Disclaimer; I don't own Dragon Age.
Heartbreak
Alistair knew from the moment he first set eyes on her that she would break his heart.
It wasn't that she was so extraordinarily beautiful. She was tall and too thin and had tired wrinkles under her eyes that made her look older than she was, and she was the kind of pale one usually associates with severe blood loss. But her hair was the color of fire and her eyes were a startling blue color, and they almost made up for how clearly defined her every feature was, sharp and clear and not-quite-attractive.
And it was her eyes that gave him his first chill of foreboding. They were cool and clear and seemed to dance when she laughed, a startled, high sound that almost offended the senses but that he couldn't get enough of. They were so alive sometimes, dancing and playing and moving with the grace of the rivers. But then sometimes they'd go quiet, and dead, and her whole face would collapse into a mask of absent-minded apathy as she stared past him, there but not quite present.
He could draw her out of it, sometimes. He could make her smile, and laugh, and he could pull her out of herself when no one else could. So when she recruited Zevran, when she fell for him, Alistair contented himself with the knowledge that as much as she wanted the assassin, she still needed him, because not even Zevran could help her the way he could.
He thought that would be enough. He thought that he could save her from herself, from that place she went when she wasn't really with them, when she stared off into the distance like she was seeing and hearing things that weren't really there. And even if he wasn't enough, he thought that Zevran would make up the difference.
He should have known better.
When they left Riordan's room that night, with the knowledge of how the archdemon died fresh in their minds, she was different. When he looked at her, there was a strange light to her face, one that made her look healthier. Her eyes were more alive than he'd ever seen them. And he thought, in that moment, that he had been wrong to try and save her.
There was nothing left to save.
She left him behind when they reached the gates of Denerim, as he knew she would. She left him standing there with Zevran, the man she loved and the one she needed, and she walked to her death with a smile on her face, and he didn't stop her, didn't make her stop and think about what she was doing and why she was doing it, didn't remind her of Zevran, and how much he loved her, or of himself, and how much he wanted her.
He always knew she would break his heart.
It had never occurred to him that maybe he wanted her to.