Consider EA property of Dragon Age and other such silly affiliates disclaimed. I do but engage the humble art of fan fiction that is fine and delicate and... I need to start publishing original materials.

- Then -

She came to end it with me. That's the clincher. Of all the memories, this is the most dour.

Of course, I didn't know that was what she intended at the time. The way she walked up to me, you'd think she was going to ask me more about tactic, or maybe about my favourite colour, I don't know. Not... that. But looking back on it, I should have known that I couldn't read her even if I had a manual. She was always good with words. With people. Some would say manipulative; I personally prefer efficacious. Well, at least I did after I heard Wynne use the word.

So as she walked up to me like she had important business to press, I decided had to get the first word in—she was always drove the conversation, and even though she could run circles around me smarts-wise, I had to at least try. I needed to show her my worth, no matter how much she told me she saw it. Or maybe I had to prove it to myself. Yes, that's probably more likely.

My nerves turned to jelly once I opened my big mouth. "So all this time spent together... you know: the tragedy, the brushes with death, the constant battles with the whole Blight looming over us... will you miss it once it's over?"

I don't know why I decided to start there. In fact, I'm pretty sure I had a different route picked, even before she made her way over from Wynne's tent. My mouth must have chickened out on my brain. Again.

All it took to make me blush was her cocked eyebrow. And—there it was—the nervous laugh. Morrigan once tried training me not to do that stupid laugh. Gave me a shock every time I did. Nicest thing she ever did for me.

"Well... no, that's not what I meant. I just mean... travelling the high road, you know? Looking out for darkspawn, taking out rogue bandits, solving everyone else's problems." Once again, I evaded my own point.

She nearly made me sigh in relief when she started talking. "I suppose... in a way. I can't imagine what my life will be like once this is over."

"You mean you wouldn't want to return home?"

"No. To be honest, after going on these... adventures with you, going back home would be caging myself in. I would want to see my family, of course—maybe I could bring some prosperity to them—but I couldn't stay there forever. Maybe I should try rebuilding the Wardens... In any case, my mother's life is where I belong."

She never spoke much about her mother. It gave me an excuse to fall into one of those emotionally-laden silences to cover up my inability to form sentences. But then she shattered it like it was made of shoddy glass. "Why, Alistair? Would you miss it?"

I had to act fast. The faster I went, though, the worse I seemed to be at saying what I intended to. So I resorted to darting my eyes elsewhere and bumbling a bit before I got my words out. "I would actually. I would miss—er... this."

One of her playful grins pulled at her lips. "Camping off the highway? Making your waste in the bushes? Dining on roast squirrel and rubber mushrooms?"

"Don't sell yourself short—your roast squirrel is to die for."

When she laughed, I felt like there was no Blight, that the arl didn't intend to put me forward as king. Her laugh helped me forget all my troubles, including my never-ending, internal feud with myself over the complications any relationship with her would have, regardless of my potential... kinglydom, or whatever.

"I would certainly miss... this... the most as well," she said.

Looking her in the eye was not easy. I'm not a total hermit, really, but women... I never was savvy with this sort of stuff. And I knew she was so much better at talking and reading people, too. At one point I commented to someone that she could probably stare the archdemon to death, or at least make it scamper back underground with its tail between its legs. So you could imagine how abashed I felt when she gave me those eyes—the kind that were hard and soft at the same time—like she was taking me apart, little by little, looking right through me and reading my mind.

So I just went for it. Not like a lion tackling a gazelle, obviously—more like a turtle climbing stairs. The look on her face told me she knew what I was doing even before I did. Maybe I looked like I was about to take a big chunk out of a roast pig. In any case, she didn't stop me. Didn't encourage me, either. Until I was about an inch away from her face.

"I don't think..." And then she closed the distance.

Andraste's ass, but was I nervous. I didn't know what to do with my lips. But she did. At first it was kind of like being melted butter; I couldn't feel my extremities and could control much less. Then there was the arm around my neck and her pressing into parts of me—let's just say it was fairly eye-opening. Although I don't think my eyes were open at the time...

I would have given anything for it to be her blasted, stinky war dog barking—Sten growling—that Antivan clearing his throat. But it was Leliana who giggled.

I pulled away like I'd been bitten. We untangled ourselves rather clumsily—probably more on my part than hers—and she brushed some strands of hair out of her face while tugging at bits of her armour. Like she was rattled.

"That wasn't... too forward... was it?" I asked, trying to sound like some sort of confident, husky sex god, rather than the bumbling, gawky teenager I felt like.

She took in a deep breath, looked up at me, and held my gaze for a really long time. "No."

It was the softest she'd ever spoken to me; the most vulnerable she had ever appeared.

I should have seen it then.

But I didn't, of course—I've never been that swift. I smiled, probably more red in the face than a tomato, and said, "Oh, good, because I didn't have a backup plan if that fell through."

I thought she wasn't going to find that funny at first. But then there was that laugh.


When did it first start? Hmmm... Back then, I couldn't find a starting point when I realized what I was feeling. I was too new at all of that. Over the years, the "moment" has changed several times. At first I thought it was watching her in the Gauntlet, walking up to Andraste's Ashes like an old friend. Having to remove our armour and... and clothes to pass a pilgrim's test was a bit nerve-racking for me. And I tried not to stare, Maker's balls, I did. Then there was the time we met that Antivan and she just—took him in! Really, how many people do you know that would take in an assassin that failed to kill you? Honestly. I'd still deny it to most who would ever approach me on the subject, but whenever that elf—man looked at her, I... was jealous.

But after years of moodily mulling it over, I realized my epiphany popped well before all that—when we came back to Redcliffe Castle from the Circle or Magi. We brought back the First Enchanter and his assistants to save Arl Eamon's son from a desire demon. And it was no easy feat, I'll tell you, though I'm sure you've heard the story. When we marched past those gates with mages in tow... despite how broken we felt, how angry she looked at the world... I thought of her as magnificent. I certainly couldn't have done the same myself.

So I had to tell her. Naturally, I didn't know how. I decided that by the time we settled into camp again, I would have my script all laid out. It should have been easy—you'd think I had some sort of a stammer the way I go on about not being able to talk to a woman. Being raised in a place that was chockablock full of men would do that to you, I suppose.

Men! I remember thinking. That's how I'll get through this: congratulating a fellow templar on a job well done. Whenever I reminded myself that she wasn't a templar—wasn't the man I was pretending she was—I felt embarrassment crashing down on me like a tidal wave.

While she was just finishing the set-up of her tent, I ambushed her, to put it lightly. "Now that we're back at camp, I want to talk about what happened at Redcliffe."

She looked over her shoulder at me. If you could have seen it, though—alert, accusing, angry—but underneath all that, alarmed.

"I'll hear no more about my decision."

She turned back to her tent and started hammering the peg into the ground with a little more vigour than seemed necessary. Everyone had really taken a chunk out of her on the trip to the tower in the middle of Calenhad Lake. Wasting time, could have done all this a more direct way, on and on and on. Those of us who supported her didn't exactly put an effort in to defend her. We were pretty irritable about the whole journey, too, even though we had to make it sooner or later to enlist the mages; it certainly didn't help that the Circle was in absolute pandemonium when we got there.

"I just wanted to thank you, actually, for saving Connor," I replied, my voice shrinking with each syllable. "You went out of your way for someone. The arl will be grateful. I mean, I'm—I'm grateful."

She stopped pounding the peg into the ground (although by that time it was firmly embedded in the earth), and remained still and quiet. I was going to turn and leave her be when she said: "I need you, Alistair."

"Er—ahem—sorry?"

"I don't think any of that would have happened, had you not been there."

I didn't know what to say. So I did what I normally do in situations like these: I joked. "What's this? Getting all mushy on me now, turning into blubber at the feet of Alistair the Adherent?"

As serious, smart, and smooth as she was, she always laughed at my jokes. At the right times, too. Never had I met someone that could possess all the character of a noble and still be humble with a good sense of humour. "No, just being sentimental," she replied. "Thanks, Alistair."

Leliana suggested to me later that night that I should give her something that reminded me of her. I was going to go with a roast squirrel when it was delicately pointed out that dead rodents probably wouldn't convey the message I was aiming for. So Leliana started rattling off ideas—trinkets, shiny things, poems, delicacies... but I couldn't think of anything of the sort that reminded me of her. I kept imagining worn leather gloves, fine crafted swords and daggers, a bundle of poultices, maybe some trap designs. Finally Leliana came through with an idea. "Flowers are always nice; every woman treasures those."

"I've never cared for those, really, and I don't see the appeal." Morrigan had been nearby collecting water from the pump, shamelessly eavesdropping. "The fact that they are dead gonads makes the thought of them as gifts an ill one."

A flower I could do. I had picked a rose while in Ostagar (making sure that no one saw me do it); by some miracle I figured out how to dry and press it to keep it in mint condition. I had it tucked into my armour during the battle there and somehow it survived the night with me. I would give that to her—it was something females were supposed to adore, and it would have meaning, without being too wishy-washy and degrading for her tastes. I hoped.

We were stuffing ourselves with starchy stew when I dropped it in her lap like a cat might bring a dead mouse to its master. She put down her stew, picked up the flower, and examined it as if to discover its function. "Do you know what it is?" I asked, immediately feeling stupid. Of course she knew what it was, dammit. But maybe I didn't really know what it was, because she weaved it into her hair, gave me the slightest of smiles, and went back to her supper.

"It—was from Ostagar," I began, remembering I had this grand epic tale to share about its importance, to make it so much more than just a dried-up rose. She just kept smiling into her stew, scrambling my brains and making me forget the key points to my story. "I just... thought you should have it," I finished lamely. I swore to myself so profusely that the Grand Cleric would have had my head had she heard.

"I'm sure I'll be able to bring armies to their knees with this," she said idly, taking another spoonful of goopy guck. Then she flashed her eyes at me. Armies of men. Or just a bunch of me's, maybe.

Now... I can barely recall what she looked like.