No Armor Against Fate (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

A Gift

He sat by the campfire, staring gloomily into the flames. It was a camp just like so many others ... but so quiet. There was no joking, no laughter, and little talking. Even Oghren had taken his mug and stolen away to be alone with it. All of which suited Alistair just fine—the events of the day, the Landsmeet and the scene with Thora afterward—had left him with little to say.

Alistair watched as Thora made her usual rounds. They seemed perfunctory tonight, though. She didn't look as interested in what everyone had to say as usual. And—oh, by the Maker—she was coming his way. He clenched his jaw against all the things he wanted to say—to do—and all the reasons why it might not be so bad if he did.

She crouched down next to him. "I want to talk to you."

"Didn't we already say everything we needed to say?"

"I want to know if you're going to be all right."

"No. Not really. But when did my happiness ever matter?"

"Welcome to royalty," she said grimly. And he could have kicked himself for forgetting—again—that she didn't exactly have reason to appreciate being of royal blood either.

"I guess being a king isn't supposed to be easy. Neither is being a Grey Warden."

"No."

"Can we stop talking about this now? Thinking about you is ... too painful. And too tempting," he added in a whisper. Neither of them moved a muscle, but the hunger that arced between them was almost palpable. Alistair got to his feet, leaving her there as he walked back to his tent. In the firelight coming through the open tent flap, he saw a small package and piece of vellum tucked into the top of his open pack. He lit a candle and slowly opened the package. It was his mother's amulet, and it was now threaded on a narrow chain of some kind. But he couldn't wear it around his neck, he thought, much as he might like to. It was too fragile. Confused, he unfolded the paper, his fingers tracing the bold dark writing that he'd never seen before but would have recognized as hers anywhere.

"My dearest Alistair,

This gift comes from the hearts of four women who love you. The mother who left it to you; the grandmother who enchanted it for you so that it will never break; the sister who crafted the chain; and the lover who gifts you now with the last of what made her worthy of you."

Alistair looked more closely at the chain, his eyes widening when he realized it was made of her hair, finely braided and exquisitely crafted to be both durable and beautiful. Clearly, there was no end to Leliana's talents. His eyes stung with tears, and he clasped the amulet tightly, feeling the stronger for this symbol of all their love. He turned back to the letter.

"We've said it all, time and again, but I'm going to say it one more time: I love you.

Yours,

T."

The next morning, when he emerged from his tent, he saw all three of them turn from their camp chores to look at him, and the pleased and proud smiles on their faces when they saw the amulet around his neck. One by one he hugged them, too moved to speak his thanks, but they understood.

They packed their camp for the last time, and turned their faces toward Redcliffe, ready to end the Blight.