When I Look at You (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

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Alistair and Una unpacked only a few things, since they wouldn't be staying long. A tray was brought up and they devoured its contents as only nervous Grey Wardens could. But at last they couldn't put it off any longer—it was time to go see Riordan and learn what he had to tell them.

"Maybe it won't be bad," Alistair said optimistically as they left their room.

"Right. Because everything else about being a Grey Warden is a barrel of sunshine," Una said. She thought of the taint, the trouble having children, the thirty years, the feeling of darkspawn in her blood ... if her parents had known any of that, would they have preferred to let her die with them? She would never know. And what did it matter, anyway? She was here now, and she was who she was. All the speculating in the world would never change that.

And looking at Alistair, she knew she wouldn't have wanted it to. He was worth it. Being his wife was more than worth it. She was so glad he and Fergus had insisted on the private ceremony before they left Denerim. No matter what happened, they were husband and wife now, irrevocably.

They stopped together in front of Riordan's door. Alistair raised his hand, but before he could knock, they heard Riordan say, "Enter."

Inside the room, Riordan greeted them with an easy smile. He handed them glasses of a golden liquid.

Una looked at hers with suspicion. "What is this?"

"Wine." He chuckled. "Wine, and nothing more. I thought it more ... pleasant to be discussing the attack on the Archdemon with a glass of a fine vintage. A celebration, if you will, of having come so far, and a toast to good fortune when we join battle."

She sipped it gingerly. It was very good, but she was too keyed up to be particularly appreciative of the flavor.

Riordan leaned a hip on the edge of a table, taking a long drink of his own wine. "I imagine, given how new both of you are to the Order, that you have not been told how an Archdemon is slain?" He looked from one to the other of them as they shook their heads. "I thought not."

"You mean there's more to it than just chopping off its head?" Alistair asked. His own wine was untouched; clearly he was as little interested in taking this casually as Una was.

"Have you never wondered why the Grey Wardens are needed to defeat the darkspawn?" Riordan asked.

"We've been a bit too busy actually defeating them to spend a lot of time wondering why," Una said. She put her wineglass down, not liking the tenor of this at all. She and Alistair had done all the fighting so far; she did not appreciate being talked down to like a child. It was no fault of theirs that no one had told them anything.

Alistair said, "I assumed it had to do with the taint."

"That is exactly what it involves." Riordan nodded at Alistair as if he were a prize student with a correct answer. "The Archdemon may be slain by anyone, as any other darkspawn may be ... but should any other than a Grey Warden take the final, fatal blow, the Archdemon's essence will seek out the nearest darkspawn and rise again."

Una and Alistair looked swiftly at one another, shocked. Una couldn't help but imagine the scene on a battlefield, everyone rejoicing at the slain Archdemon, as it rose again above their unsuspecting heads. It was horrific.

"Yes," Riordan said sadly. "The Archdemon is all but immortal."

"But that's where we come in, right?" Alistair asked.

"That is right. You see, if it is a Grey Warden who takes the final blow, the essence of the Archdemon passes into the Grey Warden."

Una felt repulsed by the very idea. "What happens to the Warden?" she asked.

The answer was in Riordan's weary, resigned eyes before he put it into words. "The darkspawn is an empty, souulless vessel. The Grey Warden is not. The essence of the Archdemon is destroyed ... and so is the Grey Warden."

This time, she could not look at Alistair. They knew, of course, that either of them could be cut down in battle at any time; they had learned to live with that. But to know that in order to end the Blight, one of the three people in this room must give their life ...

As if he could read what was in their minds, Riordan said gently, "As the eldest among us, and the one who has been tainted the longest, it is for me to take that final blow. Without the Archdemon, the Blight ends—that is worth my life, and more." He smiled suddenly. "And my name will live on in history, along with that of Garahel. Not a bad price for a single life that is nearing its end anyway." The smile faded, and he fixed them each with a searching look. "But if I fail, the deed falls on you. If the Blight is not stopped now, it will destroy all of Ferelden."

Be allowed to destroy it, Una thought bitterly. The Wardens of the rest of Thedas would simply let Ferelden fall, as they had tried to do already, before lifting a finger.

Riordan said, "Before you leave this room, I must be certain that both of you are prepared to sacrifice yourself—or one another—in case I cannot."

Alistair's eyes sought Una's. He could see in the stiffening of her back and the dauntless look on her face that she was ready to take the blow herself, but the defiance in her eyes said she wasn't ready to see him do it. Well, he felt the same. He imagined there would be some arguments later tonight.

Whether Riordan was as adept at reading them as they were each other was hard to say. After studying both the young faces before him for a few silent moments, he nodded. "Good." He got up, moving toward the door and opening it for them. "We will have a long journey tomorrow and little enough time to rest before it. I will bid you both a good night."

They both bid him a good night and left. As they made their way back to their own room, Alistair said, "I guess this ends soon. One way or another."

"I'll do it, Alistair. You're the king; we went through too much to get you there to let you ... I'll do it," Una repeated.

"No. You won't."

"What do you mean?" she asked, shocked by the cold, uncompromising hardness of his tone.

Alistair turned to her, putting his hands on her shoulders. "I mean that there is no way on this earth that I am going to let you do that, if I have to lock you in a room before the battle. Do you hear me?"

"But, Alistair ..."

"No. I love you, Una, and ..." He looked down her body, and one of his hands moved to rest lightly on her abdomen. "And we don't know if, just maybe, you are already carrying our child. We won't know for certain before the battle. And if there's even the faintest chance ..." He shook his head. "It is Riordan's right to take the blow if he can, and if he can't, then it is my responsibility. And that is final."

Una could feel tears welling up in her eyes. How could she argue with that? He was right; there was no way to know for sure. Could she take that blow, knowing it meant her death, if there was even a chance it might mean the death of a child as well? But that meant she would have to let Alistair do it. Alistair, whom she loved with all her heart and soul. She put her arms around his neck, holding on to him, feeling the warmth of his body against hers. "Take me to bed, Alistair."

"Your desire is my command."