Disclaimer: I do not own anything Dragon Age!

Author's note: A little, fluffy one-shot that I wrote a while back but never got around to posting! Enjoy~! Except some DA2 stuff from me at some point!

It did not take Neria long to realise they were running low on herbs for the all too necessary poultices that aided them on their journey. Elfroot, whilst vast in quantity across the lands of Ferelden, took time to gather and time – sadly – was something of a luxury they could not afford, or at least not for the past few weeks, since coming upon Redcliffe Castle. In fact, it had been an unbelievable whirlwind since the day they had come across the terrorised village and the last remnants of its people. They had joined them in the fight against the undead at sundown and then ventured up into the castle where, lo and behold, she had come across a familiar face.

Jowan.

Seeing him again, after all this time, she realised how little she had thought of him since becoming a Grey Warden. Not just him, but her entire life as a part of the Circle. It seemed now to be a distant memory, something that had been but a dream and she had awoken the day she had tasted the blood of the darkspawn upon her lips and lived. She had not lied when she had said that she did not have a home anymore – if the Circle could ever be called home. Truly it was more like a boarding school that never came to an end. Neria had never hated the place but nor had she loved it and though she had dreamed of travelling out in the world, she had never come to think it would happen. Instead she had put that nature into working hard and achieving a respected reputation. Sad really, how years and years of work could all be smashed to pieces over such a thing as friendship. Yes, if there was one thing she wouldn't forget, it would be Irving's face as he realised she'd chosen to help Jowan in secret instead of going to him for aid.

But, after all that; here she was. Free. All thanks to Duncan – Maker watch his soul.

In any case, her feelings of friendly affection for Jowan had gone now. They'd died the day that she realised he'd manipulated her into helping him escape before his treachery could be confirmed. He was a blood mage. And though Neria understood that the world could not be viewed so black and white, in this her morals stood strong. Blood magic was evil. Blood magic was not to be trusted, and those who used it – even with good intentions – ultimately ended up causing misery through its use, to themselves or to others. Jowan was proof of this, in fact. Neria knew he wasn't evil, despite all that had happened. He was many things, yes, but evil? No. Never. He had done what he did out of desperation, because he was cowardly and afraid and trapped. Even still, she couldn't forgive him. Not ever. Because of his cowardice, that Chantry girl was dead – or suffering something worse than death. Because of him, Arl Eamon almost lost his life. Because of him, all her good memories of childhood spent in the Circle were tainted with sadness, regret and bitterness.

She closed her eyes and saw Jowan's face. It had been creased with grief and regret the moment he had seen her, pressed against the bars – so dirty that when he drew back, two grey stripes were left imprinted on his pale skin. He had told them how he had poisoned the Arl and then moved to beg Neria to give him a chance to repent. His hand had reached out to her, fingers curled in desperation, but she had stepped back, shaking her head in shocked dismay. His fingers fell slack and his arm dropped away and she turned and left him caged. Left him alone in the cold, damp, darkness of his cell.

But that was not the first time in the castle that Neria would feel the cold bite of disappointment and anger. The second was Isolde and her deceit in covering her son's magic; afraid to let him go, afraid to admit the truth. In her fear, she'd almost lost everything. It was unforgivable of her.

Fear. Fear was such a weakness and Neria vowed, then and there, to push it back whenever it threatened to rear its ugly head. When the time came and the Archdemon was there before her, she would not hesitate, no matter how much she might want to. She would harness her strength and she would destroy it.

And, with the realisation of Connor's fate and the limited options to them, Neria had chosen the only path she could see where everyone could be kept alive. Killing the possessed child was never an option. In this, Connor was the innocent, his only crime being born a mage. Neria, biased or not towards mages, had no inclination to see him pay for something in which he was blameless. A crueller part of Neria had almost wanted Jowan to use his blood magic so that Isolde would get her just desserts, but, again, her morals came into it, and she hastily rejected that option. So, instead, they had left the castle and journeyed to the place of her childhood: The Mage Tower. Its imposing spire still dominated the skyline, seemingly no changed despite the abominations which had ravaged its innards only a couple of months prior.

And, with the help of the First Enchanter, Connor was indeed saved. Isolde still lived and Jowan – despite wanting to help – had not had to use his dark magic.

Even still, despite the success, Neria didn't feel particularly happy. She felt mentally exhausted, though she wasn't sure what the cause was. Entering the Fade was a 'harrowing' experience, even to one such as herself. Even still, it was something she had done before and she knew what was needed to get the job done. Demons hadn't drawn her interest with their fanciful promises before now and she knew they never would.

With a sigh, she packed the last of the medicinal herbs into their pack and tightened the buckles with weary fingers.

Behind her, on the great ridge of the mountains, stood the huge, silent shadow of Redcliffe Castle, its shape harsh and unwelcoming against the skyline. When Neria had first set eyes on it, she had thought it the most majestic and impressive building in the whole of Ferelden, accentuated – of course – by the stark and wild landscape all about it. Now the majesty of the place had drained away. There were too many ghosts there. Far too many. The elf mage could not wait to get away and free the horizon of its dominating shadow.

Behind her the forest came to life with the tread of hasty steps and she angled her face to peer over a shoulder, rising to stand just as the warhound burst from the foliage. His stub of a tail was wagging furiously as he spotted his master and, with a short bark of greeting, looked expectantly over his shoulder. A second later and Alistair appeared. He threw her a casual, but warm, smile as he removed a branch from his shoulder that had wedged itself between the armour plating.

"So this is where you've been hiding. We've been worried."

Neria remembered, with a pang, the other news that had come on the day they had first arrived at Redcliffe. News that hurt her more than perhaps it should have. His ancestry. Alistair was not just Alistair of the Grey Wardens. He was so much more. And, try as she might to not let the information change her view of him, she couldn't help it. He was…he was the son of a King! And what was she? An elf mage. Yes, she was a Grey Warden, but she was certainly not of legendary quality. Hardly worthy of affections from one such as he…Besides, she had vowed to squash her feelings for him the moment she had discovered the truth. Better to do that then fool herself with petty hopes that something could happen between them. Even still, his soft eyes and gentle smiles did well to disarm her.

She lowered her eyes to the hound and shook her head in mock severity. "Gave me away, did you, boy?"

The mabari lowered his head, whining apologetically.

"Leliana sent me." Alistair explained. "Food is almost ready. I don't know about you, but I'm starving." He leaned down to scratch the dog behind the ears.

"A little." The mage replied. "In any case, I'm finished up here." She shouldered the pack of medicines and cast one last look at Redcliffe Castle. Her gaze darkened and she hoped, desperately, that she'd never have to return to this place again.

A hand came to rest against her shoulder, its weight warm and comforting through the fabric of her robe. Surprised, she turned to glance up at her companion.

Like most elves, Neria was a short, willowy thing, barely taller than the dwarves of Orzammar. Her dark brown hair – strung with honey in the sun – hung long to her shoulders, the front tresses braided back to avoid marring her vision as she travelled and fought. Her face was delicately featured, with extraordinarily dark, slanted eyes and a pointed chin. Her cheekbones were wonderfully pronounced, accentuating those slanted, hawk-like eyes. She was not a particularly curvy woman, but she was pretty, all the same, even if her face was often too serious.

"Something is troubling you."

"I seem more and more troubled recently." Neria admitted reluctantly. "But you don't need to worry. I'm not about to abandon our cause." Besides, there was no running from the taint creeping in her veins, stealing her life away, little by little.

"Want to share?" Alistair asked, turning to lead the way back through the trees to where their camp was set. "I mean, Maker knows you've listened to me prattle on in the past."

Neria pondered on it a moment. It was true enough. Whenever they were at camp and she wasn't dead on her feet, she'd spend some time checking everyone was well, sharing stories, listening to troubles…but these troubles were rarely alone. Instead, she kept her own locked away, afraid that they make might others doubt her ability to lead.

The dog bounded forwards to lead the way and Neria watched him loping effortlessly across the root-woven earth.

"Jowan." His name left her lips softly and her eyes grew suddenly sad.

Alistair turned to meet her gaze and there was a look there she didn't quite recognise. She wondered if it had been a mistake to speak of the mage, knowing of his background with the Templars. He disagreed with blood magic even more than she did. But it was too late now. The ball had already started rolling.

"I left him there to die."

"But he was a blood mage, Neria."

"He was once my friend." Her hands clenched. "And I condemned him to death. I left him in the cell, I refused his aid and refused to comment when Bann Teagan asked me to speak on his behalf. And then, when the Arl asked me himself…I did nothing to keep Jowan from his fate. I did not speak of his desperation to make up for his mistakes. I did nothing to justify—"

"—His actions couldn't be justified." Alistair interrupted, but not unkindly.

"I cared for him once. We knew each other for years. He made a mistake and I did nothing but allow them to lead him back to his cell to await death."

"He knew the risks. It's not your fault."

"What he did wasn't my fault. I know that. Jowan was weak and afraid and that was his downfall. I couldn't change that in him. But…I could have at least found one good thing to say about him. He wasn't an evil person, no matter what anyone thinks."

"Neria…"

"I was so quick to turn my back on him." The words came easy now, tumbling almost uncontrollably from her lips. She was lost in memories, her hands waving to accentuate her word. "I hated him. I really hated him, Alistair. I think, if I'd had the chance at the Tower, when he revealed his true colours, I would have killed him myself given the chance. My trust in him destroyed my reputation in the Circle. I spent years building it, and finally after a successful Harrowing, I was seeing the benefits of my work. And then he…he…I would have been punished with death had Duncan not come to free me from my duties. I wanted to hunt him down and drag him back to face the punishment that his friends had suffered on his behalf! But he was gone! And then to see him again…my friend…I wanted him to pay. I wanted Arl Eamon to put him to death." Tears swam in her eyes. "I wanted him dead! What sort of friend does that make me? Now, now I'll never get to see him again, to tell him sorry for the fate that—"

"—That he brought on himself."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." The elf tried to regain her composure, realising that her feelings of guilt towards Jowan only touched the surface of the troubles in her head. Her troubles went far deeper than Jowan, but they were too sensitive and secret to bring to light just yet. Her growing feelings for a man she could never be with. The crushing weight of leadership and the intense feeling of helplessness that snapped at her heels. All this was not helped by the growing intensity of her nightmares.

"You must have cared deeply for him." Alistair replied. They had stopped walking during her tirade and the trees seemed to press in around them.

"Yes." Neria was quick to respond. "But not in the way you're thinking." She felt hot saying it, and embarrassed at being so quick to deny and cut off the suspicion growing in his mind. It seemed that despite her head making the decision to drop her crush on this man, her heart had other ideas. It still had foolish hopes. "He was like a brother to me…once."

"He chose his path just as you chose yours."

She wanted to tell him that she hadn't chosen this. That it was become a Grey Warden or meet an untimely end. Not much of a choice. But she couldn't bring herself to say it. Whether she had wanted this life or not, she was here now and she didn't regret it. Yes, it had brought much heartache and pain and sleepless nights, but she was in control of her own life now. She was free…to an extent.

"And what about you, Alistair?" She asked after a moment. "Have you thought anymore on what the Arl said?"

His whole body tensed and she saw the tightening of his jaw, the cording of the muscles in his neck. She hadn't exactly expected him to change his mind about the thought of being king, but perhaps he would be more forthcoming if it were just the two of them conversing about it in private.

"I'm a Grey Warden. When I joined them, I gave up my title and ancestry. It would be wrong – very wrong – to chase after the throne."

"But these aren't normal circumstances, Ali." She used her nickname for him purposely, trying to draw him back to her. Would he always close up like this when the subject was breached?

Behind them, the dog whined impatiently, pawing at the ground in an attempt to grab the attention of the two humans. His attempt failed.

"You've always looked to your duty first. What about your duty to Ferelden?"

"My duty is as a Grey Warden." He seemed adamant about this. "You have to believe me when I say I don't want power. I don't want to be King and lead. You will stand by me in this, won't you?"

"But what if you are the best choice? Who would rule in your stead? Anora?"

"Yes! Why not? She's already the queen!"

Neria smiled sadly. "She is still Loghain's daughter. She could be more like him than we could ever have imagined." She hated to see Alistair falter like that, hated the fact that she might be pushing him to a future she could not follow. However, this was no time for her to be selfish. She had no claim over him.

He sighed wearily. "Let's not talk about this anymore."

"I'm sorry." Neria whispered softly. His face seemed so sad and tired, almost aged by this looming fear of leadership. She didn't like to see him so troubled, especially when there was nothing she could do to make it better. She couldn't change the identity of his father, she couldn't bring Cailan back to life and she couldn't hide the fact that he might very well be the best person to sit on the throne. "You came here to find me, tried to cheer me up, and this is what you get as thanks."

"That's alright. If you think about it, I didn't do that great a job at cheering you up anyway." He gave her a lop-sided grin. "So, you ready to try Leliana's 'amazing new recipe that will change the way people cook stew forever'?"

"Oh, that's what she's saying about it, is she?"

He waved a hand dismissively. "Something like that."

At the talk of food the warhound had perked up, suddenly seeming keenly interest in what his fellow humans had to say.

"Alistair…" Neria paused, unsure what she was going to say. "Thank you."

"Eh, for what?"

"For just being you. There's a lot going on in my head right now, but…well, I think you – more than anyone – can relate to that, right?"

He blinked and his vision seemed to clear.

"But, if it means anything, Alistair, I think you would make a wonderful king and…if it was you who took the crown, you can still rely on us to be there at your side. We're your friends."

"Some of you are my friends." He corrected. "I don't really count the cut-throat assassin, crazy witch-thief, pigeon obsessed, talking rock or that anti-social Qunari warrior." He was only half joking. "But thanks, it means a lot to know you won't just abandon me." The hound shoved up against his side affectionately, panting.

"For now, let's just concentrate on reaching Orzammar. We can consider your future social status later, My Prince." She peered up at him from beneath her eyelashes, smiling (flirtatiously) up at him.

"Gladly." He held out his arm and without thinking she looped her own through his, allowing him to lead the way through the last of the trees before reaching their camp.

"Ah! And our star-crossed lovers return at last to camp." Zevran exclaimed exuberantly upon their return, the dog bursting onto the scene to announce their coming. "I don't blame you for not wanting to waste such a lovely evening." The elf continued with a wide, unfaltering grin. "But could it not have waited until after dinner?"

Leliana giggled girlishly from where she was finally ladling food out into bowls. "It's ever so cute, you know."

"Well I think it's disgusting." Morrigan replied, curling her lip into a rather unattractive grimace. She snatched up her bowl of food and promptly excused herself; moving back towards her isolated shelter.

"Star-crossed, what?" Alistair all but choked, heat flushing vibrantly across his face. Unluckily for him, it wasn't yet dark enough to conceal his obvious embarrassment. Nor Neria's for that matter. Her own cheeks had blossomed red at Zevran's declaration and Leliana's delighted approval.

"Spreading wild gossip again, are we, Zev?" Neria replied after a moment, trying to keep her voice sounding casual and amused, despite her discomfort. As she spoke she stepped away from Alistair and put as much distance as she could between them, taking her own bowl of food and moving to sit next to Leliana who was sitting against a log, legs stretched out across the grass.

She could feel the eyes of some of her companions still watching her and dared not glance in Alistair's direction as he moved to get food, though she could hear him grumbling under his breath.

Leliana's elbow nudged her in the arm and the elf looked up, startled. The bard was smiling encouragingly, clearly waiting to hear all the gossip that her fellow companion had to offer. When Neria made no move to respond, the young woman sighed and gave her another nudge.

"So? How was it?"

"How was what?" She figured it would be better to play dumb.

"Okay, let me rephrase the question: how was he?"

Neria gawped, utterly speechless. Had she been so obvious with her affectionate glances that others had picked up on it? Had she been so obvious that they thought they were seeing each other in secret?

Leliana laughed merrily, seeming to guess Neria's very thoughts. "You two are so cute; sending each other those little looks when you think no one is looking. There's no reason to hide it, you know. No one here will mind."

"No, no, Leliana. I don't think you understand." The mage replied hurriedly. "There's nothing going on between us. Honestly. I don't know where you all got that idea but…we're just friends! He's a human, and of noble ancestry no less! What makes you think anything could go on between him and me when I'm only an elven mage?" She grimaced.

"I don't think Alistair is really as judgemental as all that. Besides, don't think that way about yourself, Neria. You are not just an elven mage; you are a Grey Warden, our leader and our friend. Besides all that, is it really unusual for a human and an elf to find love with one another?"

Neria lifted her eyes to glance carefully across at Alistair. She was startled to find him looking at her and for an embarrassing moment, their eyes locked, only to drag away once more. "To some, maybe." She answered at last.

"To the Circle?"

"No, not the Circle. Mages were all treated alike at the tower. After all, we were all as dangerous as one another. All could be tempted by demons, no matter what race. Relationships weren't exactly encouraged, though, but that never stopped anyone."

"Are you afraid?" The red-head asked, softly.

The elf visibly flinched at that, remembering what damage fear had done in the past. Was she afraid, despite telling herself she wouldn't be? Perhaps she was, and the thought of it angered her.

"Even if we both survive this, there's no saying we'd stay together. In fact, I'd bet anything that we wouldn't. He's the heir to the throne and I know he doesn't want it…but, I'm reluctant to cut that option out of the picture altogether."

"I know we're in a dangerous situation right now. Knowing we need to kill the Archdemon but not knowing how to do it. Unsure what will happen to everyone once this is all over with. The future is scary, Neria, but that's the very reason we should live for the moment. We should snatch at happiness as it presents itself, not shy away in fear of losing it. Living life like that is a sad existence. Think on it. If you continue like this and say nothing, will you come to regret it when he is a king or perhaps even dead, and you live on without him?"

Neria supposed Leliana was right. Whether she acted on these feelings or not, if she were to lose him, she'd still be devastated even if they hadn't been in a relationship of that nature. Even still, there was no 'maybe' about losing him. It was a definite.

The bard gave the elf's shoulders a squeeze. "Come on. Eat up. If you want seconds, you'd best get that down you, it's going fast."

The elf watched the woman go, allowing her eyes to slide casually back to where Alistair still sat. She was both amused and bewildered to find that he had been looking at her again, his eyes darting away – but not quick enough to avoid being noticed. It was settled then. She'd talk with him the next chance they got.

Morning brought with it a grey sky and drizzle that settled heavily in Neria's hair and eyelashes. She had positioned herself towards the back of the procession, allowing herself to be covered by the heavier armoured members of their group.

Zevran and Leliana had scouted ahead through the trees, the mabari hound with them. Behind the scouting party were Sten and Shale. An odd match, perhaps, but neither of them spoke much, even if Shale's sarcasm did grate on the qunari's nerves at times. Behind them trudged Morrigan and behind her was Wynne. Neria was next, aiding her steps across the rugged landscape with the stability of her staff. Then, a few paces behind her came Alistair, his job to prevent them from being flanked. This was darkspawn country, after all. From here, there destination was to cross the Frostback Mountains to Orzammar where they could seek aid from the King of the dwarven kingdom. After that, they would be ready for the Arl Eamon's proposed Landsmeet.

The dreaded Landsmeet which, she imagined, Alistair wished would never come. She felt sorry for the man who had been hidden away as something shameful, only now to be brought forward because there was no other option. She imagined that if she were in his shoes she'd be extremely angry and determined not to make things easy by simply going along with everyone's plans. However, Alistair generally did the right thing and she could not deny that him becoming king was indeed the right thing.

She sighed, her shoulders drooping a little at that realisation. Either way, Alistair was lost to her. That was the horrible, unmistakable truth. She turned to look over her shoulder at him and their eyes met. She tried to smile at him, but she had a feeling that it was filled with sadness. This was confirmed when his own smile grew sad and concerned and hastily she turned away.

"Weather getting you down?" He asked casually, swiping out at some stray plants with his sword.

"It's pretty dire, isn't it?"

"On the plus side, if the darkspawn dislike the rain as much as you do, maybe we won't see any today?"

"I wouldn't hold my breath, if I were you."

He trotted up to walk alongside her with a puppy-like quality, and she blinked up at him curiously. Rain that had collected on her eyelashes dripped down onto her cheeks, pinched red from the cold.

"We'll be stopping soon anyhow. I want to spend some time gathering herbs before we get to Orzammar. Our stock is running low and I doubt we'll come across a trader so far away from any of the towns and villages."

Wynne, who had overheard, paused to look back. "We're perhaps half an hour away from a good spot, I think. We used to come here often to collect medicinal plants for the Circle."

Neria nodded, slowing her step to fall a little further behind. Alistair realised, a moment later, that he was walking off without her and adjusted his step accordingly.

"We could just save ourselves the trouble and buy supplies once we reach the city." He pointed out.

"I'd rather us save money for more equipment."

"You're the boss." He teased, reaching up and ran his gauntleted fingers through his short cropped hair. He'd not bothered with styling it that morning and the wet blonde tresses flopped across his forehead.

"And you're supposed to be protecting the team from being flanked." She remarked, her tone leaving little doubt that she was teasing him back.

"Yes Ma'am." He gave her a mocking salute and began to drop back, casting his eyes back out into the trees. In the same motion, Neria turned on her heels to face him and stepped sideways to block his path. He pulled up just short of knocking into her and tilted his head quizzically.

"Uh…"

"About yesterday."

"Yesterday?"

"With what the others were saying." Neria felt her face warm. "About…us."

"Oh, uh, yeah." He seemed uncertain what to say. "Well, we both know what Zevran's like."

"Well, see, the thing is..." She cleared her throat, aware that the sounds of their companions were growing more muffled. She paused, her mouth hanging slightly open, allowing the silence to fill an awkward gulf between them. "Do you…like me?"

"Is that a trick question?" He replied after a careful moment. "Is this a test? If I say yes, do I pass?"

Neria's lips tightened into the beginnings of an annoyed pout. The bridge of her nose and cheeks were red, but she said nothing more.

"Of course I do." He continued after a moment of hesitancy. "Have I ever given you any reason to think otherwise?" He gave a small squeak of surprise as she hooked her fingers around the edge of his breastplate, pulling him down towards her. In the same motion she pulled herself up onto tip-toe.

And there, in the falling rain, their lips met.

It was a flurry of a kiss; brief and unsure and as Neria released him, she almost couldn't believe what she had done. The feelings such a gentle touch had invoked in her were both frightening and exhilarating.

A second later and they were drawing together again, desperate to continue what had been started there beneath the trees. But, before they had a chance, a low growl ruined the moment and they turned just in time to see a blight wolf leap from the trees. It was a huge, monstrous thing with a dark, shaggy coat and a wild look to its eyes. They were bigger and more bloodthirsty than the typical wolf, but far less intelligent in that they were driven by the desire to kill rather than the desire to survive.

It took Neria barely a second to conjure a spell to paralyse the wolf, giving Alistair the chance to finish it off with one hefty blow, severing head from neck. However, it was a well known fact that wolves – blight or no – travelled in packs. Two others leapt into sight and, in the distance came more dread howls. It sounded as if their companions were being heckled, too.

Instinctively, Alistair put himself between the wolves and Neria, lowering into a threatening posture to draw attention. Neria, with a few words of magic, enchanted his sword; brilliant magical flames flaring into existence.

The wolves leapt as one and Alistair slashed sideways with his blade, catching one across the face and twisting to dodge the second one's leap. The second beast caught him in the side, however, sending him spinning and he lost his balance, raising an arm to protect his face. Jaws locked down on the battered silverite armour but the teeth could not penetrate deep enough for the wolf to find purchase.

In another second a bolt of lightning struck the poor beast square in the chest, sending it flipping head over heels into the dirt. It tried to rise, but its forelegs shakily gave way and it lay there growling and whimpering.

"Hey, hey, watch it!" Alistair shook his now freed arm, traces of blue lightning flickering across the surface of his gauntlet.

Neria had no time to respond, faced with the final opponent. It charged forwards blindly and straight into the flame licking from her outstretched hands, fanned wide by the wind. The wolf, whose face was already torn wide open, bleeding and scorched from the enchanted flame, instantly tried to reverse. The attempt to back away was too late, however. The fire greedily captured the moist fur and the blight wolf gave a yowl of pain, twisting to roll on damp grass and earth. Alistair's shield rammed hard against its side, sending it sprawling against the floor, safe from snapping jaws that caught nothing but air. It hesitated, that gruesome face flickering with indecision, and then it was off, howling and yelping in fear and aggravation.

Neria breathed a sigh of relief, inhaling deeply as she turned back towards her companions. She spared Alistair a brief glance and their eyes met. Something passed between them, but she couldn't decipher it.

He ended the torment of the electrified wolf and turned sheepishly towards her, opening his mouth to say something. Neria cut him off with words of her own.

"Let's go."

They hurried to catch up with the others, Neria deeply embarrassed and angered that she could have been so distracted. Was this a sign? Would a relationship mean putting others at risk?

Luckily, when they arrived on scene no more than ten seconds later, five blight wolves lay dead, some clearly killed by magic and others cleaved by weapons or crushed into the dirt by huge, stone fists. In any case, no one looked any worse for wear, though they all seemed to turn suspicious and annoyed glares towards the Wardens as they approached.

"They must have been moving in behind us if Leliana and Zev weren't able to track them. We got three of them ourselves." Neria could feel herself flushing under their heated gaze. "Are you all okay?"

"No thanks to our Grey Wardens." Morrigan couldn't resist, but she didn't seem to care too much. "They were just blight wolves. We're hardly likely to fall to those mindless beasts."

"Blight wolves are even squishier than humans." Shale interjected. "Hateful, furry things."

Sten agreed with a slow, silent nod. He was cleaning the muck from his blade and already turning to lead onwards.

It was only Wynne who let her gaze linger on the pair longer than perhaps strictly necessary and somehow Neria sensed that the old woman knew what had conspired. Shame burned deeply in her, which was silly considering her attention had been distracted for only a moment. But that moment was enough, she reminded herself. It was just lucky it was only blight wolves and not something more fearsome.

She stepped ahead to put more distance between her and Alistair, but making sure to avoid the old healer's gaze.

"Why did you fall so far behind?"

The question was inevitable but that didn't make it any easier answering it. Neria could feel the flush spreading from her cheeks to the tips of her pointed ears. She hated disappointing Wynne, more than anyone. She was a senior mage, a woman to look up to. Neria respected her greatly and by no means did she want to do something to make the woman think less of her.

"Alistair thought he could see something and I stopped to protect him in case. We knew it wasn't darkspawn, but sometimes the not knowing makes it worse. I gather the wolves caught our scent and attacked all at once. We heard them howling from your location."

"Indeed." The woman didn't sound convinced, but she had no reason to think otherwise. "What Zevran said last night, then. It wasn't true?"

Neria's heart clenched and for once, the elf wished she could just disappear. This was one question she didn't want to face yet. "No, well…no." She looked pained and Wynne's face softened a little.

"When you say 'no', do you mean really mean 'yes'?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Neria's hands tightened around the plant she was holding and the older mage worked it free from her grip before she could crush it.

"Maybe? Dear, I can't see how there could be a 'maybe' about this situation."

Neria flustered. "We haven't done anything, if that's what you mean. Zev was just teasing yesterday. Maybe he's jealous because Alistair and I get on so well." It was true, really. Neria hardly counted that fleeting kiss as anything, though it certainly had sent her head into a spin of emotions.

"I've seen the way you look at one another. To be honest, it's quite heartbreaking to watch. I've been wanting to speak with you about it before now but…well…there's not been a good time as of late."

The sound of the woman's voice all but roared in Neria's ears.

"You might think me a cruel, bitter woman, Neria, but I'm only concerned about you and Alistair. The journey ahead will be difficult. Maybe even impossible. There's a good chance we won't all come out of it alive. Even if we do, Alistair is of royal blood…" She trailed and Neria knew what she was implying. She knew it with painful clarity.

A king could not take an elf as a wife.

"I just don't want to see you hurt and I think that is exactly what will happen if you venture down that path. By nature, love is a selfish thing. Ultimately, it could affect your duty as a Grey Warden."

"Don't you think I know that, Wynne? If I didn't then maybe we'd already be in a relationship by now." The horror and the guilt of that stolen kiss certainly had come back to haunt her. Wynne was right and the realisation of it put cold, hard dread in her heart. She wondered what he was thinking right now, whether he was aware of the trouble such a discovery of their feelings could bring. If he did, she supposed at least they could both agree that what they wanted didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. In any case, she didn't even know how he felt! They'd had no time to talk about her moment of weakness. Maybe he didn't even return those feelings.

Leliana's ideals seemed a long faded memory now. It had sounded beautiful and romantic at the time, but the world was hardly either of those things. This was not some wonderful romance story. It was reality; a place where loved ones suffered and died whilst those who remained struggled to hold onto their existence.

Wynne was patting her hand comfortingly now. "The world will not always be this way, Neria. The Blight will end and life will move on. Such is the way of things." She gathered her skirts beneath her and stood, shouldering the basket brimming with herbs. Neria's dark eyes fell to her own collection of herbs and, with no reply; she swept the bag into her arms and followed the older mage back to their makeshift camp.

The woman was speaking again, more words of comfort and a heartfelt apology, by the sounds of it. The elf was no longer interested, too busy berating herself for her stupidity and a mistake that couldn't be taken back.

They reached the campsite and Wynne turned back to give the female Warden an almost regretful look. Was she wishing that she could take back what had been said? Neria's brow furrowed. It was too late for that now.

"We're setting off early tomorrow, so get some rest, everyone." She announced, dropping the bag of herbs next to the rest of their packs and kneeling to scratch the mabari's head. "You missed me, boy?"

The dog barked, tongue lolling.

Only two tents had been set up that evening. Morrigan had always insisted on setting up her makeshift shelter and Leliana had managed to convince Sten and Zevran to set up her own tent. She'd been complaining about fatigue and wanted to try and get a decent night's sleep. Neria didn't blame her. She craved a bed and a roof over her head as much as any of them. Sadly, such luxuries were a long way off. So, instead, she threw out her bedroll and collapsed onto it in exhaustion. Even with the chatter of her companions and the chill of the air, Neria was asleep in moments.

The nightmares came to haunt her as they always did, the Archdemon's song calling to the darkspawn, gathering its armies to taint the land. The terror these nightmares invoked, more often than not, drove Neria from her sleep; chest heaving with irregular, panicked breaths.

The stars above her were waning, a pale grey band caressing the horizon with its soft light. The sight of it instantly calmed her and she sat up, grimacing at the ache of her joints. Sleeping out under the stars a few nights was a romantic notion but it didn't seem to suit her body at all. She stretched gently, her eyes sliding across to where Alistair lay. He was awake, lying on his back, arms pillowed behind his head. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, though the moment he felt her eyes on him, he looked towards her. He gave her a lopsided smile that sent her heart flopping in her chest and then moved to sit up.

She tried to keep the panic from her expression as she realised what a possible discussion between them might be about, wishing she could find an excuse to dismiss herself. Around them were the sleeping forms of their companions, watched over by a silent, vigilant Shale. They were hardly alone. Perhaps that would be enough to keep that certain subject from conversation, but she wouldn't bet on it.

"Morning."

Neria lifted her eyes to him. "Morning Alistair." She stood, grimacing at the ache in her bones and the sorry state of her mages robes. She'd been too tired to change out of them. Groggily, she stepped down, out of the circle of sleeping bodies towards the shallow, trickling stream. The crash of fleeing animals in the undergrowth stirred the quiet of the morning and she dropped to her knees on the bank, cupping water in her hands. The splash of cold on her face brought her to her senses and, after a moment of struggling, she got herself out of her robe, washed thoroughly in the fresh but bitter cold water and changed into one of her other robes. She only owned three and all of them were looking dowdy and old. They'd been mended so many times it was a surprise they still held together, but times were hard and it was more important that the warriors had good armour to protect them than for her to have pretty robes that did little more than look good.

She washed the robe in the stream, wrung it as dry as she could and then padded back to camp where she threw it haphazardly over a tree branch.

By the time she got back, others were beginning to stir and she made herself useful, packing things away whilst the others washed and prepared. Half an hour later and they were back on their way, the mountains rising up to their left in all their pearly splendour. She took the lead this time, with Sten and the hound at her side. The rest trailed behind, them, perhaps not as alert as they should have been.

And then came the familiar but unnerving sensation of the darkspawn. It was a hard sensation to describe; a crawling feeling under her skin, the sound of their motion across the landscape. Likewise, it was certain that the darkspawn had sensed them, too, and were heading their way to attempt to eradicate their most hated enemy.

Sten had already picked up on her sudden tension and understood what was coming. A few moments later and the whole team were ready, moving forwards with caution.

The warning cry came a moment later and the valley came alive with the panicked shouts of men. Neria broke into a run, her heart pounding in her chest. The hound darted ahead, his lips pulled back into a hideous scowl. Such a brave beast, willing to be the first to meet the enemy head on.

The gently winding path sloped down into a bell-shaped gorge with steep sloping sides peppered with low-growing shrubs. It was the perfect place for an ambush and apparently the darkspawn had thought so, too. The ambush had been initiated by the passing of a dozen knights and the gorge had been turned into a bloodbath.

Rows of darkspawn archers were firing down at the surrounded men, their grotesque faces twisted with delight. Below, fighting face to face with the knights, were other darkspawn; genlocks and hurlocks all led by a powerful emissary.

The hound did not falter in his charge and, with a howl of fury, barrelled into the closest darkspawn, sinking teeth deep into that tainted, terrible flesh.

Neria swung her staff before her, focusing the magical energies into a bolt of lightning that she directed straight at the emissary. Where possible, it was best to take out the authority first and leave the rest of the ranks in a disorganised chaos. A split second later and the bolt struck home, knocking the leading darkspawn backwards. The monster gave a scream of agony and defiance, turning his ugly face towards her. Neria gripped her staff tighter, feeling stronger as her companions rushed in alongside her, spilling into the gorge to aid the ailing knights.

The emissary brought up an arm and swiped it down with a cutting motion and some of the archers above paused to readjust their line of sight.

She blocked the first few arrows with magic, turning them to splinters before they got close. A few others bounced harmlessly from Alistair's shield as he passed by, raising it to protect both himself and her from projectiles.

Gritting her teeth she stepped sideways and enchanted the weapons of her comrades with flame. When that was done, the elf mage twisted to check on the status of her companions, finding all of them fully engaged in the battle. Shale was knocking darkspawn flying with forceful swipes of rock-solid fists. Sten and Alistair were all but back to back, slashing at any who came close. Leliana was close by, picking off the archers with arrows of her own, able to find the gaps between the scrappy armour the darkspawn wore. Some gave screeches of pain and staggered, losing their footing so they tumbled lifelessly down into the gorge. Their bodies hit the ground with a sickening thud. Zevran was darting amongst the darkspawn, catching them behind the knees and across the ankles with sure, easy swipes of his daggers. He was so nimble on his feet that he never appeared to be in any danger of getting caught in the fray of things. Morrigan seemed to come alive with the battle, dashing across the battlefield, teasing the monsters with smaller spells to anger them. She crouched low to dodge an attack and, with a wicked grin, leapt into the air. She crashed into the unlucky darkspawn not as a woman but as a huge spider with poisonous fangs and eight swift legs. Wynne stood firmly at Neria's side, wisely keeping back away from the main thrall of battle, whilst she concentrated on healing those around them.

"Watch out, Neria!" Leliana's warning reached her through the sounds of battle and she twisted just in time to see a darkspawn let its arrow fly. It seemed that for every archer that fell there was another to take its place. The pain as it struck interrupted her spell of protection and she staggered back from the force of it. The vicious arrowhead had pierced just below her collarbone, blood spurting from the fresh wound. With a cry of rage, she pulled the arrow free and thrust it away from her, using that rage to summon her next spell. The inferno that ripped across the line of archers was intense, great swaths of fire burning the tainted bodies to cinders. The smell of burnt flesh choked her and she covered her mouth with her hands, disgusted.

A mortal cry sounded from the mass of bodies at the centre of the battle and a lance of fear ran through her. Neria turned to see an armoured body fall and her heart leapt into her throat. All of a sudden one of the knights broke free. He had lost his helm in the brawl and was bleeding profusely from the head. He was clearly trying to flee the scene but a moment later the darkspawn were on him. The man went down like a stone, his screams of pain cutting off as an axe came down to cleave down into the side of his neck. A fountain of blood pumped up from the wound, clearly from a severed artery. The eyes in that bloodied face went wide and then the man sagged sideways onto the ground.

He was gone.

The rest of the battle was a blur to Neria. She summoned the rest of her strength into casting offensive magic, trusting Wynne to see to the healing and protecting. Darkspawn became frozen statues, or engulfed in flames or sent flying by a bolt of lightning. By the time the last darkspawn fell, she felt ready to collapse. The loyal hound came to offer her some support and she leaned against him gratefully, not seeming to mind that he was covered in darkspawn filth.

"Good boy."

She touched the wound the arrow had left in her chest, half-healed from Wynne's rapid spells during the battle. It pained her, but she'd deal with that after she'd made sure everyone else was okay.

It turned out that only three of the knights had lost their lives, though some were badly injured. Wynne was busy trying to heal a broken arm whilst Leliana was applying poultices to others. As far as Neria could tell, her trusty hound was fine – if a bit smelly! Morrigan seemed rather bored, lounging against a tree to watch. She had no knowledge of healing as far as Neria knew, which was unfortunate considering the amount of times they got themselves into such predicaments.

"Are you well, Shale?" The elf asked.

The golem turned, the stony skin set with brilliantly shining stones. "I do not have the disadvantage of you poor inferior fleshy things." And certainly Shale seemed no worse for wear, even if the enchanted stones had been stained by darkspawn blood.

Sten had been wounded and was now receiving attention from the elderly mage. Wynne's face was drawn tight with concentration as she healed the wound, closing up the edges of the gash so that it was barely even noticeable. However, it was safe to say, most of the blood was not their own.

Neria moved past them to the knights, casting her eyes over their faces. They wore the insignia of Redcliffe on their shields, once again reminding her of all that had happened at that place.

"Any injuries here?"

Most shook their heads in response, but two stepped forwards. Neria soon realised that one was supporting the other and carefully they sat the wounded man down.

"Where are you hurt?"

He turned a little and she saw the arrow protruding from its place lodged in his armpit. She gritted her teeth as she realised how deep it had gone and, with a nod, asked the other knight to loosen the armour enough so that they could work the arrow free. It took a while and by the time the armour came away to reveal the arrow buried in flesh, the poor man had passed into unconsciousness.

They pulled the arrow out and, setting her hands over the wound she poured energy into healing, fixing the injured tissue and sewing flesh closed.

"He should be fine after some rest." Neria breathed, standing again. Her face was pale and she swayed a little.

One of the knights looked concerned. "Are you okay, Warden?"

She nodded wearily, touching the wound just below her collarbone. For a moment she considered getting Wynne to heal it, but one look at the woman told her that she was just as tired as she was. In any case, it had half-healed; she'd use a poultice for now and heal it fully when she'd regained some strength.

"Thank you, Warden." Another knight spoke up. He'd removed his helm to reveal a short crop of red curls underneath. "We owe you our lives."

Neria grimaced. "You owe us nothing." She paused. "Are you returning to the castle?"

"Yes, we heard news that the Arl is well. All thanks to you, if the rumours are true."

"Not just me, but yes, the Arl is well. We shall be returning there in due course, but for now we must make for Orzammar."

"Then we shall not hinder you further. May the Maker watch over you."

"Watch over us all." Neria added. With that she turned from the knights and moved over to her companions who had gathered together to converse.

"Those fool men are leaving, then?" Morrigan drawled. "What fine warriors they make, wandering into a trap so blindly. 'Tis no wonder so many are lost in the Blight."

"They don't have the advantages we have." Alistair intervened.

"Oh, and what advantage is that?" The witch replied, arching a brow. "I'd hardly call having a brainless Grey Warden on our team an advantage. Would you?"

Alistair flustered and Neria could sense the conversation getting out of hand. She stepped up, drew herself up to her full height – which didn't mean a lot considering she was the shortest member of the team (so far) – and glared at them. "Enough. We're going to get away from this gorge and set up camp. There's no point continuing much further today when we're all tired." She cast her eyes over to Leliana. "Do we have anymore poultices?"

"Yes, but our supplies are frighteningly low."

Neria cast a look around her team, noting the fatigue and weariness there. Only Shale seemed unaffected. They all needed a good rest, there was no doubting that. Perhaps stopping early would be the best thing in any case.

After a good meal and settling around the fire to relax, Neria was finally able to complete the healing of her wound, sighing with relief as the pain ebbed to nothing. Most of the others had set up tents and were settling in for a well-deserved rest, with Shale opting for the first watch. And there, in the comfortable warmth of the fire, Neria slept in the arms of a fallen tree, so tired that even her unwelcome dreams were not so horrible that they woke her.

The sound of voices did eventually stir her and she was surprised to find it still dark, the stars twinkling brilliantly above their head. Actually, she couldn't remember the last time she'd looked up at the stars like this. Certainly not in her early childhood in the alienage nor in the tower where windows were not deemed an important feature of the building. Even when she'd left the tower she'd never had a moment to simply look up at the stars and admire the beauty of them.

The voices came again, reminding her why she had found herself looking up at the stars in the first place. She angled her head to see Shale and Alistair conversing. She supposed it was time for the next watch. Shale lumbered away and Alistair drew close to the fire. Sitting down in his armour was no easy task, but he finally managed it, sitting across the fire with one leg hugged against his chest.

With a soft sigh, she stood and crossed over to where he sat.

"More nightmares?" He asked gently, not looking around at her.

"No. I heard voices." She paused just behind him, feeling nervous and unsure. Then, after a moment she turned and sat behind him, her back against his. She wished he were not wearing armour so that she might feel some warmth from the contact.

"We need to talk." She continued. "Is now a good time?"

"As good a time as any."

"I need to apologise."

"Apologise? For what?"

"For…for that thing that I did. Before the wolves attacked." She felt the embarrassment rise again.

"Ah."

His answer was not exactly the most descriptive one he could have given and she drew in on herself, hugging her knees to her chest. Maybe it hadn't really meant anything to him after all. She could have been completely misled in that. But, had he not moved to kiss her again before they were interrupted?

"So yes, I'm…I'm sorry. It was inappropriate and put everyone in danger and I just wanted to let you know that…that…" Her heart was beating so fast that it pained her. "It won't happen again." Tears rose, unbidden, into her dark eyes and she rubbed at them furiously. She dared not turn round to look at him.

"You could have picked better timing, I'll give you that."

She startled. His voice…his tone…he was being light-hearted about this? She felt irritation bite at her. Was he finding this amusing? She was in turmoil and all he could do was try and turn it into a humorous situation? He shifted slightly behind her and she tensed, her spine rigid. At least the shock brought her back to her senses. Alistair was not that kind of person. Yes he teased, made jokes, but his humour was – more often than not – used to cover up his hurt. She'd hurt him, then?

"However, I'm not going to accept your apology."

"What?" Neria all but choked.

"There's nothing to be sorry about, for one thing."

"So you're not angry?"

He laughed, but the laugh sounded nervous. "Have you ever known a man to get angry when he's kissed by a beautiful woman?"

She flushed. Beautiful? He thought she was beautiful? A tear worked its way free from beneath her eyelashes, sliding slowly down the curve of her cheek. Then the others hadn't been wrong. There was something between them.

Conflicting advice flashed through her mind. Leliana's romantic notions of throwing caution to the wind and making the most of their time left and Wynne's ominous warnings of pain and acts of selfishness.

"Neria…listen…I've been wanting to tell you something…for a while now, actually. There just never seemed to be an opportune moment and…well…I kept putting it off."

"Alistair." The elf stood, keeping her back to him. Her heart was pounding. "We can't."

"What's wrong?"

She heard him getting slowly to his feet. "Nothing's wrong. It's just…I'm sorry. I never should have kissed you. You're my friend and—"

"—Just friends?"

She flinched. Why was he suddenly being so forward and brave? Perhaps it was because she was being so weak and unsure. Maybe he felt the need to be the leader for a change.

"We're Grey Wardens, Alistair. The only two left in Ferelden. Perhaps if there were more of us, things could have worked out differently, I don't know. All I do know is that we have a duty to carry out. We cannot lose sight of that, not ever. We have such an uncertain future, but no matter what path we take, there cannot be happiness for us."

"Neria…"

Was she being too harsh? No. Better to get the whole truth out now than lead him on. "We may not survive this and even if we do, our paths are set in different directions."

"What are you talking about?"

"You, Alistair." She finally whirled on him, her eyes ablaze with emotion. "You're King Maric's son! You cannot deny that fact, no matter how much you want to. And, it pains me to say it, but you are the best person to sit on that throne, Alistair. You are kind, compassionate and strong. You say you are not a leader, but I have seen that quality shine in you from time to time. And, if that is your path, I cannot follow you down it as anything other than...than a friend. I am an elf. I am a mage. A feared, lesser being." She was trembling, trying to keep her voice quiet so as not to wake the others.

He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. "Don't say that. Don't ever say that."

"But it's true, even if you don't think it."

Without warning, he crushed her up against him, his arms locking tightly around her waist. The cold, hard metal of his armour pressed against her cheek and steamed under her breath, but she paid it no heed.

"I should go." She whispered. "You need to keep watch and…I'm up next."

His arms instinctively tightened. "I don't want to be king." He murmured softly. He sounded so much like a frightened child and her heart ached with sadness for him. Very slowly she reached up with her arms and encircled them loosely around him. His armour felt so cold through the fabric of her robe and she shuddered.

"No one's going to force you, Ali." She replied just as quietly. She didn't like this sad, serious Alistair. She missed his 'witty one-liners' and his lopsided smiles; made more radiant by the boyish gleam in his eyes. Was love supposed to make a person so sad? She'd always thought it to be the most wonderful thing one could experience. Now she was starting to think it had all been lies.

"When I'm around you…" He was continuing, maybe picking up from where she had interrupted earlier? "I just…I can't think straight and…I feel like I'm going crazy." His hands found her shoulders again and he gently pushed her away so that he could look into her eyes.

Neria blinked and met his gaze warily.

"Uh, what I'm trying to say is…I've come to care for you…a great deal and I…well, I think you care for me too, if that spontaneous kiss was anything to go by?" The smile was returning to his face.

"But—"

"—No, hang on a second. Let me speak. I know you're worried about the future. I am, too, but…do you…do you think maybe we can just pretend like that stuff isn't going to happen and just…well…make the most of what time we have?" He winced, clearly unsure if that had sounded as he had meant it to. "I don't need to become king. We don't have to be apart when all this comes to an end…"

"But what if you had to make a choice?" Neria murmured sadly. "Between your duty as a Grey Warden and the woman you…" She flushed, "the woman you care for. It's a possibility, Alistair, and…I wouldn't want you to be put in that position."

He shook his head. "With so many doubts, it's almost unthinkable that you would have kissed me in the first place." He grinned.

"The doubts came after." She admitted reluctantly. "Most of them, anyway."

"Ah."

"I had an untimely lecture from Wynne. That woman is…perceptive."

"She's scary." The man corrected. "In any case, to answer your question, do you think it will make a difference now? Whether we…pursue this thing or not, my feelings aren't about to go away." His hand came up to cradle her face, his thumb brushing softly against her cheek. She reached up to press her hand over his own, finding herself aggravated by the metal that protected it. With a small sound of irritation, she grasped his fingers and prised the gauntlet off of him.

He laughed. "So, what do you say? Want to make the most of our alone time out here?"

She knew he was only teasing, but decided to play along, if only to see the embarrassment blossom there on his face. She stepped closer, though her mind was telling her that this was wrong, that she should have heeded Wynne's advice. She shoved those miserable thoughts away and reached up, touching his face timidly with the pads of her fingers.

He drew closer still, lowering his head so that his face came close to hers. The skin that was touched by his breath tingled with excitement and though she opened her mouth to make one last attempt at ending this before it had begun, the words died on her lips.

Maybe they could keep this secret. Maybe Wynne didn't have to know.

They kissed, hesitantly at first, their bodies pressed as close as Alistair's armour would allow. And, though it started off gentle and exploratory, it only took a few moments for their concealed passion to reveal itself. Then they were lost to the world, drowning in the sensations their joined lips brought them, revelling in this newfound desire that neither truly understood but both wanted to make the most of.

Regretfully, the lack of breath forced them to part and Neria lifted her eyes shyly up to meet his own. Her heart was still pounding against her ribs and her face was flushed. Her ragged breathing almost matched his own and she reached up again to press a kiss to the corner of his smiling mouth.

An exaggerated coughing broke them from their moment and, in shock, they broke apart, Neria's hands still fiercely gripping the gauntlet she had removed earlier.

Even in the darkness, it was still easy to pick out the huge, stone form of the golem standing at the edge of the campsite. The glowing crystals imbedded into the stones of the body constantly glowing, whether light was present or not.

Neria flushed brilliantly, cursing herself for forgetting that not everyone in the camp was asleep. Shale didn't sleep. Ever.

"I think it's about time that it got a room." The golem spoke, though not without amusement in its tone.

Beside her, Alistair gave an embarrassed, strangled sound and hung his head.

Neria was pretty sure that this was the shortest kept secret in known history.

FIN~