A lil more Blooming Rose Alistair, after he and Zev join the Inquisition. I had a lot of thoughts about this ‘verse and Alistair hearing the Calling, and, well, this happened.
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Alistair stares at the book for a long time. He’s not sure how long he sits there, listening to the song in his mind that he‘s found a name for, but it’s dark outside when he finally stirs.
Looking out of the window, he blinks at the dark sky. Nearby, he hears the clash of swords as the soldiers practice, like it’s just another day.
Like he hasn’t just realised that he’s dying.
He clenches his jaw, and sucks in a breath between his teeth.
The Calling.
He knew it would come eventually. Just a few months ago, Surana came to Val Royeaux to tell him she was going West to search for a cure for the damn thing. Just his luck that he starts to hear it before she returns.
Still though; the Calling isn’t a quick death sentence. There’ll be months before it gets too much, before the song in his head overwhelms the world. He has time. Time to help the Inquisition seal the Breach. To sort out his affairs. To say goodbye to Zevran.
Alistair squeezes his eyes shut against a sudden sting, pressing his fists to them, and tries to ignore how much his chest hurts at the thought of leaving his husband behind. This is why Wardens are discouraged from having relationships, from marrying. Because it makes saying goodbye *so~ much harder.
But he’ll do it, of course. Go to the Deep Roads, fight the darkspawn until they cut him down. He’ll die a Grey Warden, even if he hasn’t lived as one. Better that then stay and let Zevran see him become a monster; better that by far.
But first, he has time to redeem himself. For living when Duncan and Cailan died. For abandoning Surana when she needed him most. For not claiming the throne of Ferelden when that was his duty.
So many things to make up for, but he has time, just.
He closes the book with a slam loud enough to cut through the song in his mind. Maker, how much worse it is now that he knows what it is. How much he wants to run, as though there might be anywhere that’s far enough to escape it. To take Zevran’s hand and get out of here, run to Antiva or maybe the other way, try to follow Surana’s tracks.
Or he could stay.
Do the right thing for once, and see it through.
He breathes in deep, breathes out a sigh.
The right thing.
Standing, feeling heavy, he goes to Leliana and reports that he doesn’t know why the Wardens left Ferelden; he can’t find anything that might suggest a reason.
She asks him if he’s alright - of course her nightingale eyes notice there’s something wrong - and he gives her an unconvincing smile and a nod. He knows she’s not fooled, but is glad when she doesn’t question him.
And then he makes his way to the tent he shares with Zevran. Before he gets there, he sees the hazy light within. Zevran is there, and a confession must be made. Taking a breath for courage and another for the strength to ignore the song, he ducks inside.
“Ah, finally,” Zevran says, turning to smile at him. He’s sitting cross-legged, a book open in his lap. He wears leather leggings and a silk shirt in a fetching shade of burgundy, open to the navel. Desire slashes Alistair’s leaden grief, leaving him unsteady, a ship in a storm. Zevran looks at him, brows dipped in worry. “Are you alright, mi amor?”
Alistair feels his lips twitch in a humourless smile, but he leans in to kiss Zevran, who lets him for a moment before pushing him away.
“Avoiding the question, I see.”
“It’s been a long day,” Alistair says, and Maker, that at least is true. He licks his lips and considers telling Zevran, but - no. Not just yet. He wants this moment, this one last moment where he gets to be with his husband without the shadow of the Calling suffocating them.
He’ll tell him tomorrow, but for tonight, he needs this.
