It's been the worst day of your entire life, which, if you had the energy to catalogue the last few months, would be really sodding saying something. Somehow you make it back to camp, you're a little vague on the details of exactly how. You can feel the other's eyes on you back as you fumble with the buckles of your armor, desperate to be free of its weight. Everything, from your last look into your mother's eyes to the horrible, unforgivable choice you made back at Redcliff Castle a few hours ago is pressing down on you with such force it's hard to breathe.
"Elissa." His voice sounds strange in your ears, hard and cold. You've never heard him sound like this before. Without warning he's at your shoulder speaking in what he thinks is a low steady voice.
"We need to talk." He hisses and you look up in time to see Morrigan and Sten exchange a tight glance. "I want to talk about what happened, at Redcliff."
You are so tired. You know where this heading.
"You were there." You say, tossing the last piece of your plate steel onto your bedroll and refusing to meet his eyes. "You know what happened."
"Yes. I do." He steps around, blocking you path, forcing you to look him in the face. "You killed Connor…a little boy. He's dead now…because of you! How could you do that?" His voice is rising, as if his awareness of your crime is still sinking in.
"I didn't enjoy it Alistair." You snap, too sick with guilt to try and reason.
"This is the Arl's son we're talking about!" He's yelling now. Out of the corner of you eye you see the others pulling back into the shadows of their tents. "What do you think he'll say when we revive him?" The fury in his face cannot mask the raw grief roiling out of him. You can't pretend to understand what he's going through. He's just as lost and afraid as you are, maybe more. At least you understand who they expect you to be. The entire situation is a well constructed noose pulling ever tighter around his neck. You know this.
Knowing doesn't help.
Knowing doesn't make the accusation in his eyes hurt less. It doesn't erase the fact that Alistair, the one good thing left in your life, the one person you think you could love, is standing there not believing that you would have made a choice like that unless there were no other options available. You don't know if you can ever forgive him for that. You're sure you can't forgive yourself.
"I owe the Arl more than this." He says, and his anger is gone, leaving nothing but anguish and guilt behind. Good, let him see what it feels like.
"I did the best I could." You say, your own anger deserting you the turncoat it is and making it hard to keep you voice from breaking over the worlds. "And if you think there will be even a single moment of the rest of my life when I don't wish today had never happened. Then you know nothing about me."
You turn, desperate to get as far away from his as possible. He reaches out, tries to grab your arm.
"Elissa, wait."
"No!" You can feel tears pressing against the backs of you eyes and you refuse to let him see you cry. Anger is the only answer. "And since you're so keen to talk about this, where were you when I was stuck in that room with the Arlessa and her dying child? What do you even know about what happened? What do you know about anything except you own suffering?" His face is bloodless, his hand still frozen halfway to your arm. You take savage pleasure in it.
"Has it ever once occurred to you that you are not the only one to have lost much on this journey? That you are not the only member of this company to feel the weight of responsibility? I think you've been far too caught up in your own pain and loneliness to care much about the rest of us. " This isn't fair and you know it. You don't care.
"So before you judge me for doing to best I could in the middle of a nightmare, why don't you take a good hard look at your own choices. I think you'll find we both have that child's blood on our hands."
You turn on you heel and stride into the forest. You make it about a hundred yards before the weight pressing on your chest makes it impossible to take another step. You sink to your knees in the damp earth and struggle vainly to pull air into your empty lungs. All you can see is Connor's tiny body, still and cooling even has his blood spills over your hands burning your skin, blistering your fingers. And then it isn't Connor any more, it's your little nephew Oren. Its Oriana, then your mother, then your father…all of them watching you with empty accusing eyes as the sea of blood rises up to drown you.
You find you are sobbing and choking and wreching up what little food you've managed to get down. Your moth is full of acid and bile and you've never in your life wished more sincerely that you were dead.
When his hands come down on your shoulders you wish you had the strength to shake him off, to tell him not to touch you. But you are so empty and worn, and oh—its been such a long time since you've been held, that all you can do is turn into his arms and cry like you've never cried before.
"I'm sorry." He murmurs, his own tears splashing down onto your neck. "I'm so sorry. It's all right. We're going to be all right."
You stay that way for a long time, even after your tears have dried, leaving a pounding headache in their wake. He simply holds you, one hand tracing soothing circles between your shoulder blades. He says nothing when you finally pull back, just reaches for his belt and unclips the water skin. You take it gratefully, rinsing the bitter taste out of your mouth before taking a deep drink. When he accepts the skin back and drops his head to return it to his belt you take a moment to study his face. His eyes are read and swollen, but he is calm and more at peace than he has been for weeks. When he looks up and catches you staring he smiles gently and reaches out to take your hand.
"I'm sorry." He says again. "I didn't—"
"Me either." You say and return his smile. It feels good, as if you've just remembered how. He takes your hand and presses his lips to the palm before looking you hard in the face.
"It wasn't your fault." He says, his gaze direct and piercing. "You did what had to be done. It was horrible and senseless, but it had to be done. That Demon killed Connor long before arrived at Redcliff. It wasn't your fault." He says again, his grip on your hand tightening. "I need to be sure you understand that." You squeeze his hand in return.
"I'm trying." He nods and kisses your palm again.
"But it's not just Connor." You say as he looks back up at you. "Its all of them. My family, the Wardens, the people of Redcliff Village, the Circle, the King. It ends here Alistair. We have to finish this, no matter the cost."
"Yes." He says, and you can see the fear you feel over just what that price will be reflected in his eyes. But his determination is stronger than his fear. You know it always will be.
"Whatever the cost." He leans in and kisses you, and in his touch is all the longing and hope and desire you know you can't speak of…not yet. When he pulls away you climb to your feet and offer him a hand.
"Come on," You say as he rises to stand beside you. "let's get back to camp. Morrigan is going to think we've been eaten by Darkspawn."
"Unless she's decided to scarper with all our food." He says, but th irritation he usually saves for the Witch of the Wild is missing from his voice. You take his hand, lacing your fingers together, determined to hold on as long as possible.
"Onwards?" You ask. His smile is bright as he starts back in the direction of camp.
"Always." He says.
And for now, it is enough.