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“You got it wrong,” Nesiril shouted at Alistair as their now customary argument progressed into new territory and they finally snapped, deciding that she could no longer hold back her true thoughts. She would say her piece before the night was over. “I don’t regret it. At all. I never have and I never will! It was the right thing to do to prevent anyone from, I don’t know, actually having to sacrifice their lives! I didn’t wanna die over this – this blight that I got roped into with absolutely zero experience. No experience of life outside a fucking tower, not of war, not of how to lead and what to do when you do something wrong and your so-called allies turn their backs on you! And even though you offered, I could see you were just hoping I’d be a martyr and take your place – don’t even try and deny it! You were not ready to die. So I made do with what Morrigan offered!”
“I bet you think you rescued me!” he scoffed, half thinking they would take it back and that the precarious couple could return to more certain ground, that they'd go back to pretending this issue didn't exist.
“That’s cause I did! And I won’t say otherwise – no matter how ungrateful you are!” Nesiril all but spat at him, reiterating their point as they had reached the end of her tether with him. The glare she shot at him was scathing and, if looks could kill, Alistair would be ash on the ground.
Alistair fell silent, evidently stunned by their outburst. He made a few attempts at speech but all words fell short. His lover, the person he thought he’d spend the rest of his life with, admitted to feeling no remorse over all but forcing him to lie with Morrigan. That night was one that haunted him to this day – months later – as he regularly awoke from nightmares, not necessarily about the act itself, but more often the conversation he and Nesiril had had prior. Her words made it seem as if it were easy. She even said that she would have willingly and even enthusiastically (that word still made him shudder) go through with it if they were in his position.
How could she possibly know?
That was what his response had been. They had then proceeded to narrate in great detail (too much if you asked him) the times in which a sexual favour or seven had saved her companions in the Circle from solitary confinement, how she had sometimes taunted them into it, how theyenjoyed feeling something when they were confined by stone walls. The freedom of not being treated as something dangerous, to be handled with care, of being viewed as something desirable, something the Templars could vie over. She even ranked some of those encounters above her dalliance with fellow mage Jowan. He had been too gentle, theysaid, too emotionally invested in them. The Templars were rough, fast, knew what they wanted.
She didn’t understand what was the problem. ‘With him’ had hung silently in the air between them, neither of them willing to acknowledge it.
So he swallowed his reservations. If his lover had been through so much and come out the other side, so could he. But, while he had done it and he didn’t think he would have done differently if he could go back, he was certainly not happy about it. It was something he would have to learn to live with rather than something he had fond memories of – unlike what she had claimed.
“You know what?” he eventually managed to say, all energy drained from him. “If I try do anything, say anything, to try and make this as painful as it is – as it has been – for me, I’d just be wasting my time. Your dream just lost a dreamer. Goodbye, Nesiril.”
With that, he walked away, taking his bag with all his possessions in it with him as he stormed out of their tent which they barely shared as it was. The others had long since gone to their own tents to rest so he did not have to confront any of them waiting outside for him of which he was glad. Realising that their screaming match had probably interrupted said rest brought forth a pang of guilt within him. He wished he has the guts or the energy to apologise but he could not do anything but walk away at this point. These were Nesiril’s allies and friends after all. She could deliver an apology, if they decided that the matter was worthy of their regret, he thought bitterly.
Taking brisk steps to put as much distance between himself and the camp as possible, he soon realised that he had no idea where he would go, but for now anywhere was better than here. He felt himself shake as the light from the camp faded behind him, coming to terms with the extent that this would change things for him. Change everything, in fact. He had to look for a new home, new friends, a new life – all of which he thought he had guaranteed for much of his time with Nesiril and their companions. It would be hard to find somewhere that didn’t remind him of those times, of her, but he would do it. He had to.
He wracked his brain for any part of Thedas that they hadn’t visited, and ideally any place that wouldn’t care about the so-called Hero of Fereldan, somewhere where no one would be looking for a lost Grey Warden or even care that he was one at all. A place that had enough of its own problems that it didn’t have the time of day to keep such a close eye on every single one of its residents. A place that he could busy himself with problems other than his own as a distraction from his aching heart.
That place, he came to the realisation, was Kirkwall.
Far enough away from everything that they wouldn’t be looking for heroes from the Blight, he had heard Kirkwall had been receiving an unforeseen number of Fereldan refugees who had fled during the Blight, most of them before it had gotten really bad. He suspected that there would still be those who were looking for a new start but not so many that he would be barred from entry. He should, if all went according to plan, be able to slip in unquestioned and start his own new life there. Become a new person, even.
Maybe Kirkwall would be a place he could finally call home.
Meanwhile, Nesiril yet seethed. It was particularly that he had had the last word in their almost perpetual arguing which was the source of her ire. Your dream just lost a dreamer. There was a time in which it was their dream, not just hers, but, they thought bitterly, times had changed and so had the two of them. Still, it left a bad taste in her mouth that he pretended like he’d never shared that dream, as if they had somehow forced him into all of this, rather than just into Morrigan’s bed. Their relationship, when it was good, was something they knew they had both treasured at the time. No matter how different they were, she knew what they had used to be real, worthy of being treasured, precious.
But they had smashed the delicate balance.
Or maybe it was the Blight, or another one of the seemingly endless problems their gang of misfits collected from all over Fereldan and beyond had faced in their time together. They had tried - damn it, had they tried - to make the right choices, to be a good leader, even when it felt like she was blindly flailing through a world they barely understood themself as it was, and leading others who would be far better equipped to give guidance. That didn’t really matter now though. When all was said and done, all they had were the pieces of themselves and of their relationship and no way to put it all back together. It was an impossible puzzle and they were idiot children.
“Well, Alistair,” they muttered to themself, “I’m not your believer. Go find someone else to do that job.”
The man needed someone to uplift him and there were days they just couldn’t do that for him. Days where their own memories haunted them, took them back to some of the not so pleasant times in the Circle, such as her Harrowing. And while she had some fun with the Templars, there were times that were not so fun, days that they had not told Alistair or in fact anybody about, Templars that were not so kind as to play into the games they’d offer, or those who simply did not care to play games at all. They knew what they wanted, and they took it without even asking her if she would be willing. If they’d have asked, Nesiril might have felt different about those occasions. She knew that she was a so-called favourite for that kind of thing. That was partly why they played the games they did; if they, a willing participant, made their offer, maybe the Templars would be less likely to force someone less willing. But she had been naïve then.
But that was the past now. There was nothing she could do to change what had happened either in the Circle or with Alistair a few months ago, no matter how much she may be wiser to the circumstances now. No, it was foolish for them to dwell on what was unalterable. They should instead focus on what was to come.
Without Alistair here, their plans had the chance to change, depending on how their other companions reacted to his absence and whether they decided to join him, wherever he was, or find their own way. She was sure that they would not exactly be surprised by the turn of events as they had after all been present for all the downward spiralling. Void, even Oghren had made a comment or two, although upon getting to know him better Nesiril shouldn’t be as shocked as they were at that turn of events; he was remarkably insightful, and becoming a better companion and friend than she could have ever have imagined when they first met.
Now, as the most senior Warden in Fereldan, Nesiril needed to rebuild the order. Having heard word from Wardens in the Anderfels, they now had the knowledge to do so and so only needed willing volunteers who were capable of training to be not only warriors, but also protectors. She needed to see this through and throwing herself into their work was a classic coping mechanism they had been using for as long as they could remember. It didn’t hurt that she got to be in charge this time around and had the shiny new title of Warden-Commander.
And so they knew what they had to do and, unbeknownst to her, so did he. Thus their separate journeys began as each tried to forget the other, lest their failed relationship be the downfall of them both.