Chapter 169: Beginning's End

…At what cost?

She lowered her quill and looked at the three words on the page. According to Kally, those had been her first thoughts as she saw the smoke rising from the top of Fort Drakon. Perhaps this tale should end right here. Maybe the account that she was composing should end with the death of the Archdemon, but the tale had not ended there, oh no.

Some tales never end.

The author sighed and leaned back in her chair. Almost five years had passed since the fight on the top of Fort Drakon. Five long years since the Blight had been broken at the siege of Denerim. The Fifth Blight had gone down as the shortest Blight in history, and with such a distinction, had come questions, debate, and conspiracy.\

After the darkness and chaos of the first four, few could believe that the kingdom of Ferelden could see the threat end in its infancy, that the darkspawn threat could be broken in less than a year, yet that is what happened. No matter how many had thought otherwise.

There were those in Thedas who questioned whether the Fifth Blight was a Blight at all. The grey wardens had taken the head of the Archdemon, Urthemiel, back with them to Weisshaupt. His identification and role in the Fifth Blight now logged by their scholars, brought an official close to the Blight, but since the head had been transported first by ship, and then by military convoy, few had gotten a chance to see it, to know that the Archdemon had truly been an Archdemon, and had been slain.

People tended to believe what they could see with their own eyes. Those who had fought and bled in during the final battle knew and believed, but for those lords and knights in other countries, those that had not tasted the threat of the Blight. They came to see things differently, that the Fereldan victory proved that it had not been a true Blight at all, and as those stories spread, so too did schemes to take advantage of what had happened.

Many tales had been told of the Fifth Blight, but none had truly gotten it right. The authors of those accounts and tellers of those tales had all had their own opinion of what had really occurred, and as a result, there were many different takes of how it had all ended, who were the heroes and who were the villains?

Unsurprisingly, Alim Surana, the Stormbreaker and the Hero of Ferelden, often found himself portrayed as an enemy. Most people could not accept that both an elf and a mage had brought the Archdemon low and ended the Blight, especially given what had happened in Thedas in the last few years, the subtle shift in power that had taken place not just in the halls of the high lords, but in the Chantry as well.

Where some saw tragedy, others saw opportunity.

Chief among those opportunists were members of the Templar order. They used the fact that a mage had ended the Blight as an excuse to tighten their grip on the mages. The knight-commanders blamed Alim for that, saying that his supposed success had made the mages arrogant, that they now thought they deserved more than they were worth.

The Templars, and others like them, now moved to take advantage of what had occurred and exploit it.

It had fallen to the author to set things straight, she had been there after all, if not since the beginning at least since Lothering. Her mentor Dorethea, now Divine Justinia V had asked for a full account of what had happened. She wanted a first-hand account for the chantry archives, both to enlighten and to counter the lies being spread by those who sought to turn the tale to their advantage.

Who else could she trust with such a tale but her left hand?

She had seen much and more of the warden and his companions. She had called them friends, and watched as they had scattered when the war was done. She had done her best to keep track of their movements, to aid them where she could.

It now fell to her to let the world know the truth.

IOI

The journey of the warden and his allies did not end with the final blow that ended the life of the Archdemon. Cut off from its master, the darkspawn horde splintered and scattered, the Blight's body lashing out in its death throes. It fell to King Alistair and the Warden Theron to see that the monsters were brought low, many had still been in the city when the Archdemon and fell, and now, being left rudderless had needed to be dealt with. It had taken almost two weeks to get them all, those foul tainted warrior, and during that entire week pyres had burned outside the city not just for the darkspawn that had been destroyed, but for the many brave warriors that had fallen in battle. The chantry bells rung steady for almost that first full week, sisters and mothers saw the dead off, so many had fallen that the chantry was unable to contain all the funerals, and so a single mass ceremony was held. Great pyramids of wood and straw were built and the slain laid upon them in tiers, as both the cleric and the King gave one final speech before the gathered crowd, the remaining mages from the Circle of Magi lit the pyres in a grand show of both magic and respect.

The dead were honored, they had all died heroes.

Among them were several of the wardens' companions.

For the heroes that had travelled with the wardens, who had stood against the Blight. Their deaths would never be forgotten.

Zevran Arainai of Antiva, Jowan of the Circle of Magi, Sereda Aeducan of Orzammar, even the Warhound known as Bandit was honored. They had all known the risks going into the city, accepted that they might find their end, and still…they had made the journey anyway.

Such was their mettle, such was their bravery.

For the survivors, new journeys remained; journeys that would see them all scatter like leaves on the wind.

Only friends knew exactly where they all wandered.

After the last of the funeral pyres burned out, King Alistair Theirin was officially crowned as the new king of Ferelden. His coronation was a bit of happiness after so much smoke and death. Some nobles still questioned his birth, and several investigations were launched by the nobles to disprove his legitimacy but those all proved inconclusive, after the fires of the Blight and the Civil War, few were willing to take up the cause of ousting the new king. Alistair, His Grace, turned out to be a soft touch, and very popular with the people. Less than a year into his reign, he married a Nevarran Princess, and shortly after the new king and queen gave the Ferelden the heir it had long desired.

That had been enough to quell any further talk of his legitimacy, at least any open talk. Threats remained and would manifest later in the events known as the Crowned Mabari Rebellion, but that was another story entirely.

Sten of the Beresaad, the Vanguard of the Qunari people left Ferelden with little fanfare after the heroes were honored. The great warrior had stood his ground at the gates of the city, and won the respect of many, but it was not respect that he had sought in his journey, it was the answer to a question, an answer that he had finally learned.

He left to return to his people, to give his report to his Arishok. He had expressed concern that there were those among his people who would not accept his choice to fight in the Blight, that they might see him as being tainted by his time among those outside of the Qun. His allies had offered him the chance to stay and live, but he had refused.

He had been born under the Qun, if it now desired his death, then so be it.

He would meet his end with honor.

Wynne and Shayle had accompanied him for at least part of his journey; both the mage and golem had decided to travel north to seek wisdom in the vast libraries of Tevinter. Wynne still had no idea how much time she had left, the spirit remained within her, bolstering her strength, and she intended to make the best use of the time she had remaining. She would both see the world and be a symbol of strength for the Circle, proof of what a mage could do in the fight to protect the realms of men. Shayle accompanied her in hopes of finding a way to restore her lost mortality. What she had witnessed during the Blight had changed her opinion of those that were made of flesh. The willingness to make that sacrifice impressed her, and considering what she had learned in the Dead Trenches, her conversation with Caradin, she wanted to see if having an end might give journey of life more meaning.

The author smiled.

Either that or she wished to continue her war on Thedas' bird population, both reasons could be true.

Teyrn Fergus Cousland returned to Highever, to restore both his house, and their lands that had been ravaged under the reign of Rendon Howe. Kallian Tabris remained at his side, though she faded into seclusion as her belly began to swell. She eventually gave birth to a little girl she had named Oriana, a girl that remained at Fergus' side to this day, fostered by him and under his protection.

As for Kallian, she divided her time between Highever and Denerim. Alistair had named her cousin Shianni as the new Bann of the Alienages, the first elf ever to hold that honor. Kally had done much in the last few years to aid her people, despite the ending of their relationship, with Fergus' new marriage, the elf and noble remained close friends.

Their little Oriana had bound them together forever.

Oghren, despite being badly wounded at the gates of Denerim had survived the Blight. Once he recovered, he joined the Ferelden army for a time, serving under Fergus Cousland, and found a small measure of happiness with the dwarven tavern girl Felsi, even giving her a child.

Sadly, Oghren did not stay with the army long. Soon enough he found his way to Vigil's Keep and joined the Grey Wardens that were now stationed there. Theron, now in his role as Warden Commander did what he could to mend bridges between Oghren and his wife, Felsi had not approved of their old companions choice to join the ancient order.

The wardens did seem to prove to be a stabilizing influence on the Berserker. Oghren had become almost respected in the last few years of his service in the Vigil.

It was not something he was particularly proud of.

Carver Hawke had been offered a place among the wardens as well. The young warrior had proven his mettle and would have been greatly honored if he had chosen to stay. He had laughed at the offer. Once he would have jumped at it, he had confessed, but after having served both in the Fereldan army, and as a companion to the wardens, he found that he had had his fill of war and glory. Now, he simply wanted to find his family, to find his family and a new home. Alistair had honored him with a knighthood before letting the young man set off. Ser Carver Hawke would eventually find his way to Kirkwall, and into the company of his Sister and his allies, but once again, that was another story all together.

Theron of the Grey Wardens chose to remain with the order, despite the small pouch of Andraste's ashes that he still carried with him. The Dalish was not sure that the magic that remained within them would work, and more importantly was not sure that he could return to his people if it did. Theron was no fool; he had seen how the world was changing around them, the shift in power that was affecting chantry, particularly the Templar order.

Word of the destruction of a Dalish clan by Templars reached his ears. He recognized that as a humble elven hunter he could do little to curb such acts, but as a commander of the Grey, he could do much to halt the accesses that seemed to be infecting the Templars more and more as the years went by.

He had aided the author several times with her own work on behalf of the new Divine. Both the Most Holy and she considered him ally.

Sadly, not all wardens could be held in such high esteem.

Elissa Cousland had not remained with the Wardens long. Theron had come to think it wise that she be transferred to the warden garrison in Orlais, where she would not be tempted to pick up where she had left off during the Civil War. According to author's few agents she had remained a part of the Orlesian garrison for only six months. After which she had vanished, unfortunately she had not stayed that way. The last sighting of her had seen her in the company of the Crown Mabari mercenary company, offering her services to them to help put their patriarch Maric the Younger on the Ferelden throne.

There were now several bounties for the head of Elissa Turncloak, the Dark Lady of Highever. So far, none had been able to collect that bounty.

Elissa remained at large, and as dangerous as ever. It was even rumored that the taint had changed her to the point that she now had limited control over the darkspawn, that she was often seen with several of the fiends fighting at her side, whether that was true or not was unclear, but one thing was certain. The day that the woman's head was finally brought to Denerim would be a reason to feast.

It should have come as no surprise that she had turned out as she had, but sometimes, in the midst of darkness surprises did come…

…Namely a friend who they all had thought dead returning.

A week after the funerals Zevran Arainai had turned up alive. The Archdemon's blast on the bridge had knocked him out of the way of the collapsing wall that supposedly ended his life, and into river. He had been found on a muddy bank a few hours after the fighting had stopped. He had been unconscious for two days before finally returning to the world. The healers that had found him tended his wounds, he said nothing of who he was until he was sure that he was strong enough to travel, when he was, he had sought out his old companions.

Sadly, there was little celebration for Zev, he had survived, yes, but his lover had not.

Seri was dead, and the knowledge of that, it…it had almost broken him.

Zev had tried to appear his old cocky self, but it was clear that it was a mask, and a broken one after all they had endured. He disappeared the very night he returned. The author had sought him since, but the assassin remained elusive. In time the Crows had learned he survived, and sent their hunters after him. Since that time, every now and then, a Crow maestro would turn up dead; slain by the one they called the shadow.

Zev was lost to them, the author feared; losing two women he had loved had broken him.

She prayed that one day, he would find peace.

Another of their allies that had vanished without a trace had been Morrigan; the dark haired witch had not been seen since they had found Alim alive on top of Fort Drakon. One soldier had reported he had seen her slip down the stairs after the battle had ended, another claimed that she had leapt off the edge of the tower, and had turned into a great black raven, cawing all the way as she fled the battlefield.

The author had kept her ears and eyes open over the years, seeking any news of the young witch of the wilds. Alistair still asked after her every now and then. The king was happy in his marriage, but as the same time, you never truly forgot your first love, and despite everything else, he had loved Morrigan.

The last report she had heard had placed the witch somewhere in southern Orlais. A woman matching her description had been seen meeting with a member of the Empress' household, what Morrigan would want with the Empress was anyone's guess. Yet, the report had suggested that the meeting had occurred, and more interestingly enough, that she had not been alone.

The agent had claimed that the woman had had a child with her, a toddler with dark brown hair and impish, almost elf-like, features. She had not mentioned that to Alistair, she had not wanted to worry him.

The child was not his; she knew that to be true. She had heard the full story of that only a year ago. She had not been pleased at the time, but she had grown pragmatic in the last few years.

She understood what was sometimes asked for when it came to survival, she blamed no one for doing what was needed.

She had her own skeletons to live with after all.

She sighed and rose from her chair, stretching her back and sliding back her hood, running her hands through her short red hair.

Leliana, Left Hand to Divine Justinia V sighed.

All that remained now was to tell Alim's tale, what had happened after his sword had taken the head of the Archdemon. She was…unsure if she was ready to put that to paper, even with the Divine's order.

His tale was her tale after all.

She was not eager to so openly share it.

IOI

Alim's victory over the Blight had been no happily ever after. Though he had found some degree of contentment in his life, striking the final blow against the Archdemon had left him changed, and some said broken beyond repair.

After the explosion that ended the Archdemon's foul existence, she and Alistair had found Alim lying amongst the blood and wreckage. His armor cracked and broken, bleeding from more wounds than Leliana could possibly count. It had taken both Wynne and Solona both to stabilize him, and even then it had been touch and go.

For almost a week, her lover had slept, murmuring softly, his body twitching as if he was lost in some horrible nightmare. Finally, on the fifth day since the battle had ended. Her love had opened his eyes.

What returned had been…far different than what she had known.

She had been sleeping at the time when he woke, she had come running when a servant roused her, informing her that Alim was awake.

She ran expecting to take him in her arms, to laugh and praise the Maker for his survival, survival that, according to Alistair should have been impossible.

The Alim that awaited her was not the one she expected.

She found him pacing back and forth, hunched over slightly, muttering to himself, his brown eyes wide and wild, like some abused animal freshly escaped from its cage.

She had come to his side, tried to talk to him, but he had barely acknowledged her, he just muttered the same words over and over again.

"The beginning ends, the end begins," he said, "He is waking, waking, waking, but even in sleep he saw, he knew, knew, knew. The people don't know. How could they? They are blind, and he sees all. The beginning ends, the end begins…"

Over and over he had said those words, barely acknowledging her at all. She had feared in that moment he was lost. Even the arrival of Alistair did little to draw Alim back, so lost was he in what he had seen as he slept, so changed by whatever it was that had escaped the Archdemon in death.

Any attempt to see him back to bed was turned away, for almost six hours he paced back and forth lost in his madness; she agreed to stay up with him, talking to him, trying to get his attention.

Those hours, they had been the most terrifying of her life, seeing him like that, fearing that even though he had survived, he had been lost to her, but finally, after what seemed like an eternally long night. Alim, finally looked at her, looked and saw her.

He blinked, like he had emerged from a long sleep, his large elven ears twitching nervously.

"I see you," he had said, "I see you, Leli, my Leli, my sweet Leli, sweeter than the smell of Andraste's grace."

"Alim," she said, fearing that any moment he would go back to pacing, that he would slip away again.

This time, thank the Maker, he did not.

He smiled.

"You are with child aren't you? I know. I know. I know."

Leliana laughed nervously, worry and fear coming out in the form of tears.

She…she had thought him lost, feared that he was lost.

She praised the Maker he was not.

She nodded. She was not sure how he had known, she had only just found out herself.

"Our little star," he said smiling fondly, "Our sweet little star in the sky. Like the girl you told me about the one who was raised up to be with her soldier love."

He giggled, tears of joy running down his face.

"Alindra," he said, "Her name will be Alindra. I know this, yes. I know. I know. I know."

Leliana said nothing more; she did not know what to say.

Alindra, she thought.

Yes, so it will be.

IOI

In the days that followed, slowly did Alim come back to her. When the wardens from Orlais arrived, they examined, unsure of how he had survived his encounter with the Archdemon. By that point, Alim was almost his old self, almost, but not quite.

The warden mages had no answers for him. This…his survival…it had never happened before.

They had no idea what to expect.

Would he fully recover, they had no idea, most thought it was the result of is victory, that having everything that the Archdemon had been pass through him had left a broken husk of his former self.

Some advised that he go to Orzammar, take his calling in the deep roads.

Alim refused.

He still had too much work to do.

He had been well enough to stand before the people as their hero, to hear the cheering crowds, but it was clear that he was more uncomfortable in that moment than he had ever been during the Blight.

When the Chantry asked her to return to Haven with a company of Templars and priests, he had agreed. The chantry was going to secure the ashes of Andraste, make sure that any surviving dragon cultists would not cause any more mischief.

They were met there a few days later by Leliana's old friend and mentor, Revered Mother Dorethea, the woman who in just four short years would become Divine.

Alim was not sure what to make of the old woman, but he did have a request.

"We need a priest," he had said, "A good priest."

He had grinned at Leliana.

"I have a beautiful bride to marry, the mother of my child."

"We cannot afford to wait."

Leliana had known this was coming; Alim had spoken much of it during the quiet moments of their journey. He would not see his child born on the wrong side of the blanket. He asked that Leliana be his, if she did not mind having an elf for a husband,

She had nodded, of course she did not mind.

He was her dearest one.

How could she deny him anything?

He stayed with her until their child was born. At first they had been worried, he baby had been so pale, yet her cry had been strong and lusty.

The two of them had cradled her in their arms that first night, their sweet little star, their Alindra.

She was theirs, the one perfect thing in their troubled lives.

They could not have asked for more.

IOI

After the birth, Alim had returned to the Grey Wardens, for a time, but ended up leaving them shortly after their move to Vigil's Keep. His condition remained…tenuous, he continued to suffer from mood swings, and was known to drift away from the world at times.

A commander of the grey could not act like that; he could not take the risk of slipping away at some inopportune moment. So he had turned command over Theron. The Dalish had proved himself more than worthy.

Alim could not have asked for a better successor.

He drifted across Ferelden for a time, recruiting for the Grey Wardens. He also kept an eye out for any elves that, like himself, carried the talent of the Stormbreakers within them. He could not train them, not in his condition, but he could ensure that they would find their way to their destiny when the time came.

As he journeyed he would reach out and touch those elves he sensed had an affinity for the Stormbreaker arts. His touch and a few choice words, cast a very specific spell, sharing with those elves the memories of the Stormbreaker's spirit that he had encountered in the werewolf temple so long ago.

"It will take time," Alim had told her once after having returned from one of his journeys.

"It may take a lifetime, maybe…several, but one day, the Stormbreakers will return, they will pass on the knowledge that I've given, and the order will be reborn. One day, my people will have the Stormbreakers to protect them…one day."

The realization pleased him.

It was never meant to end with me. It never was."

"We shall endure."

Alim continued his search, and in time, he found new companions to travel with, warriors and rogues, outlaws and nobles. He and his Stormchasers, as some had come to call them began to build a legend of their own.

But that was another story, and for a later time.

IOI

This is the story of Alim Surana…

Those were the first words that Leliana had written so long ago. Many times she had had to step away from this account, her duties pulling her away, and yet always, she had returned.

She smiled, pleased with herself.

Now…it was done.

She hoped what she had written would answer any questions that the Divine had both the Divine and future generations, she…

"Mama?" The voice that had spoken was both soft and musical.

She looked up, and smiled.

Alindra stood in the doorway of her bedroom in their tiny cottage in Haven. She was only three years old and already showing the beauty that she would one day become. She was meant for more than a simple cottage her mother thought, even one that the Templars and scholars had helped build for her when she had first arrived.

Leliana and Alim had already spoken with Alistair and Allegra about fostering the girl; it would be good for her in the long run, though a bit hard for her parents.

She is not gone yet, Leliana realized, and for now, she needed her mother.

She smiled at the pale child standing before her.

"What is wrong, my darling?" she cooed, "Bad dream?"

The little girl wiped her large blue eyes and nodded.

Leliana winced.

Their little Alindra had too many bad dreams, and she thought she knew why.

Leliana had had no visions in years, not a one.

She feared that gift had passed on to another.

And there were times that she blamed herself mightily for it.

She stood and walked over to where the three year old stood, small for her size, Alindra's skin and hair were almost as white as fallen snow, the only mark that showed that she belonged to Leliana was a single streak of red running through her white blonde hair, that and her face, almost a mirror image for her mother, or would be as she aged.

The little girl open her arms as her mother scooped her up, she wrapped her arms tight around her mother's neck.

"Mama," she cooed softly.

Leliana nuzzled her neck affectionately

The little girl let out a tired sigh.

"Let's get you back to bed," Leliana said.

The little girl's lip quivered.

"Bad dreams." She said.

""I will stay with you until you fall asleep, my treasure," Leliana assured her, "I will keep you safe."

"Story?" the little girl said, her large blue eyes sparkling.

Leliana chuckled.

She had just finished one story, now it seemed it was time for another.

"Just one," she promised.

The little girl nodded.

Leliana sighed.

One story ends, she thought.

And another begins.

The End of the Beginning

A/N: And we are done! Thanks for following me along on this journey. It has been a long time coming and I hoped you enjoyed reading it. I will have a chance to go back now and focus on the other tales in this universe, the Coming Storm, the Trevelyans and the like. I will of course go back and fix the errors in this, and may make a few tweaks along the way. Something like this is rarely ever truly finished. In the meantime, thanks for sharing this journey with me. When I first wrote this, I found very few male Surana stories, and wanted to change that. Alim's journey is not over of course, only its beginning is finished.

Thanks again and I will see you all next time.

DG