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It was late, late enough that the castle servants had all retired. Vena Tabris had declined the serving girl who offered to bank the fire in her grating hours ago. She had paced in front of the dancing flames, too anxious to rest. Now she sat at her desk illuminated by the embers' soft glow. She allowed herself a sigh--equal parts relief and resignation.
They had done it. The treaties would be honored; the mages, the dwarves, the elves, and, after the landsmeet tomorrow, the humans. She pinched the bridge of her nose, her elbows on her knees, her head hung low. She should have been ecstatic, relieved, at the very least. She had sacrificed so much for this cause, they all had. She had hoped, prayed even, to keep this one miracle. A kernel of happiness in this cursed blight. They had been so close, and now she would still lose him.
Despite Wynne's motherly warning, Vena had not expected it to hurt this much. Traveling together she knew, they both knew, they could lose each other. It was laughable to imagine they would fall to courtly duty’s blade when demons walked and they slept with one eye open. It had seemed so far removed from their reality. But now...
Vena stood abruptly; there was nothing to be done. Alistair would be king and she would... She would continue fighting: darkspawn, demons, elf rights, something. Her feet found the recently familiar worn carpet. One day he would find a queen, a human, someone who could give him heirs.
On the bed, her faithful mabari lifted his head. He whined softly as he tracked her pacing. Vena detoured to lay a hand between his ears.
"I know, I should sleep."
He pressed his nose to her thigh with a huff.
"If there was another way..." She sighed and scratched his ears, "But there isn't, and I can't--won't--make him choose."
A soft growl was his response. It brought a small smile to her lips.
"No, that wouldn't help," she chuckled, "it would be very entertaining though."
He perked up at her chuckle, his jaws parted and tongue lolled in a canine grin. Before she could react, he was standing on the bed slobbering on her face.
"Oh, your breath is frightening! What are they feeding you here?" She laughed as she tried to push the hound away, but it was no use. "You're impossible!" The beast was solid muscle and standing on the bed gave him the advantage of height.
With a yip, he twisted onto his back, his nubby backside wiggling in the sheets as he demanded belly rubs.
"After you've ruined my new shirt?" She gestured to the globs of slobber soaking into the garment.
He yipped again and licked his nose. But before Vena could reply he suddenly twisted onto his stomach again, his ears perked towards the door. Vena turned, hands halfway to her daggers before she realized who it was.
"Alistair..." Her hands dropped to her sides. He stood in the doorway shifting his weight nervously, "I didn't think you would want to see me tonight."
"I'm sorry, I should go, I just... couldn't sleep," he finished lamely.
"It's fine," She looked away into the still glowing fire, "neither could I."
"Vena..." Alistair, he started to reach out but pulled his hand back. He rubbed his neck instead.
"I know." The words were quiet, she wasn't sure he'd heard. She crossed her arms. There was nothing either of them could say.
"Vena." This time his voice was much closer; she could feel him standing at her side. "Please," his hand was on her cheek urging her to look at him, "I love you."
She turned to him, cupping his hand with her own and holding it there. His thumb traced her faint tattoo from cheek to chin and she let herself relax into the touch.
"I love you too, I--" suddenly her tongue twisted, the raw feeling she found when she looked up perfectly mirrored her own inner turmoil. She fought the tears that threatened to break her composure, "Alistair..."
He clutched her hands between his own, dropped to his knees before her. A king begging before a serf.
"Run away with me," his plea tore at her heart. "Arl Eamon has the treaties, the people love Anora, we could leave, just the two--" a gruff bark from the bed corrected him, "--sorry, three of us." His voice was rough with desperation. He looked into her eyes imploring her to agree.
They both knew it could never happen.
"You know I would, Alistair," her voice was a whisper, she cradled his hands to her chest.
"But you won't," he acknowledged looking away. "I had to ask, I knew the answer but..." The breath he released shuddered through his entire body.
She brought his hands to her lips, "Shhh."
He looked up at her, his eyes red rimmed and wet, "There will never be another. You own my heart, Vena."
She cupped his cheek, "And you mine, Alistair," she smiled sadly, "but you will move on. You'll find a queen, have a family, love them." she ran a hand through his hair.
"And what if I want you as my queen?" His challenge was bold but held no weight; they had discussed this all before too many times. There was a script now.
"The people would never accept me; an elf from the alienge? What noble would yield to your throne?"
"You would be their hero and my queen," he turned to kiss her palm, "they would kneel as if before Andraste herself when this is over."
"Flattery will get you everywhere you know," she replied. If his smile didn't reach his eyes, she did not mention it.
He stood and embraced her. His arms were home; strong and sure, they wrapped around her. She lost herself in them, pretending, if only for a moment, that he would be hers to keep. His arms tightened as if he sensed her thoughts.
"They would kneel to you, you know." he whispered into her hair. "If I had to put them on their knees myself, they would do it."
She looked up at him. "They would revolt," she said, not unkindly. "And even if they didn't…” she hesitated. “Alistair, you know I can't have your children," she turned into his shoulder. "Where would that leave the kingdom? No heirs, no civil peace--Fereldan would fall whether we slayed the arch demon or not. All we've accomplished would be for nothing."
His jaw tightened, "If the nobles want an heir we'll adopt. The blight has torn too many families apart, we could build one from its ashes." She shook her head even as he spoke.
"It would never work, Alistair. What would become of them when the deep roads call us?" She cupped a hand to his cheek, "Grey Wardens are not known for their longevity, they would lose their parents to the blight again, and for what? A crown of thorns and a little gold? No, I will not put a child through that."
He was quiet then. His arguments exhausted, again. Of course, this time Arl Eamon's waspish comments of duty were absent.
"What will you do? After?"
She hesitated. Truthfully, she had no idea. She couldn't stay, it would hurt them both too much.
"There will be plenty of time to think about that later, " she made her answer light. "There will be plenty to do: rebuild, get the alienage back to rights, and I never did finish my training," she tried to give a convincing smile. "Maybe I'll run into that pirate again, the one that had you blushing darker than Ohgren's beard."
He rolled his eyes at that, "And I suppose you'll bring Zevran and Leliana with you?"
"Someone will have to tell her I'm not interested in her lessons outside of dueling. You don't expect me to do it?" she jested.
"Of course not; you're too busy to discuss, much less be distracted by, pleasures of the flesh. Someone will have to let her down easy," he teased back.
Vena laughed then sighed into his chest, she felt a hand rub between her shoulder blades.
"There really is no way out of this, is there?” he murmured.
She let the question hang unanswered between them.
"Stay with me tonight?" she asked instead.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, "Of course, darling."
The last embers smouldered in the grating, their cheerful flame all but forgotten.