needed to be reminded of Aedan. Then again, he supposed Denerim or Amaranthine would be much the same. They had traveled together almost everywhere in Ferelden; every town would bring back memories of his former lover. But Highever wasAedan’s home, even if he hardly ever went there. Still, he couldn’t afford to get misty-eyed at those memories. If he could not handle Aedan’s ghost, how would he deal with facing him in person once more?
 
He left the docks and headed for an inn with the inauspicious name of the Hanged Man. It didn’t look like much, but it had been recommended to him, and drew a lively crowd, even when the city’s mood seemed as nervous as Denerim during the Blight.  But socializing could wait. He rented a room, and went through his daily calisthenics and swordplay exercises. It had been difficult to do them properly with the boat shifting under him, and he was feeling out of shape. After a good hard session, he settled into bed for a nap.
 
When he awoke, put his armor back on, and left the Hanged Man, he found the tavern quiet and the streets deserted. The merchants in the area had packed up their wares, the shoppers were nowhere to be found, and even the beggars were gone. Puzzled, Alistair made his way up the hill where the wealthier citizens lived, and the city’s main keep lay, thinking he could surely find a guard to tell him what was happening. He decided to put his helmet on, just in case. 
 
As he was entering a plaza, a small group of people rushed into view. They were an odd-looking group: an armored woman who appeared to be a member of the city guard, a dark-bearded man in a hood that shadowed his face, an elf with strange silvery tattoos—unlike anything he’d seen among the Dalish--that seemed to be all over his body, from what he could see, and a beardless dwarf. He didn’t think he’d seen such a group since the companions he and Aedan had gathered to fight the blight. By the Maker, was that a Mabari hound at the bearded man’s side? He might have smiled at the memory, had they not all run into the plaza with their weapons drawn. 
 
Though he wasn’t sure the group were after him, he decided he better be prepared to defend himself. The Keening Blade was in his hand in an instant, and the shield off his back only a moment later, but none too soon. By that time, nearly a dozen Qunari had arrived in the plaza—clearly the foe the others had been prepared to meet—and they had assumed Alistair was one of their enemies. 
 
 
One of the Qunari sped toward him, a huge two-handed blade in its hands. He blocked the creature’s blow with his shield and staggered, his right leg almost buckling beneath him. The strength of the Qunari was akin to an ogre…but he had fought ogres before. He recovered swiftly and sidestepped the next blow, letting his opponent pass him to his right, then slashed at the back of its knees. The Qunari crumpled as he severed tendon and muscle, and he finished it off soon after.
 
Surveying the battle, he noticed that the woman and the bearded man fought in tandem in a fashion so familiar it gave him goose bumps. She struck a Qunari a blow with her shield that would have a knocked a man flat, but merely stunned the huge creature for a moment, then the man dispatched it with a double-bladed attack from behind. He relaxed a little, seeing that his ad hoc allies were highly skilled. But then he heard a crackling in the air and held up his shield to block a stream of violet sparks. He had not even known that there were Qunari mages, but there was no time to marvel at this unexpected development. It needed to be dealt with immediately.
 
He raced across the plaza in the direction of the sparks, dodging two Qunari warriors that tried to block his path. Though the Qunari could run fast in a straight line—faster than a man—even armored, Alistair was more agile and could change directions more readily, and he was able to weave his way to the mage. He pushed at it with his mind, neutralizing the defensive ward it had scribed on the ground and drove his shield upward at its torso as hard as he could, hoping to prevent it from getting off another spell.
 
Though it did not fall, the force of his shield bash left it gasping for breath and its concentration was broken. He thrust his sword forward and upward, seeking to slay it before it recovered, but the Qunari fell dead in front of him before his blow could land. A dark-haired woman he had not noticed before smiled at him as she pulled bloody daggers out of the mage, and then returned to the fray, her motions too swift to follow.
 
The whole battle was over nearly as quickly as it had begun. Ten qunari lay dead, and Alistair and the five strangers had only minor scratches and bruises. Not only were these people as mixed in composition as the group that had fought the blight, they were comparable in skill. They must have worked as a team on many occasions. Alistair wondered what circumstances had forced them into frequent battles, for there was no Blight to account for it here. Times must be turbulent indeed in Kirkwall.
 
As the dark-bearded man whom the other seemed to view as a leader approached him, Alistair remarked “Well, on the list of things I planned to do today, fighting off a Qunari attack ranked near the bottom.”
 
The man threw back his hood and chuckled at Alistair’s cheerful and nonchalant tone, revealing a handsome face, a mischievous grin, and bright blue eyes. “You had more pressing concerns? Thank you for the help. I am Iain Hawke, and these are my friends: Fenris, Isabela, Varric and Aveline. He indicated the elf, the dark-haired woman who had fought with two daggers, the dwarf, and the armored woman in succession.
 
“My name is Alistair.”
 
“I know,” said Isabela. “We met at the Pearl in Denerim a few years ago.” 
 
He gaped at her. At the Pearl? He had only been there once.
 
She unlaced her leather jacket, to cool off after the fighting, he supposed. He tried not to stare as her ample bosom sprang into view. “I taught your friend Aedan a few tricks with blades. I would have taught him some tricks for another…concealed weapon, but it seemed he reserved that one for you alone.”
 
He blushed, and she chuckled. The story was starting to sound familiar. “But you look…different.”
 
She laughed again. “In my line of business, sometimes it’s advantageous not to look like myself.”
 
“Isabela, much as I hate to interrupt your reminiscences about your sordid past, we do still have to stop said Qunari invasion,” Hawke pointed out. He turned to Alistair. “We would welcome your further assistance.”
 
“I’d like nothing better than to help, but….” He hesitated. He did not know what was at stake here. This was not his fight. ”But Grey Wardens aren’t supposed to involve themselves in wars like this. We did that in Ferelden, but the Order was not impressed, let me tell you.” This was true, but it was also true that the Qunari might have killed him had he encountered them alone. It felt wrong to give them nothing at all.
 
He reached into his pack and pulled out an amulet Aedan had given him some years ago. “Here, maybe this might help. This belongs to an…old friend of mine but I’d be willing to bet he’d like you to have it. Maker Watch over you my friend, and over us all.” Iain thanked him for the amulet and then rushed off to their next battle with his friends. Deciding that this was not an opportune time to explore the city, Alistair returned to his room at the Hanged Man.   
 
Around dusk, the sounds of celebration in the street a short time later informed him that the crisis was over, and Hawke’s mission must have been successful. He decided to venture out in search of a public bathhouse before having dinner. When he returned to the common room for his evening meal, feeling fresh and clean for the first time in weeks, the Hanged Man was raucous again. Alistair spotted Hawke and his friends at a table, surrounded by a crowd. Thinking that they were busy, he thought to just nod to the man and sit down at the bar, but Iain gestured for him to join them. 
 
He pushed his way to a seat at the table, while various people brought flagons of ale and toasted them, calling Iain ‘the Champion of Kirkwall’. His cheeks flushed with drink, Hawke put his arm around Alistair’s shoulder and said, “drink a toast to…um…”
 
“Alistair,” said the tall woman who had borne the shield earlier the afternoon. Now her helmet was off and her red hair down, her hand clasping that of a man in a guard’s uniform.
 
“If not for Alistair’s timely assault on the Saarebas, I might never have reached the Keep to defeat the Arishok.”
 
“You do me too much honor,” Alistair replied.
 
“Nah…if you hadn’t handled the mage so quickly—are you a Templar?”
 
The forearms of an elvish girl sitting beside Hawke with the facial tattoos—normal Dalish tattoos, not like Fenris’—tensed at that, gripping her stein more tightly. An apostate? Not my concern, but dangerous in Kirkwall, with the reputation of the Templars here. He shook his head in reply. “I was trained as one but never took vows. I’m a Warden.”
 
“Oh, right, you said that, or Isabela did. I should have remembered.”
 
“Well, you’ve had a few things on your mind, today.” Alistair chuckled. “Where is Isabela, by the way?”
 
“She had things on her mind, too. More important things to do, it seems.” Though he smiled as he said it, it was the sort of smile that did not reach his eyes.
 
“The ****,” hissed Aveline. 
 
Sensitive subject, it seemed. He decided not to pry. As Alistair’s meal arrived, he asked “You’re both from Ferelden, aren’t you?”. It was good to hear familiar accents. It surprised him how much he had missed the speech of his countrymen.
 
Hawke nodded. “I’m from Lothering. We came during the Blight.”
 
Lothering. “I’m sorry…I wish there had been something we could have done.”
 
He shrugged. “Not your fault.”
 
He supposed that was true, but still…”Well, it seems you’ve done well for yourselves here. You must like Kirkwall.”
 
“Oh yes, Kirkwall. With all the insane mages, religious fanatics, assorted thugs and other special people, what’s not to like? Aveline can’t let the guards have all the fun so she calls me in for a little troubleshooting from time to time. I’m sure fighting Darkspawn must get frightfully repetitious, in comparison.” Alistair found himself warming to this man. He was handsome and humorous;…and the way he fought had reminded him of Aedan. 
 
It may be that the way I fight is emblematic of my approach to everything in life, Aedan had written. He wondered if it were true of this man, as well. He suspected it was true of Isabela.
 
“Speaking of Wardens, Blondie sent his congratulations,” remarked Varric.
 
“What? Is Anders still in the city?” asked Hawke.
 
Anders? Could it be the same one? “You know a Warden named Anders?”
 
“Knew,” said Hawke, flatly. “He’s—crazy.”
 
Alistair wanted to pursue this. Had the Templars been right about him? He had disappeared, but Aedan had not wanted to believe them. Crazy. But then Hawke was distracted by another round of drinks and more well-wishers, and Alistair returned to his meal.
 
When things quieted down, Iain murmured to the others. “I saw her today. Meredith let her pets—some of them, anyway—out of their cages to help fight the Qunari.”
 
“Bethany?” asked the Dalish girl, whom he had learned was called Merrill. “How is she?


He shrugged. “I don’t know. She didn’t have much to say. Maybe she was struck dumb by the sight of her beloved brother.” Though he smiled as he said it, the words had a bitter tone.
 
Aveline put her hand on Hawke’s. “Hawke, you don’t think she blames you. She can’t.”
 
Hawke drank his ale and said nothing.
 
Alistair had finished eating, and the conversation had taken a more serious turn. It seemed there was pain behind the man’s joking—it was a tactic Alistair knew well himself--and he felt he was intruding. He took his leave, explaining that he was leaving for Ferelden early in the morning. He felt Hawke’s blue eyes at his back as he went up the stairs to his room.

[maxernst]

25.    HIGHEVER: A FORMER BROTHER
 
Alistair knew he was home when the smell of rowan blossoms drifted into his nose on the breeze, even before they had made it into port. Their scent reminded him of a grove of trees that had stood near Redcliffe castle when he was a boy. Rowan trees were popular in Ferelden, partly for their fruit, which was made it into a tart jelly, and partly in honor of the popular former Queen, Eamon’s sister. A large stand of them grew on the headland at the entrance to Highever harbor. Castle Cousland, Aedan’s former home, stood on the bluffs on the other side of the harbor.
 
When they were moored, Alistair gathered up his belongings and made his way to the Black Bear Inn. Though he knew where it was, he had never been there, for he had never had need of an inn in Highever. As he ate his meal in the common room, he pondered whether he should try to see Fergus. Part of him longed to see him and his family, but he was not sure that he was still welcome. At the same time, perhaps Fergus would be hurt if he found out that Alistair had been in town and had not contacted him. They had grown close over the years and he had been both touched and proud to call the teyrn brother. 
 
He decided that he would send a message to the castle that he was in town, expressing his desire to see them, even if it was only to say goodbye. However, he made it clear that he understood if Fergus did not want to see him for Aedan was his brother, and Alistair had hurt him. He penned the letter and asked the innkeeper to find a messenger to carry it to the castle.
 
He was still sitting in the common room, drinking ale and thinking about how he would deal with meeting Aedan again in just a few days, when he noticed that everyone around him had risen to their feet.  He turned toward the door and saw Fergus, his arms outstretched.
 
Alistair rose to his feet and embraced him. He could see the other customers in the bar whispering to each other. Alistair was not well known in Highever—he had only been there twice—but when the Teyrn came to embrace him, they saw the Warden insignia on his shield, and guessed who he must be. “I wasn’t sure if…” he murmured.
 
“Oh, Alistair, how could I not want to see you? I…just wish I could still call you brother.” Alistair sighed and did not reply. “Please come up to the Castle and join us.” 
 
With a smile, he assented, and followed Fergus up the hill to Castle Cousland. Aelys greeted him cordially and led him to the nursery where he marveled at how little Bryce and Eleanor had grown in the year he had been away. He kept the children amused while Fergus’ wife went to give instructions to the cook and serving staff. Playing with them always brought a smile to his face. 
 
At dinner, they spoke of Fergus’ children and of Eamon’s young son, of Anora’s plans for a University in Denerim, of the new mages guild in Orzammar. Of almost everything and everyone except Aedan, for which Alistair was grateful. He did not tell Fergus and Aelys about what had happened in Weisshaupt, of course, but he did talk about his travels: the trek through the desert, seeing the Merdaine in the distance, the various cities he had seen on his way home. Pressed by Bryce for tales of adventure he described his fight with the darkspawn in the Blasted Hills, though he made it sound less nearly fatal than it had been. Fergus seemed interested in hearing more about the events in Kirkwall, but Alistair had not sought out a detailed explanation, and could only relay the confused mess of rumors he had heard.
 
While the servants cleared the table, and Aelys put the children to bed, Alistair and Fergus retired to his study with a flagon of ale. When Alistair was settled into a high-backed oak chair, Fergus finally spoke of the dragon in the room. “Aedan wouldn’t tell me what happened in Val Royeaux, but could he really have done something so unforgivable? Alistair—I know I have no right to ask this, but…Aedan is my brother and he needsyou.”
 
Alistair closed his eyes. “I know that Aedan is hurting but he doesn’t need me. He’s—strong—“
 
Fergus shook his head. “He’s not as strong as you think.” His left hand stroked his beard as he sipped his ale and watched Alistair. “You didn’t know him before the Blight. When it was all over, and we were reunited, I almost didn’t recognize him. Well, he hadn’t changed in appearance so much, but in every other way, he was so different. At first, I didn’t know quite how to deal with this confident, forceful hero that my brother, the boy my Father had called Pup, had become in the year we were apart. At the time I thought he had been changed by the tragedy, by becoming a Grey Warden by the responsibilities of leadership…but now, I realize so much of it was you.”
 
“As I said, Aedan didn’t tell me what happened in Orlais,” he continued. “Maybe he was too ashamed. But I know that you lost…faith in him, and now he’s lost faith in himself. In a way, Aedan is more like he was as a child.” I was a timid child, Aedan had said, and they had all laughed. “The last time I was in Amaranthine, Meghann—that’s the name of the senior mage, there, the attractive redhead, right?—told me he’s hardly involving himself in the decisions at Vigil’s Keep anymore, and that she and Nathaniel have been running things for months. He’s so…I know you must have good reasons for leaving, but…can you really not forgive him?”
 
Alistair winced. “I—it’s not simply a matter of forgiving. It’s…” It’s high time you stopped looking to others for guidance, Adelheid had told him, and he wasn’t sure he was sure he was strong enough to make his own decisions with Aedan around. “…more a matter of trust.”
 
Fergus gave him a plaintive look. “I just wish you had come a day earlier, when Aedan was here. If you just talked it out…”
 
He sighed. “I’ll have to talk to him in a few days when I see him in Amaranthine away, but—“
 
“He won’t be there. He was on his way to Orzammar.”
 
Orzammar? Aedan never went to Orzammar.  If the Wardens had to go there, to recruit dwarves or go into the Deep Roads to gather blood for the Joining, Aedan had sent Alistair in his place. Almost any other time, Alistair had to argue with Aedan to convince him to go anywhere without him, but Aedan would not go to Orzammar or the Deep Roads. Aedan hated the city, and hadn’t been in the Deep Roads since vanquishing the Mother and the Architect. He had said he did not plan to go there until…Alistair’s heart started to pound. Perhaps I will seek out the cavern in the Deep Roads where you gave it to me and take it with me there, when the time comes, he had written. 
 
Alistair gripped his stein of ale, as if he thought Fergus might try to tear it away from him. He took a deep breath. “Did he say why he was going to Orzammar?”
 
Fergus snorted. “Of course not. You know how he is: full of secrets. In that, he hasn’t changed.”
 
Too full of secrets. “How…how did he seem to you?”
 
“Sad. Tired…but Alistair, he hasn’t seemed right since he returned from Orlais. He didn’t tell me for months but I knew something terrible had happened. Most people couldn’t tell because he’s good at pretending, but I knew.”
 
Too good at pretending, Alistair thought. How could he trust a man who could conceal so much? How could he ever have trusted him?
 
“But he didn’t say anything…strange? He seemed alright?”
 
“He never seems alright to ,e now. Alistair, what’s wrong? You’re shaking!” He put his hand on Alistair’s arm.
 
“I—I can’t explain. But I must go after him! Was he riding?”
 
“No, I think he was on foot. But Alistair, tell me what’s going on.” He sighed when Alistair shook his head.. “It seems that much of Aedan’s influence is still on you.”
 
“I’m sorry. I can’t.” This was Warden’s business. “If I could…and maybe I’m wrong.” Maker, I hope I’m wrong. “But could I borrow a horse—a strong horse? I want to catch up with him.”
 
“Well, I would like you to see him, so, of course, but…Alright. I suppose you will be leaving early in the morning, then. I had hoped you would stay longer.”
 
Alistair shook his head. “I’m sorry. But thank you for still having me. It means a lot to me….but I have to go.”
 
Before going to bed, he reread Aedan’s final letter. It was confusing, he decided. Some of it seemed resigned and accepting, some self-pitying and pleading. Could he have been expected to read the reference to the Deep Roads as a clue to his intentions?
 
Lying awake, he began to wander if the letter was yet another attempt to manipulate him. Maybe Aedan planned to threaten to go into the Roads in a desperate attempt to get him back. But he couldn’t have known when Alistair was arriving…unless Fergus was part of it, Maybe Aedan hadn’t been there the last night at all, maybe he had been waiting in Orzammar for some time. Aelys had not mentioned Aedan’s visit…
 
Maker, distrust was a poisonous thing. Was this how Aedan lived, questioning the motives and sincerity of everyone? It was easier when Alistair had divided the world into those he trusted, like Aedan, and those he didn’t, like Morrigan, with no shades of gray between. But after what had happened, he didn’t know if he would ever feel that certainty again…
 There seemed nothing he could do but go after Aedan. Even if it was somehow a plot, he could not let Aedan throw away his life. But if Aedan sought to trap him by threatening this, as Alistair himself had once threatened to abandon the Wardens if Aedan agreed to recruit Loghain—what would he do? Surely, Aedan would be reasonable, just as Alistair wouldn’t really have abandoned Ferelden and Aedan—he wouldn’t have. would he? 

[maxernst]

26.    FERELDEN: CHASING AEDAN
 
Alistair awoke early the next morning and made hasty preparations for his journey. Before leaving the castle, he kissed Bryce and Eleanor on their foreheads while they slept, wondering if Aedan had done the same the previous morning. How must it have been for him to leave to seek his death without saying goodbye to his brother? But that was Aedan’s nature: he would not share his plans with anyone who might try to convince him to change his course, or prevent him from carrying them out.
 
Alistair was not as skilled in hiding his emotions as Aedan, and so Fergus knew he was filled with anxiety, even if he did not reveal its source. But the teyrn was used to dealing with Aedan’s silences , and knew there was little point in pressing Alistair to explain himself. They embraced one last time before Alistair climbed on the horse Fergus had offered, and rode away. Glancing backward as he road, he saw that Fergus stood and watched him ride away for some time, frowning, and with his brow furrowed with worry.
 
In other circumstances, the first two days of his ride would have been pleasant, riding through the verdant lands of northern Ferelden in fair weather. But he knew that even on horseback, it would not be easy to make up much time on Aedan. Alistair was a big man, and his armor and gear were weighty, so the horse could not be expected to travel at much more than the pace of a brisk walk for long distances. He was far from certain that he could catch Aedan before he reached Orzammar. His best hope was that Aedan dawdled rather than rushed toward his end.
 
The tidy villages and green pastures of northern Ferelden had only suffered the barest touch of the Blight, unlike the south. People often hailed him as he rode, for though no one would know who he was, the gryphon on his shield was recognized, and Wardens were as respected in Ferelden as they were in Weisshaupt. It had been very different when he had first become a Warden; many had doubted the necessity and motives of his order.  Now, they were heralded as the saviors of Ferelden, though Alistair was no longer sure if Ferelden’s doom had been averted or merely delayed…
 
The road followed the narrow isthmus that separated Lake Calenhad from the sea, reminding Alistair of his childhood in Redcliffe along its southern shores. But though the sky was clear, he could not see so far as the circle tower from this distance, let alone Eamon’s tower.
 
He was also reminded of the first time he had left his native land. He and Aedan had taken this road on their way to Jader, to meet with the Orlesian Wardens, shortly after the Blight had been vanquished. He had been happy then. But in retrospect, he recalled that Aedan had seemed distracted at times. No doubt he had been trying to put together a story to account for the Archdemon’s death. But Alistair had paid little heed to that, content to enjoy his lover’s company and trust his leadership.
 
 The fine weather held for several days, and Alistair was optimistic that he would overtake Aedan, though he knew it would be hard to make up much time on the steep climb up Sulcher’s Pass. But as he began the ascent into the Frostback Mountains, the skies darkened and the mountaintops were shrouded in cloud. Rain began to fall, at first just a sprinkle, then a hard steady rain that turned the trail to mud.
 
Recognizing that the footing would be treacherous for his horse, Alistair dismounted and led it carefully up the slopes that were alternately slippery and soft. He prayed to the Maker that the rain would stop, or that it would prove to be a local storm system and that it would be dry once he wound around the next ridge.
 
But his prayers went unanswered as the unremitting downpour continued throughout the day. He hoped that Aedan was slowed by this weather as much as he was, but worried that he might have been near to Orzammar before the deluge began. He trudged on well into the evening, stopping to make camp only when it grew too dark to see his way.
 
The rain was still falling when he awoke the next morning, and he was tired from the long, difficult climb of the previous day. As he made the final ascent through the pass, it slowed to a drizzle, and the way down into the vale of Orzammar was not as soggy as the way up had been. But though this aided his progress now, he thought grimly, it would have made it easier for Aedan, as well. He worried that the rain might have destroyed his hope of catching Aedan.
 
At last, a red sun broke through the clouds over the mountains to the west, but by that time he had reached the gates of Orzammar, and the weather no longer mattered. His fears proved to be well founded, for the captain of the guard at the gate informed him the Warden Commander had arrived the night before. Aedan could be leagues into the Roads by now.
 
Alistair suspected that his duty was to go to Vigil’s Keep, and assume command of the Ferelden Wardens. He was Aedan’s second and his heir presumptive, and it was madness to go into the Deep Roads alone. Grey Wardens only did when madness became inevitable. But he could not imagine going through his life wondering if he could have saved him, never knowing how he had fallen. No, it would be better to die knowing he had tried his best than to live with uncertainty and guilt.
 
He could still catch Aedan, he told himself. Aedan had a goal in mind: to return the rose to the cavern where Alistair had given it to him. To make it so far meant he had to stay alive through a long journey, and for Aedan, that meant stealth. He would be creeping through the Roads, avoiding the Darkspawn when he could, and traveling slower than Alistair, even fully armored. Of course, that also meant he would not have cleared the way, and Alistair would have to fight Darkspawn that Aedan had slipped past. But there should not be so many Darkspawn close to Orzammar, and Aedan would not be traveling as far as the Dead Trenches. There was a chance he could still reach him. There had to be.
 
Damn you, Aedan. Why didn’t you at least wait until I returned? He wished he had written something in response to Aedan’s letters, but he had not known what to say, and had not guessed Aedan was so near to despair. He’s not as strong as you think, Fergus had said. And now, he may have doomed them both.
 
Well, he had faced death often enough before. From the time of his Joining, he had suspected that his end would come in battle. But it bothered him that if he died on this errand, no one would ever know how he had fallen, or even why he had descended into the depths. 
 
“Are you going to enter Orzammar or not?” asked the Guard Captain, tapping his mailed foot against the stone steps.
 
He nodded. “Sorry, I was just…lost in thought.” After stealing one last glance at the setting sun, he stepped through the gates into the city.

[maxernst]

 ORZAMMAR: MISUNDERSTANDINGS His heart wanted him to head straight into the Deep Roads, but he knew that rushing into the darkness was foolish when he was already tired from a long journey. He needed rest, supplies, and the best map of the Deep Roads he could find. For all those things, he headed for Tapsters.
 
Studying the map he had purchased there, he tried to determine which tunnels Aedan would take to Ortan Thaig. The specific cavern Aedan sought was not shown on the map, but it had been near the Thaig, so Aedan would be making for Caridin’s Cross first. Alistair had not gone as far into the Deep Roads as Ortan Thaig since the Blight, but there was a standard route the Wardens followed to Caridin’s Cross, and he hoped Aedan would take it. Maybe he could catch up with Aedan at the Cross. He settled into bed for a restless night.
 
The next morning, he made his way into Orzammar mines. As he approached the Dwarven Guards at the entrance to the Roads, his senses lit up. Darkspawn so close to Orzammar? He peered into the darkness and saw a man running toward him.
 
Before he understood what was happening, Aedan had leaped up, thrown his arms around Alistair’s neck and begun kissing him passionately. He had forgotten how Aedan had filled his senses. He felt drunk with passion—it had been so long—and could not help but return the kiss. 
 
But when Aedan’s lips dropped to his neck, murmuring, “It’s so good to see you,” Alistair’s mind started to work again. How could Aedan have been so close to the entrance to the Roads unless he had been waiting for him? Had he plotted the whole thing as a scheme to get Alistair back? Then Aedan looked up from his nuzzling and asked, “but…what are you doing here?”
 
It was only then that Alistair realized that Aedan had not been alone. Over Aedan’s shoulder, he saw the Senior Mage Meghann, a slim young man with a bow and a dark-haired dwarf.. “That is our Second, Alistair, but I…uh…think introductions can wait for now,” Meghann commented to her companions.   “We’ll meet you back at Tapsters later, Commander.”
 
“I came because Fergus told me you’d gone to Orzammar--and you never go to Orzammar—I thought…”
 
Aedan’s eyes widened, which made his cheekbones stand out more sharply. He had never been fleshy, but now he looked gaunt, much thinner than Alistair remembered. “Oh,” he said. “Oh. No, it’s been…hard without you—and I won’t say the thought never crossed my mind--but I was not planning an end just yet. But it’s nice to know you still cared enough to come.”
 
“Oh, Aedan, I couldn’t stop caring.”
 
“After all, as long as I stayed at Vigil’s keep, I could always hope that you would come back to me.” Aedan continued, his voice as thin as his arms. “Are you coming back to me? I love you so much. I’ve missed you so much.”
 
Mustering his strength, Alistair pulled away from him. “I—Aedan, we need to talk. Things have to change between us.” Aedan’s face took on an expression he must have learned from his hound, Conal. Alistair stifled an impulse to kiss him again. He needed to stay in control. “Let’s go back to the city.”
 
As they made their way through Orzammar, Alistair asked, “So you came to initiate some new Wardens, then? But why? You’ve always left that to…”
 
Aedan shrugged. “To you. I suppose I could have sent Meghann and Nathaniel but then I’d have to run everything alone and I don’t know, maybe the Roads don’t disturb me as much as they once did. The end is less frightening when I have so much…less to lose.” They walked in silence for a time, as Alistair fought the desire to give more comfort.
 
As they entered Tapsters, Aedan asked in an even, casual tone, “So, how did things go in Weisshaupt? That Dalish Elf—Menashe?—did not tell me very much, other than that he expected you would be returning with some instructions.” His eyed narrowed slightly, the only hint that this was anything more than idle conversation.
 
Alistair swallowed. Well, this was what he had returned to Ferelden, before he had become convinced that Aedan was headed into the depths. “You could call them instructions.” He glanced around the crowded and noisy common room. Meghann and the new recruits waved at them from a table on the far side of the room. He waved back but made no move to join them.
 
“You don’t want to discuss them here, of course,” Aedan nodded. “And it’s loud. Let’s get two tankards of ale and a room.”
 
He hesistated. He did not trust himself alone with Aedan, but he was right: this was not something they could talk about in public. He took a deep breath and agreed.
 
When they entered the room, Aedan shucked his boots and stretched out on one side of the bed. Rather than taking the other side of the bed, Alistair sat in a chair by a small writing desk and began to tell him of his experiences at Weisshaupt, how the Wardens had reacted to his tale, and then, halting often and choosing his words with care, what the Council had planned.
 
“The Tevinter mage, Aristomachus, believes he has found a way by which they might reach Aife, through the Fade. The archivist—I became friends with her—explained to me that when we die our souls travel through the Fade, visiting those close to us, tied by bonds of love or blood. And so they seek to reach Morrigan’s daughter…through you.”
 
“I see,” replied Aedan. “And is this why you returned for me? To ask me to do this?” His voice and hands were steady as he spoke these words. Only the curling of his toes betrayed any tension.
 
How does he do it? Alistair wondered. And how can I trust a man who can hide his feelings so well? “No! Aedan, how can you think…?” But unbidden, the thought came to him: Would he do it for me, if I asked? “I couldn’t ask. And it’s…blood magic…I know that such is not forbidden to Wardens but,” he shook his head. Perhaps it was just his Templar training, but he could not condone it. “They didn’t tell me how the ritual worked. They asked me to persuade you to come to Coteaux du Roche so they could do it. I only found out the truth from Adelheid.” Stupid, loyal Alistair, he’ll never suspect, they must have thought.
 
Aedan’s toes uncurled. “Thank you. I should have known better but then…you were going to try to follow me into the Deep Roads alone? If you don’t want me back, why take such a risk? How could you hope to find me?”
 
“I thought I knew where you would be headed…to the cavern where I gave you the rose.” A slow nod from Aedan. “And I couldn’t let you die. You’re too—the Wardens need you.” But Alistair knew that wasn’t why he had come, and so did Aedan.
 
Aedan sniffed. “The Wardens need me so badly they would sacrifice me for this mage’s scheme. I am only a man. They will survive without me; they will have to in due time.”
 
“I guess I felt—responsible…”
 
“Guilt. Ah.” Aedan sighed. “That’s a powerful motivator, I suppose.” He shook his head. “I hoped that you came for me. I know that Leliana will never forgive me. I suppose I can’t blame her. I wrote to her at the Chateau de Montfleurie, but have heard nothing. But you. When I saw you in the distance, I was so filled with joy..” Aedan sat up in the bed and stared at him. “Are you truly happier without me?”
 
 Alistair slapped the desk. “Happiness isn’t everything Aedan. Not if it’s based on lies. I can’t go back to…what we were. You were hiding things from me, making decisions for us without me.…” The brief surge of anger departed and his voice softened. “I guess I was partly to blame. I suppose I should have known, should have challenged you, but I trusted you. Why didn’t you trust me?”
 
Aedan blinked. “What? What do you mean? I know you wouldn’t lie to me.”
 
He sighed. “Not that kind of trust. You didn’t trust me enough to confide in me.”
 
There was a long silence. “Well, I wrote you in the letter that I was afraid that you needed me to be…more than I am to love me. A hero.”
 
Alistair shook his head. “You should have trusted me.”
 
“Some of the things I’ve done—things I thought I had to do—made me feel sullied. I guess I liked that idea that you were still pure in a way.”
 
“Aedan, do you really think I don’t understand that sometimes hard choices have to be made? And if you’re sullied, so am I because I followed you. Blindly.” Aedan’s mouth dropped open wide but he made no reply. After a moment, Alistair continued. “And it’s not the only way I did not have your trust. I’m your second, but other than recruiting and training, you didn’t give me much responsibility. When you left Amaranthine, you usually took me with you, so Nat or Meghann were left in charge.”
 
“I just wanted you with me. Did you really think I doubted your ability? Is that why you started insisting on staying behind?”
 
“Yes! I mean, if something happens to you, I’m expected to become Commander. I needed to be ready…and I needed the men to see me as ready.”
 
“But they already do. How could they not, knowing everything we did?”
 
“I’m sure they don’t doubt me as a warrior…but during the Blight I was never a leader, and they know that. I was afraid to be, then, but if I’m to command in your place, I have to be. To face that fear.”
 
Aedan shook his head. “I guess I never thought of it that way. But I’m sure the men don’t doubt your ability, Alistair. That’s your own doubt speaking.”
 
Was it just self-doubt? “And Aedan, I don’t know if I can trust you again. I want to but…”
 
“I’m sorry I was dishonest with you. If you’ll give me another chance, I’ll tell you everything, I swear I will.” His voice was firm with conviction, and Alistair longed to believe him.   
 
“Are you sure you can? When you began telling us of your childhood, back in Val Royeaux, I realized how little you had shared with me. I didn’t press you about the past because I know that it’s hard for you to talk of your parents.”
 
Aedan winced. “I’ve always been secretive, even when I was a child. But for you, I can be open, I swear it. I’m sorry that I wasn’t.”
 
“It won’t be the same. I’m going to have to challenge you more. We’re going to quarrel more often and maybe…maybe you won’t love me so much when you’re not…getting your way.”
 
Aedan rose to his feet and crossed the room toward him. “I could never not love you. Just let me try to win back your heart.” He took Alistair’s hand in his and clasped it. “Please?” 

[DreGregoire]

*sniffles and reaches for the tissues before rereading*

Modifié par DreGregoire, 05 juillet 2012 - 05:45 .

[maxernst]

28. ORZAMMAR: NIGHT THOUGHTS
 
As Aedan slept beside him, Alistair lay awake, worrying that he was making a mistake. He had been reluctant to return to a private room with Aedan, fearing that he would not be able to resist his touch. It was hard to regret something that had given such pleasure and comfort, but despite all his promises, doubt lingered.
 
He wondered if he would ever again feel the security and confidence that he had a year ago. The two great certainties of his life—the Wardens and Aedan—had both failed him. He supposed there was more hope that one man could change than the leadership of the Wardens, and so, he had gambled on returning to Aedan. Perhaps he had chosen Aedan already back in Weisshaupt, when he had left the fortress with no intention of tricking Aedan.
 
He was still not sure it would really work. Was Aedan too used to having his own way? Was Alistair strong enough to hold him to his promise to share the burden of decision making with him? Would Alistair be able to tell if Aedan began to hide things from him again, and would he have the courage to leave, if he did? He did not know.
 
There were other concerns, as well. The First might not be willing to let his plan die. He had pointed that out to Aedan, who had not seemed perturbed, shrugging and saying ‘let them try’.    Maybe they should go away, and live a quiet life somewhere, perhaps in the hills overlooking Lake Calenhad. He was a little shocked by this idle fantasy, but not as he would have been by the idea of abandoning his duty as a Warden not so long ago. He had thought being a Warden to be the most noble calling a man could have, but after Weisshaupt, he was not sure that it had ever been the Grey Wardens that commanded his loyalty. Maybe it his faith had always been in Duncan, and later Aedan, rather than the Order itself.
 
But in the midst of all these doubts, there was one thing he knew for certain. He might be in a strange bed ,in the city of another people, but with the familiar rhythm of his lover’s breathing, the firm curve of Aedan’s buttocks against his abdomen, and the awareness of his taint close by, for the first time in more than a year, he felt that he was home.
 
THE END
 
AFTERWORD
 
Thank you to all of you who have read to the end of my story, especially those who have left encouraging comments and reviews, without which I would probably never have felt compelled to bring the story to a conclusion. And thanks also to David Gaider and Bioware for creating this world and these characters that inspired me, and allowing me to play with them. 
 
When I began this story two years and a hundred and thirty-thousand words ago, I had no idea I would end up writing such a lengthy work, probably exceeding the entire fictional output of the rest of my life. I initially conceived it as a Blight story recounted by Aedan to Leliana in Val Royeaux, in part because I feel most comfortable writing in first-person storyteller mode. But then I started to wonder what brought Aedan and Alistair to Val Royeaux and I remembered the ending cards with Alistair being called away to Weisshaupt and so the prelude of Chasing Alistair was born. And then I recalled the reports of Morrigan being a counselor to Celene and the framing narrative began to interest me more than the Blight, though I was halfway through before I realized how it would end. And then the way Morrigan’s Daughter ended left me thinking about what would happen to Alistair thereafter, leading to the last of the story. And so my small story, snowballed into this larger, more complex work that I would probably not have attempted had I conceived it in its entirety from the start.
 
 
 

[DreGregoire]

I have enjoyed reading this story. Thanks for keeping up with it and although I am sad that it is ending I think you have left it at a great spot. Again, I have enjoyed following the story.

[maxernst]

Thanks so much. I'm glad you enjoyed i and have really appreciated you following along all the way through for two years.