Chapter Text
“Meaning… the Warden who kills the Archdemon dies,” Alistair deduced in the dim candlelight of Riordan’s quarters. Elissa’s eyes fled from the stranger Senior Warden to Alistair in this revelation - her brother-in-arms, her friend, and the dearest living soul to her heart.
“Yes. Without the Archdemon, the Blight ends. This is the only way,” Riordan confirmed with sorrow. One arm hung tightly in a sling, his token from a shriek’s ambush as he scouted the Hinterlands, which not even Wynne’s healing could mend.
A seething resentment began to brew within Elissa’s chest. The Wardens and Ferelden demanded too much of her and Alistair since the betrayal at Ostagar. Being a Warden already meant certain death, but despite its promise, she dared nurture dreams of survival, and of more time with Alistair. If not death during the Blight, their Calling would not come for decades, which they could spend in each other's beloved company. Now, Elissa felt Riordan was ripping it away from her grasp.
“You could’ve spoken to us sooner. Why didn’t Duncan tell us? Loghain, Howe… all of them assumed Ferelden had no true need for the Wardens! And you kept this, of all things, a secret!” her voice rose and shook.
“Would you have joined Duncan if you knew the truth?” Riordan asked, calmly questioning her outburst.
“I meant to stay with my father as his blood filled a wine cellar and Howe’s soldiers broke down the door, but Duncan conscripted me and dragged me out a servant’s entrance,” Elissa retorted sharply, her voice cracking. “It was never my decision.”
Teyrn Cousland… I remember him, Riordan thought. “Then the choice was out of your hands,” he understood, pitying her. Some recruits were known to be saved from a hangman’s noose or other certain death… and her fate at the mercy of Rendon Howe would have been certain. “For what it is worth, I am sorry Duncan brought you to this against your will… but he saw something in you, a strength that would have been wasted had you died in that cellar. There must be Grey Wardens. Duncan knew that. If you were murdered with your family, it would only be Alistair and I standing here, or perhaps none of us at all. Then, Ferelden would have no hope.”
“It has to be one of us… to end this,” Alistair knew. He steeled himself and kept boyish instincts from deferring to his rose-carrying love beside him.
“It can’t be you. It can’t be,” Elissa insisted as her own breath strangled her throat. Alistair finally looked at her, keen to argue. “You’re too important now,” she clarified, “to everyone.”
Just as the new King exclaimed half a word in obstinate protest, Riordan interrupted. “In Blights past, the eldest of the Grey Wardens would decide amongst themselves who would take that final blow. If at all possible, it should be mine.”
“You’re in no condition for battle!” Elissa countered roughly, seeing the state of Riordan’s mangled arm. His face bore the ill visage of poison as well.
“I can still wield a blade. My Calling is nearly upon me, sister. I shall not wait to recover from these wounds, but if I die before slaying the beast, I have no choice but to leave it to both of you,” Riordan explained bleakly. “The Blight must be stopped now, or it will consume all of Ferelden and Orlais before the rest of the Grey Wardens can assemble.”
The griffon shield glimmered blue and silver slung across Alistair’s back. “You can still help the Wardens, Riordan… but if you fall, I will take that final blow. You have my word,” the new King spoke up earnestly.
This wasn’t fair. Elissa and Alistair were supposed to stay together, always and forever, in secret if not in marriage. She couldn't lose him, but even as he stood beside her, she felt as if he was slipping from her grasp. “Alistair, please, I can’t…” hopeless words bled out from her lips. “You are our King now. You must live,” she clarified, hiding behind duty in the company of Riordan.
“You think I’d want you to die instead?” he shot back. “You think I could live with myself after that?” A sheen of tears coated his soft ambery eyes.
“Would that the rest of our countrymen were so keen on protecting each other, perhaps this would have ended at Ostagar,” Riordan interrupted them, raising his hand, attempting to diffuse their passionate argument. “I’m sorry it has fallen to both of you. I pray my body holds and strength returns long enough to confront the beast… but, your Majesty, what is most pressing now is that you know the truth, and we’ve agreed who should do the slaying. If I may ask one more favour of you, let it be to rest while the night lasts. We will need it come dawn.”
Elissa’s eyes remained frozen on Alistair, but he only looked at Riordan. “I’ll see you when the army is ready to march then. I guess this ends soon, one way or another,” Alistair bid as he made his way to the door.
“That it does, Alistair. That it does.”
“Alistair,” Elissa called his name, still frozen on the spot. He stalled for a moment, returning her troubled gaze from the hall, but the newly crowned monarch in him pressed on alone.
She wanted to blame Riordan… for this secret, for the injury that weakened him… but would it make a difference? Riordan calmly placed his hand on her shoulder as she passed, perhaps discerning the bond between her and Alistair to have grown beyond friendship, and pitying the heartbreak in her eyes.