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She holds him gently, his head resting against her shoulder, eyes closed. She would like to stroke his face, brush her fingers over his hair, but she can’t get her gauntlets off right now, so she settles for leaning her cheek against his forehead.
He’s a mess, spattered with blood, but she doesn’t care. They both are, and it won’t be the first time her armor’s gotten covered in blood. It probably won’t even be the hundredth. She doubts it will be the last, either. Even though it feels like it.
“You didn’t have to do this, love. We could have found another way.” Her words are soft, barely audible, but they aren’t meant to carry.
“Warden? We should not remain here. The battle isn’t over.”
She raises her head at the sound of Wynne’s voice. The use of her title is doubtless intended to remind her of her responsibilities, that she has obligations, duties.
For the first time in her life, Alexia finds that she doesn’t care.
“Someone else can deal with it. Anyone can kill darkspawn. They don’t need a Grey Warden any more, now that the Archdemon is dead.”
Bowing her head, she presses a kiss to his forehead, the skin beneath her lips already starting to grow cold.