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tired-truffle · 14 days

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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 · 20 days

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.

#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 #king alistair #alistair x oc #alistair

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