Birthday Month Fic - #28
Aug. 31st, 2020 05:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
galadriel1010Prompt: Confessions
Fandom: Dragon Age
Pairing: Alexius/Fiona
Gereon Alexius and Fiona share a quiet evening
The sun set over the mountains, bathing the valleys in rich golden light and staining the clouds in pinks and purples. People drifted from their work, setting down quills and ink, closing books, tidying scrolls into neat piles. One by one the desks in the mage tower empties, and when Gereon turned from the window to speak to his assistant he found himself almost alone. Only the Grand Enchanter remained, stationed at another window with her eyes on the courtyard below. She smiled, so he knew she’d seen him looking, and folded her arms in front of her, resting them on the windowsill. “Oh to be young again,” she murmured. “We did not know what we had.”
“If you could bottle it, you would be the richest woman in the world. Alas, too many fools have tried.” He smiled ruefully and made for the comfortable chairs by the fire, winking into one with a groan as his old bones protested the cold once more. “Youth’s a friend who flees when known.”
She smiled over her shoulder at him. “I don’t know why, but I didn’t take you as a man of poetry, Gereon.”
It was good to have someone call him by his first name, instead of the one he had shared with too many people he had loved and lost. He rubbed at his eyes. “I am not, but my wife was.”
“I’m sorry.” Fiona abandoned her post at the window and came to join him by the fire, settling into the other armchair as she so often did. “I know you miss them terribly.”
“Every day.” He sighed heavily. It did nothing to ease his pain. “I sometimes wonder… who Felix would have become. He was a better man than me. The Imperium needed him. He and Dorian, they could have changed the world together if…” He still couldn’t say the words, although he knew she knew. Instead he lifted his head and looked at her. “You have no children?”
She plucked at a loose thread on her cuff. “One. He does not know who I am.”
“But you know…” He reeled at the idea. Was it because she was an elf? The south was better than that, surely? The Inquisition… the Inquisition was new and an upstart. The south was not so much better. He couldn’t ask that, though, and instead fumbled for, “Is he… safe?”
“No. But he can take care of himself.” Her hand stilled on the thread and her eyes drifted to the fire. “As he proved at Redcliffe.” She glanced over and smiled at what must have been a look of complete confusion. “My son is King Alistair of Ferelden. Born after an expedition to the Deep Roads with King Maric, if you can believe it.”
He forgot, sometimes, that she was once a Grey Warden. Fiona was poised and refined, the calm at the eye of the storm, nothing like any Grey Warden he had ever met. They had all been tightly-coiled power and stoic restraint. Had she been like that too, when she was young? Or had she simply been the powerful mage he had come to like and respect, dragged into a dark life from which there should have been no escape. “Were you conscripted?” he asked.
“No, I volunteered. I was young, hot-headed and angry, and I wanted my freedom. I demanded it.” She sighed. “The older I get, the more clearly I realise that I do not know what freedom truly is.”
“You cannot find freedom for other people,” he told her softly. “You can only offer them the chance to make of it what they will.” Her eyes flickered across to him and he smiled. “We have made our plays. Now we must reset the board and let them have their turn.”
Fandom: Dragon Age
Pairing: Alexius/Fiona
Gereon Alexius and Fiona share a quiet evening
The sun set over the mountains, bathing the valleys in rich golden light and staining the clouds in pinks and purples. People drifted from their work, setting down quills and ink, closing books, tidying scrolls into neat piles. One by one the desks in the mage tower empties, and when Gereon turned from the window to speak to his assistant he found himself almost alone. Only the Grand Enchanter remained, stationed at another window with her eyes on the courtyard below. She smiled, so he knew she’d seen him looking, and folded her arms in front of her, resting them on the windowsill. “Oh to be young again,” she murmured. “We did not know what we had.”
“If you could bottle it, you would be the richest woman in the world. Alas, too many fools have tried.” He smiled ruefully and made for the comfortable chairs by the fire, winking into one with a groan as his old bones protested the cold once more. “Youth’s a friend who flees when known.”
She smiled over her shoulder at him. “I don’t know why, but I didn’t take you as a man of poetry, Gereon.”
It was good to have someone call him by his first name, instead of the one he had shared with too many people he had loved and lost. He rubbed at his eyes. “I am not, but my wife was.”
“I’m sorry.” Fiona abandoned her post at the window and came to join him by the fire, settling into the other armchair as she so often did. “I know you miss them terribly.”
“Every day.” He sighed heavily. It did nothing to ease his pain. “I sometimes wonder… who Felix would have become. He was a better man than me. The Imperium needed him. He and Dorian, they could have changed the world together if…” He still couldn’t say the words, although he knew she knew. Instead he lifted his head and looked at her. “You have no children?”
She plucked at a loose thread on her cuff. “One. He does not know who I am.”
“But you know…” He reeled at the idea. Was it because she was an elf? The south was better than that, surely? The Inquisition… the Inquisition was new and an upstart. The south was not so much better. He couldn’t ask that, though, and instead fumbled for, “Is he… safe?”
“No. But he can take care of himself.” Her hand stilled on the thread and her eyes drifted to the fire. “As he proved at Redcliffe.” She glanced over and smiled at what must have been a look of complete confusion. “My son is King Alistair of Ferelden. Born after an expedition to the Deep Roads with King Maric, if you can believe it.”
He forgot, sometimes, that she was once a Grey Warden. Fiona was poised and refined, the calm at the eye of the storm, nothing like any Grey Warden he had ever met. They had all been tightly-coiled power and stoic restraint. Had she been like that too, when she was young? Or had she simply been the powerful mage he had come to like and respect, dragged into a dark life from which there should have been no escape. “Were you conscripted?” he asked.
“No, I volunteered. I was young, hot-headed and angry, and I wanted my freedom. I demanded it.” She sighed. “The older I get, the more clearly I realise that I do not know what freedom truly is.”
“You cannot find freedom for other people,” he told her softly. “You can only offer them the chance to make of it what they will.” Her eyes flickered across to him and he smiled. “We have made our plays. Now we must reset the board and let them have their turn.”
