I made a post like this for SilverV a million years ago and wanted to make one for Solavellan as well!
A few of these fics overlap with the ones I have linked in my current pinned post, but there are soooo many fantastic Solavellan fics out there that I decided to make a longer rec post so I could include more of them!!!
Without further ado, here are some of my favorites, in no particular order. Some of them are one-shots or shorter multi chapter fics, and some of them are massive long fics and everything in between. Some of them are new and still in progress, some of them are completed, and a handful of them are older fics. All of them are absolutely worth your time!
walk you to the shore - Scaryanne
A beautifully written post-Veilguard one-shot about Solas and Lavellan having it all out in the Fade. Highly recommend!
the sun to burn - Pip (Moirail)
An Inquisition re-write that goes off canon and does a phenomenal job at exploring a ton of aspects of the lore and story. Features fantastic character writing and takes really thought-provoking directions with the lore!
love is not a victory march - Brunchatthebookstore
A Veilguard retelling where Lavellan is present at the ritual at the beginning that goes off book from there. It's beautifully, heartbreakingly written and off to a REALLY strong start with some truly devastating moments, so this one is absolutely one to watch.
miles below the surface of the dawn - gostak
This fic is one of the most beautiful things I have ever read, period. On its face it's just 6 chapters of "there was only one bed" Inquisition-era Solavellan smut, but I stg the writer was channeling the spirit of Solas Dragon Age himself because it is the most perfect Solavellan smut I can imagine. Read this one, just trust me.
Martyr - widowling
If you like Solavellan angst, this one delivers in spades!!! It's set during Veilguard and explores what would happen if the Evanuris kidnapped the Inquisitor (and more specifically, how Solas would react). It is DELICIOUS and also extremely painful but well worth it!
Requited - cursedhag
A beautifully written, pitch perfect Inquisition rewrite that fully checks all the boxes! Features a lot of excellent Solas POV that incorporates all the new lore reveals we learned in Veilguard. Do yourself a favor and read this!!!!
rook wins in the end - wiltedartist
A great exploration of Rook's relationship with Solas in Veilguard. Solavellan, but focuses on the one-sided unrequited feelings that Rook develops for Solas. Really interesting angle that I haven't seen done better.
And Yet - say_lene
Beautiful Inquisition-era Solavellan one-shot. All of this writer's fics are so beautiful and well-written, so I kind of picked this one randomly but ALL of their Dragon Age fics are worth reading. We stan a good smut character study!!!!!
In the Colours of Your Regrets - scribeofmorpheus
Another excellent smut character study! Solas sadly jorkin' it in the Lighthouse to his own sad murals of his wife. 11/10 no notes.
Roses Where Thorns Grow - Bdafic
This one explores what would have happened if, after Crestwood, Lavellan learned the truth about Solas and they rekindled their relationship. It's a beautiful story that stays true to character and explores some of their messier and more complicated relationship dynamics.
Servitude - niceasspavus
Another really, really solid Inquisition rewrite that explores Solas and Lavellan's romance. Well-written with excellent details and characterization. Highly recommend all of this writer's other fics, as well.
These Hands, If Not Gods - Gefionne
An AU where a pre-Inquisition Lavellan accidentally discovers an eluvian that lets Arlathan-era Solas time travel to her. Beautifully written smut and character development. AUs aren't often my thing, but this one is absolutely worth your time.
Looking Glass - Feynite
This one is theee classic Solavellan fic and probably needs no introduction. It's a time travel Arlathan AU, and it still holds up even after all these years, even unfinished. If you haven't read this one yet, stop whatever you're doing right now and fix that.
Wildest Dreams - elf_trash
Finally, this one is mine!!! It's a retelling of Veilguard with Lavellan as the protagonist (aka Lavellan IS Rook) that focuses on her complicated relationship with Solas. Starts near the end of Inquisition and will continue through Veilguard and slightly beyond. I plan on reincorporating a lot of scrapped ideas from Joplin.
This list is in no way comprehensive, as a) there are sooo many good ones and b) I haven't read everything (yet lolol), so please feel free to reblog this and add your favorites!!!
But in the meantime, do yourself a favor and check out all of these fics! Top tier stuff all around.
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A description: Solas is always tender and uninhibited under the blanket
Notes and tags: +18, soft and gentle sex before sleep, unprotected sex (or protected if you imagine it as magical protection or something like that :D), kisses, kissing, kissing, cuddles, elvish, pointy ears meow
word count: about 1k
Leaving one candle burning, its reflections scattering around your room, you tiredly undressed and slipped beneath the cool, thin blanket. The fatigue that had been building in your body throughout the day instantly enveloped you, and the softness and comfort of the bed surrounded you from head to toe. Lying with your eyes closed, you smelled the sweet scent of lavender from the bedding. Through the open balcony doors, you could hear tired voices from the Skyhold tavern and the occasional laughter of those resting by the fire. The birdsong had been replaced by the quick trills of crickets. The soothing night bustle lulled you, but even through the oncoming drowsiness, you heard his footsteps.
You pretended to be asleep, hiding your smile in the pillow when you heard him approach, heard him take off his clothes, leaving them on the couch. You yielded to temptation and opened your eyes to look at him. In the diffused candlelight, in the nighttime mist and the haze of the fading day, Solas looked magnificent. You studied his half-naked body with thirsty curiosity, and when he discarded his pants and turned to look at you, you quickly closed your eyes. This small mischief dispelled your drowsiness. It was replaced by a quickening heartbeat and an exhilarating anticipation of what was to come. You focused on listening, following his steps as he approached the bed, lifted the edge of the blanket, and lay down next to you. His arms enveloped you in a needy embrace. This embrace, homely, tender, and greedy, consumed you completely. Like a soft vine, he wound around your body and pulled you against his chest.Â
"Are you asleep, vhenan?"Â
He whispered softly, tickling the delicate skin of your ear with his breath. In response, you slowly stretched out in his arms, settling in more comfortably. You sensed the warmth of his body, breathed against his chest, and, with your fingertips, you began to stroke his back. You felt Solasâs hand move to the roots of your hair, and with a gentle motion, he loosened it, letting it fall onto the pillow behind you. One kiss. Light. Quick. You touched your lips to Solasâs bare chest and felt his hand move to your buttocks, slowly and unhurriedly stroking the tender skin. Did he sense the shiver of goosebumps beneath his hand as they rippled across your skin at his touch?Â
He did not stop. Ignoring the thin fabric of the nightgown, his hand moved up to your lower back, where you arched pliantly, pressing your chest closer to him. Gentle warmth in light waves of arousal spread through your body from his proximity, and he always felt that, anticipating and predicting your next desires. Solas paused for just a moment, only to find your lips. Reaching for him, you touched his soft lips in a tender and sensual kiss, giving a blissful feeling of tranquility.Â
He leaned in slightly, touching his nose to yours, and repeated the kiss, deepening it. He gripped your thigh with his fingers as he gently urged you to part your lips and touched your tongue with his own. Your body yielded, slowly rocking and pressing against his as the kiss became deeper and deeper. His kisses were always greedy, striving to obtain the forbidden at any cost. You liked how he took the initiative, playing with your tongue, pausing to look into your eyes, then continuing again. Each kiss constricted your throat in anticipation, stealing your breath.Â
He breathed against your lips without touching them as his fingers traveled from your lower back along the curve of your waist to your chest, pushing the nightgown up high. His unrestrained desire resonated in your body, and lifting yourself slightly, you kissed him the way you had been dreaming of all day. Touching his neck and squeezing it lightly with your fingers, you deepened the kiss, allowing each unfulfilled longing to come true. He broke the kiss, gently touching your cheek with his lips, then your jawline, lowering himself to your neck, lightly sucking on the tender skin. Pulling the nightgown down, he kissed the protruding, aroused nipple through the thin fabric. Unchecked waves of arousal filled your mind and body each time he nibbled the excited skin with his teeth. With his free hand, he stroked your stomach, tenderly caressing lower, pressing gently as your body arched to meet his touch. He rose above you as you pulled him closer, no longer willing to follow the rules of his game. Solas lingered for a few moments, gazing into your face and at your moist, parted lips. You ran your hand over his face, his soft cheek, and touched his pointy ear with your fingers.Â
A quiet, unrestrained word in Elvish escaped his lips with a deep exhale, its meaning lost amidst the overwhelming sensations that enveloped you. He kissed your lips unrestrainedly, and simultaneously with the kiss, he spread your legs apart and slipped his fingers inside. A quiet moan broke out against his lips, and it was met by new, abrupt sentences - quiet Elvish words he whispered into your ear in a low voice, allowing your hips to sway on his fingers.Â
Each of his words hypnotized you. Your fingers slid along his neck, the back of his head, and down to his shoulder blades every time he broke off and covered the tender skin on your neck and collarbone with kisses. You lay more comfortably when Solas rose above you, settled between your spread legs, and slowly entered to you. Swaying together in ecstasy, every cell of the body seemed to turn into liquid electricity. Desires, insistent and unrestrained, sped up the movements that merged the bodies into a single whole, until the point of ecstasy completely swallowed every thought. A whirlwind of arousal spread in pulsating warmth, and Solas blissfully buried his nose in your neck, breathing hotly.Â
The long and strong embrace lasted an eternity. You felt how his breathing calmed, how his body pressed more firmly against you. His slightly husky and dear ar lath ma, vhenan scattered into stars within your thoughts. Settling on his shoulder, you caught yourself thinking, just before sleep claimed you, that tonight, more than anything, you wanted to join him in the Fade. With these thoughts, in a blissful doze, you finally let sleep take you, remaining in his cozy and protective embrace, where the world beyond the room lost all significance.
Summary: Mother and Son, reunited at last.
A/N: if bioware won't give me alistair and fiona meeting, i'll do so myself
Word Count: 1474
Alistair stood in front of the door, hands sweaty. All he had to do was open it and inside, he would see her.Â
Grand Enchanter Fiona, leader of the rebel mages.Â
His mother. The real one this time.Â
The past month has been a mess. Learning that everything he had been told was a lie, that he had a mother who was alive and whom he had met under the worst circumstances, confronting Eamon about it and finally, setting up this meeting.Â
Headache after headache. And now he was there, and he began to wonder if this was worth it.Â
Alistair thought about how meetings with Goldanna and with Maric, and how terribly both of them had gone.Â
Maybe this was a mistake.
âAre you alright? Youâve been staring at the handle for a good time now.â Anneliese spoke beside him.Â
He took a deep breath. âAre you sure I should do this?âÂ
âWeâve had this conversation before.âÂ
âI know.â He rubbed his forehead. âItâs justâŚwho even is Fiona to me? A month ago, I thought my mother was dead. What do I even have to gain from this? More disappointment?âÂ
She gave him a small smile. âPerhaps youâll get some cloture. The both of you.â Anneliese put a hand on his back. âBesides, if things turn southward, you can always leave. Iâll be right outside.âÂ
Alistair sighed. She was right. At the very least, it would be the last time heâd have to do this.Â
He nodded, as he straightened his back. He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, before inhaling and opening the door.Â
The room was small - it was just a study, with a table and two chairs, for small meetings. Fiona was already sitting in one of them, standing up as he approached.Â
âYour Majesty.â She bowed her head.Â
âThereâs no need.â He said and the two looked at each other. He didnât know much about Fiona beyond what he had been told - she was Orlesian, an ex-Grey Warden, a mage and leader of the rebellion. All of these had only raised more questions than answered it.
After a moment of silence, he said âI wanted to apologize, first of all. For Redcliffe. Everything was a mess, and I just wanted to get things in order. If I had had more time to think, maybe we could have figured something else.âÂ
She shook her head. âIt is all in the past now. I understand.âÂ
âGood.â  Â
Silence filled the room once again. Fiona motioned towards the table, and both took a seat across from each other. Then, she spoke.Â
âI assume you have questions.âÂ
âAll I have are questions.â He breathed out. âI justâŚI donât even know where to begin.â He paused for a moment, organizing his thoughts. âHow did you and Maric even meet?âÂ
Fiona inhaled deeply, as she began explaining. âWe were both part of an expedition to the Deep Roads. The Commander of Grey in Orlais at the time was in search of a lost Warden, one we believed was in Ortan Thaig. Maric was the only one at the time who knew its location, so he came with us.âÂ
Orton ThaigâŚthe same he had once explored while in search for the Paragon Branka. It was strange to think both his parents had been there once, too.Â
âHow did he know about it?â
âIt was during the rebellion. He and his companions found the thaig while running from Orlesians. Thatâs how he knew the path to it.â Fiona turned her head, looking away as she continued. âMany things happened on that expedition, some I wish not to tell. But we did grow close and well. You happened.âÂ
More questions were raised in Alistairâs head. Duncan had told him Grey Wardens were infertile. Anneliese herself had to go to great lengths before they had their son.Â
However, he was not in the mood to ask how he was conceived, nor to question if this was yet another thing he had been lied to. He figured if he and his wife could produce a child, so could Fiona and Maric.Â
âSo you and MaricâŚand then youâŚâ He made a gesture with his hand before dropping it. Maker, he felt awkward even alluding to it. Alistair shook his head. âWhat happened after I was born? I heard you left the Wardens but no one ever explained why.âÂ
She took another deep breath. âAfter you were born, we discovered that I was suddenly free of the taintâÂ
His brows shot up. âHow?âÂ
âWe never discovered. There were experiments, I was put through the Joining again but it didnât work.â She sighed. âI was no longer a Grey Warden. They sent me back to the circle not too long after.âÂ
Alistair leaned back on his chair. No one had ever spoken of a Warden being cured, nor had they never found one.Â
Then howâŚ
He shook his head. If they never found out an explanation, it wouldnât make sense to keep asking. He had a more pressing question.
âIf you were sent back to the CircleâŚhow did I end up with Arl Eamon?â
Her expression hardened for a moment. âI would not let the Chantry have you.â She looked down. âI brought you to your father. I told Maric to raise you away from court, so that you could have a normal life.âÂ
Alistair frowned. âIs that why everyone lied to me, then?â He said, more harshly than he wanted. âWhy I spent my whole life thinking my mother was a dead servant?âÂ
âYou were the bastard son of an elven mage and a king. Maybe it was foolish of me to think you could have had a normal, easy life butâŚâShe looked at him, a pained look in her eyes âI wanted you to have a good life, Alistair. A life different from the one I had had. One I couldnât provide.â Â
He looked down. âWell, I guess things didnât turn out that way.âÂ
Memories flashed through his mind - sleeping with the dogs, being sent to the Templars, the Grey Wardens, the Blight, becoming King. Could it have been different? If Fiona had kept him, raised him somewhere else, would his life have turned out better?Â
âIâm sorry, Alistair.â Fiona whispered. âI understand if youâre angry.âÂ
He looked at her. He wanted to be angry, for all that he had endured. All the years of thinking he was unwanted, of wishing for a family he couldnât have, of being disappointed.Â
But when he looked at Fiona, he couldn't feel angry. There was a time, when he was younger, that he would have been. But he was older now, and hopefully wiser.Â
There had been many bad things in his life, many that might have been avoided if only he had a mother to care for him. But for all the bad things, there were still good ones he refused to trade.Â
He rubbed the back of his neck. âIâm not angry, Iâm justâŚâ he sighed. âOne time, I tracked down a woman who I believed was my sister. She was the daughter of the maid they said was my mother, and with the Blight happening, I thought I should meet my family. ItâŚdidnât go well.â
Alistair winced, remembering how the meeting with Goldanna had gone.Â
âThen, years later, I found Maric and I thought it would be good to meet my father and⌠it also didnât go well.âÂ
She frowned âYou found Maric?âÂ
âItâs a complicated story. Maybe I can explain it another time.â If there was another time. He shook his head. âWhat Iâm trying to say is that. I donât know how to feel. I always wanted to have a family, and I do have one now. I dreamt about having a sister but never of a mother.âÂ
Fiona stopped to think for a moment, before saying âI almost didnât want to come here. You grew up without me, and I barely knew a thing about you. It feels wrong to be called a mother.â
âThenâŚwhy did you agree to it?âÂ
âI needed to know that you were happy.â She looked down. âBut I think weâre past that point in this conversation.â
For a moment, he thought she would leave, but she stayed, even as the two once again sat in awkward silence. He looked at her, and he didnât see much of himself in her - she was a short, elven woman with dark eyes and dark hair.Â
But he did see some of Duncan in her. She was his grandmother, after all.Â
Alistair reached for her hand, stopping just before touching it. âIâŚwe donât know a lot about each other. I would like to rectify that. If youâre willing.âÂ
Fiona gave him a small smile, covering his hand with hers. âI think I would like that.â
.
Thanks for reading! If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging it and leaving a comment, they're extremely appreciated!
The next chapter of my Rookanis fic, A Working Relationship:
Secret identities. Demons. A few short weeks to stop a slaughter in Minrathous.
Mags de Riva fucked up while succeeding on a contract. One of the other Talons is out for blood.
Viago finds himself in the unenviable position of needing to send Mags on a contract that's designed to get them killed. And the unenviable position of asking someone that he doesn't fully trust (Lucanis Dellamorte) for help in keeping Mags alive.
Lucanis is only thinking of fulfilling a favour to the Fifth Talon when he agrees not to tell Viago's young Crow that he's the First Talon's grandson. He doesn't know that Mags is hiding a much bigger secret.
The two Crows know they're hunting demons... but which demons are already haunting them?
Latest Chapter Start with Chapter 1
In the latest chapter of A Working Relationship:
âIt's not a spell I've seen before,â said Luca. âNot in that particular form.â
And he would have seen a lot of them, was the mage-killerâs underlying message. âHere,â I said, gesturing with my hand over the table. âHold out your hand with the chain.â I was lucky to be working with someone who wasn't particularly afraid of magic, although I had the feeling that to him, being afraid of magic would have been like being afraid of a blade in the dark.
There's little purpose in fearing something that defines your life.
(link)
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hey boss....yeah i can't come in today.....no, no im not sick i just have to write soft femdom porn abt fictional men that desperately crave affection and praise.... awesome thanks for understanding!!
hilda cousland x alistair theirin. 7k words. post-inquisition, pre-veilguard. angst, hurt-comfort, fluff, griffons. click here to read on ao3.
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The last thing new recruits expect when they arrive in Weisshaupt is to be told that the Warden-Commander of Ferelden is sleeping.
It doesnât matter what time of day they approach Alistair. Morning, afternoon, night - it doesnât change. Sheâs sleeping, he tells them. Iâm sorry, but she canât be disturbed. Perhaps you can meet her another time. Their faces always fall and their shoulders always slump and he feels pity, for a moment, before itâs replaced with sudden defensiveness. They donât know; theyâve never even seen a darkspawn. What sheâs seen and endured⌠she deserves to sleep for as long as she wants and wherever she wants to do it. Even if Alistair misses her, too.
She isnât always sleeping, truth be told, but itâs an easier explanation than the truth, which is that she drifts in and out of nightmares, often without enough strength to even push herself out of bed or stay awake longer than a few hours. He doesnât know whatâs wrong. Even the Warden healers donât know whatâs wrong. Complications with her Calling, probably, but Alistair has estimated - many, many times - that he still has another few years ahead of him, and considering that she wasnât Joined until almost a year after he was, the taint inside of her canât be further along than his. Then again, she was the one to stab the Archdemon during the Fifth Blight. So. You know. There is that.
She was fine when they arrived in Weisshaupt sometime last summer. Her spells only started after their research into the Calling continued to fail at turning up any promising leads. He tried to be optimistic, himself, but between that and Lelianaâs brief updates about whatever was happening with what was left of the Inquisition, there was no hope for Hilda. He canât remember the last time they stepped foot in the library; he canât even remember the last time she stepped foot outside of their quarters.
But all things considered, they have a nice set-up. They are, unfortunately, near the library - theyâre actually on the way up the libraryâs main steps, which probably doesnât help matters - but they have what is essentially an entire house to themselves, which is more than he can say for the Warden-Recruits. On the rare days that Hilda is feeling up to it, they sit on the balcony and sip tea and read books like they always have whenever thereâs no imminent threat breathing down their necks. Thereâs currently a stack of books on a table in the entryway, whatever the latest Orlesian romances are that Alistair can buy in the market near the front gate, but itâs been a while since Hilda had a good day, so the stack is starting to collect dust.
Heâs standing there one morning, running his fingers along the spines of the unopened books, when someone knocks on the door. He rolls his shoulders back and forces a smile.
âGood morning,â he says to the elven man standing there. He recognizes the man, vaguely, so he doesnât think heâs there to ask if he can meet Hilda or get her autograph or something, because everyone else has given up after their second request is denied. âHow can I help you?â
âUh, hello.â The elven man shifts from one foot to the other. âMy name is Warden Davrin. I come with a message from the First Warden.â
The First Warden? Alistair glances over his shoulder and then steps outside, closing the door behind him. âWhat does the First Warden want?â Heâs been suspiciously generous to them, and according to what few acquaintances Alistair has made here, heâs not generous to anyone. Alistair fears that any day now, that generosity is going to run out.
The man - Davrin - adjusts the sword in his scabbard. He seems very nervous. Or maybe he doesnât want to be here. Or maybe both. âIâm on a, uh, special mission,â he answers. âAnd Iâve been told not to speak about it in public. But if you let me insideâŚâ
âIâm not sure thatâs a good idea,â Alistair replies. âThe Warden-Commander isnât feeling up to visitors right now.â
âFrom what Iâve heard, sheâs never feeling up to visitors.â
Alistairâs eyes narrow. âYes. Quite.â
âLook, Warden-Constable Alistair.â Davrin takes a step closer and lowers his voice. âThe First Warden wants you and Warden-Commander Cousland to join me on my mission. He says thereâs something there that she might want to see. Something that might improve her⌠condition.â
âWhat do you - or the First Warden, for that matter - know about her condition?â
Davrin takes a step back, holding up his hands. âIâm not saying I know anything,â he responds. âIâm just telling you what he told me. And - look. I respect what the two of you did in your day. I really do. But if you donât want to come with me, I wonât make you. I donât really want to make you.â
Alistair starts to turn towards the door, stops halfway, and then stares at the ground. Long and hard. Probably a bit longer than is socially acceptable, but why should he care what this random Warden thinks of him and his social skills? âWhat does this mission concern?â he asks finally.
âWarden history,â Davrin answers. His voice is lowered again - it must really be a secret. âI donât know what exactly. I mean, I have an idea, but thatâs all the First Warden told me.â
âWarden history.â Alistair rolls his lips together. âHe really thinks itâs going to improve her condition?â
âHe seemed to think so.â
âDid he say how?â
Davrin is silent for a moment and then lets out a short sigh. Alistair doesnât think he was meant to hear it, but he does, and instead of responding in turn, he waves a hand in the other manâs direction. âRight. Ignore that question. Ignore me entirely, for that matter, Iâm⌠a mess.â
âI leave tomorrow night for the High Anderfels. And Iâll be leaving whether or not you and the Warden-Commander are there. But⌠for her sake, and for yours⌠I hope the two of you leave with me.â With one last nod, he turns on his heel and walks away. Alistair watches him until he disappears into the hustle and bustle of the fortress.
He doesnât want to get his hopes up that whatever theyâre being sent to see is something to do with the Calling. Both of them have come to the conclusion that, despite the old texts they found and some promising research, it can never be cured. But if thereâs one thing thatâs been true about Wardens throughout history, itâs that they always have something up their sleeve. Even if it canât fix the Calling, maybe it can fix something. Maybe it can fix Hilda.Â
He opens the door and tiptoes into the house.
âHilda?â he calls out. âAre you awake?â
Weakly, from the bedroom: âYes.â
There are some days where she can hardly even speak. That one word in itself is a victory. He feels himself smiling as he follows her voice into their quarters, a smile that widens when he sees her sitting up in bed. He rushes over to sit at their bedside, but before he can say anything, she asks, âWho were you talking to?â
âOh, you⌠you heard that?â He tries not to let the worry show on his face, but he dreads to think about how she reacted when she heard him talking to someone about her.
âSome of it,â she answers. Their hands find each other on the blankets - he doesnât know which one of them reached out first. âSound carries through the window, and I can almost always recognize your voice.â
He smiles at her and kisses the back of her hand. âIt was a Warden I donât know,â he answers. âDavrin, I think his name was. He came with a message from the First Warden⌠my love, do you want something to drink?â
Her free hand falls from where she had been holding it at her throat. âNo. My throat just feels scratchy. Now go on. What was the message?â
âHilda. You need a drink. You havenât had any water since yesterday morning - no wonder your throat feels scratchy.â He stands up from the bed and crosses the room to where a sweating pitcher of water and a stack of cups sit on top of a block of ice - one that never melts, thanks to the ice rune underneath it and the warden mage who gave it to Alistair free of charge. âHere,â he tells her a minute later as he passes the cup into her waiting hands. âDo you need my help?â
She shakes her head. âTell me what the message is.â
He almost smiles at that. Thatâs his girl - stubborn as a mabari, even to her own detriment. âHe wants us to go on a mission,â he answers. âTo the High Anderfels.â
âTo do what?â
âTo see a piece of Warden history.â
She stares at Alistair for a second and then raises her cup to her lips to take a long, slow sip.
âWe donât have to go,â Alistair rushes to tell her, âbut -â
âBut he wants me to go?â
âHe thinks itâll be good for you.â
âFor my condition.â Alistair winces. She squeezes his arm. âItâs fine.â
âYes,â he says, âhe thinks itâll be good for you and your condition.â
âBut itâs not about the Calling?â
âI donât think so,â he answers, knowing sheâll be disappointed, feeling disappointed himself. âIâm sorry.â
She rolls her lips together. He notices that those, too, are dry - cracked and peeling like the desert outside Weisshaupt. âHilda,â he whispers, âyour lips.â
âIâm fine.â
Youâre not fine, he thinks as he leans over to the bedside table and pulls out a small pot of ointment. You spend all day sleeping. You donât eat. You donât talk or sing and the house is unbearably quiet to the point where I miss the dog. Youâve lost weight and I donât even know if any of your travelling clothes will fit you properly anymore, let alone your armor, which means I might have to go out tomorrow morning before we leave and do my best to find something that could fit you better. When heâs scooped up a small amount of ointment onto his finger, he tilts her head back and smears it across her lips. To her credit, she lets him do it, and he instantly feels bad for chastising her, even if he did do it all in his head.
âI love you,â she whispers when heâs done, a tear slipping from the corner of her closed eye. âAlistair. I love you.â
âOh, Hilda.â He presses his lips to the droplet and keeps them there until he can feel the salt on his tongue. âI love you, too. And because I love you, I think we should go. If you can manage it, I think we should go. It might be nice for us to get out of here and clear our heads, you know? And weâll have a strong young man to keep us company.â And protect us, he thinks, but doesnât say aloud.
âHmm.â Hilda opens her eyes. âYou wonât be jealous?â
âIâm not a boy anymore, Hilda. Iâm a man. And your husband, need I remind you.â
âI donât need reminding.â She cups his cheek. âHow could I ever forget?â
â
Alistair isnât sure whether he or Hilda is panting harder when they reach the front gates of Weisshaupt.
âWeâre here!â he calls out to Davrin, who is packing his things onto the back of a horse. âSorry, sorry, I know weâre late. But weâre here.â
Davrin turns to look at them. Heâs clearly surprised, but after a few seconds, Alistair swears he sees a hint of a smile on the other manâs lips. âGood. Iâm glad you made it.â He takes a couple steps closer and holds his fist to his chest. âWarden-Commander Cousland, itâs an honour to meet you. Officially, I mean.â
âItâs an honour to meet you as well, Warden Davrin,â she replies. âIâm looking forward to travelling with you.â
âItâs been a while since weâve left Weisshaupt,â Alistair tells him, âso it took me a while to find all of our travelling gearâŚâ And thank the Maker that Hildaâs still fit, because the two of them were so preoccupied with each other all morning that he had no time to run out and look for something new. (He was going to - part of the reason they got preoccupied was because he started running his hands all over her body in the name of âmeasurementsâ and then they got⌠carried away. But they havenât had sex in months, so he wasnât going to come out and tell her no. What kind of monster would do that? Certainly not him!)Â
âNo problem,â Davrin answers. âI have your horses there. Warden-Commander Cousland -â
âHilda,â she tells him. âYou can call me Hilda.â
âWarden-Commander Cousland, youâre on the white one. Warden-Constable Alistair, you can take the brown.âÂ
âAnd you?â Alistair asks as he mounts his horse. (He started to hang his packs onto it, but a bunch of Warden-Recruits appeared from the shadows and started doing it for him. Hilda, too, though hers are a bit slower on account of all the staring and pointing and losing their minds at seeing the Warden-Commander in the flesh.) âWhich horse are you taking?â
âNone,â Davrin answers. âIâm walking.â
âWalking,â Hilda repeats. Alistair balks, too, but silently, because itâs been months since sheâs said this many words in one day and he always preferred to let her do the talking anyway. âHow long is the journey?â
âTwo weeks.â
âThatâs too long.â
âIâm used to it.â
âWeâre all used to it,â she reasons. âWe can trade.â
âIâm fine.â
âI donât know, Davrin, Iâd listen to her.â Alistair gives the man a pointed look. âYou wonât like her when she doesnât get her way.â
Hilda kicks him. He hisses and reaches down to rub his ankle.Â
âWell, how about I walk for tonight and we can reassess in the morning,â Davrin offers. âDoes that sound good?â
âSounds great,â Hilda says, smiling.
âBetter than great,â Alistair lies. He really doesnât want to give up his horse, but heâll do it if thatâs what she wants.
âDo you have everything you need?â Davrin asks. âWe wonât be able to turn back once weâve left.â
Alistair turns to Hilda and holds out his hand. âDo you have everything you need, my love?â
She slips her hand into his and squeezes. âI do.â
-
They make good progress. Hilda takes well to the sun and the wind and the open space as Alistair had hoped, despite the fact that itâs freezing even at the height of the afternoon and the nights are even worse. Davrin isnât much company - he doesnât say more than a few words the first few days - but he does eventually relent to Hildaâs insistence on riding the horse, so he and Alistair take turns on the rare occasion he admits to being tired. Hilda, on the other hand, hasnât walked much, but it's clear that neither Davrin nor Alistair want her to. In fact, it's clear that none of them want her to. Itâs just one of those things that's better left unspoken.
In the bright gray sun of the desert, Alistair gets a better look at her than he has in months, and he sees now how far the taint has progressed and transformed her body. Her skin has a gray pallor to it, not unlike the clouds above them, and her eyes look bloodshot no matter how long itâs been since she last shed a tear. Her hair, though still long and thick, looks stringy at the ends, and he notices that the first thing she does every morning is tie her hair into a braid. The veins at her temples and along her neck are darker than usual, thanks to the taint that courses through them, and her lips are cracked and dry like the ground they travel on no matter how much ointment he slathers on them at night. Despite what she looks like, though, she seems to be doing better than she has in recent memory, and she does her fair share of the work by keeping their spirits high. She sings songs and reminisces about Vigilâs Keep and Highever and wherever else her travels have taken her over the years that Alistair never got to see, and she even convinces Davrin to open up about his childhood, though it takes a little bit of prodding. Heâs Dalish - which Alistair couldâve guessed, considering the vallaslin - but chose to leave and started hunting monsters instead. After some more prompting, they find out that he has some really good stories, and she asks some really good questions. They stay up so late one night that by the time Alistair and Hilda turn in to let Davrin take first watch, the sun is already starting to peek over the horizon.
And again, despite what she looks like, there are moments when he feels like heâs travelled back in time. (Which is a thing now, according to Leliana, but he tries not to think too hard about it.) He hears Hilda snoring in bed beside him in the pale hours of the morning and remembers that there was once a time where he heard her snoring for the first time, and feels his chest warm at the thought that heâs heard it so many nights since. One night, when they pitch their tent a little further away from Davrinâs, they fumble with the clasps and buttons of each otherâs clothes for so long that they give up on making love and lay there half-clothed instead, telling stories to each other until they both fall asleep. And one day, when they come across a group of darkspawn in the middle of the desert, he remembers what itâs like to watch an enemy set their sights on her. Fear churns his stomach before her arrow pierces the creature in the centre of its skull and then pride blooms like a flower in his chest. But her condition means that they only manage to travel a few hundred feet away from the burning pile of corpses before they need to stop and make camp for the night.
She falls asleep as soon as sheâs set out the sleeping roll. She doesnât even have time to pull her hair out of its braid. Alistair and Davrin sit in silence while Alistair sharpens his sword and Davrin stirs a pot of soup.Â
âIs she alright?â
Alistair stops sharpening but doesnât look across the fire at the other man. âSheâs fine.â
He doesnât seem to like this answer, if his sigh is any indication. âIâm serious. Should I be worried?â
This isnât the first time heâs had to defend her - and it hasnât just been the past few months, either. After Amaranthine was sacrificed and the people of Ferelden turned on her, he had to defend her choices to their enemies and defend her leadership to their friends. How one woman can do so much and still experience so much doubt, he will never understand, and it will never fail to make him hideous with anger. âIf youâre talking about the battle,â he says, trying to keep his voice even, âthen I believe she handled herself perfectly fine.â
âBut if we run into more darkspawn.â Davrin has stopped stirring. âWill she be fine if we have to do this every day?â
At that Alistair drops his sword and stands. âI donât think you know who youâre talking about,â he begins. âThat woman in there - the woman that you are mistaking for someone weak and frail - is the Hero of Ferelden. Sheâs the first person in history, in ALL of history, to end a Blight in a single year. Sheâs the first person to kill an Archdemon and live. She has seen and endured so much that you will never, ever understand, and she has made choices that you will never, ever have to make, and -â
âAlistair, stop.â
Heâd been so distracted that he didnât even notice her slipping out of the tent.
âWarden Davrin.â Hilda sits down at the other manâs side and places a hand on his shoulder. He looks guilty, but he probably doesnât feel guiltier than Alistair does. âIâm sorry about that. And Iâm sorry, I am honestly sorry, that you have to travel with me. Youâre right - Iâm not fine. I havenât been for a long time. But you will never have to carry my weight. I promise you that.â
âI wouldnât mind if I did.â
She smiles at you. âI appreciate that. And I appreciate all youâve done for us. Youâve been a great traveling partner so far - I think Alistair and I both agree that weâve been honoured to have you at our side.âÂ
âThank you, Warden-Commander.â
âI thought I told you to call me Hilda.â
âThen thank you,â Davrin says, âHilda. And - I want you to know that Iâm honoured to get to travel with you, too.â
âThank you. I appreciate that.â
She straightens up. Alistair can feel her looking at him expectantly, but heâs so embarrassed and ashamed that he doesnât meet her eyes until sheâs standing right in front of him. After a few seconds, she holds her hand out. He takes it and lets her lead him away.
Itâs the first night that it hasnât been absolutely freezing, and though heâs cold as they leave the fire behind them, he doesnât miss it. And he certainly doesnât miss Davrinâs presence, though he does feel really bad for yelling at the man - firstly because he knows Hilda hates when he yells at people for her, and also because yelling makes him feel bad in general. And, to be honest, he's so unused to it that it hurts his throat. Hilda sits down on a flat-topped boulder and tries to pull Alistair down beside her, but he doesn't sit. Instead he kneels at her feet to wait for her judgement and sighs with relief when she winds her arms around his shoulders.
âHe meant well,â she tells him eventually.
âI know he did,â he answers. âI just get upset.â
âWhen?â
âWhen people talk about you like that. When they talk about you being sick.â
âI am sick. Weâre both sick. Weâre all sick.â
âI know we are. But they donât understand.â He leans his forehead against her knee. âNo one understands.â
âWhat donât they understand?â
He takes a shuddering breath. He thinks back on all the years they spent separated so she could search for a cure to the Calling; the nights he spent patching his own wounds; the days she spent travelling with only herself to talk to, which, aside from death, is the worst thing to punish her with. He thinks about all the letters he ruined because he traced his fingers over her signature so many times that the parchment fell apart. He thinks about all the time they wasted. All the time that theyâll never get back, as well as whatever else they lost. That fire in her eyes that heâs only seen flickers of these past two weeks - he doesnât think thatâll ever return.
âThat we tried everything to fix it," he whispers. "And we failed. Itâs not that youâre weak - itâs that you spent so long trying to be strong that it⌠itâŚâ
Tears are beginning to form in his eyes. Heâs glad he buried his face in her lap so she canât see.Â
âIt made you even sicker.â His hands ball into such tight fists that his knuckles start to burn. âAnd I canât fix that, either.â
He feels her lips first at the crown of his head. Then the nape of his neck. Then the tips of his ears. She tries to pull his head up so she can look at him but he doesnât let her, keeping his face buried into the top of her thigh because this has now become an evening full of embarrassing moments he would rather not acknowledge if thereâs a chance her condition might make her forget. Unfortunately for him, she only lets him cry for a few more minutes before she starts tugging on his hair, and he eventually relents with an, albeit tearful, âOw! What was that for?â
âAlistair.â She grabs his face. âItâs not your job to fix me.â
He frowns. âThe ring on my finger and the amulet around my neck disagree.â
âItâs your job to accept me as I am and love me anyway. Which you have done diligently for almost two decades now.âÂ
âI should be doing more than that.â
âYou canât love me into health, Alistair.â
At that, his bottom lip wobbles. She places her thumb on it.
âBut getting out of the fortress has made me feel so much better,â she whispers. âSo much better. Iâm still weak. And sick. And⌠sad.â He nods - heâs sad, too. âBut this - this is the right call. I donât think we should go back. I think our story continues somewhere else.â
âMaybe in whatever dank cave Davrin is taking us to to put us out of our misery.â
âMaybe,â she laughs. âOr maybe it takes us to Tevinter. Or the Free Marches. Or back home, to Ferelden... I havenât been there in years.â
âAnd you think thatâll help?â
âI know it will.â
âBut if it doesnât, then Iâll be there to take care of you.â
âAnd maybe youâll let me take care of you, too.â
He nods. She nods. And then he lets his eyes flutter shut. Heâs suddenly very tired, too - itâs been a while since he had a good cry like this, and he forgot how much it could drain him. Hilda kisses both of his eyelids and then his lips before grabbing his shoulders and hoisting him into standing. âNow letâs get back to our friend,â she says. âBecause I think you that you need to help him make dinner.â
-
By the time they reach their destination, the three of them have reached their limit. The High Anderfels is certainly the most unpleasant place Alistair has travelled through in his life - itâs even worse than Blighted Ferelden, which is saying something. They barely have time to greet their contacts, Lancit and Remi, before theyâre ushered into the ground floor of some sort of watchtower, given tankards of mead and wedges of cheese and three or four slices of slightly stale bread each, and urged to go to sleep as soon as theyâre finished eating. âBig day tomorrow,â says Remi, a tall, broad-shouldered woman. She gives Davrin a wink before leaving the three of them alone.
Alistair raises an eyebrow at Davrin. The elven man rolls his eyes.
Hilda and Alistair set up their bedrolls on the other side of the room from him. When theyâre settled underneath the blankets and listening to the wind howl through the windows in the tower above them, Alistair leans over and whispers, âI bet heâs excited to get rid of us.â
âNo,â she whispers back. âI think we won him over.â
âYou can win over anyone.â Alistair presses a kiss to the hollow of Hildaâs temple. She hums contentedly and snuggles into his side. Within minutes, sheâs asleep.
Alistair, on the other hand, tosses and turns most of the night. Heâs anxious. And hungry, because the cheese and bread that Lancit and Remi gave them looked so unappetizing that he could only eat about half of his share. Whenever he tries to fall asleep and realizes itâs not going to work, he usually gives up and watches Hilda instead. Thereâs a few times where itâs clear sheâs having a nightmare, but after some soothing words and his hand brushing over her forehead, she seems to pull herself out of it. In addition to the past few weeks and their conversation a few nights ago, it confirms his suspicions that her recent behaviour is not a product of the taint or the Calling at all.
Heâs heard of people like this before. Women who give birth and spend the next year staring listlessly at walls or out windows, men who lose their children in a battle and suddenly canât find the strength to get out of bed. And there have been more than a few times in his life that Alistairâs felt that despair himself, like all the nights in the Korcari Wilds that he spent staring into the fire and thinking about how much he missed the weight of Duncan's hand on his shoulder. So he understands. Perhaps, in some twisted way, heâs relieved that it isnât because of the taint. If she can pull out of this, if she really is right that leaving Weisshaupt for good is going to help her feel better, then they might still have a fruitful few years ahead of them before the Calling really sets in.
But that can be tomorrowâs problem. He tucks her into his chest, curls himself around her, and finally manages to fall asleep.
He awakes a few hours later to quiet chatter on the other side of the room. âYes, of Ferelden,â Davrin is saying. âYou didnât recognize her?â
âWhen would I have seen her before?â
âThere are at least three books about the Fifth Blight in the library.â
Another man - Lancit - snorts. âYou think I have time to read those?â
âWhy do you even care?" Remi. "Wasnât she before your time?â
âI was a child during the Fifth Blight. I heard all about it.â
âIf you heard all about it, then what do you have to say about her surviving a blow to the Archdemon?â
âGooood morning!â Alistair says. The three Wardens nearly jump out of their skin. Apparently they hadnât noticed him shuffling out of his bedroll, standing up, and pulling on his gambeson, which does not really give him a lot of hope for the future of the Wardens, but oh well. âWhat are we talking about?âÂ
âMorning, Alistair,â Davrin says with a smile. Apparently heâs not sick of them after all - another thing Hilda is right about. Alistair will add it to the very, very long list.
âWe have some food here for you.â Lancit pushes a plate to the end of the table, which has an assortment of cheese, apples, and more stale bread on it. Thank the Maker - Alistair would hate to have some fresh meat or a nice pastry or something! âItâs a bit of a trek up to where weâre going - how soon can the two of you be ready?â
âWeâll only need a few minutes, thanks.â Alistair grabs the least-bruised apple and returns to Hildaâs bedroll, where he grabs her shoulder to gently shake her awake. âUp and at âem, Warden-Commander. We have some history to see.â
Once Hilda is dragged out of bed - reluctantly, because she apparently had a really good sleep - and dressed, the five of them set out for the top of a small mountain nearby. It shouldnât take more than an hour to get to the top, according to Lancit, but it takes about three, if the way the sun rises higher and higher in the sky is any indication. Hilda, like usual, manages to get both Lancit and Remiâs life stories out of them as they climb, and eventually has the two of them laughing at stories of her own. Alistair will never get tired of watching her win people over. It always feels like a victory to him, too.
At the top of the tower, they reach a gate that is flanked on either side by golden griffon statues. Alistair can hear something in the distance, a whining animal of some kind, and though he places a cautious hand on the hilt of his sword, he doesnât have the chance to ask what it is before Lancit steps in front of them, rubbing his hands together and smiling. âAlright,â he says. âWhat the three of you are about to see today is something that will change your life.âÂ
âOh, get on with it, Lancit,â Remi says.
âNo!â Lancit retorts. âThis is a momentous occasion. We have to do this properly.â
âI canât wait to see what this is,â Davrin comments dryly.
âGo on, Lancit,â Hilda encourages. âSet the scene for us.â
âWhat the three of you are about to see is one of Thedasâs best-kept secrets.â He starts walking backwards up the steps and waves for the rest of them to follow. âOne of the Wardensâ best-kept secrets. Actually - itâs thirteen of the Wardenâs best-kept secrets!â
âThirteen,â Alistair repeats under his breath as they make their way up a second set of stairs. âIs that a number I should know?â Hilda elbows him. He winces. âWas that a yes?â
âItâs a pay attention.â
âWarden Davrin, Warden-Constable Alistair, and Warden-Commander Cousland, may I introduce you to - our griffons!â
Hilda stops in her tracks. âGriff-?â
Sheâs interrupted by the sound of thirteen cages swinging open.
And then thirteen creatures fly into the sky above them. The cloud of them is so thick and dark that for a moment it blots out the sun. Theyâre not the size of the griffons of legend, some of which could be the size of small houses, but theyâre not exactly small, and they squawk and howl whenever they strike each other mid-flight. There are a few that are solid gray, but another the colour of oranges and another streaked with shades of blue and purple and even yellow. And their claws - even at this size, their claws could wrap tight around Alistair's head. He can barely believe what heâs seeing. In fact, heâs so taken aback that he canât help but feel like itâs some sort of trick.
Hilda has always talked about griffons. He canât count how many times they discussed what they would name mounts of their own if theyâd been lucky enough to be alive at the same time, how many ancient tales she told him that featured griffons as the hero. And how many times has she sat in bed and run her hands over the carving of the griffon on her chest plate, taking strength from a creature sheâd never even seen in the flesh? She even had a name for the one on her armor after the Fifth Blight.
He reaches for her hand. In return, she squeezes his hard enough that it loses all feeling.
âThirteen griffons,â she repeats.
âBut how?â he asks.
Lancit and Remi tell them the story, about a woman named Valya and an elf named Caronel who found a clutch of griffon eggs suspended in time in a cave somewhere nearby. Apparently Lancit and Remi have raised them here from birth, which is why Alistair didnât recognize them. âTheyâre about seven years old now,â Lancit explains. âThey wonât be fully grown for a few more years, but believe me, they have grown a lot.â
Hilda is still watching the griffons twirl and soar through the sky. âAnd what does the First Warden intend to do with them?âÂ
âWhat do you think?â Remi says. âHe wants them to be our mounts.âÂ
Apparently holding Alistairâs hand isnât enough for Hilda anymore. She grabs his shoulders and pulls herself into his chest, still staring upwards. He runs his hand over her back and does the same. As much as heâd like to comfort her or say something meaningful, he couldnât tear his eyes away from the griffons even if he tried.Â
Davrin, apparently, is set to be Lancit and Remiâs bodyguard. That was his mission all along. Heâll be staying in the High Anderfels for as long as the First Warden needs him to, which he doesnât seem to be disappointed about. âDo a good enough job and you might get one of your own,â Remi tells him. Alistair does drag his gaze away at that, and looks at Davrin in time to see the other man grinning wider than Alistairâs ever seen.Â
âCan we - can we touch them?â Hilda asks.
âCourse you can,â Lancit says. âWhy dâyou think youâre here?â
He and Remi put their fingers to their lips and do a series of complicated whistles. The griffons linger a while longer in the sky before returning to the ground, lining up - lining up! - in front of the five Wardens. âWeâve named them all already,â Remi tells them, pointing as she goes down the line. Each of them squawks when the finger is turned in their direction. âThereâs Rumptail, Stormwing, Beaktooth, HeidasâŚâ
After the introductions are finished, they spend the rest of the afternoon in the training ground. Hilda feeds all the griffons something called gingerwort truffles; she throws a ball for Beaktooth and a disc for Heidas; after an hour of playing, she settles down on the ground with Stormwing for a break, and the griffon butts its head into her chest and squawks while she giggles and tries to push him away. Alistair does some playing of his own - to no oneâs surprise, he develops an immediate attachment to Rumptail, because the name is hilarious. But he spends most of their time with the griffons watching Hilda. At one point, he finds himself with tears spilling down his cheeks. He canât remember the last time he felt so alive. He canât remember the last time she looked more awake.
-
They stay for three days. To no one's surprise, most of their time is spent with the griffons. Hilda grills Lancit and Remi on the training regimen and tells Alistair when something is, or isnât, like how you train a mabari. Davrin starts calling one of the smaller griffons âAssanâ, and he and Remi have a ten minute long argument about it one afternoon before she finally agrees that it is a good name. She and Lancit are funny. Alistair likes them. He likes that they donât feel like Wardens. After everything that happened during the Inquisition, he finds the least stuffy Wardens, the ones who would disobey direct orders if theyâre stupid enough, and, most importantly, the ones who treat Hilda as the woman she is instead of the myth they want her to be, easiest to tolerate. The only time he isnât smiling or laughing or otherwise enjoying himself is when Hilda asks Lancit which griffon will be her and Alistairâs, followed by an awkward silence in which they all realize that the two of them will be long gone by the time the griffons are old enough for riders. Still, Lancit allows her to name the orange griffon Cinnamon after her childhood mabari, and Remi swears to her itâs not an empty promise, that sheâll make the name stick.
Itâs nice to see Davrin let loose, too. He seems to like the griffons, and even though he tells Alistair that he didnât know Lancit and Remi much before coming here, the three get on well and will have a good time out here in the wilderness. They sort of remind Alistair of when he and Hilda lived in Vigilâs Keep with Nathaniel. Nathaniel. He misses that man dearly. Maybe theyâll add his latest hideout to their list of places to visit.
First on that list: Our Lady of the Anderfels. Hildaâs only been once, the first time she came to the Anderfels while searching for a cure, and she was there during a rainstorm. âIâd like to take you,â she tells him. âAnd. You know. Iâd like to actually see her without any storm clouds in the way.â After that, theyâll make their way back to Weisshaupt, kindly ask the First Warden if they can keep their horses and consider stealing them if he says no, and, on their way out, grab all the books they never got to read from their entryway.Â
âI bet the Warden-Recruits dared each other to sneak into the house and steal them when they noticed we were gone,â Alistair tells her.
âNo one has noticed that weâre gone,â she reassures him with a smile. âWe might as well be ghosts.â
Maybe they were. But not anymore. Hilda is so happy with the griffons that she seems twenty years old again. Thereâs no distant look in her eye, no delay in her movements. She is present, aware. Sheâs living for the first time in a long time. Maybe for the first time since the Blight. When they ride away from their three new friends a few days later, she somehow manages to make marks on their map without letting her horse veer off-course, and sheâs still talking as Alistair is starting to fall asleep.
âThen after Weisshaupt, weâll go to Nevarra,â sheâs saying. âIâve been before, but I never had the chance to do any sightseeing - and from what Iâve heard, there are a lot of sights to see. And then, while weâre there, we might as well take the long route through the Free Marches up to Antiva. Weâre close enough that we could stop into Orlais to visit Leliana - sorry, I mean Divine Victoria - how ridiculous is that? - but sheâs much better at writing letters than Zevran, and Iâd like to see this house on Rialto Bay that he mentioned in his last letter. Oh, itâs been so long since weâve seen him! I bet he misses us.â
He can hear the fond smile in her voice. âWhat do you mean?âÂ
âI missed you. Iâm glad youâre back.â He tightens his arms around her and frowns. âAnd I donât ever want you to leave me like that again. Never again. You hear me?â
âAlistairâŚâ When she brushes her hands through his hair, the touch is so soft and warm that it just about knocks him unconscious. Before he goes, however, he hears her whisper: âIâll never leave you. Itâs you and I until the end.â
-
Davrin is sitting in the Lighthouse and turning over a block of wood in his hands when he hears the news.
âI got word from Charter,â Rook explains. âWho got word from Leliana.â
âAbout what?â he asks, feeling his chest tighten with familiar panic. Day in and day out, itâs either bad news or worse news, and he doesnât know how much more he can take.
Rook sits down across from him. âWarden-Commander Cousland and Warden-Constable Alistair. Theyâre dead.â
Dead. He didnât know Hilda and Alistair well, but the three weeks they spent together made an impression on him. Last he heard from Remi - before Remi herself died - they were back in Ferelden, living in Highever with Hildaâs brother. She talked fondly of the place. Heâs glad she got to see it again.
âHow did they die?âÂ
âDarkspawn attack. They were defending a village in the middle of nowhere.â
âThat sounds like the Warden-Commander, alright.â Despite a small chuckle, he feels his throat constricting, and Assan walks over to brush his beak comfortingly along Davrinâs arm. If only they had a griffon to protect them⌠he knows she wanted one.Â
âThey died in each otherâs arms,â Rook explains. âWhen the villagers found them, they said it looked like they were sleeping peacefully.â
At that, Davrin manages a smile. Wardens arenât used to going out peacefully. From the time the Joining chalice touches their lips, wardens never know peace at all. Heâs glad that they found it, at the very end. And knowing them, heâs sure that they were glad for it, too.