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Kallia felt sick, blood coated her tongue as her teeth clenched the inside of her mouth. The broken skin stung. It was the only way to hold back the tears though, doing nothing for the persistent nausea. Alistair had chosen to visit Morrigan… to complete the ritual. She choked on a sob as she tore her eyes from the witch’s door.
Morrigan had locked eyes with her just seconds ago, pity in their depths as she closed the door. Saying nothing to Alistair about his pursuer.
The rogue went out into the arl’s courtyard. The image of Morrigan tangled into her lover’s embrace was toxic. She’d come to understand Morrigan, had called her friend, and now she would bear Alistair a child. A child Kallia desperately wanted to give him… and couldn’t.
She took shelter in the shadows as the tears began leaking. Sinking down against the wall as the pain became crippling.
The swallowed sobs hurt her throat despite the waterfall of tears no longer building within her chest. None of it helped. She felt the biting breeze of the night and hoped it made her numb. Numb to the fear she pretended not to have, to the hurt that tore at her heart. Andraste, if only they knew she was not as brave as she pretended.
She honestly did not believe that this ritual would work. It was too good to be true. It had to be another tale Flemeth had been spouting. Alistair would try to take the killing blow regardless and she would not let him. She would die with the archdemon, whether she was ready to or not. And it terrified her.
Nothing could deter her thoughts from Alistair and Morrigan, if anything did it took them to the impending battle that loomed the next eve. She could not allow herself to be overcome by sorrow. It would get her killed. The child of Adaia Tabris would face her fate with head held high.
“Kallia?” The elf’s head rose swiftly off her knees to find Wynne frowning at her, a bright sliver of flame cupped in her palm. “What are you doing out here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” Her voice was hoarse yet lacked any emotion in it.
The mage slid down the wall next to her, extinguishing the fire and placing a hand on her shoulder. “I saw a good friend flee outside, clutching her chest in what can only be grief. When Alistair did not follow after, I was concerned.”
“It’s nothing Wynne.”
“Don’t lie to me,” she scolded. “There might not be a shiver to your voice, but those tears tell a different story.”
“I am scared of dying. The archdemon could kill me before we can bring it down.” It was true enough; perhaps Wynne would let her be.
Wynne scoffed instead, tightening her grip on Kallia’s shoulder. “I know how adept a liar you are, but I know that this is a fabrication. It hurts that you cannot trust me with the truth.” Kallia didn’t answer, resting her head against the wall as tears dripped down her nose. Then Wynne said words that shocked her, “Alistair came to me an hour ago.”
“Oh?” She had to force the word out. Should she be anxious or afraid? Regardless, her hands started shaking.
“Yes,” Wynne said with conviction, “and he was rather distressed.”
“I can’t imagine why,” she retorted, a bite to her tone. “We’re only marching to our deaths tomorrow.”
Kallia expected anger and contention. Instead, her friend removed her hand and mumbled in frustration. “Andraste’s flaming sword” being the most audible curse she could catch; it was as creative as she ever got when cursing. Silence lingered for a bit and the elf was almost certain Wynne would leave.
She didn’t though.
“He was nearly ripping his hair out, cursing the Maker and his bride in ways that would make Ogrhen blush.” Wynne huffed out a small laugh. It died quickly in the night as her companion didn’t return it. The only evidence of it occurring at all was the breath of mist that lingered a second longer than the sound. “He told me of Morrigan’s offer.”
Kallia winced. It hurt that she’d been so appalled by it, that he would assert her feelings were justified, yet he had still gone to her. “Clearly it did not disgust him as much as I’d assumed.”
“Shut your mouth!” Kallia turned forward Wynne in shock. Never before had a tone so icy been aimed at her, not by a women she would have likened to a grandparent. It was nothing like the scoldings previously bestowed upon herself and Alistair, but a furious bark. “That man was tearing himself apart! He’s doing something he feels is abhorrent and humiliating; Maker he’d nearly made himself sick, for you!
“Kallia, I know you’re hurt and feel betrayed, you never asked him to do this, but it’s out of love that he does. Andraste knows I don’t like it either, but Alistair knows you’ll fight to make sure that killing strike is yours. He can’t bear the thought of losing you, and, in turn, is sacrificing more than his dignity to try and ensure you don’t.”
Kallia watched the grass sway in the wind, tried to focus on her hair tickling her cheek rather than the guilt gnawing at her. “I know he’s not doing it for himself,” her voice was no where near the octave Wynne’s had been. Barely above the hum of the wind. “I just keep thinking about it and feel sick. When I ranted about the ridiculousness of it and how insulted I was at the offer, he agreed. He looked so affronted. If I’d ever dreamed of asking him to do it, his look alone would have stopped me.”
Wynne took one of Kallia’s calloused hands in her own and squeezed it. “There’s more isn’t there?”
Her consternation had quelled the tears, now she had to ball her other hand in a fist, nails cutting painfully into her palm, to keep them barred. A shuttering breath nearly let some free but she played off the noise by flipping her hair back over her shoulder. Another lie was already on her tongue when she stopped. It would be so easy to just let it out, convince Wynne that was all. She could do it; nothing would be easier. Kallia didn’t want to admit the truth.
Andraste help her, she chose the harder of the two paths.
“I can’t give Alistair the family he wants.” There was a pause, quiet and still. Silence preferable to outright pity. “Not while we’re Wardens. We can’t even marry.”
“Since when did you let laws stop you?” There as an amused quirk to the question that brought Kallia’s lips up ever so slightly. “Wouldn’t be the first secret wedding, and I know not the last.”
“I suppose not. Being a Warden has made me think dangerously law-abiding thoughts.”
“Except when you were picking that noblewoman’s pockets just last week.” Wynne almost had a smile out of her, no matter how small it would have been. “As for children,” there it went, “as far as I could tell Wardens were not infertile.”
“I’m an elf, which already made it difficult without the taint added to it all.”
“Again, not impossible.” Trust Wynne to be so optimistic. “Just be more patient and don’t give up. It’ll happen.” Kallia wasn’t as assuaged, but gave a small hum of confirmation for Wynne’s benefit.
Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine their children. She expected the red hair to continue to be a prominent feature through her blood, even if elven ears were not. A boy would have his father’s nose and grandfather’s chin, his green eyes glittering impishly. His love of cheese would be boundless. A little girl with a goofy smile and golden eyes would be trouble. She’d want her own sword and shield, mischief running through the mother’s side. They were both visions of an impossible wish. Something so far out of reach, it hurt.
She cried out of sheer longing for it, for the knowledge that it would not be her child he was promised. Who would ever be alright with such a fate?
Kallia wasn’t aware that Wynne was rubbing her shoulders, nor paid attention to the footsteps that stopped and lingered before leaving. Just that she carried around such overwhelming pain that she could never show. It would never hurt this much if she’d never been a Warden. These dreams would have been beyond her knowledge.
It wasn’t until hurried footsteps grew near that she lifted her head, finally drawing her back to her surroundings. Someone was running. Their pace was frantic and her heart leaped painfully into her throat. Had an attack already begun? Was it an assassin? Kallia had no weapons on her, she was defenseless. She swallowed, her mouth remained dry as she waited.
When the figure ran passed, she was wishing to fold in on herself. It was Alistair. He ran by them and nearly right out the gate, when he stopped. He stared out into the darkened streets of Denerim and she wondered if she could flee before he could turn. That was until she watched him lean into the wall and hang his head against the stone of the gate.
Wynne stood without a word and approached him. Her hands lighted upon his back, and Alistair turned swiftly. When he realized who it was, his shoulders sagged. Wynne’s words were too soft for Kallia to catch, but he gestured frantically in response. She couldn’t see his face well, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
Kallia knew it would be better to look away, but she couldn’t. She watched Wynne comfort her lover. Her fingers tugged absently at the grass as she observed them. Wynne suddenly turned and looked her direction and Kallia stilled. He would never have noticed her without help. The dark was a shielding veil, but it didn’t make her invisible. Once his eyes found the shadows, he found her.
Panicked, she stood. She wanted to run and avoid him; she also wanted to stay and have him comfort her. Never had she been so conflicted.
Alistair began moving toward her, pushing past Wynne and nearly tripping in his haste. In her distress, she froze, watching as he approached like a deer caught before hunters. Ajax’s bark sounded distantly from inside and the spell was broken. She tried for the stairs, swiftly pulling herself over the banister and taking the steps two at a time.
“Kallia!” She didn’t stop. “Kallia, please!” The strain of his voice didn’t go unnoticed by her. “Dammit! Stop!”
Tears blinded her and the elf tripped over one of the steps. Rather than trying to flee again, she sat on the steps proper and pulled off her boots. Tossing them in frustration. Her eyes trained on the stone, watching as a shadow fell over her feet.
“Kallia?” She finally looked up, watching as Alistair’s eyes glossed over with tears. His whole expression was beyond pained. She’d seen how hard Goldanna’s treatment had hit him, how Duncan’s death had cut him. He’d only allowed tears in her presence, in her encompassing comfort. None of that was close to the agony on his face now. “Please,” he tried again, “speak to me.”
Where his voice held the tears he attempted to hide, her voice was unwavering as her pain rolled down her cheeks. “What is there to say?”
“Wynne spoke to you?”
“Yes.”
“Kallia, I nearly got sick doing this. I cannot express how much I hated being with her, how much I hate myself over this.” He ran a hand angrily through his hair, mussing the already tousled strands. Now that he was closer, she realized his tunic was wrinkled while his trousers weren’t even laced up. The hem of the fabric scrunched at the tops of his boots. Her eyes remained on his boots, feeling guilt grip her once more. “What else can I say?!” Kallia looked up startled. “I love you! Maker, you’re the best thing to ever happen to me!”
Alistair fell to his knees before her, the tears finally falling from his eyes. “I know this hurts you, I know it feels like betrayal. I can’t begin to express how horrible I feel for it. I’d rather die than do it again, but I had to be sure I wouldn’t lose you.”
He took a deep breath his eyes as red as hers from crying. “Kallia Tabris, if I have wounded you beyond forgiveness I understand. I will leave you alone if you wish. Just know that if my actions have saved your life, I do not regret it. Maker, perhaps I’m selfish, but I couldn’t give a damn.” He hesitantly reached out, taking one of her hands and wiped the tears from her face. “Am I beyond forgiveness?”
For all her efforts to remain stoic, her bottom lip quivered and a sob slipped past her control. Kallia pulled his hand to her cheek as she cried. Alistair took the cue and sat next to her, wrapping his other arm around her. Pressing her face into his tunic, she was relieved to find it smelled purely of him.
“No,” she finally said. “No you’re not. Please don’t ever leave me.”
“I will never leave you.”
“You have to live tomorrow.”
“And you as well.”
Kallia clung to him, feeling a few of his dears drop onto her hair as he nuzzled her head. They sat in silence, unaware if anyone passed them or not. It wasn’t until the crying had ebbed that they finally moved. Alistair collected her boots and took her hand as they walked back to their room.
As they lay in each other’s embrace, Alistair took her hand and slid cool metal over one of her fingers.
“What’s this?” her voice was soft from exhaustion, but her curiosity had been piqued.
He kissed her palm, his facial hair tickling her skin. “It’s a promise.”
“Of?”
Alistair drew her flush against him, a chaste kiss placed on her forehead and one to her exposed ear. “A promise to do everything in my power to make you happy after this. To spend the rest of my life protecting your trust and your love.”
Frustrated, she sat up, propped up on an elbow. “You’ve promised that a hundred times tonight.”
For the first time that evening, Alistair gave her one of his characteristic grins. “This is a bit more permanent.” One of her brows arched quizzically, her eyes threatening to close in her exhaustion. “Kallia, marry me. Not now, not publicly prefer not to, but you’re the only one I’ll ever want. You don’t have to answer me now, but this is my promise that I’ll ask again when we defeat the archdemon. And-”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“My answer,” she said with a tired smile, “I’ll wait for you to ask me. I’ll take your promise, forever and always.” She allowed the gold ring to glint in the moonlight, holding up her hand to admire it. Love was something that Morrigan wouldn’t understand; she would never understand why Kallia was so hurt and why this little band of metal was now worth all that pain. “Yes,” she repeated, feeling him smile against her shoulder, “I will.”