The Last Warden

Chapter Thirty-Two

"Tell me why we're here again?"

Across the table, Bann Teagan chuckled, watching as Alistair pushed his still full plate aside. "Why, to be heroes of course, to fight the good fight. Is something troubling you, Your Majesty?"

"Please." Alistair winced, holding up a forestalling hand. "Please, just... don't do that."

Teagan bowed his head, barely hiding a smirk. "As you wish."

"I mean... why Redcliff?"

"I sent word to Eamon as soon as the attack began. We could have held them off a bit longer, but it was most fortunate that you arrived when you did."

The message had been waiting at the Arl's estate when they returned from the Landsmeet; a horde of darkspawn had been spotted marching toward Redcliff. Alistair had wondered at it even then, but had found himself grateful for the distraction. The companions had been able to make the journey with surprising speed. They had broken through the line, regained the castle and joined forces with Teagan's men. But somehow it had seemed too easy.

He shook his head. "But why attack Redcliff? It's not as well fortified as Denerim, but strong enough to give them pause. Why push here? Why not take the capital?"

"I did not take you for a strategist."

Alistair shrugged. "Well, there's a first time for everything."

"Their sudden retreat is... troubling." Teagan stroked his chin. "But we must take this time to gather our forces. I have to admit that it is an impressive sight."

Glancing over his shoulder, Alistair let his eyes sweep the dining hall. The town had nearly doubled in size, the hills above checkered with ordered lines of tents and aravels. Commanders from amongst the dwarves, Dalish and mages had been invited to join them in the castle, though each group kept a fair distance from the others. Meeting his gaze, Keeper Lanaya nodded.

He turned back to Teagan. "What now?"

"That is up to you."

"Because I'm king?"

He smiled. "Because you are the Grey Warden."

"'The' Warden. Right. Why doesn't that make me feel better?"

Across the hall, he was vaguely aware of an opening door, the whispers amongst the others growing as Alistair turned round. Riordan had already spotted him, making his way slowly between the tables. The older Warden had not accompanied them to Redcliff, hinting cryptically at some other mission before disappearing again. The promised talk of strategy had never come.

He should have been relieved to see him, but meeting the man's eyes, Alistair sagged. "Let me guess, bad news?"

Riordan hesitated a moment, glancing to those assembled before painstakingly shifting his dead leg and lowering himself into the chair beside Alistair. Arl Eamon must have been informed of his arrival, appearing from the inner halls to sit beside Teagan.

"I bring news." Riordan leaned low. "I have been scouting."

"You? Scouting?"

"I am more useful than I look." He made an offhand gesture with his stump, shaking his head as he looked to Alistair. "I had planned to return to Ostagar, to see if I could sense something of the horde. But I need not have gone that far."

"What do you mean?"

Riordan turned full to face him now. "Do you not feel it?"

"What, the taint? Impending doom? I always feel that."

"The horde has been spotted."

Teagan nodded. "They were here. We drove them off."

"I am afraid not." Riordan shook his head. "What you saw was merely a single prong, a test of our strength. The enemy is gathering. Its full host is larger even than that which you saw at Ostagar and they are moving... toward Denerim."

Alistair looked to Teagan but held his tongue. After a moment, he sighed. "Then what do we do?"

"We must leave for Denerim as soon as we are able. But there is more..."

"Great."

"Alistair." Riordan held his eye, the lines of his scowl deepening. "The archdemon has shown itself. It marches at the head of the horde."

"The...?" Alistair swallowed hard. He could feel the old Warden watching him, his brow furrowing thoughtfully.

"Then at least we know where it will be." He hadn't seen Sten approach, pausing now beside the table. Eamon had been none too pleased with Alistair's decision to turn over command of the armies to the Quanri but Sten had taken to it well, having spent the bulk of their time in Redcliff amongst the other commanders.

Riordan nodded. "But that, of course, will fall to Alistair and myself."

"Why?" Alistair's head snapped up, finding again that weighing gaze.

"Ah, of course. You were a new recruit; Duncan would not yet have seen a need to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

But Riordan had turned to Sten. "When can we be ready to move?"

"Hello? Tell me what?"

The big man grunted. "At first light. I will make sure of it."

"Excellent." Riordan came stiffly to his feet. "Then I suggest that we all get some rest."

"There are rooms upstairs." Teagan gestured toward the inner halls. "The last on the right should be free."

"You have my thanks." Riordan sighed, expression unreadable as he glanced down at them. "Alistair. Come and see me as soon as you are able."

He watched him go. "Why does he only ever show up when there's bad news?"

Eamon and Teagan shared a look.

Rising from his seat, Alistair pushed his plate away. Suddenly he wasn't hungry. He might not ever be hungry again. It was slowly that he made his way into the hall, each step heavier than the last.

He found Leliana there, seated on a quiet bench with her lute in her lap. She did not see him at first, plucking quietly at the strings, cursing beneath her breath as a note twanged sour.

"I'm guessing that's not a rousing battle march?"

Raising her head, she brushed a fallen strand of hair from her eyes. "Not exactly."

Alistair hesitated a moment before sinking onto the bench beside her. She had not been avoiding him, not really, but they had not been alone together since the Landsmeet. But she did not scoot away, offering him a small and encouraging smile.

Settling back, she began to play. The chords were melancholy, the whispered words Orlesian but unmistakably mournful. After a time she trailed off, letting the final note hang unresolved. "It is not yet finished."

"What is it?"

"Just an idea you gave me." Her smile twitched as she lay the lute flat across her lap. "But I saw Riordan pass this way. I did not know that he was here."

Alistair sighed. "He just showed up. He said the horde is marching on Denerim, that the archdemon is with them."

She was silent for a long moment. "And we...?"

"Leave in the morning."

"Good."

"Right. Good."

"Alistair..." She lay a hand on his knee, pulling back suddenly as he turned to look at her.

"I-I have to go. Riordan wants to see me." He rose without looking back, leaving her to stare after him as he made his way up the stairs.

Moving through the upper halls, he passed his own rooms. They were the finest of the guest chambers, fit for a king, a hero. Alistair had avoided setting foot inside as long as he could. Already everyone was looking to him, treating him differently. He was almost grateful to Eamon for sparing him this fate as long as he did.

Pausing, he braced a hand against the wall. Fate. He had expected to feel it again, that sense of wrongness, that things should be another way. Cailan should be king, not him. But the feeling had never come.

He had reached the last door, he realized. Pushing it aside, he found Riordan waiting on the edge of the bed, coming slowly to his feet with a heavy sigh.

"Alistair."

He had exaggerated downstairs; part of him was relieved to see the other Warden again. Whatever this was, it was theirs to share.

"Alistair... I wish I was not the one to tell you this. I wish that we had more time. But—"

"But we don't. We never do."

Riordan nodded. "No, we do not. Do you know why it is that only a Grey Warden may end the Blight? Do you know why it is that we are needed?"

"Because we can sense the darkspawn? Hear the horde?"

One arm cocked behind his back as he began to pace, the thoughtful gesture only half-formed. "This is true. It is the taint that allows us to find them, to fight them. It is the taint that is our greatest strength." He raised his eyes. "What did Duncan tell you of the archdemon?"

"Big dragon thing, summons the horde, likes to turn up in dreams." Alistair shuddered. "What I'm not getting is how we're supposed to kill it. Or if it can even be killed."

Riordan's lips twitched. "It can, but it will not be easy. When an archdemon is slain its... essence will seek out another tainted creature. It will be reborn again in the body of the nearest darkspawn. In this way, the archdemon is all but immortal."

"Immortal? Immortal? Maker's—"

"Darkspawn are soulless creatures. A Grey Warden, though, is not. If a Warden is to deliver the final blow, the essence of the archdemon will seek the taint, travel into the Warden. It is consumed utterly, permanently in the process... and so is the Warden."

"'And so is...' In order to kill the archdemon a Warden has to die?"

He nodded. "This is our true purpose, why only a Grey Warden can end the Blight."

Alistair found himself sinking onto the bed. The world should spin, it should scream against this, tell him it was wrong. He should scream. But in all that he had seen, all that he had done... there was only death. He had cheated it, sent others speeding toward it, seen faces from beyond. And he had known that he was like them; he had felt a... kinship. Maybe this was why.

"I... understand."

Riordan sighed. "The taint will not spare me much longer. As the eldest, the blow should fall to me."

"And if it doesn't?"

He shook his head.

"Right." Alistair pushed himself to his feet. "Well, I did want to get out of this king thing."

Riordan almost chuckled. "Eamon wondered if you might not intend to leave the throne to Anora after all. But do not be reckless. One of us must reach the archdemon with the strength left to fight."

He looked at him then, really looked at him. Still he stood proud, ready. Crippled or no, Alistair had no doubt that the old Warden would make his stand, would press on until he could press no more. He would stand and he would die. They both would.

Alistair threw his arms around the man, pulling him into an awkward hug. After a moment, Riordan patted him on the back.

"You-you kind of remind me of Duncan, you know."

Pity flickered as he stepped back, but there was a smile there. "And glad I am to hear it. Now go. Rest. There is still much to be done."

Stepping into the hall, Alistair breathed deep. Again he wondered at that, the lack of panic, the lack of fear. All that remained was certainty. Soon enough it would be over. But he should tell someone, shouldn't he? Riordan was... but somehow that wasn't enough. Suddenly he wanted anything but to be alone. Not with this.

If this was to be the end... He would stop by his rooms, pack for tomorrow. And then, then he would go and find—

"Do not be afraid. 'Tis only I."

Alistair froze in the doorway, watching as Morrigan turned from the fire. "Afraid? Of a scary witch just lurking in my room? Annoyed, more like."

"A crown and a kingdom and still you find cause for complaint."

"Oh, did I say witch? I meant bitch."

Morrigan only smiled, outlined against the flames as she took a slow and swaying step forward. "Yet I see no tears. Here you stand, despite what comes."

He blinked at that.

"Your Warden told you, did he not? About the... archdemon?" She stretched the word, circling behind him, her whisper stirring cross his cheek.

Alistair flinched. "You... how could you possibly—?"

"Know? I have known for some time."

He whirled to face her. "You knew? Why wouldn't you tell me?"

Morrigan pursed her lips.

"Fine. You know what? It doesn't matter anyway." He had already reached the door when he heard her sigh.

"It does not have to be this way. You do not have to die."

The room spun, his hand bracing against the doorframe. Again he could smell it, the smoke on the air, again he could taste the choking ash. Half-remembered screams echoed, his vision suddenly filling with Leliana's glazed and distant eyes. "What do you—? Why would you say that?"

"Because I can offer an alternative." She moved closer, standing just behind him now. "What did he tell you, I wonder? What of the pain?"

Alistair gasped with the memory. Never in waking had he known such pain. It seared, burned, his teeth grinding as he pinched shut his eyes. At first he could not identify it, the sudden cool spreading up his spine, drawing him back from the dream's edge. Breathing deep, he felt Morrigan's hand on his shoulder.

"Don't." He pulled away, moving deeper into the room. "You're playing with me; I know you're playing with me. And R-Riordan said that he would take the final blow himself."

"Did he? I have seen his injuries. I am surprised that the old man has lasted this long."

"That old man has been through more than you can imagine, more than I can imagine."

"And no doubt he would die to prove it." She paced closer. "But what if you could spare him?"

Alistair avoided her eyes. "I... don't know. He almost speaks as though he wants it... the whole glorious death thing."

"As do you, it seems."

"I don't want it! Not the throne, not glory, not anything! I-I'm not the glorious type. That was Cailan, not me!" He sighed. "But it's done. Whatever happens... it's done."

"Such a fool." Morrigan stepped close, anger flaring now. "Life is always preferable to death. How endlessly you have whined about duty, about fate. What I am offering is a choice, a chance to decide for yourself."

"And what do you get out of it? There's obviously something you're not telling me. And if you want something, I'm guessing it's going to turn out badly for the rest of us."

She blinked. "Am I truly so horrible?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Perhaps not." Her lips pulled into a tiny smirk. "It is a wonder that your Duncan did not warn you. You thought him something like a father, did you not?"

Alistair winced. She was toying with him, reminding him that he had once confided in her, given her an opening. "He was just protecting me."

"Was he?" She tilted her head to look up at him, stepping close enough to touch. "I would not have done so. I would have armed you with as much information as I could."

"And yet..." He took a step back but she followed, laying a hand against his chest. "What are you—?"

"I will admit that I would have preferred to do this another way, a simple agreement. But appealing to your reason is obviously a useless exercise."

The retort died on his lips. Her touch was warm now, her fingers curling against the laces of his tunic. In all this place, in all the world, only she and Riordan shared his secret. The feeling, the certainty returned. He was not supposed to face this alone.

His voice came thick. "Tell me."

"You will not like it."

Alistair steeled himself. He could feel her pressing close, the dream returning. But it was not death that he tasted now, not smoke that filled his eyes. It was her. It was Morrigan. Maker's breath, it was—

She rose onto her toes, stretching against him, one hand snaking behind his head to pull his mouth to hers. Alistair froze, his jaw going slack as he raised his hands. They hovered uncertain, following the curve of her back, nails digging into his palms as they balled into fists. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he pushed her away.

"What are you—?" He held her there at arm's length, the touch lingering, his grip tightening. "I-I... hate you..."

Reaching behind her, Morrigan slipped the pin from her hair, letting it tumble free about her shoulders. In the Deep Roads it had seemed soft, the reflection white and cool, but here... here it caught the firelight in roaring waves, the shadowed halo warming beneath his straying fingers.

Alistair pulled his hand away.

"You do not have to die."

"Stop saying that." It had been a dream, only a dream. There was no reason – no sensible reason – that this, this could be the thing that... It echoed from the Tower and the forests and the Deeps, that familiar certainty, the path stretching out before him. This felt... right. Maker, he had finally gone completely mad.

Morrigan stepped close, brows drawing low as she looked up at him. One hand followed the delicate curve of her shoulder, slipping the robes down and over her arms. As they fell to puddle at her feet, she smiled. "You have a choice. You do not have to—"

He pulled her roughly against his chest, crushing her to him, fingers tangling in her hair as he covered her mouth with his. Her laughter whispered cross his lips, her teeth nipping, pulling, bringing a hiss of pain. But Alistair no longer hesitated, letting his hands roam low, letting it wash over him. Finally, completely, he gave up.

"Alistair, I—"

Pulling away with a gasp, he found Leliana standing in the doorway. Her breath seemed to hitch, the firelight wavering in her eyes.

Morrigan laughed, draped against him still, tracing her lips along the line of his jaw. Alistair tried to twist away, but she held him fast, nails scraping cross his back.

"Leliana!"

She whirled, steps echoing through the hall as she fled.

"Lel—! Andraste's flaming—! Let go of me!" He jerked his arm roughly away from Morrigan, making for the door.

"Alistair! I know about the taint."

He stopped but did not turn round.

"He told you, did he not?" She moved behind him, a glance over his shoulder revealing a shadowed line of swaying hip as he turned his face quickly away. "Darkspawn or Grey Warden, it does not matter. In one it will be reborn, in the other destroyed. But there is yet another option."

Alistair pinched shut his eyes, stiffening at the warmth of her against his back.

Her hand curled round his shoulder, the whisper hot against his ear. "A child, conceived on the eve of battle. One born with the taint."

"You want me to impregnate you?!" He spun away with a hiss, swatting at her hand as she reached for him. "A child? With you? You're cracked! You're absolutely mad!"

Her eyes narrowed, the sudden scowl faltering in disbelief. Alistair realized that he was laughing. He shook with it, bending double, gasping for breath.

"'Tis not I who is mad, it seems."

He sobered instantly, closing the distance between them. Morrigan took a step back, unable to hide her surprise.

"And yet you actually thought this would work? You thought that I'd agree to... to... and to kill a child?"

"I said no such thing. At this early stage, the child would remain unharmed. It will be able to absorb the soul of the old god without need of death. Not yours, not your Riordan's."

He blinked. "Old... god?"

"Do you truly know so little of what you face?" Morrigan shook her head, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. "No matter. 'Twas not always a tainted creature. In this, it would have a chance to be reborn, free of corruption, to begin anew."

"How-how is that even possible?"

She smirked. "Blood magic."

"Oh, blood magic! Well, that makes it so much better!"

"I said that you would not like it."

Turning back to the bed, he found her staring up at him, apparently caring nothing for her nakedness. Alistair pinched shut his eyes, letting his head sink into his palm. "You... planned this all along, didn't you?"

"I have known for some time, yes."

"Did you ever think you could have – you know – told me?"

"Would you have listened?"

He snorted. "No."

Again she was on her feet, moving toward him. "As I said, I would have preferred it so. An agreement, nothing more. But I knew that you would not see reason."

"So you don't... you didn't..."

Morrigan flinched at that, refusing to meet his eyes. "I... did only what I must. As have you." She sighed, moving to lay a hand against his chest. "But must duty truly be so arduous?"

Alistair caught her wrist.

"You have not truly considered what it is that I am offering. Think on this: were the demon to seek the child, any might deliver the final blow. You need not be the only hope. You need not even be there."

He goggled. "Not be there?"

"I must be nearby. But you could leave duty to another."

"And just... go?"

"I offer you your life, your freedom. A choice."

Alistair could feel it stretch before him, the call of that familiar path. All he need do was take that final step, all he need do was... Chuckling now, he shook his head. "So it's a choice between sleeping with you and death?"

Slowly, she raised her eyes to his.

"I'll take death."