1. A Hard Choice

She knew this was coming, it was inevitable, though she wished it would come a little later; she didn't feel entirely ready yet, and she liked to feel ready for any situation, on the battlefield and off.

It was dark now, and she was doing her usual rounds of the camp, making sure her companions were all as content as was possible in these circumstances. Zeus was happily gnawing on a veal bone that she'd given to him, after picking it up from a merchant in Denerim; Shale was playing splat-a-pigeon; and Morrigan was in the far corner of the camp, as always, comsumed in reading through her mother's real grimoire. 'I should probably go back and deal with Flemeth properly' she thought to herself as she watched Morrigan; she had left Flemeth alive when she went to retrieve the grimoire, knowing only too well that Flemeth was far more powerful than she and her party, and, wanting more than anything to protect her dear friends, she had made a deal with Flemeth, with every intention of going back on her word later, when they were better prepared. Presently, Sten was arguing with Wynne about the necessity of humans, and Oghren was sitting outside his tent, enjoying the ale in his Beard Flask. Zevran. She gazed at Zevran across the fire for a few moments longer than was strictly necessary; he felt her gaze upon him and gave her a knowing smile and a wink before returning to sharpening his Crow dagger. This dazzled her into immobility for a second before she reassembled herself to turn and look upon Alistair.

Alistair. How he knocked the wind out of her every time she saw him. It was that way ever since they had first met. Nothing had changed in that respect. He was fair haired, with a kind face; there were little lines on his forehead, left there from all the laughing in which he partook. He was broad shouldered and muscular; a result of being a warrior, and tall, or tall in her eyes; Elves were much smaller in stature than humans.

As she looked at him now though, she could see that he was troubled, deep in thought, he had a furrow in his brow and he was fiddling restlessly with one of his new Juggernaut gloves, which she had acquired for him. Alistair sat by the camp fire, away from his other companions. He was uneasy, almost impatient, she thought. 'Better just get it over with, I guess' she sighed heavily as she walked quietly over to where he sat.

"Dimuerta", he said sullenly. He had been waiting for her, of course, and he could hear her oh-so-light footsteps on the earth now. Only she could move with such grace.

"Alistair" she said in reply, and came to sit beside him.

As she sat there, he couldn't help but stare at her. She was perfect, down to the very last detail. Her white blonde hair was billowing around her face in the breeze, like a blizzard in the depths of winter. Her skin was almost as pale, except for the faintest hint of pink just below the surface of her cheeks, which deepened readily whenever she was complimented, which was something that Alistair tried to do often, if only to see that rose petal colour in her cheeks. Her eyes were big, and of the most mesmerising emerald green that he had ever seen; he had often noticed a shimmering quality to the colour, sometimes they seemed to swirl with silver, other times laced with gold. Her lips were full and perfectly shaped, and often distracted Alistair to the point of stopping mid sentence to hold his breath in an attempt not to attack those lips with the full force of his longing.

She was an Elf, and a mage, and by any human's – not to mention Templar's – standards, he should not even entertain the ideas that were in his mind almost constantly now. Alistair had decided long ago though that he did not care what others thought, or would think, that is, if she felt the same way. He thought she did, she had said so before, though not in so many words. He could not imagine life without this woman, now. This deadly, incredible woman. He could feel his desire boiling to the surface of his skin, and he felt as though he might burst at any second.

"Hamin, emma lath." she breathed at the same time putting a delicate hand on his knee.

His heart jumped into his throat. 'Maker's Breath! She'll be the death of me!'

Alistair had picked up some basic Elvish simply from having been travelling with two Elves for what had been almost a year. He knew exactly what she had said to him. 'Relax, my love' he churned this over in his mind. What did that mean? Could she tell he was tense, anxious? 'Of course she can, you idiot' he thought to himself, 'She's the most intuitive person I've ever met. You read like a book for her, Alistair'. And what about the 'my love' part? Was he her love? She was certainly his, and had been since the first day he met her. He had realised this after the battle at Ostagar, when he thought she had perished with the other Grey Wardens. That was when he first knew he loved her. As he was reliving the moment that he had found her to be alive, he looked at her, and for the first time noticed that she looked concerned. She definitely knew what he was so worked up about, he decided. 'Well, no backing out now' he shifted his weight to lean closer to her, to make sure that no one but she could hear what he had to say. He gulped loudly as he tried to control his nerves.

"So let me ask you something" he spluttered, "a personal question."

She looked deep into his eyes. He was so nervous. He was helplessly adorable when he was nervous. Oftentimes he would use humour to try and cover up his unease, but there was no hint of humour in those dark brown eyes tonight. She held back a sigh.

"What kind of personal question?" She rather hoped it would be one that she was longing to hear him ask, though she already knew that it was not.

"Well... you and Zevran seem to have gotten... quite close..." he seemed to struggle to get the words out.

"I suppose we have." She did not want to speak of this with Alistair, but she could not lie to him, and she knew that he deserved to know. She felt so selfish and rotten, but in truth she loved them both.

How different they both were! She loved Zevran for his open and upfront personality, his shameless flirting, his long golden hair, and his handsome Elven looks; youthful, though undeniably hardened from a life as an assassin. She knew that he cared for her too, though he denied this to himself; assassins are trained to disregard all emotions. But Alistair, Alistair was something else entirely. He was young and naive, pure of heart, brave, strong, handsome, yet goofy and clumsy also, and hopelessly romantic and sweeter than any man she had ever encountered. There simply was nothing else like him in the world. She knew where this conversation was leading and that she would have to make a choice. She had been foolish to let herself get so close to both men, and she hated to hurt either one of them, but she was unequivocally in love with Alistair, and she could not let him go. She sincerely hoped that Zevran would understand, and that they could stay as close friends. 'Oh what a miserable mess I have made!' she thought.

"I need to know. Is it me, or him?" Alistair fixed his eyes upon the ground between his feet, a look of determination on his face; clearly, he was trying his hardest not to make eye contact. It was either because he was feeling guilty for making her choose like this, or because he did not want her to see his face if she decided to choose Zevran. She thought it was most likely for both of those reasons.

"Don't make me decide between you, Alistair" She replied this way for Zevran's sake; she knew he would be able to hear everything, Elves have far superior hearing to any human, and so she hoped that this answer to Alistair's blunt question would let Zevran know that she loved him, too.

"If you can't, well that's entirely your decision, but, then, I-I can't do this. I can't." He stammered as his eyes welled up. He snapped his head back down and scrunched his eyes together, as if he were waiting for the killing blow.

"You're right. My decision has been made. I choose you." She almost choked on the words as she spoke them; she knew she was making the right decision, yet it was still so hard to say aloud.

"Thank you. So much." He sighed, "I have one more question for you, then." He seemed to relax a little. His head was raised now, though his eyes struggled to meet hers, still. They seemed to be watching her lips rather intently, however.

She smiled a little then, "Oh?" no matter how wretched she felt for causing Alistair and Zevran pain, she could never keep a smile from her face for very long with Alistair around.

"How do you feel about-about me?"

"You tell me first" she teased gently.

"Yes, I suppose that's only fair," he chuckled lightly before clearing his throat, "I have come to care for you a great deal. Do you-I mean, could you... feel the same way about me?"

She felt a blush rise to her cheeks as she answered, "I think I already do."

His lip curled up at the corner into a half smile, "Good. I'm glad that's all cleared up" and almost before he had gotten the words out he had reached out and pulled her to him, and kissed her fervently, but gently, before she had had time to even blink. "Was that too soon?" he let go of her; hesitantly, she noted.

"No, not really." She encouraged, "I liked it." She looked up at him from underneath her eyelashes in an attempt to show him just how much she had liked it.

"Good-Maker's Breath but you're beautiful! I am a lucky man." Suddenly he seemed to realise just how intense it had all gotten and he cleared his throat again, more loudly this time. "Right, well, we should get back to what we were doing before... lest I forget what we are all here for in the first place!" he grinned affectionately at her, and ever so lightly stroked her still blushing cheek with the back of his hand, before heaving out a sigh and getting to his feet.