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tired-truffle · 2 months ago

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Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 6.9k

Epilogue to the Epilogue

"I shall be waiting for you. You know that when you come home, weary, with blood on your hands, I shall be waiting there among the birches. You will rest your head in my lap, and I shall kiss your burning forehead and wash the blood from you. I shall be waiting, and I shall love you." -Pär Lagerkvist

Masterlist

The role of consort was never something Gwen would have imagined for herself. With her strikingly non-human features and wild, untamed nature, she was an unlikely candidate for royal life. Her conversations were brief and forced, her intense stare often resembling a glower, and her hands restless at her sides - longing for the comfort of her daggers - whenever a visiting noble made an ignorant remark.

It was beyond reasoning why Alistair wanted her there, in the capacity that she had. As an official consort, she did not hold much power, but her influence was undeniable. Alistair’s advisors had insisted she trade out her plain bandana for a fine, intricately embroidered veil. It hung over her lower face, similar to the bandana, but it was made of much higher quality material. The veil flowed like a delicate mist obscuring her features, and adding a sensual quality to her appearance. In the few months since her recovery and brief introduction at court, she had noticed several noble women attempting to mimic the veil. Little did they know it was out of necessity, not fashion.

The Game, the political scheming and backstabbing and all the disgust the nobles instilled within her didn’t hold a candle to her reason for staying. Her sweet Alistair, the man who held her still-beating heart in his hands, who loved her and lost her and loved her again. She stayed for him - and for herself. She had spent so long believing herself to be a monster, a creature undeserving of love. But it had been a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Now, she’d done her best to shuck off the invisible shackles that had bound her to her miserable fate. She lived and she loved and she was happy - as Lucy wanted her to be. As both she and Alistair deserved. And when Gwen had told him of Lucy - once he’d gotten past his disbelief - he’d been most pleased to hear what she’d had to say.

This was not to say that there were no hard times, no relapses in her self-perception. Nightmares plagued her as they always had, vivid memories twisted with violence and terror that left her crying out, her body drenched in a cold sweat. But she was not alone, not anymore. Alistair was by her side, warm and soft, his strong arms pulling her against his broad chest and whispering soothing words against her scarred skin.

But being king meant he had duties that took him away, and he could only put them off for so long. Gwen had begun to recover from her eight-year-long slumber, slowly regaining her strength and independence. She could now take short walks around the castle grounds and attend a few royal functions, but she was not yet ready for a long journey across Ferelden. She had little interest in meeting with Orlesian dignitaries, but would have gladly joined Alistair just to keep him company. But perhaps this time apart was good for them - healthy, even - to have a moment of separation that didn’t end with years apart and hearts broken.

Unless he died on the way. Assassinations, banditry, sharp rocks and poorly placed roots, one could never fully prepare for the dangers of travel. But he’d promised her he’d return - in one very alive piece - and Gwen held onto that promise like a lifeline.

Shaking her head, she rose from her seat, heading out of the stuffy space. The breakfast table in her rooms was about all she ever used since she’d woken and been strong enough to leave her bed in favour of Alistair’s. The book that lay in front of her seemed to mock her with its swirling letters, it’s confusing text. Alistair had insisted she learn to read - much to her chagrin - he’d given her his pleading puppy dog eyes and she’d caved, like she always did. A tutor came by daily, a stern woman with grey hair pulled back in a tight bun, and gnarled fingers that tapped at the page with increasing impatience. She reminded Gwen of Wynne in a way, and it endeared her to her tutor - Eudora - and her disapproving frown.

Gwen had been shocked and incredibly touched to see that Takari had remained to care for her while she’d slept, and had continued when she’d finally woken. Takari's presence brought a sense of comfort and familiarity during a time of such drastic change.

Though they spoke little, Takari's steady companionship and attentive care gave Gwen strength. Whether helping her walk the castle grounds to rebuild her strength or sitting nearby during her reading lessons, Takari emanated an aura of patience and support. Her silent dedication reminded Gwen that she was cared for not just by Alistair, but by others who wished her well - something she had never been great at remembering.

Gwen wondered if Takari's own motivations had changed over the years she had kept vigil over her slumbering form. Perhaps she had simply felt obligated at first, to repay her king for his kindness, only to gradually grow a genuine affection for her well-being.

While Eudora and Takari were good company, they couldn’t spend all their time with Gwen. They had lives to live and other tasks to complete. This left Gwen with periods of time where she was in charge of her own entertainment. It was little problem, she was used to that way of life and the freedom to choose - though now limited to the castle walls.

For the first few days after she had awoken, Darcy, Zevran, and Leliana had stayed to catch up and Gwen had enjoyed their time together more than she could ever put into words. Despite the missing members of their party, it felt comforting to have even some familiar faces by her side. She cherished every moment spent with them, grateful for their support and companionship.

During their stay, she learned that Morrigan - and her strangely very normal son - were both alive and well, though still as elusive and secretive as ever. It was a relief to know that they were thriving in their own way.

But her friends could not stay forever. They had their own lives to attend to, and they could only put it off for so long. Anders had left with Darcy and Zevran, determined to aid in the cure for Grey Wardens, and not only those infected with the taint. To undo the magic of the Joining was another issue entirely.

Once her friends had left, and she had recovered enough strength to move, she would often slip quietly into Alistair's office or rooms where he worked. There, she would curl up in a cozy corner and attempt to read, a quiet but constant presence reminding them of their bond. On days when the distance between them felt unbearable and old fears and pains resurfaced, he would invite her to sit on his lap as he worked. She would straddle his hips, her arms wrapped tightly around his broad shoulders, and her face nestled in the warm crook of his neck.

“No one will bat an eye at a king with his consort in his lap,” Alistair’s eyes glinted as he’d proposed the arrangement for the first time. “If anything they would think it strange that you are not.”

Skepticism tugged at her brows. “It seems entirely improper for a king to be comporting himself in such a way.”

“If we were on the throne it would cause a scandal so terrible we may become buried under the complaint letters, but in the privacy of my office there will be no such uproar, I promise you.”

She’d needed little convincing after that, the pull of his arms around her waist, the feel of his chest pressed tight against hers, was too enticing to resist. And if she was lucky, the movement of her hips against his had him barking an urgent command to the guards stationed outside, ensuring their privacy for as long as they desired.

Outside of Alistair’s lap, her favourite place to spend time was the royal gardens. The bustling chaos of the palace melted away as she stepped into this sanctuary, surrounded by nature's beauty. She lost herself in the meandering gravel pathways, each one leading to a new discovery. Colourful flower beds adorned either side, bursting with life and vitality. Vibrant roses in shades of red, pink, and orange mingled with elegant stalks of coneflower, their petals glowing like miniature suns. The intoxicating scent of flowers filled the air, attracting bees and butterflies as they flitted between each blossom, sampling their sweet nectar.

In the center of the gardens stood a marble fountain, water cascading gently from its tiered basins. Gwen often sat at its edge, trailing her fingers along the surface of the cool water. She found the steady trickling helped soothe her nerves when life in the castle became too much.

She had taken it upon herself to stroll through the gardens, one sunny day after Alistair’s departure, her reading abandoned at the breakfast table and her thoughts turning to him. She pictured his handsome face - those warm brown eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. She could almost hear his teasing voice making some silly joke just to see her laugh. Gwen missed him fiercely, even though he had only been gone a few days. Their parting had been bittersweet - a long, lingering kiss followed by many whispered ‘I love you’s. She hoped his trip would pass quickly so he could return to her arms.

Gwen wandered leisurely along the garden path, drinking in the sights and scents around her. As she rounded a bend, a flash of movement in her peripheral vision made her pause, briefly pulling her from her longing. She turned her head sharply, eyes scanning the flower beds.

Safety in a castle versus fighting Darkspawn in the depths of the Deep Roads was incomparable, but that didn’t mean that Gwen was going to drop her guard. She was well aware of the dangers of being a consort, especially one with an easily unearthed past like hers. She knew which nobles turned their noses up at her, which of Alistair’s advisors barely tolerated her presence with a poorly concealed sneer. It was only a matter of time before one of them got fed up with her, when they realized she wasn’t just a passing fancy. She refused to meet them unprepared.

Unsheathing the dagger she kept strapped to her thigh, she crept towards the space where the blur had disappeared. It had been too small to be a person, but much too large to be a simple garden creature - a nug or a bird. But that didn’t mean there weren’t all manner of feral creatures that could be used in an attack.

Rounding the corner of the hedge, her dagger gripped firmly in hand and ready to attack, she came upon an unexpected sight. Huddled against the far stone wall stood a small black cat. A frightened stray, not some threat or trap. The poor thing was skinny and bedraggled, likely searching for food or shelter in the garden.

Gwen blinked as the cat raised its haunches, its fur standing on end as it barred its teeth in a snarling hiss. Swallowing an excited gasp at the irritated furry creature, Gwen slowly lowered her dagger, keeping her hands out in a display of innocence. She averted her gaze, another gesture meant to soothe the animal, and knelt, bowing her head.

Gwen had always loved cats, even when they hated her. It was some intrinsic kinship she felt to the skittish creatures that so often longed for a warm body to sleep against, a gentle touch when they had never received one. And who could resist their enticingly soft fur, the delicate triangle ears that twitched at every sound, the tiny nose, and the rounded paws that seemed to be made for cuddling? It was well known to anyone who knew her that she adored all feline animals - Darcy had found her cooing over the mousing cats at Vigil’s Keep one too many times to not understand.

Clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth in what she hoped was an inviting sound, she extended her hand in an inviting gesture. She cast a sideways glance towards the cat, observing its once-fluffed fur now laying flat against its body and its back no longer arched in a defensive posture. Its wary eyes darted over her outstretched hand, its expression one of disdain, as if rejecting any notion of affection. The cat's body was tense, ready to flee at any moment as it mentally prepared for danger.

“It’s okay, little kitty. I’m not going to hurt you,” she whispered, rubbing her fingers together. But the cat was no fool, she had no snacks to offer, and it could not judge her quality of pets from a simple glance. Having decided she wasn’t an immediate threat, the cat took off, its little paws pattering against the cobblestone path as it ran into the bushes.

Gwen dropped her hand, sighing her disappointment. She had hoped to make a new friend, but the skittish creature clearly wanted nothing to do with her. She knew she must look monstrous to the poor creature, with her veil hiding her strange, non-human features. The cat likely expected claws and fangs behind the fabric, not realizing it concealed a tired soul who only wished to offer comfort and care.

Gwen sheathed her dagger and stood. She would not force her presence on the frightened animal. But perhaps…if she could earn its trust, in time it would come to see her as a friend rather than a threat.

Gwen nodded to herself, resolve hardening. She would make it her personal mission to befriend this stray cat that had wandered into the castle gardens. Surely with patience and kindness, even the most skittish of creatures could be coaxed into acceptance - it had worked on her, why wouldn’t it work for the cat?

By the time she returned to the garden, the sun had started to set, casting long shadows across the hedgerows and flower beds. The evening air held a slight chill that made her shiver and pull her cloak tighter around her shoulders. In a napkin, she clutched a large serving of roast meat from her dinner, a small cube of cheese placed on top - bait for the skittish animal. She moved slowly along the gravel path, peering into the creeping darkness for any sign of the black cat.

As the last slivers of orange and pink faded from the darkening sky, Gwen wondered if the stray had already slipped back into the city. Perhaps it only ventured into the castle gardens in search of an easy meal during the day.

She wandered aimlessly for a few more minutes, her feet scuffing softly on the gravel path, when suddenly a flash of movement caught her eye. She froze, holding her breath to stop an excited squeal from escaping. Then, slowly, carefully, a small black nose poked out from under a thick hedge, followed by a pair of green eyes that seemed to glow in the fading light. The cat's ears were flat against its head as it sniffed the air tentatively.

Gwen stayed perfectly still, not daring to make any sudden movements. Ever so slowly, she knelt down and placed the bundled napkin on the path in front of her. Then, equally slowly, she backed up a few paces. The cat's eyes never left her, its body tense and ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. But hunger eventually won out over fear. Inch by inch, the scrawny creature crept forward until it could snatch the bundle up in its jaws before retreating back under the bushes.

Gwen lowered herself to sit cross-legged on the path. She watched patiently as the cat devoured its meal, all the while keeping a wary eye on her. When the last morsel was gone, it sat up and began meticulously cleaning its face and paws, as if pointedly ignoring her presence. Gwen had to smile. "Well, it's a start at least," she murmured. After a few moments, the cat slipped silently back into the shadows of the garden and out of sight. Gwen could only hope she would see the creature again and she vowed silently to return with more food tomorrow.

Gwen continued to leave food out for the stray cat over the next few days, always retreating to give it space after placing the bundle down. At first, the creature maintained its distance, refusing to approach until she was too far to be able to dart forward and grab it. But gradually, its caution seemed to lessen. One morning, as Gwen turned to walk back down the garden path, she caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye. Glancing back, she saw the scrawny cat slinking along in the bushes, paralleling her route while keeping several yards away. A small smile touched Gwen's lips, and she continued on her now accompanied walk.

Over the next week, the cat began shadowing her at a closer range, no longer waiting until she backed away to snatch its meal. It became a familiar sight, her feline companion keeping pace with her through the garden, visible only as a dark streak darting between hedges and statues.

"It seems you've made a new friend," Takari remarked during a stroll with Gwen through the gardens, nodding towards the sinuous shadow slipping between the rose bushes nearby.

Gwen chuckled, smiling fondly as the cat peered out at her, irritated at having been spotted. “I don’t think it likes what you’re insinuating.”

Takari followed Gwen’s gaze, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, mirth flickering in her eyes. She held up her hands in a placating gesture. “I deeply apologize, Oh Fuzzy One. Please find it in your heart to forgive me.”

The cat narrowed its eyes, and promptly ducked back into the bushes, leaving the two women to giggle after it.

One morning, as Gwen entered her chambers after breakfast, a small mewl made her pause. There, nestled in the center of her bed, was the stray cat - her second shadow - fur matted, ears back, but purring contentedly as it kneaded the blankets.

"Well, hello there," Gwen murmured in surprise, slowly approaching the bed. "Look at you, making yourself comfortable." She reached out a cautious hand, chuckling as the cat eagerly nudged its head against her palm, seeking more affection. Its fur was coarse and clumped with dirt, but the rumbling purr vibrating under her fingers filled Gwen with warmth. Gwen hadn’t expected her efforts to turn around so quickly, considering the cat hadn’t done anything more than follow her around. Maybe she had finally earned its trust after all.

Gwen shook her head in amusement as the cat rolled onto its back, paws batting playfully at her hand. "Alright you, I think it's time for a bath."

The cat's emerald green eyes narrowed suspiciously, studying Gwen as she inched closer. Its black fur bristled and it scuttled back, wary of her approach. Undeterred, Gwen reached out as it to pick it up, but the cat let out an indignant yowl and lashed out with its sharp claws, narrowly missing Gwen's outstretched fingers.

"I know you don't want a bath, but you really need one if you are going to sit on my bed," Gwen murmured gently. The cat glared at her, as if offended by the mere suggestion. Its ears flattened against its head and it let out a low, rumbling growl.

Gwen tried again, this time managing to quickly scoop up the protesting cat before it could flee. The feline thrashed in her arms, though it had yet to use its claws, and Gwen held on tightly. "Shhh...it's okay," she soothed as she carried the cat over to a washbasin, pouring in the pitcher of water she had planned to use before bed.

She wondered briefly if her tentative friendship with the creature would survive the impending scrubdown.

Carefully, she lowered the cat into the cool water, keeping one hand firmly but gently on its back to stop it from bolting. The cat yowled piteously, its claws scraping against the metal basin. Gwen winced as one claw caught her wrist, leaving an angry red scratch, but she continued washing the muddy fur with slow, soothing motions. Gwen began working a lather through the cat's matted fur, wincing as her fingers caught on knots and burrs. The cat wailed indignantly, squirming in her grasp.

"Shhh, I know, I know," Gwen soothed. "But this will feel so much better when we are done."

After nearly half an hour of washing, rinsing, and combing, Gwen lifted a sopping wet but much cleaner cat from the tub. She smiled as it shook itself vigorously, spraying water everywhere. Under the grime had been sleek black fur, soft as silk, and a distinctly female form.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Gwen wrapped the grumbling cat in a towel and sat near the fireplace, gently rubbing it dry. The cat nipped her finger, glaring reproachfully with its vivid green eyes.

"Alright, I deserved that one," Gwen conceded with a laugh.

To make amends, Gwen gave the cat all the meat from her dinner, the timing perfect, even if the cat hid behind her when the servants approached. Famished, the cat immediately forgot its indignity and began devouring the meal, purring all the while.

Gwen smiled softly. "We'll get you nice and plump in no time." She stroked the cat's head, eliciting a rumbling purr. "You're a good girl, aren't you?" The cat bumped her hand affectionately in response.

Curled in Gwen's lap near the warm fire, the cat dozed, perfectly content.

The next morning, Gwen awoke to find the cat curled up at the foot of her bed. Eudora arrived shortly after to begin their daily lessons, frowning slightly when she noticed the cat watching them from across the room. She didn't comment on it, instead, she began Gwen's writing exercises as usual.

Later that afternoon, Eudora returned with a thick, leather-bound book in hand. "I brought you something I think you'll find interesting," she said, handing Gwen the book. Gwen's eyes lit up as she read the title - A History of Feline Companions. Eudora gave a knowing smile. "For your new friend." They were friends now, weren’t they? The thought brought her boundless joy.

But friends needed names, and Gwen had never named anything before. Lucy had named her after a dragon, perhaps she should name the cat after something large and powerful too.

Gwen sat by the fireplace, watching the cat curled up at her side, the moonlight casting a soft glow about the room.

"What should I call you?" Gwen mused aloud, its ears perking up as Gwen spoke. "You're as dark as night. How about Midnight?"

The cat yawned, stretching leisurely.

"I guess not," Gwen chuckled. She thought for a moment. "Shadow? No, too obvious."

The cat blinked at her expectantly.

"Hmm, you move as silently as a ghost, so…Specter?"

The cat sneezed disdainfully, always the critic.

"Right, too morbid," Gwen nodded. "We need something friendlier, something cute even."

She smiled as an idea came to her. "How about… Mittens?"

The cat's eyes narrowed, its tail thumping against the stone floor.

Gwen laughed, patting the top of the cat’s fuzzy head. "Not a fan of that one either I see."

She tapped her chin thoughtfully. The cat meowed impatiently.

"I've got it!" Gwen declared. "Emerald, for the colour of your eyes."

The newly named Emerald purred contentedly and leapt into Gwen's lap. Gwen stroked the cat's sleek fur, thrilled to have a new friend.

As the days went by, Emerald became a constant companion, following Gwen through the castle gardens, sneaking into the library during lessons, and sleeping next to her each night. When she woke up crying out for help, screaming as phantom pains wracked her body, brought forth by her dreams, Emerald had only to purr and rub herself against Gwen’s hand, forcing pets along her soft fur for Gwen to ground herself once more.

Gwen delighted in the book Eudora had given her, spending her free time learning all she could about proper care for a cat. She took the lessons to heart, making sure Emerald was well-fed and brushing her soft fur until it shone.

It had been two long weeks since Alistair's departure, and there was still one more to go until his return. Gwen missed him dearly, her heart aching with worry for his safety. But she found purpose in her adoption of Emerald. Or rather Emerald had shown up in her room and proclaimed that she lived there now.

As Gwen drifted off to sleep, Emerald curled up at her feet as had become customary. But the peaceful silence didn’t last, and was shattered by a sharp scraping sound at the window. Emerald's ears perked up and her green eyes narrowed into slits as she let out a fierce yowl, sensing danger approaching. Two shadowy figures slipped through the window, their daggers glinting in the pale moonlight. Reacting quickly, Gwen jolted awake and sat upright, reaching for the dagger she kept hidden under her pillow for moments like this.

Emerald wasted no time in springing into action, launching herself at the nearest intruder with claws extended, sinking her fangs into the assassin's arm. The assailant cried out - more so in surprise than pain - and he stumbled back. The other two assassins turned their attention to the ferocious cat, momentarily caught off guard by her sudden assault.

Gwen leaped from the bed, dagger clenched in her fist. This may not have been a difficult fight for her at her physical peak. But her body was still healing, her strength yet to be fully recovered, and from the muffled sounds of fighting outside her door, no help was coming.

With lightning speed born of desperation and a feral need to survive, she slashed at the nearest attacker. Her blade carved across his chest in a spray of crimson, coating her in his thick blood. The assassin crumpled with a gurgling cry and Gwen sparred him no further thought.

Whirling, Gwen engaged the second foe as Emerald leapt from his face, scratches embedded deep in his skin. He wasted little time, charging at her with rage blazing in his eyes. She parried his strikes, the ring of steel echoing in the moonlit room. Weary but defiant, Gwen refused to yield in her domain.

The assassin's blade flashed, slicing across Gwen's arm in a blaze of pain. Blood soaked through her nightdress but she barely registered the wound. Her body moved on instinct, ducking under the assassin's guard and driving her dagger up beneath his ribs. He choked wetly as she yanked the blade free in a fountain of gore.

As the last assassin crumpled, Gwen staggered back, clutching her bleeding arm. Emerald rushed to her side, fur bristling, ready to defend her. Together they surveyed the carnage filling the once-peaceful bedchamber. Gwen's heart thundered in her ears, they had survived the ambush, but the fight wasn’t over yet.

The doors crashed open, and the guards rushed in, their eyes widening at the carnage. Gwen nodded, grateful they were safe, then turned to the window to assess the chaos outside. There, the castle guards struggled against a band of shadowy assassins. Steel rang against steel as the guards fought valiantly, but they were outnumbered.

One guard in particular caught Gwen's eye. He was fighting fiercely despite the deep gash across his shield arm. As Gwen watched, horror-struck her heart - an assassin was sneaking up behind him, dagger poised for a killing strike.

Without thinking, Gwen leapt from the window, landing cat-like on the stones below. She sprinted across the courtyard, her white nightdress billowing behind her like a ghost. The assassin's dagger flashed down just as Gwen slammed into him, knocking him aside. Her own dagger found his heart in one smooth motion.

The guard whirled around, stunned by his narrow escape. It took him a moment to recognize the strange, scarred woman who had just saved his life.

An eerie silence descended on the courtyard. The guard leaned heavily on his sword, getting a good look at Gwen in her thin, blood-spattered shift. If her monstrous visage bothered him, he didn't show it.

"You have my deepest thanks, my lady," he said earnestly. "I would have met my end tonight if not for you."

Gwen simply nodded, too breathless for words. The fighting fury was leaving her, replaced by bone-deep exhaustion. She was used to screams of terror when people saw her scarred face and monstrous appearance. But this man showed no fear, only gratitude. She would have to ask Alistair that he be properly thanked.

She hadn’t gotten back to sleep that night, too alert, adrenaline pumping in her veins. Emerald dug her claws into Gwen's side, kneading insistently before settling down to sleep. Gwen envied the cat’s ability to find rest so easily. It felt silly to be jealous of a cat, but to be so at peace…she could scarcely imagine it.

She found herself on edge throughout the following day, and Takari suggested a walk through the gardens to clear her mind. It had been helpful to resume some normalcy, to allow the calming breeze to flutter over her skin. Though her mind was constantly pulled back to the ambush.

By the time evening rolled around, Gwen was able to settle the unease sloshing about her stomach. At one time an attempt on her life would have meant little to her. She’d always been able to defend herself, that was, until she hadn’t.

She’d be lying if she said that memories from her time in the Warden’s dungeon didn’t haunt her. Her jaw may no longer become unhinged unbidden, but it clicked irritably when the cool autumn air had started to set in. She was reminded of the searing pain of the brand against her cheek every time she ate and had to press a hand over her cheek to keep the food inside. Her teeth had never come back - though that was more a result of the taint than of the torture - and it did little to help with meals. Her skin was tighter over her numerous scars, but the physical pains were not the parts that bothered her most.

Alistair’s broken, heart-felt words, read to her in mocking tones from sneering lips had torn her apart in a way she had yet to fully recover from. When he woke up in the middle of the night, feeling for her in the bed in a blind panic, guilt rushed back to her. How often had that happened when she hadn’t been there? And when relief flooded his features, pulling her close in his trembling arms, she thought she might fall apart. There had been days when he was angry, old grief over her abandonment making itself known. He’d become snippy and withdrawn and Gwen would falter, fearing he’d finally realized that he no longer wanted her, that her betrayal had been too great. But even on those days, he would tug her into bed without a word, curling around her smaller form, and clinging to her like she was the only thing that mattered.

Nothing had ever come of Warden Graham’s threats. From what Leliana had told her, the man had died before he’d been able to spread word of the king’s affair. Whether it was by war or by purposeful assassination, Leliana did not reveal.

While she still kept her dagger under her pillow, Emerald’s presence against her back was enough to allow her a few fitful hours of sleep. By the time the sun started peeking over the horizon, a soft light peering through her thin curtains, Gwen lay dozing, half asleep, in her bed, Emerald having moved to her chest.

Gwen's eyes flew open as the sound of footsteps pounded outside her door. Muffled voices exchanged hurried words before the door was flung open, revealing a dishevelled and anxious Alistair.

Gwen sat up sharply, Emerald letting out an indignant meow as she was dislodged. But Gwen's attention was fixed solely on Alistair as he rushed into the room, his hair windswept and clothes rumpled from hasty dressing. Relief flooded through Gwen at the sight of him, the knot of tension that had coiled in her chest all night finally loosening.

"Alistair," she breathed, a smile breaking across her face. She took in every detail of his appearance greedily, from the stubble darkening his jaw to the concerned furrow of his brow. He was here, he was safe.

He crossed the room in three long strides and gathered her in his arms. Gwen melted against him, breathing in his familiar scent of leather and pine-scented soap as she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart against her chest, mirroring her own.

"I'm sorry, my love," Alistair mumbled against her short hair. "When I heard…I should have been here."

Gwen shook her head, too overcome with relief and joy to form words. He was here now, solid and real in her arms.

Drawing back, Gwen reached up to cup his stubbled cheek in her hand, marvelling at the warmth of his skin beneath her palm. Thirty-eight suited him, she thought. The lines etched at the corners of his eyes gained through maturity and experience, through fighting for what mattered, but still holding that spark she had fallen in love with so long ago.

"I'm just glad you're home," Gwen said softly. As long as they were together, nothing else mattered. She would face down any darkness as long as she had him by her side.

Emerald decided that was the time to make herself known, swatting at Alistair, claws out, hissing in warning. The black cat pushed her way between them, crouching protectively on Gwen’s lap with her fur standing on end and green eyes narrowed.

Alistair blinked down at the angry creature. “What is that?”

“A cat.”

He shot her a sharp, unimpressed look. “Yes, I see that, but what is it doing in your bed?”

“She was sleeping, now she is hissing.” With a glance back at where Gwen was doing her best to hold back the laugh building in her throat, Emerald began to relax, though she didn’t stop eyeing Alistair suspiciously.

“I’m only gone for a little over two weeks and already you’ve replaced my spot in your bed,” he pressed the back of his hand to his forehead in a dramatic swoon. “How ever will I go on?”

Gwen snorted, picking Emerald up and holding her against her chest, petting down her long torso to soothe her. “I’m confident you will figure it out.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping as his bottom lip jutted out in an adorable pout, his eyes wide and shining. “I raced all the way back from Orlais as soon as I received word you’d been…attacked,” his eyes darted down to the covered gash on her arm, hardening for a moment before he hid it back under his overdramatic mask. “And after all that, I return to find you in bed with a cat!"

Emerald squirmed in her arms, and Gwen released her. With what could only be an irritated huff, Emerald held her head up high, and marched over to the other side of the bed, curling up right below the pillow.

Alistair held a hand out towards the cat, his lips pursed and his brow furrowed as if to prove his point. Gwen rolled her eyes, chuckling as she playfully tugged on the lapels of his leather armour. He stumbled towards her with a yelp, catching himself with his palms against the wooden headboard on either side of her face.

“I missed you,” she breathed, startling herself with the intensity of her words. “Emerald is wonderful but she is definitely not you. She’s not a replacement, just an addition.”

His forehead softened, his pout replaced by a soft smile. “Promise? She does look rather soft, a quality I unfortunately lack.”

Their eyes darted to Emerald who had begun licking herself, pausing to glare back at them for intruding on her private moment.

Gwen leaned forward, pressing her lips to his in a wordless promise. The tension that had run tight through his body melted beneath her touch, his arms wrapping around her as he pulled her against his chest. Gwen lost herself in Alistair's kiss, his familiar scent and touch overcoming her senses. She slid her hands up his broad chest and around his neck, pulling him closer as his lips moved against hers. Their kisses grew more heated, a potent mix of longing from their time apart and the simmering passion that always lay between them.

Emerald took that as her cue to leave, and promptly excused herself, though Gwen did not pay attention as to where she went. Alistair's hands roamed her body, tracing the curve of her waist and hips as he deepened the kiss. Gwen sighed into his mouth, the sound morphing into a soft moan as his tongue teased against her lips. Heat pooled low in her belly, her skin tingling everywhere he touched. She shifted against him, desire and need rising within her.

They broke apart, both breathing heavily. Alistair's eyes were dark with want as he gazed down at her. Gwen knew she must look similarly affected, cheeks flushed and lips swollen from his kisses.

“You do not need fur to secure my affections.” Gwen reached up, gently caressing the stubble along his jaw. “Though less clothes would be nice.”

Gwen's teasing words brought a low growl from Alistair, his lips crashing back down to hers. Gwen laughed against his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hair as she revelled in the feel of him pressed against her. She felt alive and intoxicated with him, the familiar taste of his lips and the heat of his body setting her ablaze.

Alistair pulled away slightly, his lips trailing hot kisses along her jawline and down her neck. Gwen tilted her head back, moaning softly as he nipped at her skin. His hands were everywhere at once, pulling at the ties of her nightdress and slipping underneath to explore the soft curves of her body.

Alistair pulled back, his gaze darkening as it fell upon the bandage covering the wound on Gwen's arm. He traced his fingers along her skin, circling the injury with a feather-light touch. Though his desire was evident, concern flooded his features.

Gwen reached up and cradled his face in her hands, offering a reassuring smile. "I am alright, Alistair. I’ve survived much worse than a little scratch."

She brushed her lips against his, soft and lingering. Alistair exhaled, some of the tension leaving his frame as he returned her kiss. His hands resumed their sensual path along her body, but there was a new tenderness and restraint in his touch.

Gwen wished to banish the shadows from his eyes as she trailed her fingers down his broad chest. Alistair shuddered against her as she deftly removed his tunic and let her hands wander lower. Some distraction would do him some good, and it just so happened that Gwen was adept at getting his mind off his troubles and onto more pleasurable activities.

Many hours later, tangled in bedsheets and each other's arms, Gwen rested her head against Alistair's chest. His steady heartbeat and the warmth of his skin soothed her like nothing else could.

As Gwen began to fall into a peaceful slumber, Emerald leapt up onto the bed, her lithe form barely denting the soft mattress but startling Gwen back to alertness. She strode purposefully across the sheets until she stood poised at Alistair's side, her eyes fixed on his face. Alistair tensed as the cat's gaze bored into him, her ears flattened back against her skull.

"Easy there," he murmured, holding very still. Recovering from her shock, Gwen watched the standoff unfold, a smile playing at her lips.

After a long, tense moment, Emerald lunged forward and planted her front paws firmly on Alistair's bare torso. He sucked in a sharp breath, eyeing her paws as if waiting for the little - but no less deadly - claws to come out. The cat continued glaring at him, as if trying to determine whether this human male posed a threat.

Slowly, Alistair raised a hand and held it out towards Emerald, palm up, fingers loosely curled. The cat sniffed at his hand cautiously before giving it a cursory lick. Seemingly satisfied with his submission, she turned a circle on his chest and curled up into a tight ball of black fur.

Alistair let out a relieved breath, gently resting his hand on the cat's back. Emerald purred contentedly, the rumbling vibrations filling the quiet room. He met Gwen's amused gaze and grinned.

"It seems I have passed her inspection," he said wryly.

Gwen laughed and snuggled against his side, idly stroking Emerald's fur. The cat's presence between them felt right somehow, their small family unit complete.

And as the moon continued its trail across the night sky, casting long shadows across the room, Gwen knew in her heart that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together – a united front against whatever life chose to throw their way.

A/N: I miss writing these two! It makes me nostalgic for like... a week ago :'(

I hope you enjoyed this little glimpse into their life together :) If there are any lingering questions or you have any suggestions/things you want to see let me know and I may be able to write it!

#angst with a happy ending #fluff #falling in love #slow burn #alistair dao #humour #alistair dragon age #alistair theirin #alistair x original character #eventual smut #king alistair #alistair #alistair x oc

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tired-truffle · 2 months ago

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Ambushed for a hug! Gwen is displeased (but secret actually very pleased), Alistair is confused but delighted that Gwen is allowing this, and Darcy is just happy to be with his friends ❤️

If you’d like, you can read more about these characters here: Yet Broken Still You Breathe (Complete!)

#angst with a happy ending #slow burn #fluff #falling in love #humour #alistair dao #alistair dragon age #alistair theirin #alistair x original character #original warden #warden oc

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tired-truffle · 2 months ago

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Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 5k

Part 54/54

"We deserve a soft epilogue, my love." - Nikka Ursula

Masterlist

The sense of weightlessness was abruptly replaced with a soft, yet heavy pressure against her chest, causing her body to sag into the cushioned ground beneath her. Her throat was aflame and dry, as if she had swallowed a bonfire, and a lingering headache pulsed behind her closed lids. Slowly but surely, sensation returned to her once-limp limbs, still weak and brittle, but whole and alive.

A terse stillness settled around her as if the entire room was holding its breath in anticipation. Gwen’s mind, still muddled from slumber, struggled to make sense of it all. She’d just been with Lucy, they’d talked for… she had no idea for how long, and then she’d been here. Her body refused to obey her commands to open her eyes, but she could sense a change in the atmosphere. The scent of lavender and sandalwood permeated the space, calming yet also unsettling. Something was different, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.

“Did it work?”

Gwen's heart fluttered in her chest as she heard that voice, so familiar and beautiful and wavering with nerves. The tension that had been coiling inside her dissipated like a gentle stream, flowing away with each word that poured out of his mouth. It was like a river calming after a storm, the sound soothing and comforting to Gwen's soul.

Nothing else mattered as long as Alistair was with her.

“Give her a moment. It will take a while to wake up out of a deep sleep like that.” A different voice spoke this time, but it had also been present when she’d last been conscious.

“Anders.” His name was used as a warning.

“Don’t give me that,” the mage snipped. “Try holding her hand and talking to her, I don’t know. You just have to give her time, Your Majesty.”

“It’s been far too long.” Alistair's hand slipped into hers, his grip firm and warm, a low growl rumbling in his throat. Her absence had made him grouchy and Gwen could feel the rigidity radiating from his body. She desperately willed her eyelids to open so she could see the familiar pout that always accompanied his grumpiness. "I swear, if I have to wait much longer, I might just start talking to myself. Would anyone like to hear about the time I ran into the dining hall in nothing but my knickers during my Templar training?"

“Alistair, be patient.” A soothing, velvety voice pierced through the restlessness. Gwen had bid farewell to Leliana with a heavy heart, thinking it would be their final meeting. She should have known better than to doubt the Spymaster's unwavering determination to keep her word. “Gwen is strong and horribly stubborn, but she needs a moment to gather her strength.”

“I swear it’ll work. It has to. Look at her! She’s already looking like a gloomy ghost instead of a full-on wraith.” Darcy’s voice pitched light and teasing in an attempt at his aloof brand of humour.

Alistair sighed, his thumb brushing over the back of her bony hand. “It has to. I can’t… I need her to recover.”

Footsteps padded across the floor, and Leliana moved closer. “She will wake up, Alistair. She knows how much you care, she wants to come back to you.”

“Have a little faith,” Darcy’s voice was closer now. “We tested the cure as much as we could, and Gwen’s a fighter. If anyone can pull through, it’s her.”

His confidence was touching, if only her body would listen to her commands.

“I know.” The bed sunk as Alistair sat beside her and she wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, to hold him and pepper kisses across his face until there wasn’t an inch of skin her lips hadn’t touched.

Come on, she urged her body, please, for the Maker’s sake just fucking work!

“I just—“ Alistair’s words were cut short by a sharp gasp, his hand spasming in hers as he felt her finally, finally, move. It was a seemingly insignificant twitch, so much effort for so little movement, but it was enough to get his attention.

His fingers brushed gently against her shallow cheeks, his breath ghosting over her skin. The soft touch of his fingertips was the trail of a shooting star, a wish made in earnest, begging to come true. He seemed to trace every contour of her face like a map he had memorized in his youth, knowing every hill and valley by heart. “Gwen?” he asked, his voice full of longing and uncertainty. “Was that… did you mean to do that?”

“See, what did I tell you? All in good time,” Anders said cheerily.

Gwen wanted to open her eyes, to see Alistair, Darcy, Leliana, even Anders - anyone who could prove to her that she was alive, that she had somehow made it.

Gwen felt the bed sink again as another weight joined her on the other side. “Gwennie? If you’re keeping your eyes closed so you don’t have to subject yourself to Alistair’s ugly mug, may I present to you a better option? I promise I have aged like a fine wine, or at least that’s what Zevran tells me.”

Her lips twitched at the corners, a laugh stuck within the confines of her throat. Alistair ignored his friend in favour of pulling her limp hand to his chest, cradling it with a delicacy that concerned her. Was she truly so fragile, or was he simply being over-cautious?

“She moved again! Darcy, did you see that? Tell some more jokes at my expense.”

Unable to contain the joy flitting about her chest, Gwen’s face cracked into a fleeting, weak smile. It only lasted for a second, but she had managed it, enervated as she was.

“I’m not sure that’s necessary.” Darcy chuckled. “Gwennie, if you want me to keep making fun of Alistair, give him a good kick and I’ll know you mean it.”

“A kick, seriously? Isn’t that a little ambitious?”

“I believe in her.”

Gwen's patience was wearing thin from this constant bickering, and with one last surge of willpower and strength, she willed her heavy eyelids to lift open. The room materialized before her gradually, the darkness giving way to hazy shapes that became clearer with each passing moment. She first noticed the rough, uneven texture of the stone walls surrounding her, cool and unforgiving. Candles sat unlit along the edge of the room, and as her vision sharpened, she turned to see a familiar figure sitting beside her, their silhouette illuminated by a dim light shining in through the balcony doors.

Alistair was both achingly familiar and startlingly different. The strong line of his jaw - once rounded with youth that he’d shed during the beginning of his reign - the warm brown of his eyes remained unchanged from her memories. But his hair, once a soft sandy blond, now showed streaks of silver at the temples. Faint lines creased the corners of his eyes, marking years of laughter and sorrow endured over time. And there, just above the bridge of his nose, a thin white scar cut across his skin - long since healed, but new to her.

Time had passed - far more than she had ever imagined. The man before her was both the Alistair she knew and a stranger, a living embodiment of all the years they had been apart. She searched his face, seeking traces of the boyish charm and ready humour remembered so well.

Alistair's smile was a red rose given in courtship to a blushing maiden, it was sunshine breaking through the clouds, it was a wolf’s tooth necklace made by hand and gifted with love. It lit up his whole face, making his eyes sparkle and the weariness fall from his features like rain in a silent forest.

“Good morning, my love,” he whispered with a reverence that had her wanting to laugh and cry and kiss him until she couldn’t breathe anything but his name.

Her lips parted, trembling as she tried to form the words that her heart ached to say. She longed to tell him how much she loved him, how every moment without him had felt like a lifetime, and how bitterly she regretted ever leaving his side. But her throat was parched and raw from neglect, the words choking in her throat like dust had invaded her insides. All she could manage was a weak, ragged cough that made her wince with discomfort. Her eyes pleaded with him to understand the depth of her emotions, even if her voice failed her.

"Shh,” he shushed her, “I know, Gwen. You don't try to speak yet, you don’t have to say anything right now." Alistair soothed, gently caressing her cheek with his calloused fingers. "Anders, can you get her some water?"

But she wanted to speak, to tell him how much she loved him, ask him all her questions - how was she alive, what was this cure, how long had it been?

“You should listen to him, for once,” Darcy said, pulling her gaze to him.

Gwen turned her head slowly to the side, her neck stiff from lack of use. There sat Darcy, flashing her a familiar, teasing smirk. The years had been kind to him, his once impish features now matured and refined. His jawline had filled out, becoming chiselled and defined, and strands of silver were starting to appear in his thick black curls, evidence of the passing time. But it was his eyes that held her gaze the most - they still sparkled with mischievousness, like they had always done.

"Don't worry, Gwennie. I know it's a shock seeing this old man sitting beside you," Darcy said, gesturing at himself with an almost seductive shimmy of his body. "Just remember, I'm still devilishly handsome."

A fragile huff of laughter escaped Gwen's lips, but it was quickly stifled by a sharp pain in her throat.

Alistair shot Darcy a reproachful glare, though his eyes shone with amusement. "Give her time to adjust before you start putting ideas in her head." He turned back to Gwen, “And I think we’d need nothing short of a miracle to get her to listen to me.”

Gwen scowled at him and he laughed. “Oh, how I missed that scathing look.”

“Move aside, dear Darcy. My heart is eager to greet Gwen once more, just as yours is. I have missed her too, you know.” Leliana’s radiant face swam into view. Gwen's breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of her dear friend Leliana. Though her once vibrant red hair was now streaked with silver, framing her face in a mature, elegant style, Gwen could still recognize the glimmer in her bright blue eyes. There was a gentleness about Leliana that seemed only to have grown over the years, her smile lines reflecting a life filled with both joy and hardship.

With a bump of her shapely hip, she forced Darcy back, much to his vocal protests. "It is good to see you awake, my friend," Leliana said, ignoring Darcy, her voice as melodic as Gwen remembered. She reached out and clasped Gwen's hand warmly between her own.

Gwen tried to speak, but could only manage a hoarse rasp. Leliana's brow furrowed in concern as she studied Gwen intently.

"Your voice will return in time," she reassured. "For now, know that you are safe here among those who love you."

Gwen nodded weakly, squeezing Leliana's hand in gratitude. She had never been one for many words anyhow, perhaps it was for the best.

Darcy cleared his throat, patting Alistair on the shoulder and giving Gwen a smirk that had her bracing for his crassness. “It truly is wonderful to see you awake again, Gwennie. I missed your surliness and quiet brooding more than I care to admit. But don’t think I’ve forgiven you for trying to die on me. You betrayed a direct order, which I must say, is rather rude.” He pushed himself off the bed, dusting off his leather pants, Leliana releasing her hand and standing with him. “Zevran is somewhere in this castle, probably pilfering something he isn’t supposed to, but he’ll want to know how you’re doing and I suppose I should tell him the good news. Plus, I’d be a pretty poor friend if I didn’t give you some private time to catch up with your over-eager lover.”

At Darcy’s wink, Alistair’s face flushed a light pink that spread to his ears. Time may pass, but their friendship never changed.

“But not too much catching up,” Anders cut in, placing a cup of water on the bedside table. “I will not have you doing any vigorous activities with my patient. King or not, I take my healing very seriously.”

Alistair spluttered, his blush deepening to a lovely crimson as he stumbled to find the right words. It was entirely un-king-like, but it made her laugh, raspy and whisper quiet. It felt good, she felt good.

His eyes darted back to meet hers, glimmering with a softness and adoration that made her heart skip a beat. She could feel his gaze on her like a gentle caress, a bandage over an open wound, and felt like home.

As her heart raced with thoughts of Alistair, she barely noticed Darcy's swift movement as he linked his arm through Anders' and led the mage out of the room. Leliana followed close behind, a sly grin playing on her lips as she shut the door behind them. The sound of their footsteps echoed down the hall, blending with the muted chirps of birds outside the windows. Streaks of sun rays poured in through the tall windows, but none of it mattered when Alistair was the only thing she ever cared to look at again.

With trembling fingers, he reached up to caress her cheek as if she was made of fragile glass, afraid to break her with even the slightest touch. His intense gaze roamed over every inch of her face as though he was drinking her in like a man who’d stumbled upon a desert oasis. As if he feared that if he didn't capture her essence in his mind, she would disappear like a fleeting dream.

Gwen cleared her throat, and once again tried to speak, but her voice was strained and raspy from disuse. She tried to form words, but her parched throat refused to cooperate, only producing weak, unintelligible noises.

“Stop that,” Alistair admonished, a frown marring his face. “You’re only going to hurt yourself. You don’t need to say anything, you heard the healer, give it time.”

Gwen's eyes traced the streaks of grey that had leeched the youthful colour from the sides of his once reddish-blonde hair. Gwen figured she’d already given it enough time. Incapable of speech, she chose instead to do the only sophisticated thing she could think of pulled her lips back, baring her sharp teeth in a silent snarl.

Alistair huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Yes, Dear, even as little more than a ragdoll you are very intimidating,” he said placatingly and she narrowed her eyes at him. He paid her no mind, instead, reaching for the cup of water that sat at her bedside. Gwen's body was weak and frail, but his touch was gentle as he helped her tilt her head up, cradling her skull with the utmost care. Slowly, he poured the cool liquid into her mouth, watching as she drank in small, careful sips.

As the drops touched her tongue, Gwen felt like she had been transported to paradise. The coldness woke up every one of her senses, reviving her tired body and giving her new life. Alistair's eyes were fixed on hers, ready to take away the cup if she drank too quickly. But Gwen was mindful, taking small sips and pausing to catch her breath.

When she finished, Alistair set the cup back down on the bedside table and eased her back onto the soft pillows. As she settled in, Gwen cleared her throat again and was pleased to find it less scratchy and irritated. Her tongue could now move freely in her mouth without feeling strained or cracked.

“Al—“ She tried again, but cut herself off with a cough, irritably huffing at Alistair’s concerned and fluttering hands as he tried to figure out how to stop it. But there was no thick, black blood choking her lungs, no Calling ringing in her head, her joints didn’t ache - she was free.

With a voice like a jar of angry bees, she whispered his name, “Alistair.” The sound was both pained and joyous, but it was worth it to see the way his face lit up in response. His eyes danced with happiness, mirroring the fluttering butterflies in her stomach.

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he returned his hand to her cheek, his thumb swiping across the curve of her cheekbone. His fingers rested just above the hole in her cheek, but he didn’t appear to think anything of it.

“Gwen.” Her name rolled off his tongue with equal ardour, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. There were so many things she wanted to say, wanted to ask, but when he smiled so softly at her, gazing at her with deep and boundless devotion, there was only one thing that came to mind.

“I love you, Alistair.”

Bowing forward, his warm breath brushed against her forehead as he placed it gently against hers. The corners of his mouth lifted in an airy chuckle that sent a tingly sensation through her body. “That’s what you so desperately needed to say that you’d risk damaging your throat? I already know, and Maker’s Breath, do I love you too.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, breathing in his scent as it surrounded her - the earthy aroma of worn leather mixed with pine needles and musk. It was so familiar, yet different too. The pine was sharper, the leather richer. It was the scent of time passed and experiences lived.

Beneath it all, she could still detect the subtle hint of the polish he used on his armour that always seemed to cling to him - even now that he had servants to perform such duties. It brought her back to quiet nights around a campfire, his arm draped over her shoulders, enveloping her in warmth and security as they shared stories and laughter. Those memories felt like another lifetime, a distant dream that she longed to hold onto forever. But dreams had a way of vanishing in the wake of reality.

“I… wanted you to know.”

He sighed, his other hand coming up to caress her other cheek. “What am I going to do with you?”

Gwen would leave that decision up to him, right now she had far more pressing concerns. With tremendous effort, she managed to place a shaking hand on his chest, silently asking him to give her some space. She longed for his touch, his lips on hers, to feel his weight pressing down on her against the bed, but first, she needed this.

Worry etched deep lines into his brow as he complied, slowly moving back just enough that she could see him entirely. Good, she thought to herself, she didn’t want to let go of him yet, or ever if she was being honest. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the slight stubble on his chin, the warmth of his hand in hers - she wanted to hold on to every detail, memorize them and keep them close to her heart.

“Is everything alright?” he asked as she dropped her hand, no longer having the strength to keep it there. “Should I fetch Anders?”

Gwen shook her head. No, she didn’t need a healer.

“How long?” The question hung in the air between them, heavy and pressing like a mountain had rent the room in two.

Alistair sucked his lips between his teeth, exhaling sharply through flared nostrils. He watched her with his gorgeous brown eyes, unsure how to soften the blow, like a sad puppy, even in his aged state.

“How long?” She repeated, fear fluttering in her throat. His eyes wrinkled at the corners, his crow's feet prominent. She knew it had been a long time, but she needed to know exactly how long.

“Eight years.”

A sudden rush of air escaped her lungs, as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of her body. The overwhelming weight of time pressed down on her, like a boulder crushing her bones into a fine powder. Eight years… Almost another decade had gone by, leaving Alistair old and grey, broken-hearted as he waited for her. Again.

Tears came unbidden to her eyes, rolling down her cheeks as her bottom lip wobbled. With a patience she still did not understand, he simply smiled softly, brushing the tears away as they reached his fingers.

“Don’t fret, my love. I’m still as spry as I always was, if not slightly wider around the midsection. All those fine cheeses have finally caught up to me.” He grinned at her, lopsided and boyish and it made the years shed from his face like peeling away a worn mask. All she could see was that twenty-year-old man she’d fallen madly in love with. Who she had left behind in some misguided attempt to keep him safe.

“I’ve made you wait so long.” Her voice shook, tears clogging up her still scratchy throat. Eighteen years since she’d left him, and yet he still looked at her like she hung the moon and the stars. It was as if time had frozen for him, his love never wavering. For the life of her, she could not figure out what she had done to deserve it.

With a tender touch that only made the flood of tears blur her vision even more, Alistair's unwavering gaze held hers as he whispered, “I would have waited an eternity for just one more second with you.”

A primal, gut-wrenching sob forced its way from deep within her chest, escaping her lips in a strangled noise. She fought to inhale, wheezing and gasping for air. The weight of his words hit her like a Warhammer, shattering any remaining pieces of her heart. She felt it splinter and crack, the pain shooting through her body like lightning. Guilt surged over her, inescapable in its force.

“Eighteen years, Alistair. I wasted eighteen years.” How did he not understand? Why did he look at her like that was not an unforgivable, egregious act?

He pressed a featherlight kiss to her forehead, his lips trailing along her pale skin. “You may not have been with me, or awake, for all of those long years, but I cherished every single one as I got to love you. I would never consider loving you a waste.”

Again, more words that tore at her heart.

“Stop saying kind things to me,” she pleaded, yet even as she spoke, her hand reached for his hip, grabbing onto the fabric of his tunic, unwilling to let go.

“I refuse,” he stated simply. “I missed you, you were here but you… were also not. I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again. Every day we didn’t have a cure was torture and I… can’t bear the thought of spending another day without you, without being able to shower you with every ounce of love I have to give." His eyes shone with unshed tears as he continued, "And trust me, I've built up a lot over these years."

Before she could offer a rebuttal, before any protest could be voiced, he closed the gap between them, kissing her with all the desperate need of a man who’d waited for another decade to kiss the woman he loved.

Before she could even think of a response, he closed the gap between them, his lips meeting hers in a burst of pent-up passion. His hands cradled her face gently but with an urgency that conveyed years of longing and desire. Every touch of his lips sent sparks coursing through her body, igniting a fire that had been smouldering as she slept. In that embrace, she could feel everything he had ever wanted to tell her but couldn't find the words for.

Gwen's entire body melted into Alistair's kiss, the familiar press of his lips igniting a tidal wave of need within her. She clung to him with an almost desperate fervour, her fingers twisting in the fabric of his tunic as she anchored herself against the onslaught of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Relief, joy, sorrow, guilt - but above all else, love - surged through her, years' worth of pent-up feelings now bursting forth. It was as though she could feel every single second they had been apart and every moment they had longed for each other, all at once. And in that one perfect kiss, their love was reignited with a ferocity that shook Gwen to her core.

The absence of him had created a deep, gnawing ache within her, one that threatened to split her chest in two. All the moments they could have had if she hadn't been locked away in her own mind, all the tender caresses and passionate embraces lost to the mists of time. Alistair's touch was at once foreign and familiar, his hands gentle yet desperate as they cradled her face, her back, reminding her body of the pleasure it had forgotten.

With a soft gasp, she broke the kiss, vision blurry beneath her tears. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I should have fought harder, been stronger." The confession spilled from her lips, raw and pained.

Alistair silenced her protests with another searing kiss. "No apologies," he murmured against her mouth. "No regrets. Not when I finally have you back." His thumb traced her cheekbone tenderly even as his body pressed flush against hers. "Every moment we have now is a gift. All I care about is loving you, here and now."

His steadfast devotion, his complete forgiveness, threatened to undo her. She blinked back tears, smiling up at him with wonder. "I don't deserve you," she breathed.

"You do, but even if you didn’t, you’d be stuck with me anyway. I’m much too difficult to get rid of." Alistair teased gently, eyes glinting.

Gwen let out a soft, watery laugh, her heart swelling with affection. Even after all this time, he could make her feel like the most important woman in the world. "I suppose I'll manage," she quipped, feeling completely at ease with him by her side.

She pulled him towards her with a force that was both gentle and irresistible, drawing him into another long, slow kiss. They had a decade or two to make up for, but time and distance dissolved as they embraced in a perfect moment of reunion.

“You do know you’ll have to put up with my terrible jokes forever now, right?” Alistair's lips curved into a grin against her own.

Forever with Alistair seemed almost too good to be true. And yet, she would do as Lucy asked. She would let herself be happy. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

For almost twenty years, King Alistair had reigned with stability and prosperity. The horrors of the Blight were now a distant memory, replaced by the flourishing kingdom of Ferelden under his wise and just rule. His reign had been marked by unwavering peace, abundant prosperity, and a strong sense of unity among the people, though there had been a few bumps in the road along the way.

Under Alistair's steadfast leadership, the kingdom flourished. The once-scarred trade routes were reopened, bustling with carts filled with exotic goods and travellers bearing stories from distant lands. These new ideas and resources breathed fresh life into the kingdom, improving the lives of its people. As the tainted blood was washed away from the land, fertile fields sprung up in its place, bursting with crops and sustaining a thriving agricultural community.

But above all else, it was Alistair's innate compassion and unwavering sense of justice that endeared him to his people.

He treated every citizen, from the lowliest beggar to the wealthiest noble, with equal amounts of respect and fairness. And while he ruled with a firm hand when necessary, he always strove for diplomacy before violence.

As the years passed and Alistair's reign continued, one thing remained constant - his unwavering love for Gwen. To many, she was an enigma, a veiled woman who seemingly materialized out of thin air to become Alistair's mistress. But those who were privy to their relationship could see the depth and intensity of their love in every interaction. They moved with a synchronized grace, their gazes locked in a silent understanding that spoke volumes about their unbreakable bond. It was a love that transcended kingdoms and titles, a rare and enduring connection that stood the test of time.

Whispers and rumours had spread like wildfire throughout the years, each one weaving a different tale about her true identity. Some claimed she was an Elven mage, skilled in the ancient magic of her Dalish clan. Others insisted she was an Orlesian noblewoman, seeking refuge at court to escape a troubled past. But regardless of the stories that swirled around her, few dared to question her presence after seeing the pure joy and contentment she brought to their king's heart.

She may never be able to marry him, but after so long wasting time apart, she did not care if the Maker blessed their union. Their love was only for them, she did not need more.

No matter how much she wished to change the past, it could never be undone. But despite all the obstacles and challenges they faced, Gwen and Alistair had built a future together. Come what may, their love would sustain them. As they strolled through the blooming gardens, the air was fragrant with the scent of lilacs and freshly cut grass. The sun cast golden rays through the leaves, dancing upon their skin as a gentle breeze whispered secrets of love and hope. She tucked her arm comfortably in his, smiling up at the man who held her heart, and knew she was finally home.

A/N: 54 chapters and a lot of angst later, they finally get their happy ending <3 It only took about eighteen years… but hey, I was originally going to make it twenty!

Thank you so so so much for reading and commenting on my silly little fic of these silly - and often times ridiculous - characters. I have had so much fun, but I am going to miss them terribly :') HOWEVER, I plan on writing another little epilogue-type thing soon, so let me know what lingering questions you still have and I will try to address them! I would love to hear what you thought of their ending :) It should be posted sometime next week!

I also have two other dragon age fics planned - One I mentioned in a previous chapter is an OC(Ashvalla)xCullen, and the other is a different OC(Lily)xAlistair, but set in Inquisition times with a Warden Alistair. Ashvalla's will be likely a similar length to this one, but the Alistair one will be shorter, closer to fifteen to twenty chapters. I'll be posting Ashvalla's story next before going back to writing Alistair. So it'll look like Ashvalla's story starting sometime before three new year, and LilyxAlistair around the middle of next year unless I cave and miss that sweetheart too much! Though I will always miss writing for Gwen (and Darcy!), so more to come soon!

I don't know how to end my last author's note, other than to thank my readers for making this all possible, and I hope you enjoyed their adventures as much as I did!

#angst with a happy ending #slow burn #fluff #falling in love #humour #alistair dao #alistair dragon age #alistair theirin #alistair x original character #king alistair #alistair x oc #zevran x warden #original warden #leliana

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tired-truffle · 2 months ago

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Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 3.7k

Part 53/54

“And the earth looked at me and said 'Wasn't that fun?' And I replied "I'm sorry if I hurt anyone.” - Dan Deacon

Masterlist

The sun beat down on her exposed skin, heat that spread through her cold limbs like the first signs of spring after a long, harsh winter. A gentle breeze danced through her hair, carrying the sweet scent of wildflowers and dewy grass. Gwen felt a sense of calm wash over her as she took in her surroundings. Her body felt lighter than it had in years. Her joints didn’t ache, her bones didn’t grind together, and the scars along her back didn’t pull tightly on her skin as she pushed herself up into a sitting position.

Gwen struggled to open her eyes, feeling as though she was emerging from a thick fog. Her surroundings blurred together, the trees at the base of the hill where she rested swirled together like paint on an artist’s palette, their vibrant green leaves melding into one another. Above her, the clouds drifted across the startlingly blue sky, creating shapes that Gwen couldn't quite make out.

It should have been unnerving - waking up in a strange place with no recollection of how she got there - but Gwen couldn’t find it within herself to be worried. This was a safe place, the truth of which reverberated deep within her bones.

Looking down at her hands, Gwen frowned to herself. Something wasn’t right. Her skin was as pale as it always was, rough from years of training with her daggers, but something was missing. Flexing her fingers, she turned her palm up, scanning for whatever was pulling at the back of her brain, warning her that this was wrong.

She counted her fingers, all ten were present, and all in the right spot, the lines of her palm creased as she moved, and—

Her fingers. There wasn’t supposed to be ten, not anymore. Shaking her hand as if that could get rid of the offending, false appendages, she scooted backwards, panic beginning to rise in her throat.

How in the Maker’s name had she gotten her fingers back? There were no faded bands of scarring peeking out from her sleeves, and she was sure if she reached under her shirt and ran her hands along her back, she would feel none of the familiar scars that littered the surface. She ran her tongue over her teeth, counting them silently. They were all there, just like before. Even the large hole in her cheek was gone.

This wasn’t possible, she couldn’t heal from those sorts of injuries, she hadn’t her entire life. And why would she? They’d only gotten worse as she’d gotten sicker.

She’d been sick, fatally so. Her tainted blood had destroyed her body, sucking every ounce of hard-earned life from her veins. She’d been on her death bed, her breath rattling in her chest, her entire body alight with pain. But she’d held on, too stubborn to let go. Not when Alistair was beside her, holding her hand, whispering sweet words to her. How could she ever leave him?

And yet she had, ten years ago she’d abandoned him. Had she done it again?

Gwen scrambled to her feet, the world spinning around her in a dizzying blur. She stumbled forward, desperate to find him before it was too late. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a painful reminder of how much she loved him and how foolish she had been. She cursed herself for wasting so much time consumed by self-hatred and blind to the hurt she had caused him.

But she had no idea where she was, she could barely think straight, and there was a dreadful feeling tugging at her gut telling her that she wasn’t supposed to be there.

With trembling hands, she reached up and grasped at her head, feeling the strands of stark, white hair shift against her fingers. A sharp pain shot through her temple as memories came rushing back, assaulting her mind with images of her final moments. She could almost feel Alistair's sorrowful gaze upon her, his hopeful expression etched into the back of her eyelids, the cool touch of Anders' magic enveloping her and then... nothingness.

“Gwen!”

Hallucinations weren’t entirely uncommon when one was losing their mind to panic. Had her mind conjured something to try to soothe her? The sound was familiar, almost forgotten - sweet and young and pure. But with just one word, carried on the rustling breeze through the tall grass, she was made to feel like a little girl again.

Gwen’s heart stuttered to a halt, her whole body freezing. She couldn't bring herself to move, to turn and confirm that the voice she heard belonged to who she thought it did. It seemed impossible, this moment unfolding before her eyes.

It was a vivid dream, only she knew it wasn’t, it couldn’t possibly be. Gwen never had dreams like this - peaceful, comforting.

The gentle rustle of rapidly approaching footsteps over the tall, swaying grassy hill towards her caught Gwen's attention. Her body reacted instinctively, muscles tensing and limbs unlocking as she turned towards the sound. Her lips parted in anticipation, eyes widening in search of the source. And then, she saw her - a familiar figure with arms outstretched and a wide grin spreading across her face as she sprinted towards Gwen. The sun cast a golden glow on the scene, highlighting every vivid detail.

Gwen's legs gave out, sending her crashing to her knees. Her breath rushed from her lungs in a panicked gasp, and her heart hammered against her ribcage. The figure in front of her was unmistakable - eyes like crystalized honey, the smooth tanned skin peppered with freckles. Gwen knew who this was, and she wasn’t a dream or a hallucination. She knew it like how her body knew how to breathe; this was real.

“Lucy,” Gwen said in a breath of a whisper, a reverence in the tremor of her name.

Lucy’s giggle echoed through the clearing, and with no warning, the girl threw herself into Gwen’s awaiting arms.

The pair tumbled back, Gwen’s strength failing her under the force of Lucy’s lunge, the younger girl tightening her hold around Gwen’s neck. A delighted squeal escaped her, quickly devolving into more giggles. Gwen pressed her face into the side of Lucy’s head, feeling the tears already rolling down her cheeks and slipping into her mouth through the slits. She smelled like Lucy, warm bread and sunshine. She was joy incarnate, a much-needed rest after a gruelling journey, a roaring hearth in the middle of winter. She was real. Impossible, but real.

Gwen barely registered how her body shook, the tickle of the grass on the back of her neck. All she could think was that Lucy was here with her, in her arms, and safe.

She hadn’t let herself imagine what she’d say, what she’d do, in this situation. Why torture herself over something that could never happen?

In place of anything thoughtful or coherent, babbling apologies bubbled up in her throat, spilling over and mumbling into Lucy’s auburn hair. She couldn’t hear what she was saying, couldn’t make sense of her own words as she apologized for every wrong she had forced upon Lucy - and the list was wrong.

Gwen muffled a yelp of surprise more than pain as she registered a sharp pinch to the side of her neck. Lucy pushed herself up, using Gwen’s bony shoulders as purchase, and stared down at her with the determination of the most stubborn twelve-year-old to ever exist.

Lucy leaned forward, her brow furrowing as she narrowed her eyes, lips twisted into a scowl. “Stop that,” she commanded, her small hand gripping Gwen’s shoulder, grounding her as though she could physically pull her friend from her sorrow.

Though Gwen’s mouth felt dry, she managed to say, “What?”

Lucy huffed, puffing her hair out of her face with a sharp breath. “You’re being silly,” she said in the way only a child could. “You did nothing wrong. My death is not your fault, your existence isn’t a burden. You aren’t honouring my memory by being miserable all the time. Aren’t adults supposed to be smart about this kinda stuff?”

Gwen’s mouth fell open, her eyes wide and blinking rapidly as though she could clear the confusion from her gaze. Lucy exhaled with an exhaustion that should never have been placed on someone so young. She sat back, her legs straddling Gwen’s stomach, pinning her in place, and she placed her balled fists on her narrow hips.

“It was an accident, neither of us knew what the taint meant. You tried to stop me, remember?” Lucy rapped a fist against Gwen’s forehead like she could open the door to her mind and flood it with understanding. “You warned me and I didn’t listen. I don’t blame you, and I have never been scared of you. I certainly didn’t die for you to lock yourself in a cell of your own making. Don’t you get it?”

No. Gwen did not ‘get it’. “But you… you would never have been hurt if I wasn’t—“

Lucy clapped her hands over Gwen’s mouth, a bushy eyebrow raised. “If you were about to say that I wouldn’t have been hurt if you weren’t around, you better rethink those words very carefully. I won’t have you wishing my best friend was never born.”

Lucy spoke to her like a parent reprimanding a misbehaving child. If it had been any other circumstance, Gwen may have laughed.

With one more look of warning, Lucy removed her hands and allowed Gwen to start again.

“You looked so afraid, when you were…” Gwen took a deep breath, centring herself before continuing. “Dying. It was my blood that did that to you, how could you not be terrified of me?”

Lucy smiled, as bright as the sun that shone above them. “Because you’re my friend, and I could never be afraid of you, it’s impossible. I was only scared ‘cause it hurt, and I could tell I wasn’t gonna make it. But having you there made it easier, I knew that you’d stay, that I wouldn’t have to be alone.” Lucy’s face fell and she averted her gaze. “I’m sorry that you ended up alone for so long. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there with you.”

Gwen sat up, forgetting in her haste that Lucy was perched on her stomach, and sent the girl falling back. Gwen caught her, pulling her into a tight hug. The first time they’d shared a hug, Gwen had been small and frail, her body unable to grow from lack of nutrition and care. Now she was taller, taught muscles shifting beneath her skin, having lived her life while Lucy had been stuck perpetually young. “If you won’t let me apologize then don’t you dare try to do it yourself.”

Lucy sighed, letting her face rest on Gwen’s shoulder, her arms wrapped around her waist. “I guess that’s fair.”

Gwen hummed her agreement, letting silence fall between them. She held Lucy close, letting the girl's simple words wash over her like a cleansing rain. She wanted to believe them so badly and accept the absolution Lucy offered. But the gnarled knots of guilt and self-loathing within her remained unwilling to unravel.

Yet Lucy's hazel eyes shone with such conviction, her voice ringing with the innocence of youthful idealism. She spoke as if the cruelties of the world had never touched her gentle spirit, as if the harsh lessons of experience could not challenge her steadfast faith in the goodness of her friend.

Gwen envied Lucy that purity of spirit, even as she feared she might destroy it with the merest brush of her cursed hand. She wanted to cling to this fragile moment, to pretend the years between them had never passed.

But the scars upon Gwen's back told a different tale, as did the hard lines etched upon her face from too many nights spent weeping alone in the dark. The ocean of blood upon her hands could not be washed clean by Lucy's sweet benediction.

She thought of Alistair, with his easy smiles and bright laughter. He had looked at her with such tenderness, even after seeing the scars on her body. He held her hand without flinching, and touched her cheek with reverence. Alistair had loved her, for a time at least, and the memory of it made her soul ache with longing.

And Darcy, the great hero who had ended the Blight and slain the Archdemon. Darcy had seen her true face, monstrous and contorted, and still treated her with friendship and respect. Gwen had never forgotten the shock in Darcy's eyes that first glimpse, and the dawning understanding that followed after.

Leliana had been a surprise. So devoted to the Chantry, to the organization that had deemed her a monster in the eyes of the Maker, that had beaten her and robbed her of a childhood, and yet Leliana had not. She’d looked upon Gwen as a dear friend, had worried for her, had laughed with her, and Gwen wouldn’t trade that for the world

Lucy's unconditional love, Alistair's gentle affections, Darcy's quiet acceptance, Leliana’s firm friendship - they were the keys that had opened Gwen's prison, even if she hadn't realized it yet. She had blamed herself for so long, certain that she was unworthy and unlovable. But she was beginning to see, in the light of Lucy's wisdom, that there was still hope for her yet. She had been shown compassion - forgiveness - and it had planted a seed of possibility within her.

As Lucy moved away, Gwen's heart constricted and she fought against the instinct to grab her and never let go. Her fingers tingled with the fear that if she stopped holding Lucy, she would vanish into the thick fog like a fading evening sun. But Lucy remained solid and real, still standing there with a soft smile and a hand outstretched. With a deep breath, Gwen reached out and took her small hand. As Lucy pulled her to her feet, Gwen was surprised to find the strength her tiny arm could manage.

Lucy tilted her head, a smile creeping onto her face. “You always worried about being a burden, but you were my hero, Gwen. You faced everything with such resilience, you took everything those cruel Sisters threw at you and you never complained. I wanted us to have a life, you free from the Chantry, and me free from the Circle. We may not have gotten it together, but we did escape. ”

“And you weren’t alone the entire time. I want you to tell me about your friends, the life we could have had together.” Lucy paused, tilting her head as if listening to something Gwen couldn’t hear. “Tell me about Alistair.”

Gwen’s heart fluttered in her chest as Lucy said his name, a blush rising to her cheeks. Lucy made an over-exaggerated gag. “Ew, you kissed him didn’t you?”

Her blush spread to the tips of her ears, darkening in colour as she ducked her head, her lips twisted in a bashful grimace. “Let’s not talk about that.”

“Ugh, fine by me.” Lucy grinned. “But I still want you to tell me about him. Was he at least handsome? Like the princes in my books?”

“Yes, just as dashing as your princes,” Gwen said, tugging at the collar of her shirt, looking everywhere but at Lucy. “But how do you know his name? And how… are you here? How am I here?”

As understanding dawned upon Lucy's face, her features softened and she reached for Gwen's hand. Together, they walked through the tranquil meadow, the blades of grass tickling their bare feet as they trod along. The warm sun glinted off the dewdrops that clung to the flowers and leaves, creating a sparkling path before them. A gentle breeze whispered through the field as they strolled hand in hand.

"I’m here because I believe you still have so much to live for. Watching you suffer alone… I couldn’t stand it. I want to help you heal, like you helped me feel loved when I was alive.”

“You are sleeping, teetering between life and death, and so you are here. I don’t know how a lot of this works, but I know I’m somehow connected to you. Maybe it has to do with your blood and how it… you know… But when you think of me, here and when you were fully alive I could hear you.” Lucy squeezed Gwen’s hand, bumping her with her hip. “But I could only hear bits and pieces. So I want you to tell me about your friends, your life, everything I missed out on except for the gross kissing parts.”

Gwen spluttered, feeling the reddening of her cheeks return full force, but Lucy didn’t let her organize her thoughts and she continued. “And then I want you to let me go.”

As quickly as the blush had come on, all blood seemed to leave Gwen’s face and she pulled them to a stop. An anvil pressed on her stomach, leaden shackles pulled at her ankles. “What?”

Lucy pursed her lips and released a heavy sigh through her nose. “It’s beautiful here, and honestly it was good for me to get used to the idea that I was dead before… well, whatever comes next. But I’m ready. I don’t need to be here anymore, I want you to let me go so we can both move on. I want you to be happy, to stop punishing yourself.”

Gwen shook her head vigorously, her hands wringing together, as though trying to piece together her shattered thoughts. “I… I can’t— I don’t know how,” she stammered, her voice trembling.

“I’m not saying you have to forget me,” Lucy said with a gentle smile, patient and soft and everything Gwen was not. “But you’re holding on, stuck in the past with my ghost. I’m gone, Gwen, and you almost were too. But you aren’t supposed to be here yet, you still have time, so we can’t move on together. I’ll be there, when you are ready. But I want to rest, and I want you to enjoy your life, to spend it around people who can be there for you. You deserve happiness, Gwen, and you won’t get that by keeping all that pain buried in there.”

Tears pricked at the corner of Gwen’s eyes, her throat constricting around any words begging to be free. Let go of Lucy, of the girl who was so ingrained into her soul she wasn’t sure what was left of herself should she rip them apart?

“It doesn’t have to be right this minute, there’s no rush.” Lucy gestured towards the open expanse of beautiful landscape. “We can make up for lost time, I can get to know this version of you. But when it’s over and you’re on your way back to whoever this guy is that makes your cheeks turn that colour, I need you to release me. Can you please do this for me?”

Though her chin wobbled and hot tears tracked salty trails down her face, she managed a nod. For Lucy, she would do this. “Y-yes,” she stuttered. “I will.”

Lucy beamed up at her, an excited energy thrumming through her small body. “Thank you, Gwen. I know how hard that is for you, but we have so much time together now. Maybe it will make it easier.”

Nothing could make it easier, but Gwen couldn’t help but smile down at her lost friend, the girl who had taught her the meaning of kindness and the importance of a soft touch. “When did you get so wise?”

Lucy laughed, and Gwen felt a piece of her heart warm at the joyful sound. “When I stopped being dragged down by your dumbass. Now come on, tell me about this boy of yours already.”

In this enchanted place, time seemed to stretch and bend at will. No matter how long they talked and laughed, the sun remained fixed in its position high in the vivid blue sky, the weather a perfect balance of warmth and coolness. They never felt hunger or thirst, lost in the tranquillity of this paradise. But as with all good things, it couldn't last forever. As Gwen's eyelids grew heavy and her mind foggy once again, she leaned back against Lucy's comforting presence. The young girl gently guided her down until her head rested in her lap, providing a soft cushion as Gwen struggled against the inevitable pull.

“Lucy, what’s happening?” Gwen asked, her voice groggy, blinking blearily up at Lucy’s now blurry face.

Lucy’s smile grew luminous as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes sparkling with reassurance. “You’re going to be okay,” she said, her voice steady and calm as she cupped Gwen’s cheek with a tenderness that had panic slipping from her chest like water over river rocks.

Gwen frowned, confusion clouding her mind. “What about you?”

Lucy’s eyes softened, and she gently cupped Gwen’s cheek with her small hand, thumb brushing away a stray tear. “You’ll let me go, remember?” she said softly. “And I’ll see you again, someday, when it’s your time, and you can fill me in on everything else that I missed, alright?”

Yes, she had promised that. Letting go of Lucy, but not forgetting. Gwen could do that, for Lucy, she could.

“Tell Alistair I say hello, and thank you for looking after you when I wasn’t able to.”

Gwen nodded, she could do that too.

“Stop fighting it, Gwen,” Lucy whispered, running her fingers down the side of Gwen’s head, brushing through her hair. “They’re all waiting for you.”

Waiting for her… her friends. It had been so long, and yet, no time had passed at all.

As though she was being dragged down by the weight of a thousand sandbags, Gwen's body felt heavy and leaden. Her limbs refused to cooperate as exhaustion consumed her, her eyelids drooping heavily until they finally closed, blocking out the sight of Lucy and her beautiful realm. The last thing she heard was Lucy's voice, soft and soothing, as she whispered a final farewell.

She didn’t want to leave her friend, but it had been Lucy’s request, so when she felt Lucy press a gentle kiss to her forehead, Gwen thought to herself, I release you, I let you go.

And Gwen sank into oblivion, gone from Lucy, untethered from her past, and on her way home, to her heart. To her beloved Alistair.

Next Chapter

A/N: Summary - Gwen gets throttled by a twelve-year-old into self-forgiveness

Only one chapter left :') but also I may have started an epilogue to the epilogue that will be posted soon after the last chapter… I just can't let go yet!

The epilogue will be posted Thursday!

#slow burn #fluff #falling in love #angst with a happy ending #humour #alistair dao #alistair dragon age #alistair theirin #alistair x original character

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tired-truffle · 2 months ago

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Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 8k

Part 52/54

"LEO: I will haunt you.

CATHERINE: (through tears) Promise it."

Song recommendation: Death Bed by Powfu (But still a happy ending I promise!!)

Masterlist

“How did you do it?” The sun beat down on the royal garden, warming Gwen’s aching bones. The smell of carefully tended roses filled the air as Alistair pushed Gwen’s wheeled chair over the cobblestone path. She had been hesitant at first to allow him to take her outside, and to be seen pushing her around, but he had insisted so fiercely that she’d been powerless to deny him.

His guards hovered out of earshot, but still close enough to watch her warily. Her condition was rapidly deteriorating, they’d spent the entire day after her arrival lounging in bed, and she’d been much too exhausted to move. She’d been nearly smothered in kisses and lingering touches that had done little to allow true rest. Not that she didn’t enjoy it, she could scarcely believe that he found her attractive enough in her current state to want her in that way.

She lifted her eyes to meet his, finding them distant and filled with unease. His lips were turned downwards at the corners, the weight of his question hanging heavy in the air, its casual delivery belying its true significance. It took her a moment to process that it was not as lighthearted an inquiry as he had pretended it to be. “How do I do what?”

His eyes refocused, blinking as he looked at her, his face softening and sending butterflies fluttering in her stomach, he’d always had that effect on her, and ten years had done nothing to lessen it. “The Calling. We haven’t really spoken about it, but I still can hardly fathom how you managed to deal with it during the Blight for as long as you did, and with the intensity that it targeted you.”

Gwen’s fingers fiddle with the hem of her sleeve. “I won’t lie and say it wasn’t difficult. It became so… loud, insistent. The battle in Denerim, I could hardly think straight.”

“I remember,” he murmured. It would be a difficult thing to forget, how she’d lost control, the need for destruction making her fingers ache to tear into someone’s chest and rip out their still-beating heart. Yet still he’d kissed her, and made her promise that she would still be there when he got back. She’d kept that promise, though it was only a week before she left him.

“But Wynne’s potions helped, and I didn’t have to do it all alone. I had you, Darcy, Leliana, the entire party. I don’t know if I would have survived it if I hadn’t met you all.”

“I think you overestimate our abilities and underestimate yours. You are stronger than you give yourself credit for. I always felt so useless when it came to helping you overcome the Calling.” He sounded so far away, and Gwen reached behind her to squeeze his hand, pulling him back.

“You were anything but. Even when I couldn’t remember who I was I could still remember you, how I felt - and still feel - about you. You were the only thing that kept me sane.” She may be weakened, but she poured every ounce of conviction she had into her words.

He placed a kiss atop her shaven head. “My charm and stunning good looks were that powerful, were they?”

Gwen chuckled, shaking her head with fond exasperation. “That and a lot more. Would you like me to go over all the reasons I love you? It is quite a long list, so you may want to make yourself comfortable.”

Alistair laughed, the joyous sound warming her heart. “Whatever will my guards think of me if they catch me blushing like a love-sick buffoon in the gardens?”

“Come closer then, I will hide you from their discerning eyes.” Stopping beside a hedge to obscure them from view, Alistair knelt at her feet, his face cradled in her hands. She spoke to him with words that flowed like honey, listing everything that made her love him more than the sun worshipped the moon.

From the garden they had travelled to his office, his blush slowly subsiding after her barrage of compliments. He’d insisted her wanted to show her something, but had refused to tell her what exactly it was.

Alistair had wheeled her into his office, a grand yet functional space. Tapestries bearing the Theirin family crest hung on the stone walls, and bookshelves lined with leather-bound tomes spoke to Alistair's scholarly pursuits. His great oaken desk stood in the center of the room, tidy save for a few scattered reports and letters.

Gwen smiled as she noticed small personal touches that were so characteristically Alistair. A half-finished wood carving of a mabari war hound. A worn pair of leather boots tucked in the corner, remnants from his days as a Warden. His chair was made of sturdy Fereldan craftsmanship accented with gold filigree.

Despite the formality of the space, it was undeniably Alistair's. Gwen could envision him hunched over parchments late into the night, his brow furrowed in concentration. She pictured him standing at the window overlooking the palace gardens, lost in thought as he procrastinated his duties. It was a room that bore the weight of leadership, and yet Alistair's spirit still shone through.

Alistair walked around the desk, yanking open a sticky drawer, and retrieving what looked like a paper from within. He placed it on the desk and promptly returned to her side.

"Here, come sit on my desk. That way we're closer to the same height," he said with a playful grin. Gwen was getting sick of the wheeled chair, sitting on his desk would allow her to at least pretend like she was stronger than she was.

He extended his hand and helped her up from the chair. Gwen winced as she rose to her feet, the simple motion still causing her pain after her lack of movement over the past few days. Alistair kept his arm wrapped securely around her waist, supporting her fragile frame. Allowing him to lift her onto the edge of the desk, her legs dangled loosely as he positioned himself between them, his large hands resting on her slender hips. He had been touching her - holding her - at every given opportunity, almost a subconscious act. His body instinctively reached for hers, craving her touch as she did his.

With a hint of reluctance, he released his hand on her hip, reaching behind her to retrieve the paper he had placed there only minutes ago. With careful movements, he pressed it into her open palm, holding it there for a brief moment before finally releasing it. Gwen raised an eyebrow, taking note of Alistair's nervous anticipation as his grip tightened on her hips.

“I can’t read.” She hadn’t thought he’d have forgotten that so quickly.

“I know,” he said with a conspiratorial grin, “I promise it isn’t another written letter.”

With one more confused look, Gwen opened the envelope. Carefully extracting the neatly folded paper, she unfolded it with eager curiosity. She blinked down at the page, her brows furrowed, unsure what exactly she was looking at.

A crude drawing adorned the page. Though it may have appeared to be the work of a child at first glance, Alistair's flushed cheeks revealed that it was, in fact, his masterpiece. The stick figure depicted had hair that jutted out at the front, resembling Alistair's previous hairstyle. Its mouth formed a wide smile, eyes gazing upwards. Floating above its head was a thought bubble, containing what could only be her - wavy locks cascading down her shoulders and a grin that stretched just below her gray eyes. Her nose was flat and her teeth sharp, captured perfectly in this simple sketch. Surrounding the stick figure were hearts of all shapes and sizes

“When you didn’t answer my letters I thought that maybe you couldn’t read - it isn’t that uncommon and given your history… I suppose I was right. I was about to send it, but then I received your letter and, well, I felt a bit foolish.” His nervous smile had guilt swelling in her throat. She wouldn’t have opened this letter, had he sent it, but knowing that he’d wanted to send it to her, had kept it all these years… she wanted to throttle the Gwen that had broken his heart.

“I’m not showing you this to upset you.” Like he could sense her guilt, he smoothed the backs of his fingers down her scarred cheek. “I just want you to know I never stopped thinking of you, I never stopped loving you, and while you may not have been able to read my letters, this picture sums up everything I wrote. Albeit my drawing skills are rather lacking, I’ve never been much of an artist, but I think it gets the point across.”

Tears pricked at her eyes, she’d become sappy in her old age. “I think it’s beautiful.”

“You failed to mention you’d lost your vision too.” He tried for a joke, but his smile failed to reach his eyes.

Gwen on the other hand, found it very funny indeed and barked a laugh, before a hacking cough took its place. Alistair’s hands twitched on her hips, unsure how to help her other than to hold her upright. She coughed into her elbow, the open side of her mouth pressed firmly against her bicep so it didn’t spray everywhere. She wished to retain at least some semblance of her dignity.

Her jaw creaked - a warning that she would not ignore - and she brought her hands up to press it firmly into place. The Wardens had worsened her condition, and not for the first time she wondered if she’d have had more time had they not broken her. She could still hear the crack of the whip, and feel its sting slicing across her back as she huddled in the corner of her cell. They had beaten her, starved her, and done unspeakable things, all to break her, to crush her spirit.

And they had read Alistair's letters to her, over and over, twisting his words of love and devotion into weapons to tear at her heart. They had stolen that from her, and now she couldn’t think about it without being brought back to that horrible place.

Alistair’s hand on her cheek brought her back to the present, blinking away the shadows that haunted her. His brows were pulled together, his lips pressed into a thin line as he leaned forward, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw.

“Has your jaw been troubling you since the Calling started?”

Gwen felt the blood drain from her face and she placed the drawing beside her to avoid crushing it in her fist. She gave him a minute headshake, nuzzling her face into his palm in search of comfort. “No, it was… more recent.”

He hummed his acknowledgement, but waited for her to continue. She wanted to tell him what the Wardens had done, but there was a difference between wanting to and actually being able to. That she was even able to consider it was a surprise to her. But then again, this was Alistair.

Inhaling a rattling breath, Gwen managed to say, “It was… out of the socket for a while. A few weeks I think, but… I’m not sure.”

A shadow crossed Alistair’s face. “A few weeks…” He swallowed thickly, horror filling his gaze as he continued to ghost his fingers along her jaw. “Gwen, what… what happened to you?”

His plea nearly brought her to tears. As it was, the salty liquid blurred her vision, obscuring the full extent of his concern from view.

“Alistair,” she closed her eyes, willing the tears to subside, “I want to tell you, honestly, I do, but I… I don’t know how. I’m… afraid.”

Afraid that baring her soul to him would make the shadows real again. Afraid that the fragile trust between them would shatter under the weight of her past.

Alistair leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "There's nothing to be afraid of," his voice muffled against her skin. "It won't change how I feel about you."

Gwen nodded, taking a moment to gather her courage. She could do this, telling Alistair was nothing compared to enduring it. She may have been broken, but still, she breathed, she was not done yet.

“After Darcy left the Wardens got suspicious. I’d started hearing the Calling before any of them, and they… turned on me.”

“What do you mean turned on you?” Dread flashed in his eyes, he knew what was coming.

Gwen took his hand from her hip, curling it around her three-fingered fist. “They wanted information I did not have and they tried to pry it out of me.”

His calluses had lessened over the years, but he still touched with that same tender care that had her heart lurching in her chest. He examined her, a frown marring his handsome face. Alistair's fingers traced over the gnarled stubs where her missing fingers should have been, his jaw clenching with barely contained fury. "They did this to you?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Averting her eyes in shame, she nodded. "Among other things. They weren't exactly gentle in their methods."

"Maker's breath," Alistair swore under his breath. He cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his anguished gaze. "I'm so sorry, my love. If I had known..."

"It wasn't your fault, I’m the one who left, not you.” Gwen had repeated this to him countless times since they had reunited, yet he never seemed to fully believe it.

“But you wouldn’t have left if I’d seen what was happening, if I’d been what you need—”

Grasping his tunic in her slender hands, she tightened her fists in the fabric, cutting him off. He blinked rapidly in surprise, his hand dropping from her cheek.

“Never, ever think that again. Do you understand?” she all but growled. “You didn’t ask to be King. Maker, you actively didn’t want it. You, Alistair, are everything I could ever want or need, just the way you are. I love you with everything that I have. I didn’t leave because you failed. Do not expect yourself to be able to see what I hid from you. I have spent a lifetime hiding my feelings and intentions, it is what I do best. No one, not you, not Darcy, not even Leliana saw through me. You did nothing wrong.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Gwen regretted her sharp tone and the way she had snapped at Alistair. She knew that he blamed himself for a lot of what had happened to her, but she couldn't let him continue to carry that burden.

Releasing his tunic, she took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. She knew that Alistair was only trying to protect her and make amends for his perceived failures. But she couldn't let him take on the weight of her past.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, his eyes wide and searching.

Irritation spiking, she resisted the urge to shake him. “Don’t be sorry. I left without an explanation, I should be the one apologizing. I should have realized you would blame yourself, it seems so stupid now.” She sighed, leaning forward to rest her head against his shoulder, his hands coming up to stroke her back soothingly. “But I am telling you now that that is wrong. I love you, Alistair, exactly as you are.”

He tucked her head beneath his chin, his voice vibrating in his throat as he spoke. “It’s just… hard to accept.”

“Can I do anything to make it easier?”

“No,” he assured her, placing a kiss atop her head. “You have done more than enough. Here you are trying to comfort me when you’ve just shared what I can only assume was an incredibly… difficult experience. If anything I should be asking you that question.”

Gwen held him close, breathing in the smell of pine and leather that lingered on his skin. “I think some more of those drawings might cheer me up,” she teased.

Alistair chuckled, pulling back even as she whined at the loss of contact. “Are you certain? My artistic talents are sorely lacking.”

"I'm sure," Gwen smiled at him, keeping her lips pressed firmly together to avoid drawing attention to the hole in her cheek. "Even if your drawings are a bit… abstract."

A faint blush rose to Alistair's cheeks, but his eyes crinkled to show his amusement. "Abstract? I think you mean downright terrible."

“I think they are lovely.” She patted his chest as he raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “As lovely as your letters, except your drawings are much easier for me to understand.”

Alistair paused, a crease forming between his brows. "Gwen… how did you read my letters, if you never opened them?"

She froze, cursing herself. She had revealed too much without thinking.

"I… it's not important," she mumbled, ducking away and busying herself with examining the ink pot beside her.

Catching her sharp chin between his thumb and index finger, he pulled her gaze back to his. "Gwen," he repeated gently. "Please, tell me."

Gwen let out a shuddering breath, tears already welling in her eyes. She had never wanted Alistair to know this part of her torture, for it would hurt him too. To know that his words of love and adoration had been used to break her…

"The letters… I couldn't bring myself to read them at first," she began haltingly, repeating what he already knew as she stalled. "It hurt too much, knowing I had left you. But I kept them with me always, as a reminder of you."

She paused, blinking back tears. Alistair gently brushed his thumb across her cheek and she held back a shiver.

"When the Wardens captured me, they searched my belongings," she continued, her voice small. "They found the unopened letters. And they..."

Gwen bit her lip with such force that it pierced the skin, drawing a trickle of blood. The metallic tang filled her mouth and she welcomed the pain, knowing she could endure it. She had been enduring pain since the day she was born, it was all she knew how to do. But to have how much he loved her, after all that time, after all she had done, thrown back in her face as they beat her monstrous body until little remained of the woman he had loved… If she’d had any information for them, she would have spilled it then. But she hadn’t, so she’d had to endure that too. Surviving was all she had ever known, until Alistair came into her life. He showed her what true living felt like, but she was always afraid it would be taken away from her by some cruel twist of fate. And so, she had pushed him away and returned to a life of mere survival. All the pain they endured during their time apart now seemed pointless. She had destroyed the heart of the man she loved most, and she’d been chained in a dungeon, unable to do anything about it.

"They read them aloud as they tortured me. Mocking the words, twisting them." Gwen grimaced, licking the blood from her lips.

Alistair went very still, his face draining of colour.

"So the first time I heard your beautiful letters, I was chained to a wall, barely able to see or breathe, and all I could think about was how terribly I had failed you" Gwen whispered.

Alistair reeled back as if struck, his face contorting with anguish. "Maker's breath, Gwen," he choked out. "I had no idea they would...that my letters..." He trailed off, unable to find the words.

Gwen watched him warily, bracing for his reaction. But Alistair surprised her. With a cry of outrage, he pushed away from her and began to pace agitatedly across the office floor. "How could they?!" he burst out, fists clenched at his sides. "To take something so personal, so intimate, and use it to hurt you..." His voice cracked and he whirled to face her.

"I'm so sorry, my love. If I had known, I never would have..." Again, words failed him. He rushed back to her, his hands cradling both sides of her face as if they held the key to unlocking her pain. His fingers trembled with urgency, as if he could physically remove the source of her anguish and mend the broken pieces within her. Every touch was gentle yet purposeful, seeking out the hidden fragments of glass buried just beneath her skin, determined to heal old wounds that had been left open for far too long.

Gently, Gwen held her hands over his, pressing a kiss against his palm, a gesture she had taken to doing as of late. The effect was instantaneous, his shoulders slumping forward, a doleful shine to his eyes that replaced the desperation. "The blame lies with the Wardens, not you."

Alistair searched her face, fingers splayed out across her cheeks bones and over her neck. "I wish I could have spared you that pain," he whispered.

"You did," Gwen squeezed his hand, as if she could push the understanding into his skin. "Your letters, your love - it was the only thing that kept me going. I clung to your words to give me strength. I felt like a monster, and… I still do, but,” she continued quickly so he could not argue, "when I heard the way you loved me, the ardour with which you described me, I thought that maybe… I could have been a woman with you, that I was, and I just hadn’t realized it.”

Alistair's heart ached at her words, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her close. "The most beautiful, brave, kind-hearted, and horribly self-sacrificial woman I have ever known."

Gwen buried her face in his chest, seeking solace in the warmth of his embrace. It was like being enveloped in a cocoon of heat on a cold winter day, or standing under the blazing sun on a scorching summer afternoon. As she leaned into him, she felt the strength of his arms around her. As she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine herself basking in the gentle caress of his sunlight.

"I promise you," he said firmly, his arms tightening around her. "I will never let anyone hurt you again. No one will ever use my words to harm you."

Gwen gazed up at him with such vulnerability and trust that she thought she may drown in it, never to resurface again. But Alistair was her anchor in the storm, the boat that kept her aloft among the tumultuous waves, and he refused to let her sink. Without hesitation, he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers in a tender kiss, pouring all of his love and devotion into it. She savoured the taste and feel of him, the sweetness of his touch, and by the Maker had she been a fool to give it all up.

As her lungs begged for release, she reluctantly pulled away with a heavy sigh, not wanting to spoil the moment with another round of coughing. She did her best to give him an energetic grin. Yet after their trip to the gardens, then around the castle to his office, and her body’s insistent need to expunge all blood from her lungs, her emotional confession had sapped the last of her energy. Wilting against him, the rattle returned to her chest, a warning that she would do well to heed.

“Let’s get you back to bed.” Alistair wrapped his arms around her waist, a silent request to pick her up.

Releasing a shaky sigh, shallow so as not to irritate her lungs further she nodded her assent. “There’s no use arguing that, is there?”

“Criticizing your King’s wishes? I’ll have you know that that is considered high treason,” he said in a fake haughty tone.

“And what will my punishment be?”

He broke out into a wide smile and Gwen counted that as a victory. “I’m sure I can think of something suitable.”

Gwen grew weaker by the day. She’d overexerted herself getting to Redcliffe and now she was paying the price. She’d barely been able to walk during her first few days in Denerim, but her legs had quickly given out. It only took one fall after stubbornly insisting that she could get herself to the washbasin on her own for Alistair to insist otherwise. She grumbled about it, but when he pleaded with those puppy dog eyes and said, "I couldn't live with myself if you were hurt on my watch," Gwen couldn't resist.

It had just been him for the first few days, picking her up and carrying her - she was almost weightless now, too light for comfort. Despite being comfortable with him bathing with her, she wasn't enthusiastic about him handling all of her care duties. The thought of having servants tend to her needs irked her, but as she observed Alistair grow increasingly anxious and drained, she eventually relented and allowed him to enlist a trusted servant to take on those tasks.

In the eyes of Alistair, Takari embodied trustworthiness and discretion, making her the perfect servant to be entrusted with Gwen. The Elvhen woman appeared no older than twenty-five, her porcelain skin adorned with a multitude of freckles that danced across her features like a constellation. A deep scar marred one side of her forehead, snaking its way across her face and ending just before her strong jawline. Her tawny hair was intricately braided back in dual plaits, showcasing the delicate features of her face - wide, kind green eyes and an angular nose. And despite being met with Gwen's monstrous appearance, she never once flinched or showed any sign of fear. It was evident that she had been briefed beforehand, but Gwen was impressed by Takari's composure nonetheless.

“I owe His Majesty my life and the lives of my family, my Lady,” Takari said unprompted as she helped Gwen into her clothes. Gwen had learned in their few days together that the woman was an honest type, and when she had seen the lingering question in Gwen’s eyes, she had taken it upon herself to answer. “When Teryn Loghain sold us to the Tevinter slavers, we feared we would never return home. But one of King Alistair’s first acts was to ensure our safe return, and for that, I will forever be grateful. It has been a long time since a Fereldan ruler cared for its Elvhen subjects.”

The corners of Gwen's lips lifted in a soft, bittersweet smile. It came as no surprise that he had made an effort to rectify the wrongs committed by Loghain. Despite his lack of political finesse, his kind and compassionate heart was what endeared him to the people. And it was also why she had not stayed by his side. Even now, she feared her presence would bring harm upon him, but at least her stay would be brief. Then he would be free from her negative influence once again.

"I hope you don't mind me speaking candidly, but it's wonderful to see how much joy you bring him. I've never seen him smile the way he does when he's with you." Takari brushed off her shoulders, flattening her intricately embroidered shirt that Gwen had insisted was too much, but Alistair could not be pursued otherwise.

“Thank you,” Gwen said, and she meant it. Perhaps in this brief time they had left together, she could bring some joy to Alistair's life and lessen the pain of her inevitable demise.

However, Alistair still had royal duties to attend to, ones that even his advisors could not take care of on his behalf. Both Gwen and Takari assured him that she would be fine on her own for a few hours. Though he was reluctant to leave her side, there were certain responsibilities that he simply could not neglect.

Gwen couldn’t find it in herself to be upset, this was already more than she ever could have hoped for, and she found herself enjoying Takari’s quiet company. The woman insisted she be taught how to play chess and they spent a good deal of time in the gardens, soaking in the fresh air and floral scents. But Alistair was never gone for long, always eager to join them, to fill their quiet moments with witty comments and playful teasing that never failed to bring a smile to her face.

They caught up on the moments missed in each other's lives. Gwen ached at what he had gone through, finding his father only to lose him, building Duncan’s memorial in Highever and delivering his eulogy alone. Not to mention running a kingdom that seemed Voidbent on destroying itself. But even then, she was grateful for the chance to be with him. She felt settled, for the first time in a decade, and being able to spend so much time with the man she loved and thought she’d lost felt like a dream come true.

But that was the thing about dreams, they rarely lasted for long.

The coughing picked up in frequency until the rattle in her lungs remained a permanent fixture. It echoed through her lungs like a never-ending cry of discomfort.

At night, Alistair would wrap his arms around her, their bodies entwined as he pressed his ear to her chest. He found comfort in listening to the rhythm of her breath, the steady thump of her heart against his cheek. When she asked him why he did it, he would simply reply, “Is it abnormal for a man to wish to rest his head against the bosom of his beloved?”

She didn’t push him on it. It was a small thing, to listen to her breathing, and she enjoyed the comfort of his arms wrapped around her waist, drawing her close.

“Have you heard from Wynne in recent years? I’m afraid our communication fell off a bit ago, but she was a great help to you during the Blight, right? Perhaps she could help with this too?”

The soft caress of his hand against her neck was wonderful in its delicacy as she lay with her head in his lap. Each gentle stroke eased the tension in her sore muscles, and she closed her eyes to fully savour the moment. But despite the tranquillity, her heart ached at his question.

Despite the best efforts of countless healers who had come and gone, their attempts to help had been futile against her condition. Alistair, however, refused to give up hope. Every week felt like an eternity, with days dragging on endlessly and moments slipping away too quickly. She was no longer able to get out of bed, reduced to a mere existence confined within the soft embrace of a downy mattress. Her only reprieve was when she needed to relieve herself, a task made possible only with the assistance of Takari.

As his fingers lingered on her skin, she brought his hand up to her lips, planting a gentle kiss on the back of it. She had wondered if this would come up, and she hated to be the one to tell him, especially with her own demise on the horizon, but he deserved to know.

“I’m so sorry, Alistair, I wasn’t sure if you knew but… Wynne, she…” Gwen swallowed heavily, the words feeling like sandpaper in her throat. He stilled against her, steeling himself for what she was about to reveal. “Leliana was with her, she sacrificed herself. To save the life of the woman her son loves, I believe.”

Alistair released a deep breath, silence consuming them as she gave him time to process. The fading sunlight filtered through the window, casting shadows on the wall.

“I am saddened to hear of her passing, Wynne was a strong mage and a devout friend. Yet I can’t help but feel she was at peace, having gotten to reunite with her son.”

“I am not your subject, you can tell me how you really feel.” She released him and his hand went back to stroking soft lines down the long column of her neck.

“You are one of my subjects, technically,” he grinned down at her and she rolled her eyes. The grin fell, replaced with a melancholic tilt to the corners of his mouth. “But I suppose if you must know how I truly feel…” He let out a heavy sigh, exhaustion weighing down his body as he leaned back against the headboard with a soft thump. “I feel like the older I get the quicker I lose the people I care about. Everyone always warns you that your back will start to hurt, that you’ll take longer to heal than you did when you were young, you won’t be able to fight like you used to. But no one prepares you for the way age and time take everyone and everything you love until you have nothing left.”

The hollowness of his words struck Gwen like a physical blow. She struggled to prop herself up, her lungs screaming their protest with every wheezing breath. Alistair's arms came to her aid, winding below her armpits and lifting her gently as she leaned heavily against his chest, her face tilting upwards to meet his gaze. She braced herself for the impending scolding, but was met with a stern frown instead, knowing his admonishments would fall on deaf ears.

“You should invite Darcy here, once he has returned. He would like to see you.” The thought of leaving him alone once again weighed heavily on her heart. The memories of their time together flooded her mind, each one a bittersweet reminder of the love they shared. She didn't want to imagine him struggling through life without her by his side, but the reality was that she couldn't stay - she couldn’t live in her deteriorating body for much longer.

“I’m sure he has other more important things to do than catch up with an old friend he hasn’t spoken to in years.” Alistair’s patient smile only made her want to push harder, but she had a better idea. Enlisting Takari’s help to write a letter wouldn’t be that difficult, considering she had expressed her happiness for him earlier. Surely, she would want that happiness to continue and be willing to lend a hand.

“He misses you,” she said anyway, her head falling against his shoulder as what little strength she still possessed left her.

“I miss him too,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. They lapsed into silence, Gwen’s efforts to remain conscious quickly failing, but still she held on. There was a tightness to his muscles that made her uneasy, his breathing quicker and shallower than it should have been in their state of relaxation.

“Something troubles you.” It was a statement of the obvious, though Gwen knew he wouldn’t share it unless she pressed him on it.

He tilted his face towards her, caressing her cheek with a soft look in his eyes. “It’s nothing, I promise.”

Liar. “No, it’s not.” Gwen pinched his arm lightly for emphasis, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough for him to know she was serious about it.

“Ow!” he exclaimed over-dramatically, though he seemed half-hearted, distracted. “Here I am trying to be the gentleman and save you the burden of my worries, and what do I get for it? A pinch from your spindly little fingers.”

She scowled. “You can’t talk your way out of this one. Your worries are not a burden. Tell me what is bothering you.”

He huffed a soft sigh and grumbled something under his breath about bossy women that she pointedly chose to ignore. When it was clear she was not going to relent in her stare, he caved.

“It’s just… it’s not fair.”

Gwen had a pretty good idea what he was talking about, but she needed him to say it, to get it off his chest while he still had someone to talk to. “You’ll have to be more specific, I’m afraid there are a lot of things that aren’t fair.”

He exhaled another sigh, a hint of pain and frustration coating his voice like a blunted knife. “I just… I don’t understand. Why does it have to be you? Why do you have to be dying? We could have- could have had- years together… but we only have a few weeks… it’s not fair.”

Gwen grimaced, would it hurt him less if he’d had more time to come to terms with it? “Darkspawn blood has its drawbacks.”

“You shouldn’t have even had the taint in the first place.”

“I’d say you should take that up with my father but he paid for that act with his life.” She had never been able to find any part of her that was saddened by his death. He was the reason she’d never led a normal life, why her mother had died not long after her birth. To her, his demise was just revenge for all the pain he had caused her and he deserved worse for inflicting her upon the world.

He scoffed, “If he was still alive, I would have a few choice words to say to him.” Alistair leaned forward, pressing his face against the top of her head, breathing deeply as he tried to restrain his rage. “And perhaps a beheading or two.”

“I’m sorry, Alistair, for all of this. I wish things could have been different, that I could have been different.” Gwen spoke softly, feeling like her words echoed around the empty room.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, this is as much my mess as it is yours, and you certainly should never apologize for being the woman I love.” He nuzzled his face against her. “You’re perfect, you know? You’ve always been perfect.”

“I’m falling apart,” Gwen argued, “My teeth are quite literally falling out of my mouth.”

“Teeth are highly overrated in my opinion, too hard and gnashy. Nothing you say will ever change my mind.” He pulled back, cupping her cheek with his large hand. “But may I ask for one thing?”

She nodded, he could ask her for anything and she would do everything in her power to place it in his hands. “Of course.”

“Will you tell me how you feel about all this? And not just physically, but you’ve barely spoken about it since Redcliffe and I feel like all we ever do is talk about me.”

Gwen closed her eyes, the sound of Alistair's steady breathing filling her ears. As much as she loathed to speak about her feelings, after everything she had stolen from him, she wanted to fulfill his request. The words were heavy on her tongue, like rocks threatening to choke her. “I don’t want to leave you," she finally managed to choke out. "I am afraid, of what comes after for me and for you. If I even have a soul that could pass on.” She inhaled tremulously, feeling the cool air rush into her lungs. But it did little to calm the storm brewing within her. Her lips pressed together tightly, as if trying to hold back the torrent of terror that was sure to break free from the dark confines of her mind.

“I am so scared, Alistair, I feel like that little girl left all alone in the cellar all over again. Even though you’re here - and please believe me when I say that you make everything so much better - you won’t be following me, and I am terrified of what awaits me.”

A quiet strangled noise escaped him and she hated that she’d been the one to wring it from his throat. “By the Maker, Gwen, why did you keep that all to yourself?”

She chuckled humourlessly, “You know I’ve never been good at telling anyone how I’m feeling.”

“But you used to tell me. Sometimes.” His pleading gaze bore into her, and she opened her eyes, a small smile curling at the edge of her mouth.

“I did, didn’t I?”

He continued to stroke her cheek. “You are not a soulless creature and if I have to fight the Maker Himself to ensure you rest peacefully I will do it. I will not stand for your suffering.” A fierce protectiveness glowed on his face. “Whatever I can do to make any of this more comfortable I want to do it. Will you promise me you’ll tell me?”

She hesitated, but yet again she found herself unable - unwilling - to say no. “I promise.”

“Good.” With his gentle fingers still caressing her skin, Gwen's exhaustion washed over her. Despite their emotionally draining conversation, she desperately wanted to hold onto this moment with him. But her body had other plans, succumbing to the overwhelming need for rest. Her attempts to stay awake were futile as sleep crept up and enveloped her in its tight grasp.

Despite her best efforts, her body continued to betray her. It was a constant battle, with each passing day bringing new challenges and obstacles. The physical toll it took was immense, draining her energy until she could barely stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time. But whenever she awoke, scared and confused, her mind struggling to grapple with when or where she was, Alistair was always by her side. With a gentle smile and a warm touch, he would calm her down, tracing comforting circles on her skin until she drifted back to sleep.

As she lay on her deathbed, the aching nothingness of her dreams felt all-consuming. But then, a voice broke through the emptiness, tugging at the frayed edges of her memory. It was both comforting and unsettling, familiar yet unidentifiable. Like a distant echo from long ago, it called out to her in the darkness, and she pushed herself to wakefulness.

“She would remain asleep for however long I live and my magic remains.” Maker, it sounded so familiar. That smooth voice, almost aloof, yet now filled with a melancholy that spoke of years of hardship.

“And all I would have to do in exchange is offer you sanctuary within the walls of my castle, and constant access to the woman I love. Pardon me if that deal sounds too good to be true.” Alistair's voice jolted Gwen out of her drowsy state. As she struggled to open her tired eyes, she could see his tall frame standing at her bedside with his back turned towards her. His arms were crossed over his chest and she imagined the scowl that must have adorned his handsome face, the irritated crease between his dark brows.

The other speaker stood behind him, out of view. “You have the letter with the Warden-Commander’s and Sister Nightingale’s signature on it. I’m not sure how much more official it can get. Besides, it’s only until the Warden-Commander can find the cure. I could be in your hair for only a few months if you’re lucky.”

A gasping cough wracked her frail body, a violent tremor that left her struggling for air. Her arms, too weak to lift and protect her mouth, hung limply by her sides as blood splattered across her parted lips and dribbled down her chin. The rattling in her chest had grown louder with each passing day, leaving her constantly waking to the desperate sound of her own struggle for breath. She felt as though she were drowning on land, trapped in a body that could no longer sustain itself.

A hand slotting itself into hers alerted her to Alistair’s presence. “Gwen?”

“You should probably wait until she’s done coughing, but what do I know? I’m just a healer.” A lazy drawl brought her hazy vision up to the figure standing a few feet away from the bed, arms crossed and face sullen, despite his casual tone. Sandy blonde hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, a few rebellious strands escaping to frame his sharp features. The glint in his dark eyes betrayed his attitude, and though she had only known him briefly, she recognized the infamous mage who had been conscripted into the Wardens after he escaped the Circle, only to evade the Wardens as well in the end. And blow up a Chantry, if she had heard correctly.

“Anders?” Her mouth felt like it was full of cotton, a dry and heavy tongue weighing her words down.

“See,” Anders said pointedly to Alistair who glowered at him in a way that had Gwen filling with pride. It almost rivalled her own. “She recognizes me, I’m not a fake.”

“She’s delirious.” Alistair’s eyes narrowed at the mage, and she squeezed his hand as hard as she could to get his attention, not enough to hurt.

“I am aware enough.” He had the good sense to look mildly ashamed. She switched her gaze to the mage. “Why are you here?”

“Your friends sent me,” he pointed to the letter scrunched in Alistair’s fist, “And I was just telling your royal guard dog that I come with the means to extend your life until they can find a cure. All I ask in exchange is safe haven. I am much too old and tired to keep running.”

“You’re running because you blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall - killing hundreds if the reports were correct - and beginning this mage versus Templar war that has killed countless more. Even just having you here is enough to bring the ire of the entire Free Marches down upon Ferelden.”

“I did what had to be done.” Anders’s mouth thinned, a blue light flashing in his eyes. He shook his head, and the light was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “Look, you can accept my help or not. I guess it depends on how much you love her. Are you willing to take the risk, or would you rather she continue to fade away until there’s nothing left? I’d give her a day or two, in case you were wondering.”

“It’s okay,” Gwen coughed once more before continuing, “Don’t put your kingdom at risk for my sake. I have made my peace.”

Alistair’s eyes widened, a frown tugging at his lips as he lovingly stroked her cheeks. “But I haven’t,” he said barely loud enough for her to hear. “I am not ready to lose you, and I have given up enough for this country, I won’t give you up again.”

“Alistair—“ Arguing was a moot point, he already wasn’t listening.

“I accept your deal. How soon can you begin?”

“Immediately.”

“Alistair, please, you don’t—“ She tried again, only to be cut off once more, his lips capturing hers in a gentle kiss.

“I will see you soon, my love,” he smiled at her, a flicker of hope in his eyes like a candle burned down to the base. She couldn't find the strength to fight him, even though she knew deep down it was what she needed to do. Despite the fear and uncertainty swirling within her, she had to give him the chance to choose his own kingdom. But he made his choice.

He didn't choose a kingdom or riches.

He didn't choose power or glory.

Instead, he chose her; a monster shown love, a creature pulled back from the darkness. A woman who loved a wonderful man with every piece of her fractured heart.

A gentle warmth enveloped her, reminiscent of that first summer day when she had realized with a fluttering heart that she was helplessly in love with Alistair. It radiated from his touch, creating a glimmering aura around them. His fingers never left hers, providing a constant source of comfort and reassurance as she drifted off into a long and peaceful slumber. Her last thoughts of him, his lopsided grin, his infectious laugh, his sweet words whispered to her when no one else could hear.

I love you. I will wait for you. Come home for me, Gwen.

Next Chapter

A/N: Anyone ask for an Anders cameo?? Darcy is full of surprises, but with Leliana's help, it isn't toooo difficult to track down the rogue healer.

Also: AAAAHHHH!!! only two chapters left?? I can barely believe it :') I'm going to miss these two so much, but I may already have some ideas for some drabbles…

Next chapter should be up on Wednesday!

#angst with a happy ending #slow burn #fluff #falling in love #humour #alistair dao #alistair dragon age #alistair theirin #alistair x original character #anders dragon age #king alistair #wynne dragon age

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tired-truffle · 2 months ago

Text

Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 11k

Part 51/54

Masterlist

With trembling limbs, she pushed herself back up to a standing position, aided by Alistair's strong hand gripping her hip with unwavering support. It felt almost possessive, as if he feared that without his touch, she would simply cease to exist. Using both her cane and his sturdy hold for balance, she slowly made her way out of the castle, grateful for the return of her bandana which shielded her face from prying eyes.

Despite the confused and concerned looks from his guards, Alistair guided her into the carriage with gentle reassurances. He quickly dispatched a runner to notify the Herald's party of her safety, not wanting them to worry needlessly. As she settled into the plush interior, she marvelled at the rich crimson benches, stuffed with downy feathers and trimmed with shining gold along the metal frame. The small windows offered glimpses of the bustling town outside, where people had gathered in wonder at the unexpected arrival of their King. Her breath was ragged and strained from the recent exertion, but she tried to hide it as she turned her face away upon his smooth entrance into the coach. She didn't want to show any signs of weakness, not wanting to add to distress him further.

But the coach was small and he was annoyingly perceptive. “Gwen,” he took her hands in his, his thumb rubbing soft circles on the back of her gloves. “You should rest, It’s going to be a few days before we arrive in Denerim.”

She sighed wearily, shaking her head and pulling down the bandana. The blood had dried and crusted on the fabric, making it uncomfortable against her skin. Besides, it wasn’t like he hadn’t already seen her disfigured face. “I… don’t want to sleep. Not yet.”

With a quiet hum of acknowledgment, he brought her hand up, pressing a light kiss to her knuckles above her missing fingers. Gwen watched him, her heart clenching at the tenderness of his gesture. A part of her still recoiled at intimacy, wary of baring the full extent of her vulnerability. But Alistair's steady warmth was slowly melting the ice encasing her heart.

His gaze softened, his legs bumping into hers as the carriage started moving, rolling across the gravel road. “Did… the taint do this?” His thumb swept over the stumps on her hand, his gaze flickering up to meet hers.

Gwen stiffened, her jaw clenching as she pulled her hand back. She stared down at her lap, the memories flooding back like a dark tide. The acrid stench of the dungeon. The searing pain as the Wardens pinned her down and sawed through bone and sinew.

She shook her head sharply, trying to banish the images. "I...I don't want to talk about it," she muttered, her voice cracking. She rubbed her wrist where the old shackle scars peeked out from under her sleeve, a self-comforting gesture.

Alistair's brows knit together, regret flashing across his face. He reached out for her hand again, giving her time to pull away, before enveloping it in his much larger one. She stiffened under his touch at first, then gradually relaxed, leaning toward him ever so slightly.

"You don't have to tell me," he murmured, his thumb continuing to lightly stroke the back of her hand - a gentle reminder of his support. "Not until you're ready. But I'm here. Whenever you need me."

Gwen blinked back the tears that stung her eyes, grateful for his quiet acceptance. The carriage jostled over a rut in the road and she swayed, instinctively grasping Alistair's knee to steady herself. His hand came up to hold her arm, radiating warmth and comfort through her cold limbs.

They sat in silence for a while as the carriage rolled on, the clip-clop of hooves and rumble of wooden wheels filling the space between them. Alistair kept his hand resting lightly on Gwen's knee, his other holding her hand, hoping she drew some small measure of comfort from it.

Gwen stared out the carriage window, watching the countryside roll by in a blur. She tried to focus on the present - the creak of the wheels, the clop of hooves, the warmth of Alistair's touch - anything to keep the memories at bay. But they refused to stay buried. Phantom pains shot through her back, echoes of the whip cracking mercilessly. Her wrists ached where rusty shackles had chafed the skin raw. The scent of blood, sweat and fear filled her nose once more.

She swallowed thickly, fighting back the rising tide. She would not relive it, would not let it overwhelm her. Not here. Not now. Gripping Alistair's hand like a lifeline, she forced herself to breathe. In and out. The memories receded bit by bit. The pain faded. She was here, in this carriage, with someone who cared. She was safe. The torture was in the past.

The vice around her chest began to loosen. Letting out a shaky breath, her shoulder slumped, exhaustion weighing heavy. Alistair watched her, his brows pinched, but he allowed her the space to speak.

“I saw you once, in a town you were visiting that I happened to be in at the time," Gwen said, breaking the silence, a desperate attempt to distract herself from the dark memories looming in her mind. “You saw Darcy and you looked around like you were so hopeful that someone else would be there.” She pursed her lips, keeping her eyes trained on the window so she wouldn’t be confronted by the hurt in his eyes. “I had to make sure it wasn’t me, I needed you to move on.”

He tilted his head to the side, sliding into her peripheral view. “What do you mean?” Curiosity flickered in his eyes, but Gwen could see the way his smile faded slightly - he was bracing for something difficult.

“The letter I sent you, it was after that.” As she caught his gaze, a wave of regret washed over her. She quickly looked away, but the deep pain reflected in his expression ignited a guilt that flared intensely in her gut once more.

Alistair’s chin tilted towards his chest, his eyes unfocusing and his voice soft, continuing to rub her hand in a soothing motion, maintaining that contact lest she fly away. “Writing you letters made me feel like I had one last link to our life, to you. It was the one thing I had for myself, and once I no longer could send them to you I felt.. lost. But then I started writing them without sending them. I still have them, if you… ever wanted to read them.” Maker, did that ever hurt her aching heart.

“I can’t read,” she blurted out, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as the words tumbled from her lips. She avoided his gaze, ashamed. Alistair’s jaw slackened and he blinked owlishly, processing her admission.

She huffed, removing her hand from his to cross them over her chest. “Don’t look at me like that.” She scowled at him, wishing her reddened face didn’t detract from her menacing. "You know how I grew up, I could barely speak until Lucy found me. It's not like they did reading lessons between beatings.”

With a jolt of realization, he sprang forward, his knees hitting the plush floor of the opulent carriage with a soft thud. His body positioned itself between her legs, creating an intimate closeness that made her heart race. His warm hands gently cupped her mangled cheeks, bringing her face closer to his. It was impossible for her to resist leaning into his grasp. She closed her eyes in surrender, lost in the sensation of his touch.

“I wish... I could go back,” he said, the words heavy on his tongue as he sighed, too deeply. "Just… I don't know… fix it all." Weariness aged him in tight lines across his forehead. "I'd fight an archdemon for a hundred years if it meant giving you a happy childhood."

Gwen turned, kissing his palm, her words muffled against his skin. "I would rather you didn’t."

"And why not?” He huffed as though offended she would doubt his capabilities. "It could be a really small archdemon."

Gwen barked a laugh, catching herself by surprise. She should know better by now than to underestimate Alistair’s ability to bring out that side of her. But even as a smile creased her cheeks, the reality of her condition came to meet it. An unwelcome pressure built in her chest. It started as a subtle tightening, barely perceptible at first, but quickly escalated into a deep burning sensation that snaked up her throat. She knew what was coming - knew she would have to brace herself for the onslaught. But the realization did little to quell the dread that coiled in her gut.

Her hand flew to her mouth, fingers trembling as she turned her face away from him and into the crook of her elbow, desperate to keep the blood from splattering over his clothes. The cough erupted violently, tearing through her, a jagged wheeze rattling her lungs. The taste of iron flooded her mouth as thick black blood choked her, spilling forth onto her sleeve.

“Gwen?” Alistair’s voice was laced with concern, but she couldn’t bear to see the pity in his eyes.

She fought against the strength of the spasm, her body wracked with pain as she tried to suppress the cough building up within her. The effort was immense, and a sharp snap resounded through her jaw as it unhinged from the force. For a brief moment, the room spun around her, her vision blurring as she gasped for precious air through the throbbing agony.

With one final, gut-wrenching spasm, blood and saliva mixed together in a gruesome concoction that oozed from her open mouth in thick, heavy drops. The foul liquid splattered against the fabric of her sleeve and seat cushion. She twisted farther away, the remnants of her cough ripping through her as the stench of iron and decay filled the air, overwhelming all other senses.

Gwen's breath came in quick, shallow gasps as the world around her shifted back into focus. With a practiced motion, she hastily popped her jaw back into place with a sharp snap, sending a wave of excruciating pain coursing through her. But she was used to it - this familiar ache that always accompanied her struggles for survival.

With a lingering taste of blood on her tongue, Gwen turned back to Alistair, a wan smile flickering on her lips, though it barely masked the fatigue that lay beneath. "I'm fine," she murmured, but the quiver in her voice betrayed her bravado.

Alistair scoffed. “If you’re fine then I’m an Antivan Crow.”

Gwen chuckled softly, ignoring the rattle of her chest that refused to subside. How she’d missed Alistair’s attempts at humour as he tried to lighten the mood. It worked, if only for a brief moment.

Alistair adopted a teasing lilt, seeing the success of his joke. "You know, I once had a nasty bout of the flu myself. Coughed so hard I'm pretty sure I saw my lungs fly out. Now I just have two empty sacks in my chest that fill up with air sometimes."

He puffed out his cheeks comically as he continued. "Had to glue my eyeballs back in their sockets too. It was quite the ordeal.”

“Sounds like it.” She smiled shyly at him, the tension easing from her worn heart as he returned her fond gaze.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “I will never understand why you put up with me, fool as I am.” While he spoke in a jovial tone, the self-loathing was clear in the depths of his sad eyes.

“I…” Was she really about to reveal this? If it would make Alistair happy, then yes, she’d do anything for him. “I kept all your letters in a box under my bed. I couldn’t bear to part with them.”

A radiant, heartwarming smile spread across his face. Every ounce of her bashful embarrassment melted away under his adoring gaze. He gently wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer, resting his chin against her stomach. Despite the unflattering angle, he couldn't take his eyes off her, as if she were sunshine breaking through dark clouds after a heavy rainstorm. “You kept all of them? Why in the Maker’s name would you do that? Most of them were soppy nonsense.”

Her blush deepened as she carded the fingers of her good hand through his hair. It had grown longer during their time apart, but it suited him, giving him an older, more distinguished look. Handsome as always, just different. “It wouldn’t matter their contents, you could have sent me nothing but hate and I would have kept them simply because they were from you.” Such a simple statement had a profound effect on him, his eyes glistening like they held stars within them.

“You… kept letters you couldn’t read all because they were from me?” He was dumbfounded, and she couldn’t help the light giggle that escaped her chest. “Perhaps Lucy was right to name you after a dragon. I should have sent you treasure instead of letters if I knew you would hoard them.”

“Your letters were treasure to me.”

As soon as her words had escaped her lips, he rose up, his mouth eagerly capturing hers once again. The intensity of his kiss sent a wave of warm shivers down her spine, and she could feel herself getting lost in his affections. It was as if time stood still, and all that mattered was the feel of him, the strength that hummed just below her fingertips.

“I love you,” he murmured against her mouth, his arms tightening around her as though he could pull them together until they became one. “Maker’s Breath, I love you so much I thought your absence was going to drive me to insanity. I cannot tell you the number of times I was distracted daily by the memory of you, by wondering how you were, what you were doing, wishing you were back in my arms.”

“I was much the same, though I do not have the eloquence to put it into words like you do.” Her breath wheezed in her chest, strained from her exertion, even though she wanted nothing more than to melt into him once more, her lungs would not allow it.

He leaned back, his brow furrowed, his gaze flickering to her chest with concern. “You should rest,” he repeated. “We won’t be stopping tonight, or tomorrow night.”

Gwen frowned, looking out the window to where the sounds of his guards' horses clopping along the dirt road trickled in. “What about your men? And don’t we have to eat?”

“We’ll make small stops, but I want you back at the castle as soon as possible. And my men will be fine, I’ll double their wages as a thank you for their efforts.”

“Alistair—“ Gwen started, her tone warning of an admonishment coming his way.

He didn't allow her to finish, interrupting her with a quick kiss. The warmth of his lips lingered on hers, leaving her momentarily breathless - as was likely his plan. “You’re right, that’s not enough, how about I triple their wages?”

“Alistair—“

“Of course, that’s still not enough, I’ll quadruple them then.”

“Alistair—“

She was beginning to think he’d forgotten his name. “You drive a hard bargain, Gwen. Five times their wages it is.”

Her thin fingers gripped his cheeks firmly, pressing into the soft flesh as she tried to squish them together to make him stop. Her eyes narrowed in frustration and her voice rose in pitch as she scolded him, "Alistair!" But he only grinned boyishly back at her, his dimples deepening with amusement. She let out a sharp exhale through her nose, trying to contain her irritation. “Do not force them to do this on my account. Getting to Denerim sooner will not delay the inevitable.”

“We still disagree on the definition of inevitable then.”

“Alistair—“

“You keep saying my name, but it will not change my mind.” His smile softened and she felt her resolve - and her knees - weaken. “Please do not begrudge me the chance to do everything in my power to ensure you survive. What is the point of being king if I cannot keep the woman I love alive?”

She leaned in, her lips brushing feather-light against his forehead. The tension that he carried started to ease under her touch, his muscles relaxing and a small sigh escaping from his lips. “I do not wish for you to be even more upset when it doesn’t work.”

Tucking his face against the crook of her neck, his breath cascaded over her skin, bringing goosebumps to the surface of her flesh. “I have to try, Gwen,” he spoke so quietly she almost couldn’t hear him, “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.”

She supposed she could begrudge him this, at least. “I… will stop fighting you on it. For now.”

“Good.” He grinned triumphantly against her shoulder. “And is that my entire allocation for your compliance or will you indulge me further and rest for a while? Unless you want me to start reciting the history of Ferelden’s most boring treaties to put you to sleep.”

“How could I possibly deny such a polite request?”

As he moved to sit beside her, his arm wrapping around her, she snuggled in even closer, basking in the warmth of his body against hers. With each breath, she felt herself sinking deeper into a peaceful slumber, a state of rest unlike any she had experienced in years. The gentle brush of his cheek against the top of her head filled her with an overwhelming sense of comfort and security, like being wrapped up in a plush, downy blanket on a cold winter night. A contented sigh escaped her lips as she surrendered herself completely to the soothing embrace of sleep. The outside world faded away as she drifted into a deep, dreamless slumber, held safely in his arms.

The cacophony of the city flooded in through the carriage windows, along with the heavy stench of bodies crammed into unforgiving cobblestone streets. Her muscles ached, protesting from hours of immobility. She had briefly woken up during a previous stop to relieve her bladder and hastily eat some food, ensuring that she pressed a hand to her open cheek to keep the food from falling out. She didn’t mind if it was just her, but she was reticent to give Alistair another reason to pity her, or be disgusted.

She’d promptly fallen back asleep again, Alistair's arms encircling her brought a sense of peace she had almost forgotten after their time apart. She paid no mind to the curious glances of his men; comfort was what she craved, and what was the point of facing death if she couldn't indulge herself a little? The constant movement of the carriage and the rhythmic sound of horse hooves created a lulling sensation, like being rocked to sleep by a gentle ocean wave.

Yet even she couldn’t sleep through the sounds of Denerim. The chaotic sounds of the streets and the chatter of its inhabitants filled her ears, reminding her of the last time she had been here. Alistair’s coronation, the day she’d abandoned him and broken his heart.

Her mind was haunted by memories of regrets and missed opportunities. While they ate at her like a swarm of persistent leeches that refused to let go, being with him again seemed to quiet the sting.

“You’re awake.” His warm smile lit up his face as he gazed down at her, his fingers caressing her smooth head. She wondered for the millionth time what she’d ever done to deserve that look. “I was beginning to worry you would never wake up.” Though he tried to sound lighthearted, the undercurrent of worry was hard to miss.

Gwen grumbled incoherently, her muffled words lost in the fabric of his pants. She buried her face back into his lap, the heat radiating from his body enveloping her. She could feel the rumble of his laugh vibrating through him, a warm and comforting sensation that spread throughout her own body.

“Now, now, there will be plenty of time for sleeping once we get you settled in my rooms.”

She unburied her face, squinting up at him. “Is it not improper for me to stay in your rooms?”

His lopsided grin returned. “It is good to give the courtiers something to gossip about, saves them from looking into things I’d rather they not know.”

“Like what?” She couldn’t deny she was curious about what kind of secrets the King of Ferelden was keeping.

He brushed the backs of his fingers across her forehead and her eyes fluttered shut. “I may have some skeletons hidden in my closet. Do you plan on snitching, my love?”

“On you, Your Majesty? I wouldn’t dare.” Removing his warm hand from her forehead, she brought it to her lips and planted a delicate kiss, savouring the way his pupils dilated ever so slightly and a faint pink hue spread across his cheeks.

“You don’t need to call me that.”

Gwen huffed, rolling her eyes. “You like it.” She moved her grip to his forearm. “Now help me sit up, Your Majesty.”

Alistair chuckled, playfully pinching her hip and causing her to let out an undignified squeak. "Cheeky," he scolded with a teasing glint in his eye. Despite his words, he couldn't resist granting her request, his handsome features lighting up with a charming smile.

With a final creak and jostle, the carriage came to a halt in front of a discreet entrance, reserved for the King's private use. No doubt it was meant to spare him from the prying eyes and whispers of his loyal subjects. And for that, she was grateful. The last thing she wanted was to be paraded around the square as the King's new - or according to some, long-lost - monstrous love. She couldn't bear the thought of Alistair being subjected to such negative attention simply because he had taken her in and, for reasons unknown to her, still loved her. The heavy scent of roses and incense filled her nose as she stepped out onto the plush red carpet leading to the door, reminding her of the opulence and grandeur within these walls.

It was so unfitting for someone like her, but she was given little time to dwell on this as the castle doors swung open with a creak, the sound echoing through the grand entrance hall. His men stood at attention, their swords glinting in the dim light as they ushered them inside. She kept her bandana and hood securely in place, always wary of prying eyes.

Alistair looped his arm under hers for support, his secretive smiles aimed to calm her nerves. The stone arches towered above them, reaching towards the vaulted ceiling adorned with intricate carvings and paintings. In the back halls, where fewer visitors roamed, the decorations were less ostentatious, but still held an air of elegance and wealth. She was like a fish out of water, though she’d never seen a fish with a cane before.

The grand double doors, adorned with intricate carvings and polished to a shine, towered above them as they arrived at the King's bedroom. The imposing presence of the guards, standing stoic and tall on either side of the entrance, added to the air of reverence and importance. As Alistair approached, one of the guards saluted him with a crisp nod, their armour clinking softly in the quiet hallway. The guards opened the door, and Gwen made sure to keep her head bowed. Alistair led her forward as they entered the threshold of the room and with a sense of finality, the doors were swiftly closed behind them.

Gwen held back a gasp as she took in the lavish surroundings of Alistair's private chambers. The room was bathed in the warm glow of the evening sun streaming in through the open balcony doors. Gossamer curtains billowed lightly in the breeze, framing a stunning view of the palace gardens and castle grounds beyond.

In the center of the room stood a magnificent four-poster bed, draped in luxurious linens and piled high with plush pillows. To the right was an ornately carved wardrobe and dressing screen. On the left, a small sitting area with two cushioned chairs and a low table.

But it was the far side of the room that drew Gwen's attention. There, steam rose invitingly from a large copper tub set into an alcove, a lone wooden chair placed beside it. The bath water gave off the sweet scent of embrium and prophet's laurel. Food had been laid out on the table beside it - freshly baked bread, cheese, fruit and wine.

After the cramped confines of the carriage, the large space felt almost overwhelming. Gwen moved cautiously into the room, gripping her cane tightly and keeping her head lowered.

“Welcome to my humble accommodations. May I take your bags and offer you some refreshments?” Alistair’s lips turned up at the corners and he gestured towards the table.

“You already had my bags brought up.” She pointed out, a wry tone to her voice. Her small pack sat next to the entry, drab and sad-looking amidst all the finery.

He puffed out his chest, leading her over to the cushioned seats. “I was thinking ahead, wasn’t I?”

Gwen smiled softly, her movements slow and deliberate as she lowered herself onto the seat. She pulled down her bandana, her tired body begging for a moment of rest. A stubborn wheeze squeezes her lungs, causing a concerned frown to crease Alistair's face. It grated up her throat, a harsh sound that echoed in the stillness of the room. Gwen closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing the tightness in her chest to ease.

Kneeling down in front of her, he placed his hands on her sharp hips, careful as though he feared her would break her if he used even the slightest bit of pressure. His eyes sparkled with awe, as if he were seeing her for the first time all over again, as if he were shocked that this was real. It was a moment that felt both familiar and new, like a gentle breeze on a warm summer day.

“I’m not going to disappear if you need to go attend to your Kingly duties.” She cleared her throat. That damned wheeze wouldn’t leave, and it was beginning to truly irritate her.

“Trying to get rid of me so soon, my dear?”

With a gentle touch, he lifted her hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. A hint of nervousness laced his voice, betraying the fear that she might actually want to be away from him.

Resting her forehead against his, she breathed in his scent, leather, pine, and the grim from travel. “If it were up to me I would never let you out of my sight again,” a relieved smile broke out across his lips, “but I am not naive enough to believe that your work can simply stop because I am here.”

“What is the point of having subordinates if they cannot lead in my stead?”

“Surely they cannot do everything required of a King.”

“But they can do most, and when they cannot they know where to find me.” He cupped her ruined cheek in his hand. “I wish to be here, with you, for as long as you’ll have me, Gwen. I refuse to let this Kingdom keep us apart any longer than it already has. If these are to be your last…” He bit his lip, exhaling a forceful breath through his nostrils. “I want to be here with you, I want to love you. That is my choice.”

“I… want that too.”

He smiled, pulling back, and Gwen had to force herself to stay put, lest she launch herself off the chair after him.

“Do you wish to bathe? I thought it may help with the pain.” He inclined his head toward the steaming tub.

She hadn’t washed since she’d left Haven, she had no doubt she could use one. “Are you saying I smell?”

“Like delicate roses, Dear.” He leaned back in to place a sloppy, wet kiss on her cheek, his scruffy goatee tickling her skin and pulling raspy giggles from her lips.

“Alright, alright,” she playfully scolded, slapping at his arm to get him to stop smothering her. With a lopsided grin, he relented and held out his hand to help her stand. She gratefully accepted, feeling the ache and stiffness in her legs from the cramped carriage ride.

He hovered as they reached the tub, letting her sit on the chair, shifting his weight from side to side as he looked between her and the door, a silent question in his stance.

Gwen looked down at her clothed body, one part of her didn’t want him to see her current state, afraid of his reaction to her broken form. Yet another part of her wanted him to stay, wanted him to look at her and love her anyway. She wanted him to touch her like how he used to, to try to pretend like the years hadn’t gotten between them. And with the way her eyelids were feeling heavy, she was mildly concerned that she’d fall asleep and drown in the bath, and she was sure he’d never forgive himself if that happened on his watch.

“Would you like to stay?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper, a blush on her cheeks.

Eyes darting up to meet hers, his lips parted and he took a small step toward her, his boots knocking against hers. “Do you wish me to stay? If you would rather privacy I understand, I only—“

“I would not ask if I did not want it,” she interrupted what was sure to be a slew of nervous word vomit.

His kind, brown eyes softened and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He reached out and gently took her hand in his, causing her heart to squeeze. “Then I will stay.” She nervously tugged at her sleeves. The stumps on her hand and the burned-away skin of her cheek were not the only scars that had been left.

As if sensing the direction her thoughts were headed, he pushed back her hood, a shiver running down her spine as the cool air hit her scalp. “Surely the most exquisite woman in the world isn’t getting shy on me now.”

Gwen snorted, he was much too kind. “It isn’t just my face and hand that have changed, Alistair. I know it will upset you.”

He pursed his lips to stop his immediate protest. “Perhaps,” he admitted, “but only because I know you’ve been in pain, and that is the last thing I’ve ever wanted for you. It has nothing to do with whatever self-deprecating idea I’m sure you’ve cooked up in that miserable brain of yours.”

Gwen hesitated, her fingers resting on the clasp of her cloak. She had dreamed of this moment for so long, aching for Alistair's touch, his love. But now that it was here, the gnarled scars and pockmarked skin hidden beneath her clothes filled her with shame.

Slowly, she unfastened the clasp and let her cloak fall to the floor. Her fingers shook as she grasped the hem of her tunic, pausing as doubt and fear flooded her mind. What if the sight of her repulsed him? What if this was all some cruel joke or misguided pity?

Either way, Gwen had asked him to stay, and she wouldn't back out now. She raised her arms to remove her tunic, but a sharp wave of pain shot through her shoulders, halting her in her movement. The simple act of undressing was almost more than she could bear. Alistair stood, bending forward so his hands hovered near hers.

"May I?" he asked softly with nothing but worry. At her tiny nod, he gingerly grasped the fabric and lifted it. Gwen squeezed her eyes shut, unable to watch his reaction as her new, angry, red scars became visible. Lash wounds and burns always took a long time to heal.

The soft fabric of the shirt slid up Gwen's torso, catching briefly on her chin before coming free. The chilly air caused goosebumps to erupt all over her exposed skin. Alistair stood in front of her, his breath slow and measured, but he said nothing. Gwen forced herself to open her eyes, bracing for disgust or disappointment in Alistair's expression. But instead, she saw a deep and unwavering love that tugged at her heartstrings. He moved closer, slowly helping her ease her sore arms out of her sleeves.

A familiar weight settled against her chest as she sat back against the chair. The wolf tooth necklace, hidden beneath her shirt, seemed to thrum to life, a reminder of her past, of a promise made long ago.

The leather strap had weathered time and trauma, frayed but unbroken, just like her. She had never taken it off, even during the darkest moments when pain consumed her and fear threatened to swallow her whole. Bounding memories rushed back - the dread of the cold dungeon, the sting of her punishments. But the necklace had never faltered, unwavering, a silent guardian against the torrent of darkness and pain.

“Did you really keep it?” Alistair’s voice wavered, eyes wide with unmasked affection.

Gwen's lips trembled as she nodded, her pulse racing. “I never took it off. It’s… it’s all I had left of you, other than the letters.”

His fingers brushed lightly over her shoulders, causing Gwen to flinch involuntarily. She hadn’t been unprepared for his touch against her bare skin after so long.

"I'm sorry," Alistair said, pulling back. "Tell me how to help."

Haltingly, Gwen instructed him to undo the laces of her breeches while she held onto the back of the chair for support. She felt the ties loosen and the trousers slide down her hips. Alistair's touch was gentle but distant, careful not to make contact with her marred skin. At her knees, Gwen sat back down, allowing Alistair to tug the trousers the rest of the way off.

She sat, clad only in her smalls and breastband, painfully aware of how little remained of her former strength. She kept her gaze lowered, unable to meet Alistair's eyes as he took in the extent of her disfigurement. Though she had steeled herself for this moment, his silence was almost worse than any reaction. She could feel his eyes tracing over the mess of scars, from the angry gashes across her collarbone to the ropey burns wrapping around her thighs. Not only had she gained more scars, but her dangerously thin frame did her little favours. Her skin stuck to her protruding ribs and hips, the bones of her shoulders sharp enough to injure. Her breasts were all but deflated, and she didn’t even have any hair to hide behind. The urge to flee was overwhelming, but she forced herself to remain still, allowing him to see what had become of her.

She flinched again when his fingers grazed her arm, the lightness of his touch at odds with the revulsion she had anticipated. Alistair let out a slow breath and she chanced a glance at his face. His eyes were heavy with sorrow, but not pity. With excruciating care, he took her maimed hand in his, his thumb brushing over the stumps where her fingers had once been.

Gwen could see the storm of conflicting emotions crossing Alistair's face as he struggled with the desire to comfort her and the fear of causing more pain. He was holding back questions, biting his tongue to keep from demanding answers about who had done this to her. Alistair had always worn his heart on his sleeve, unable to mask the anguish her battered body elicited. But she also saw the restraint borne of respect for her wishes and just how difficult this was for him; to see the woman he cherished so defiled and violated, stripped of the vibrancy and strength he had always admired. His hand tightened almost imperceptibly around hers, a silent promise that he was there, that despite everything, she was still his Gwen.

She reached up slowly, allowing her skeletal fingers to graze the stubble on his jaw. He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes to savour the feeling. They stayed that way for some time, drawing comfort from the simple connection of skin against skin. No confessions were needed in the stillness.

Yet, the taint never ceased its haunting of her body. The exertion was more than she’d anticipated, the wheeze building back in her lungs. Apparently, two full days of sleeping wasn’t enough. It hadn’t been that long ago that she would have been able to stay awake for that entire time and still have had enough energy to fight a swarm of Darkspawn. Now she couldn’t even remove her clothes without feeling like she’d run a few miles at top speed.

His hand gripped her shoulder to balance her and she startled, not having realized she’d started to tip to the side. Her eyes flickered up to meet Alistair’s, his forehead pinched.

“Are you sure you’re up to this? The bath isn’t likely to grow feet and run away should you wish to revisit it later.”

She scowled at him, though it was undercut by her sudden gasp for air as her lungs seized. Maker, was it really so difficult to do something as simple as removing her clothing? She’d gotten so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed her body failing.

“Can you try to breathe a little slower and deeper? Just for me.” His concern only amplified when she was unable to get control of herself, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.

Even though her lungs refused to cooperate, she couldn’t pass up such a perfect opportunity. “I thought you… liked it when I… breathed fast for you.”

Despite the situation - Gwen naked, dying, and unable to catch her breath - he couldn’t help the little burst of laughter that erupted from his mouth. He shook his head with a look that read somewhat like fondness, but mostly worry. “You’re impossible. I’m trying to be serious here.”

“I know, and it is strange.” Finally, her breathing started to even out, and though the wheeze was still present, she no longer felt like it took all her energy just to get her lungs to obey her.

He rolled his eyes, “I am capable when the situation demands it.”

“I know.” A pause, and she looked down at her almost nude body, only her smalls and breastband remaining. “I… think I will need your help for the rest.”

Gwen felt a flush of embarrassment creep up her neck as she made the request. Even after all these years, allowing herself to be vulnerable did not come easily.

Alistair nodded, the lines of his face softening. "Of course, whatever you need."

Moving behind her, he unfastened her breastband and let it fall away. Gwen shivered as the cool air hit her bare skin once more, though once she’d started, she found it difficult to stop. She felt horribly exposed, even in front of the man who had once known her body so intimately.

“You’re shaking,” he remarked as though she wasn’t supposed to do such a thing.

“I am naked and it is cold,” she bit back, lacking in any actual irritation.

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he swallowed whatever witty retort he had prepared. Instead, he reached for the pile of thick towers, wrapping the soft fabric around her shoulders, and cocooning her in warmth. She hadn’t realized how cold she’d gotten, too distracted by his nearness, by her yearning for him to touch her like he used to. But he wouldn’t, not when she kept flinching away.

He returned to kneel in front of her and slowly rolled her small clothes down her legs, keeping his movements clinical, his touch light. When she was fully nude, he rose and met her eyes, his crow's feet accentuated by his small smile.

“Will you help me in?” she asked.

“It would be my honour,” he said with a flourishing bow that had her considering launching herself into the tub on her own out of spite. To avoid giving him a heart attack, she managed some restraint.

"I'm going to lift you now, all right?"

Gwen gave a tentative nod, not trusting her voice. Reluctantly, She peeled away the fluffy towel, bracing herself for the sudden blast of cold air that hit her body. She felt weak and vulnerable, but she trusted Alistair to support her. He rolled up his sleeves and gently scooped her up in his arms, his muscular frame easily bearing her weight as he cradled her under her shoulders and knees.

Lowering her into the hot water, Alistair kept one hand behind her head as a pillow until she was settled. Gwen sighed, the heat already loosening her aching joints.

"Better?" Alistair asked quietly, brushing a hand across her scalp, almost instinctual in his movements.

She nodded, not yet ready to speak. The bath enveloped her in comfort, washing away some of the shame she'd felt at her weakness. Alistair's steadfast care and lack of judgement gave her the space to simply be.

She leaned back against the porcelain tub, her neck resting against the cold edge. The water felt wonderful against her worn skin, cleaning away the dirt she’d accumulated over the past week. The weight off her weary bones was blissful and she briefly wondered if Wynne had ever enjoyed baths for that reason. Her heart panged at the reminder of her friend, gone, and so too would Gwen meet the same fate. Did Alistair know? Would the news have reached him of the mage that sacrificed herself for her son? Should she even tell him? She would consider this further at a later time, when his hand wasn’t tracing patterns along the back of her neck as he tried to memorize every inch of her body.

“I won’t melt away if that’s what you’re worried about.” She rolled her head to the side and he smiled with a tired sadness she didn’t know he possessed.

Lifting her chin, he pressed his lips against hers, slowly, as if they had all the time in the world. She closed her eyes and let herself be enveloped by his touch, feeling a warmth and security that had been missing for far too long.

A part of her still couldn't believe this was real, that after ten long years and so much distance between them, Alistair was here, holding her, kissing her with such devotion. She had spent countless nights dreaming of this moment, only to wake with tears in her eyes, the cold sting of reality setting in. But now he was really here, and she could kiss him until she died if she wanted.

Gwen sighed against his mouth, her body relaxing fully for the first time in ages. Alistair's lips were so gentle, not demanding anything from her that she wasn't ready to give. When he finally pulled back, her eyes remained closed, savouring the sweetness of the moment.

"I've missed that," she murmured.

Alistair exhaled a quiet laugh. “Me too. And there is plenty more where that came from.”

Gwen smiled at him, forgetting the way it called attention to her gaping cheek. “I would like that.”

He sat back on the chair, his hand dropping to loosely hold the edge of the tub. “Are you alright to wash yourself? Or would you like me to help you?”

Gwen's cheeks flushed at Alistair's offer, a swell of vulnerability and longing rising within her even as her instinct was to shy away. She lowered her head, staring at the ripples in the bathwater as she considered his words. A part of her yearned to accept, but the other was reticent to let him touch the ropey, raised scars - it felt dangerous somehow, as if it gave him power over the last shreds of dignity she still clung to.

"I can do it," she mumbled, ducking her head further until her chin nearly touched her chest.

Silence hung between them for a long moment, broken only by the occasional gust of wind outside rattling the glass balcony doors. When Alistair spoke again, his voice was low, almost careful. "I can leave you to it, if that's what you'd prefer."

Panic swelled in Gwen's chest, hadn’t she already told him she wanted him to stay? The thought of him leaving now, of losing this moment between them, made her fists clench tight to her chest.

"No, don't…" she blurted out hastily, her eyes flickering up to meet his. She took a shaky breath, heat creeping across her cheeks. "I mean, if you want to help me wash, I...I'd like that."

A wide smile crossed Alistair's face. "I wasn’t really going to leave you,” he confessed, “I’d much rather stay with you, if that’s what you want.”

With a look of mock outrage, she splashed water at him, a light sprinkle falling on his pants.

“Hey!” he protested with a scowl that was much too pouty to be intimidating. “Stop that! I’m only trying to be a gentleman.”

“Mhm, yes, of course,” Gwen drawled, a lazy grin on her face.

With a light splash in return that had her ducking out of the way, he asked, “Would you truly like me to wash you?” Gwen heard the slight tremor in his voice, realizing the weight of helplessness he carried. He wanted to do something for her, to help in some way, when what he wanted most was out of reach.

Gwen brought her hands up to cover her face, a vain attempt to hide her embarrassment, Alistair’s little chuckle doing nothing to help. “Must I say it again? Yes, Alistair, please touch me.”

Inhaling sharply, so quiet she almost missed it, he began to go through the small pile of fancy soaps and oils befitting his title. When she dropped her hands, she caught him eyeing a cloth that lay to the side with a considering look.

“You may use your hands if you would prefer.” She smirked as a deep blush spread from his cheeks down toward his chest, embarrassed at having been caught. Yes, that was the bashful Alistair she remembered, the one who had let her into his bed for the first time. Had he been with any women since her? Likely, though the jealous twisting in her gut had her quickly thinking more pleasant thoughts - she had no right to be jealous, it was what she had wanted, after all.

Gwen sunk low in the bathwater, letting the heat seep into her aching muscles as it reached the bridge of her nose. She watched Alistair through half-lidded eyes as he selected continued perusing the soaps. Despite her teasing, she couldn't suppress a nervous flutter in her chest when he turned back to her.

"Is it wrong that while I'm trying to be helpful, all I can think about is how I wish I could brush my fingers across your skin without hesitation?"

Breathing in water was never a pleasant experience. Unfortunately for Gwen, she’d forgotten that she’d sunk into the tub, and she quickly inhaled the offending liquid as Alistair’s comment caught her off guard. Spluttering and coughing - blessedly no blood that time - she sat forward, his large hand rubbing soothing circles into her back, fingers catching against her bony spine. She fixed him with a stony glare, only to be met with his lopsided grin that had her heart fluttering once more.

He leaned closer, a hand caressing the scarred side of her face. “Did no one tell you water wasn’t breathable?”

“Smartass.” She splashed him again and he laughed, raising his arms to shield himself with little success.

He held up a bar of sweet-smelling soap in his hand. “How about I offer a truce?”

She scoffed, sitting back in the tub, coughing a few more times to clear her wheezy lungs. One thing about inhaling water was it tended to wake one up, no matter how sleepy one may get. “Penance is more like it.”

“Yes, my lady,” he said with a sultry look that had her toes curling and a heat building in her core.

He started at her head, though there was no hair to wash, he took his time, his fingers massaging her scalp. The sensation was soothing, comforting in a way she had not felt in years. Though her hair was gone, Alistair's touch made her feel just a little more whole. Closing her eyes, she leaned into his touch, her shoulders slowly releasing their tension, the wheeze beginning to subside.

“You cut your hair,” he whispered, an unspoken question, a nervousness to have it answered.

“It fell out.” She provided the answer he didn’t want to hear.

He winced. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Don’t be, it’s not so bad, at least it doesn’t get tangled anymore.” Her weak attempt at humour had a small smile playing across his lips and she counted that as a success.

"You know, the bald look really suits you," Alistair said, a playful lilt to his voice.

Gwen's eyes snapped open, and she turned her head to give him a piercing glare that could have cut through steel.

“I know that sounded insincere, but I mean it, Gwen. You have a very shapely head.” Upon her outraged splash in his direction, he was quick to correct himself. “I did promise to yell of your beauty from the castle tops, would you like me to do this right now?”

Gwen narrowed her eyes at Alistair, though there was no real malice behind the gesture. Despite herself, the corner of her intact lip twitched upwards ever so slightly.

"You've never been very good at accepting a compliment," Alistair said, with a wistful tone. "I'd forgotten that."

At that, Gwen ducked her face into the water, blowing bubbles beneath the surface as she tried to hide the blush creeping across her scarred cheeks. She pulled her legs up to her chest, peeking over her knees at Alistair with one eye half-closed.

He shook his head, still smiling. "Now what are you doing? Are you trying to hide from me?"

Gwen narrowed her eyes further in response. Alistair chuckled softly. “You look like a little kitten when you do that. It’s not very threatening, you know.” Reaching into the water, he flicked water toward her.

Gwen scooted to the other side of the tub, swallowing the hiss of displeasure, unwilling to give more ammunition to his comparison. “A kitten?” she asked, her voice pitched too high to be anything but incredulous.

Grinning at her, he confirmed, “A kitten, all puffed up and grumpy. Like a tiny angry kitten whose been dropped in a puddle. It's adorable.”

That was a new one. Adorable… Had he lost his mind under the pressures of the crown?

“And what does that make you?” she shot back, eager to see what he would come up with.

He puffed his chest, straightening his spine. “A buff and very handsome puppy.”

Gwen blinked slowly as she processed what Alistair had said, his silly puffed-up posture and earnest grin melting her indignation. A chuckle bubbled up in her throat, growing into full-bellied laughter that made her lean forward, one hand braced on the edge of the tub.

"I'm being serious here!" Alistair protested, though his own smile widened. "Why are you laughing at me?"

As Gwen opened her mouth to speak, her laughter became short-lived as another violent coughing fit tore through her body. She hunched over as she coughed harshly into the crook of her arm, clutching at her ribs as each cough reverberated through them. Black, viscous blood splattered onto her already pale skin, staining it with its dark and ominous hue. It dripped down her arm and mingled with the warm bathwater, creating an eerie contrast of colours.

Alistair leapt to his feet, but Gwen held up a hand to stop him, not wanting him to see the black ichor staining her lips. She turned away, body wracked by another series of hacking coughs that splattered more dark blood into the murky water.

The fit seemed to go on forever, Gwen's thin frame shuddering with the force of each rasping cough. When it finally subsided, leaving her gasping for breath, a coppery tang coated her mouth - one she was much too familiar with as of late. Moving slowly, she cupped water in her hands and splashed it over her face, washing away the blood before Alistair could see - though she could not erase the inky drops that sunk into the water.

Exhaustion swept over her as she slumped back in the tub. The warmth of the bath did little to ease the bone-deep chill that seemed to emanate from within. She could feel Alistair's worried gaze on her back but could not bring herself to face him. Not now, when the evidence of her sickness was still so fresh. So she simply sat, eyes closed, focusing on each laboured breath.

“Gwen…” The sound of the creaking chair alerted her that he had sat down again. “What… can I do anything to help?”

She shook her head slightly, not trusting herself to speak without coughing again. After a few moments, she took a deep breath and finally opened her eyes to meet his concerned gaze. It made her heart ache; he carried her burdens as if they were his own.

"I'm fine," she lied again, trying to sound convincing. She was far from fine – the coughing fits seemed to be getting worse with each passing day, and she knew it was only a matter of time before they became truly debilitating.

Alistair hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. His instinct was to comfort her, to envelop her in his arms and assure her that everything would be alright. But the wary tension in her slender body gave him pause.

Instead, he reached for the bar of soap resting on the tub's edge. "Well, if you're fine, then I suppose you won't mind if I help you wash now? Can't have you getting chilled."

Gwen eyed the angle of the tub and Alistair in his seat. It would be uncomfortable for him to bend over to reach her. Surely there had to be a better way.

Alistair seemed to sense her hesitation and an awkward silence fell between them as he hovered uncertainly beside the tub, the soap still clutched in his hand. Gwen studied the ripples in the bathwater, unsure of what to say or do next. She could feel Alistair's eyes on her, taking in her hunched shoulders.

After a long moment, she shyly lifted her gaze to meet his.

"You know," she began slowly, "it might be easier if you… join me."

Alistair's eyes widened, his lips parting. "Join you? In there?"

“Where else?” She held her breath as Alistair considered her invitation, a myriad of emotions playing across his face - surprise, hesitation, longing. After what felt like an eternity, a smile spread across his features.

"Well, I suppose that would make things easier," he said, a hint of wonder in his voice, as if he could scarcely believe this was really happening.

Gwen released the breath she'd been holding in a small sigh of relief. She wasn’t sure why she had been so afraid he would say no, or even what that would mean. He had shown her time and time again that he still loved her, still wanted her, and yet…

Without hesitation, Alistair began eagerly unlacing his boots, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to accept her unexpected offer. Once the boots were kicked off, a mischievous sparkle glinted in his eyes - the only warning she received before Alistair practically leapt into the bath, clothes and all. Gwen let out a small shriek of surprise as he landed on his hands and knees between her legs, sending water sloshing over the sides.

"Alistair!" she exclaimed, though she could not contain the bubble of laughter that escaped her at the absurdity of the fully clothed king kneeling in the bath before her.

Alistair looked up at her sheepishly, his soaked tunic and breeches clinging to his muscular frame. "What? You said to join you," he replied with a crooked grin.

Gwen rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched with suppressed amusement. "I didn't mean fully dressed, you ridiculous man."

"Oh. Right." A faint blush coloured Alistair's cheeks as he realized his mistake. Still, he made no move to exit the bath or remedy his sodden attire. “It’s a good thing that you like me anyway, isn’t it?”

His hands were dangerously close to the apex of her thighs, but she made no move to acknowledge it. “I like you because of your ridiculousness, not despite it. But wasn’t the whole point of getting in the bath to make it easier to reach me? I fail to see how this is any better.”

Gwen smiled despite herself as Alistair grinned at her, his damp hair falling endearingly across his forehead. Without warning, he reached out and grabbed her around the waist. Before she could react, he had sat back on his ankles and pulled her into his lap, her body flush against his, her legs straddling either side of his hips.

Gwen gasped, instinctively clutching at his broad shoulders for balance. She felt the hard planes of his chest pressed against her, the heat of his skin seeping through his soaked linen shirt. Alistair leaned in close, his eyes warm and dancing with mirth.

"Like this," he murmured, and captured her lips in a searing kiss. Gwen sighed against his mouth, melting into his embrace. His hands slid up her back, pressing her even closer until no space remained between them. She twined her fingers through his damp locks, anchoring herself as sensations threatened to overwhelm her.

For a blissful moment, it was just the two of them, cocooned in their own private world. No death, no duty, no expectations - just this achingly intense connection that defied reason and circumstance.

When they finally broke for air, Gwen rested her forehead against Alistair's, struggling to catch her breath. His fingers brushed against her flushed cheek, the corners of his lips twitching into a tender smile.

“I can’t believe you jumped in fully clothed,” Gwen said, antsy to break the quiet that had descended upon them.

His smile turned sheepish and the flush on his cheeks deepened, spreading to the tips of his ears. “I was too impatient, I guess. You’re here, in my bathtub… and you’re naked. It was all very overwhelming.”

Gwen placed a light kiss on his heated cheeks. “I suppose I cannot fault you for that. Though I did mean for you to remove them, your shirt at least.”

Sliding his hands down her back, Gwen's breath hitched at the hungry look in his eyes as he gazed up at her.

"Well, I suppose you'll just have to help me out of these wet things then…"

It was Gwen’s turn to blush, but she refused to look away. Her fingers trailed down his chest, finding the hem of his shirt. Though they both knew she didn’t have to strength to lift the sodden fabric from his torso, she enjoyed the way his body reacted to her hands finding their way to the bare skin of his stomach. Even then, her breathing was laboured and she had to ignore the pinch of concern between Alistair’s brows, his arms wrapped around her for support.

Leaning in close, his breath tickled her ear as he whispered, “Can you hold onto the tub while I remove it?”

Pulling back, she nodded, her eyes fixed on him as he spoke. With a confident grin, he motioned for her to follow his instructions. In one fluid motion, he reached for the hem of his shirt and quickly pulled it up over his head, revealing a toned and glistening torso - though he now had the comfort of a reliable source of food and days spent without fighting for his life to soften the edges. He tossed the garment aside and it landed on the ground with a wet smack.

The adrenaline from his sudden entry into the tub was beginning to wane, and Gwen quickly sagged against him, wheezing as she rested her head against his shoulder. His hands returned to her back once more, his touch ghosting over her multitude of scars - some new and some old.

A small cough made its way up her throat, and she was able to bring her hand up to cover her mouth in time. She felt Alistair flinch as her body spasmed, a large clot landing in her palm. Before Alistair could try to pull back and see what she’d coughed up, she dropped her hand, letting the water wash the blood away, her head lolling against his shoulder as the remnants of her strength finally left her. Gwen could feel the tension radiating from him, as if her pain inflicted wounds on his own heart, carving deeper lines into the already furrowed canvas of his brow.

“I’m sorry…” she rasped, as Alistair’s arms tightened around her. “I don’t want to distress you.”

“No, no—” he said with an urgent tremor in his voice. “You don’t- don’t you dare apologize. It’s just-” he pressed his face to the side of her head, inhaling shakily. “I don’t want to let you go.”

Gwen was silent as she let his words wash over her, the ever-present guilt rolling in her gut. “I’m sorry for that too.”

“Please,” he whispered in a half-plea, “no more apologies. Just… let me hold you for a little while.”

Gwen turned her head to rest her face in the crook of his neck. “As long as you want.”

Gwen closed her eyes as Alistair reached for the bar of soap, his hands beginning to gently wash over her scarred skin. She tensed instinctively at his touch, the intimacy almost too much to bear after so long apart. But as his fingers trailed over her, smoothing away the grime, she allowed herself to slowly relax against him.

His hands were so tender, so reverent, gliding over her as if she were made of the most fragile glass. She could feel his breath catch when he reached a particularly gruesome scar, could sense his barely restrained fury at what had been done to her. But he did not allow that anger to manifest, focusing only on caring for her.

Gwen found herself overwhelmed, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She had never dreamed they could have this again - this closeness, this understanding. The comfort of his body against hers, his hands exploring her body… it was almost too much.

And yet… she was shocked to realize she was ready. Ready to open up, to let him back in. She needed to tell him of what happened during those long, dark years apart. The torture she had endured, the unimaginable pain, the scars left behind.

Not all at once, but gradually, as she was able. She needed him to know.

For now, she would simply let herself be held, let herself feel cherished and safe for the first time in forever. The rest could come later. For now, this was enough.

The warm water had begun to cool, raising goosebumps on Gwen's pale skin. She had lost track of how long they had been sitting there, Alistair's strong arms wrapped tightly around her.

"I think it's time we got out before you catch a chill," Alistair suggested. She nodded her assent and carefully, he slid his arms under her frail body, lifting her from the tub as if she weighed nothing.

Gwen sighed, too weary to feel any embarrassment at her nakedness - no longer hidden beneath the water. Though he did not waste any time in placing her on the chair beside the tub, and swiftly wrapped her in fuzzy, large towels, his hands rubbing up and down her arms pushing heat back into her limbs.

Her sunken gaze drifted over Alistair's bare torso, droplets of water clinging to the muscles beneath his damp breeches. A hint of admiration and longing sparked in her tired eyes.

Noticing her stare, a corner of Alistair's mouth quirked up. "See something you like?" he teased gently.

A faint blush coloured Gwen's hollow cheeks. Even now, after everything, he could make her feel like a bashful maiden again. She smiled softly. "Perhaps I do. But maybe you should put on some dry clothes before you catch cold yourself."

Alistair chuckled, leaning down to plant a light kiss on her forehead. "As my lady commands." Straightening, he gave an exaggerated bow before moving to find a towel of his own. Gwen's heart swelled with affection as she snuggled into the towels, feeling her eyelids start to droop. Exhaustion was quickly setting in, the warmth from the bathwater still clinging to her skin made her feel almost feverish, and she found it hard to keep her head upright.

Alistair - noticing her fading energy - swiftly moved to lift her in his arms once more. "I think it's time to get you to bed, my dear," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to her temple.

She grumbled her unintelligible agreement, resting her head against his chest. As he carried her to bed, bundled up tightly in warm towels, her consciousness quickly fading, she whispered to him, “I love you.”

And though she fell asleep before he could reply, she knew without a doubt that he loved her more than she could ever truly fathom.

Next Chapter

A/N: Another long chapter, I hope that and all the fluff makes up for the wait! I'd love to hear if people are reading this on here! Let me know in the comments your thoughts on what will happen to Gwen and Alistair with only three chapters left…

#angst with a happy ending #slow burn #fluff #falling in love #humour #alistair dao #alistair dragon age #alistair theirin #alistair x original character #eventual smut #king alistair #alistair x oc

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tired-truffle · 2 months ago

Text

Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 10.7k

Part 50/54

Gwen: I don't know what to say to you except that it tore the heart out of my body saying goodbye to you." - Vita Sackville-West Alistair: "To say that you abandoned me would be very unjust, but that I was abandoned, and at times horribly, is true." - Franz Kafka

Masterlist

“Gwen.” Her name rolled off his tongue like a prayer, his voice rough and almost hoarse, as if he had been wandering in the desert for days without water. But she was fire and heat personified, everything that would lead to his demise.

She couldn't tear her gaze away from him, drawn to the sharp angles of his jaw that had once been soft and pliable under her touch. His brown eyes, always bright and full of life, now held a certain weariness and responsibility that came with the crown resting on his perfectly combed back hair. His cheekbones were more defined, giving his face a regal and mature appearance. He exuded strength and confidence, standing tall and resolute in his decisions. It was the stance of a true king, one who commanded respect and admiration from all who beheld him.

Yet he stumbled as he met her gaze, and all that strength seemed to bleed away.

“You didn’t tell us you were… familiar with the King,” Varric drawled, his keen eyes darting between the two. There was something beneath his tone that almost stole Gwen’s attention, some sort of knowing smugness. But she didn’t care if or how he knew, it made little difference.

Her lungs seized as she struggled to form any words. A lump grew in her throat, threatening to burst into tears. She wasn't supposed to see him here, not now, not like this. Her body was frail, scarred from years of fighting and suffering. And she was terribly, terribly afraid.

The guards stood rigid and unmoving, like statues carved from stone. The mages fidgeted nervously, aware of the precariousness of their situation, like prisoners awaiting their sentence on a chopping block. The looming threat of punishment hung over them all like a sharp, glinting blade, ready to fall at any moment.

Gwen felt the eyes of the room upon her, all of them boring into her with expectation and curiosity. She wished desperately that she could disappear, fade into nothingness rather than endure their stares. The silence was deafening, ringing in her ears until she thought she might go mad from it.

Just as the pressure became too much, Ashvalla stepped forward, her skirts rustling as she intercepted Alistair’s line of sight.

“I apologize for the interruption, Your Majesty, but I was just about to point out that we did come here for mages to close the Breach.”

Though it appeared the Inquisition had no more need for the King, perfectly capable of deciding to ally with the mages on their own.

With what appeared to be incredible difficulty, Alistair finally pulled his searching gaze from where Gwen was trying to blend into the shadows, as if he feared that should he look away, she would disappear just like she did all those years ago.

He straightened once more, his hands clasping behind his back. “I’d take that offer if I were you,” he said, addressing Senior Enchantress Fiona. “One way or another, you’re leaving my kingdom.”

“We accept, it would be madness not to.” Fiona began, and already Gwen had stopped listening, focusing wholly on Alistair. What was she supposed to do? She couldn’t run away, she wasn’t fast enough, and that would only give away more of her condition. The hood and bandana that concealed her face provided only a small sense of protection, hiding the evidence of her illness from view. But if he were to get any closer, there would be nothing she could do to stop him from noticing. And from the way he looked at her… there was no anger in his eyes, despite her deserving of it.

“Good, yes, very well. Will that be all then?” Alistair asked, distracted as he glanced back in her direction.

“Yes, thank you, Your Majesty,” Ash bowed before looking back at her companions and jerking her head towards the door. “Gwen, we will be staying at the Inn for the night. Should you be… otherwise unoccupied, you are welcome to join us.”

Gwen's eyes flickered with acknowledgement, her gaze reluctantly leaving Alistair to settle on Ash. The corner of her lips turned up in a kind and understanding smile, but Gwen couldn't bear to meet it.

As the Inquisitor and her party began to depart, the mages followed closely behind, desperate to escape the thick atmosphere that had consumed the room. Each step felt like an eternity as they made their way out, wishing for any sort of relief from the discomfort that had settled in the empty halls.

“Leave us.” As Alistair's command echoed through the throne room, Gwen felt her stomach drop into her boots. She didn't want to be left alone with him, didn't want to face the disgust she imagined would be etched on his features when he saw what was happening to her, what had already been done. His guards hesitated for a moment, but with a single sharp look from their king - one that spoke of iron-clad discipline - they complied and filed out of the room, their footsteps fading away like an ominous whisper. The towering wooden doors sealed shut behind them with a resounding thud, leaving Gwen and Alistair as the only two figures in the cavernous room. The sound of their breathing filled the heavy silence, punctuated by the distant hum of the Calling reverberating in Gwen's mind.

The past hung heavy between them, so much left unsaid, festering in their years apart. Once the initial shock of seeing her had faded, how would he react? Anger over her abrupt parting, hurt that she’d left him without a goodbye, or would he feel nothing at all, having realized in her absence that she was not worthy of his love? Or worse; would he still care for her, see her broken and battered body, and feel a sense of obligation to care for her?

And what of her feelings? What of her anger? He had offered her love and she had taken it eagerly, only to have life cruelly snatch it away from her. She had known the warmth of his embrace and the sweetness of his affection, but now it was all just a distant memory. The pain of leaving him was like a beast inside her, clawing at her heart with unrelenting fury. Every night, as she lay alone in bed, it howled at the moon in protest of the unfairness of it all. The pent-up frustration and pain spilled out in angry barks and snarls, two wounded dogs unable to see past their own wounds to offer comfort or understanding. And so they continued, caught in a vicious cycle of misplaced aggression and unhealed wounds.

“Gwen,” Alistair took hesitant steps towards her, halting in his movement when she flinched at the sound of her name, “I thought I’d know what to say when I saw you again, but... now I’m not sure.”

The distance between them stretched like a deep, dark chasm. His eyes, round and full of longing, seemed to tunnel into her chest, searching for a way to bridge the gap that had formed between them. She leaned against the pillar, using it as support for her weak legs, trying to hide the wooden cane she clung to like a lifeline. Her hand, missing fingers and all, was shoved into her pocket in an attempt to conceal her injury from his gaze.

“There is nothing to say, we are long over. You never have to see me again after this.”

His eyes lost their shine and Gwen wanted to retract her words, but it was too late, this was best for both of them. There was no reason to dig up old feelings for the sake of nostalgia, it would only cause more pain, and Gods knew they didn’t need any more of that.

“Is that all I am to you? Some jilted lover you’re eager to forget.” His lips twisted into a sneer, his arms crossed over his chest.

Gwen exhaled tremulously, her eyes fixed on the ground. It was a painful decision, but she knew it was for the best. If he were to find out she was imminently dying… she couldn't bear the thought of causing him even more pain. No matter how much she wanted to throw herself into his arms and never let go.

“Coming here was a mistake,” she said, her jaw clenching.

She could hear his footsteps grow louder, and tension rippled through her as she looked up, her body stiffening at the anger that burned behind his eyes. He stopped just out of her reach, his fists balled at his side. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Is that a command, your Majesty?” Gwen couldn’t stop her lip from curling beneath her bandana, Alistair’s eyes darting to look at the fabric like he knew, still able to read her like a book, even after all this time.

He took another step forward and Gwen took one back, keeping her body leaning against the pillar for support. He ground his teeth. “Even if I commanded you, you would not stay, I am well versed in your tendencies to run away.”

“And why shouldn’t I run?” Her jaw clicked irritably, a threat that if she wasn’t careful, it would come unhinged once more. “What good does it do either of us to have me haunting your shadow? Why would I want to stay with the man I left?”

“As if you haven’t been haunting me from the moment you left. Do you have any idea what the past ten years have been like for me?” He raised his voice, bitterness twisting the face she had only ever seen look at her with patience and care, now directing all his anger towards her. It was okay, he could be upset with her, he could call her names and curse her existence and she would hold it all in her hands and cherish it anyway.

“You— I was desperate for you. You've been gone, but your memory never left me. I missed you. I had nightmares about you, of finding you dead, you were—" He broke off, the raw agony in his tone cutting off his slew of words. He took a deep breath, gaze dropping as his fingers tugged at his sleeve. “Pathetic, I know. Would you believe that at one point, I considered hiring a bard to sing sad songs about my misery?"

Gwen stared at him, her mind blank. She had believed that she was doing right by him, saving him from herself. Gwen couldn't be what he needed - or so she'd told herself - she wasn't meant for him, for Alistair, for the king. But it seemed that none of that mattered to him. Dread built in her gut. Had she been… wrong?

No, if she'd done the wrong thing, then all her suffering, all of his suffering, was for nothing.

“You have no idea what it is to have the responsibility of the entirety of Ferelden resting on your shoulders, diffusing wars and ensuring none of our people starve despite shortages in food after the Blight desecrated these lands. It is all on me, all of it, all the sacrifices I have had to make to keep this country running. And I was alone.”

But she couldn’t let go of her own rage that burned like a bonfire in her throat. Not at him - never at him - but with nowhere else to direct her anger, she couldn’t stop herself from pushing.

Gwen’s eyes flickered to the deep bags under his eyes. “It must be terrible to have all of your people admiring you, I’ve heard the songs praising your rule.” Had he heard the song made about them, about the monster that Alistair had loved and lost? “Don’t lecture me about sacrifices.”

“Is that all you think being King entails, basking in the glory of my people’s praises?” He spat, his knuckles white where he pressed his nails into his palm, “You wouldn’t know of the loneliness, the oppressive weight that comes with the crown, and even if you did you would find some way to justify it. At least you had Darcy and the rest of the Grey Wardens to keep you company. I had no one. I was there for you when you needed me, but where were you, Gwen, when I needed you? When I found my father’s withered body and had to put him out of his torment with my own sword!”

Her face scrunched into a contorted grimace as her mind spun. King Maric had died at sea - that was common knowledge. But the look in Alistair's eyes spoke of something deeper and more painful.

Guilt twisted in her gut like a knife. She had spent the last decade convincing herself that leaving was the only choice, that he would be better off without her weighing him down. But hearing the anguish in his voice now, seeing the pain etched across his handsome features, she was confronted with how deeply she had wounded him.

"Alistair, I..." Her voice cracked, the words sticking in her dry throat. "I thought it was for the best. I didn't want to put you in danger." Even as she said it, the excuses sounded hollow.

He let out a bitter laugh. “You thought that waking up alone on the day of my coronation - which you very well knew was terrifying - was better? Foolishly, I believed that you had simply gone ahead to the ceremony. I should have known there was something wrong, but I suppose I was just some naive idiot too wrapped up in my own feelings to see the truth. I looked for you in the crowd but you weren’t there, and still, I clung to hope. I couldn’t even fathom that you would abandon me like that. You can imagine my surprise when Darcy told me where you’d gone, that you weren’t coming back. Everyone knew except for stupid Alistair. Maker’s Breath, even Eamon knew. You were everything to me, but you couldn’t even do me the decency of saying goodbye - no note, nothing. Is that how little I meant to you?”

Burning tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over and soak into her bandana. Her heart throbbed painfully in her chest, as if it had been ripped out and left exposed, her throat constricting around a strangled cry she struggled to hold back. She deserved his anger, but that didn't lessen the sharp ache any less. Death would have been kinder than this.

“I sent you countless letters, I poured my heart out to you, begging you to come back, that I’d fix whatever it was that I’d done to make you disappear. And you ignored every single one, except the last. Did you even read them or did you just throw them away like you did me?”

“Do you not realize the kind of danger your letters posed?” Gwen's voice emerged stronger, anger curling in her chest, the mocking high-pitch of Warden Graham ringing in her ears.

“What do you mean?” Alistair's brow furrowed, a frown crinkling at the corners of his mouth.

"You sent a letter talking about being king! If someone found out you were involved with me your rule could be threatened, they could discredit you,” Gwen pressed, her voice rising slightly with the insistent press of her worry. “You should know by now what happens to unpopular kings.”

Alistair blinked, his lips parting. “You… read my letters?”

“That is not the point!” she snapped, a growl low in her throat.

“But you did.” Alistair reached out, fingertips brushing against Gwen's arm, the contact igniting an electric spark that coursed through her. Despite her resolve to maintain distance, the warmth of his touch beckoned her forward, pulling her into the center of the storm they had created.

She flinched back, shaking her head, her good hand in a white knuckle grip on the cane she still hid behind her thick cloak. “What do you want from me?”

"Honestly?" Alistair scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. "I’m just trying to understand. But you disappeared without a word. That hurt, Gwen. I trusted you and you didn’t even give me a chance to fix it. What did I do wrong? Was it really so egregious that you had to vanish? Was the idea of being with me so repulsive?

There it was, the true reason for his anger. It sat heavy in the air, thick and palpable like a storm cloud on the horizon. Much like hers, after a decade of being directed inward, it finally had an outlet.

Her fury was snuffed out in an instant, a sense of self-horror rising in its place. Had she not hurt him enough? Why couldn’t she make herself back down?

“Alistair, you didn’t…” she sighed, her head bowed. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I left to keep you safe. Word was already getting around that you were… involved with a Darkspawn. They questioned your capacity to rule, if you were being influenced by the enemy. Paranoia sets in quickly, your life would have been in danger. Not to mention that I could not give you heirs. I would do anything to keep you safe, just as I know you would have done for me. I couldn’t have you putting yourself in harm’s way, I couldn’t let anyone else die because of me.”

“It… I-I didn’t do anything wrong?” Hope hung on his lips before his brows furrowed as he processed the entirety of her statement. “Wait, you wouldn’t let anyone else die because of you? That’s… you’re not just talking about me, are you? This is about Lucy. Why you left is… it has to do with her, doesn’t it?” She could see it in his eyes, the transformation from fury to something else entirely. She wanted to scream, this wasn't how it was supposed to be, he wasn't supposed to look at her with such tenderness, such empathy.

Frustration rose in her throat, ending in a scream, “I couldn’t let you risk yourself for me!”

“That’s not your choice to make!” He snapped, his eyes darkening. “You don’t get to make decisions for me. And certainly not without talking about it. If I want to risk my life for you I will. Trust me, after facing the noble court and their endless ‘advice’ on how to rule, I can handle a bit of darkness in my life. We could have had a chance to be happy together!”

“I’m not leaving your life up to chance!” She insisted, begging him to listen. How could she risk him? Did he truly not understand what it would do to her if she lost him? “And that is the exact reason I left. I do not need your self-sacrifice. I need you alive and well.”

“Well, excuse me for being in love with you!” His voice raised again, anger bubbling up. “Sorry that I would have tried to keep you safe, that I would have done everything in my power to protect you - you know, because I loved you!”

Gwen ground her teeth, her jaw clicking in a warning that she ignored. Her legs trembled where she stood, her strength sapped almost completely. She needed him to leave before she collapsed, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could do this. Yet the thought of him leaving made her heart clench, bile rising up her throat in protest.

“You could have talked to me. Instead, you let me wake up expecting that you would be in bed beside me, but all that was left of you was an empty spot in the sheets. Don’t you think I deserved a little more than that?”

Gwen’s grip on her cane tightened, her knuckles creaking with the effort. “I couldn’t have gone if I’d had to face you. I left my heart behind in that bed with you. I thought it would kill me to leave, but I had to because you’re right, you deserve more than what I can give you!” She was yelling again, and her jaw clicked with the effort, the socket coming loose.

“You really believe that?” he asked with an edge of desperation. Taking two small, cautious steps closer to her until only inches separated their bodies. His hand twitched at his side, as if fighting the urge to reach out and touch her. She instinctively took a half-step back, as if bracing for the impact of tension that surged between them. “Don’t you get it? There will never be anything or anyone other than you. Because I would have waited for you. Forever. I would have waited.”

Panic slipped into her chest and she leaned heavily against the pillar, her body throbbing. “No, you… were supposed to move on, be happier without me.”

“What in the Void gave you the idea that I could be happy without you?” He laughed, devoid of humour. “I tried to move on. Believe me, I tried. But I failed. I couldn’t sleep in a cold bed. I couldn’t wake up a single morning without reaching for you. I can’t move on.”

Gwen averted her gaze, her breath shallow as she pressed her hand against the pillar for support, feeling the cool stone beneath her fingers, a quiet wheeze filling her lungs.

“Who.” The word sounded more like a command than a question, and that combined with his sharp tone made it clear that he expected an answer. “Who told you that you were supposed to leave? Who put the idea into your head that you were some burden that I’d be better off without?”

Gwen gritted her teeth, her jaw creaking with the effort. She placed a fist beneath her jaw, careful to tuck her missing fingers beneath her chin, hiding them from his view.

“Who do you think?” Gwen spat, her irritation getting the best of her. If he was so insistent on hurting himself then who was she to refuse?

“Eamon?” he said slowly, as if the name left a bad taste in his mouth. Alistair's lips pulled back in a snarl as he let loose a string of low curses, stepping away from Gwen. It felt like he’d ripped stitches from her skin and she bit down on her lip, holding back a pained whimper. She was desperate for him to come close to her, but at the same time wished he wouldn’t - it was too difficult to pretend she was fine when he was near. He began to pace, his hand rubbing roughly over his face as if trying to compose himself.

“Of course it was Eamon,” he muttered under his breath. “Damn it, I’m going to kill him for this. I’m going to—“ He stopped abruptly, raising his head to scan her face. His eyes caught on hers, widening as he took in how pale they had become, the black veins and dark bags only adding to their sunken appearance.

“It was my choice, Alistair,” she said firmly, attempting to distract him from the signs of her body’s decay. “He didn’t say anything I wasn’t already thinking.”

“No, but he encouraged it, didn’t he?”

“Does it matter? It was my choice. And I’d choose it again, knowing the outcome. You are alive, that is what I wanted.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Of course it matters. If it hadn’t been for Eamon you might have stayed. And I’d be happier, instead of spending the last ten years wallowing in my own self-pity, thinking I’d done something to make you hate me.” A surge of unease prickled up her spine as she noticed his gaze drop to the cane poking out from under her cloak. With a swift, subtle sway, she angled her body to shield the telltale cane.

“But you’re safe,” she insisted like that made everything okay.

“Why does it have to be about safety all the time?” Alistair snapped. “You think leaving was for my sake, but what about your own? How much longer will you punish yourself for what happened to Lucy? When will you realize that I am not her?”

Gwen opened her mouth, but the truth lay heavy on her heart, lodged there like a stone. “Because I—” Despite her best efforts to hold her body together, her jaw refused to cooperate and seemed determined to unhinge itself. With a soft popping sound, she found herself relying on her clenched fist to keep it from falling to her neck. Alistair, sharp and discerning as always, caught the moment. His lips pressed into a tight line, a sign of his mounting concern.

Gwen leaned her entire weight back against the tall, marble pillar - trapping her cane behind her back - using it to brace herself as she brought both hands up to her face. With a sharp, audible click, she reset her jaw, the muscles in her slender arms straining with effort. Beads of sweat dripped down her forehead and trickled down the sides of her pale cheeks. The exertion had drained what little strength she had left. Her body was failing her more each day, the progression of the taint speeding - an unstoppable disease. The healers had given her a grim diagnosis - a few weeks to a month left to live - but in that moment, it felt more like mere hours. Every breath was a struggle, every movement a laborious task as she fought against the inevitable decline of her once strong and agile body.

Gwen lowered her trembling hands, one returning to her cane and the other shoved back in her pocket. There was no way he did not notice the fingers missing on her left hand, he’d been watching too intently. She stared down at the stone floor, unable to meet Alistair's eyes, afraid of the concern and pity she knew she would find there. Though her jaw was once again in place, she found herself unable to form words, the simple act of speaking suddenly seeming like an insurmountable task.

"Gwen…” he said slowly, as though afraid of what she would say in response. “What happened to your hand?"

“It's nothing," she muttered, though she knew that would not be enough to deter him.

"It doesn't look like nothing," Alistair persisted, taking a tentative step towards her, his boots coming into her line of sight, inches from her own.

When she finally looked up, her stomach rolled with nausea. She couldn’t stand the pity, the concern, the anguish that filled his eyes. Why would he care, she had broken his heart and abandoned him when he needed her. Why was he so willing to look past all her faults the moment she was hurt?

“The world did not stop hating me simply because you once loved me, it didn’t stop taking. This is the fate I was trying to save you from, I never wanted you to end up like me.”

Alistair recoiled, pain flashing across his features like a physical blow. “Gwen… I… I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I…” he trailed off, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

Gwen's breath was ragged as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. She wanted to be angry, but his gaze held such sorrow and understanding, like he saw past all the hurt that she wielded like a blade. It was hard to hold on to her bitterness. “Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t be upset with you. I’m the one who left, even if I still stand by my reasons.”

“But you are, upset with me that is.” He took another step forward and she did not have the energy to rear back. Her resolve was crumbling under the weight of her guilt and regret.

“It doesn’t matter.”

As he took another step, the space between them dwindled to almost nonexistent. Her heart raced and her palms grew sweaty, a mix of anger and longing stirring within her. She wanted to unleash a scream of frustration and push him away with all her might. Yet at the same time, she yearned to hold him close, whispering words of love and need into his ear as she held on tight.

“It matters to me,” Alistair insisted. “You matter to me. Even after all this time I still… I still love you, Gwen.”

Gwen's chest constricted, cutting off the flow of air to her lungs as she struggled to breathe. The deafening sound of the Calling reverberated in her ears, drowning out all other noise. But amidst the chaos, she could hear Alistair's voice, his declaration of love ringing true and clear. “I cannot survive this again. Please, don’t ask this of me.”

“So that’s it then?” He scowled, disappointment oozing from him, “I finally see you again after a decade and it’s just… over? You won’t even acknowledge that something is going on with you?”

“I have nothing left to give you.” Because you already have all of me, was left unsaid.

“I see,” his shoulder slumped, his tone clipped as he struggled to control the quiver of his chin. She’d done this to him. It made her feel sick to hurt him like this, but she had to remember that this was for the best. It would save him from enduring more pain, from watching her slowly fade away in the coming weeks. With one final act of sacrifice, she would vanish from his life forever. And though it broke her into pieces, she found solace in knowing that he would never have to think about her again.

Her heart twisted at the thought of all the moments lost - fleeting kisses, quiet laughter, promises made in whispers. I was the one who walked away. I left him without a goodbye. Gwen’s throat tightened with the weight of her guilt - a noose she had put around her own neck. She had tasted the sweetness of love with Alistair, yet her fear had ripped it all away. How could she justify coming back now?

Gwen’s entire body shuddered with the need to grab him and hold him tightly against her, to tell him she loved him more than words could ever express, that he was the best thing to ever happen to her, and he was in her thoughts every moment of every day. She would go to her grave with his name on her lips. But she needed him to let her go, he deserved to be happy and she could not give that to him. Maybe once she could have… but this would have always been how it ended.

“Tell me you don’t love me then,” His eyes shot up to hers, full of fiery determination. “Tell me you feel nothing for me and I will not object to you leaving.”

“And if I refuse what will you do? Keep me prisoner so I may never run away?” She couldn’t say it, the words stuck in her throat. Tell him she didn’t love him? Impossible.

“You know I wouldn’t do that.” Alistair narrowed his eyes, irritation prickling his tongue. “It should be easy, say you don’t love me, that you do not crave my arms around you like I do yours. That if I kissed you right now you would not kiss me in return.”

“My feelings do not matter,” she hissed, “it is best for both of us that I leave.”

“I get to decide what is best for me, and you are failing to provide adequate reasoning as to why you shouldn’t stay.” As he spoke, he took a step forward - again - forcing Gwen to stumble around the pillar to avoid touching hum.

“Stay?” She asked incredulously, her cane clacking against the ground. “Here in this crumbling castle or would you want me to travel back to Denerim with you? Ballgowns and tea parties and impressing visiting foreign dignitaries have never been a part of my future. If you won’t lock me in your dungeons will you choose a high tower instead?”

He didn’t hesitate to follow her around the pillar, staring down at her trembling form. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice cracking. “Why are you trying to start a fight when I know you don’t mean a word you say?” He lifted a hand, reaching for her, as if begging for understanding.

Avoiding his touch, she ducked, stumbling again as her cane took her entire weight. In her desperation to get away from him, she moved away from the pillar, eyes darting towards the exit. “Don’t touch me,” she seethed, eyes wild with a feral light.

Alistair followed her, step for step, forcing her back towards the high stone walls. “Why not?” He didn’t stop moving forward, the distance between them slowly decreasing, Gwen wasn’t fast enough in her weakened state to outpace him. “Are you afraid a single touch will shatter the tough act you’re putting on?”

Her back hit the wall and a look of panic filled her sunken eyes. She felt like a caged animal, trapped in a nightmare of her own making. “Stop it.”

“No, you stop pushing me away, Gwen. For once in your life just let someone help you!” His hand shot out, grasping her arm with a tight grip before she could dart away.

Gwen growled low in her throat, her teeth barred beneath her bandana. She released her cane, letting it clatter to the floor as she leaned entirely against the wall for support. Her whole body shook with the effort of standing. In a flash of speed that should have been impossible for someone so frail, she raised a glinting dagger to his throat, its razor-sharp edge pressing against his smooth skin.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” Her hand trembled with the effort it took to keep the dagger in place. Alistair’s eyes darted down to her hand and down her entire quivering body.

“Or what? You’re going to try and stab me?”

“Maybe.” She shot back, but it came out more as a wheeze. “You don’t know me anymore. I am not your Gwen.”

Standing before Alistair, she felt the weight of every scar, every mark of her past. I am not the woman you remember. Thoughts of what she used to be collided with the reality of her current self, and she felt like a ghost haunting her own life.

“No.” He released the grip on her arm. “You’re still my Gwen. You will always be my Gwen.” He reached up and carefully curled his fingers around her wrist as if it were a delicate flower, attempting to ease the dagger away from his throat. As he leaned closer to her, their bodies almost touching, he lifted his other hand and gently gripped her bony hip. The closer he got the more he would realize how truly unwell she was.

The dagger dropped from her hand, clattering against the floor. Tears pricked at her eyes but she refused to let them fall. “Please just let me go,” she begged, her voice wobbling along with my body.

“No,” he repeated, his voice was gentle, but firm, though an element of hurt bled into it. “I don’t want to let you go. I have missed you. I have missed you so much, and I swear to the Maker that I am not letting you leave me like this again.”

Gwen's mouth opened to respond, but was abruptly seized by a violent fit of coughing. Her thin frame trembled and convulsed with the force of it, each hacking breath ripping through her lungs like jagged shards of glass. She desperately tried to turn away, to shield Alistair from seeing the black, tar-like blood that spewed past her lips and stained her bandana. Tears streamed down her face as she struggled for air, feeling as if she were drowning in her own sickness.

With a sudden jolt, her legs buckled beneath her and Alistair's strong arms encircled her, preventing her from hitting the hard ground. Her hood slipped off and Gwen struggled weakly in Alistair's arms, her frail body no match for his sturdy frame. Despite her efforts to push him away, he held her close, one hand on her waist, the other splayed on her back as he lowered them both to the ground. Alistair kneeled, gently sitting Gwen down, legs splayed weakly on either side of his hips as he cradled her in his lap.

When the fit subsided, she collapsed weakly into Alistair's arms, her body drained and unable to resist. The warmth of his embrace brought back memories of a time when his touch could banish even the most haunting nightmares. But now, it only intensified her ache. She yearned to lose herself in him, if only for a fleeting moment, and forget the past decade. However, the rhythmic clicking of her twisted jaw served as a sombre reminder that too much had changed.

As she pulled away, her back pressed against the cool, rough surface of the wall. The sharp bones of her backside dug into his thighs, but he gave no complaints. She dared to look up at Alistair's face, looming above hers with deep lines etched in concern. His eyes bore into hers, as if trying to unravel the guarded layers she had built over the years. The intensity was too much for her to bear and she quickly diverted her gaze back down toward the ground.

“Maker’s Breath, Gwen. What happened to you?” She couldn’t answer his question, couldn’t reveal what would only hurt him further. He still loved her, how was she supposed to tell him she was dying?

Silence stretched between them, her heart racing as she searched for the right words. Finally, she shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve changed… I—” The scent of foul blood still lingered heavily between them, and Gwen winced, raising a trembling hand to her mouth, catching the trickle of blood before it could stain the front of her tunic. She could feel Alistair's eyes following her every movement.

"Gwen," he said gently so as not to spook her. "You're hurt. Let me help you."

"I'm fine," she rasped, a rattle beginning in her chest as another couch bubbled up, remnants of the first.

Skepticism was plain on Alistair's face. "You're coughing up blood. You just collapsed. You’re missing fingers, your hair is gone, and your eyes… Please, tell me what's going on."

Gwen's throat tightened, a thousand excuses poised on the tip of her tongue. The taint’s sickness was hers to bear alone. Alistair had enough burdens; she refused to add another.

“I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?” He prodded, watching her, carefully guarded. “Neither of us is the same person, not entirely. But you are and always have been the only one I will ever love. Nothing could change that, not distance nor time.”

Her hands trembled with need, with the weakness and poison that coursed through her veins, eating her from the inside out. She chuckled humourlessly, hanging her head, “You cannot seriously look at me and say that something as broken as me is worthy of you.”

His voice cut through the air like a knife, sharp and authoritative. He fixed his mouth in a stern line as he spoke, his eyes locked on hers, demanding her attention. "Gwen," he said her name like a command to his soldiers, delivered with an unwavering determination. "At least have the decency to meet my gaze when you disparage yourself, you must see how vehemently I disagree."

She ground her teeth and stubbornly kept her head bowed. “Do not tell me what to do.”

Alistair huffed a laugh. “It seems you have become more difficult in your old age. I didn’t think that was even possible.”

“And you have gone blind if you cannot see that I am no longer the woman you loved.” Silence echoed across the wide expanse, the Calling a low hum at the back of her skull.

“Tell me.”

Gwen ground her teeth, unable to make her tongue form the words he wanted to hear.

“Gwen, let me look at you.” Alistair pleaded, “You do not have to hide from me.”

“You don’t want to see me, you don��t understand-“

“Now who is the one telling the other what to do.” Alistair cut her off, smiling softly as he leaned forward. His thumb and forefinger gently held her chin and lifted her head to meet his fierce gaze, his steely determination, and she wanted to melt into his touch. He was so close, his familiar scent, all around her, intoxicating and muddling her mind. Woodsmoke and pine needles from long his journey to Redcliffe, with the faintest hint of leather armour and sword oil beneath it. It brought her back to happier times, when they were young and the world seemed full of hope and possibility.

“Not once in all these years apart has my love for you diminished," he began, and already Gwen felt herself folding. "I wanted so badly to hold you again, to feel your touch and tell you how much I adore you. Every night your name is a cry on my. I love you, Gwen, just as I did when we were young.”

As Alistair held her close, warmth seeping into her frigid bones, a wave of panic washed over Gwen. Could she allow herself to feel this way again? Every gentle caress ignited a flicker of hope within her, but it only served to remind her of the darkness that lurked just beneath the surface.

Tears streamed down her face, flowing freely, like a river breaking through a dam, carrying with them all of her pain and sorrow. Her breathing was laboured with the effort of keeping herself upright and holding herself together, her body itching to fall apart.

“I am not the same,” she begged him to understand.

“I could argue that a lot of things have changed about me too. My hair is longer, for one, and I’m still trying to figure out how to dress like a king without looking like a pompous idiot,” he said, brushing a tear from her sharp cheekbones. "I do not care that you have changed, Gwen. I did not expect you to remain as you were." His fingers hovered over the edge of her bandana, “May I?”

“You will not like it,” Gwen warned, a last-ditch effort to keep him away.

“It is impossible to dislike anything to do with you.” He waited patiently as he let her sort through her jumbled thoughts. But they were tangled and chaotic, like a knotted ball of string. If he caught a glimpse of her face, he would surely turn away in disgust, and she could finally be released from this torment. It was what she hoped for, what she thought she wanted… It had to be what she wanted, she wasn’t allowed to want anything else.

She gave a small nod, her eyes locked on his as he delicately looped his pinky around the bloodied fabric. With a decisive tug, it fell to rest around her neck.

A sharp inhale caught in his throat, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief and horror. His mouth hung open, unable to form words as he processed the sight before him. She closed her eyes, unable to bear the weight of his gaze as it twisted with realization. She had always been a monster, but now it was impossible to hide. Her decaying figure was unsightly, her cheek burned away by the Warden’s brand, revealing clearly the teeth that had fallen out. The blackness of her gums matched the blood splattered across her chin and lips. Her skin, once vibrant with life, now pale and sickly, almost translucent, showing the dark lines of her veins underneath.

His hand cupped her cheek with a soft reverence. Flinching once again, she opened her eyes. She had expected him to pull away, to confirm her fears and tell her that she was right to leave, that he no longer cared for her. But instead, his thumb traced delicate patterns over her skin with a tenderness that made her heart flutter. His hand shifted, cupping her cheek in a soft reverence as if she were a precious treasure. Without the barrier of her cheeks, his palm now rested against the smooth surface of her teeth, but his gaze held such love and adoration that Gwen couldn't help but wonder if he could feel it.

As she found herself surrounded by his warmth, his hope, doubt clouded her heart. How could she reconcile the look of love on his face with the belief that he was safer without her? Did her leaving truly protect him from harm, or had she used that as an excuse, fooling herself for years?

“You are and have always been the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on.” Her jaw slackened as he brushed his fingers over her cheekbone and behind her ear - despite her absence of hair to tuck back - like she was a princess in a fairytale who’d caught the eye of a dashing prince. In reality, she was a monster who’d stolen the heart of the King and she did not know how to give it back. She did not want to give it back. “Only now I am not stuck to yelling it from the treetops, I have an entire castle to scream about your beauty from.”

“Please let me go,” her voice wavered, her chin wobbling. “I know you want to save me, but you can’t. No one can.”

“Dammit Gwen.” He gritted his teeth, cupping her cheeks with both hands as though he could force the words he needed her to understand into her brain. “Why are you so bloody determined to punish yourself for crimes you didn’t commit?”

His words reverberated around them, bouncing off the stone walls as if they too were trying to drive his words home. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as her breath raced away from her, stealing away any ability she had to offer a rebuttal.

“Do not leave me like this. Please, Gwen, I’m begging you. Tell me what is happening so I may help you.” The corners of his lips were pulled down by the weight of his desperation, his hands falling to her waist.

“Thirty years,” she finally croaked, her resolve cracking. She hadn’t meant to say that, not entirely. But it had been the looming threat swirling within her mind for a third of her life, it was all she could think of when her thoughts were nothing but chaos.

“I… I don’t understand. Thirty years? What in the Void are you talking about?”

“Grey Wardens live around thirty years after The Joining, before the taint starts to… erode their body. You told me this. I am no different.”

Alistair's body went limp in an instant, all the vitality and vigour draining out of him. His face turned ashen, his mouth falling open in shock, and his eyes losing their spark as they glazed over. It was as if she had reached into his chest and ripped out his hope, his joy, his very heart. He was broken, shattered. This was why she had fought so hard to keep this information from him, to spare him from this pain. She could not seem to stop hurting those she loved.

“No… no you can’t be— This cannot be true, please tell me this isn’t real.” Alistair's voice shook, as he clutched at her face, like he could hold her together, keep her from fading away. “I’ve just found you again, we’ve lost so much time and you’re…”

“Dying.” She finished for him, aching at the grief that rippled across his face.

“How…” His throat bobbed. “How much longer?”

Tears continued to flow down her cheeks, carving bitter trails as they fell. How could she find the strength to tell him that after all these years, she only had a few short weeks left to live? Every piece of her was screaming in agony, torn between wanting to hold on and needing to let go.

“How much longer?” He asked, more of a demand this time, his eyes wide with barely controlled desperation, with fear.

“I can’t-“

“Like the Void you can’t!” he barked, his grasp on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her skin as he pulled her closer to him. She was powerless against his strength, her body responding to his every movement. Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked up at him, seeing the wildness in his eyes. "Tell me, Gwen," he demanded, struggling to maintain control, "how much longer until I--until you're--" He couldn’t bring himself to finish.

“A few weeks,” Gwen choked out, unable to stop herself. “Maybe a month, if I’m lucky.”

“A few weeks? You’re joking, right?” He searched her gaze, looking for some semblance of hope. "Trying to scare me into never letting you out of my sight ever again?"

Gwen shook her head, she had no hope to give. “I wish I could say I was.”

His entire body went rigid, all traces of anger melting away. In its place was a deep and raw anguish, visible in the pallor of his skin. She could feel the pain radiating from him, and it tore at her heart. He shouldn't have to feel this way because of her. She had caused him nothing but suffering. Why couldn't he have let her go?

“Weeks…” he murmured, resting his forehead against hers, “weeks and you-“ A mournful sob tore from his throat, startling them both with its raw intensity. His beautiful brown eyes were wide and filled with tears that cascaded down his unblemished skin. She’d never wanted to be the cause of his pain, but she couldn't turn back time or change what had already happened. She wished she could take it all back, undo the sentimentality that had driven her to Redcliffe, to this painful meeting. But she did not have that kind of power. These days, she had very little power at all.

“This… this can’t be happening.” A deep breath steadied his voice, the exposed edge holding back panic. “Isn’t there something we can do? A way to fight this?”

“Alistair, please. I’ve... I’ve fought so hard. But…” Her voice faltered, and she took a shuddering breath, trying to keep herself stable. “I’m tired.”

“Why does it have to be like this?” He pulled back and ran a hand through his the side of hair, frustration pulling at his features. “It’s not fair! You deserve better than this fate!”

“Alistair,” she tried to distract him, to get him to stop tumbling into this endless abyss, but he wouldn’t hear it.

“You can’t just expect me to give up on you. We’ll go to Weisshupt, the Warden mages may have an idea on how to help or at least slow it down until we can come up with a better solution. And what of Darcy? Surely he didn’t leave you to die on your own.”

Gwen pursed her lips together, breathing shallowly through her flat nose. Don’t think of the Wardens, don’t think of what they did to you. “Darcy is searching for a cure, but he will not find it in time. He has only just begun to unravel that web. And even if he found it today he would be unable to journey back here in time, the last I heard he is across the continent. As for the Wardens… You have a kingdom to run, you cannot go cavorting around the country on pointless errands.” Her mind filled with flashes of that dark cell, her head shoved underwater, her body beaten again and again no matter how many times she told them she didn’t know anything. Their fear had consumed them and moved to consume her as well.

“That’s not why you don’t want to go to the Wardens, is it?” Alistair asked darkly, his eyes narrowing.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Gwen turned away, unable to meet Alistair's searching gaze. She should have known he would see through her lies. He had always been able to read her too easily. But the memories were too raw, too visceral. Even the thought of speaking about it made bile rise in her throat.

Alistair reached out, lightly grasping her chin and tilting her face up to look at him. His eyes were full of warmth and understanding, despite the worry etched across his features. Gwen pulled away, ashamed for him to see the ruin of her face up close. But Alistair persisted, gently turning her back to face him. "I thought I told you not to hide from me.”

She let out a bitter laugh that turned into a wet, rattling cough. She ducked her face back into the crook of her elbow, dark blood splattering her clothes. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve before leaning back against the wall, her head resting against the cool surface. "Hide? There's no hiding this, Alistair. I'm a monster now, a Darkspawn in all but name."

Alistair cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his earnest gaze. "I don't believe that. All I see is the wonderful woman I love more than anything.”

She shook her head, “Then you are a fool.” But there was no bite to her voice.

“I may be, but I am your fool.” He leaned closer, his forehead resting against hers once more, his breath fanning across her lips. “I am a fool who fell in love with you so quickly I didn’t even know what was happening, a fool who was unable to purge you from my thoughts no matter how hard I may try. Nothing could pry you from my heart, Gwen, for it has been and always will be yours.”

Gwen reeled at Alistair's words, gripping his wrists as if to anchor herself against the sob that threatened to choke her.

“It feels like I’m being torn apart, watching you like this.” He looked away, blinking against the onslaught of tears. “I want to be strong for you, but I don’t know how.”

“Alistair,” she breathed his name, she didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond to such a statement, only that she wanted him, needed him more than she needed air in her lungs. “I don’t want to be alone, I am so… afraid. I want… I just want you.”

That wasn’t what she meant to say, to admit the weakness she hadn’t even admitted to herself. He inhaled shakily, the corner of his lips pulled up, swiping a thumb across her cheek, he watched her fondly. “Please, take all of me for I have only ever belonged to you. My heart is yours, in life or death, and I promise you will never be alone again.”

His lips met hers, fierce and punishing in their desperation and sure to bruise, but Gwen welcomed it all the same. He tasted of honey and spice that mixed with the iron tang of her blood. Their teeth clicked together in their need to be close, but Gwen didn’t care. There was only Alistair - his muscular arms wrapped tightly around her frail body, his calloused fingers brushing against her scalp, his breath mingling with hers in desperate gasps between kisses.

For a blissful moment, the sickness ravaging her body seemed to abate, the constant pain fading away as she lost herself in his touch.

She ran her fingers through his golden hair, his crown falling from his head, clattering to the ground as it rolled away. She paid it no mind as his hands tentatively explored her wasted frame, tugging her closer as he did. His chest pressed against hers and she melted against him. Even through the fabric of her tunic, his caress soothed her battered skin.

She had spent so many nights dreaming of this, only to force herself awake before dawn broke, ashamed at her selfish longing. Now here he was, holding her as though she were made of the most delicate glass, cherishing her with a tenderness that made her heartache. She wanted nothing more than to lose herself in him, to pretend that they had all the time in the world, that this was just the beginning for them, not the end.

How could she have thought leaving was the smart choice? How could she have given him up? She had thought it best for him, safest, but he was not happy. She had made him miserable, not with her existence, but with the lack of it. Every defence - every excuse - she'd built seemed trivial when he held her close.

The harsh scrape of her sharp teeth against his lip pulled her back to reality. She broke away abruptly, shame and self-loathing rising bitter in her throat as she took in his kiss-swollen mouth, blood beading where her sharp teeth had grazed the tender flesh.

"I'm sorry," she choked out, covering her mouth in horror as though she could shield him from harm. But he didn’t let her pull away, his grip tight as it slid to the back of her neck.

“Come home with me,” he breathed against her lips, her heart stuttering to a halt.

“Alistair—“ she started to protest, she had already injured him, but he cut her off with another kiss.

“I will sort everything out,” he said before she could continue. “I no longer care what they think of me. All I want is you, for however long that is. And if we do run into trouble, I'll just have to do my best hero impression. You know, ‘King Alistair the Brave’ - handles Darkspawn like a pro… preferably with lots of running and shouting involved.”

Gwen's mind raced as she thought of what they could be - what they had been. Yet a sliver of doubt lingered, a fear of being the cause of his suffering again. “What if—”

“No more ‘what ifs,’” he implored, each word a gentle plea. “I can’t waste another second without you.”

She wanted that more than anything, and yet, after a decade of denying herself, she was unable to bring herself to commit.

Sensing her hesitation, Alistair tilted his head, his expression shifting to one of playful persuasion, despite the redness at the rims of his eyes. With a grin that was both boyish and sincere, he leaned in, brushes of his lips ghosting over her cheeks before he began peppering her pale skin with exuberant kisses.

“Come on, Gwen. What do you have to say for yourself?” he teased, his voice light and mischievous as he planted another soft kiss just below her ear. The tickle of his lips sent an involuntary giggle to her tongue, the sound both surprising and delightful. She wasn't sure she had heard herself laugh like that since before the Blight ended.

“You can't just sweep all of this away with silly kisses, Alistair,” she managed, a half-serious frown forming at the corner of her mouth that still worked.

“Why not?” he replied, shifting his focus to her forehead, planting several quick kisses in a row, each one light and full of an infectious energy that made her heart flutter. “Will you admit you love me? That you wish for me to sweep you off your feet and take you home?”

Gwen’s heart beat faster as he pulled back, colour filling his cheeks with life. She could see the laughter dancing in his eyes, the way he lifted her mood even in the darkest of times.

“Being king has made you bold, hasn't it?” she replied, her tone teasing yet unsure.

“Some might say a little desperate,” he grinned, the light in his eyes only growing stronger. “But even a king is willing to beg if he has to.” With a dramatic flourish, he held her hand in his, all three of her fingers curling into her palm. “What say you, fair Lady? Will you admit that your heart beats for your ever-charming King Alistair?”

Gwen couldn't help but laugh, the sound bubbling forth like a bright melody in the stillness surrounding them. His antics were the breath of life she hadn’t realized she craved, cutting through her apprehensions one goofy gesture at a time.

"Alistair, I'm not sure this is wise." Though she smiled, it did not meet her eyes.

Alistair feigned shock, clutching his heart dramatically. “Oh, the betrayal! What other suitors could possibly compare to my dazzling charm?” His antics were unabashed as he turned her hand over and pressed more kisses up the length of her wrist. Gwen smiled despite herself, unable to stop the instinctive reaction.

The weight of the years apart crashed down on her. His warmth seeped into her skin, but guilt soon wrapped around her heart. A part of her screamed I am not worth this, drowning in memories of pain that tainted every moment of affection between them. What right do I have to be here, to toy with the heart of someone who has bared his soul to me?

But another part of her, once locked away and silenced deep within, now screamed louder, drowning out the voice that had caused so much agony. I may have caused pain, but I too have suffered, far more than any one person should. If Alistair wishes to love me, then I will not stop him. His love is his to give, and so is mine. I wish to give it to him.

“You're impossible,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief, even as her heart began to dethaw.

“Impossible to resist?” He raised an eyebrow, his playful smirk unwavering.

“You certainly make it difficult,” she admitted softly, genuine warmth blooming in her chest. “But I need you to listen very carefully; you cannot save me. I will die in a matter of weeks. Can you honestly say that you want to watch that?”

“I want you just as you are, right here, right now. Ideally, this wouldn't be happening to you, but I refuse to let that stop me. My love for you is not so weak as to be swayed by something as totally not terrifying as death." Alistair countered, his voice too high-pitched to not be considered mild panic.

But, if anyone could see beyond the darkness that threatened to swallow her whole, it was him.

“Are you going to keep dodging my questions? If so I am happy to keep kissing you until you do.” His smile spread wide, eyes dancing with mischief as he waited.

Gwen felt her cheeks heat under his gaze, but she didn’t look away. “I love you, Alistair,” she whispered, “I never stopped loving you, not for a second.”

“I knew it!” Alistair cheered, his lopsided grin lighting up his face. “Now, let’s say it again, together on three. One, two…”

“Alistair,” she warned as he dove in for another round of kisses, coaxing her to share in his joy.

Her heart swelled, the heaviness of years spent without him beginning to lift. There, in this embrace, she felt the haunting echoes of her past slowly fading, replaced by the strength of his conviction. It was terrifying yet exhilarating, a leap into the unknown that she had longed for.

“I may not have long,” she mumbled, guilt creeping in with the realization of the burden she would leave behind. But with him at her side, facing the inevitable felt less daunting. “What will you do when I am gone?”

Alistair cupped her cheek, a wistful longing in the tilt of his brows. “I will carry your memory with me until the end of my days.”

She knew he meant every word, and the thought of leaving him behind tore at her heart. "I wish we had more time, I'm not ready to say goodbye, again."

Alistair wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. "Then let's not say it just yet."

He kissed her softly and slowly. Gwen surrendered, savouring the feeling of his lips against hers. “Take me home, Alistair,” she finally answered, her voice unsteady.

Though darkness loomed, they had found each other again, and in that connection, Gwen felt a flicker of hope. While her fate remained ill-fated, she knew that in Alistair's heart, she would never truly be alone.

Next Chapter

A/N: Oof that was a long chapter! But after so long apart, there was too much to say to cut it down. I hope their reunion was everything you wanted it to be :) They still have more to discuss, but that will all come in good time.

I spent probably a total of 12 hours editing this chapter, much more than I meant to!! But because it took me so long I will need a day or two to finish up the next chapter. I will be posting the next one sometime on Sunday, probably around 5pm EST.

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tired-truffle · 2 months ago

Text

Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 4k

Part 48/54

"If there ever comes a day that I am asked how it felt to love you,

I will say only this: It feels like now.

For I will be yours, even then.

Inhale. Exhale.

You've always been like breathing." - Unknown

Masterlist

Gwen's body felt as though it had been run over by a stampede of massive Druffalo, their hooves leaving deep imprints and bruises all over her skin. The pain was unbearable, as if she had been dragged across hot coals and then trampled all over again. Such were the effects of torture. Her body had always been resilient, stubbornly refusing to give in to death even as she felt it failing. Yet, amidst the struggles and agony, Gwen could feel her body fighting back, determined to survive against all odds.

Gwen's eyes fluttered open as she groaned, the bright sunlight filtering through the canvas tent momentarily blinding her. She winced, squinting as her vision adjusted. Where was she? That didn't look like the cold stone walls of Vigil's Keep. She tried to sit up but a sharp pain shot through her torso, causing her to gasp and sink back down. The smell of elfroot and embrium filled her nose. Bandages were wrapped tightly around her ribs and left arm. She noticed her leathers and weapons were gone, replaced by a simple undyed linen shirt and trousers.

Fragments of memories started coming back to her. She recalled Stroud's concerned face as he helped her escape from the Wardens' jail cells. He had tied her to a horse before slapping its hindquarters, sending it galloping away as a distraction while he slipped off in the opposite direction. Gwen remembered the jolting pain as the horse raced through a shallow river and then… nothing. No matter how hard she tried to recall what had happened, she was completely unable to.

Her body called out for her attention, pulling away from her increasingly distressed attempts to jog her memory. She was parched, her tongue felt like a lead block in her mouth, her lips dry and cracked, the slit in her cheek that had felt the burn of the brand ached.

A gentle hand brushed against her forehead, nimble fingers grazing against her bald head as though confused by its existence. As she adjusted to the light streaming into the tent, the figure hovering over her became clearer and clearer. It had been years since she’d last seen Leliana, but she was just as radiant as the first day they had met. Her red hair was longer, braids forgone for a more serious style and pointed, freckles scattered across her face. Her eyes were sharp, though weighed down by the years and sorrow that she had endured. She smiled, soft and loving, so at odds with the woman that Gwen had heard her rumoured to have become; the Right Hand of the Divine, brutal in her work.

“If you wished to see me so badly you should simply have asked, no need to exhaust yourself so terribly.”

Gwen tried to wet her lips to no avail, but her friend was already ahead of her, bringing a cup of wonderfully cool water to her mouth and tilting her head to help her drink.

“Where am I?” she croaked, her throat dry and scratchy.

“You are in Haven and under the protection of the Inquisition.” She answered pleasantly, a tinge of pride in her voice. “This is the new task I told you about in my letter.”

Gwen vaguely remembered that. “How did I get here? The last I remember I was…”

“Bleeding on the back of a horse?” Her rage was quickly covered under her bright smile. “My scouts recognized your horse’s saddle as a Grey Warden issue, we’ve been looking for any sign of them since they disappeared. Imagine their surprise when they realized they’d rescued one of my oldest friends. Neither you nor Darcy have been answering my letters. I assume your state has something to do with that.”

Gwen nodded but winced, regretting the movement as pain flared from her neck. She must have been unconscious for days, if she was out the entire time Leliana's scouts carted her to Haven. “Yes, Darcy left to find a cure for the taint before things got… bad.”

“I will have to have a word with that man for leaving you behind. But not to fear, we will have you all healed and back to yourself very soon,” Leliana assured, her gaze swimming with concern that was quickly tampered down.

“Leliana,” Gwen sighed, her eyes fluttering shut. Leliana already knew, she was much too smart to not have ascertained what was happening. Why she was trying to deny it was beyond Gwen. “I’m dying, you know this.”

“Don’t be silly,” her friend giggled, brushing her concerns aside, and tucking the woollen blanket further up Gwen’s chest. “With the Inquisition’s best healer tending to you, you’ll be back on your feet in no time. All you need is a bit of rest and you will be feeling as good as new.” She stood off her perch on the bed, and stepped away like she intended to leave, to put a stop to this conversation.

Gwen's hand shot out like a bolt of lightning, snatching Leliana's wrist in a vice-like grip. "Look at me, Leliana," she said urgently, her voice laced with concern. "This is more than just—"

To her horror, Gwen's jaw dislocated with a sickening wet pop and dropped down to her chest. Panic flashed in Leliana's eyes as she hesitated, unsure of what to do. With trembling hands, Gwen managed to maneuver her jaw back into place, accompanied by another disgusting popping noise. She took a deep breath and ensured it wouldn't become unhinged again in the immediate future. Once she was confident - as much as she could be - she continued. "This is more than just injuries. Surely your healer must have told you this."

Leliana’s gaze hardened, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her brow furrowed. “No.”

Silence rang through the tent as Gwen struggled to process the other woman’s quick denial.

“What do you mean ‘no’? You can’t just dismiss this,” Gwen pressed, her brow furrowing.

“I’ve not figured out what yet, but we will do something to stop your illness. Give me time and I—“

“I don’t have time.” Gwen cut her off, her body may have been weak, but her voice was firm. “I was lucky to get this far, all thirty years of living with the taint… I think, anyway. I do not wish to waste the last of it attempting miracle cures that will do nothing but cause me more pain. I have had enough.”

Leliana squeezed her eyes shut, her breath stuttering in her throat, “That is not… Tell me what is happening to you, I have to do something.”

“All you can do is be here with me, all I want is my friend.” Gwen’s voice wobbled irritatingly, betraying the fear bubbling up from the pit of her stomach.

Leliana turned sharply towards her, her eyes narrowing to slits as she scanned Gwen’s prone form with careful precision, “I am not willing to accept that.” Gwen’s heart sank. “But I will not subject you to anything you do not wish to participate in. Would you allow me to search? Even if you decline, I simply cannot let my oldest friend die without trying to prevent that outcome.”

Gwen heaved a tired sigh, “I guess I can’t fault you for trying, but there is nothing you can find that Darcy hasn’t already.”

A mischievous glint sparkled in her friend's eyes that was both a comforting reminder of her friend’s younger self, and unsettling as to what it promised. “We shall see about that.”

Leliana was a remarkably resourceful woman, her sharp mind always seeking out solutions to the most daunting challenges. If anyone was going to find something, it would be her. For centuries, the elusive cure for being a Grey Warden had evaded discovery. But even if it could be found, it would not change the fact that the taint was an integral part of who she was. Could it even be removed, if it was something she had lived with her entire life? While Gwen held no illusions about finding a solution to her predicament, the warmth of her friend's care still managed to thaw a small, forgotten corner of her heart that had long been frozen over.

As soon as she had regained her strength, Gwen had insisted on speaking with Leliana and her colleagues about the knowledge she had gained during her imprisonment with the Wardens. The tent was cramped, barely able to fit the four of them, but they all squeezed inside.

Gwen was introduced to the leaders of the Inquisition - the Herald of Andraste, a curvy Dalish mage with a wicked grin who adamantly rejected her given title and requested to be called Ashvalla - or Lavellan if Gwen insisted on being formal. Her shapely figure was cloaked in a deep, emerald green robe. Slits were strategically cut up the sides of the skirt, reaching her wide hips and revealing flashes of smooth, sun-kissed skin as she walked. The bodice was tailored to accentuate her ample bosom, the neckline dipping low and showcasing her curves. Clusters of golden accessories adorned her, tinkling like tiny bells with every movement.

Standing opposite to her was Josephine Montilyet, the elegant Antivan Ambassador whose grace and poise befitted her prestigious position. Her accent made Gwen long for Zevran’s quips and jovial remarks. How she would love to have his bright outlook during this dreary time. Though she was grateful that he had chosen to leave with Darcy, not wanting him to get caught up in the dangerous web of chaos that had ensued.

Leliana, with her purple robes and piercing gaze, had been the first to enter the tent. But it was the final member who made Gwen question her sanity - a man with blonde brushed-back waves and broad shoulders. It had been a decade since she last saw him, right after one of the most traumatic events of his youth. She remembered him raving about killing all mages. But now, he introduced himself as Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition. He had grown into his frame, radiating strength and confidence. A new scar cut through his top lip, adding to the rugged charm of his appearance. The exhaustion etched on his face, with deep bags under bloodshot eyes and lines creasing his features, spoke of the heavy burden he carried. Gone was the hostility towards mages that Gwen recalled from their time in the Circle. Instead, his eyes softened as he watched the Herald speak to Gwen. And when Gwen’s gaze met his, there was a sense of recognition between them, a shared understanding from their brief encounter years ago. Gwen was frankly shocked he remembered her, he’d been so freshly traumatized he could barely keep his head on straight, and she was relieved to find that he hadn't turned into a violent hater of mages. He had made a name for himself as a respected leader and seemed to have some… feelings for one such mage.

With a self-conscious tug at her bandana - supplied most kindly by Leliana - she recited everything she knew; how the Grey Wardens had started hearing the Calling and panicked that a Blight was coming, that Darcy had left to find a cure for the taint, and that the Wardens in their panic had sought outside forces, ones she hadn’t been privy to but had been sinister in nature. Stroud had told her they were turning each other into abominations, but she had no idea how or why. They’d thought her to be the enemy, and while she didn’t specify, there was no doubt they all already knew. She’d arrived in tatters, face uncovered - Leliana would have had to give them some explanation - and Gwen was simply grateful they didn’t push her on it.

“We thank you for getting this information to us when you did.” Lavellan inclined her head, the golden waves of her hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall. A gentle curve formed on her lips, revealing the small dimples that adorned either side of her mouth. Intricate scar patterns, resembling small dots, encircled her full lips, adding a unique beauty to her already striking features. “You are welcome to stay and recover for however long you wish, and if Leliana has anything to say about it, you are going nowhere soon.”

Gwen allowed her shoulders to relax from their tense position. Despite being a woman of such… political power, Lavellan was a kind - and sharp - leader. It was unsurprising that Leliana spent her time trying to protect the elvhen mage. The world needed more leaders like her. Leaders with a kindness that could rival Alistair’s.

Suppressing that thought - it would only unleash a flood of painful memories, and she had already endured enough heartache to last several lifetimes - she nodded her gratitude, feeling utterly drained from the effort. The old version of herself would have scoffed at the notion of sitting in a cot and speaking for a few minutes being tiring, but that was before Gwen experienced the loss of her strength, her hair and some of her teeth. Her body felt heavy and weak, and as far as Gwen was concerned, she had earned a little rest.

They bid her a good rest, exiting swiftly into the bitingly cold air outside. Leliana, however, was not so quick to leave.

“I will not keep you here if you do not wish it,” she said softly, ”but I would greatly enjoy your company should you wish to stay.”

Warmth spread through Gwen’s limbs like the first rays of spring after a frost. “I am always happy to spend time with you.”

She’d gotten soft in her old age, but to see the bright smile that lit up Leliana’s face was well worth it.

Gwen smiled back at Leliana, though it was hidden behind her bandana. She was grateful for her friend's kindness, but she could not fully relax. There was more she had to tell Leliana, secrets she had kept for too long.

"There is something else," Gwen said hesitantly. "About the Wardens. There is one among them who knows things about my past that could threaten Alistair's reign in Ferelden."

Leliana's expression sharpened, though her voice remained gentle. "What things?"

Gwen looked down, ashamed. "He knows about… my relationship with Alistair. If this Warden chose to reveal that he cared for a Darkspawn woman like me..."

"I understand," Leliana said. She placed a hand on Gwen's shoulder. "Fear not. The Wardens have much larger concerns at the moment than palace intrigue in Ferelden. Tell me his name, and if he should attempt to move against Alistair, he will find his reputation swiftly ruined.”

Relief swept over Gwen. She should have known she could trust Leliana to handle this discreetly. "Thank you," she whispered. “His name is Warden Graham, though I never learned his family name.”

"That is fine, his first name is more than enough." Leliana's voice softened as she gently squeezed Gwen's hand. "Now rest, my friend. We have much catching up to do and good wine to drink. But all in due time." Leliana squeezed Gwen's hand once more and left her to her healing.

It took several weeks for Gwen to finally manage to stand within the confines of her tent, and even then, she could only do so in short bursts. Her body was still weak from her injury, and even weaker from the taint, the Calling ringing in her ears. During her recovery, she received a few visitors - Leliana, of course, but also Lavellan who would stop by to say hello and pester for stories from Leliana's past.

Ever suspicious, Gwen had interrogated the woman about her intentions, if she was sent by Leliana to force Gwen to 'relax', as the Spymaster insisted.

"Relaxing is overrated," Lavellan assured her. "Besides, who needs that when there are handsome men to distract you? Just let me know if you require assistance with ‘relaxing’. I'm sure I could find some who would suit your fancy."

The mage was far too cheeky for her own good, but Gwen found herself enjoying her easy company. However, Gwen would always deflect her requests, insisting that Leliana was the expert storyteller and should be asked directly. But she couldn't help sharing some of her favourite memories with the curious Herald - like the first time Leliana had drunkenly splayed herself across Gwen’s lap in a tavern in Orzammar, or when the rogue had snuck a ridiculous amount of breakfast from the Redcliffe kitchens and brought it back to her room along with… well, that didn’t really matter, did it?

Lavellan hadn't asked about Alistair, there was no point in talking about him. Yet it was through Gwen’s story of her time in Redcliffe that she learned Lavellan and her party would heading to Redcliffe in a few weeks to meet with a group of mages who had begged their aid. It was strange - Bann - or rather Arl - Teagan had never been against mages before, as far as Gwen knew, but now to allow a group of apostates into his castle? Something didn't feel right about it all.

After Lavellan left, Gwen was surprised to find someone other than Leliana take her place.

Poking his head through the tent flaps, an unfamiliar ginger-haired dwarf shot her a sly grin that pulled at his shaven cheeks. His deep red tunic cut practically down to his navel, chest hair in abundance, and eyes that spoke of meddlesome actions that Gwen did not wish to be a part of.

“Knock knock,” he said, his gravelly voice husky like he’d just woken up after a night of little sleep, but given that it was late afternoon and he appeared rather refreshed, Gwen doubted that was the case.

Gwen narrowed her eyes at him from her spot seated on the cot, but said nothing.

“Brooding in the dark by your lonesome?” He asked, devilish delight dancing in his eyes, “I know someone you should meet, your brooding sessions would be extraordinary.”

“What do you want?” Gwen said plainly, she had no energy for social niceties.

“Straight to the point, I like it.” His grin widened and he allowed himself to fully enter the tent, leaning against the pole that split the entrance. “Allow me to introduce myself: Varric Tethras, at your service.” He finished with a flourished half-bow.

“Gwen, at your intrusion.” She folded her arms over her chest, wishing this dwarf would leave her alone. She was not in the mood for whatever chatter he was looking for.

He chuckled, a baritone sound rumbling deep within his chest, “That’s a good one, I should write that down.”

At her continued silence and increasingly irritable glare, he sighed, pushing himself off the pole and sauntering over to inspect the healer's kit by her bedside. “You wear that thing even when you’re alone, huh?” He gestured vaguely to her bandana.

“I’m not alone,” she said pointedly. The brand the Wardens used had burned through the skin and fat of her right cheek, the damage too severe for the healers to fix. It left her struggling to eat, food having a habit of falling out of where she was missing teeth. She'd become even more cautious about hiding her face.

“That’s a fair point.” He picked up a flask of healing potion, shaking the contents and watching them swirl around the glass. “Sister Nightingale would string me up by my toes if she knew I was in here.”

Leliana’s moniker, the rogue had informed her of such. “Then you are either much to self-confident or an idiot to risk one of her punishments. She does not hold back.”

“I can assure you I am neither, and I would never underestimate a Sister as intimidating as her.” He returned the potion to its spot, the glass clinking against an empty bottle beside it. He turned to her, his gaze keen. “I bet you have a lot of stories from her time with the Hero of Ferelden. Any you’d care to share? I’m a sucker for a good dramatic tale.”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” Gwen huffed, irritated by his questioning and intruding - though his nonchalant air was putting her at ease in a way she deeply disliked, but could not seem to stop.

He laughed heartily, a hand clutching his stomach. “And find myself in the dungeon with no clue as to how I got there? No thanks.”

The corners of Gwen’s lips twitched, “That’s too bad, it would take you off my hands.”

“So eager to be rid of me? But we only just met!”

Gwen rolled her eyes, “Do you pester everyone like this, or am I simply the unlucky one who is unable to run away?”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, “If you really want me to go, I will, but honestly standing out there is getting boring and I was itching for a fresh person to talk to. You seemed like you may have some good stories hidden somewhere beneath all that… glowering. But if you are unwilling to share then I could always share what I’ve managed to gather about our lovely Sister?”

She fought against the urge to tell him to leave immediately. She had no desire for his stories, but something about that cocky smirk made her hesitate. It had been excruciatingly dull, being confined to the cramped tent with only her own thoughts for company. And it had been even harder to subdue the memories of her brutal torture that constantly threatened to consume her.

She was going to regret this. “What have you gathered?”

Glee lit up his face, “I’m so glad we could come to an agreement.”

The next few hours drifted by, Varric's deep, rumbling voice spinning tale after tantalizing tale. Each one more engrossing than the last, chasing away the bleak thoughts that had been plaguing her mind. He began with a story about Leliana, but quickly ran out of anecdotes and turned to his other companions - a colourful cast of characters he promised she would soon have the pleasure of meeting. Though she wasn't particularly eager to leave the comfort of their cozy tent, she knew that eventually, she would have to face the outside world. She couldn't help but wonder if the curious villagers of Haven were already whispering about the mysterious woman who had arrived in their village - a ghastly figure claimed as a friend by their enigmatic spymaster.

“Did Leliana tell you that the last time we were in Haven we had to kill hundreds of cultists dedicated to reviving Andraste?” Gwen asked during a lull in his storytelling.

“You’re fucking with me.” He narrowed his eyes, leaning forward eagerly.

She shook her head, her lips curling beneath her bandana. “They were protecting an urn filled with Andraste’s ashes, but we needed them to revive the Arl of Redcliffe at the time. He’d been poisoned by a blood mage who had been tasked by Teryn Loghain to dispose of him.”

“You’re definitely fucking with me.” He pulled out his quill and paper and began writing anyway.

“We had to all strip naked to get to the ashes too. Did you know that Leliana has a tattoo of two nugs holding paws on the small of her back?” She was having way too much fun with this, much now that she started, she found she did not want to stop.

He paused in his writing, looking up at her with wide, saucer-like eyes. “I need to know if you’re telling the truth, my life depends on it.”

Gwen shrugged. “You’ll just have to ask her yourself.”

Varric laughed, shaking his head. “Like I said, I’m not planning on taking a visit to the dungeon anytime soon.”

“There was also a dragon in the mountains.” She continued with a frown, “Though it seems to have… flown off, unless you killed it?”

“We did no such thing.” He frowned, eyes darting around as if he could spot it.

“Then you’d better watch out,” she grinned, her eyes glinting with mirth, “you never know what’s waiting for you out there.”

If Gwen had known the fate awaiting her in a mere matter of weeks, she would have heeded her own advice. But luck had never been on her side, and any remnants of self-preservation had been swept away like a baby tossed out with the bath water when her hair had started falling out in chunks. She would die shortly, how much worse could her life get than this?

Next Chapter

A/N: I promise it won't be much longer 'till we see Alistair again, just bear with me for a little longer!

I love Varric. I couldn't have Gwen go to Haven and not have her interact with him, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

If anyone enjoyed Ashvalla, she is going to be the main character of my next fic! She won't be Inquisitor, but she will get up to a lot of mischief that I've been very much enjoying planning out :) Not quite as dark, but still with plenty of angst and drama, though all hidden under a very bubbly mask!

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tired-truffle · 2 months ago

Text

Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 5.5k

Part 49/54

"I will not mention the last time I saw you.

My mouth, so far from yours, I said I am afraid I will spend entire years trying not to need you.

As if I wasn't certain.

As if this wasn't my confession." - Clementine Von Radics

Song for this chapter: All I Want by Kodaline

Masterlist

Gwen's fingers curled around the cool, wooden handle of her cane, another reminder of her new reality. The once-nimble feet that had danced across the entirety of Ferelden now shuffled with uncertainty across the stone floor of the Haven Chantry. Each step was measured, a battle against her own body that rebelled with sharp aches and pains.

"Take it slow, Gwennie," she muttered to herself, a wry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, hidden beneath the bandana. She missed Darcy, missed his easy teasing and positivity. She’d hated that damned nickname at first, but it had grown on her quickly. The sound echoed in the emptiness of the corridor, bouncing off the high walls before being swallowed by the tapestries depicting the glory of the Chantry. But glory felt like a distant memory, an echo from a past life where her body obeyed her every command - unless otherwise corrupted by the Calling.

Her new cane clacked against the floor, punctuating the silence that filled the space between her laboured breaths. Each click was a sign of the fragility that had become her constant companion, a dark cloud that loomed over her existence with unforgiving persistence. Her grip tightened as she paused, a wave of exhaustion washing over her, threatening to pull her under. She was grateful that Leliana had given her a tailored glove, one that omitted the pinky and ring finger on her left hand. Instead, the leather was stretched smooth over the bumps of her missing fingers, and if one was not looking for it, it simply appeared as though she had curled those two fingers into her palm.

"Gwen?" came a gentle voice, breaking through the fog of fatigue.

As Gwen's heavy eyes fluttered open, she was met with the concerned gaze of two Inquisition healers. Their faces were etched with a mix of professional concern and genuine compassion, their hands clasped tightly in front of them. She blinked, realizing belatedly that she had no memory of how she had arrived on the path toward the training grounds. With a deep breath, she straightened her spine, bracing herself for the inevitable conversation that was about to take place.

"Sit, please," one healer suggested, gesturing to a nearby bench, carved from ancient oak. Gwen complied, the act of lowering herself onto the seat feeling like a small surrender.

"Is this about my… prognosis?" Gwen asked, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. Leliana had told her the healers would look into it once she’d started recovering from her wounds.

"Indeed," replied the other healer, her brow furrowed with sympathy. "We have consulted with the most learned among us, and..."

"Say it plain," Gwen interrupted, her light grey eyes hardening like flint. "I know my own body better than any."

“Your time is… limited,” the healer said softly, her brows knitting together. “We estimate you have only weeks - maybe a month at most.”

A heavy silence settled in the air. Gwen regarded them both, her gaze unwavering, face devoid of surprise. She had felt the creeping shadow of death's approach, a familiar foe lurking just beyond her sight.

"Everything hurts, anyway," Gwen murmured, her voice barely a whisper, a bitter acceptance threading through the words like a shadow she couldn’t shake. It was not a cry of despair but an acknowledgment of a truth she had long since accepted.

"Is there nothing—" began the second healer, but Gwen held up a hand to stop them.

"Save your potions and prayers for those they can still help," she replied, her words imbued with a quiet strength. "I've made my peace and I am… tired."

The healers nodded, unable to mask the sorrow in their eyes. They murmured their farewells and retreated, leaving Gwen to the solitude of her thoughts. They were kind women, to feel empathy for someone like her. She had always liked healers, and their dedication to doing no harm. Though her friend and healer had passed, Wynne’s voice - gentle but firm - rang out in her mind nonetheless.

Though your body falters, your spirit remains strong. Savour these final moments - watch the sunrise, enjoy simple pleasures, share your wisdom. Gwen could almost picture Wynne’s soft smile, the crinkling at the corners of her knowing eyes.

She sat there in silence, her body heavy with the weight of the news. It wrapped around her like a suffocating shroud, threatening to choke out any hope or fight left within her. But deep inside her chest, a tiny spark of defiance flickered to life. She might be dying, but she was not ready to give up just yet. With a determined grunt of effort, Gwen pushed herself to stand, her cane serving as a sturdy pillar of support. She straightened her back and set her jaw, determined to face whatever remained of her days with the same unwavering stubbornness that had seen her through countless trials before.

"I’m not done yet," she whispered to the gusting wind, her voice carrying the faintest hint of mischief. Gwen did not walk towards the light gently; she would rage against the dying of it with every step she took.

The sun dipped low as she navigated the uneven dirt path, casting elongated shadows that seemed to reach for her, as if the very darkness she battled within was manifesting outside as well.

"Lavellan," Gwen called out, her voice stronger than her body felt. Gwen hurried to catch up to the elf as she emerged from the apothecary, her long, sun-kissed hair intricately braided and cascading down her back. With each step, her hips swayed in a rhythmic motion, reminiscent of Zevran's graceful movements.

The Herald turned, and her gaze softened, a nearly flirty smile on her lips. "Gwen, I am glad to see you up and walking, though I think we’ve gotten past the point of last name formality, don’t you? Please, call me Ash."

"Thank you… Ash.” It felt strange to speak with such informality to someone she had just met and knew little about, though the Dalish woman seemed just that sort of person. “I've come with an offer," Gwen continued, her grip tightening on the cane. "I want to accompany you to Redcliffe. I know the castle's halls better than any map could show." And how to plunder the office, but Ash did not need to know this.

A flicker of surprise crossed Ash's face, quickly replaced by a thoughtful expression. "You’re not well, Gwen. You shouldn’t be straining yourself like this," she started, but Gwen cut her off with a determined shake of her head.

"Use me for what I know, then. My body may fail me, but my memory is still strong."

Ash studied her for a moment longer before nodding, a bright smile forming on her lips and pulling at her scars. "Very well. Your experience could be invaluable."

Gwen saw the pity hidden behind Ash's cheery façade. She knew her argument was thin, but she would take this kindness - pity or not - and wield it like a weapon. She had her reasons for wishing to leave Haven, though she was reticent to make them known.

"Thank you.” Gwen inclined her head, letting Ash return to her duties. Gwen continued on her walk, there was one more person she wished to speak with, though strictly out of curiosity.

Gwen's feet carried her towards the soldier's training grounds, a bustling hub of activity nestled among a small grouping of tents. The scent of sweat and dirt filled the air as soldiers sparred with each other in fierce combat or honed their skills on worn dummies. Sunlight filtered through the sparse clouds, casting a pale glow over the scene. Weapons glinted in the light, flashing and gleaming dangerously, thick plumes of smoke rising from nearby fires. The sound of clashing weapons and grunting exertion echoed throughout the grounds, it almost made her feel at home in its chaotic familiarity.

Standing tall and strong amongst the soldiers, her target stood out like a beacon in the sea of men in uniform; Commander Cullen Rutherford. He exuded an air of authority and power, standing with his chin held high and his shoulders squared. With the determination of a dying woman who had nothing left to lose, she approached him.

“Commander,” she said from behind him, causing the stoic man to whirl around, his eyes wide with surprise to see her standing there.

“Miss Gwen, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

She scrunched her nose at his formal greeting. Miss Gwen? The words sounded stiff and unnatural, like an overly polished marble statue. She couldn't remember anyone ever addressing her in such a manner before. From him, it seemed to be a sign of respect, but it still left her feeling uneasy. Especially since their first meeting had been filled with suspicion and disgust on his part. It was hard to believe they had come this far, with him now using such formalities with her. She almost wanted to laugh at the irony of it all, but instead, she focused on keeping her face neutral and composed.

“Nor I, you.” Though she did not mean it in the same way as he did.

Understanding filled his gaze and he nodded. “If I had met me ten years ago, I wouldn’t have either.”

“You’ve been keeping well then? No more ranting about slaying all mages in existence?” She was much too exhausted to use any tact. The Commander had the decency to blush, rubbing the back of his neck in a way that reminded her terribly of Alistair’s bashful tendencies. She forced that thought to the back of her head, calming the churning longing that rose in her throat.

"No, I have thankfully moved past those shameful ideals, though it pains me to say that it took much longer than it should have.” He sighed, shaking his head and dropping his arm back to his side. "You were right. About what you said to me… during the Blight."

Your hatred will not keep you safe. The words had escaped her lips without thought or hesitation, fueled by a surge of courage and righteous anger. She could still feel the intense heat of his furious eyes boring into hers, but now she couldn't remember why she had dared to challenge him. Whatever had possessed her to so boldly speak to him was still a mystery, buried in the depths of her subconscious like a hidden treasure waiting to be unearthed.

"Was I?" Gwen feigned forgetfulness, though the memory was etched into her like one of her physical scars. The horrors of the Ferelden Circle still haunted her, the stench of death and decay heavy in the air, the gruesome sight of countless bodies too much for even a strong-willed rogue like herself to bear. "That was lifetimes ago."

"Still, I wish I had heeded your advice, I was a fool not to. It might have spared much pain," he confided, his brow creased with regret, jaw clenched.

"Do I look like someone who lived a very successful life?" Gwen gestured to herself, the bandana hiding her marred face, the cane supporting her weakened frame.

He blanched, stumbling over words until finally, he managed, "You’re a hero. You saved us from the Blight. That is a success."

"Maybe," she replied, her lips twitching into a tired smile. "But if you would like any more advice from someone with too many personal regrets; don't wait."

A look of bewilderment crept onto his face, causing his features to scrunch up in confusion. He turned to Gwen, searching for answers, but she only nodded subtly towards a nearby scene. Ashvalla, her braids swaying with her animated gestures, spoke eagerly with Cassandra, her back turned to them.

Understanding dawned on Cullen's face, a flush creeping up his neck.

"Good luck, Commander, it was a pleasure catching up." Gwen chuckled, leaving him with a pat on the arm.

“Wait, uh, I don’t— I mean to say—” He cut himself off with a frustrated grumble, shaking his head as if to disperse his improper thoughts of the beautiful elvhen woman.

Gwen shuffled away, her laughter lingering in the air, mingling with the clinking of armour and the distant echo of soldiers shouting. As Gwen moved through the courtyard with the slow grace of falling leaves, felt for a moment like a ghost of her former self, haunting the world of the living with unfinished business.

The reality of her condition - a body failing, a life fading - was a constant companion. But there, amidst the heart of the Inquisition, Gwen had found purpose. One last mission.

The evening air was crisp and refreshing as it swept through the open window, carrying with it the scent of pine and earth. Gwen stood facing Leliana, leaning on her cane as if it were a mere prop in this serious conversation. The rogue - now known as the Spymaster - had caught wind of Gwen's decision to join the Herald's party to Redcliffe and wasted no time in expressing her disapproval.

"Leaving isn't safe, Gwen," Leliana said, her voice tight, her arms crossed over her chest. "I know you want to fight, to make a difference, but—"

“I thought you said you wouldn’t keep me here if I didn’t want to stay.” Gwen narrowed her eyes, her hackles rankling over being kept prisoner. She’d had enough of that lately.

Leliana pursed her lips but was unable to find any rebuttal.

"I have to go," Gwen said firmly, gripping her cane until her knuckles whitened. "If I can assist in bringing order to Redcliffe, perhaps I can forgive myself for the hurt I’ve caused and reclaim a piece of my humanity, even if just for a moment."

Leliana's blue eyes darkened, sorrow etching deeper lines into her fair face. "I've missed you," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to lose you again - not like this. You owe them nothing, not when so much was taken from you."

"I have walked those halls and hidden in those shadows. My knowledge may be the key to navigating the castle without alerting our enemies. If they are to reclaim Redcliffe, they need someone who knows every secret." Gwen's heart clenched in her chest, the haunted grey of her eyes softening - almost white with how much it had faded. "And I can't bear the thought of you watching me fade away. That’s not how I want our friendship to end." Her voice was a shadow, a ghost of conviction. "That's my final wish."

A silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant hum of the Inquisition's encampment. Finally, Leliana nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line of reluctant acceptance. “If that is what you truly want then I will not stop you, but I do not like it.”

“I know, and thank you for allowing me this.” Changing the subject, Gwen asked tentatively, "Have you heard from… from Alistair?” Even saying his name made her heart pang in her chest. “Is he managing the Calling?"

Leliana's gaze fell away. "I haven’t heard a word from him since a few years after the Blight. He's been busy, I suspect. But I have heard nothing from my scouts about the King falling ill. He has all the best healers in Ferelden at his disposal, he will not suffer as much as most."

Disappointment flickered across Gwen's features, quickly masked by understanding. "I see," she murmured. She was thankful there was no news of his suffering, but she had hoped that Leliana had kept in contact with him, for no reason other than to know that he was happy.

"Why did you leave him, Gwen? You never spoke of it and I… I never understood." Leliana's voice was gentle, probing the scar tissue of an old wound.

Gwen's body tensed, her breath stilling in her chest. "It's complicated," she said tersely, her words clipped by the snip of shears severing threads of conversation.

Leliana reached out, her hand hovering but not touching. "I just want you to be happy, Gwen. I know you haven't been."

"I don’t know if I was ever meant to be," Gwen sighed, her gaze drifting towards the window, the evening light filtering through. "Change comes too late for some of us."

"You never know," Leliana murmured, hope a stubborn ember in her eyes.

Gwen offered a half-smile that spoke more of sadness than amusement. “I will miss you, my friend.”

Leliana scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. “You will see me again, and I always follow through on my promises.”

Gwen shook her head as she pulled Leliana in for a tight hug. She could feel the weight of the impending goodbye settling heavily in her heart, knowing that this might be the last time they saw each other. They stood there, wrapped in each other's arms for what felt like an eternity. Through their embrace, Gwen could feel Leliana's worry and concern for her, and she was comforted by the fact that she would always have a friend in the former bard.

As they stood there, the sun began to set behind them, casting a warm glow over their figures. The air was filled with the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds, creating a serene backdrop for their bittersweet moment. Their conversation dwindled until only unsaid words hung between them like fragile cobwebs, delicate and easily torn.

The clatter of hooves on dirt roads echoed in Gwen's ears as she journeyed towards Redcliffe, the rhythmic cadence so different from the stilted silence of her own movements. Seated awkwardly behind Cassandra, she clung to the warrior's waist, her cane secured to the saddlebag like an afterthought. The wind whipped past her and she pulled her hood tighter to keep it from blowing it off, she no longer had hair to keep her head insulated against the cold. Leliana had gifted the heavy cloak to Gwen prior to her departure, insisting that she take it to keep warm, now that her body refused to retain any heat. It had been a kind gesture, and Gwen had been grateful for anything to keep prying eyes away.

"How are you holding up?" Cassandra's voice cut through the rush of air, tinged with concern but never condescending. She was a harsh woman, never one to beat around the bush, though she was rarely unkind, unless it was well deserved. She’d carried Gwen on her horse her with no complaints for the entirety of their journey, which Gwen deeply appreciated.

"I am fine, no need to concern yourself with me," Gwen replied, doing her best to keep the sharp hiss of pain from her voice. Despite the lightness in her words, the ache in her limbs was leaden and every movement of the horse caused sharp jabs of pain to shoot through her delicate body, leaving her feeling drained and exhausted. She could almost feel each individual muscle and bone protesting against the rough journey, straining under constant movement. But she gritted her teeth and soldiered on, determined to push through the discomfort and reach her destination.

Cassandra offered no response, but her firm nod conveyed her understanding. The Herald and her party continued, with Dorian - The Tevinter mage who had volunteered to aid the Inquisition - riding on one side of their leader, and Varric on the other. The dwarf, sitting atop a smaller pony that was more suited for his size, trotted along effortlessly while the humans and elves rode their larger steads.

As they approached the town, Gwen's attention was drawn to the imposing figure of Redcliffe Castle, its craggy outline etched against the sky like pages from a familiar story she once knew by heart. It stood tall and proud, a symbol of strength and resilience against the backdrop of the ever-changing world

Once they arrived at the entrance to the town, dismounting was its own trial - a dance of unsteady legs and gritted teeth.

Gwen stumbled towards a nearby boulder, leaning against its rough, weathered surface for support. The chill seeped through her clothes, numbing her skin but providing much-needed stability. The castle loomed ahead, imposing yet strangely diminished, the stones older and more tired than she remembered.

Memories of Alistair flickered through her thoughts, echoes of laughter and earnest conversation from the privacy of the guest rooms, now just ghosts flitting through empty halls.

"Everything changes… except this," she whispered, tracing the scar tissue that encircled her wrists. Uselessness nipped at her resolve, a persistent hound she couldn't shake off. It gnawed at her with sharp teeth - was her presence here out of pity, a nod to past glories? No, she refused to accept that. She would contribute, somehow, even if her body screamed its dissent with every breath.

Her gaze lifted, taking in the new banners, the unfamiliar faces. This was not the Redcliffe she recalled. It was just another battleground, and she was a soldier stripped of armour, laid bare before the enemy of time.

Gwen straightened as best she could, her spine protesting silently. The weight of her impending death was a familiar companion, its shadow long and intertwined with her own. But even as her body faltered, her spirit kindled with a spark that refused to be extinguished - not until the very end.

The Herald met with Leliana’s scouts, handing Gwen off to complete her portion of the mission. One of them, a slender elven woman with a constellation of freckles across her cheeks, approached Gwen with a respectful nod.

"Gwen, if you'll come with me, I'll escort you to the location you provided Sister Nightingale," she said, offering Gwen an arm for support. Gwen accepted it with as much dignity as she could muster. Leliana hadn’t been present when Darcy and his party had learned of the secret passageway, and while Gwen had described it to her well, she’d come along to ensure there were no hiccups. Who knew what could have happened to it in the last decade.

The walk through the hilly woods was slow going, each rocky step jarring Gwen's fragile frame. But the beauty of the forest was a welcome distraction - shafts of sunlight filtering through the canopy, the trilling songs of birds, the earthy scent of moss and turning leaves.

When they reached the top of a ridge overlooking Redcliffe Castle, half a dozen scouts awaited them. Gwen regarded the familiar turrets and parapets, memories rising unbidden. How different it looked now, occupied by foreign forces.

Yet the secret entrance was just as she remembered, untouched by the passage of time.

With a nod of confirmation to the scouts who had accompanied her, they departed, Gwen leading the way.

The hallway was dimly lit by flickering torches, casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. Gwen moved slowly through the narrow passage, relying on her cane more heavily with each step. The cool dampness of the corridor made her bones ache, but she pressed on. She wanted to see the old guest rooms again, where she and Alistair had stolen private moments during the Blight. Back when they were both young and relatively carefree, the weight of the world not yet fully upon their shoulders. However, she would have to finish her mission first.

She remembered sitting on the edge of the lumpy bed, carefully tending to Alistair after he had endured yet another tongue-lashing from Lady Isolde. It had been the first time she’d held someone’s hand since Lucy, and it had stirred a deep need within her.

And then there was that night, just days before the Battle of Denerim. With a desperation born of not knowing if they would both survive, she’d moulded herself against him, his touch heating her skin. How she longed for that once more, to feel wanted, to feel cherished. But she had given it all up to keep him safe… right?

Gwen pictured Isolde's horrified face if the woman knew she now walked these secret halls, a small smile pulled at her ruined lips. Some memories not even the taint could take from her.

Gwen emerged from the passageway and led the way toward the throne room, leaning heavily on her cane. She shuffled through back corridors, wincing with every step.

They waited for the Herald’s signal as planned, and once given, the scouts entered the room. Leliana had requested that Gwen stay out of it, to be safe behind thick stone walls, but Gwen had never been great at following instructions.

The throne room was just as intricate as she remembered, with soaring arched ceilings and ornate stonework along the walls. But it was also changed. Gone were the banners of Redcliffe that once lined the hall, replaced now by the Tevinter symbol of mage rebellion.

At the far end sat the throne itself, imposing and severe-looking without Redcliffe's Arl to occupy it. She knew well the complications that had led the mages here, and from what she gathered, they did not willingly hand over their autonomy to the Magister. Her steps slowed as she took in the room, eyes tracing over familiar grooves and alcoves that still remained in the ancient stone. Gwen sighed, each breath a struggle, and continued her painstaking shuffle forward.

Lavellan’s - Ash, she had to remind herself - voice cut through the heavy, stifling air of Redcliffe's great hall like a knife, its sharpness echoed and reverberated against the walls. Gwen propped herself against a cool marble pillar at the edge of the room, struggling to stay upright as her body shook with exhaustion, unable to concentrate on any words exchanged. She’d made it, but it had cost her much.

She stood behind a contingent of Leliana’s scouts - a show of the Inquisition’s powers. Her grip on her cane tightened, its sturdy wood protesting against her grip, but it was her indomitable will that held her upright. The confrontation before her blurred like an artist's watercolour caught in the rain, details smudging together as her strength waned.

The magister's laugh was a cruel sound, like shards of glass scraping against each other. He lifted his hand, and the fabric of reality buckled, twisting at his command. Behind him, a swirling portal yawned open, its edges crackling with dangerous magic. Before anyone could react, tendrils of energy shot out from the portal, snaking around Ash and Dorian with an iron grip and dragging them into its depths. The suddenness of their disappearance caused a collective gasp to ripple through the room.

"Herald!" someone shouted from the throng - perhaps it was Cassandra. Gwen's heart lurched, and she fought to maintain focus, her vision swimming.

The portal snapped shut as abruptly as it had appeared, leaving a palpable void that seemed to suck the air out of the room. The Inquisition surged forward, ready to fight. But their movements all came to a screeching halt as a new portal opened in the exact same space where the previous one had just vanished. Ash and Dorian stumbled through, their faces grim but intact.

"Enough!" Her command silenced the room. With a swift motion, she signalled the guards, who moved to apprehend the magister. His eyes widened, his carefully crafted schemes unravelling before him as steel closed around his wrists. He babbled and seethed, his anger and desperation palpable, but Ash remained steadfast and unyielding. She stood tall, her posture exuding strength and authority, her eyes blazing as she refused to back down.

With a flick of her wrist, she commanded for the man to be taken away. The room seemed to let out a collective sigh of relief as Leliana's scouts promptly obeyed, ushering the prisoner out with cautious, pitying glances toward Gwen. The scouts knew she was not supposed to be there, but they had bigger concerns than corralling Gwen like a misbehaving child.

Before order could fully settle - and blessedly before Ash could question Gwen’s presence - the great doors banged open once more, drawing all eyes to the new arrivals.

The march of soldiers in full plate armour, their metal-clad footsteps ringing against the stone floor. The sound alone was enough to send her heart racing, and she felt her grip tighten on the hilt of her hidden dagger, the immediate surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. She straightened, her hood and bandana obscuring all but her pale eyes from view. It took a moment for her to process who the soldiers were, but as her vision focused, she recognized the Ferelden royal symbol emblazoned on their armour, shining brightly in the sunlight. These were the King's guards, and they were resplendent in all their regal glory.

Fear struck her, sharp and fast, like a lightning bolt crackling through her body, igniting every nerve and synapse with a paralyzing jolt.

Please for the love of the Maker, do not torment me like this. I would take years in the Grey Warden dungeons over a second of this. Please, anything but this!

A silent moment passed before the thought materialized into reality. The guards, standing as still as statues, parted like a curtain to reveal a figure whose presence seemed to suck all the air from the room.

"Grand Enchanter, imagine how surprised I was to learn that you'd given Redcliffe castle to a Tevinter Magister," Alistair proclaimed, his voice echoing with authority and disbelief. Maker’s Breath, the sound of his voice again after she’d almost forgotten his rich baritone speech all but brought her to her knees. She couldn’t breathe, she wasn’t sure she had since the last time she saw him.

A fresh wave of regret washed over her like a waterfall, drenching her in sorrow as she drank in his familiar features - the strong line of his jaw - sharpened with age, the determined set of his mouth. How she had missed that crooked grin, those warm brown eyes that used to look at her with such unwavering devotion. Her heart ached at the thought of all they could have shared. If only fate had not cruelly torn them apart. No, if only she hadn’t made the decision she did.

She longed for a fragment of laughter - a shared joke under starlit skies - the callused feel of his hand confidently intertwined with hers. But that softness felt dull now, overshadowed by memories of abandonment, sacrifice, and the relentless Calling that haunted her.

Alistair stood there - both far away and yet so close - an imposing figure radiating strength - tired, but still maintaining compassion and a flicker of humour beneath his title. His presence was a stark contrast to her own decaying form, a reminder of what she once was and what she had lost.

Gwen's stomach twisted into tight knots, the acidic taste of bile rising in her throat as if to expel all the dread that had accumulated within her. The great hall of Redcliffe Castle seemed to spin, its stone walls blurring into streaks of gray and brown, the banners fluttering like the wings of panicked birds seeking escape. Alistair's voice, firm and filled with an authority she had so rarely heard, was a clarion call to a past she had desperately tried to bury.

Her pulse pounded in her veins, each beat a drum of war that reverberated through her fragile bones. Alistair here, now, when her time was measured in grains of sand slipping through the hourglass - like cruel fate's final joke, pinning her down and leaving her unable to escape his unexpected arrival.

She took shallow breaths, each one filled with the scent of aged wood and the faint remnants of powerful magic. Her grip tightened on her cane, knuckles turning white as she leaned against the smooth marble pillar for support. Gwen closed her eyes, trying to push away the rising waves of nausea, but it stubbornly clung to her.

"Please, not now," she murmured to herself, a silent plea for composure. Her heart, already battered and bruised from years of fighting battles both physical and emotional, now thrashed against her ribs as though it might break free.

He was there, in flesh and blood, yet worlds apart from the time when they had stood together against the darkness of the Blight. When he had loved her. That Alistair, the one who joked in the face of death and looked at her with unguarded warmth, was a memory she couldn't afford to dwell on. Not when every part of her wanted to scream, to run, to hide her cursed face from his sight. She had changed so much in the last ten years and he… was as stunning as the day she had met him. Older, more sure of himself, but no less than what she remembered. She had only become more monstrous, she did not wish for him to know her like this. She could not handle him looking at her with contempt and disgust, it would kill her faster than her tainted blood.

Gwen watched through half-lidded eyes, a spectator in her own tragedy as Alistair turned, his gaze sweeping across the room. Time slowed, each second stretching into eternity until finally - inevitably - their eyes locked.

Next Chapter

A/N: I apologize for the cliffhanger, please forgive me!! The next chapter is going to be a big one, so hopefully that will make up for it :)

#angst with a happy ending #slow burn #fluff #falling in love #humour #alistair dao #alistair dragon age #alistair theirin #alistair x original character #dragon age inquisition #cullen rutherford #cassandra pentaghast #leliana #herald of andraste #varric tethras #dorian pavus #redcliffe #king alistair #alistair x oc

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tired-truffle · 2 months ago

Text

Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 5.8k

Part 47/54

Warning: Torture (Not heavily descriptive, more focused on the emotional/psychological piece)

“I don't want to just survive anymore, mom. It hurts it hurts it hurts, mom.” - Fariha Risin.

Masterlist

Thirty years until a Grey Warden would succumb to the taint, if they were lucky. Gwen, though she may not have been a Warden, was not immune to its corrosive effects. The taint came with a price and she was not the exception when it came to it demanding a toll. However, it wasn’t until ten years post-Blight that she saw any signs.

Her hair was the first to go. The white strands - stringy with age - had started to fall out, at first only when brushing her hair, but quickly it had turned into clumps. She was fooling no one when she showed up to breakfast one morning with a shaved head. Darcy stopped assigning her missions after that.

Her eyes were next, dark veins encroaching towards fading irises like menacing spiders. The dark grey hue of her eyes was becoming almost translucent, a ghostly reminder of what they used to be. Her gums and tongue quickly followed suit, stained black with the blood that was quickly turning to poison beneath her skin. She stopped eating with the others when a few of her teeth fell out in the mess hall.

Darcy demanded to know what was going on. He would know soon anyway, so she didn’t see the point in hiding it from him. To say he was both angry and appalled would be an understatement. He’d been passively searching for a cure for years, but the search had picked up in earnest the next day, despite his anger lingering, he still couldn’t let her go.

Weeks went by and Gwen idly wondered if this meant that it was her thirtieth year of life. She had barely anything to show for it; her best friend unable to bring himself to speak to her, had almost lost herself to the Blight, and love harboured deep in her heart for a man she had not heard from since he’d sent his last letter five years ago. A man she’d pushed away and hurt because she was too scared to admit that she still wanted him.

The inevitability of mortality was a cruel reality, one that could not be escaped. One moment someone was alive and well, travelling the country with their friends, and the next, those same friends were receiving letters bearing news of their passing. When Leliana's letter arrived to inform Gwen and Darcy of Wynne's death, Gwen had closed her eyes and her breaths came in quick gasps as she struggled to make sense of it all. They’d drank to her memory, toasting the mage, her wisdom, and her genuine friendship offered without reservation. Wynne had always known her time was coming, much like Gwen herself, but it did nothing to soften the blow. Was that what it would feel like for her friends when they found out? Would someone… write to Alistair? She wondered if he would feel relief that she was gone, no longer a stain upon his life, or if he would mourn her, grieve for what they could not have.

One terrible morning, Gwen jolted awake in a cold sweat, her heart pounding as the haunting melody of the Calling echoed in her mind. Ten years of silence, ten years of peace, only to have that wretched song pierce her thoughts once more. She clutched her chest, gasping for air as panic threatened to overwhelm her. The Calling was back. The taint within her had awakened, and soon she would be driven to descend into the Deep Roads, never to return.

Gwen scrambled out of bed, stumbling to the washbasin to splash water on her face. As she caught her reflection in the mirror, she recoiled at the sight - her sunken eyes, the dark veins creeping across her pallid skin. She was turning more into the monster she knew herself to be.

She thought of Alistair and a profound ache filled her chest. How she wished he was there to wrap his strong arms around her and tell her it would be alright. But she had pushed him away, left him without a word. Part of her longed to ask Darcy to write to him for her, to beg his forgiveness and ask him to return to her side one last time before the Calling took her. But she couldn't be that selfish. He deserved better than the gruesome fate that awaited her.

She’d hidden it from Darcy at first, unwilling to burden him with yet another part of her slow descent into death. But to her horror, a few weeks later, she was not the only one hearing the eery noise at the back of her skull. Darcy, and every other Warden heard it too. All except Darcy looked at her with suspicious glares, the odd one out, the one deteriorating because of the taint right before their very eyes. She was grateful they at least did not know that she was the one who had started hearing the Calling first.

Darcy started searching for clues about that as well.

Her body had begun to weaken, pain shooting through her joints when she stood out of bed every morning, a dull ache in her bones. It was slow at first, but quickly picked up speed until—

“I’m leaving to find the cure.”

Gwen lifted her head from where she’d been dozing on her arm, her small desk beneath her, and Darcy standing in the doorway of her room. “What?”

“Look at you,” he gestured vaguely to her entire body. “You’re dying. I’m not going to let that happen. You’re my friend and I’ve had to watch you fade away for ten years. And now you… I can’t just— I feel like I’ve already lost you and I don’t know how to get you back.” He avoided her gaze, his fists clenched at his sides.

Her chair scraped against the ground and she stood, propping herself up against the desk. “Darcy…” His wide, dark eyes flickered up to her, and the guilt present within them stole the words from her lips. She swallowed, her throat bobbing. “It’s not your fault. You can’t fix me. I don’t even know if I can be fixed.”

“No, no, that’s not how this works!" He raised his voice, desperation seeping out from between his barred teeth like honey. "You’re not a liability. You’re my friend, and I won’t lose you. I should have realized the taint would affect you the same way it does everyone else. I should have checked on you more, seen the signs. I pushed Alistair away from you and you’ve been suffering this entire time—“

“Enough.” Gwen's eyes flashed as she surged forward, her hands gripping his shoulders with a firmness that shocked him into silence. “Your friendship has meant the world to me, and is likely the only reason I am still alive. Even if you didn’t notice - and it’s not up to you to notice - do not minimize your good impacts simply because I am sick.” Her grip softened as his face fell. “You cannot solve everyone’s problems, and I know you tried everything you could to not put… him on the throne, but you also had the entirety of Ferelden, your community, your family, to think about.”

“But I hurt you.”

Gwen shook her head, she couldn’t stand the way he looked at her, the self-blame that was eating him up inside. “This was always going to happen. It is not your burden to bear.”

“I’m going to find a cure.” His gaze hardened, ignoring her. “Just stay alive until I get back. That’s an order.”

Gwen frowned, releasing his shoulders. “You’ve never given me an order before.”

“I’ve never had to.”

He left a few days later, entrusting Warden-Commander Clarel of the Orlais faction with Gwen’s safety and the safety of the Ferelden Wardens. The woman stood firm in her position, committed to her duty with an unwavering determination, there was little that could get between her and her goals. She was the obvious choice. And yet it didn’t take long before things went sideways. However, this time, Darcy was not by her side to defend her and she no longer possessed the strength to defend herself.

The whispers of her deformity and Darkspawn lineage spread like wildfire among the other Wardens, quickly rising to the higher ranks. Soon enough, they became loud demands for answers from her, doubting her loyalty and abilities. Despite her attempts to explain that she too was plagued by the Calling just like them, they refused to believe her. Rumours began circulating about her struggles with resisting the Calling, leading to calls for her capture. Ultimately, they caught her as she desperately tried to escape, no more than a day's journey from the safety of the fortress walls.

She'd heard them argue as she was dragged back, bloodied and bruised.

"We can’t just keep her locked away like an animal! She’s a person, and she deserves a chance at redemption!”

“Redemption? You’re risking everything! If she’s even a fraction of what they say, we can’t afford to take that chance!"

In the end, the arguments for her release were outweighed by fear. Shackled in a damp, fetid cell, the stench of mould and decay filled her slitted nostrils, she lay down on the cold stone floor. Water dripped from the barred windows, rousing a shiver that rippled through her weakened body. As she lay there, curled against memories of her childhood that threatened to consume her, tears fell down her cheeks. It was almost poetic, she thought bitterly, to die in the same squalid conditions she’d grown up in. Black blood seeped from the fresh wounds on her back, staining her threadbare shirt as the wounds on her back struggled to heal. But what were a few more scars? She had already lost everything that mattered to her.

The chill of the cell crept into her bones, spreading like the frost that spread over her heart, numbing her limbs and making it difficult to move. She’d never really been cold before, the heat of her blood ensuring her survival, but as her body failed her, even that was stolen away. Maker Breath, did she miss him. Her Alistair… was he finally happy that she had set him free? She longed to be held in his arms once more, to feel his tenderness and protection.

It was a hopeless wish. She knew she would never see him again before her inevitable death. And even if she did, would he still care for her? After all these years apart and after seeing what she had become? The thought tore at her heart but she pushed it aside. It didn't matter anymore. She couldn't burden him with knowing about her impending demise. He deserved better than that.

Still, the ache for him persisted, just as it had for the past ten years they’d been apart. Her love for him was unwavering, unbreakable, even in the face of death.

Gwen's eyes remained fixed on the rough, grey stone wall in front of her, the only thing she could focus on as the Wardens' raucous laughter filled the cold, damp dungeon. She flinched at the sound of Warden Graham's voice - a burly man with a cruel streak that she had always despised. He'd hated her from the moment they met. His wife had been killed in a Darkspawn attack during the Blight, and he held that grudge against anything he deemed minorly related. Unfortunately for Gwen, that included her.

He dangled a bundle of faded and frayed letters in front of her face, the parchment was yellowed with age, each crease and fold a sign of the years they had been hidden away. Gwen's heart sank into her stomach at the sight of them, for she knew those letters all too well. Despite her refusal to learn how to read, she had kept them safe, tracing her fingers over the edges of the paper just as he had done, holding them close to her chest and yearning for what could have been.

"Well well, look what we found tucked away in our little prisoner’s room," he sneered. "Seems like someone's got herself a secret admirer."

The other two Wardens present howled with laughter. Gwen said nothing, her jaw clenched tight.

Graham withdrew one of the letters and unfolded it with a dramatic flourish. "My dearest Gwen," he read, pitching his voice mockingly high. "I miss you more than words can say. My heart is consumed with longing for your sweet voice, your radiant smile..."

He trailed off as the Wardens erupted into raucous guffaws and whistles. Gwen stared straight ahead, her face impassive. Inside, her stomach churned with horror.

Gwen's heart pounded as Graham continued reading Alistair's tender words meant for her eyes alone. She had hidden the letters away, never daring to hope he still cared after she had pushed him away all those years ago. Hearing his affectionate words in Graham's cruel, jeering voice felt like a violation, an intrusion into her most private, vulnerable place. She’d always wondered if he hated her, and perhaps some letters contained words meant to hurt her as she had him. But hearing how lovingly he spoke of her hurt worse than any insult.

As Graham read on, tears gathered in Gwen's eyes unbidden. Alistair's silly jokes, his admissions of loneliness, his shy confessions of love - they unlocked a door in her heart she had kept firmly shut. She had convinced herself she didn't deserve his love after all she'd done. Didn't deserve him. But the earnest words on those pages said otherwise.

Gwen blinked rapidly, willing herself not to cry. She couldn't show weakness here. She focused on keeping her scarred face neutral and passive, even as her strength waned. Inside, her battered heart ached with bittersweet longing. Alistair had still loved her, across all those years and distance. And what had she done? Thrown it all back in his face with a hastily written letter, telling him to leave her alone. If he hadn’t hated her at first. He certainly would now.

Graham let the letter fall to the stone floor as he plucked another from the stack.

"Ah, this one's even better!" he exclaimed with vicious delight. "Listen to this soppy rubbish."

He cleared his throat theatrically before continuing in the same mocking falsetto.

"My darling Gwen, not a moment goes by when I don't see your beautiful face in my mind's eye. I remember how your nose crinkled when you laughed, and how your eyes sparkled in the sun. The memory of your kiss haunts my dreams, your scent lingers on my skin. I would give anything to hold you in my arms again, to confess my undying love and devotion. I hope this letter finds you well. Know that you are always in my thoughts. Yours eternally, Alistair."

The years had not diminished his feelings, nor had her absence erased his memory. It made Gwen want to scream and scream until her throat gave out.

Graham crumpled the letter in his gauntleted fist. "Pathetic," he sneered. "Still pining after the freak years later." He leaned in close, his sour breath hot on Gwen's face. “I'm going to enjoy every second of breaking you."

Gwen met his glare with hollow eyes. In her ravaged heart, she knew he was right. She was a freak - a monster - and monsters didn't get happy endings.

"Who's this Alistair that's so sweet on you?" Graham leered, flipping the letter over to inspect it. Gwen felt infinitely grateful that she’d had the forethought to remove the royal seals. "Maybe we should let him know you've kicked the bucket, save him moping after a corpse."

A sudden chill shot through Gwen's veins, turning her blood to ice. The thought of Alistair's true identity being discovered sent a wave of panic and determination through her. She would do whatever it took to protect him from harm and was grateful that they had not put together her travelling with Darcy and Alistair - their king - during the Blight. Why would anyone believe a creature like herself could ever deserve the love of a man as noble and kind as Alistair?

She wouldn’t risk endangering Alistair, not now, not after she’d spent a decade ensuring his safety. She could only hope he wasn’t foolish enough to write his title within the letters.

"Go ahead and kill me," she rasped. "But leave him out of this. He's no one of consequence."

Graham grabbed her chin roughly, forcing her to meet his malignant gaze. "Oh, I don't think so. Anyone who cares for a worthless tainted whore is either touched in the head or hiding something. We'll get it out of you, one way or another."

Summoning the last dregs of her courage, Gwen worked up a mouthful of bloody spittle and phlegm. With all her remaining strength she spat full in Graham's face.

"He is beyond your reach," she croaked. "Do your worst."

Graham backhanded her viciously across the face. Gwen's head snapped to the side, fresh blood trickling from her split lip. But still, she held his gaze, defiant to the last. She would not betray Alistair, no matter how grievous her suffering.

“Get the brand!” Graham bellowed back at one of the onlooking Grey Wardens, a twisted smile crossing his face. “You’ll pay for that one, bitch.”

It only got worse from there.

When they brought a hot poker to her cheek, burning away that skin and muscle that hid her sharp teeth, she thought of the first time Alistair had held her split cheeks in his callused hands, his eyes scanning her face with adoration she hadn’t thought she was worthy of. This can’t be how it ends, she thought desperately, recalling Alistair’s voice in her head. Think of him. Hold on to that. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to block out the cruel, mocking laughter that echoed all around her

As they brutally ripped her nails from the tender beds of her fingers, she clenched her teeth and refused to scream. They moved on to more extreme methods, cutting off two of her fingers on her left hand in a desperate attempt to break her will and make her reveal information about the Calling - but she had nothing to give. As the pain seared through her body, she found solace in thoughts of him, imagining their fingers threading together, the gentle touch of his thumb against her thin bones as they held hands. She had endured many tortures before, her nail beds desensitized from previous encounters with the Sisters, but this was too much. As she passed out from the excruciating agony and they realized they could not extract anything from an unconscious girl, she felt a sense of victory. At least her broken body was good for something, she would get to keep eight out of her ten fingers.

But with each scream that escaped her lips, a piece of her resolve fractured, the sound reverberating off the cold stone walls like shattering glass. She lay twisted in her chains; time stretched languidly. Each second felt like an eternity as the pain settled in, anchoring her body down, while her mind fought against the darkness that beckoned with sweet promises of relief.

I can’t lose myself, she thought, clinging hard to the memory of Alistair’s laughter, the caressing touches, the laughs shared, the loving look in his beautiful eyes.

“Tell us what the Archdemon wants!” They’d yell at her. “Tell us where it is!” And no amount of ‘I don’t know’s sobbed from bloodied lips did anything to convince them to convince them of her innocence. Perhaps because she was not innocent, they sensed it on her like a plague upon a diseased man.

"Please," she hissed, her tongue dry and leaden in her mouth. "Just kill me."

"Not yet," said Warden Forrest, a dedicated man, younger and more easily influenced than Graham. "You think we’re monsters? We’re protecting the realm. Every day, we face an enemy that wants to eradicate us. It’s not personal; it’s survival. I lost brothers to creatures like you, and if I have to break you to keep my people safe, then so be it." He paused, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "You still haven't told us about the Calling. What has the Archdemon promised you?"

Gwen shook her head weakly. "Nothing. There are no promises with the Calling, only death."

Forrest grabbed Gwen's maimed hand, squeezing the raw flesh where her fingers had been. Gwen cried out, writhing against her restraints.

"You'll break eventually," Forrest said coldly. "They all do."

And it continued, and she didn’t break, for she had hidden nothing except Alistair’s identity, and they had no way of prying his title from her lips. Even when she started coughing up black, thick blood, her lungs screaming in protest, she remained strong.

Weeks later, Warden Graham made his way down to her cell, his heavy steps echoing off the cold stone walls as he approached her. She longed to shrink away from him, wanting to hide her weak and broken body from his harsh gaze. But she was trapped, her limbs weighed down by chains that dug into her skin. Her arms hung limply at her sides, numbness creeping through them. Her body throbbed, and pain flared through her like an old friend. It felt like returning home after a long time away only to find everything changed, familiar, but entirely different.

He crouched in front of her, her knees aching, her jaw hanging unhinged, drool falling from her gaping maw. It had popped out some time ago, but they’d only laughed, letting it hang, and she’d been unable to put it back. She’d never felt less human in her entire life.

And he refused to give her a break.

A cruel smile twisted his oafish features, and she struggled to hold her head up, to glare at him with as much acid as he deserved.

“I wonder what your lover would think of you now,” he pitched his voice low. All the other wardens had left, she’d lost the shiny intrigue of a new prisoner and they had more interesting people to torture, judging by the screams that echoed down the hall.

She could do nothing but stare, her jaw clicking as she tried and failed to return it to its proper place.

He chuckled humourlessly, patting her cheek with a meaty hand and sending pain shooting across her skull. She groaned weakly, coughing up more of her thick blood.

He jumped back with a curse, a sneer tugging at his thin lips. She would have laughed if she had the energy, though it still warmed the vindictive part of her heart to see him so disgusted by her.

“To think, a thing like you could have a man like him so wrapped around your finger.” Dread pooled low in her stomach, the gloat in his eyes had her panicked. “Tell me, how did you manage to enchant the King of Ferelden?”

Kicking her in the stomach would have hurt less. She couldn't suppress the horrified moan that escaped her throat, her body lurching forward as though that would do anything to stop this. Finally, her presence in his life put him at risk, just like she always knew it would.

“Wouldn’t it just be something if these letters were to get out? Your poor little king would be under quite the intense scrutiny, if they didn’t remove him first for his affair with a Darkspawn bitch,” he spat. “But I’m not a man without reason. Tell me what you know about the Calling and I promise no one else will find out about your precious little Alistair.”

His rough, calloused hands gripped her jaw tightly, forcing it back into place with a sickening crack. The sound echoed through the air, causing her mind to go blank from the pain. But even as she fought to stay conscious, the shock of his reveal flooded her body with adrenaline, giving her the strength to endure the agony.

Testing her jaw and finding that it clicked irritably, she spoke for the first time in weeks.

“Fuck. You. I don’t know anything.”

He shook his head, giving her a falsely patient smile. “He should have known better than to get involved with someone so heartless. It makes one wonder about his capacity to rule, if he cannot do something so simple as pick out a suitable woman.”

She bared her sharp teeth in a snarl, rage alight in her eyes. “Alistair has nothing to do with this, leave him alone.”

“Just like you did?” He shot back, making her recoil. “He did a pretty good job of hiding who he is, there was only one letter in the entire bunch that gave it away, quite clearly, I might add. You really did a number on him. Would you like to hear how terribly you wounded Ferelden’s King?”

No, she did not. But as she opened her mouth to tell him as much, her jaw decided that it no longer enjoyed this arrangement, and popped back out with a wet crunch. Her stomach lurched, rolling with nausea.

“Since you’re in no space to refuse, I’ll just assume that you would have said yes.”

Gwen strained against the chains as they dug into her flesh, panic filling her tired eyes. But he did not care, he had already fished the letter from his pouch. And when he began reading, his voice pitched in that mocking falsetto that sounded nothing like the man she loved, Gwen wanted nothing more than for all of this to come to a swift end.

“To the woman who left and shattered my heart,

Well, congratulations. You’ve done it. You’ve outwitted a king. Though, in fairness, that’s not saying much when the king in question is me.”

“First off, let me just say: bravo. You’ve pulled off the greatest vanishing act in history, on the morning of my coronation no less. The whole kingdom was watching me, but I was only looking for you. I swear, I must have checked under every blanket, behind every curtain, even considered that you might have shrunk yourself down and hidden in my boot - because, let’s face it, even that would be less absurd than you leaving without a word.”

“Sorry if this letter’s a bit sloppy. It’s hard to write when the room’s spinning, but that might just be the whiskey. Or the fact that my heart’s been ripped out and stomped on by a ghost. Your ghost, to be exact. You know, it’s really hard to look regal when you’re crying into your royal robes. They don’t tell you that part in the training.”

“Anyway. Where was I? Right. You. Gone. And me. Here. Alone. You know, I thought being king would be the hardest thing I’d ever do. Turns out, it’s not even close. The hardest thing I’ve ever done is trying to breathe without you. And, hey, I’m failing at that too. I’m starting to think I’m just bad at everything.”

“But seriously… why? Why did you leave? Was it something I said? Or was it something I didn’t say? Because I can think of about a thousand things I should have told you, but I always thought we had time. Stupid me, right? It’s been four years and I still can’t figure it out.”

“I keep thinking you’ll walk back in and tell me this was all a mistake, that you just got lost on your way to the coronation or something. Even if you told me you left because you couldn’t stand my face anymore, at least I’d know. But you just… disappeared. Poof. Gone. Like you were never even here.”

“But you were. And that’s the worst part. I can still feel you, even though you’re not here. You’re everywhere and nowhere, and I’m just… well, I’m just here. Sitting on this stupid throne, with a heart full of love that has nowhere to go. So I’m sending it to you, because it’s yours, whether you want it or not.”

“Forever your fool, Alistair.”

Gwen felt like her organs had been scooped out and tossed across the floor. Her breath wheezed in her chest, and after so long holding back her damned tears, they leaked from her bloodshot eyes, mixing with the saliva from her hanging mouth and plinking quietly against the stone beneath her. Graham sounded nothing like Alistair, but by the Maker could she hear his voice saying those words, they were just so him. She’d been a coward, leaving without saying a word, but she’d known she never would have been able to had she looked into his loving gaze and broken his heart. And she had, broken his heart - shattered it, as he’d put it - and her own in the process. She’d known it would hurt him, but she’d always thought that eventually, he’d realize he was better off without her.

Instead, he wallowed in self-pity and wrote her a drunken letter. She deserved this punishment for what she’d done, but did he have to be dragged into it too? Had he not suffered enough because of her? A warning pulsed in her chest: what if she had made a mistake? What if she could have fought for him, for them?

He snorted, “Pathetic.” Graham stood, cracking his knees as he stretched and stood up. “I’ll let you sit with that one. You’ve got a week, and then the whole of Thedas will know of our King’s proclivities. If you care about him, which judging by that look on your face you do, you’ll reconsider your stance.”

And he left her, in pain, alone, and terrified - though not for herself.

She’d never truly wished to die before, but with her death inevitably in her near future, she prayed for an end to this torture, no matter what that looked like. Anything would be better than this. But the Gods were not listening, or if they were, they must be revelling in her pain. They’d never let her have a break before, why would they allow it now?

“Get up,” a man’s voice hissed in the dark, though Gwen did not know how much time had passed since Graham had left, the voice was distinctly not his. Her body would not comply, nor would her jaw return to its proper place to allow her to tell the man she couldn’t. It didn’t matter, he’d find out soon and subject her to further agony. The jingling of metal keys in the lock of her cell door reached her ears and she braced herself for a swift kick to her already broken ribs.

But it never came. Instead, a sudden lightness flooded through her limbs and neck, the familiar weight of metal clanging to the ground as she was released from her shackles. Had they deemed her too weak to fight back?

“Quickly, we don’t have much time.” Hands touched her jaw with a gentleness she hadn’t thought she’d ever feel again. With slow movements, he lifted the hanging half of her face, and pressed it back into place. It hurt, but the pain was short-lived, replaced by relief as the weight of her jaw no longer pulled on her skin. An arm reached under her shoulders and she groaned at the movement. Her vision swam as she tried to focus on the man crouching above her. Moonlight reflected off his pale skin, his face hidden in shadows, but his strong and prominent mustache was difficult to mistake. She hadn’t worked with him much, but she had met him a handful of times before.

“Stroud?” She croaked as she remembered his name, her brows furrowing with a wince as her raw throat burned from all her screaming.

“I’m sorry it took me this long to reach you, but they already distrust me, perhaps it wasn’t wise to be so vocally against their plans to turn each other into abominations.” He hefted her up, bearing all of her weight, an arm wrapped around her waist, her arm flopping uselessly around his shoulders, her head lolling to the side before she was able to control it into a semi-upright position.

“What?” Her mouth felt like it was full of cotton. How many more teeth had fallen out?

He pulled her along until her legs caught up with them, her mind still struggling to comprehend as she limped along. “I’m getting you out of here.”

Hallucinations were new, but she supposed it was nice to have a small break from her reality.

The bodies of unconscious guards littered the halls, their forms illuminated by the torches bracketed to the walls. For a hallucination, Gwen had to admit that this all seemed rather real. But Stroud, a man she barely knew risking everything to rescue her? It didn’t make any sense. She was a monster, monsters don’t deserve to be saved.

“I have seen my fair share of monsters, and I can assure you that you are not one.” She must have said it aloud, for he took it upon himself to answer. "I know you can’t trust us, but I can’t stay silent while this goes on. We’re meant to protect, not to torment. I have to find a way to help you - even if it means risking my own standing."

She shut her mouth, a retort building at the back of her throat. Now was not the time, best to let herself enjoy this while it lasted.

They reached the stables and already her little strength was flagging. Two horses had been prepared and remained tethered to a post. Without a word, Stroud helped her up onto a tawny mare, its tail flicking irritably like it knew they were doing something wrong. Soft fur carded through her fingers and for the first time since leaving the cell, she had the sinking feeling that she wasn’t hallucinating after all.

“Stroud—“ She started, leaning heavily on her horse’s neck, but he cut her off, his eyes darting around.

“I’m afraid that this is where we must part.” He threw a rope around her middle, tying it with practiced fingers around the horse's neck, just tight enough to keep her on and still allow the animal to breathe. “I will lead them away, you follow the creek until your horse won’t allow it anymore.” He tugged her reins and directed her towards the water, hoof prints surrounding the area would cover up her direction. “Good luck, Gwen. I hope we meet again.”

“Thank you,” she barely had time to mumble before he hit the back of her horse, sending it galloping into the water. With the last of her strength, she pulled the reigns to get it to stay in the creek as he’d advised, and watched from afar as he yelled, calling all attention to him, before riding into the dark.

Gwen's body trembled as exhaustion and pain seeped into every inch of her being. As much as she fought against it, the darkness beckoned and her consciousness began to slip away. Her injuries, now exacerbated by the added strain, were taking their toll on her failing body. She closed her eyes and tried to hold on, but the pull was too strong. The world around her grew hazy and distant, fading into a murky blur.

She had managed to put a good distance between herself and the Wardens, but she refused to let her hopes soar too high. She knew all too well the danger of false hope. As she succumbed to the darkness, her mind conjured feelings of comfort; a sword-roughened hand trailing down her sore back, the scent of pine and armour polish, a press of lips against her forehead, a smile that warmed even the coldest parts of her soul. With each breath of fresh air that filled her nostrils, all she could think was at least if she died, she would die free, and finally remove her burden from those she loved.

Next Chapter

A/N: I wrote Alistair's letter a while ago so I'd mostly forgotten what I'd written, but, uh, I hurt myself on that one. Oof, that poor, poor boy. But don't worry! We don't have too long before we see him again :) Can anyone guess when/where this happens?

Also I PROMISE things only get better from here. Gwen’s got some realizing to do.

#angst with a happy ending #slow burn #fluff #falling in love #humour #alistair dragon age #alistair dao #alistair theirin #alistair x original character #original warden #dragon age origins #king alistair

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tired-truffle · 2 months ago

Text

Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 4.7k

Part 46/54

Incoming montage of Hopelessly Devoted to You by Olivia Newton-John or SOS by ABBA but if you really want to get hit in the feels, either Rivers and Roads by The Head and the Heart or The Night We Met by Lord Huron

"In my dreams I am kissing your mouth and you're whispering 'where have you been?’ I say, 'I've been lost but I'm here now. You're the only person who has ever been able to find me.’” — Sue Zhao

Masterlist

The days passed like Gwen was a fly caught in molasses. Every morning she would wake and for a brief, blissful moment she would forget all that had happened and reach over to try to feel the warm body that should be next to her. The furnace of a man who would pull her into his arms despite his grumbling at having been woken, press a kiss to her hair, and promptly fall back asleep. But the bed was cold and she was alone. Alistair was in his castle, surrounded by people who thought her nothing more than a monster. Was his bed as cold as hers or had he found someone to warm it for him?

It had been weeks - or maybe months, Gwen had lost track - since she’d left Denerim and made her way to Vigil’s Keep and joined the Wardens, though not in full. She had no idea what taking the Warden concoction would do to her, and neither she nor Darcy were keen to find out.

The first of Alistair’s letters had arrived only a week into her stay at the Keep. Darcy hadn’t yet made it, and she’d shoved it beneath the thin mattress of her bed. She wouldn’t read it, not only because she couldn’t, but because she was afraid. Would he hate her, curse her existence for what he did to her? Or would he beg her to come back, tell her how much he loved her? She wasn’t sure which would be worse. If he hated her, it would be easier to stay away, though it would kill that last piece of her that clung onto the happiness her love for him gave her, even as it consumed her. But if he wanted her back… she had always been weak when it came to denying him. She could already imagine the warmth of his embrace, the light in his eyes. It hurt to know how easy it would be to break her resolve.

Once Darcy arrived at Vigil’s Keep, Gwen followed him wherever he went, ignoring the worried looks he shot her way, his attempts to cajole her falling flat every time. Gwen may not have been a Grey Warden, but she was an ally with the taint - a rumour that quickly spread - and no one questioned their Warden-Commander, at least not when she was around to hear it.

When the Keep needed aid, Gwen travelled with him, intent to keep her friend safe by any means necessary. But when Alistair - King Alistair - showed up at the Compound, Gwen ran for the cover of the shadows, watching with an aching heart as his troupe approached.

As he rounded the corner, his armour gleaming in the sunlight and adorned with intricate designs and symbols of his rank, she wanted to curl into a ball and cry. He looked older, a weight on his shoulders that hadn’t been present when she’d left him on the morning of his coronation. She was relieved to see his cheeks were full, at least, and his hair styled the same in a half-hearted effort to keep it off his forehead. She longed to run her hands through it again, to feel the softness of the strands, to trail her fingertips down his face. But reality struck like a cold wave; she had given up that privilege. The weight of her decision crashed upon her, and her heart sank deeper into despair.

His lips were curved into an easy smile as he chatted with Darcy, his movements fluid and casual, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes, darting around as if searching for something or someone. She knew without a doubt that he was looking for her. The earnest longing in his gaze tugged at her heartstrings, she didn’t deserve that, he should be angry, be looking for revenge for his broken heart.

Gwen could barely register what they were talking about, her thoughts swirling too rapidly for her to concentrate. It all blurred into a background noise until Alistair’s fidgeting caught her eye, unable to meet Darcy's gaze. "How is she?" he asked, and the world stilled around them. Her heart raced, both at the sound of his voice and the realization that he still cared enough to ask.

He didn’t have to name her, they all knew who he meant.

Darcy's head shook with a subtle, almost imperceptible movement. From her angle, she couldn't see his face, but she didn't need to imagine the grimace that adorned it. It was the same one he always wore when he caught her lost in her own thoughts - a mixture of disappointment and concern. It never failed to elicit guilt within her, knowing that he took too much on himself. This was not his burden to bear, not his fault to own. She tried her hardest to shield him from these moments, though she knew she would inevitably slip up.

“I think you already know the answer.”

Gwen couldn't bear to watch any longer as Alistair's face contorted with pain and heartache. The lines on his forehead deepened as he pressed his lips together in a tight line, trying to hold back his anguish. Gwen felt a pang of guilt twist in her chest. It was a look she had dreaded seeing - one she had been trying to avoid for so long. Her heart ached as she retreated further into the shadows, her back pressing against the cool exterior of the building. She sank to the ground and curled up into a small ball, trying to make herself invisible and escape from the overwhelming scene before her. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she struggled to stifle her sobs and remain silent in the darkness. Every nerve in her body was alive with emotion, raw and exposed like a fresh wound.

Darcy found her like that some few minutes later, the rest of the group having gone on ahead to give them space. The pity in his gaze was like a knife to her heart, making her want to tear out her own eyes and hide from the world.

“He asked about you,” Darcy said softly, concern etched on his face. Gwen nodded, burying her face in her hands.

“I know,” she murmured, her voice muffled against her palms

Darcy sighed, too weary for someone barely over the age of twenty. “I’m sorry, Gwen. I wish I knew how to fix this.”

Gwen shook her head. “It is not your fault. There is nothing left to fix. I will be fine, I just need a minute.” She wasn’t sure how many times they’d had this conversation in varying forms - each time leaving her feeling more drained. Darcy apologizing - believing it was his fault that Alistair became king, and while he may have had a hand in it, he’d had to do what was necessary. Gwen did not blame him for it - and she would tell him as much, though he never seemed to believe it. He would give her space, and then they would continue like over and over again.

She had little time to dwell, as the situation at Vigil’s Keep became dire, she followed Darcy to the deep roads once more. Though she couldn’t stop herself from wondering: Was he sleeping well, eating enough? Had he found people he could trust, was he happy?

She hated herself for the misery she caused him, but she’d had to do it. If only she had been born different, not some monstrous woman unfit for a king. It made her fight harder, all that rage threatening to burn her alive if she did not spew it onto something else first. She hacked and she slashed and she tore them apart with her teeth and she survived. Because that is what Gwen did, with or without the man who owned her heart.

When they encountered the talking Darkspawn… They were the nail in the coffin. If only fate had dealt a slightly different hand, she could have been one of them - twisted and corrupted, her core rotten to the bone. It was a sobering thought that haunted her every waking moment.

They’d had to leave her behind, the pull of the Broodmothers too much for her blood to resist, even after the Calling had ended. She’d stewed in resentment and restlessness within the confines of the Keep. But when the attack came, and once again she was thrust into a battle for survival, she was ready.

She met many people during these times, Anders the runaway mage, a spirit of Justice, Sigrun the castless dwarven woman and scout for the Legion of the Dead, Nathanial Howe - a much better man than his father, and Velanna the Dalish mage whose righteousness rivalled little else. While they were an interesting bunch, when they inevitably separated, she felt less sadness than she had when her first companions had gone their separate ways. She supposed that that was what groups did, they completed a task and then disbanded. No need to get too attached.

She always had Darcy, at least, and by extension Zevran when he came to stay with them. The Wardens were wary of her, at best, and despised her, at worst. But having the Warden-Commander as your close friend had its perks. She was relatively untouchable, though, in some ways, she wished she wasn’t.

Two years into her downward spiral, she received an unexpected letter from Leliana, the new Right Hand of the Divine. The delicate parchment was sealed with wax and bore the insignia of the Chantry. With trembling hands, Gwen tore it open and asked Darcy to read it aloud, her own illiteracy a constant source of frustration. Leliana's words were gentle and lyrical, inquiring about her well-being and praising her for her hard work with the Wardens. Leliana thoroughly avoided the topic of Alistair when bringing up old memories from their times together and Gwen was grateful for this unexpected connection to her dear friend. She felt proud of all that Leliana had achieved. In Gwen's eyes, she deserved nothing less than the world itself, and she was sure to include that in her return letter - with Darcy’s aid of course.

The letters continued to arrive sporadically, as Leliana's busy schedule often left her with odd hours. Gwen's own schedule wasn't much better, leaving them both struggling to find time for their correspondence. And on top of that, there was the need to get Darcy to read and write a proper response, while also constantly turning down his offer to teach her how.

If she learned how to read she’d have one less excuse to finally unearth the pile of letters hidden under her bed. Each one was embossed with a regal seal and written on fine paper, making them almost too precious to touch. Every time a new letter arrived, she would quickly stash it away in the box where it belonged, unable to bring herself to toss it into the fire. But on her loneliest nights, she couldn't resist the temptation to take out the box and carefully unfold only one letter, searching for any trace of his scent or any sign of where his fingers may have touched the paper.

Maker, she was a pathetic fool, but when it came to Alistair, she always had been.

Three years into her time with the Wardens, Darcy had finally convinced her to join him and his friends in a Tavern, to drink and forget and just spend time together. The other Grey Wardens put up with her presence because of her friendship with Darcy and she did not wish to think about what they would do to her if Darcy hadn’t ensured her safety through threat of death should anyone touch her. It isolated her, but this was alright, she did not wish to make any more friends.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Gwen dug her heels in as Darcy tugged her towards the lively tavern, song and chatter coming from within.

“I only have good ideas.” Darcy pushed harder until she relented, trudging unwillingly toward what she was sure would be her social doom. She tugged anxiously on her bandana, what if they saw what was underneath? What if they pulled it down and gutted her right then and there?

Darcy, sensing her distress, released her wrists and grabbed her shoulders instead, shaking her lightly as if he could get the thoughts to tumble from her head. “It’s going to be fine, I’m going to be right beside you, and if you really hate it you can always leave and I’ll never make you come along again.”

Gwen sighed, she was going to regret this, but when Darcy stuck his bottom lip out in a pout, his eyes wide and glassy, she had a hard time telling him no.

It was just a night in a tavern with people she spent most of her days around, how terrible could it be?

Gwen steeled herself as she followed Darcy into the warmth and noise of the tavern. Her shoulders hunched slightly, partly to make herself less noticeable and partly in apprehension. The tavern was alive with the sounds of lively chatter and music, the aroma of hearty stews and sizzling meats, the tangy scent of ale and mead, and the sweet aroma of freshly baked bread attempting to placate Gwen’s nerves. However, she only heard the loud thumping of her heart in her ears as she followed Darcy. She kept her gaze lowered as he greeted his friends boisterously, sliding onto the bench beside them.

"Come on, don't be shy!" Darcy said, patting the empty space next to him. Reluctantly, Gwen sat. She felt the weight of curious stares on her and resisted the urge to flee.

It took some time, but after she’d downed a few beers, a light buzzing in her system - though unable to get drunk - she found herself relaxing as Darcy regaled his friends with dramatized stories of their adventures, ensuring to steer clear of any mentions of Alistair. The other wardens started to regard her with newfound interest instead of fear and uncertainty, and from the knowing smirk plastered across Darcy’s face, that had been his plan all along.

She did her best to humour him, nodding along and confirming what he said to be true when the others looked questioningly at her. She felt at ease for the first time since… well, she preferred not to think about it.

Yet history had a way of haunting her, of ensuring she never knew a moment of peace.

The bard - a small elvhen man with a grin that could enrapture even the most reluctant of patrons - stood poised in the center of the bustling tavern where he had been playing energetically the entire evening. She’d vaguely listened to his music, it was good, but nothing she cared too terribly about. That was until the bard's voice rang out with an announcement. Her attention snapped back as he declared that he had a special song to share about Ferelden's King.

A cold, sharp pain stabbed through her chest and her heart seemed to freeze in place. Her heart leapt into her throat, her breathing faltering as his lyrics swirled around the room.

“Gather 'round, ye merry folk, and heed this haunting tale of woe,

Of young King Alistair's twisted love, a story yet untold.

In our fair Ferelden, where whispers rose and fears did grow,

A monstrous love now shadowed, love that fate would soon withhold."

“Oh, King Alistair, he lost his love of old,

For the coldness of her empty heart devoured all the light.

Amidst the fear and doubts, their love could not survive,

But their tale shall live on, as a warning to the wise.”

“A creature born of nightmares, with ash-filled eyes and skin so deathly pale,

With fangs that gleamed like daggers, she drew him towards her Blight.

In hidden corners lingered, their love began to bloom,

But fears of darkened magic sealed their impending doom.”

“Oh, King Alistair, he lost his love of old,

For the coldness of her empty heart devoured all the light.

Amidst the fear and doubts, their love could not survive,

But their tale shall live on, as a warning to the wise.”

“Rumors flew like wildfire, a curse upon the brave,

Whispers of dark magic and evil deeds he'd have to save.

with his pure, tender soul,

And though it tore right through him, he chose to let her go.”

“Oh, King Alistair, he lost his love of old,

For the coldness of her empty heart devoured all the light.

Amidst the fear and doubts, their love could not survive,

But their tale shall live on, as a warning to the wise.”

“So listen closely, dear friends, to the truth inside the song,

For love knows no bounds, even if darkened by wrong.

And though they say he broke her spell, the truth may never show,

The legacy of love shall grow, in whispered tales, the seed will sow.”

The harsh scraping of her chair against the floor echoed through the room, her ears ringing. Had Alistair heard this song? Did he hate her for haunting him still, for ruining his reputation? They never should have been together in the first place, she should have realized that she wasn’t worthy of his love, that he deserved so much more than her. Maker, she was an idiot, she could never stop hurting the people she loved. Darcy stared at her with a mix of pity and anguish in his large brown eyes. She couldn’t stop hurting him either. Maybe it would be best for them both if she just disappeared.

But she knew he’d never stop looking for her, and that would only hurt him more in the long run.

"Gwen,” Darcy started, reaching for her arm. She quickly raised her hand, signalling him to stop as she turned away.

“I will see you at camp,” she said, her voice firm. She parted without another word, striding out into the darkness where she belonged. Where a monster like her should be.

It was in her tent, sitting on her bedroll with a numbness that spread through her limbs that Darcy found her. He stumbled over the threshold, the lingering scent of ale clinging to him like a second skin. Gwen took one look at his glassy eyes and dishevelled appearance and sighed.

He stumbled forward, his body swaying dangerously as if he were about to topple over. Quick reflexes kicked in and she caught him under the arms, her strong grip guiding him to sit on the edge of her bedroll. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to regain his balance and composure.

"‘s my fault, you know," he slurred, flinging an arm dramatically over his eyes. "You ‘nd Alistair. If I hadn't made him king, you coulda had your happily ever after."

Gwen sat down beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Darcy, you know that's not true. You're a wonderful friend. You did what you thought was right for Ferelden at the time. No one could have predicted how things would turn out."

Darcy peered at her from under his arm, his dark eyes glistening. "But now you're both miserable without each other. And there's nothing I can do to fix it."

"Sometimes life just doesn't give you the fairytale ending you hoped for," Gwen said softly, doing her best to keep her pain out of her tone. "Alistair and I… we weren't meant to be.”

Darcy grabbed her hand, his grip surprisingly strong despite his inebriated state. "I jus' wanted you to be happy, Gwen," he mumbled. "Both of you. And now look...it's all ruined."

Gwen placed a hand on his shoulder. "Darcy, look at me. You can't control everything. Sometimes life leads us down paths we don't expect or want. But you've always been there for me, and that's all I could ever ask for in a friend. Now you need to go to bed before you get your tears all over my pillow. Again.”

With little protest, Gwen helped Darcy out of his tunic and into a spare sleep shirt. As she tucked him under her blankets, already half-asleep, she planted a kiss on his forehead.

"It's not your fault, Darcy. I wish I knew how to stop you from blaming yourself for my decision.”

Quiet greeted her, Darcy having swiftly drifted off to sleep, and without another word she left him to his peaceful slumber, taking up watch over the camp. She wasn’t going to be getting any rest that night, not with that damned song echoing around her skull.

Darcy never brought up the incident again for fear of upsetting her further. But unbeknownst to Gwen, he’d woken early the next morning and snuck back to his tent, quill tapping paper as he wrote.

My dear friend Alistair,

Have you heard the song they wrote about you and Gwen? She’d kill me if she knew I told you but she’s withering away and I can’t stand to see her like this.

His words remained grossed out as he stared at the page. Rubbing his hand across his tired face he balled up the letter and stuffed it into his pack. He couldn’t send it, what could Alistair even do at this point? This was Darcy’s fault and his mess to clean up. Why couldn’t he do anything to make this better? Why did he stand there helplessly while his friend became a shell of herself? He was the Hero of Ferelden for the Maker’s sake and he couldn’t even do something as simple as put a smile on Gwen’s face. Some hero he was.

Out on a crucial mission for the Grey Wardens, five years after successfully ending the Fifth Blight, Gwen's heart raced as she caught sight of Alistair once again. She was just as unprepared for his presence as she had been the first time she’d seen him, some four years ago.

Visiting villages, boosting morale, and listening to the complaints of the people were all part of a King’s job. Gwen was aware of this and had been careful to avoid anywhere where he was rumoured to be, but when it was unscheduled, a surprise visit he decided to make on his way back to Denerim, there wasn’t any way for Gwen to prepare.

Fanfare accompanied him, whispers and excited shouts of the King’s arrival, his entourage on horses, knights guarding him from the ground, banners and so much noise that Gwen knew he would hate. Or the Alistair she’d known would have, perhaps he’d grown to like the attention.

She ducked into a darkened alley, pulling her hood up as she pressed herself against the cold bricks. The village was small, one main street running through the centre, the street she had been on, the street she had left Darcy and their other Grey Warden companions on. The street that Alistair was set to ride down.

Desperation burned in her gut, the need to see him making her legs scream against the stillness she was forcing into her body. She yearned to run out and into his arms, hold him and never let go, but that was not for her. Five years and she still loved him just as much as the day they had parted.

Darcy glanced around, his brow furrowed as he searched for her, a frown marring his striking features. He spotted her, in the shadows, releasing a heavy sigh as he shook his head. She didn’t need his pity, she just needed to hide from Alistair.

As his horse slowly clopped by, she couldn't help but study his face. His jaw seemed more prominent, evidence of the passing years etched into his features, his face no longer as boyishly round. His once bright eyes now carried a deeper darkness, reflecting the weight of responsibility he bore as King. But when he saw Darcy in the crowd, his entire countenance changed. A youthful joy spread across his face, momentarily casting aside the burdens of royalty and revealing the man beneath - Alistair. It was a bittersweet sight that tugged at her heart, wondering how often he could truly let go of his royal duties and simply be himself.

Alistair's keen eyes darted around, searching for a familiar face. His gaze was hopeful, as if he expected her to appear at Darcy's side any moment. But as seconds ticked by and she remained absent, his lips pressed into a firm line, disappointment etched on his features. He desperately wanted to see her, even after all these years. But she continued to hide in the shadows like a coward, ignoring his letters and avoiding him at all costs. Yet here he was, still searching for her face in a sea of strangers. He needed to move on, whispers of his inability to find a Queen, to sire heirs, would lead to his downfall. What was the point in all this suffering if he wasn’t going to do what he needed to?

Darcy reluctantly granted her permission to leave and she wasted no time in making her exit, her feet carrying her away from the man she loved. Her heart begged her to turn around and run to him, but she knew she couldn't. As she walked, she could feel the weight of his absence crushing her chest, each step taking her farther from where her heart remained all these years later.

No matter how long she cried into her pillow that night, no longer able to remember the feel of his arms around her, the warmth he provided, she couldn’t bring it back. Her only consolation was that she wouldn’t have to endure this torment for much longer. If what Alistair had said about the taint killing Grey Wardens after thirty years applied to her, she would soon be consumed by the very thing that had already ruined every piece of her.

“I need you to send him a letter asking him to stop. Tell him I don’t want to hear from him again.” Gwen cornered Darcy a few weeks later, desperation leaking from her tone. “And stop looking at me like that, I’m not some injured rabbit you need to care for.”

Darcy schooled his expression, replacing pity with hardness, his jaw tight and his eyes dark. “Write it yourself.”

“You know I can’t, Darcy,” she growled, clenching her fists at her sides.

“All the more reason to learn.” He slipped past her, pausing to look at her over his shoulder. “Do not ask me to break my friend’s heart, I did that already and I cannot make myself do it again.”

Guilt ate away at her insides and she ducked her head. She was being unfair to him, to ask him to do this, but if she learned to write, she would have to learn to read, and then she’d have no excuse to not read Alistair’s letters. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop herself from breaking into his castle and kidnapping him if those letters contained even an inkling of the love he once felt for her.

Instead of Darcy, she recruited various Grey Wardens to write portions of what she wanted to write. Their puzzled expressions could not deter her as she separately requested them to jot down seemingly random words.

By candlelight in her room, she copied the words until they read:

Alistair,

Stop contacting me. I do not wish to hear from you.

Gwen

Darcy knew what she was doing, but other than a disappointed shake of his head, he did not try to dissuade her. There was no point. Once she was set on a task, no one could change her mind.

Alistair’s letters stopped shortly after that and what was left of her heart crumbled to ash. She missed him dearly, more than she thought possible to miss another. But they were not meant to be, and she should count herself lucky that she got to know him at all. Had she broken his heart a second time with her letter? Did he hate her now, her harsh words ripping at the compassion he still held for her?

If she had it her way, she would never know.

Next Chapter

A/N: Chapter summary - Gwen is depressed and delves into new layers of self-loathing and Darcy shoulders all the burdens.

Ok, this one hurt me to write, but it's necessary for the angst! Or at least that is what I tell myself :')

Here is the link to the playlist if anyone is interested!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3aljFDc57bauwsuEvjAzWF?si=TOONmoAKRxyP238fD_2Aeg&pi=u-6vMznMpES-OX

#angst with a happy ending #slow burn #fluff #falling in love #humour #alistair dao #alistair dragon age #alistair theirin #alistair x original character #zevran x warden #original warden #Spotify

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tired-truffle · 2 months ago

Text

Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 5.3k

Part 45/54

"The hardest thing I have ever done is walk away still madly in love with you." - Leo Hearts

Masterlist

Gwen burst into Alistair's chambers like a raging tempest, her hair flying wildly behind her as she ripped off her bandana, needing to breathe without obstruction. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes blazed with fiery determination, still fuming from her heated confrontation with Eamon. Alistair sat slouched at his desk, surrounded by a chaotic sea of letters that seemed to mock Gwen's lack of literacy. The writing on the pages might as well have been written in an arcane script for all she could decipher, reminding her once again of her outsider status in this world of nobility and politics. Alistair's eyelids fluttered against impending sleep until Gwen's sudden entrance snapped him back to wakefulness.

He straightened, blinking the sleep from his eyes and observing her agitated stance with a frown. “What happened, is something wrong?" he asked softly, rising from his seat and moving closer to her. His footsteps were muffled by the plush carpet underfoot. The light from the window cast a pale glow on their figures, creating shadows that flitted across the room.

Gwen's eyes darted away, her voice a brusque whisper barely escaping her lips. Her heart pounded in her chest, the frustration and confusion making it hard to think clearly. She hadn't wanted the Arl to ruin her last night with Alistair, but there he was, looming over them like a dark cloud. Her temper flared, but she couldn't find the words to express it. Instead, all she could do was stand there, seething and unable to come up with a plan of action other than lashing out at him in anger.

“It’s nothing.”

Alistair ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily, and fixing her with an unimpressed stare. "Right, and I’m looking forward to my coronation tomorrow - maybe it’ll just be a quiet affair, how about a potluck?" he said with more sass than perhaps he had meant to, but in all fairness, they were both exhausted. His eyes locked onto hers, searching for any sign of what was troubling her. "Don’t lie to me, Gwen. Even I can spot trouble when it’s breathing fire and waving a sword around. I'm not that daft, I can tell something is wrong." His words hung in the air, waiting patiently for her response.

As soon as the words left his mouth, her entire body tensed up like a coiled spring. The scars on her skin seemed to pulse with a life of their own, whispering warnings of the danger her feelings posed. She hugged herself tightly, almost as if trying to protect her heart from his piercing gaze. Her breaths came in rapid gasps, shallow and panicked. With venom dripping from every word, she spat out the question that had been clawing at her insides, "Why would you even consider such a thing? Asking your advisors about marriage to... someone like me?" Her words were barbed, angry tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over. All she wanted was to spend her days by his side, but she knew it could never be a reality. How could he not see the truth of their situation?

Alistair's face crumpled and Gwen kicked herself internally for having done that to him. "I'll have stern words with the Arl about this. What did he tell you exactly?" He asked, but Gwen wouldn't hear it. It wasn’t a stretch for Alistair to guess which of his advisors hated Gwen enough to bring this up with her, but the Arl was not present for either of them to direct their fury towards, all they had was each other.

Her voice cracked like thin ice on a winter lake. “It doesn’t matter, it cannot be done.”

“It does matter.” Alistair moved closer, his earnestness making her heart race and tightening the pit in her stomach. The urge to retreat slithered down her spine, but she forced herself to remain, even as she felt the invisible thread that bound them both stretching precariously. “I asked my advisors to find any possible way for us to be together safely. Not just marriage.” She felt herself involuntarily inch backwards, her pulse echoing the two words - together, safely - a cruel juxtaposition that made her chest ache.

"I’m no shining example of royal wisdom but I knew marriage would be nearly impossible. Yet I had to ask, to know I tried everything. You deserve more than a life stuck in my shadow, Gwen, and I am trying to find that for you, but I'm still learning how to navigate all of this." He gestured around the opulent room.

"Maybe it was foolish, I don’t know. But what I do know is that my heart belongs to you, it always will, and I don’t want to have to hide you away like some dirty secret.” His touch was warm against her skin as he took her hand in his, igniting a spark of yearning deep within her. She fought to keep the warmth from blooming across her chest, panic closing her throat.

Gwen shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes. “You have to understand, Alistair! I can’t allow my existence to taint your legacy. You deserve to have a reign characterized by strength, not haunted by a monster standing at your side. I will not allow my blood to undermine everything you hope to build.”

Alistair tilted Gwen's chin up, meeting her misty eyes. "You will never be a monster to me, Gwen. You are the woman I love. Nothing will ever change that, even if it costs me my crown. Isn't that worth fighting for?"

A wave of nausea washed over Gwen as she gazed into Alistair's imploring eyes. She could feel the weight of his sorrow and desperation bearing down on her, crushing her chest. The guilt churned in her stomach, bile rising in her throat. How could she have allowed herself to judge him so harshly? She had barged into his room, ready to confront him, but instead, he bared his soul to her. And yet, she couldn't stop herself from pushing forward.

"You can't marry me, Alistair,” she said firmly, pulling her hand away as if his touch seared her skin. The fluttering in her stomach betrayed her resolve, the heat of agitation creeping into her cheeks. “Nor should you be asking about it.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, unable to meet his gaze, the tightening in her throat almost choking her. “It puts us both at risk, Alistair. If all of your advisors find out about my tainted blood, they won't just see me as a danger to your reign; they'll see all of Ferelden at risk. They could spread rumours that destabilize your leadership, and what if they use that to sway public opinion against you? You would do better to get yourself someone who could be your queen, secure your succession and give you an heir. Not someone who would undermine your rule simply by existing."

Gwen's gaze locked onto Alistair's, her heart heavy and aching with the knowledge that she had to let him. She couldn't bear the thought of putting his life in jeopardy by holding onto him. It would be cruel and selfish. She wouldn’t do to Alistair what she had done to Lucy.

Alistair's words were filled with an intensity that could not be ignored. His voice trembled ever so slightly. "I don't want anyone else but you," he declared fervently, his eyes locked onto hers. "You're like… my favourite pair of worn-in boots - uncomfortable sometimes, but I can't bear to live without you." He paused, his brow furrowing. "Wait, no that's a terrible analogy. What I mean to say is that I would happily be without a queen if it meant I could be with you."

Gwen's resolve wavered for a moment, but she shook her head. She could not allow herself to be swayed, not even by his cheesy but endearing attempt to compare her to boots. "It's not about what we want. It's about what is best for Ferelden and for you, as its future king."

Alistair scoffed bitterly. “Is it really?” he asked, frustration seeping into his voice. He leaned closer, their foreheads nearly touching, but doubt lingered in his dark eyes. “Because all I can think about is being with you. Am I being selfish? Maybe. What if my feelings lead to nothing but trouble for you? Yet I cannot deny that I need you, Gwen,” he continued, “not some Queen to bear heirs, but you. Unless...” Alistair's voice trembled as uncertainty washed over him. “Do you not want this? Us?” He hesitated, his eyes searching hers for an answer he feared he wouldn’t find. The weight of his desire and his responsibilities pressed heavily on his shoulders, and for a moment, he looked like a lost little boy, grappling with the enormity of what it meant to love someone in such dire circumstances.

His eyes were filled with a raw, deep-seated insecurity that shook her to the core. She longed to take away the pain etched into his features, but she knew that giving in would only complicate things for them both in the future. A surge of aggravation coursed through her veins like the sting of a whip, dredging up old memories she'd rather forget. Yet, it was his vulnerability that truly wounded her, leaving her feeling exposed and helpless.

Alistair leaned closer, urgency flickering in his eyes as she hesitated to answer. “Gwen, if you don’t want this - if you don’t want me - tell me now. I need to know,” he implored, his voice low and trembling with sincerity.

She swiped irritably at the tears that began falling down her pale cheeks. "It is not about want," she insisted, “if it was we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Her voice trembled like the last leaf clinging to a winter branch.

"Please, Gwen, I don’t want to fight about this," Alistair's voice softened, each word laced with the warmth of hearth fires amidst the chill of Ferelden winters. "I love you, with every flawed piece of myself, and that will never change. All I ask is that you trust me, and give me a little more time to figure this out."

Gwen felt her resolve weaken even more at Alistair's words. How could she deny their love when he spoke to her with such sincerity?

"I do trust you, Alistair," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But this is bigger than just us. It's about your duty as king and the safety of your people." Gwen did not truly care a great deal about this, not when it meant she couldn’t be with the man she loved. But she knew Alistair did.

Alistair sighed heavily, his fingers tracing patterns on the back of her hand. "I know that," he said, "but I also know that they would not benefit from a miserable king. You make me stronger and I need you in all aspects of my life."

Her defences crumbled like the walls of an ancient ruin under siege, and she fell into his arms, surrendering to the safety it promised. His arms enveloped her slight frame as though they could shield her from the world's cruelties, his breath hot against the shell of her ear as he whispered sweet words to her. She allowed herself this momentary respite, her haunted eyes closing, tears seeping through the cracks of her armoured heart.

"Will you come to bed?" Alistair asked, his voice a tender entreaty as he pulled back just enough to search her face. "I would like to hold the woman I cherish in my arms before whatever chaos and horror tomorrow brings."

Gwen's resolve crumbled in the face of Alistair's open-hearted vulnerability. She gave a silent nod, submitting to his wishes as he guided her towards the bed. The velvety softness of the plush blankets and furs called out to her, begging her to sink into their comfort. She perched hesitantly on the edge, unsure of what was to come next. With deft fingers, Alistair started unlacing her leather vest, their eyes locked in an intense stare. As his knuckles grazed against her collarbone, tingles scattered throughout her body.

With delicate movements, he peeled the weathered leather from her body, his touch reverent and gentle. The vest fell to the floor with a muffled thud, revealing the toned muscles beneath. Carefully, he reached for the hem of her linen shirt, lifting it over her head as she raised her arms obligingly. Goosebumps prickled her pale skin beneath the fabric.

Soon, she was stripped down to just her breastband and small clothes. Alistair's eyes roved over her appreciatively, taking in every curve and line of her rogue's physique. Scars etched pale lines across her body, reminders of why she would leave, to avoid that eventuality coming down on him. With a flush colouring her sharp cheekbones, she allowed him to guide her down onto the soft pillows, surrendering herself fully to his touch.

Alistair discarded his clothes, the fabric rustling as they fell to the ground. He slipped under the covers beside her and pulled her close. Skin met skin as he pulled her close, enveloping her in his arms.

She nestled herself beneath his chin, revelling in the solid warmth of his chest pressed against hers, his steady heartbeat thrumming through his veins.

"How are you feeling?" she murmured, tracing invisible patterns on his chest, seeking distraction from the ache within.

"Utterly terrified, of course," he replied, the humour in his tone brittle like thin ice. "But I shall don my crown and hope it doesn't come equipped with a mechanism designed to spontaneously decapitate me."

Gwen offered a smile, faint but genuine, the soft laugh that bubbled up soothing their frayed edges. "You'll be remarkable," she assured him, her gaze holding more than a glint of pride. "Your people will adore you for the kindness that resides in your heart, as I do."

Their lips met in a kiss made of a thousand unspoken promises and dreams too fragile to voice aloud. It was a sealing of their connection, tenuous and precious, before they succumbed to sleep's embrace, wrapped in each other's arms, a fleeting sanctuary against the dawn's inexorable approach, and Gwen’s departure.

Gwen lay awake long after Alistair's breathing slowed into the steady rhythm of sleep, the faint scent of pine soap lingering on his skin.

She studied his face in the dim moonlight, memorizing every detail - the fan of sandy lashes against his cheek, the soft parting of his lips with each exhale, the furrow between his brows that even slumber could not smooth away entirely. She let her hand rest on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall as he breathed.

She would not sleep that night, content to instead stretch the night out for as long as possible. She would hold onto this moment, this perfect moment with him, forever in her mind. She would not miss a second of the time she had left with him, savouring every moment of their love like a precious gem.

For it would be gone far too soon.

The hours passed far too quickly. The first timid rays of dawn filtered through the gap in the heavy curtains, casting a soft, golden glow on the room where Alistair slept. Gwen lay beside him, her eyes wide and watchful, absorbing every curve and angle of his face as it basked in the gentle light. There was a peacefulness to his features that she rarely saw during their waking hours - a delicate vulnerability that only the quiet trust of sleep could unveil.

This image - this moment - she seared into her memory, an eternal snapshot for the lonely times ahead.

Gwen leaned over, her silky hair cascading over Alistair's forehead as she brushed her lips against it in a gentle, barely-there kiss. He stirred, his warm breath caressing her skin as he shifted towards her touch. The sound of his contented murmur pulled at her heartstrings, filling her with a bittersweet ache, a sweet reminder of what she had to leave behind. Tears welled up in her eyes, their salty trails carving down her cheeks like miniature rivers, and she leaned back, careful not to let them fall on him, lest they wake him.

With painstaking precision, she disentangled herself from his embrace, her limbs quivering as she fought against a force stronger than gravity itself. It felt like she was tearing apart the very fabric of her being, leaving behind pieces of her soul like fractured glass. Each movement was accompanied by a searing pain, as if a thousand knives were piercing her skin.

Gwen stood, transfixed, beside Alistair's bed. Her heart seemed to be in her throat as she gazed down at him, shattered into pieces by the thought of leaving him like this. How could she leave him like this, before he awoke without even a goodbye? She longed to crawl back under the blankets and wrap herself in his gentle touch, to feel his strong arms around her one last time before saying goodbye. As Alistair stirred, stretching contentedly in his sleep, a pang of guilt shot through her. How could she take this from him?

But she knew in her heart that she couldn't keep him by her side. As much as it gutted her, she had to let him go for his own good. The weight of the decision bore down on her like a boulder, threatening to crush her with its gravity. She knew that being with her would only put his life in constant danger, and she loved him too much to risk that.

Silent sobs wracked Gwen's body as she scanned his face one last time - the fall of his sandy brown hair across his forehead, the little scar on his chin from a childhood mishap. This was the face of the man she loved with every ounce of her being. The man she was abandoning for his own protection.

It felt as if invisible hands were tearing her heart from her chest, tossing it bloodied and bruised into the blankets. She had to cover her mouth to stifle the cries trying to escape. How could she just walk away from the one person who made her feel whole? The one who looked at her with such tenderness and understanding?

Gwen knelt and brushed her lips over Alistair's, feather-light, trying to impart all her unspoken feelings into that final caress. Then, with massive effort, she pulled away and stumbled blindly from the room, vision blurred by tears. She paused at the doorway, casting one last anguished look at his sleeping form.

"Goodbye, my love," she whispered hoarsely. "I'm so sorry.”

And with that, she slipped out of the room, leaving her heart behind.

Gwen crumpled against the unyielding surface of the closed door, her body convulsing with the intensity of her sobs. Each breath was a struggle, as if she were gasping for air, wave after wave of anguish threatening to pull her under. Her hands flattened against the smooth wood, trying to find some anchor, something to keep her moving. She forced herself to take deep, shuddering breaths, grasping desperately at any sense of control.

She cast a glance over her shoulder at the closed door, picturing Alistair's peaceful form lying within. The rise and fall of his chest, the softness of his features in sleep - it all tugged at her heartstrings. She took a shaky breath, steeling herself for what she had to do. For Alistair's sake. He deserved someone who could stand confidently by his side, not a broken and tainted woman weighed down by her heritage and the burden it carried.

Gwen scrubbed at her wet cheeks, trying to collect herself. She couldn't fall apart, not yet. Not when she still had to make it out of the castle unseen. There would be time to grieve later, when she was far away and he was safe.

"Leaving so soon?"

A deep, resonant voice echoed from the shadows, causing Gwen to spin around in alarm. A figure emerged, stepping forward with a confident gait. Darcy's intense, dark eyes met hers and held her in an unbreakable gaze. Despite her best efforts to hide it, tears continued to stream down Gwen's cheeks, betraying the depth of her sorrow.

"Couldn't sleep," she managed to say, her voice a strained whisper.

He said nothing, only motioning for her to follow him with a stern look on his face. Her heart pounded in her chest as she reluctantly trailed behind him. The hallway stretched out before them, the walls adorned with ornate tapestries and expensive paintings that did nothing to ease her nerves. She could hear the faint sound of distant voices, but they seemed muffled and far away in comparison to the overwhelming silence that surrounded her. She wanted to run, to escape this moment and avoid whatever confrontation was about to take place, but she knew that there was no escaping it.

They moved in a hushed and reverent silence, their footsteps echoing against the stony walls as they passed through the winding passages of the castle. Finally, they emerged onto a grand balcony, offering a breathtaking view of the sprawling city of Denerim below. The sky above was a masterpiece of soft pinks and oranges, painting the promise of a new day dawning. But for her, these colours only served as a painful reminder of beginnings she could not partake in.

Darcy leaned against the balustrade, his gaze lost in the sprawling city below. "I should have done more," he said, his voice low. "To save him from this - kingship."

"None of this is your fault," Gwen replied, steadier now, though devoid of feeling, her eyes dulled.

"Isn't it?” His gaze met hers, and she saw the guilt that raged within, a mirror to her own.

Gwen's shoulders slumped, a silent surrender to Darcy's piercing stare. "You tried your best, Darcy. No one blames you. And… Alistair thinks we're working things out," she murmured, her voice barely carrying over the morning breeze that tousled her white hair.

Darcy's expression hardened, the playful light in his dark eyes extinguished by concern. "Is that why you were sobbing outside his room at an ungodly hour of the morning? Because you were ‘working things out’? I'm not stupid, Gwen. You're leaving. To keep him safe, right?" His question hung between them like a guillotine's blade, sharp and final.

The truth tore at her throat, but Gwen could only nod, her energy sapped by the weight of her decision. "Are you going to try to convince me to stay? Tell Alistair so he runs after me before I can make my escape?" Her words, laced with a brittle defiance, like a terrified beast cornered in a cage.

"Convince you?" Darcy chuckled ruefully, the sound void of any real mirth. "I know better than to try, I would only push you further away.”

Gwen hated that he was right. "It's my choice to go," Gwen added softly, her hand brushing against Darcy's arm in a subtle gesture of reassurance. "And it's my pain to carry. Not yours."

“Maybe.” He reached into his cloak, producing a sealed letter. "But I won't let you suffer alone because of me."

Gwen eyed the parchment warily, accepting it with a tremor in her hand. "What is this?"

"Vigil's Keep," Darcy said, his voice softening. "It's to be the new Grey Warden base in Ferelden. If you don’t hate me and can stand to be in my presence, I'll join you there once I've settled matters here in the city. This letter will allow you entry. You know Alistair will never stop searching for you if you vanish without a trace. At least give him the comfort of knowing that you are safe.”

Hate him? Impossible. And he had a point. She could barely believe it, this glimmer of hope that maybe she wouldn’t have to be entirely alone, isolated until she died a horrible death. Gwen closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him in a rare display of affection. She felt his body stiffen for a moment before he relaxed into the hug, his chin resting on her shoulder.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with tears she refused to shed. Pulling back, she met his gaze, her eyes swimming with gratitude and a sorrow too deep for words.

Darcy's hand rested on her arm. "I wish you'd stay. You and Alistair… you deserve happiness together."

"Perhaps in another life," Gwen replied, her laugh hollow. "Where kings don't need queens, and monsters aren't disguised as maidens."

"You’re not a monster, Gwen,” Darcy was quick to correct. “At least promise me you'll find some peace at Vigil's Keep," he said, his tone insistent, as though his words alone could will it into being.

"I promise," she lied. Though she would join him at the base, she knew she would not find peace without Alistair - without her heart.

With a final squeeze of her hand, Darcy released his hold and stepped back, allowing Gwen the space to breathe, to brace herself for the journey ahead. They exchanged a look of mutual understanding.

"Take care of him," Gwen’s stomach heaved, begging her not to do this.

"Always," Darcy replied, his vow ringing with the certainty of the rising sun.

With that, they parted ways, each stepping onto paths paved with good intentions and haunted by the spectres of what might have been.

Gwen's footsteps were silent against the stone corridor, a ghostly echo of the resolve that propelled her forward. The door to Leliana's chamber loomed ahead, an inevitable threshold, and just as her hand reached out to rap against the heavy oak, it swung inward.

Leliana stood in the doorway, her sharp blue eyes meeting Gwen's with a knowing stillness that had dread churning in her gut. "Where will you go?" she asked, voice steady as if discussing the weather rather than a farewell. She should have known that Leliana would have been able to surmise her plans with only one look.

"The new Warden compound," Gwen murmured, clasping her hands to keep them from trembling. "With Darcy. Though I… need some time on my own first."

Leliana sighed, the air leaving her lungs like the quiet deflation of hope. "You should stay. Alistair… you both—"

"Don't." Gwen's voice was soft but firm, cutting through the beginnings of Leliana's plea. She couldn't bear to hear what she already knew, what she longed for but could not claim.

As if moved by some unseen force, Leliana stepped forward and enfolded Gwen in a hug that held within it every shared moment of laughter, every whispered secret, every shard of pain they had confided in each other.

"I'll miss you," Leliana whispered, her breath warm against Gwen's ear. "I will write. Often."

"Thank you," Gwen managed, her throat tight as she hugged the rogue back, allowing herself this one more moment of vulnerability. She would have to ask Darcy to read the letters for her.

Pulling away, Leliana dabbed at her eyes, a small smile flickering on her lips. "Now off with you before you make me cry and ruin my makeup. I spent much too long putting it on."

Gwen's hand trembled slightly as she gave a forced nod and a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She turned on her heel, the sound of her boots echoing against the stone floor, each step taking her further away from Leliana, her friend and a piece of herself. The weight of their final conversation hung heavy in the air as Gwen walked down the winding hallway, her heart heavy with regret and uncertainty. As the door to Leliana's chambers closed behind her, Gwen couldn't shake off the feeling of finality, things would never be the same again.

She slipped out of the castle gates as the city of Denerim stirred to life behind her, but Gwen walked on, oblivious to the awakening world. Her mind was a jumble, thoughts snarled like brambles, but her feet carried her unerringly northward.

Gwen walked until the city faded into the distance behind her. With each step, she felt as if she were wading through deep water, her limbs heavy and sluggish. The numbness spread through her body like a creeping frost, settling into her bones until she could barely feel the impact of her boots against the packed earth of the road.

It was a small mercy, that numbness. It wrapped her like a shield, blunting the jagged edges of her sorrow until everything felt muted and far away. She clung to it desperately, afraid of what would happen if she lowered her guard and allowed herself to feel the full force of her anguish.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, the light seemed to pierce through the haze in her mind. Unbidden, memories of Alistair surfaced - the warmth of his smile, his arms around her, the steadfast devotion in his eyes when he looked at her. Gwen's steps faltered as pain lanced through her chest. She had left her heart behind in that castle, entrusted to the man who held it so gently in his hands.

Shaking her head sharply, Gwen quickened her pace as if she could outrun the ache inside her. North, north, she had to keep going north. One foot in front of the other. Don't look back. She fixed her eyes on the horizon, squinting against the glare of the sun. She just had to keep moving. If she stopped, she would shatter.

Hours passed, the sun arced across the sky, and Gwen's shadow stretched and dwindled in the dance of light and dark. It wasn’t until the embers of twilight began to glow that she found herself in a clearing within the forest, unsure as to how she got there.

Here, Gwen allowed her knees to buckle, and she crumpled to the forest floor. The dam she'd built around her grief burst, and her tears fell, unrestrained, soaking into the earth below. She cried out to the moon above, its silvery light a cold witness to the agony that wracked her body with sobs.

Gwen curled in on herself, her shoulders shaking with the force of her weeping. Behind her closed eyes, she pictured Alistair waking in the cold light of dawn, alone and confused in the rumpled sheets. She imagined the servants rushing in, ushering him from his bed to prepare for his coronation. She saw him scanning the crowded throne room, his eyes searching hopefully for her face among the mass of people. But she was not there. The pain and hurt that would cloud his once hopeful features upon realizing she had left nearly rent her in two. Would he believe she did not love him, or would he understand her reasons for leaving?

Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks as she released the anguish that had been building within her since she slipped away from his sleeping form. She missed him with a fierceness that frightened her. But she could not turn back now.

Gwen wept until she had no tears left, her body wracked by dry, heaving sobs. She had given the man she loved everything, save the one thing he truly wanted - her by his side. It was a sacrifice that carved out her soul, but one she would pay over and over if it meant sparing his life.

Exhausted and heartsick, Gwen finally quieted as the moon rose high above. She lay curled on the forest floor, too spent to even unfurl her bedroll.

"Alistair… please forgive me," she gasped between heaving breaths. She thought the Gods had finally allowed her one thing, only to realize the cruelty of giving her everything she wanted only to have it so brutally ripped away. It would have been a kindness to never let her feel love like that, for the chasm it left behind threatened to consume her whole.

The moon, in its silent vigil, offered no comfort, no answers. It simply observed as Gwen wept beneath its gaze, mourning the life she could never have, the love she left behind, and the identity she must forever conceal.

Next Chapter

A/N: So, uh, anyone ask for a big heaping of angst? I hope you liked it cause there is plenty more of that before they get their happy ending!

I highly suggest Absence by Rio Romero, a truly stunning song that I feel really encapsulates this chapter. I've got a whole playlist, would anyone like me to post it?

I’m probably going to be posting a chapter a day from now on (around 10am to 11am EST), I’ve been getting a lot of editing done this weekend :)

I'd really love to hear what you think!!

#angst with a happy ending #fluff #slow burn #falling in love #humour #alistair dao #alistair dragon age #alistair theirin #alistair x original character #so much angst #leliana #original warden #dragon age origins #king alistair

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tired-truffle · 2 months ago

Text

Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 7.5k

Part 44/54

Warning: Smut in this chapter. If you would like to skip, it starts at: "With a subtle shift of her body, she moved closer to Alistair, her thighs bracketing his hips." And ends at: "For a few moments, they stayed tangled together, their chests heaving as they tried to catch their breath."

"A cathedral, him pressing against me, his lips at my neck, and yes, I do believe his mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me like stars." - Richard Siken

Masterlist

The moon had only just begun to rise, casting a pale glow over the ravaged battlegrounds of Denerim. Gwen stood among her companions, their silhouettes like solemn statues against the horizon. The earth beneath their feet was scarred and churned from the ferocity of the battle they had just endured. But as the sun set, the clouds parting to reveal the stars, so too did it seem to chase away the darkness of fear that had gripped their hearts.

Alistair's voice, tinged with both relief and reproach, found her ears. "You know, you could've told me about your arrangement with Morrigan," he said, his tone struggling between jest and genuine frustration. "I might have liked to be in on the plan."

Gwen turned to him, her bandana shifting slightly as she offered a small, rueful smile. "And risk you trying to talk me out of it? I know how much you despise her," she replied, her voice low but carrying an edge of teasing.

His dark eyes crinkled at the corners as he regarded her, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "I suppose we'll never know now, will we?"

The tension between them dissolved as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by an unspoken understanding. They were alive, they had triumphed, and for a moment, that was all that mattered. Laughter bubbled up from somewhere within the group, surprising in its lightness.

As the evening wore on, the atmosphere shifted from one of quiet reflection to boisterous celebration. City Folk emerged from hiding, their faces etched with lines of worry that slowly smoothed into expressions of joyous disbelief. Children ran through the streets, their laughter a melody long absent from the air.

"Look at them," Leliana murmured as they were approached by curious onlookers, her voice a soft note amidst the rising clatter. "They sing praises to their heroes."

Gwen glanced around, feeling the weight of countless eyes upon them. Words of gratitude and admiration were offered freely, hands reaching out to touch the hem of her cloak as if seeking a tangible connection to the miracle of their survival. She awkwardly sidestepped the gestures, discomfort knotting in her stomach. Her scars, hidden beneath clothing and the disfigurement beneath her bandana, seemed to burn with a fierce intensity, reminding her that she was not like them - that she would never be.

A lingering gaze from a grateful mother made Gwen's heart ache. "Thank you for saving us," the woman said. Gwen could only nod, feeling the woman’s faith as a burden rather than a blessing. "You... you are a hero," the woman added. The word felt heavy on her tongue, almost mocking in its intensity.

Yet as she watched her companions bask in the warmth of the people's love, Gwen felt a flicker of something akin to happiness. Alistair's laughter rang out, clear and genuine, as he swapped stories with those who had rushed immediately to the warrior’s side. His goatee bobbed with each chuckle, his sandy hair catching the moonlight in glints of light gold. She stayed off to the side, watching him fondly, letting him bring all the attention towards himself, just like she preferred it.

"Darcy! Darcy, over here!" A female voice called out suddenly over the crowd. Gwen glanced up to see a young elven woman with a shock of bright red hair waving frantically, her face alight with joy. Beside her stood an older elf, his face thin but his jaw was strong like Darcy’s, his eyes crinkling in a smile beneath a worn cap.

Darcy's head jerked around, relief washing over his features. "Father! Shianni!" he cried, rushing towards them with open arms and enveloping them in a tight hug that nearly had them all falling over into one big heap of limbs, Darcy's laughter muffled against their shoulders.

After a long moment, Darcy gently extracted himself from their arms and waved over Zevran, who had been watching the reunion from a short distance away. The normally cocky assassin approached slowly, an uncharacteristic nervousness in his steps. But Shianni's smile was warm and welcoming as she took Zevran's hand in her own. Darcy's father clapped him on the back like he was already part of the family.

Gwen observed the heartfelt reunion, Alistair coming to join her, having passed off his small crowd to where Leliana entertained them with what could only be an outlandish tale of their adventures. He nudged her playfully, a teasing lilt in his voice as he said, "Look at them getting all sentimental. Maybe we should join in with a group hug of our own, hm?"

She scoffed and shoved him lightly, but couldn't keep the smile from tugging at her lips. For now, they were all together and triumphant. The future could wait.

Amidst the smouldering ruins, a defiant cheer erupted as the dark of night draped itself over Ferelden. The jagged remnants of what once was a pub now served as an impromptu tavern for the victors. Men and women, their faces lit by the warm glow of a hastily assembled bonfire, passed around bottles salvaged from the wreckage. It was a celebration born from the ashes - bittersweet but necessary.

As the laughter echoed around her, Gwen felt a pang of guilt twist in her chest. How could they rejoice when so many had fallen? Each cheer was a reminder of the lives lost, and for a fleeting second, she wanted to retreat into the shadows, away from the revelry that felt painfully out of place.

Gwen watched from the fringes, her bandana firmly in place as the local musicians strung together a lively tune on damaged instruments. Her eyes shimmered with the fire's reflection, revealing a hint of longing beneath her haunted gaze. She had tried to kill her friends earlier that day, surely revelry was not in the cards for her. She clung to the shadows like an old friend, yet the pull of the music tugged at the corners of her stoic demeanour.

"Come, Gwen!" Leliana beckoned, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief and mirth. “We must celebrate our victory and your newfound freedom!”

Gwen hesitated, her eyes darting around as guilt thrummed in her stomach. Sensing this, Leliana gave her her best understanding smile, injecting pure playfulness into her tone.

"Or do you wish for Sten to teach you? I hear he has a most interesting interpretation of a dance that involves simply standing there with crossed arms."

Gwen huffed a laugh, shaking her head, yet she could not rid herself of the knot in her chest, the weight of her actions pressing down on her shoulders. She could have killed them, she was so close… They'd lost so many, why should she live when they did not?

"I know it feels strange, Gwen," Leliana said softly as she pulled her friend aside. "I too have felt this bittersweet joy. We honour those we lost by living, by finding happiness in their memory - we must not forget what we fought for."

Gwen's lips curved into a reluctant smile, her guard lowering just enough to allow Leliana's infectious joy to slip through the cracks. With a grace that only someone trained in the bardic arts could achieve, Leliana twirled toward her, the red hair dancing like flames in the night air.

"Alright," Gwen relented, the words feeling foreign on her tongue. "But only because it's a special occasion. I will not be repeating this anytime soon."

"Then I will cherish this moment until the next," Leliana said with a laugh, taking Gwen's hand and pulling her toward the flickering light.

As they reached the heart of the celebration, a roaring bonfire made of broken carts and any other burnable materials greeted them.

Leliana took Gwen's hand and spun her around, leading her in an energetic dance around the flames. Gwen moved hesitantly at first, unused to such frivolity, but Leliana's enthusiasm was contagious. Soon Gwen was keeping pace, laughing freely as Leliana twirled her this way and that.

Gwen's eyes darted around the lively scene, taking in the joyful chaos. Wynne sat off to the side, humming along to the music with a contented smile on her face. Her wise eyes followed the dancers, and she gave Gwen an encouraging nod when their gazes met.

Not far from Wynne, Zevran entertained a group of starry-eyed City Folk with exaggerated tales of their adventures. He gestured wildly as he spoke, “And I, of course, was the most dashing rogue - fending off great beasts with a mere flick of my wrist!” Though his stories were peppered with good-natured jabs at his companions, his tone held nothing but affection.

On the other side of the fire, Alistair clapped along to the music, a broad grin on his face as he watched the two women dance. Sten stood stoically at his side, his arms crossed, though one could detect the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips, the onlookers watching him with wary admiration.

Gwen's gaze finally landed on Darcy, who sat at the remains of the broken bar along with his cousin and father. He watched the celebration with a conflicted expression, one hand absently scratching behind Barkspawn's ears. Though he smiled when one of the children offered him a sweet bun, Gwen could see the shadows lingering in his eyes. Her heart ached for him, he had been through much, carried the weight of their journey, and now that it was over… He still was not free.

For now, the thrum of the music and Leliana's enthusiasm swept her back into the dance. She let the rhythm move through her, the hypnotic flames blurring together as she whirled and stomped along with the crowd. For the first time in recent memory, the ever-present weight on her shoulders lifted, if only for the night. She was just a girl dancing with her friend, allowing herself to feel joy.

As the music reached a crescendo, Gwen's heart raced, though this time not with excitement, but with the recollection of blood-soaked dirt and the screams of terror as she ran through the streets, not of her own mind. She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of those memories crash over her like a cold wave, making it difficult to join in the joy around her.

"May I cut in?" Alistair's voice cut through her thoughts, the lively music, tinged with warmth and amusement. Leliana smirked mischievously, her eyes sparkling as she stepped back with a wink aimed at Gwen that she furtively ignored. The rogue let herself get swept up in the pull of dancers, quickly moving along to the beat.

"Only if you promise not to step on my toes," Gwen jested, the words lighter than air. “I hear from a reliable source that you are ‘made of left feet’.”

The first time she’d ever danced, that night after they’d slain the Witch of the Wilds, he’d insisted that he was a terrible dancer, but he’d been far better than her.

"My Lady," Alistair replied with mock solemnity, extending his hand. "I am nothing if not a gentleman, I would never dream of harm even a hair on your body."

Their hands met, and they settled into a rhythm, moving together amidst the throng of bodies. Alistair's presence was grounding, his touch gentle yet firm, guiding her through the steps of a new dance.

Suddenly the tempo slowed, the lively jigs giving way to a gentle sway. Alistair pulled Gwen close, one hand resting lightly on her waist while the other enveloped her own. She tensed at the unexpected intimacy but relaxed into his embrace as they began to move as one. His eyes locked onto hers, no longer holding their teasing glint but replaced with a tender reverence that caused her breath to catch. The space between them evaporated until only a hair's breadth remained, his warmth enveloping her, his woodsy scent filling her senses. Gwen's heart quickened, though whether from exhilaration or trepidation, she could not say. For a moment the world narrowed to just the two of them, turning together, lost in the gentle rhythm. She felt bare, exposed, yet paradoxically safe in the circle of his arms.

“I learned this one with the Chantry,” Alistair broke the silence that had settled between them. “Though when Sister Grace taught me there was significantly more space between us and much harsher reprimands should I take the wrong step.”

His lips curved into a lopsided grin that set Gwen’s heart aflame. Yet she managed to retain her composure. She huffed a dry laugh, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Didn’t you know dancing close to a woman is a sin?”

Alistair shrugged, unbothered. “I’ll take my chances. Besides, I’m sure the Maker will forgive me for this particular transgression.”

Gwen smiled, feeling herself relax even more in his arms. They continued to sway to the slow rhythm of the music, lost in their own little bubble within the pub.

As they danced, Gwen found herself studying Alistair’s face intently. She noticed how his lips were slightly chapped, a faint smattering of freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks - mixed with some small scratches from their recent battle - and the rosy tint to his skin from both exertion and… something else that had her stomach swooping low in her gut.

As the tune wound down and the applause rose, Gwen felt Alistair's fingers tighten around hers. With a conspiratorial glance, he led her away from the crowd, their steps quickening as they sought refuge in the quiet of the night. They ran through the rubble-strewn streets, laughter tickling at their throats, until they found themselves at a small Chantry building, its doors hanging askew and a large section of the roof having fallen to the side, leaving a good portion open to the sky.

"Here," Alistair murmured, pushing open what remained of the heavy wooden door. "We can be alone."

The coolness of the stone interior enveloped them, a stark contrast to the heat of the bonfire. They stood there for a moment, side by side, allowing the significance of their survival to wash over them in the hallowed silence.

"Thank you," Gwen whispered, her voice barely audible as she pulled her bandana down to rest around her neck. "For everything."

Without warning, Alistair pulled Gwen towards him by the wrist. His fingers tangled in her hair, gripping it possessively as he sought her lips with an intense hunger. The collision of their mouths was almost violent, as if to affirm that they were alive, together, against all odds. His kiss was warm and urgent, his arms encircling her waist with a fierce protectiveness. Gwen's heart swelled as she melted into him, her fingers digging into the back of his neck to bring him closer. She could feel the hard planes of his body pressed against hers, every inch of his form radiating heat and desire as he pushed her back against the cold stone wall. A shiver ran down her spine as his muscular thigh slid between hers, adding pressure to her already aching core.

A soft gasp, laden with longing and desire, escaped her parted lips as Alistair's warm hand touched the small of her back, heat pooling low in her belly. Alistair took advantage, deepening the kiss as his tongue flicked along hers. She arched into him, hands roaming across the broad expanse of his frustrating still still-clothed shoulders.

They broke apart, both breathing heavily, her senses heightened by his touch. Alistair’s eyes were dark with desire, his pupils blown wide like a predatory ready to pounce. Gwen knew she must look much the same, her heart a drumbeat echoing off the chapel's cold walls.

The moonlight spilled through shattered stained glass windows, casting an otherworldly glow upon their entwined figures. The colours danced and flickered across their faces - reds and blues blending together in a fiery display. Gwen's gaze drifted nervously towards the doors of the chapel, her mind racing with thoughts of what could happen if someone were to find them in this forbidden moment.

"Someone could come," she fretted, her voice low.

Alistair followed her gaze, his eyes alight with a spark that seemed to chase away the darkness. "They won't," he assured her, his voice sure and confident, soothing her unease.

As he slowly parted from her, she let out a stifled whine of need, feeling as though she might float away without his solid weight anchoring her to the ground. She looked up at the hole in the ceiling, imagining herself slipping through it like a ghostly apparition. With deliberate movements, he heaved a chunk of broken masonry in front of the damaged doorway. The sound of it settling into place was like a heavy sigh, a finality that signalled the end of any easy entry. No one would be able to push their way through that barrier now.

"See? Now we have all the privacy we need."

Gwen watched him, the tightness in her chest easing. He turned back to her with that lopsided grin, the one that always stirred something warm within her despite the chill of the stone beneath her feet.

“How are we supposed to get out?” Gwen pursed her lips to hold back a laugh at the ridiculousness of their situation.

Alistair tilted his head to the side as if giving her question serious thought. “Well, I suppose we'll just have to stay here forever. Sorry, Ferelden, you’ll have to find a new ruler, the one you were given is stuck in a Chantry with a gorgeous woman. A terrible fate, but unavoidable.”

Gwen rolled her eyes, but couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. "I highly doubt anyone would believe that excuse."

Alistair's grin widened. "Probably not, but it's worth a shot."

Laughter bubbled up from Gwen's throat, genuine and free, a sound she had thought herself incapable of making, but had been proven wrong time and time again in Alistair’s presence. It was met by Alistair's own hearty chuckle as he extended his hand towards her, an invitation she couldn't refuse.

Their fingers interlaced, and she let him draw her close. His lips found hers, soft and seeking, and she responded with a hunger born from the knowledge that they had cheated death together. She was finally free of the Calling, the noise in her head silent for the first time in half a year. It was freeing, a burden finally released, one she hadn’t been sure she would survive.

His strong arms wrapped around her, holding her close as his calloused hands slid under her tunic. Alistair's touch was gentle, reverent. His hands traced the scape of scar tissue across her back as if reading the story of her survival etched in her skin. It would never cease to astound her how easily he touched her, like she deserved such tenderness, like she wasn’t about to abandon him.

He rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath. "When I saw you at Fort Drakon I thought… I was so afraid that I had lost you," he whispered hoarsely.

Gwen's throat tightened at the raw terror in his voice. She ran her fingers through his hair in an attempt at a soothing motion. "I'm here," she whispered back.

For a single, precious moment, they stood there in each other's arms, grateful to be alive and together. Alistair's strong embrace enveloped her like a protective shield, as if he could keep all the dangers of the world at bay. But as they gazed into each other's eyes, a mischievous glint sparked in Alistair's gaze.

"So… do you have any plans for what we should do while we're stuck in here?" he asked playfully.

Gwen raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you really want to know my thoughts on that?"

Alistair's grin stretched from ear to ear. "Oh yes," he declared with a mischievous glint.

"Well, since we're here anyway, I suggest we make the best of it," she said with a sly smile.

Alistair's eyes lit up at her words. "I like the sound of that," he replied, his voice low and hoarse.

Giving her no time to fight him, he swooped down and effortlessly scooped her up into his arms, eliciting a surprised yelp from her that quickly dissolved into a fit of giggles. He carried her over to one of the few pews that were still standing, their creaking wood adding to the quaint charm of the old church. With gentle care, he settled down with her straddling his lap.

Gwen couldn't hold back her laughter as Alistair nuzzled his nose against her neck, sending ticklish shivers down her spine. She closed her eyes and let out a contented sigh, leaning against his chest. She looped her arms loosely around his neck, eyes sparkling in the moonlight. "My noble warrior come to sweep me off my feet," she teased, though her voice held a note of sincerity.

Alistair's face softened. "I'll always protect you, my lady." He tucked a strand of moon-pale hair behind her ear, his fingertips lingering on her cheek.

Gwen leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut. Here, cocooned in his strong embrace, the ever-present weight on her shoulders lifted just a little. She could almost forget about the taint in her blood, the looming threat it posed on her life. Almost believe they had a future together.

She couldn’t tell him that that was part of the problem, that she knew he would lay down his life to keep her safe - even if she didn’t understand it. She couldn’t let him do that, couldn’t live with herself should that ever come to pass.

With a subtle shift of her body, she moved closer to Alistair, her thighs bracketing his hips. Her fingers traced the lines of his jaw and cheeks before finally resting on his lips, pulling him into a soft but eager kiss. His hands wandered over her curves, mapping out every inch of her body with a feverish need.

A breathy whine escaped Gwen's lips as Alistair's hands travelled down her back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. She pressed herself against him, wanting more. With nimble fingers, she undid the laces of his shirt - his armour long since discarded after battle -revealing the muscular yet rounded body that she loved with her entire heart.

Alistair's mouth trailed hot kisses along her jaw, down her neck, sending shivers down her spine. She gasped as he nibbled on her earlobe, each touch igniting a fiery desire within her. As his teeth grazed the sensitive junction where her neck met her shoulder, she couldn’t suppress a low, raspy moan. Alistair hummed his approval and she could feel every nerve ending in her body come alive under his touch.

"Are you sure you want to do this here?" she murmured as she pressed her cheek to the top of his head. This was holy ground, there had to be something in the Chant that forbade such illicit activities. Would the Maker strike them down for this violation?

Alistair pulled back just far enough to meet her gaze, his eyes darkened with lust. "I want you, Gwen," he said huskily. "Right here, right now. What better place than a holy Chantry to worship the woman I love?"

Gwen laughed, a throaty sound that made Alistair's pulse race. "You're incorrigible," she said, grabbing his open shirt and pulling him back to her.

With practiced movements, Alistair's hands glided over her body, gently pulling the fabric of her tunic up and over her head. She returned the gesture, eagerly pushing the open sides of his shirt away until it slipped from his broad shoulders.

Piece by piece, they shed the layers between them, revealing scarred skin and defined muscle underneath. Their breaths mingled in the air as they sat, only clothed in their vulnerability and desire for one another. Alistair tenderly cradled her face in his large hands, his intense gaze filled with adoration and longing.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you," Alistair said, his voice thick and pulling at her heartstrings. "After everything we've faced, all the battles and the horrors, having you by my side has made it all worthwhile."

He stroked her cheek tenderly with his sword-roughened fingers. "Before I met you I was so lost, but you showed me I could be more than just a bastard prince no one wanted."

Gwen started to speak, wanting to argue, but Alistair gently pressed his thumb against her lips, stopping her.

"I wish you could see yourself as I see you, Gwen. Fierce, compassionate, stronger than any of us. And so, so beautiful. I could say it a thousand times and I would never mean it any less." His eyes roamed her disfigured face and scarred body, soft and patient, making tears prick at the corners of her eyes. "I want to spend every day of my life showing you how cherished you are."

Gwen blinked back the tears, overwhelmed by the depth of his devotion. She kissed him tenderly, letting her body speak for her - the press of her fingertips over his heart, the brush of her thighs against his hips, the heat of her desire kindling his own. She could not lie to him, to tell him she would be by his side as he wished, but she could give him this moment of release, of love and hope. It was so much less than he deserved, yet all she had to give.

His hands moved down her throat, sending sparks across her skin as he trailed feather-light touches down her chest until he cupped her aching breasts. Gwen sighed into the kiss, arching into his touch. His fingers teased her nipples to stiff peaks, eliciting soft moans from deep within her throat.

“I just need—” he cut himself off with a low groan as she ground her hips against him. “I need to feel you, to know you’re here, that we both survived. That this isn’t a dream.”

With another roll of her hips that pulled a stuttering moan from his gorgeous mouth, she leaned close, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “You have me,” she whispered, “all of me.”

Gwen gasped as Alistair's fingers slid between her thighs, teasing at the sensitive flesh there. She rocked against his touch, her body already slick with desire. With a growl low in his throat, Alistair pressed closer to her with a hand on her lower back, his breath hot against her skin.

"I want you," he murmured against her neck, nipping at the sensitive flesh there. "I need you."

"Please," she begged, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pressed herself closer to him. Alistair's lips found hers once again, devouring her with need and urgency. Gwen could feel the heat of Alistair's arousal pressing against her thigh, and it only made her want him more.

He broke the kiss and began to trail hot kisses down her neck, continuing until his lips met the curve of her breast. He took one nipple between his teeth while his hand kneaded the other, making her moan echo off the stone walls around them. His other hand reached around to grip her backside, pulling her closer to him.

His actions were both gentle and passionate - worshipping every inch of her body as if she were a goddess.

His gaze lifted to meet hers, eyes shining with a primal desire that sent chills across Gwen’s skin. But beyond the raw lust, she saw an intense love burning within him, one that made her heart leap into her throat. He looked at her as if she was the most beautiful and perfect being in existence, seeing past all of her insecurities and scars and loving every piece of who she was.

“Please, Alistair,” Gwen breathed as she squirmed in his lap, feeling his hardness against her folds as she canted her hips against him. But it wasn’t enough, she wanted him closer still. “I need you.”

Alistair’s lips parted, his eyes glazed over with carnality. His hands trailed down her sides, feeling the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips.

“Where do you want me, my Lady?” he asked with a playful grin, pulling his finger back to tease her hips, inches away from where she craved him.

A growl formed low in her throat, needy and frustrated. If he wanted to play games then she would simply have to indulge.

Gwen moved her hips, her knees on the creaky pew offering the perfect perch to push herself up and down his length, his reddened tip catching against her clit, the friction and pressure leaving both of them trembling. His hands gripped her hips in an almost bruising grip, but he did not stop her as she repeated the movement, his head dropping to rest against her collarbone.

“Gwen,” her name fell from his lips, a prayer meant only for her. She sped up her pace, pulling a groan from deep within his chest.

But it wasn't enough for either of them. They both needed more.

“I need you inside me,” Gwen begged, her voice raspy, barely above a whisper.

His strong hands slid down to cup her backside, lifting her up as he positioned himself at her entrance. She whined with aching desire, arching into him as he gave her a teasing nip at the curve of her collarbone. Her body throbbed with impatience and need, and he couldn't resist any longer. With one swift motion, he pulled her down onto his throbbing cock, filling her completely and sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body.

Gwen's breath hitched in her throat as he filled her to the hilt, the sensations almost overwhelming. Alistair's hands held her steady at her hips his touch both grounding and electrifying as she acclimated to his size. She clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders for support. He peppered soft kisses along her jawline and down her neck, soothing her with every sweet touch.

"You're… incredible, love," he murmured against her neck, his hips rolling up to meet hers in a slow and steady rhythm. Gwen couldn't help but whimper at the sensation, her body responding eagerly to his every movement.

His fingers dug into her hips as she moved against him, his breath fanning across her neck. She could feel the tension building in both of them, the need for release coursing through their veins.

Gwen's head fell back as she rode him, her eyes fluttering shut as she gave herself over to the pleasure. Alistair's hands moved from her hips to her thighs, guiding her movements and setting a rhythm that had them both gasping for air. Every thrust sent jolts of electricity through Gwen's body, the feel of him stretching her more than she could handle.

Their pace quickened as they both reached the edge of ecstasy, their movements becoming more urgent and frenzied - less organized as they chased release. Alistair's fingers found their way between them once more, adding another layer of pleasure as he circled Gwen's sensitive clit.

With a cry of his name on her lips, Gwen shattered into a million pieces, her body shaking as she curled into him, holding herself back from sinking her teeth into his shoulder. Alistair followed soon after, his own release tearing through him like a wildfire. He let out a guttural groan, his body shuddering against hers as he spilled himself inside her.

For a few moments, they stayed tangled together, their chests heaving as they tried to catch their breath. Alistair's arms wrapped tightly around Gwen, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her back. Gwen snuggled into Alistair's chest, feeling completely content and fulfilled in his arms.

"I love you," she whispered softly against his skin.

Alistair kissed the top of her head and held her close. "And I love you," he replied tenderly. "Always and forever."

Under the watchful gaze of the moon, Gwen allowed herself to believe in the possibility of a life unfettered by fear. And as she clung to Alistair, the man who held her entire heart in his hands, she thought that perhaps, just perhaps, they could carve out a piece of happiness in this fractured world, even if only for tonight.

Golden sunlight filtered through the fragmented, stained-glass windows, scattering a kaleidoscope of colours across the stone floor. In the warmth of the morning light, Gwen stirred, consciousness creeping back into her sore limbs. Alistair, still deep in sleep, held her tightly in his arms, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that had lulled her into peaceful rest the night before. And, she was startled to realize, he was still inside of her, hard from both the morning, and the small movements she’d made as she’d awoken.

She couldn't resist stealing a moment to watch Alistair sleep, his face softened by repose. In this peaceful state, he seemed free from the weight of his crown and the responsibilities of ruling a kingdom. She traced her fingers along the sharp line of his jaw, savouring the feel of his skin against hers just as she had the first time she’d held his face in her hands.

And when he woke, the corners of his mouth curved into a lopsided grin as he realized their current predicament. Without hesitation, he lowered her onto the pew and claimed her once again, their bodies moving in perfect synchronization. Perhaps it happened more than once, but that was their secret to keep between them and the Maker above.

As the last remnants of their shared solace were swallowed by the rising sun, Gwen's heart clenched with a panic that suffocated her. The echoes of victory that had rung through the night now seemed distant and faint, muffled by the weight of dread that settled over her like a heavy blanket. How could she possibly leave him? The thought tore at her insides like sharp claws, leaving her feeling hollow and empty. Her heart raged against the decision she knew she had to make, beating at her ribcage like the bars of a jail cell.

Time passed with the languidness of honey, the week stretching out like a painting frayed at the edges. Alistair was constantly summoned, torn away by the demands of leadership and the unrelenting march toward his upcoming coronation. Gwen would steal moments where she could, her presence a quiet shadow in the periphery of his new life. Each parting was a fresh wound, one that refused to heal as the next obligation called for his attention.

Gwen had heard the whispers muttered as she slunk through hidden halls, avoiding the suspicious glares and hushed tones discussing the "beast" who was corrupting their soon-to-be king. Soldiers had seen her on the battlefield, feral as she tore Darkspawn apart with her teeth, magically leashed until she’d broken away.

"The Darkspawn woman..." They would whisper, their voices barely concealing their fear and disdain. "She's a monster, I tell you."

"They say he's bewitched," another said in conspiratorial tones. "Our poor king, led astray by that wicked creature."

Not just a monster, but a temptress, an evil seductress. She had heard these allegations too, that she had used blood magic or trickery to secure Alistair's affections.

As if he were some ignorant, helpless lamb. As if the bond they shared was not real. She longed to shout, to scream the truth for all to hear. But it would only make things worse.

So Gwen endured in silence, bearing their scorn. She would not bring more trouble to Alistair's door. Not when doubt already plagued the man she loved.

For she had heard those whispers too. That Alistair was too uncertain, too unready for the throne. That he would lead Ferelden to ruin.

Though Alistair had accepted her, the people of Ferelden would not be so kind. To them, she was a monster, an unnatural creature who threatened their beloved hero who would unite and lead them.

Gwen felt the familiar shame and isolation creeping upon her. She had tried so hard to find belonging, to see herself as something more than the taint that flowed within her veins. But each suspicious glance and cutting rumour was a reminder that she did not deserve warmth or companionship. Perhaps she had been foolish to think she could escape her wretched origins.

Darcy observed them throughout the long week, his dark eyes clouded with guilt. He watched Gwen closely, observing the way she withdrew into herself, grasping onto the fading threads of their once-strong connection. He longed to intervene, to offer comfort and reassurance, but he remained silent, a spectator to the unravelling of their fragile peace. It was all his doing - his friend was about to ascend to the throne, and in doing so, would lose everything he had worked tirelessly for. A bitter taste filled Darcy's mouth as he thought of how his actions had led to this moment, even the sweet caress of his lover could not numb the ache in his heart.

Gwen made time in her week to thank Wynne. The mage had tirelessly made potions to help alleviate the sinister call of the Blight that had gnawed at Gwen's mind. Though she had initially been wary of accepting help, Gwen was moved by Wynne's kindness and tenacity in creating the potions. They granted her precious moments of clarity and focus, driving back the feverish dreams and intrusive whispers.

Without the relief of the potions, Gwen knew she would have succumbed to madness and darkness long ago. Wynne's steady wisdom and maternal care had been soothing to Gwen's ravaged soul throughout their travels. No matter how far Gwen retreated into herself, Wynne patiently remained, offering what comfort she could. There were no words to fully capture Gwen's gratitude, so she simply embraced the elder mage in a move so uncharacteristic of her that Wynne almost fell over in shock.

Wynne had seen her not as a monster, but as a wounded soul worthy of compassion. She had given Gwen the chance to reclaim parts of herself that she thought lost forever. She allowed her more time with the man she loved, and to Gwen, this act of grace was worth more than any material possession could ever repay.

As evening fell, Alistair would retire to the King's suite - a space too grand, too cold for the man she knew. Yet Gwen found her way to him every night, slipping through darkened halls illuminated by flickering torches. They would collapse into each other's embrace, exhaustion claiming their bodies but never dimming the spark that burned when they touched.

Their whispered conversations were a salve, words exchanged in the sanctuary of darkness. They spoke of everything and nothing, laughter mingling with confessions, their souls laid bare beneath the veil of night. But even in these stolen hours, the spectre of separation loomed, an unspoken truth that gnawed at the edges of their haven. Alistair knew something was wrong, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask, fear and uncertainty stopping him in his tracks.

In the stillness that followed their quiet conversations, they would fall asleep, tangled together amidst the opulent trappings of royalty. Gwen's last thoughts always lingered on the morrow, on the reality that crept ever closer with each sunrise. Her time with Alistair was a borrowed treasure, one she'd have to return all too soon.

And so the days passed, each one a reminder of the life she could not have, the love she feared to claim.

Gwen slipped through the dimly lit corridor, her form a whisper against the stone. The heavy door to the King's suite loomed ahead, the promise of Alistair's comforting presence just beyond its reach. Her heart throbbed with sorrow, each beat a reminder of the last night they had left. Tomorrow was his coronation, tomorrow she would leave.

As she rounded the corner, a sudden, vice-like grip fastened around her arm, jerking her out of her thoughts like an electric shock. She turned sharply, her heart pounding with fear as she came face to face with Arl Eamon's sneering expression. A sharp pang shot through her body, almost as if his gaze could physically harm her. The dark intensity in his eyes chilled her to the bone, and she felt a surge of adrenaline in his presence.

"What are you doing here? Sneaking around like a thief?" Eamon's voice dripped with disdain. "Or should I just call you the beast you truly are?

"Let go," Gwen hissed, her voice sharp and low. She could feel the weight of his judgment, the way he saw her as nothing more than a blight upon Alistair's life.

"You put his life in peril," Eamon spat, tightening his grip. "Ferelden will never bow to a king bedazzled by such… monstrosity. You must realize the danger you pose to his future. What will Ferelden think when they see their king entangled with someone like you? It will only breed contempt."

Her snarl was feral, her slit cheeks flaring with barely contained fury beneath her bandana. "What we share…. it will not interfere with his rule. Not that it is of any concern to you.”

"Won't interfere?” Eamon's scoff stung like acid. "By the Maker, you stupid creature, just today he asked his advisors if there was a way he could marry you."

The word struck her like a physical blow, causing her to freeze in place. Marry her? The thought of Alistair saying those words made her heart flutter with warmth and at the same time filled her with a sense of dread. "What?" she gasped, feeling a surge of panic in her chest. "But that… that isn’t allowed.”

"Allowed?" Eamon's laugh was cruel, like a dagger to her stomach. "As if laws could contain the depraved lusts of your kind. "You’ve put a spell on him, haven’t you? Making him blind to the truth? I did not raise that boy to be a fool blinded by love! Your very nature may cost him everything - do you want that?

The fiery heat of anger boiled within Gwen, threatening to erupt from her pores. The hurtful words spewing from his mouth stung like a thousand needles piercing her skin. How dare he insult Alistair. The tension in the air was palpable as Gwen struggled to keep her composure, clenching her fists at her sides to contain her explosive rage.

"Mind your words," she growled, "or you may find yourself short a tongue."

Eamon faltered, but with a scrutinizing glare, he pressed on. "If Alistair falters as king, it won’t simply be his head on the chopping block. It will be the lives of countless innocents—and my family's legacy will crumble along with it."

Before she could offer any retort, he continued his rant. "And what of heirs? Could you birth anything but monsters? Even if you were to remain a mistress, you know as well as I that he would refuse to take a Queen who could complete such a task where you failed. He is too loyal for that."

The words struck deep. She couldn't bear any fruit, her body deemed unfit to carry life. With each passing day, she felt it draining the life out of her, slowly but surely.

"Of course not," Eamon said, his lips curling with malice. "If you truly care for Alistair, you will see that your presence is a liability. You should step aside for his sake! He is too naive to realize it for himself—"

Rage, swift and incandescent, overtook her. Gwen grabbed Eamon by the collar, pulling him close enough that she could see the fear in his eyes. "If I ever hear of you treating him like anything other than the amazing man, hero, and king that he is and soon will be, there is nowhere on this earth that you can hide where I will not find you. And you will not like it when I do. He deserves to have those with only his best interests at his side, those who care for him. If you are not willing to take up that role, then I will ensure that that decision is out of your hands."

Alarm flashed in Eamon's eyes, his hand fell away from her arm. "You're leaving him," he realized, a hint of triumph in his voice. “Perhaps you are smarter than I gave you credit for, you recognize the dangers you pose.”

Gwen's hands trembled with anger as she shoved the Arl away from her, his grip on her arm loosening. She refused to let this man poison the remaining time she had left with his toxic presence. Her icy resolve set in, and without a backward glance, she pushed past him, her determined footsteps echoing through the cold, desolate corridor. The walls seemed to close in on her, but she walked with purpose, her breaths coming out in short, determined puffs. The lingering echo of her threat rebounded off the walls, a final message to haunt the Arl behind her.

She would make good on her promise. Somehow, she would ensure it.

Next Chapter

A/N: ...everyone ready for the next chapter?

I'd love to hear your predictions!

#angst with a happy ending #slow burn #fluff #falling in love #humour #alistair dragon age #alistair dao #alistair theirin #alistair x original character #original warden #zevran x warden #wynne dragon age #sten dragon age #dragon age zevran #barkspawn #smut

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tired-truffle · 2 months ago

Text

Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 4.5k

Part 43/54

"But since you have suffered with me, you will forgive me both for what I did, and what I do now, touching you with unholy hands - at once your cruellest enemy and your dearest lover." - Euripides, The Bacchae

Masterlist

The creature tore through the dark streets, driven only by the ceaseless song echoing in its mind. Buildings and alleys blurred past in a haze, the ceaseless song that echoed in its mind driving it forward, propelling it with preternatural speed. Some buried part of it recoiled at the wanton destruction it left in its wake - smashed market stalls, fearful cries fading into the distance. But the Archdemon's call drowned out all else, it would go to any lengths to protect its master.

The Darkspawn parted like a foul sea, sensing an unspoken kinship in its twisted form and offering no hindrance. It dodged debris that littered the path - overturned carts, fallen banners - leaping with predatory grace over the obstacles wrought by panic and destruction.

Up ahead, Fort Drakon loomed like a stalwart sentinel amidst the chaos, and with a surge of unnatural speed, it tore through the stone halls. Its mind was focused on the only goal it could think of; find the Archdemon and slay its attackers.

It burst out upon the battlements, an intense battle raging, the air crackling with magic, metal, and might. A dark-haired elf led the charge, curls plastered to his forehead, weaving through the fray, a blade in each hand. Every strike carried the weight of his determination, his lithe figure moving not just to survive but to end the Archdemon’s reign once and for all.

A tall human fought a couple of paces behind the elf. He was the embodiment of resolute strength, standing his ground, his muscular frame a bulwark against the tide of darkness. His sword swept through the air, cleaving a path of resistance against the Archdemon's minions.

A flash of golden hair matted with sweat and blood, caught the creature's gaze as another elf weaved in and out of danger. He struck with lethal elegance, his twin daggers finding weak spots with the precision of a seasoned assassin.

At the far edge of the battlefield, an elder mage’s robes billowed as she chanted incantations, her hands weaving the fabric of protective spells around her companions. Her voice commanded the expanse with the authority of a sage, guiding their defence against the overwhelming dark.

And there, fighting with a loyalty born of love rather than obligation, a Mabari snarled and lunged, his teeth sinking into the flesh of any Darkspawn foolish enough to come within reach. He was more than a mere hound; he was a protector, a companion whose bravery knew no bounds.

Above them all, the Archdemon belched fire and fury, its wings casting shadows over the defenders. Its roar shook through the earth, a challenge that was met with the combined resolve of those who dared to stand against the end of all they held dear.

The creature watched from the shadows, muscles tensed, as the struggle unfolded between its would-be brethren and the group of valiant fighters. Bound by unseen chains, the creature found itself caught in the throes of a war far more pressing than the one raging before its eyes - a battle for the soul.

A cacophony of clashing steel and guttural roars filled the air, yet within the creature, there was a silence, a still moment of conflict where two wills warred for dominance.

Its eyes, ablaze with a feral glow, locked onto the group fighting at the heart of the battle. It could sense the human’s presence, his brown eyes were steely pools of resolve, but behind them flickered the soft flame of humour that had always been his shield against the dark. Even now, as he swung his sword in wide arcs, a quip danced on his lips, and the creature leaned into every word, though it understood nothing.

The creature's heart - a heart that still remembered love and laughter - ached to leap forward, to join the fray alongside those it once knew. Yet its limbs refused to obey, held back by a force that was more than physical.

"Come on, then," the human yelled at the Darkspawn surrounding him, half to himself, half to whatever fate awaited him. "I've faced worse than you." And as if to prove his point, he parried a blow from a snarling Hurlock with such ease it was as if he were swatting away an irritating fly.

Without warning, the Archdemon's influence surged like a tidal wave through the creature's veins, a malignant tide that sought to drown out all remnants of its former self. The call was insidious, a whisper that turned into a roar and demanded destruction, to tear into the soft flesh of the mortals. With a gut-wrenching effort, it resisted, but the Archdemon's will was the hammer to its anvil, shaping it into a weapon of pure destruction.

No longer able to contain the onslaught, the creature lunged forward, propelled by wrath not its own. It barreled toward the human with a speed that would not have been possible if it were concerned about damaging its body, daggers at the ready and teeth bared in a grotesque imitation of a smile.

"Maker's breath!" Alistair exclaimed, caught off guard by the sudden assault. He pivoted, bringing up his shield just in time to absorb the brunt of the impact. The sound of metal clashing against the hardened frame echoed across the battlefield.

But as their eyes met, recognition flashed across Alistair's face.

"Gwen?" he gasped, his lips parting and limbs faltering.

The dagger halted mere inches from his neck. The creature froze, confusion contorting its distorted features. The man's voice was strained, a mixture of hope and dread lacing his words.

"Gwen, it's me, it's Alistair. I know you're still in there."

The creature let out an anguished scream, squeezing its eyes closed and shaking its head. "Get… out…" it choked with a snarl, though those were not its words.

The man - Alistair, its mind insisted he be called, though the creature did not understand why - reached for it, heedless of the danger. "Fight it, Gwen! You're—”

He was given no chance to finish his statement.

Its jaws snapped shut inches from his face, halted by its own hand wrapped tight around its throat, its dagger clattering to the floor. The creature's body trembled, its arm straining as it fought against itself. Jaws unhinged and stretched wide, sharp teeth glistening with saliva poised mere inches from Alistair's face. The hand around its throat squeezed tighter, nails digging into pale flesh.

A guttural cry erupted from deep within as the creature wrestled for control. The sound was primal, tortured, laced with a soul-rending anguish. Its inhuman eyes met Alistair's, and for a moment something stirred in their feral depths - a spark of recognition, of longing. The hand slackened ever so slightly.

Sensing an opening, Alistair pressed his advantage. "I know you're in there, Gwen. Fight it! You can break free of this hold." Desperation tinged his voice.

At his words, the creature's face spasmed, its grip on its throat loosening. It took a staggering step back, shaking its head violently, talons raking at its skin. "N-no… get… out…" it rasped.

Alistair advanced, shield up but hand outstretched. "Let me help you. Together we can—"

He stumbled, unable to stay upright as the castle's stone battlements that began to quake beneath their feet. The dark-haired elf, with a flourish of his blade that caught the dim light like a falling star, drove it deep into the head of the Archdemon. The beast let out an otherworldly screech, its cries slicing through the cacophony of battle and echoing off the ancient walls of Denerim. As the Archdemon's blood spurted out onto the elf's sword, it sizzled and hissed against the cold steel, releasing thick clouds of black smoke into the air. The stench of burning flesh and sulphur filled their nostrils, making it almost impossible to breathe.

With a deafening boom, a shockwave of pure energy erupted from the point of impact, sending the elf reeling backwards. The force of the explosion hit like a physical blow, a burst of light so intense it turned everything in its path to shades of blinding white and ash gray. The very foundation of the castle trembled and groaned as stones dislodged and crashed down to the streets below.

Alistair, locked in a fierce showdown with the creature that had once been Gwen, stole a quick glance toward the epicentre of the destruction. In the distance, he saw the mighty Archdemon crumble like a broken puppet whose strings had been mercilessly severed.

He turned back to confront the creature, the whites of its eyes were stark against the pallor of its skin, and for a moment, time stilled.

The creature's hand slowly released its grip on its own throat, the skin beneath raw and bleeding. It moved as if through deep water, each motion requiring immense effort and concentration. Step by agonizing step, it shuffled around Alistair's shield as he watched her warily.

With great hesitation, it extended its trembling hand and laid it gently atop Alistair's. He flinched at the contact, steeling himself against an attack, but the strike never came. Instead, the creature's bloodied fingers wrapped around his, clutching his calloused palm with surprising tenderness.

Alistair searched its face, looking for some glimmer of the Gwen he once knew. "Gwen?" Alistair whispered, his voice rough.

With the utterance of her name, Gwen felt a veil lift off her mind, the relentless Calling that had thrummed through her veins like a war drum ceased its infernal rhythm as the last of the Archdemon’s influence faded.

As if awakening from a nightmare, Gwen's senses flooded back, the cold stone beneath her feet, the metallic scent of blood and fire in the air, the chaotic panorama of crumbling battlements before her eyes. She blinked rapidly, gray eyes clearing, as her true self wrested control from the darkness that had ensnared her will.

She gasped, a hand flying to mouth, her breaths now her own to command. Her gaze found Alistair's, his eyes wide with concern and hope, the remnants of fear dissipating like mist at dawn.

"Welcome back," Alistair said, smiling at her like she was not some blood-covered beast. “I knew you could do it.”

A sudden crash drew their attention to where Darcy stood - or rather, had stood. His small elven form crumpled to the ground, the exertion and magic that had fueled his final, victorious blow against the Archdemon draining from him as swiftly as water through cupped fingers.

As the intense echoes of battle faded and silence began to settle like a heavy fog, Gwen felt horror build in her gut. Had Darcy been wrong? Had whatever plan he’d concocted been unable to withstand the might of the Archdemon?

"Darcy!" Alistair's voice cut through her thoughts, urgency lacing his tone as he rushed toward his friend. Barkspawn bounded ahead, his tongue lolling out as he reached Darcy first, whining and sniffing his master.

"Ugh, I've had softer landings." Darcy managed to laugh shakily, though his voice was tinged with exhaustion. "I think I'll lie here for a while; let the world stop spinning."

"Typical youngster," Wynne muttered under her breath as she reached them, healing hands ready, though there was no bite to it, only fondness.

Alistair chuckled, despite the gravity of the moment, crouching to meet his friend’s level. "You'd choose the moment after slaying an Archdemon to take a nap?"

"Perfect timing," Darcy retorted with a weak grin, letting Barkspawn's rough, wet tongue wash over his face. "I always did fancy a victory lap, though I imagined it less… horizontal." He looked at her then, a frown pulling at his full lips. “Gwen? When did you get here?”

But before she could form a response, Zevran appeared by Darcy’s side, his movements fluid and graceful despite the disarray that surrounded them. His usually composed and playful demeanour was stripped bare for a moment, revealing a depth of relief that only true peril could unearth. Without hesitation, he kneeled down, his hands hovering over Darcy's prone form. Darcy smiled at him, tired, but triumphant, and Zevran relaxed minutely.

"Mi amore, do not leave us yet. You owe me a dance in celebration, remember? A dance that will be whispered of for ages, yes?" Without waiting for an answer, Zevran pressed his lips firmly against Darcy's, his arms wrapping around his neck as if he couldn't bear to let go. Darcy lay frozen for a brief moment before surrendering to the embrace of his lover, clinging to him as if he were a lifeline amid a storm

As the couple engaged in their passionate kiss, those around them averted their gazes, silently agreeing to give them privacy. The air was heavy with anticipation and emotion, each breath feeling like it held its own secret. It was Wynne who finally broke the silence, her voice tenderly slicing through the hush, "I shall find a place to rest," she announced, her tone carrying the weight of a healer's concern. "Gather yourselves, and come find me before we depart."

Alistair turned away from the scene, his gaze seeking out Gwen amidst the rubble. Her pale hair, streaked with soot, seemed almost luminescent against the dark backdrop of Denerim's ravaged streets miles below. She stood stiffly, a rigid set to her shoulders, a slight tremor in her hands as sheathed her one remaining dagger, her eyes haunted and distant.

Alistair slipped his hand into hers, pulling her along to a more secluded spot. She followed him in a daze, her mind still reeling from the adrenaline rush of combat. When they stopped in the shadow of a fallen turret, Gwen looked past him, her eyes darting about, her face stained with dark blood from where she had ripped into the enemy.

"Hey," Alistair murmured, reaching out tentatively to brush a stray lock of hair from her slitted cheek. "We made it, didn't we?"

Gwen nodded, her lips parting but no sounds escaping. The struggle within her was palpable; the Calling had released its grip, yet the fear it had sown lingered like a shadow.

"I couldn't stop it, Alistair," Gwen confessed, her voice a fractured whisper. "You trusted me, but I wasn’t… strong enough."

"Stop," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. He removed his gauntlets and cupped her face gently in his calloused hands, drawing her gaze up to meet his. "You're here, you're you. That's all that matters in the end."

She searched his face, finding nothing but sincerity. Gwen’s hands moved of their own accord, tracing the lines of Alistair's armour, lingering on a rip where Darkspawn blood had stained the metal. "You're hurt," she murmured, her fingertips grazing a welt that marred his skin beneath the torn fabric. Had she done that to him? She could no longer remember.

"Scratches," he dismissed with a half-smile, his attempt at levity falling short against the gravity of their situation. He captured her searching fingers, guiding her arms to loop around his shoulder, his hands grasping her waist and pulling her close. "Nothing a good night's rest and some healing potions can’t fix. I'll be fine. We all will be."

Gwen's breath mingled with Alistair’s, each exhale a shared affirmation of life. She pulled away slightly, her gaze locked onto his. "And now?" she asked, her voice barely audible above the distant cries of a city licking its wounds. "You are to be crowned king."

Alistair turned his gaze from hers, surveying the remnants of battle that lay strewn across stone and soil alike. His eyes lingered on the tattered banners, the fallen, and the smouldering ruins that had once been proud structures. "Not today," he said, a half-smile playing on his lips as if to soften the blow of reality. "Before any crown graces my head, we'll be knee-deep in cleaning up this mess."

Relief washed over Gwen for reasons she couldn't voice aloud. She saw through his jest, recognizing the undercurrent of reluctance that mirrored her own hesitancy. It was a stalling, a precious respite from decisions neither of them were ready to face. And for Gwen, it meant more time before she would have to confront the plan embossed deep within her heart - a plan to vanish from his side like a fleeting dream.

"Gwen" Alistair began, pulling her from her thoughts, “I know this future of ours looks like... well, a mountain of uncertainty, and not the fun kind with the lovely views.” He took a moment to gather his thoughts, running a hand through his hair. “But I need you to hear this: you’re everything to me. I don’t think I can say that enough. You’ve saved me more times than I can count - more than I deserve, honestly. I was floundering, stuck in my own doubts, terrified of facing who I truly was... and then you showed up. Your strength, compassion, and even that stubborn streak of yours lit a fire in me. You made me want to be better. I’ll always be grateful for that.”

Alistair brushed a loose strand of hair from Gwen's face, tucking it behind her ear with gentle care. "Look, I’m not exactly sure what kind of mess the future holds for us - probably more than I can handle, let's be honest - but what I do know is that I want... I need you right there with me through it all. I’d give up a hundred shiny crowns and all the fancy feasts just to wake up every morning and see your beautiful face. I mean, we'll probably face more downs than ups, but hey, at least we can face them together, right?"

He took both of Gwen's hands in his own now. "I realize things will be complicated. Royalty and duty and all that stuff can be exhausting, but honestly? None of that matters compared to what we could build together, if you want that too.”

Alistair leaned in, his forehead touching Gwen's as she did her best to keep her bottom lip from quivering. "I love you," he whispered. "I’ll always love you. I just… I hope you'll give me the chance to share my life with you. Because a world without you in it just seems... well, rather empty. I couldn't imagine anything worse even if I tried. Stay with me, Gwen, please. I believe we’re meant for this. I can’t see a path that doesn’t include you by my side."

Gwen clenched her jaw, fighting back the swell of emotions rising within her. Alistair's words were a dagger to her heart, each one piercing the fragile armour she had built around herself. She knew she had to leave, to protect him from the darkness that still lingered inside her. A darkness his people were sure to see, one they would not accept, one that would put him at constant risk. But how could she turn her back on the man she loved so completely? The man who had proven time and again that he would walk through fire for her.

Gwen felt as though her heart would shatter into a thousand shards. She ached to say yes, to accept the beautiful future Alistair offered and leave her plans of departure behind. But the scars on her back burned as if fresh, and the memory of Lucy, tore through her mind.

She could not risk hurting him. She did not deserve the unconditional love shining in his eyes.

She opened her mouth to speak, to try and make him understand, but the words died in her throat. Instead, she tightened her arms around Alistair's neck, pulling him into a desperate kiss. Her body pressed against his, seeking comfort and reassurance as he enveloped her in his strong embrace. A bittersweet taste flooded Gwen's mouth. It was a mix of longing and regret, fear and desire. She could taste the saltiness of her tears mingling with the sweetness of Alistair's lips. All she wanted was to lose herself in his embrace and forget the pain and uncertainty that plagued her.

In that perfect, suspended moment, nothing else mattered. Not her past, her tainted blood, not the uncertain future or the obstacles that lay before them. There was only Alistair, his heat, his breath, his beating heart. The rest of the world fell away.

But the clock always continued ticking, reality creeping back in around the edges.

Gwen slowly and reluctantly pulled away from Alistair, her heart heavy with the weight of their love. The pure adoration and longing reflected in Alistair's eyes pained her to see. She knew she couldn't lie to him, to promise that she would never leave.

So she said nothing, merely tracing the line of his jaw with her fingers as she had done so many times before. Alistair seemed to sense her anguish, and drew her closer, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.

"We lived, we should celebrate, don’t you think?" He rested his cheek against her hair, the question lingering in the air before she gave him a shaky nod.

“Come on.” Alistair released her from the hug and offered a steady hand for support as they made their way back to the group waiting near the path away from the Archdemon’s corpse. Wynne stood with Darcy, who was being supported by Zevran, and Barkspawn sat patiently at their feet.

Zevran grinned as they approached, lazy and teasing, able to relax after he had assured that Darcy was alive and mostly well. "You know, Alistair, for a future king, you spend an alarming amount of time worrying about others. Perhaps I should teach you the art of indulgence."

Alistair rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "I think I'll stick to my own ways for now, thank you."

"Oh, but imagine all the fun we could have," Zevran pressed on with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Gwen couldn't help but laugh at their banter, grateful for the distraction from her own thoughts. She leaned against Alistair's side as they walked, trying to savour every moment with him.

As they reached the group, Wynne smiled warmly at them. "I'm glad to see you both safe and sound. It seems at least this half of our party has quite the talent for surviving impossible odds."

Darcy let out a wheezing laugh beside her. "That's one way to put it."

Wynne smiled softly. “Shall we see how the others faired?”

As they descended from the crumbling battlements, the moans of the wounded echoed off the stone walls and Alistair's heavy armour clinked with each step. The scent of smoke and blood filled the air, a stark reminder that the battle had only just been won, and still more deaths would come.

Gwen trudged through the rubble-strewn corridors, her muscles aching. Each step was an effort, weighed down by exhaustion and the burden of secrets yet to be revealed. Her body had taken a beating, the Calling-controlled creature hadn’t cared to preserve her, and she could feel the stinging of bruises lining the bottoms of her feet.

Gwen winced with every step, the memories of losing control to the archdemon flooding her mind. She glanced at Alistair walking beside her, taking in the determined set of his jaw and his squared shoulders. He looked every bit the king he was soon to become. Gwen's heart ached knowing she would have to leave his side, but she hardened her resolve. It was the only way to keep him safe. She couldn’t allow herself to be selfish and stay with him. She had allowed herself such selfishness once, and Lucy had paid the price.

They passed an overturned wagon, its contents strewn across the cobblestones. The gnarled body of a Hurlock lay nearby, Zevran's throwing knife protruding from its neck. He didn’t bother to retrieve it, helping Darcy limp along was more important.

Barkspawn padded ahead, stopping to sniff at a dark puddle that glistened wetly in the dim light. Gwen didn't need to look closely to know it was blood. So much had been spilled that day. Ferelden would take a long time to recover, just as her own soul would take time to heal from the scars left behind. Could a soul heal if it had always been broken?

As they approached the city gates, Gwen pulled her bandana up to cover her blood-coated mouth, it would do no one any good to scare off the soldiers now. The guards stationed there were battered and weary but standing firm. This was where Alistair would soon rule, while she wandered down whatever path her fate took her. She glanced at him one last time, drinking in the sight of his profile. Then she steeled herself and stepped through the gates.

No sooner had she passed the threshold than a blur of red hair and leather armour barreled into her, nearly knocking the wind from her lungs.

"Gwen!" Leliana cried, grasping her by the shoulders, and shaking her head in disbelief. "You're alive! What were you thinking, making a plan with Morrigan behind all our backs? She could have killed you, even if she didn't mean to. Her magic is unpredictable."

Gwen lowered her eyes, shame reddening her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Leliana. I didn't want to put that burden on you."

"Oh Gwen," Leliana pulled her into a tight hug. "I was terrified for you."

Gwen blinked away tears - she'd had enough crying for one day. “I’m sorry, Leliana. I didn't want to worry you."

"I was plenty worried," the rogue admonished softly. "Please, next time let us help you. You don't have to navigate it all alone, or with solely Morrigan."

When Leliana finally released her, Gwen scrubbed a hand across her tired eyes. "I'll try, I promise." She managed a tremulous smile.

Leliana squeezed her hand gently. "That's all I ask."

"Where is Morrigan?" Gwen inquired, scanning the faces for the witch's unmistakable silhouette.

"She left, as promised," Leliana answered, casting a glance towards where Darcy leaned against Zevran.

Gwen felt a twinge in her chest at the thought of Morrigan's solitary figure disappearing into the shadows of Ferelden. Morrigan had always been a mystery, her desires and intentions as elusive as she was. But despite their differences, Morrigan had called Gwen her friend, and Gwen would have returned the sentiment

"Wait, hold on a minute," Alistair said, his brow furrowing as he tried to piece together what had just transpired. "Am I the only one who didn’t make some horrible secret plan with Morrigan?”

Gwen's heart sank as she turned to face Alistair, his frown shifting to concern that made her stomach twist. She knew this was not going to go over well, but the gravity of her secret weighed on her. She had made a deal with Morrigan - one she had thought necessary at the height of the Calling's influence. But now she wondered how to convey that to the man standing before her.

For a moment, Gwen wished that Morrigan was here to bear some of the blame for this situation. But then again, perhaps it was best she wasn't present to stoke Alistair’s irritation further.

Perhaps that was for the best.

Next Chapter

A/N: They all survived!! Yay!!

But Gwen is still convinced she must leave… Will she be able to pull herself away from Alistair or will her resolve crumble?

#angst with a happy ending #slow burn #fluff #falling in love #humour #alistair dao #alistair dragon age #alistair theirin #alistair x original character #king alistair #zevran x warden #leliana #wynne dragon age #original warden

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