The fires were dying down as everyone present began to sober and get their affects together. The entire party would be parting soon, half of it going with newly crowned King Alistair to Denerim; the other half with Neria Surana, the new commander of the Grey Wardens, to Southern Ferelden to begin rebuilding the order. As Neria walked through the crowd, she was happy to see Leliana and Wynne packing their things to go with her. Of the many friends she'd made fighting the most recent Blight, there were a few that held a more special place in her heart.
But perhaps the most special place belonged to the blonde-haired man who sat chatting with his men at a fire, whose dark eyes swept over Neria briefly as she walked by. She offered a small nod and continued on, her leather boots noiseless in the camp. It felt wrong to keep going, but she wasn't sure what would come out of her mouth if she paused to say goodbye.
She didn't have to go far. Within moments she heard armor clanging behind her, and the familiar call of her longtime friend. "Neria, hold up," he said, jogging lightly to catch up. Stiffly she turned, regarding him cautiously. "You're not going to leave like that, are you?"
The elf mage opened her mouth to say something, but nothing tumbled out. A soft smile flashed across his features. "Maybe you were," he said. "But I can't let you go- like that-" He scratched at his neck nervously. Neria could swear she felt a shift in the ground below her as they recognized familiarity in each other: Alistair's shyness, his awkward giggle, the brush of red on his cheeks. Neria smiled, and shook her head.
"You're going to make a good king, Alistair," she managed at last.
He laughed lightly. "We'll see about that. I still have trouble putting on my shoes."
"At least you'll have a royal servant to help with that?"
The two laughed in unison at the idea of some poor servant tying the laces on Alistair's boots. Then a silence fell between them.
It was the new king that broke it.
"I'm going to miss you, Neria."
There was a thick lump in her throat, one that Neria wasn't certain she could choke down. "I-" she stammered and paused, searching for the right words. With a swallow she tried again. "Duncan would be proud of you."
Alistair's brows wrinkled and she could swear he was tearing up. But before he could say anything else, an armored man on a horse called out to him. "Ah- yes, I'll be right there," he yelled in response.
If she count how many times he'd said that same thing to her, while stumbling through the camp in the early morning with a shadow of a beard on his jaw, one that she liked kissing when they were alone... one that was always gently pressed into her neck as his hands pulled her closer, explored the small of her back, ran up her thighs.. Neria swallowed, and before she knew it, she was throwing herself in his arms and seeking out his lips again, one last time, just once more before everything ended-
She found Alistair hesitate for a moment, probably out of surprise, but then lean against her into the kiss. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close, but she could not fool herself and say that it was like any other day, any other kiss.
The two lingered for a few minutes longer. When she pulled back, there was a bit of moisture on her cheek.
"Goodbye, Alistair."
She turned away and started to run towards her own camp, and didn't dare look back.