Chapter Text
Goldanna wasn’t at all what he’d hoped she’d be. Alistair imagined a happy reunion, where she’d wondered about the brother she might’ve had. They would catch up on each other’s lives. Tell stories. He’d imagined a million different things they might have in common, from humor to embarrassing stories.
The woman in front of him was bitter and angry. She blamed him for their mother’s death. Maybe she should.
“And who’s this woman?” his sister groused. “Some servant of yours? Figures. You tell whatever fancy nobles you run with that you got neices and nephews that ain’t livin’ right. In fact, why don’t tell your servant to -- ”
“Shut up.” Kallian tossed a sack of coins at Goldanna. “Take it. That’s all you care about anyway.”
She slid her hand into his. “C’mon, Alistair. There isn’t anything here for you.”
“Just a moment,” he said. He searched Goldanna’s face for his own features, any hint as to what their mother looked like. But when he compared his face to hers, they had nothing in the world in common. He felt Kallian’s hand in his own, tugging him toward the door and saw the look of disdain Goldanna had for the elf. In a low voice, he said, “Kallian is not my servant. She’s my friend. Goodbye.”
“Good riddance.” Goldanna’s voice followed them out the door. “Don’t come back here.”
Back on the street, Kallian gave him a once over, as if she were checking for physical injury. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” He regretted the whole expedition. His mind had already begun its usual process of making excuses: Goldanna hasn’t spent years wondering what it would be like to have a family like you . He wanted to stop doing that. It was exhausting, and a very small piece of Alistair, the part that still loved him, knew his sister didn’t deserve it. “I’m sorry she talked about you like that.”
“Don’t be. I’ve heard it all my life, but the apology is appreciated.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “You don’t need her. You have others who care about you.”
“I thought I’d have a family,” he said. All the hopes he’d had of a normal life after the Blight were dashed. “Maybe she was right.”
Kallian looked him in the eyes. “You have friends that care for you. I’m one of them.”
Alistair hugged her. “Thanks.”
The Alienage was one of the most depressing places he’d seen. The houses were held together with rusted nails and rotted wood covered the glassless windows. Barefoot children with dirty faces ran through the streets, beggars and cripples held tin cups out and thanked the group when Kallian dropped silvers in. “May the Ancestors guide your path.”
She stopped in front of one door and hesitated, then knocked three times.
A young elf open the door. His gaze rested on her for several minutes. “Cousin, you’re alive.”
Kallian hugged the elf. “Soris. Thank the Maker you’re okay. I heard about the riots and the plague and -- ”
“I’m alright.” Soris pulled back and examined her. She’d picked up a few scars since Alistair met her. “I’m just glad you’re home.”
Alistair was torn between happiness for his friend and bitter longing for Goldanna to have met him like this.
“How’s Father? And Shianni and Valora?” She clapped her cousin on the shoulder. “I hope married life has treated you well.”
Soris’ face was strained. “Ah, well, it did, but Valora got sick. We had no idea -- the two of us went down to the clinic to get checked, since Uncle Cyrion was ill. I didn’t think she was really sick, but they took her into quarantine.”
“Who?” Kallian’s brow furrowed.
“The Tevinter magisters that came down to help with the plague,” Soris explained. “Shianni could tell you more about it.”
They found Shianni outside the clinic, shouting angrily.
“Shianni,” Kallian’s face broke into a wide grin. “I’m home.”
It was strange, he thought, that this decaying place was still home to her. Jealousy that she had a home where she belonged gnawed at him, and guilt over said jealousy needled him.
Shianni, for her part, threw her arms around Kallian. “You’re alive. When we heard what happened at Ostagar -- and no word from you -- we thought the worst.”
“I’m here.”
“You are Shianni?” Zevran asked with curiosity beyond asking if that was her name. He wanted to know what she meant to the Warden.
Leliana, too, tilted her head to the side. All three of them had seen a representation of her, pulled from the Warden’s mind, but only Alistair knew who she was. Kallian’s cousin, who stood up to a young nobleman and was punished brutally for it. He was glad, at least, to see that Vaughan had not crushed her spirit.
“Yeah, why?” Shianni rested a hand on her hip and wiped her brow.
Zevran shrugged. “Merely curiousity. My dear Warden has mentioned you a time or two, and I wished to make your aquaintance.”
Andraste, flirting was a bad option. Shianni tensed.
Kallian cleared her throat. “Cousin, Soris mentioned a riot.”
“Oh, yes, after your wedding, extra guards were posted, a curfew was established and they cracked down on the ‘no weapons’ rule.” She looked irritated by that. “Can’t even have kitchen knives anymore, and they started arresting elves for vagrancy. Well,” she smiled humorlessly, grim and proud, “you can imagine we didn’t like that .”
“A wedding?” Zevran mused. “So you have a secretive side after all.”
Alistair wanted to slap him, but restrained himself. Kallian hadn’t told him, so how could he know? Nevertheless, a desire to protect his friend from her past manifested in anger at Zevran for failing to know his word would cut.
“It didn’t go well.” Kallian had begun rubbing the ring on her finger again.
“You left him at the alter, hm?”
There was an exchange happening below the words, Alistair realized. Zevran’s words were light, but the three elves looked at each other with a silent understanding that made Alistair fearful for his friend.
I’ve heard it all my life, she told him when he apologized on Goldanna’s behalf. The day he met her, she shown him her ears, like she expected it to make a difference. Was this simply part of life for elves? To have your very personhood violated? His anger at Zevran changed direction. He was angry at Anora and Cailen for not knowing what happened in their own city. He was angry at every king before them who’d been blind to the suffering of its citizens. Alistair caught himself thinking that if he were king, he would see this never happen again.
***
Anora looked like the cat that swallowed the canary as she sauntered into the room.
Kallian’s face blanched as she processed what had occured.
The queen betrayed us.
“Your father was going to kill you!” Her hands shook, and it wasn’t hard to see why. Anora had promised aid, and if the Landsmeet turned against them now, they were lost. They’d come so far.
“Do you know that?” Anora rested a hand on her hip. “Really? You could have proven yourself an ally to Ferelden. Unfortunately for you all, you did not.”
Loghain’s face, which had been drawing up as Kallian listed his crimes, relaxed. “Who here can say that Anora is not fit to lead? And who can say that Alistair is?” He looked lovingly on his daughter. “Anora will lead us through this crisis, and I’ll lead her armies.”
They’d both made their cases, and it was time for the Landsmeet to decide.
“South Reach stands with the Wardens,” Arl Bryland called out. Then, quieter, “Maker help us all.”
Bann Alfstanna leaned over the bannister and made eye contact with Kallian as she declared, “Waking Sea stands for the Wardens.”
“Dragon’s Peak for the Wardens!”
“I stand with Loghain,” said an elderly nobleman. “We’ve no hope of winning otherwise.”
Alistair counted up the vote mentally. Three for them, one for Loghain, and Western Hills had yet to cast their vote. They needed a supermajority to win, or nothing had changed and that meant Loghain was still in charge. Maker turn his gaze on them if that happened.
Across the hall, Anora wore a smug expression, as if she expected to win, but her face was pale and her eye panicked. Beads of sweat rolled down Loghain’s forehead. Arl Eamon leaned heavily on the railing. The whole room watched the nobles of the Western Hills talk amongst themselves. Arl Wulff looked up and faced the room. Then, in a clear voice, he said, “The Blight is the most important threat here. Western Hills stands with the Grey Wardens.”
He felt giddy with relief.
Kallian looked like she might collapse. “Loghain,” she said, “step down gracefully, please. You were their hero once.”
“You’re all traitors!” Loghain shouted. His eyes were wild. “You’d all have our country handed to those blasted Orlesians.”
“The Orlesians are not the threat, Loghain.” Kallian gave the man a pained look. “You are. Please, I’ve heard stories of you since I was a little girl. I don’t want to kill you, if I can help. But I cannot let you continue to sell your own people into slavery. If this must be settled, call off your men and we’ll settle this honorably.”
“Very well, Warden,” Loghain said. “Will you face me yourself, or have you a champion?”
Alistair took one look at the two of them and knew she couldn’t win. Loghain was twice her size and battle-trained. He’d been fighting longer than she’d been alive. His heavy armor alone would knock her down if he charged her. Kallian was dexterous, but her strength lay in her words. In a one-on-one fight with nowhere to hide, Loghain would defeat her easily. And yet, she would not send another to fight in her place.
He stepped forward. “That would be me.”
“Let’s test the mettle of your would-be king, then.” Loghain readied himself. “I wonder if there’s anything of Maric in you, boy.”
He didn’t care if there was anything of Maric in him. If anybody had the right to call themselves his father, it was Duncan.
Executing Loghain felt like a release. Anora screamed when Alistair’s sword came down on the former war hero’s neck as if it had been her own head, and despite everything, he felt a pang of pity for her.
Then Eamon approached them. “Good duel. So, it’s decided: Alistair is king.”
“What?” He panicked. “This wasn’t decided, was it?”
“You all heard him,” Anora shrieked. “He abdicates his claim to the throne.”
The room broke into chaos.
Bann Alfstanna motioned for everyone to calm down. “We need a king. The Warden won the dispute, so she can decide.”
Kallian’s eyes went wide, the same terrified expression she’d worn in Orzammar when she realized her actions would effect the dwarven kingdom for years to come. He felt an overwhelming sense of pity for her. One year ago she had been a nineteen year old on her wedding day; now she was wrapped up in all the politics of Fereldan, facing would-be assassins, solving centuries-old disputes and making kings. He didn’t envy her those choices.
The nobles locked their gazes on her as she stuttered out, “I-I need a moment.”
She studied both of their faces, his and Anora’s. “Al … would you be ready to be king, if I chose you?”
“No. Yes.” Alistair had no idea what answer was expected of him, or even which one he should give. “If I had to, I’d manage.”
“Anora, what makes you a better candidate?” She watched the queen with care.
Anora sputtered at the question. “Who do you think has been ruling the kingdom for the past five years? It wasn’t Cailen.”
Kallian traced the ring on her finger with her thumb, and Alistair knew exactly what she was about to do. Anora had been queen for five years, and yet, she’d done nothing to help her most vulnerable citizens. The apology in her eyes when she met his gaze only confirmed it. His heart dropped to his stomach. There was a long pause. Everyone looked tense, like they didn’t know the answer. “I choose Alistair.”
Eamon had promised … No, Eamon had never promised Alistair anything. Eamon had ordered that the crown was not in his future. Teagan, the unthinkable has happened. The affection Alistair had for the man dwindled.
“It’s settled then,” Eamon said quickly. “Anora, do you abdicate your claim to the throne and that of your descendants?”
“What kind of question is that?” Anora spat. “I will not.”
“Then you’ll be executed, is that what you want?” Eamon demanded.
The former queen snarled at him. “I will not give up my pride.”
Kallian’s horrified expression didn’t reach her eyes, which were dull and lifeless. Very softly, she said, “You have to make a choice, Al.”
A slow anger built up in him. The one thing he didn’t want more than anything, and here he was, king of Fereldan. What had given her the right? They would be having words later, but right now they had Anora do deal with. “Do we have to kill her? Can’t we just -- just lock her up for now. We’ll find somewhere to send her later.”
Anora froze. “I -- thank you, Alistair. You show me mercy that I … would not have shown you.”
As she was led away by guards, his chest seized up. She would have had him executed. He was reminded of something Zevran had said months ago, after learning of Alistair’s heritage. That’s the lovely thing about kings. They make good business, either as clients or as targets.
Was this his life now?
The nobles filed out of the throne room, ostensibly to prepare their troops. Then their companions left the two of the alone.
“How could you do that to me?” Alistair asked, minutes after the last lord had left. “You knew I didn’t want to be king!”
“Would you have preferred I let them crown Anora?” she deadpanned.
You show me mercy that I … would not have shown you.
“No,” he muttered. “She would have killed me, and that would have been bad.”
“I know I said I wouldn’t do this, but … ” She looked like she’d aged ten years in an hour. There were bags under her eyes, and her shoulders drooped. If he were honest with himself, the Blight had aged both of them. “Alistair, I won’t let her hurt you. Nothing else factored into my decision. I’m sorry.”
When he didn’t answer, she hung her head. “It’s … it’s okay if you hate me for this. I understand. For what it’s worth, I really do think you’ll be a good king.”
She walked away, and he caught her arm. “Kallian, just promise me one thing.”
“What is it?” Her smile was paper-thin and her blue-green eyes were wet with tears. He didn’t think she’d cried once since he’d met her.
“You’ll be there when I need you, right?” He didn’t want to do this alone, and Eamon’s eagerness to execute Anora unsettled him.
Kallian heaved a long sigh, then smiled weakly. “Of course, Al.”
Until the day he died, he wouldn’t tell a soul he heard her sobbing in the hall. And he knew she wouldn’t let on that she had most certainly heard the king of Fereldan break down alone in the throneroom.
Maker, this country had better be grateful when they were done.
***
The night before the battle, Alistair couldn’t sleep. Morrigan had given him a predatory look as he slipped to his room, and he didn’t want to think about what it meant. He’d given the order to march on Denerim in the morning, and the weight of the decision was heavy on his shoulders. He had made the order with little thought but that they could abandon the city and her people. He hoped he hadn’t doomed his men. And Riordan’s revalation buzzed in his head. Someone was going to die tomorrow. A selfish part of him wanted it to be Riordan, but he knew that might not be. The reluctant acceptance in Kallian’s eyes when she volunteered to be the sacrifice scared him. He didn’t want to do this king thing without his best friend, and her almost-automatic acceptance of the sacrifice, the exhaustion as she offered her own life, broke something in him.
His door swung open and Kallian with the same dead-eyed expression she’d been wearing for days now. “Alistair, we need to talk.”
“Of course.” Alistair tried to be light-hearted, but the situation was grave. He’d expected her to pay him a visit, probably to tell him something about how he was the king, so leave the Archdemon to her. And he’d tell her there was no way.
“We’re friends, right?” She said it with shaky uncertainty.
He didn’t know what she was about to ask him, just that he wouldn’t like it. “Yes, why?”
“What if I told you there was a way to avoid dying tomorrow?” The question was asked haltingly.
Alistair tried to keep a controlled reaction. This was the miracle he’d been hoping for. “You mean with the Archdemon, right? What?”
“It’s a magic ritual,” she choked on the words.
Kallian had never been opposed to magic before. It made him uneasy.
“Something Morrigan cooked up, no doubt,” he said. “What do you need me to do?”
“I need you to sleep with her.”
Alistair burst out laughing. “Oh, Maker, you had me there. Seriously, what do I need to do?”
Her face was contorted in pain. She’d meant it.
He was reminded of the conversation they’d had more than six months ago, about whether either of them had had sex before, and their innocent curiousity. It felt so long ago. “You’re not joking, are you?”
She wasn’t looking at him. “I’m not going to lie to you. It … will produce a child.”
It felt like all the air had been knocked out of him. A bastard prince. Just like him. “Did she say what she intended to do with it?”
“The child will have the spirit of an Old God?” Kallian winced as she said it.
“Oh, here I was worried about having a bastard running around, but now I have to worry about it being some kind of dragon?” He sat down at the desk and rested his head in his hands. “I trust you, but this is Morrigan . Do you really think this is a good idea?”
Neither of them spoke for a long time. Kallian sounded congested when she said, “I’m not making this decision for you. I won’t try to persuade you.”
“If I don’t do it … ” He trailed off.
“Don’t tell me tomorrow,” she said. “It’s selfish, but I don’t want to know. Promise me whatever happens, you’ll let me take the final blow.”
“Kallian, please, you’re not thinking clearly -- ”
She cut him off. “I am. Fereldan needs you, Alistair. It needs king who has seen suffering and would aleviate it. Anora can’t do that.” Kallian inhaled and exhaled slowly. “I won’t ever ask you to do anything again. Let me at the son of a bitch.”
At the gates of Denerim they were forced split up. Alistair, Sten and Wynne would be following Kallian to Fort Draken. As she wished, he did not tell her of his decision. The others would hold off the hordes.
Kallian scratched Alf behind the ears. “It’s alright. Be a good boy while I gone, okay?”
The Mabari whined and nuzzled her leg.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “If anything happens to me, Sten promised he’d take care of you, didn’t he?”
The dog whined again, but sullenly rejoined Oghren.
Each of their friends wished them good luck.
“Try not to get squished up there,” was Shale’s parting wisdom.
“I wish I were going with you,” Leliana said. “We are so close, I know we will win.”
Kallian smiled. “We will. The Blight ends here.”
Morrigan approached her warily. To everyone’s surprise, she wrapped her arms around Kallian. “Live gloriously, my friend.”
Zevran waited to approach them until they had given up and turned to exit the gates. He pulled Kallian to the side and cupped her face in his hands, examining her. “So, at the end, you do not want me by your side.”
She placed a hand over his. It was such an intimate moment, Alistair wanted to turn away. He did not want to see this side of his friend, though he once had, so long ago, when he’d given her that blasted rose.
“Not this time, Zevran,” she said. “I don’t want you in danger.”
She so sure she’s going to die. She doesn’t want him to see. He wasn’t sure if the calm, exhausted woman in front of him was better than the melancholy that had hung over her for the past week.
“So, now you worry about my health,” he laughed joylessly. Then, with complete seriousness, he said, “To be by your side, I would storm the Black City. Never doubt it.”
“Whatever happens, I love you.” She kissed his cheek.
Alistair knew her well enough to know she hadn’t said a thing to Zevran. It didn’t matter, though. The assassin knew this was her goodbye. “Cruel to the end.”
There was no point in leaving the elf to wait, anticipating news of her death. He promised not to hint anything of his plans to Kallian -- he would spare her that choice, at least -- but he never said he wouldn’t tell anybody else. Alistair waited until she’d passed through the gate and grabbed the elf by the shoulder. “I promise you, she is coming back.”
Zevran searched his face, then said, “I’ll hold you to that, my friend. Just make sure you both come back.”
The Archdemon lay heaving, in pain. Panic gripped Alistair. This was it -- the end they’d been working toward. He dropped his sword somewhere on the battlefield. He scanned for it -- there, twenty feet in front of the Archdemon. Fate was laughing at him.
Kallian stood beside him, sword in hand. “Well.”
“It was an honor to fight by your side.”
“Same.
He took a step forward, but she slipped a foot around his ankle. “Not so fast, Your Majesty.”
He stumbled and caught himself just before he hit the ground
She darted past him and drove her sword into its head. There was a howl and a blinding flash of light, and Kallian crumpled to the ground.
Alistair ran and grabbed her, checking for vital signs. “Morrigan had better not have lied to me.”
He felt her heartbeat faintly against his fingertips. “Thank the Maker.”
Kallian’s eyes fluttered open and she sat up, using Alistair to prop herself up. Her breathing was still shallow and she looked bewildered. Wynne and Sten made their way across the battlefield. Sten reached them first. He knelt down and gripped Kallian’s shoulder.
“You led us this far, kadan.” For the first time since he’d met the qunari, he smiled. “I never doubted you.”
Wynne cast a healing spell and pulled both Wardens into a hug. “I am proud -- infinitely proud -- to call you my friend. Both of you.”
Kallian smiled wryly at Alistair. “That Archdemon had better be good and dead, because let me tell you, Al, I am not doing that again.”