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Entry tags:
In death, sacrifice
Author: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ayascythe
Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins
Pairing: Alistair/PC (Mahariel)
Rating: PG-13
Language: English
Categories/Warnings: major ending spoilers, angst, character death and sacrifice (d'uh)
Beta: unbeta-ed
Disclaimer: I don't own the Narnia-universe. I'm just borrowing some of its characters to play a little bit with them. In no way do I intend to claim them as mine or make any money with them.
Summary: It's barely alive by now, yet it's still trying to reach you. You can tell by the cold, greedy stare that is fixated on you and you alone.
A/N: Just some randomcatharsis craziness that jumped at me.
In death, sacrifice
All of you are battered into an unrecognizable condition, armor full of dents, clothes torn and soaking with blood, breathing ragged and ears half-deaf from the cries of dying companions as well as darkspawn. Another one of Leliana's arrows hits home and the Archdemon is roaring in pain, digging its sharp monstrous claws into the stones of the tower. It's barely alive by now, yet it's still trying to reach you. You can tell by the cold, greedy stare that is fixated on you and you alone. Like it knows it won't take much more than a simple strike, one blow to end it all. Like it knows that it's going to be you.
Alistair does a sharp intake of breath, as if he just realises what you plan to do. Looks at you with those eyes that remind you of long nights at the campsite, shy kisses in between horrifiying battles, little red roses and home.
„Let me do it,“ he begs, almost panicky, but you only shake your head. Not this time.
In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice. And even though Alistair would be just as capable and obliged to do this sacrifice, you cannot let him. Rather be a dead hero, than a survivor left with a lifeless king in your arms and a shattered heart in your chest. You are that selfish.
He lets out a somewhat choking noise, moving as if he wants to reach out to you.
„I'm sorry, Alistair.“
You don't know what you're apologizing for. The Archdemon, perhaps. Keeping Morrighan's offer a secret. Or that One Last Touch he's trying to achieve that you know you can't allow or you might break befor the task is done.
„I'm sorry,“ you whisper. And with one last half-crooked smile you turn away, run towards the demon and lift your sword to die.
ayascythe Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins
Pairing: Alistair/PC (Mahariel)
Rating: PG-13
Language: English
Categories/Warnings: major ending spoilers, angst, character death and sacrifice (d'uh)
Beta: unbeta-ed
Disclaimer: I don't own the Narnia-universe. I'm just borrowing some of its characters to play a little bit with them. In no way do I intend to claim them as mine or make any money with them.
Summary: It's barely alive by now, yet it's still trying to reach you. You can tell by the cold, greedy stare that is fixated on you and you alone.
A/N: Just some random
In death, sacrifice
All of you are battered into an unrecognizable condition, armor full of dents, clothes torn and soaking with blood, breathing ragged and ears half-deaf from the cries of dying companions as well as darkspawn. Another one of Leliana's arrows hits home and the Archdemon is roaring in pain, digging its sharp monstrous claws into the stones of the tower. It's barely alive by now, yet it's still trying to reach you. You can tell by the cold, greedy stare that is fixated on you and you alone. Like it knows it won't take much more than a simple strike, one blow to end it all. Like it knows that it's going to be you.
Alistair does a sharp intake of breath, as if he just realises what you plan to do. Looks at you with those eyes that remind you of long nights at the campsite, shy kisses in between horrifiying battles, little red roses and home.
„Let me do it,“ he begs, almost panicky, but you only shake your head. Not this time.
In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice. And even though Alistair would be just as capable and obliged to do this sacrifice, you cannot let him. Rather be a dead hero, than a survivor left with a lifeless king in your arms and a shattered heart in your chest. You are that selfish.
He lets out a somewhat choking noise, moving as if he wants to reach out to you.
„I'm sorry, Alistair.“
You don't know what you're apologizing for. The Archdemon, perhaps. Keeping Morrighan's offer a secret. Or that One Last Touch he's trying to achieve that you know you can't allow or you might break befor the task is done.
„I'm sorry,“ you whisper. And with one last half-crooked smile you turn away, run towards the demon and lift your sword to die.