Chapter Text
She comes back on Summerday, the streets of Denerim running thick with rain, days of storm only just broken and droplets clinging to the leaves of the Vhenadahl.
She stops by the Alienage first, of course. She always does, visiting friends and family and the Bann especially, taking her fill of complaints and petitions to bring to the ear of the King himself. Which she does, invariably, sheafs of parchment in a cramped, deft hand, learned carefully over the years since her Joining and stamped with every Seal she can manage to drop at his desk.
She takes her time, like always. The whispers reach him hours before the woman herself does - did you hear, the guards just saw her, said her armor looked half eaten, wonder what she's gotten into this time, do you think the king knows yet - and for all his slowly learned intricacies of the crown Alistair cannot bring himself to care what rumors he's confirming when he brings court to an end early, withdraws to his room with flowers and pastries and blueberry wine.
Warden-Commander Tabris seeks no audiences today, slipping in through the window she's told him hundreds of times to secure better and he never will. Tomorrow, perhaps, there'll be the formalities of the visit, announcements and pleasantries and charades, but tonight the only dances are their own, hand in hand as they twirl about the room.
"Summerday," Alistair says quietly. "The day you became a Warden."
"A day for weddings," she answers softly, and after all these years Alistair still sees the old pain in elven eyes. He wonders at it, quietly, that she would come back today of all days, to see the home she'd lost and still come straight to his arms. He brushes a hand over her face, gentle, and she leans into the touch, glancing up at him. "I never really wanted to be married, anyway," she says, and Alistair catches the dual meaning this time as she sweeps into the twirl.
"Your day," he says. "To spend however you'd like."
She smiles faintly as she draws closer, pulling his face down to meet hers. And for now, Alistair couldn't care less about titles or weddings or anything but the gentle warmth of skin on skin.
"I wish we had more time," Alistair admits after, arms held tight around a lover's shoulders.
"We will," she whispers back, but shakes her head at his questioning look. "Tomorrow," she says simply, drawing closer. "Today is our day. To make new memories."
"To Summerday," he says, and holds his lover while he can.