Chapter 112: No Regrets

“If you wanted to run your hands through my hair, my dear Leliana, you had only to ask, yes?”

Leliana sprang away from the blond elf like someone had hit her with a taser. It might have been hilarious, if it hadn’t been so shocking and serious and horrific a moment before. As it was, not one of us didn’t gasp, twitch, jump, fall over, scream, or otherwise express horror, which rapidly transmuted into humour, as the reality of Zevran’s survival sank in.

Aedan leapt out of my arms, lunging towards the supine elf; oblivious and uncaring who was watching, he showered kisses on the former Crow’s face before burying his own face in Zev’s neck and sobbing unrestrainedly. Zev reached up awkwardly to rub his back, murmuring endearments in Antivan.

Alistair, behind me, barked out a semi-hysterical laugh, and that broke the ice for everyone else; the entire group began talking and laughing, too happy to even speculate on the strange events that had brought us to this point.

As for me, I froze, kneeling where Aedan had left me moments before, staring open-mouthed at the assassin in shock, mind reeling. How? It isn’t possible, unless... Something occurred to me, and I narrowed my eyes, turning my head to examine my companions who were all celebrating in obvious relief. So Morrigan sticking around wasn’t for my benefit, after all, as she’d claimed. Who? Someone did that damned ritual, but who?

Zevran blinked at me over Aedan’s head, confused as well. “I rather thought I’d wake up dead ... or not at all, as the case may be.”

I frowned. “You’ve used that line already.” He’s genuinely surprised to be alive ... strike Zevran and Aedan off the list of suspects. Aedan was far too afraid he’d died to be the one. I looked around some more.

Alistair wasn’t on the list in the first place – I knew where he’d slept every night since we’d gotten back together, and it wasn’t with Morrigan. Anders was deep in an embrace with Solona, a blissful look on his face as he held her like he’d never let go, and I crossed him off my mental list as well. A quick look at Jowan, Wulf, and the dwarves showed obvious shock, and I decided none of them were likely suspects either. Sten looked pissed off, and I wondered if he regretted his hasty decision to become a Warden and submit himself to a magical ritual given that it looked like no one had had to die to end the Blight in the end. Loghain also looked angry, but I ascribed other reasons for his anger – probably just pissed off he’ll have to go to Orlais after all. I didn’t think he would have agreed to the ritual to save his own life, much less the rest of us, without serious convincing – and Aedan, likely the only one possibly capable of it, obviously hadn’t even tried.

Riordan looked weary, but also alarmed, and the look on Dougal’s face mirrored that almost exactly; it was clear they were both concerned that somehow the Blight hadn’t been ended, and the Archdemon was going to reform. I pondered the idea, briefly; it was, I supposed, just possible that Avernus’ altered Joining potion was somehow ineffective, didn’t render quite the right sort of taint to effectively kill an Archdemon, and Zevran – and the rest of us who’d recently Joined – weren’t technically Grey Wardens.

But then my gaze fell on Conrad. The normally confidant redhead stood, looking around and avoiding eye contact, neither obviously shocked or worried, and his usually pale face was flushed red as he rubbed nervously at one wrist with the other hand. My eyes narrowed further as I stared at him, noticing for the first time how his shoulders slumped as though he carried the weight of the world on them – or was really, inexplicably sad. Son of a...

I stood on shaky legs, and Alistair held out one arm, clearly expecting me to leap at him. I reached out and squeezed his hand, quickly, before slipping around him to walk up to Conrad. I stared at him for a moment, considering the unhappiness that was apparent.

“You,” I began, and he winced. “You did the ritual. With Morrigan.”

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and then, finally, met my eyes. “Yes.”

I was stunned at the sheer despair on his face, and I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my head on his shoulder.

“Thank you. You saved him. Thank you.” I babbled a few more thanks as he slowly, awkwardly, put his arms around me to pat my back. I could feel him shudder, and I went up on tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Do you love her?”

He didn’t answer out loud, but I could feel the tremulous bob that indicated he’d nodded.

“You’ll see her again, I promise. And your son will be fine. I will help you find her, I swear.”

He nodded again, and his arms tightened once before releasing me. I stepped back and eased backwards into Alistair’s embrace to find Riordan, Dougal, and Loghain watching me with varying degrees of skepticism and concern. I almost laughed – they were giving me the look they should be levelling at Conrad – but managed to refrain. The other Grey Wardens, newer to the Order as they were, seemed to be missing the seriousness of what was happening, and for Conrad’s sake, I was relieved.

I tilted my head, and Alistair and I stepped sideways slightly, the three worried Wardens following us and Conrad reluctantly accompanying them. Riordan looked almost angry, and I sighed. “Look, there was a ritual, okay? One that meant the Warden who killed the Archdemon wouldn’t die. Duncan knew about it and had decided against allowing it. I thought he’d told you, told everyone...” Their unimpressed expressions made it clear that wasn’t true. “But obviously not. Apparently Conrad didn’t ask permission.” I noticed Conrad playing with a wooden ring on his finger and smiled softly.

Their unconvinced expressions spurred Alistair to defend me. “It’s true. Aedan, Duncan, and I all knew. Duncan forbade us from going through with it. I assume either he thought no one else would do it without permission, or he spoke with Morrigan and believed she’d accepted his refusal on everyone’s behalf.”

“And just what are the consequences of this ritual, young lady?”

Dougal took his age way too seriously, I decided, and I surpressed a giggle. “Nothing you need to worry about, old man.” He looked startled, but even Riordan twitched a smile. Loghain glared at me as though he’d be able to divine why they were asking me by burning a hole through my forehead with his gaze alone.

“No, seriously. I trust Morrigan. I don’t know what exactly she plans, but I know the Blight is over, the Archdemon is truly dead, and she intends nothing bad for Ferelden or Thedas as a whole. Honestly, it will be okay.” I purposely avoided mentioning a baby. I want Conrad to be the one to find her, not one of the others.

Conrad agreed with me, confirming what I’d said, also not mentioning the child, I noticed. Apparently satisfied, Riordan finally allowed us to return to the celebration with the others. Someone had helped Zevran up, and while his arm remained over Aedan’s shoulder for support, he looked remarkably hale for a dead man. I kissed my brother’s cheek, and squeezed Zevran gently with murmured thanks for keeping Aedan safe. I exchanged hugs with everyone, more than slightly relieved that the little family I had come to care about were safe – with one exception, whose absence made my heart ache.

I finally got the opportunity to curl myself into Alistair’s arms – he threw off his gauntlets, lifted me up and kissed me aggressively, plundering my mouth and making me fervently wish we were somewhere more appropriate, and cleaner. When he released me, I buried my face in his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“Duncan died saving me. I’m sorry.”

He pulled away from me slightly, and I looked away, reluctant to see the pain or censure I expected in his eyes. He lifted my chin with one hand, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Duncan was never coming back, Sierra. Not after this. He would have been devastated to survive this battle. There is nothing to apologise for – not to me, or anyone else. He would have been happy to die to save your life, and I’m nothing but grateful that not only did he succeed, he won’t have to go die in the Deep Roads alone.”

“So ... I did him a favour?” I sniffled, caught between relief the battle was over, and remorse that Duncan hadn’t survived somehow against all odds.

Alistair chuckled. “I suppose so, yes. That’s how he’d see it, anyway.” He kissed my forehead softly. “I love you. And it isn’t your fault he died. Knowing you, you were off trying to save the world, or something, when he saved you.”

“I...” I blushed. “In other news, I did learn how to control that crazy smite that kills mages, more or less. The one I used at Ostagar.”

“I’d like to see that!”

“You find me a handful of mages you want dead, and I’d be happy to show you.”

“Think you could teach me?” He looked sort of ... enthused.

“Honestly, no.” He frowned, and I hurried to explain. “Nothing personal. I just don’t think your magic resistance is high enough. I’m pretty sure mine is barely high enough. I was holding five emissaries’ mana at the time. Pretty sure my brain was trying to drip out my nose, actually. It was awful.”

He touched my face gently. “That explains the blood then. We should have Wynne or Anders check you out, just in case.”

I nodded. “Once the injured are taken care of, I promise.”

By this time, I saw a group of mages and a bunch of the Tranquil, supervised by Irving, approach Riordan. After some discussion, a subdued Conrad, Sten, and Jowan were left with them as they began the laborious process of draining and preserving the Archdemon’s blood; once that was done, Sten had already started talking about how we could get the most scale and bone from the beast. A Warden had to do most of the work, given the risk of becoming tainted during handling, and Sten looked positively enthusiastic about the prospect.

The rest of us escorted a limping Zevran to the infirmary area, where Wynne was already bossing around a group of mages and a handful of others who were helping bandage, distribute potions and poultices, and generally aiding their efforts. She did a brief once-over on Zevran, healed an ankle he’d apparently sprained in his sprint to the Archdemon, and declared him healthy. She checked me over as well, clucking at the dried blood on my face, but found nothing of concern. Anders’ mana was too depleted to aid much, and he’d apparently already taken almost a toxic dose of Lyrium while trying to save a soldier who’d lost an arm to an ogre, so he stayed with us as we all sought out Cailan and the rest of the command structure.

We found the King near the infirmary, shouting orders and making arrangements to have camps set, guards patrolling to watch for any lingering darkspawn, the infirmary moved to cleaner, drier ground, and had already arranged with Irving to have the mages begin scouring the ground saturated with darkspawn blood with the hottest fire they could manage. Sereda had some dwarves with some sort of medieval flamethrowers aiding them; I wasn’t sure it would work, given the sheer quantity of taint I could still feel around us, but figured it was better than doing nothing.

We left Cailan there, after assurances were given on both sides that everyone was fine; Cailan hugged both Alistair and I, and my husband flushed, embarrassed but also pleased by the acknowledgement in front of the nobles gathered nearby. All of the Wardens, and our one remaining non-Warden companion, Leliana, finally headed to the new camp, assembling in the tent that would eventually be Cailan’s. Our gear had been brought with his tent, so we had all our packs available when we arrived. We shed our armour and most of us collapsed in a rough circle on the ground, exhausted; despite how tired we were, though, I felt a bit wired and restless, and it seemed the rest of the group felt the same.

We spent a while sharing stories from the battle; apparently Alistair’s group had taken down the first general, while Aedan’s group spent their time killing ogres as they searched the battlefield for the second. I told them about the ambush from the north, the emissary hunting party, and the general who’d come after me, as well as Duncan’s heroic end.

The group was quiet after that, contemplating the brave, selfless man we’d known as a commander and a friend. Alistair just held me, his sorrow muted by foreknowledge and his desire not to increase my guilt. No matter how many reassurances I received, no matter that no one else blamed me, I knew I’d never stop feeling guilty for Duncan’s death. It might not have made sense, given that his survival, in many ways, would have been a worse outcome, but I doubted that when I closed my eyes, I’d ever stop seeing his sightless gaze and the pool of blood spreading around us, as I held his lifeless body in my arms.

Aedan, however, was more concerned about other details. “They were really hunting you?”

I nodded. “I’m guessing they had several groups, or maybe the Archdemon could just pay attention to any group that started having unexplained losses? But it was like they figured out what was going on, and so any time I stole mana or killed an emissary, the rest were just waiting to attack the space they assumed I must be standing in.”

“Why in the void would the Archdemon care to hunt a particular noblewoman, out of every other soldier on the field?” Loghain’s brows furrowed in confusion, and I sighed as those all around me burst out in defense of my skill and value as a target for the darkspawn.

Aedan halted it with a gesture. “A story for another time. For now, I’d suggest we rest.”

We all agreed, and finally scattered to our own tents. The battle had taken a full twenty-four hours, and I felt every one of those hours as a separate clump of grit in my eyes, which were struggling to stay open. It was warm, with the spring sunshine pouring down on the camp, and we didn’t even unpack our bedrolls, not wanting to contaminate them, instead laying out some blankets and collapsing on top fully clothed. Alistair kissed me sleepily, and then we both passed out.

I woke some time later, after the most dreamless sleep I’d had since becoming a Grey Warden. Alistair was curled up around me like a protective mabari, and I grinned to myself at the image. I had no desire to get up – cleaning my armour could wait, and I didn’t want to see anyone else, really. With the possible exception of my brother, but given the earlier events, I didn’t imagine anyone except Zev would be seeing him anytime soon.

So I laid in a tiny space, surrounded by the man I loved, and tried to come to terms with everything that had happened.

The Archdemon was dead. So was Duncan. Zevran had survived. Morrigan was pregnant, and in a relationship with Conrad, of all people. I was married, a princess, and lived in Thedas. I hadn’t been back on Earth in months, and had no intention of going back again, ever, if I could manage it.

In a little over a year, my life had changed drastically, but almost all of it was for the better, and I spent a few minutes just being thankful for my life. I snuggled up closer to Alistair, and my movement must have woken him; I felt his arm snake around my waist, pulling me closer to him, and a sleepy, confused kiss was pressed to the back of my head.

“Eugh,” Alistair complained, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t kiss me until we manage a bath, if I were you.”

He pulled me, rolling me onto my back and, leaning over me, pressed a soft kiss to my lips, drawing it out and leaving me chasing after him for more as he pulled away. “We need to have that bath soon, then.” I giggled, and he rested his forehead against mine with a smile. “You okay?”