dragon age: oneshots

Rose (Alistair & the Warden)

As the shadows of the bright flames danced across the old walls of the castle, Alistair leaned back in his creaking chair as he sighed out shakily. His eyes wearily examined the glimmering flames, which illuminated the room. The flames kissed his skin with warmth. Yet, Alistair still felt the cold bitterness residing within him despite the astounding physical comfort. He leaned forward in his chair and extended an arm, his finger brushing across an old glass vase that held an elderly rose within it. The rose still maintained its beauty despite its gradually withering state. The edges of his lips fell slightly as he breathed out calmly. The man turned as he heard a sudden creak in the nearby hallway, though he assumed it was only a servant pursuing his lady Anora. He found it surprising that the sound was so startling since the ambience of idle chatter was continuously muffled through his resting chamber's walls. The King heard drinks clinking, footsteps, and gleeful laughter. Alistair would typically be in that setting, though he found this night harder than most. The withering rose did seldom to aid him. Today was the anniversary of the day the Hero of Ferelden sacrificed her life to save everyone, including Alistair himself. Alistair swallowed roughly as his cold face felt warmth rushing through it, the feeling in his chest tingling as he resisted any emotions. This rose brought back too many memories. He recalled the moment he presented this flower to his previous love, awkwardly joking about it until he insisted it was beauty that stood out amongst the Blight. The Warden reminded Alistair strongly of this rose, seeing that she had been the only beauty left amongst the corruption of politics and constant evil in the world.

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Alistair leaned his body forwards, his eyes squinting softly at the rose. For once, a faint smile played about his lips. "Look at you now, pressing on with all you've got. You were always a fighter, you know. By the Maker, I have no idea how you managed with me half the time. Despite how annoying I could be... you still loved me. That's why I never stopped loving you." He whispered, examining the rose. His smile broke out softly, hues softly examining the elegant crimson petals. His heart raced in his chest, his mind whirling with thoughts of his undying love. As if something so simple could ignite all of the emotions within him, usually raw and uninspired... now passionate as they once had been. Alistair recalled the moment he received this rose. It was the night before the archdemon attacked, when the Warden decided stubbornly on her sacrifice. Initially the situation was intense and consisted of loud arguing (he was not mad, simply terrified of losing her), but then everything became settled and somber. The two of them had a long conversation through the night, discussing what their time together had been and what would happen next. The Warden returned Alistair's rose to him, insisting it was something he should hold on to as a reminder of who she was. Alistair kept the rose safe after that, deciding that it was the only thing left he had of her.

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For the moment he had grown so solemn, becoming dulled at the thought of the heavy sacrifice that his smile slipped quickly, expression falling. He was so enraptured in his own thoughts, shutting out the realities of the outside world. Alistair suddenly jerked up from his position, hearing the door creak open. The man reacted without caution, his arm bumping the glass vase and leading it to shatter on the desk. His expression grew grim for a second, only to realize it had been Anora with a wine glass in her hands. She questioned why he had been isolating himself in his chambers. Alistair felt himself eye the rose, now lying flat against his desk. "Apologies, my love." He spoke softly, rubbing his face with his hands. I had to finish up something. King...ly stuff. Nothing too important, right? Anyways, what're you doing getting drunk without me? There's no fun in that." Alistair teased, despite the pang of anguish in his heart. His smile felt like burning flames to his heart that pleaded nothing but to mourn, to quickly repair what he'd lost. He couldn't. He quickly rose from his chair, approaching Lady Anora as he slid an arm around her waist. Alistair soon led her away from their room, hesitantly closing the door behind him. The King took a final glance into the room (his expression hinting at total collapse) before he continued further with Anora by his side.
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Along the way, he mumbled to a servant orders of retrieving a new vase. Alistair's hand squeezed Anora's shoulder lovingly, his lips pressing against the top of her head before looking forwards as they re-entered the social scene. For once, he didn't feel so tied back to his emotions of the past. They were gone, similar to the rose.
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Out of all people, King Alistair Theirin recognized that a physical object could never embody the glory of the woman he once knew. The memory of the Hero of Ferelden - who she truly was - would forever remain with him. Until the end of time. He did not plan to let anyone else forget either.