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yanara126-writing · 2 years

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Constellations

Redcliffe lies behind them, the Arl saved and the city free of walking dead. But Warden Solveig cannot accept her success quite yet, guilt gnawing at her, for her reaction to Alistair's confession. He should have told her before. His royal status made him an even bigger target than he already was. She'd been correct in her anger. And yet, could she truly blame him when she wasn't any better?

"My full name is-" Untrue. "Was. Solveig Aeducan. Second child of king Endrin Aeducan and Olwen Harrowmont, Proven Champion twice over, Keeper of the West Gate, Left to the Throne."

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The usually comforting dark of the night sky was oddly stifling. The stars seemed less like glittering gems in a rock ceiling and instead rather like threating sparks in a powder chamber. Solveig was painfully aware of the uncanny softness of the grassy ground under her boots as she silently strode towards the edge of camp, heading for the familiar blonde head just peaking out behind a low hill.

For a moment she hesitated on the top of the earth mound, considering the view in front of her. Alistair was flopped on the ground, one leg pulled close, the other stretched out, every so often throwing a stick for a visibly excited but impressively quiet Barkspawn. He hadn't noticed her yet, and the dog was too busy jumping around and bolting after the toy, tail wagging in a frenzy. The urge to leave pulled at her limbs, pinching and pricking her skin, but she refused to give in and let it drag her back to the centre of camp. The nagging guilt, ever growing and suffocating as it was, weighed heavier than the long practiced impulse to shut up and show nothing. The endless, gaping sky felt only more threatening.

Feet securely on the ground she gave a whistle, sharp and clear, still unfamiliar but strangely easy on her lips. Promptly as always Barkspawn ripped around, sharp eyes glued directly on her own, tail wagging rapidly. Within a second he changed direction, leaping and bounding over the ground. He skid to a halt in front of her, just so avoiding running her over in his excitement. Giving the dog a firm head rub through the surprisingly soft fur, Solveig distinctly avoided looking at Alistair.

"Come to steal my playmate away?" The overly played up indignation only badly masked the nervous tension in his voice. Well ingrained instinct took hold and her feet shifted just a tad wider, shoulders backwards and back straight, portraying confidence with every muscle in her body before even turning her head.

"Don't worry, a good commander knows not to give orders that won't be followed." The dog barked happily as if in agreement, promptly panting blissfully as she scratched his jaw. With a flick of her wrist she tossed the stick back over to Alistair who caught it one handed, steady and practiced.

Barkspawn immediately whirled around, alert, brown eyes eagerly drilling holes into the man holding his beloved toy. Alistair complied, hurling the stick a good distance away, with far more force than during the previous throw. Neither Solveig nor Alistair commented on it.

As Barkspawn galloped over the plains, while the two left behind remained in awkward silence. The stars twinkled overhead, sparks floating closer to the fuse.

Solveig was certain her movements were no less smooth than in any other battle, but no skirmish had ever made her limbs feel this heavy and stiff. She sat down next to Alistair. Despite her best intentions her eyes went back to following the dog in his wild chase, even as she finally forced the words to be spoken. Letting the sparks reach the powder kegs.

"So. What you told me at Redcliff. That you are a prince." What an atrocious opening, far too awkward.

"I'm not." His answer was instant and downright petulant as he frowned and turned away. Solveig fought to stop her irritation from showing. Nothing would be won here by losing her temper.

"Yes, as you say. Though your human ideas of lineage make no sense." She shook her head in quiet distaste. Why would it matter that his mother has been a commoner when his father had been a king? But regardless, cultural inanty was not why she was here. "What I'm attempting to say is-" Just a second's hesitation as her breath caught. Too long, hesitation was weakness, failure, death. Her lips were dry and she had to acknowledge, perhaps she was weak. "There's something that is appropriate to tell you in exchange. Everyone in fact, but I shall start with you. As a token of trust." And as another such token she wouldn't look away from him in this conversation. She owed him that much after her outburst at Redcliffe. Shame of her own hypocrisy warmed her cheeks at the memory. Perhaps she had no right to her Paragons anymore but that was no reason to add on to her crimes.

This attempt at broaching the matter, pathetic though it was, seemed enough to catch his attention again despite his visible discomfort. He was still tense but at least he was looking at her again. "Well, you certainly have my interest now. What, are you secretly the Maker's daughter or something?" It was almost funny how incredulous he sounded. That single raised eyebrow, clearly trying at another sardonic joke yet not managing to entirely banish the boyish curiosity.

"You're not as far off from the truth as you seem to believe." The soft ground under her clenching fingers gave way far too easily, allowing her fingers to dig into the dirt, and for one irrational, almost hopeful moment she thought it would open and take her back, rather than make her face this situation. A coward indeed.

"What." Any notion of incredulous humour had vanished from Alistair's face, leaving behind only bare, brutal confusion in his raised eyebrow and blank eyes. Her last seconds of grace had run out.

"My full name is-" Untrue. Untrue. "Was. Solveig Aeducan. Second child of king Endrin Aeducan and Olwen Harrowmont, Proven Champion twice over, Keeper of the West Gate, Left to the Throne and..." Solveig's breath caught, rage and hatred, desperation and grief roiling inside of her. With effort she pushed the unwanted, unneeded, *unhelpful* feelings back down, voice and face left carefully blank. "Not quite heir presumptive, but it would be a lie to say my ascendency was impossible." At the end of the sentence Alistair was still staring, not angry, not indignant, but hopelessly confused. Looking for answers. She longed for the numb emptiness of the day after Trian's death. The Stone did not grant her her calm often anymore, spitting out the burning heat of anger, shame and everything else she'd worked so hard to bury.

Maybe he'd grown bored, maybe he sensed the tense atmosphere, but either way, Barkspawn came trotting back, beloved stick held securely in his mouth. She turned to the dog, clinging to the idea that surely doing her duty to another being in her service wouldn't count as cowardice for not facing Alistair anymore. Ready to throw the stick again she moved to grab for it, but the dog ignored her hand completely, instead flopping down with his head on her lap, seemingly content in drooling all over her. Slowly moving to pet him, Solveig could almost pretend she hadn't just laid bare all her secrets. And then Alistair spoke again.

"You. Are a princess?" His lack of anger almost irked her as much as the surfacer term and Barkspawn growled quietly when her next pet fell out a tad too harsh. Before answering she gave the dog an apologetic scritch and took a deep, slow breath. Finally, all the heat started bleed out of her with the breath, leaving behind only cold, tired, exhausted spite. Let Alistair have the ugly, stinging truth then.

"I was a commander. For a full day even. Until my younger brother murdered our older brother the crown prince, pinned the blame on me and got me sentenced to death in the Deeproads the moment he could." And that was the core of everything wasn't it? Bhelen had betrayed her and at no point had she seen it coming. She'd been so busy with the idea of that young, light haired child always trailing her with constant curiosity that she hadn't noticed when he'd stopped asking her questions.

For a while they both remained silent, only the dog's quiet panting filling Solveig's ears, as the strange night's chill krept into her bones and her own thoughts threatened to choke her. What was she even doing here? Why did she care what this surfacer whelp thought of her? Aeducan or no, she had no reason to care. So what if she had been a hypocrite, he was a foreigner, a subordinate, and she was a dead oathbreaker. And yet...

Alistair interrupted her musings with his own. "That's where Duncan picked you up." That was one way of phrasing her cowardice. She had been sentenced to die in the Deeproads and she had refused. It had been her father's orders, not Bhelen's, yet still she had refused. The memory brought all the seething, burning rage bubbling back up. She took another deep breath, decisively stifling her rising temper and letting the calm of the stone ground her again.

"Quite so." Alistair nodded absently. And Solveig waited.

"Did he know?" A fickle question and one Solveig didn't have as clear an answer to as she would like. She frowned and bent to scratch the dog behind the ears, stalling for a few seconds while settling for an honest but not too inflammatory answer.

"He knew I was Aeducan and exiled. He shouldn't have known anything else. He offered to let me keep my secrets, though I have my doubts about his sincerity." There had been a few too many knowing looks and allusions to really believe him.

"Is that why you've been acting so cagey about-" He faltered, eyes glassy and distant for a second. "Him?" The word was harsh and defensive, almost an accusation, as always when it came to Duncan between them.

Solveig sighed. "I don't begrudge you your grief, Alistair."

"That wasn't the question." She could feel his eyes drilling holes into her head. No, it hadn't been, had it. But how could she explain it? For all her suspicions and misgivings about Duncan, Alistair didn't deserve to have the last image of his father figure crushed. That pain of knowing that the person helping you, propping you up in a hostile life, perhaps even loving you, was ruthlessly scheming others' downfalls behind your back, making the hard and inevitable decisions. And Alistair especially shouldn't have to become the same.

Slowly Solveig rubbed her hands over her face, dark strands, so different from her brothers' light manes, falling into her eyes. So it was that he dragged out one harsh truth after the other right from her core. Elbows on her knees, hands on Barkspawn's soft fur, she turned to him, feeling more exhausted than maybe ever before.

"We share the fate of rejected royals, Alistair, but we are not the same. I respect Duncan for what he did for the Grey Wardens and for you, but he was not my saviour." There was no saving her like he'd been saved from the templars. "It's difficult to explain to a human what it means for us to be executed like this. Either we die, slaughtered by the darkspawn, or we are cut off from all that makes us dwarves. Alive technically, but dead regardless. Solveig Aeducan is gone. Executed in shame and disgrace for dishonourable fratricide." He was still staring at her, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't understand. Of course he didn't, how could he? She grasped at the memory of Redcliffe, looking for an explanation on his level. "You told me you want me to like you for who you are, without your lineage. I am no one without my lineage. Without my duty."

That seemed to rattle something loose in him and he turned away, shoulders sagging, even as a spark of recognition darkened his eyes. He started fiddling with a blade of grass, distinctly avoiding her gaze. "Seems like you were doing pretty well anyway. You know, helping people, fighting the blight. All that."

"Does it?" Solveig sighed again, almost surprised she l had any air left in her lungs with how much this evening seemed to delight in stealing it from her. "I don't care about these people, Alistair. I have no stake in all of this. I might as well be a walking corpse like all the others in Redcliffe. I'm only helping as you call it because it's the obvious thing to do. A red thread to follow. Until it cuts. The thirty year limit doesn't scare me. The thirty years do." The blade of grass between his fingers ripped. Without comment she handed him the stick the dog had forgotten about. He took it without looking up and started fiddling with it instead.

She'd said her piece. Had told him what she came here for and truthfully much more. There was no reason to stay sitting here, on the too soft ground in the too heavy silence. And yet she stayed seated, pinned down by something that had nothing to do with the dog in her lap. Solveig watched Alistair as he listlessly twirled the stick between his fingers, light hair falling into his eyes. She couldn't just leave him like this.

A strange, almost nervous desperation took hold of her to try and make him understand- something. Anything to not make him think she was rejecting him. Licking her once again dry lips she searched for the right words that continued to elude her. "Look I- I do understand. What you find in the Grey Wardens. But I cannot, because I didn't choose this. I was supposed to have a trial. And if not that at least period of grace after the sentencing. I would have joined the Legion of the Dead." But of course Bhelen couldn't have left her even that. He'd never been sloppy and letting her join the Legion would have given her opportunities far too dangerous to allow.

Too late she noticed her mistake as Alistair glanced over and narrowed his eyes at her. "The what now?"

For the what felt like the millionth time she struggled to explain what had always been obvious to her. Sometimes it felt like she'd spoken more exclusively in explanations in these last few weeks on the surface than she had in all her years before. "The Legion of the Dead. They are... Similar to the wardens I suppose." A revelation puzzeling to herself as well, but one that she couldn't deny once uttered. "A last haven for all those society would or could not keep to retain some of their dignity. No matter your sentence, it is fulfilled when you join the Legion. You die, your crimes are repaid. And then you eventually die physically, for the protection of Orzammer. I died. I wasn't given the opportunity to at least do so honourably. So now I'm here. Cut off from all that makes me, dying a human death."

But those clearly hadn't been the right words. Instead of calming down Alistair only seemed to grow more agitated, chewing on his bottom lip and stabbing the ground with the stick a few times before leaving it there and placing his head onto his hands. "Yeah. Alright. No, you're right, I don't get it. But just..." He glanced at her almost helplessly. "Look maybe it doesn't mean anything but maybe this can be your new duty? The new Solveig? I know there's only me left now, and the Wardens aren't your Legion, but that has to count for something, right? I'm not really a full kingdom but hey if it helps, I can be your new subject."

"That's not the point, Alistair." She wished she could answer him differently. Give him the right words to understand, to explain that it had never been about the throne, about ruling why wouldn't Trian and Bhelen understand

But in the end it was only her here, alone and again without a way to explain.

"No. I guess not." He didn't argue, didn't yell or tell her off, just sank back into himself, the words as understanding as they were despairing. There was something about him, all slumped there on a strange ground under a non-existent ceiling, trying to be something familiar to her. For her. Grabbing a fistful of the ground again, she thought, maybe, just maybe she could try one more thing.

"But thanks, Alistair." It wasn't good. It wasn't alright. But maybe, with the way he put his hand on hers and sat a little bit straighter, it was enough for now.

"You're welcome, Solveig."

#dragon age origins #alistair theirin #solveig aeducan #warden aeducan #female warden #writing #fanfiction #angst #hurt/comfort #warden's mabari

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