Inevitable (One Shot)

[ouyangdan]

I haven't dropped anything off here for a while. Have some angst. Ride my gravy train with biscuit wheels.

Rating: M for swears and sexin'.

Words: 1,822

Characters: F!Cousland (Kahrin), Alistair.

Summary: Not every ending is a happy one.

Thank you to Rexregirebellis, who rivalmances my fics with her malefipen.

The stones of the wall were cool against her back as Kahrin leaned all of her weight into them. She turned her chin up at the ceiling and stared at nothing, or perhaps something. She wasn't even sure. It didn't matter, because in just a few days this would either be over, or it would be over. She was tired. Exhausted really.

Everyone wanted something from her. For the last year, every place they'd traveled had expected the Grey Wardens were here to help or otherwise lend some sort of aid. At this point, however, Kahrin wasn't sure she had much help left in her to give.

It hadn't all been terrible. Not at all. There had been a great deal which she had come to treasure. Perhaps not the part where they were running for their lives, sleeping on the cold ground in tents, nearly dying, crying over the nearly dying, being hungry, being dirty, or worst, being cold, dirty, and hungry all at once. She even preferred killing darkspawn to that last one, and would take an Archie dream to being wet on top of all of them.

She wanted it to be over.

But first, she had to take care of a few more things. The cold world was not done having its way with her.

The first dilemma on what was sure to be a very long list of tasks ahead of her before she could finally rest lie behind the door to her right. She heaved a heavy sigh, thinking back on the very pleasant chat she'd had with Anora earlier this day. The Queen had a way of plying words to not sound deliberately condescending, but her tone always dripped with the implication of her superiority. Somewhere in the cacophony of her not-quite-veiled insults, Kahrin had come to a moment of clarity that unfolded into realization.

She didn't belong here.

Maybe, just maybe, he didn't either. It was too late now, however. She had come this far, and she'd be damned to the Void if she wasn't going to see this through.

She took a deep breath and ran a hand through her hair, her damnable hair that even now she could feel being pulled lightly by callused fingers as she dozed slightly, settling after a particularly nasty dream in camp night after night. Hair that she was now tempted to cut off at the nape so she didn't have to think about it any longer.

Cracking the door just enough, she slipped inside nearly silently, but he didn't hear her, lost in the full concentration of his templar exercises. Morning and night, his routine. Day after day, waking her early and pulling her to practice with him, teaching her more patiently than anyone had any right to be with someone of her particular lack of equanimity until the day she had finally gotten it, that it had clicked for her. Then everything after had happened, and she'd been thrown off of her balance. She'd balked and withdrew and refused, unsure where she stood in the world because suddenly she wanted more from her friend, and it was mutual. It was not, however, something she had to give.

And yet, even as Eamon made designs on his adopted son's future, she promised to be there for him. As they sat by the fire night after night, memorizing the names of all the important nobles and proper etiquette, forms of address and how to tell a joke from an insult, she resolved to never leave him alone to do this, even though she knew he could do it. Even though part of her didn't want to, she'd do it for him, because he asked her to, and because she … did indeed lovehim, even if she had never managed to say it.

He knew. She was certain that he did.

So, now, she moved to his side again, the same as they fought. As they made every decision save few, she fell into the slow patterns of the stretching, following his lead, the long, slow lines of her limbs through the air in front of her. They passed slowly through each form, feeling muscle and bone and sinew move together with the memory, knowing where her swords fit with each form, moving from one into the next and mirroring the way their friendship had progressed. Fluidly.

Then, as she pivoted on opposite heel and toe to the left, he turned right and slid arms around her waist, drawing her to him. She leaned her head against his chest, refusing to meet his eyes, and he leaned down and spoke into her hair with soft words.

"Thank you."

Kahrin slid her arms around his waist. "For what?"

"Believing in me. Being here for me. Tomorrow." Alistair paused, the silence even heavier on her heart than hers. "Maker, I'm so nervous. But... I know that you believe I can do this, so that must mean something, right?" He slid his hands down her back and was quiet for several long heartbeats she could count in his chest. "It makes me feel better to know I don't have to do it alone."

The words stung her worse than any emissary spell. Worse than the pain of arrows through her chest in battle. Than being squeezed by a broodmother. Just knowing what she had to do made her very chest clench with guilt. If she told him now, however, he'd try to talk her out of it, or worse; he might ruin everything by refusing to do his duty.

"Of course you're not alone." She pulled her face into a passibly encouraging expression with which she could look up at him. She was, after all, the master in this particular lesson, and he the pupil. "Never."

That first, and hardest lie told, Kahrin pulled his face down and kissed him slowly, afraid she was losing her nerve. If she misstepped then even he would see through the ruse.

Then again, perhaps not. This was Alistair. Sometimes he saw what he wanted to see.

He backed up slowly and sat down on the bed, pulling her into his lap as he spoke in low tones, resting his mouth lightly against the side of her head. "That means the world to me, my love." She cringed, then, despite herself, cursing herself inwardly at the possible tell she'd given. It was no matter, she finally decided: after all, she sometimes still did that, right? She couldn't remember when she'd stopped being opposed to his endearments, or when she'd begun returning the feelings which inspired them. Either way, she shifted in his lap to mask the reflex, listening to him as he continued. "These people don't know me. I'm no king. Not to them. Not to anyone, and you still think I can do it." He drew his fingers through her hair slowly and absently in thought, continuing to hold her to him.

"Alistair, after tomorrow things …" She took another breath, wishing he'd stop playing with her damned hair because she didn't deserve it, or any of this. Not right now, and perhaps she never had. "Alistair, this might be the last chance we have for …" Kahrin trailed off then once more, losing her train of thought. Words were going to betray her, she was certain.

She pulled his arms around her and pushed up on her knees to get to his jaw. In reply, he pulled back for a moment and looked her in the face for a few moments, slight confusion in his arched eyebrow. "Yeeessss?"

The truth pulled at her. No more secrets. They'd promised back in Redcliffe and they had come so far, literally and emotionally, since then. Instead, she did what she'd done so many times in battle, and what had always managed to save her life. Evasion. Deflection. Anything but this. She grabbed his chin in her hand and shook it back and forth slightly, giving him her best practiced smiles. "Shhh. No more talking. Just, be with me right now."

That earned a grin across his face that killed her softly inside. "Your desire is my command."

Either she pulled him to her or he pressed himself to her; she didn't know. She tried to keep her mind elsewhere. On something else. Happier times, any other moments that weren't threatening to spill tears from her eyes as she wrapped her feet around the backs of his legs. Every touch and every thrust was another painful burn of her inevitable betrayal. She knew there were words whispered into her ears, but she didn't want to hear them. She didn't deserveto hear them.

Right now, in this time, he felt loved and sure of her, and she needed him to feel that. Years from now, she hoped he would look back on this with perhaps a shred of forgiveness and perhaps fondness. She knew she would loathe herself until she died.

However far off that would be.

The strangled groan left his throat as she felt her own release, hating every tingle that curled every toe, and every strand of her hair twined around his gripping, shaking fingers.

Kahrin caught his mouth with hers. "It's going to be all right, I promise." She slid her leg between his, rolling away from him and nestling her back against his chest. The warmth and closeness as her heart pounded against her ribs made her feel ever more the cold and undeserving person she was.

It's for the best, she thought. It's best for both of us. For the country.

"Do you really think I can do this?" He trailed fingers across the skin of her stomach, lightly, and she felt the phantom path of where they'd been sear her with gooseflesh. Every touch disgusted her because she was a vile person. She destroyed everything in her path, and now she was going to do it to him too.

"Do you want to? What if they ask my opinion? Anora thinks they might," she asked softly, and the name from her own mouth put her dangerously close to taking it all back. To sucking it up and pushing on like she'd promised.

The voice that came back was strong, confident, and unlike anything she'd ever heard from him before. "I'm ready. Pick me."

The lessons had worked, it seemed. There would be a Theirin on the throne once more. And even though she had already made up her mind, already stubbornly decided for both of them, her heart sank slightly as he turned down the last out she had within her to offer. "Well," she answered before falling into what she knew in her heart would be the last night of them. "Then I suppose you have your answer."