So, here ends Submergence. There isn't much to say, except perhaps to apologize again and thank you guys for reading this far. There is one more short part to follow this, a single chapter epilogue, and I'll explain when I publish that why I'm not including it in this part.

Chapter Three

The knock on her door came in the evening, three days later.

Breonna opened the door to find Aden waiting outside. He looked tired, his robes rumpled and dirty. "Your Majesty," he said, bowing slightly. "We've returned."

"Were you successful?"

"We were."

She said nothing, looking past him into the empty hallway. Part of her noted absently that the hall shouldn't be that empty. It was too early. There should have been people going about their business.

She shifted her gaze back to Aden. "I want to see him."

Aden nodded. "Follow me."

He led her through quiet corridors, the few people they passed quietly ducking into side halls or empty rooms. It took no more than a minute to reach a closed door, and Aden paused briefly before opening it and allowing her to enter. She stepped into the room. It was dimly lit, but the light was more than strong enough to see the low stone bier, the still figure lying upon it.

"My magic was enough to heal the wounds." Aden's voice behind her was quiet, respectful. "As long as I cast the spell every other day or so, he will remain uncorrupted on the trip back to Denerim."

"Thank you, Aden," she answered softly. "Now, if you would, please leave us." She heard the whisper of his robes as he bowed and left the room, the quiet click of the door closing, his footfalls retreating down the hall. She glanced around the room, seeing chairs lined against the wall. Picking one up, she carried it over to the bier and set it down. Smoothing her skirts and seating herself carefully, she finally looked at the figure.

If it had been anyone but Alistair, she might have said they looked like they were at peace. But Breonna had seen Alistair at peace—napping with their daughter asleep on his chest, curled beside her in bed at night, catching her eye during a long, boring meeting and winking at her. This was not peace—merely an absence of all emotion and feeling.

And again, had it been anyone other than Alistair, she might have thought they were sleeping, that the person before her had been captured between one breath and the next. But Alistair had never been this still, not even in sleep. It didn't look right.

She reached out, ran a hand through his hair and down his cheek. He was cool, the flesh still firm. Breonna supposed whatever spell Aden used to keep decay from touching the body must also make it feel not quite so corpse-like.

With a low cry, she turned away. Looking at the person you love shouldn't be this difficult. Deliberately looking around the room to give her time to compose herself, her eyes fell on the armor stand and small table along the wall that held Alistair's belongings. She rose on unsteady legs and walked over to it.

Someone must have attended to the armor after it was removed from him. There were scratches and dents on it, but it was clean, the light coating of oil shimmering in the low light. She turned her attention to the sword, shield and pack upon the table. Whoever had been attending to the armor hadn't gotten to the weapons yet. The shield had been hastily wiped down, but she could see the streaks of dirt and blood on it. Easing his sword from the scabbard a bit, she could see more dried blood crusted on the hilt and under the guard. She frowned. Alistair would never sheath a dirty blade. He always made sure to clean….

Stupid, stupid little fool, she thought as she hurriedly set the blade back down. Alistair hadn't sheathed his sword. He had gone down fighting and the Legion had done it for him when they found him. She held a hand over her mouth, willing herself not to be sick. I hope it was quick, my love, she thought. Please, Maker, let it have been quick.

She reached for the pack to check the contents. It was mostly empty, a handful of rations and a single poultice being the only remnants of his supplies. Drawing her hand from the pack, she brushed some sort of cloth and looked back in. There was a small, cloth-wrapped bundle inside and she removed it carefully. Gently unwrapping it, she saw a single, dried white rose inside. It had been battered in its trip, petals falling off to land on top of the table and on his gear.

Oh, my Alistair. I hope I loved you half as much as you loved me.

Collecting the petals, she carefully placed them back in the cloth and rewrapped the flower. Carrying the small bundle with her, she returned to Alistair's side and took her seat once more. She lifted one of the hands folded over his stomach, threading her fingers through his. Lifting his hand to her lips, she pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckles. She started to cry again. She couldn't help it, couldn't stop herself. Turning her head, she pressed the back of his hand to her cheek.

"I miss you so much, already." Her voice was a ragged whisper in the dim room. "I don't know how I'm going to do this, Alistair. I don't think I'm strong enough to do this, not on my own. I need you."

Unlike all the other times she had reached out to him, this time there was no answer. No strong arms pulling her close, no words of comfort, no easy smile and laugh to make her feel better. There was only silence and emptiness. Alistair had gone, left her alone, and had taken her heart with him.

News had traveled ahead of them and Denerim was in mourning when the royal entourage returned to the city. Black flags were draped on the gates and the walls. In the city itself, more flags hung on doors and from windows. As the procession passed, citizens lined the streets, watching with sad eyes as the body of their king passed by. The crowds, already quiet, fell silent as he passed, heads bowed out of respect and grief.

Breonna watched from inside the carriage as they headed towards the palace. Part of her was gladdened by what she saw, the obvious outpouring of respect the people had for their king. Alistair would have called it silly and squirmed slightly at the fuss. He'd never quite grown accustomed to it—all the attention focused on just one man. It always struck him as wasteful and more than a little pompous.

Breonna maintained her composure while Alistair's body was reverently unloaded and laid out in state. She managed to keep it together until Fergus, who had come down from Highever, took over for her. Then as Rhoswen helped her back to her rooms and shut the door, she collapsed into her daughter's arms, sobbing.

Three days later, the nobility of Ferelden attended the funeral of King Alistair. The grand cleric delivered the eulogy and those close to Alistair spoke warm words in his honor. Queen Breonna took the torch from her daughter and touched it to Alistair's pyre, reciting a single canticle as she did so.

"Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.
From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.
Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.
In my arms lies Eternity."