Pairing: Alistair x Mahariel
Words: 730
SFW
[read it on Ao3, if you prefer. ]
For a long moment, Alistair eyed the door to Fort Drakon's roof, and didn't move further.
This was it, the all-deciding moment, and possibly the end of them all, too. This unwanted thought resided, and pricked his heart with as much heat as every one of his burning, aching muscles did. He was tired. Not of life by any means, not when he had fought so hard to stay alive until now. No, simply in a physical way. Or rather, utterly exhausted would be the more fitting description for his condition. He knew, of course, that he had to grit his teeth and press on nonetheless until either the archdemon or he lay dead. Alistair so hoped it to be the former, especially when it came to Lenya, though nothing was certain anymore. Not even with that wretched dark ritual done, nor with being so close to fulfilling a years' long goal.
Everything could happen, could still go wrong.
He inhaled, and the moldy air rattled in his throat, passing down to his lungs, weary. Feeling as though he had not slept for days, Alistair swayed a bit on his feet, his eyes burning with the wish for rest. The archdemon roared outside and within his head, all-encompassing and loud; so incredibly loud it became nigh unbearable. He yearned for silence and peace, not only within his head, but wholly, for his body and mind, and with her. This wonderful woman he soon could call his wife, sufficient dumb luck willing. Alistair wanted that, too, more than anything else in this world, or any other beyond. Yet for this to have even the remotest chance of happening, slim as it already was, he had to move forward, out of this door, to face the archdemon.
His jaw worked without an answer verbalized, this his only movement. He cursed his own inability to do either, especially with Lenya being the one issuing the worried inquiry. Alistair turned to her then, owed her that, at least.
No, no, I'm not. Instead of expressing that, Alistair remained speechless, fear constricting his throat too tightly to speak. Her eyes met his, expressing equal exhaustion, yet warmth and love, for him, were the far more prevalent emotions shining through. He drank in her gaze, eyes forest-green and vivid in spite of her apparent fatigue; didn't even look away when her gloved hand reached up to touch his grimed cheek. The leather scratched upon his skin, wasn't the same as her bare fingertips. Still he found comfort there, if more in the intent than her touch.
"It will be fine…" Lenya said, her words no more than a hush, ephemeral. They were yet long and clear enough to let his eyes dip to her lips quirking up for his sake, enough to undo his strange paralysis. And so Alistair moved, until she was flush with her back against the very door he feared so much to open, until there was no space left in between them. Ducking his head, he placed his lips upon hers, and kissed her with the might of ignorance for time, place, and companions behind them, one last time.
Displaced and unfitting as it was, he needed this. Not only to kiss her, but to commit her and every little bit of this to memory. The soft warmth of her mouth, the way she tasted, every one of her tiny, wonderful sounds and sighs made was essential, meaning the world to him. With quickened breath and tongue, he descended more into this profound kiss, ready to drown in the moment. It was as much a goodbye as a promise for more, for the many years they hopefully would be allowed to spend together. If not, he thought and stiffened while she drew away for air, breathing heavily. If not– …no, no,no. Alistair blocked these words from forming, even in his head. He refused to give in to such finality.
"I love you," he said instead, and meant it with every fiber of his body, his whole being.
"And I you." Lenya smiled at him anew, in earnest now. She turned around, opened the door he could not. "Come on, Atish'an. Let's end this."
Yes, he thought, and followed her outside, back into battle. In one way or another, it indeed would end.
So much, at least, was certain.
