Chapter Text
“The Calling tells a Warden that the Blight will soon claim him. It starts with dreams, and then whispers in his head. The Warden says his farewells, and goes to the Deep Roads to meet his death in combat.
It lurks in the shadows like a wolf around a campfire. The creature that makes his music has never known the love of the Maker, but at times, I almost understand it.”
Sunlight pours into the forest path.
She’s lightly armored. She wants to go out in style. Go out comfortable. Rather than arm herself to the teeth, trudging around the Deep Roads exhausted and frustrated, taking too long to die.
She reaches out an arm and brushes her hand through the plants growing through rocks at the edge of the path. An old signpost stands proudly, the placename faded, as it points to somewhere that no longer exists.
It was always like moving through a dream, that instinct to follow a sound into the deepest reaches of the world. When she dreams, that dream-version of Elyse would know where she was and why, even though she hadn't lived it. There was nothing in the dreams to answer why she was here, but she always knew.
The Calling is like that. Knowing where to go, even if you can’t put it into words how.
There’s a desire to fight it, to insist that you’re not done yet, or to fix the world some more. She’s fought against darkspawn for thirty years. Learned strategy on the fly, fought for the lives of mages, elves and dwarves, killed dragons and monstrosities - but with all of that, she knows that some fighting is hopeless.
Elyse doesn’t want to fight forever.
She checks the map tucked into her satchel, even though she’s been here before. A few years back, on an operation of her own: to beat back darkspawn leftover from the Blight that had crawled closer to the surface. They discovered this entrance to the Deep Roads behind a vault door not unlike the one beneath Vigil’s Keep. One of the dwarves had said it was “old vintage shit” and replaced it. It was an old lyrium mine, and it was a good place for it, given it was only a few miles southeast of the old Circle tower.
Would she be able to open such a door alone? That was the question. Also, where is the door?
The sky shifts from blue to a hazy gold, mixing with foam-like clouds. Sunlight settles across the green hills and fields that roll by. Lothering, where they’d rested for the night, slips further away. His home, Denerim, even further.
He presses his head back against the tall seat of the carriage. The roads got more rural, and the journey got more clunky. All the better. Even the carriage itself felt like too much of a send-off.
The Mabari snores, lugging its slobbery face across Alistair’s lap.
He smiles, gently gripping the dog’s ear in his hand and slowly pulling it, focusing on the soothing motion. It was a bad decision, to bring Perseus with him. It’s going to make it harder to leave.
They should be okay, though. When Perseus gets back to Denerim, he’ll go to Eleanor, Connor’s daughter. He will make a good companion for her, in his final years.
Alistair runs his thumb along the fur on Perseus’s face, where it was grey.
The carriage rolls over a stone, jerking them both inside. Perseus wakes from his deep sleep and sighs heavily, clearly inconvenienced.
“Not long ‘til you’re home, don’t worry.” Alistair says, unsure if the worry that needed easing was the dog’s or his own.
He hasn’t been to the Deep Roads for a fair few years. Everything he remembers is, in some way, unpleasant. The smell of campfire smoke, the constant awareness that your hands were unclean, and feeling like you were sweating, even though the ancient tunnels seemed to be freezing. He imagines all the sharp edges, lines, and corners that are carved into the walls throughout the Deep Roads, dwarven architecture littering every memory of the place. Some days he could see for miles down one massive hallway, other times, he was sucking in breath to squeeze into a narrow gap between two giant boulders.
Of course, a menagerie of monsters and different breeds of darkspawn awaited him. He often wondered which kind was going to take him down. Right now, he’d rather not think about it.
Forest trees on the horizon stand against the greens and blues of distant mountains, amber skies above. The sun would set soon, perhaps burning the sky with reds and oranges.
He immediately thinks of Teagan.
Alistair runs his hands through his hair, sighing. He feels his heart starting to pull him away from destiny.
Shadowed trees begin to cut through the landscape, as the carriage sinks into woodland.
Still, everything he’s faced has taught him that leaving is easier when you have no choice.
Elyse follows a path of wood planks and flattened earth that looked like it might once have been a hub of activity. Not too far from the dirt road she’d been walking.
She side-steps a large shrub, and she sees it.
It is like the door underneath the Vigil. It’s at least similar. There’s a hexagonal frame, covered in dwarven carvings, and a large, brass turning mechanism on the front. It’s massive, and she can’t picture herself turning it by herself.
Those wood planks must have been from old mining carts. An abandoned pickaxe rests amidst rocky terrain. Poor pickaxe.
Elyse places a hand on one of the carvings, properly stopping for the first time since she’d set off walking today. She wants a rest, and so, standing in the woods, surrounded by sunset, and a forest so wonderfully green, she rests.
Wind rustles the leaves above, as it rolls through the mountains and hills. A bird chirps sweetly somewhere. Sun filters through trees, casting long shadows of branches and sticks upon the grass. There’s a wolf howl in the distance, and she barely hears it, it’s so far away.
The sound of the Calling is mixed with everything else, almost as if when one's ears are damaged and silence is lost. It's often a different color to the rest of what she hears, and that’s how she finds it. Her brow furrows, as she searches for it. Trying to catch that ever-encroaching sound.
That wolf howls again, and when she listens in that space for sound, it catches. A pebble finding purchase in the sand as the ocean’s tide pulls out. A single thread from a woven blanket catching on a thorn and unraveling. In her mind, it catches.
It’s shaky, a choir singer whose voice trembles. A few different voices, or chimes. It’s less like an instrument, and more like wind wailing during a blizzard, changing in pitch, getting stronger.
It doesn’t rush her mind like she’s heard from some Wardens. The forest might be too much to hear her Calling over.
As it is, it’s enough.
“Shhh, please,” she sighs. It’s not what she would call control, but it silences somewhat if she's walking or someone is talking.
When she sighs a second time, the wildlife of the forest rushes back to her attention. Bird chirps and shaking leaves, the distant wolf and gentle breeze.
Another sound joins it. Wheels and hooves on soft ground.
She turns her head towards the path she came through. Through trees and shrubs, rolls a cart or a carriage. It makes a turn, approaching. A carriage, small but ornate, led by a single black horse. On its rosewood exterior, twin mabaris - the symbol of Ferelden. A ways from the dwarven door, it comes to a halt, the driver pulling on the reins and the horse huffing.
The driver stands, skinny as a rail, with dark hair tied back. He sees her and smiles politely, tilting his hat.
"Sir, do you have a spare moment?” Elyse asks, stepping away from the door. “I think I may need help with this door.”
His eyes trail down to the silverite emblem on her armor. "Are you on Grey Warden business?" He asks.
"Yes."
He hops from the carriage, and with his feet on the ground, prepares to open the carriage door. "So are we."
The driver bows his head as he opens the door, and Elyse hears under breath, "... all the fuss ."
"We've made as little fuss as possible, Your Grace," the driver replies reassuringly.
A figure steps out, clad in studded leathers, sunlight catching the studs the same way it catches golden hair. A dark grey cloak drifts behind him, pinned to his armor. He faces the driver, fiddling with something on his armor. They speak quietly, the driver nodding in Elyse’s direction before reaching in the interior of the carriage.
The figure turns, and it's like her chest floods with ice water.
King Alistair. Face thinner, eyes older than when she’d last seen him.
He stares like a deer in the firelight. His mouth falls open, and Elyse just about sees his face flush. She almost laughs, she doesn’t want to know kind of expression she made.
Alistair quickly turns away and looks back at the driver, who detaches the cloak from Alistair’s armor, folding it over his arm. The driver murmurs something with a soft, knowing smile, to which Alistair nods.
Alistair then latches onto him in a tight hug, having to bend a bit, as he's a bit taller than him. Elyse turns back to the door, this moment is theirs. She struggles to remember the last time she was properly hugged.
More hushed words, and the sound of metal and leather. Elyse sees Alistair, separated from the driver, lean into the carriage, busying himself with something.
Wind gently shakes the forest again.
Alistair squeezes the driver’s hand, who gives him a smile - loving, but tinged with grief. He turns, sheathed sword in hand, and proceeds in Elyse’s direction.
“Warden-Commander Cousland,” he says with a bow.
“Your Majesty.” She kind of curtseys. The effort was there.
“This is normal.”
She smiles. “It is.” He looks tired, but there’s a brightness to his face. There always is.
“Not the most pleasant reason for my being here, I’m afraid," he says.
There’s a tremble in Elyse’s mind, and a lump forms in her throat.
“You’re having the -”
“- the dreams, yes,” his voice goes soft and quiet. “And the voices.”
“Oh.”
“A few weeks ago now.” He stares into the forest, the trees all lit up with evening light.
Elyse runs her hand along the geometric carvings framing the door. “It’s… it’s time, then.”
“Yes.”
She thinks for a moment. “Huh… I had a sound first, like a long, chiming sound.”
He turns back. “You had - oh. You…” He stares again. “ As well? ”
“Yes, Alistair.”
The horse leading the carriage whinnies as the driver returns to his seat. Elyse sees tension in Alistair’s shoulders.
“Uh. Right.” He gestures to the door. “Shouldn’t keep the darkspawn waiting, now should we? Is this entrance alright?”
“I believe so. I was here a few years ago. I remember we had three Wardens open it.”
“Well.” Alistair affixes the sheath to his side. “Two will have to do.”
Elyse grips the brass handle, and Alistair reaches over, fingers brushing as he joins her. She grits her teeth - everything about this situation is going to be inconvenient.
She roots herself to the ground and nods.
The door grinds, low and deep, echoing through the woods. Elyse feels it ring in her chest. The gears within clunk and churn. After a moment, a thud, and the door unlocks, falling open successfully. They pull the door open further, and inside is an endless darkness the evening light dares not to touch.
The two stare serenely into the rest of their lives.
Elyse turns slowly away, and looks back into the forest behind. The cities and friends beyond, will be lost to her forever, and nothing she ever did changed that. Nothing in that struggle, in that search.
All the time she’d had in this world was precious. If only she’d seen that back when she was desperately clawing for more.
The sky is pink and orange, flickering once with a fragile vein of green. Tall, proud trees stand lit from behind with warm light, beckoning her to calm. Sounds of the forest will continue to whisper and howl after she’s gone, and that is a comfort.
This is the last time she will ever see Ferelden.
“If I’m going,” Alistair says softly, “I’m glad to go in the Spring.”
Elyse nods, and descends into the darkness.
Alistair reaches into the sunlight one last time, and pulls the door closed, shutting out the world.
Just being in the Deep Roads brought it all back.
The mourning, the visions, scouring Ferelden for any helping hand. Even delving into lava-filled tunnels, carving through darkspawn to get to an Anvil. Little did he realize that he was actually getting a glimpse into his future at the time.
Wearing the crown? It took that all away. There had been a while where he’d thought his Calling was coming, but he knew it when he'd heard it. He’d lifted his sword more times back during the Blight than he had in the last thirty years. There had been more recent fights for his life, but they mainly manifested in masked gatherings and war rooms. Death by poisoned wine? Death by boredom? Both were lethal monsters.
Hilariously, after everything, beside him walks Warden Elyse Cousland. Silverite griffons, hair slightly ashen, and eyes dark as a night sky. Herself, still. One of those things that he'd thought was left in the past but remains part of him forever.
“You… came prepared?” He asks, eyeing the backpack she carried that looked full to bursting.
Dark eyes narrow, and Alistair feels a chill. “You didn’t?” She says, looking straight ahead.
“I don’t quite know how long I expect to live, in all honesty.”
“I have four weeks’ worth of rations for one, two for two. I’m cutting down as much darkspawn as I can before I… as much as I can.”
They move through a rocky tunnel. Almost-dead embers flicker in makeshift torch sconces stuck into the uneven wall every now and then. It hasn’t been long since people have come through here.
“Right. All or nothing.”
“Exactly. Do you have supplies?”
His smaller, lighter backpack sways meekly as he walks. “I have a few waterskins. Did we ever find a water source in the Deep Roads?”
She shakes her head. “If I don’t survive a fight and you do, take whatever’s in my bag. Don’t waste anything.”
Doubt tugs at his brow. “Then… you want me to stay with you?”
Elyse’s mouth looks tense as if holding back a smile. “I mean, I wouldn’t loathe the company.”
“Well, hooray .”
“ Hurrah . Why do you ask? You pictured it different?” She asks.
“Well. I suppose an entire unit could have their Callings all at once. I didn’t really have anyone to talk it through with. Can’t say it’s a horrible surprise to not be all alone.”
He gently bumps her shoulder with his.
At the edge of his mind, there’s something sick in the shadows. He stops moving and draws his sword, the scrape of metal matched by the Commander beside him. She lifts her shield in a slow, silent motion, hiding her silverite frame.
“If we can feel them, they feel us,” he whispers, still as a statue.
He scans the shadows carefully for glimmers of eyes or metal, listens for breathing or footsteps.
Elyse is staring daggers into one cluster of shadows cast in the low light. He follows her gaze, grip tightening on his sword.
Oppressive silence, and then something moves.
Alistair prays he remembers what to do.
Beside him, through gritted teeth: “ Twisted creatures. ”