Disclaimer: Dragon Age is still not mine, in case you were wondering. However, Aeryc and Jaedan ARE! Woot!

A/N: I realize that the Dragon Age Wiki states that both Ostagar and the Battle of Denerim take place during the year 9:30, but that didn't really suit my purposes. For this story, Ostagar, the Civil War and most of the events of the game take place that year, but the actual slaying of the archdemon happens in mid- spring of 9:31.

And we're off!

Prelude

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Bloomingtide, Year 9:31

One Month After the Archdemon

Denerim

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She cried and she cried and she cried and she cried

She cried so long the tears ran dry

And she laughed and she laughed and she laughed and she laughed

'Cause she knew she was never coming back

~ Beth Hart

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Don't look back.

Zevran's whispered warning skipped in her mind like a broken mantra as she raced through the streets of Denerim, blinking back tears while the city blurred at the edges of her vision like colored wax, melting beneath the grey morning sun.

Don't look back, Elissa.

The gate seemed further away than she recalled, taunting her resolve. She gritted her teeth, the promise of freedom and the ability to breathe again looming just ahead.

She could still feel his eyes on her.

She shook off the tingling at the base of her skull and the tears out of her eyes, and kicked her horse, urging it faster, leaving the early morning populace on their own to scramble out of her way. They did, and she caught more than one look of disbelief as they recognized the Hero of Ferelden, running away from the city like the ground was about to open up beneath her.

She finally burst free of the suffocating walls that had closed in around her for the past month and sucked in a fractured breath, knowing with certainty that she was out of his sight. Still, she didn't slow down until the horse began to show signs of fatigue, and then only reluctantly did she draw back on the reins and slow to a walk, unwilling to have to stop and allow the beast to rest.

Zevran was out of breath when he caught up, unaccustomed to riding and certainly to the breakneck pace she had just set. "I realize that you have said before that Highever is a land of horsemen, but I must admit I thought you simply ruled over them and thus included yourself in that description." He winced and shifted in his saddle. "More the fool I."

She didn't answer, just closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. A woman whose major life decisions were decided more often than not by impulse, it took a moment for her to comprehend that she was really here, a mere handful of hours after deciding that she couldn't tolerate staying in the palace for even another day. She was still unsure if it was the right thing to do, but like all those other decisions, she'd see it through regardless.

A gentle hand brushed her arm and made her jump. Zevran's eyes crinkled with concern. "Are you certain you are all right?"

"Yes," she lied, not meeting his gaze.

He wasn't fooled, watching her carefully, but Elissa had no intention of falling apart. She'd held it together since the disastrous Landsmeet, fighting back the urge for tears at every turn. She was free now, and well rid of all of them. Tears would only be indulging in weakness after enduring for so long. They hadn't managed to break her yet.

Except the one notable exception of the night Morrigan came to her with her alternative…

She quickly squelched that memory when a light prickling made her throat tighten and burn, and she resolutely hardened herself against the onslaught of pent up emotions determined to get their claws into her. "Are you ready?" she asked Zevran. "I want to get as far away from Denerim as possible."

He nodded slowly, still worried. "Onward."

She grinned in some attempt to assure him, but it was a pathetic ghost of her old humor that didn't feel quite right on her face. "Try to keep up, then."

The miles melted away behind them, and Aiden galloped alongside, as grateful to be away from stone and walls and restrictions as she was, if for completely different reasons. By the time the sun was high the city had faded back into the horizon, only the smoke from the cooking fires and hearths still visible to mark its existence.

Don't look back, Elissa, she chanted to herself, over and over as the day faded to grey twilight around them and the stars appeared overhead, twinkling brightly in defiance of the gloom.

Don't ever look back.

…

Elissa wasn't sure when she decided to put off her arrival in Amaranthine and go to Highever first, but when she told Zevran of her intention, he merely nodded. "Your brother should have already arrived, no? Doubtless he will be glad of the company."

He was most likely right, but the words sparked a shiver of dread. She didn't know if she could be who Fergus needed her to be anymore. His memories were still centered on the girl she had been before he had ridden to Ostagar; to him she was still the smiling child who had imitated him until she was allowed to take up the sword craft herself, the young woman who laughed and ran through the grasses collecting the spring's first violets when it was time to move the herds to their new grounds.

Elissa didn't even know that person anymore.

Zevran took a place across the fire from her and deftly reached in to flip the bit of venison that sat on the hot coals with bare fingers, snatching his fingers back before it even burned him. "You realize, of course, that Highever… it may still be bad, my friend."

"I know," she said. She didn't expect to go there and find anything that would bring her comfort, the memories hard and sharp even after a year of trying to deal with them. But it was still Highever, and every fiber of her being was crying out to go home.

Zevran watched her in the golden glow cast by the campfire, and his constant scrutiny was beginning to chafe. "I know what I'm doing," she said, a hint of a growl in her voice.

He put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Never would I claim otherwise. I am but a servant."

"Servants aren't nearly as pushy."

He laughed, unfazed by her sour demeanor. She had been sulky and snapping for a while now, and only his unwavering loyalty had ensured that she had even one companion who remained at her side. She hadn't even had to ask him to come. When she had confessed her intention to slip out of Denerim he had simply shrugged, asking when she wanted to leave, never questioning the wisdom of her choice. She bit her lip and ducked her head, sorry for snapping at him. "I don't know why you put up with me," she mumbled.

"Nor I," he said with a flash of white teeth, chuckling when she scowled at him. "But it is the road I have chosen, no? There is something to be said in that."

She sighed. "I'll feel better after I sleep."

He frowned. "You have not eaten all day."

"I'm not hungry," she said, and his frown deepened. "I still can't eat." It was true enough. She had taken ill just before the fight with the archdemon, and despite the long recovery she still didn't feel at her full strength. Even the thought of food made her stomach churn. "I'll try to force down something tomorrow."

He heaved a sigh. "Very well, then."

Elissa bedded down right next to the fire, having left her tent behind in Denerim. The night was warm enough despite the lingering chill of spring, and she yanked her blanket out of her pack without much concern for her comfort. When she shook it out, the gleam of something silver flashed in the firelight before landing in the dirt beside her.

Her heart thudded in her throat when she recognized the silver chain bearing a single purple stone. She had thought that she left all those things behind, but apparently the necklace had hidden away, waiting to spring on her like a trap when she least expected it. She picked it up with numb fingers, rubbing the stone with her thumb. It was a gem the people of Highever had dubbed Royal Eye, akin to an amethyst, but deeper in color. It was found only on the northern coastline, some combination of the rock and sea air aiding its creation.

She quickly ducked under her blanket and rolled over, clutching the stone to her chest, her eyes squeezed shut, breathing deeply so that Zevran could not see how it had upset her.

Alistair had bought it for her in Denerim after discovering its origin, forgoing the rather necessary purchase of a new chain shirt for himself and dropping nearly every coin he had to his name on it. He was always doing things like that—eager and earnest in impetuous acts of affection that he never seemed to regret afterward. He was like a child in many ways, stumbling forward and occasionally tripping but always pressing on with the best of intentions.

She hoped she hadn't destroyed that.

Elissa drew her knees to her chest, huddled into herself as she fought to keep her composure, but the fight was lost before it began. Her heart was shattering, tearing ragged holes in her lungs that bubbled up as sobs, and she no longer cared if Zevran knew it.

At her first whimpered gasp he was there, lying beside her on her bedroll and pulling her towards him with a soothing hush. Blindly she hung onto him, her fingers curled in the cloth of his shirt while her tears soaked his neck and shoulder.

It was all wrong—he wasn't tall enough, and he was too slender, and he smelled of scented soap and leather instead of campfires and sunlight.

The flood of tears worsened, and she couldn't hold back the crippling flow.

But Zevran had been expecting this long-needed release, if not waiting for it, and for a long time he held her and waited patiently for the tide to ebb, murmuring softly in his native tongue.

"It will heal, my friend," he said.

"I don't want… I just want to forget it. Him. Everything."

He sighed. "That will not happen," he whispered, unable to placate her with lies even now. "What you had was powerful, and ended brutally. You will never forget. But eventually, the day may come when remembering does not hurt as much."