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Sometimes, Alistair questioned why Duncan chose him of all people to become a Warden. Surely there had been candidates more suited to it, more able to make the harsh decisions he sometimes couldn’t, capable of making the calls between two lives.
In Redcliffe with the arl, taken by the Chantry, serving the Wardens - nowhere ever really felt like home. Not that he really knew what that felt like, of course, but he guessed it was a feeling of belonging, where someone accepted you as you and not for who your parent was or what you aren’t. Where you didn’t have to know the most, where you didn’t have to be the strongest, and someone would still be proud of you at the end of the day.
Sometimes, he thought things would’ve gone a lot more smoothly for people if they’d actually killed him as a babe. His sister wouldn’t have had to deal with such harsh circumstances, Arl Eamon wouldn’t have dealt with rumors and Isolde might have been a kinder woman.
Of course, he never voiced this one particular thought, not for a very, very long time. They’d been talking by the campfire, voices hushed in the late hour. The nightmares had been bad the past few nights, and the two Wardens hadn’t felt like pushing themselves to go through another round of hearing the Archdemon screech.
“I wonder why it always wants to yell so much,” she thought out loud. “It seems like it would have enough of a time yelling at the darkspawn, they’re like unorganized toddlers.”
Alistair smiled. “Maybe they only listen if someone promises them cheese.” She nudged his shoulder with her own, pale blonde bob bouncing as she shook her head. “I…can I ask you something, Myra?”
“Of course,” she replied. “You know you can ask me anything, Alistair.”
He swallowed, looking back at the fire. He couldn’t ask this and look her in the eye, and he could feel her becoming worried. “Have you ever thought things would be a lot better for a lot of people if you just…never existed?”
Myra blinked hard. She wasn’t sure she heard him right. “I…can’t say that I have. Alistair, what brought this on? Are you alright?”
“I-” he ran a hand down his face before continuing. “No, actually. I’m not. I’m not sure why this is bothering me now of all times, but there it is. Alistair and his problems. Just forget I said anything.”
“I will not just forget that, Alistair,” she said, shifting so she could move his face towards her. “This is serious, it isn’t just something you can joke away.”
“I can try, right?” He forced out a laugh, but they both knew it was hollow. He didn’t want her pitying him, not her. Maker, not her.
“You can, but I won’t believe you.” She brought herself up to sit on his thigh, cradling his face in her hands as his settled on her waist to support her. “You are so important, ma vhenan - I don’t have the words to tell you just how important you are. It’s not because of who your father is, it’s not because you are a Warden. It’s because you are Alistair Theirin, the man stood by me when we had no one else, who wanted to help someone who threw everything in our face, who keeps trying when no one else does.” She leaned forward, kissing his forehead as his breathing shuddered a little. “You’re important to me.”
“As you are to me,” he whispered, not trusting to really speak out loud. He crushed her to him, burying his face in her hair. “Maker, I’m a lucky man to have you.”
She smiled at him, one arm around his shoulder and the other resting on his jaw. “We’re lucky to have each other, I suppose. You will always be important to me, Alistair. In life and in death. In whatever comes.”
“In whatever comes.”