There and Back Again Ch. 111-112

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, templar or not, 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?"

I nodded and smiled back. "I will be."

We spent the early evening helping with organization – carrying the wounded, retrieving bodies for the pyres, chopping wood – whatever was needed. The feeling of the taint around us was heavy, but I could sense no darkspawn, and the mages had already begun incinerating the darkspawn corpses left after the battle and scouring the ground with fire. The Dalish had already withdrawn, promising to search both the Brecilian forest and some of the Korcari Wilds for pockets of darkspawn in their travels. Apparently while I'd been sleeping, Cailan granted Lanaya permission to establish an elvish settlement near Ostagar in any untainted land they could find. They had agreed to take in any of their city brethren who managed to make their way there, also.

I was proud and impressed – perhaps, for once, Thedas would have a true leader determined to at least try to change the fates of the elves, because Maker knew, neither Maric, nor Anora, nor Loghain, nor any of the other nations had even made gestures towards that end. The settlement also meant we had a reliable meeting place should the Grey Wardens need to speak to the elves, and I wondered if Aedan would consider establishing an outpost there as well. The Dalish took their dead and wounded with them, and I knew their Keepers would be as capable as the army's healers in keeping their wounded alive.

The dwarves had also gathered – they hadn't yet left, but they were planning to march as soon as the worst of their wounded had been stabilized. They promised to scout the countryside to our southwest for darkspawn remnants as they travelled, as well. Gorim had already bid Sereda goodbye; from what I'd seen, the Queen had a former casteless, now military caste man at her side, and I wondered whether he was her second, or her future husband. She'd kept a professional distance from Gorim, and he'd returned the favour; it was sad, but it seemed they'd both come to terms with their separation.

I received another small shipment of sovereigns from Dallard, and a letter admitting he was able to charge far more for the bola launchers than he'd initially thought, and thus felt obligated to share the extra proceeds. I was impressed with his honesty, and hoped I'd get the chance to thank him in person sometime.

Our mages were put to work in the infirmary, Anders and Wynne working on the most severely wounded with a couple of other Circle mages, while Jowan and Solona spent their time healing more minor wounds and lending mana when the others needed help for something particularly difficult. Sten and Conrad had assisted Irving and the handful of Tranquil in storing and preserving the Archdemon blood; they had placed it into individual glass bottles, which apparently Duncan had arranged to be brought, and packed into crates. We had a dozen of the small wooden boxes full, each holding enough Archdemon blood for an entire nation for the next several hundred years. Apparently Aedan intended to ship half of it to Weisshaupt – we expected a delegation from the First Warden in Denerim before long, given Duncan's declaration of independence – and keep the other six in Ferelden.

"Not that we won't share it if they run out," he'd assured Riordan, "but to use as leverage against backlash for splitting off from them."

Sten had begun the delicate process of stripping the scales and hide from the carcass. I was surprised again by his skill – he'd done the same to the Living Andraste, but I couldn't imagine why a warrior of his skill was also trained in such a craft. He explained that, in Seheron, the children assigned to become warriors initially learned to fight while hunting – wild cats, bears, wolves, some large reptiles he didn't have a word in the common tongue for – and that bringing home their skins was a sign of their prowess, allowing them to advance in the ranks.

Riordan informed us that, as the hide would need to be tanned and cured immediately if we didn't want it to rot, it was expected that the entirety of it would be used for armour and weapons for local Grey Wardens. I briefly wondered if Paider could be convinced to create me another set of armour out of Archdemon leather. Probably not.

Late that night we all gathered again from whatever tasks we'd been doing, settling around the fire at our camp. Leliana was off somewhere, which left everyone present a Grey Warden, and Aedan and Riordan took the opportunity to discuss some things with the group of us.

"We will tell everyone that Duncan perished while killing the Archdemon." Riordan levelled a glare at Conrad. "We know that isn't true, however the means by which Zevran survived, as happy as we are about the outcome, will have unfortunate consequences should the Order become aware of them. As it is, I expect the First Warden to rage and shout about you leaving the Order, but nothing will come of it. Should they learn that Zevran survived killing an Archdemon, I fully expect they would call on any alliances necessary to grant them the forces required to come and apprehend him for 'testing', whether they had his Majesty's permission to enter the country or not."

Zevran smirked. "Let them come."

Aedan smacked his arm. "Let's not start a war, shall we, love? Besides, aren't you supposed to be laying low?" I was pleased to see the two rogues had not left each other's sides since Zevran had slain the dragon, constantly touching and sharing glances that conveyed their relief and gratitude. I smiled and snuggled into Alistair's arms, feeling pleasantly warm despite the cool air of the spring night.

"Not to mention what they may do to Conrad for agreeing to the ritual, and Morrigan, should they ever find her. As I was saying, the official story will be that Duncan killed the Archdemon. King Cailan has agreed to back this story; very few outside of ourselves know it to be untrue, and those we are aware of have already been contacted and agreed to maintain our secrecy to prevent a civil war within the Grey Wardens."

"They're going to figure it out," Anders complained. "Someone will have noticed, someone we didn't realise. They're not stupid, and rumours will get out."

"They may question what happened," Dougal allowed, "however with several senior Wardens and King Cailan telling the same story, they will have no proof. They cannot march against what will become a hostile nation based on rumour."

"They're not stupid," Riordan agreed, "but they are also confidant in their knowledge. They know that a Grey Warden must die to end the Blight, and may not question it if they know Duncan was the only Warden to perish."

I was nervous about the plan, but given how much else we were going to be hiding from Weisshaupt – my Joining, my unusual knowledge of the Blight, my invisibility against the darkspawn – it was just one more thing to add to the list.

"They're going to want his body," Dougal informed us.

"Absolutely not." Alistair didn't even hesitate. "He was a Fereldan Warden, a hero, and he's the one who separated us from Weisshaupt."

"He'd be entombed with the others who ended Blights, like Garahel. Are you sure?"

"We are." Aedan jumped in to back Alistair. "While I don't disagree that he was a hero worthy of that honour, we neither need them testing his body and somehow determining he didn't actually kill the Archdemon, nor do we want them claiming him in some way. We ended this Blight without them, and the victory should remain ours. Sending him back is just opening the door to submitting to their authority again."

"He was born in Highever," Alistair added. "I think it would be nice if we built some sort of monument there, and sprinkled his ashes."

Riordan nodded. "Fine. I believe that is all-"

"One more thing." Conrad finally spoke, though he wilted slightly under Dougal's disapproving stare. "I would like to formally request that I remain assigned to Ferelden, now that the Blight is over."

Everyone stopped and gaped at him except me; I knew he wanted to remain nearby in case I could actually come through with helping him see Morrigan again.

"Are you certain?" Dougal looked concerned. "This split from Weisshaupt...you may not ever be able to return to Jader."

"I will miss a few friends there, it's true, but I have no real reason to stay. No family, no life outside the Wardens. I think the split is the right thing to do; I'm more than a little sick of Weisshaupt's politics. I'm proud of what we accomplished here, and I'd like to help continue to rebuild."

Aedan examined his face critically for a few moments, then turned to Alistair with a raised eyebrow. My husband shrugged and nodded. "Can you accept less senior Wardens as your Commanders? Aedan and I were left in charge by Duncan, and we need to know you'd accept our authority."

"I have no trouble with that. I'm not looking for advancement within the Order; I'm perfectly happy not having to manage reams of paperwork and dealing with reluctant recruits." He grinned.

Aedan chuckled. "Welcome to the Fereldan Grey Wardens, Conrad."

The meeting broke up after that; I still hadn't seen hide nor hair of Leliana, but assumed she was helping Wynne in the infirmary or something similar. Pyres for those who'd perished were planned for the following day, most of the soldiers finally able to rest since the bodies had been collected and the wood chopped; in our camp, which was at the centre of the army's larger encampment, it was finally completely quiet.

I stepped into Alistair's arms when we got into our tent, turning my face up for a kiss, before looking unhappily at the blankets spread on the ground, the bedrolls still off to the side. "This sucks."

"I like our tent," he objected.

"Not that. I want to be clean. I want to be able to use our bedrolls and not worry about getting them tainted or covered in blood. I want to be able to touch you!"

"I have something to show you." He grinned, leaning down to pick up a bag I'd never seen before, then dragged me out of our tent and across the camp to the command tent. Fumbling about inside, he thumbed on a glow lamp Cailan had borrowed from the Circle, and ushered me inside.

"What's all this about?" I stopped, confused. In the centre of the pavilion was a camp stool, surrounded on three sides by blankets hung from the crossbeams of the large structure.

"A shower." Alistair looked immensely pleased with himself. "With the blankets, nothing else will get wet, and no one will be able to see from outside. As long as we're quick, the water will soak into the ground and no one will even know we were here by morning. Though if we're kind, we might want to lend it to everyone else – I'm sure they feel the same." He wiggled the showerhead at me before placing it on the little stool.

"You made me a shower? When did you even have time to do that?"

"I'm good at sneaking out of chores. Raised by the Chantry, remember? I snuck away from the clean-up when no one was looking."

I laughed at his impish grin and pressed up against him with a smile. "Remind me to reward your bad behaviour when we're done here."

His eyes darkened as he leaned down to kiss me, but I slipped away, pulling the tunic I'd been wearing since we'd shed our armour earlier over my head. "Last one clean loses."

I quickly shucked the rest of my clothes and bolted for the little makeshift shower stall as Alistair sputtered and began peeling himself out of his clothes. "No fair!" he whined, and I laughed as I began the first wash of several I planned for my thoroughly filthy hair.

He joined me before long, and we spent half an hour splashing and washing, giggling like maniacs as we finally got clean. Even before fighting the Archdemon, it had been difficult with armies around us, and while we'd washed up as best we could, our sex lives had suffered drastically from my need to wash before getting intimate. Not that Alistair was complaining – I was sure he didn't want to touch me, either, when I was covered in equal parts mud, sweat, and darkspawn blood.

He had me sit on the little stool and helped me wash my hair for the third time before carefully combing some conditioner through my unruly curls with his fingers, and then I let him sit and returned the favour. He was so gorgeous, sitting at my feet, head back, eyes closed in contentment, water streaking down his incredible body, that I just couldn't wait anymore. I rinsed the soap out of his hair, then turned off the water and sat down to straddle his lap, my breasts pressing up against his chest, and kissed him passionately.

It took only a moment of shock before his arms were around me, holding my slippery wet body to his, plundering my mouth with demanding kisses, and I could feel the evidence of his sudden arousal between my thighs. I adjusted slightly until I could feel him at my entrance, hard and hot, and I slowly slid down his length with a moan.

His hands went to my hips and he lifted me back up, only to drop me back down as he thrust his hips, burying himself inside me with a groan. "I love you, Sierra. Oh, Maker, this feels so good."

I dragged my lips down his neck, scratching my chin against his stubble as I sucked on his tender skin. He gasped, as I nipped at his pulse point, and drove himself into me again, and then I felt his finger on my pearl, gentle but insistent. I was already close, my relief, exhaustion, love and arousal all mixing into a heady combination, and I cried out; he pulled my face forward until my mouth pressed against his shoulder with a hissed warning, and I took the hint and bit him, stifling any further noise.

It took maybe three more thrusts until I was shuddering in completion, trying not to bite hard enough to draw blood as pleasure sizzled down every nerve ending, and Alistair followed me over the precipice a moment later as my muscles massaged his length inside me. His fingers dug into my hips as he thrust erratically, groaning softly in my ear.