((Obligatory Author's Note: I own nothing of Dragon Age or the characters; I own nothing but my character choices with the Human Female Noble. The name Keladry comes from Tamora Pierce's Protector of the Small quartet, a brilliant series of books))

Chapter One

Flashes of light…metal on metal…screams of the dying…bright, white light…an explosion!

Alistair's eyes flew open and he gasped for breath as he looked around frantically. Dear Maker, where was he?

Before the darkness took him, he had been on top of Fort Drakon, fighting the Archdemon. Keladry, his fellow Grey Warden and lover, had been there, with Leliana and Morrigan. Then the white light, the explosion, and now…

Now he was in a fairly large room, with windows letting in light and a warm breeze. He was in a soft bed, with warm covers pulled up to his chin, and a soft pillow under his head. He tried to sit up and groaned aloud as his body protested his movement loudly.

"Easy, Alistair," a familiar voice said. Alistair felt himself relax a little as he turned his head to look at Wynne. The elder enchantress sat in a chair beside his bed, watching him. When he looked at her, she smiled and nodded. "You took rather a bad fall," she continued, rising and resting her cool hand on his forehead.

"Is that why I feel like an ogre bashed me about?" Alistair asked, wincing at all the various aches and pains.

"Quite likely," Wynne agreed. "You had some broken bones. Your armor kept you from getting too badly cut, but it couldn't save you from the effects of being thrown against a wall. We saw the end of the fight from the gates and came running as soon as we could clear the darkspawn from our path."

Alistair thought back, frowning a little. "I remember fighting the Archdemon," he said slowly. "We got it down, badly wounded, but I'd been knocked down a few times already. I was so sluggish…couldn't move fast enough." He sat bolt upright, ignoring the pain. "Keladry!" he exclaimed. "She killed it! Where is she? Oh Maker, is she alive?"

"Peace, Alistair," Wynne said, gently pushing against his shoulder and making him lie down again. When he settled, she said, "Yes, she's alive."

Alistair sagged back onto the pillows, limp with relief. "I thought I'd lost her," he said softly. "She killed it; stuck that starmetal sword into it and tore its head to shreds. That was the light you saw."

"And the explosion?" Wynne asked quietly.

"When she ripped the sword from its head," Alistair said absently. Then his eyes widened and he stared at Wynne. "Is she all right?" he asked, feeling his heart rate pick up again. "Maker's breath, she was right on top of that thing when it blew up!"

"Ah, that explains much," Wynne said. "When we arrived, you and Leliana were flung against a wall, unconscious. Keladry…" She bit her lip and looked at her hands.

"What?" Alistair begged.

"We had to dig her out of the Archdemon's remains," Wynne said flatly. "Jump did most of that; he was frantic to find her. When we finally found her, we had to get her right to the healers. They didn't think she would make it through the night; the explosion drove pieces of the Archdemon's body into her skin, and shattered some of her bones. But she's stronger than they thought; she pulled through and is resting now."

"Resting?" Alistair asked, his lips feeling numb. "How long has it been?"

"Three days," Wynne said. "She hasn't woken yet, but I'm not troubled about that; her spirit is intact within her, and her body is healing. Given time, she will wake."

Alistair absorbed the information, then slid to the edge of the bed and swung his legs over. "I want to see her," he said.

Wynne nodded, unsurprised. "Wait a moment," she urged. "You are still weak from blood loss and the healing we had to do on you, and I am not strong enough to support you."

That was good sense, so Alistair waited while Wynne went to the door and disappeared down the hall. A moment later, she returned with Sten. The qunari looked down at the Grey Warden and almost smiled. "So you yet live," he said.

"Yes," Alistair said, eyeing the big man warily. While Sten was devoted to Keladry, calling her Kadan, Alistair got the sense Sten never quite trusted him. Well, the qunari was hardly in a minority with that opinion, and right now, he didn't care what Sten thought of him.

"And you wish to see your fellow Grey Warden," Sten continued. A troubled look flicked across his face. "I have rarely seen one with such injuries survive," he said bluntly. "She will not look as you remember her."

"I still want to see her," Alistair said stubbornly.

Sten sighed and looked at Wynne. "It appears Oghren owes you five silvers," he said.

"And I will collect from him as soon as I am sure the Grey Wardens are settled," Wynne said with a rather self-satisfied smile. "I told him Alistair would want to see Keladry as soon as he woke."

"I'm still sitting right here, you know," Alistair said.

"So you are," Wynne smiled. "Come."

Alistair didn't need a second invitation. He got up and wobbled a little on his weak legs. The healing done on him must have been really thorough; though he ached all over, he saw that there were no open wounds, and he didn't feel the familiar stab of broken bones. Unfortunately, such a deep healing took a lot from the one being healed. He had a feeling he was going to be rather weak in the legs for a while.

Sten offered him an arm for support, and Alistair snickered to himself as he thought, "What, does this mean we're going steady now, Sten?" He kept his comment to himself, though; he doubted Sten would get the joke. Instead, he took the arm and walked out of his room, Wynne leading the way. He felt rather odd, being out of armor for the first extended time in a while. He wore a soft sleeping shirt and trousers, and his feet were bare. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to move around for more than a few minutes without automatically adjusting for the weight of a sword and shield.

Keladry's room was just down the hall from his. Alistair could tell which was hers right away; Zevran lounged just outside the door, looking lazy and bored. Only someone who had traveled with the assassin would notice his flicking eyes and realize his laziness was that of a cat waiting for the mouse to peep out of its hole. Wynne opened the door for Alistair, and the Crow and Grey Warden exchanged brief nods as Alistair passed.

Leliana was in Keladry's room, sitting beside her bed with a book in her hand. Though she had presumably been knocked about as much as Alistair, she looked a little better than he felt. She wore a light blue dress that complimented her red hair, and when she looked up from her reading, Alistair saw the bruises fading on her face. "He's awake!" the bard exclaimed happily. "Praise the Maker!"

Alistair coughed, a little uncomfortable, and smiled as he leaned against the doorframe. Sten released him and went back out into the hallway, where he took up a guarding position. "Yeah, guess it wasn't time for me to die yet," he said, trying for a note of levity. "How is…" His eyes flicked to Keladry's bed, and he stopped breathing.

His beloved was lying on her back, her eyes closed and her red hair spread over the pillow. Her face was as bruised as Leliana's, with a few cuts on her cheeks and forehead. But his attention was caught and held by her bedding. Unlike him, she wasn't covered with thick blankets. A wire frame over her small body held a very thin sheet over her, presumably protecting her from getting too cold without touching her body. The implications of that…he'd seen patients who were badly burned covered like that before.

Alistair felt his knees go weak, and the edges of his vision went grey. He swallowed hard and looked at the floor for a second, trying to regain his composure and his strength. When he felt he had a handle on himself, he walked to Keladry's bedside and sat on the edge of her bed. The bed was enormous, taking up easily half of the room; he had to scoot a bit to get close enough to actually see Keladry.

From there, he had an unparalleled view under the sheet, and he thought he was going to vomit for a moment. Wynne had done her best to describe what had happened, but what words could prepare Alistair for what met his eyes? Under the sheet, Keladry was completely bare, leaving nothing to the imagination.

To be perfectly blunt, the young Grey Warden looked like she'd fallen into a pit of blades and rolled around a few times. Most of her body was covered with scabbing cuts, and pieces of flesh seemed to be missing entirely. And she was terribly skinny. She'd always been slender, but this looked more like starvation; her ribs stood starkly against her skin, as did her hipbones.

"How are you feeding her?" he asked, his voice husky.

"The same way we fed you," Wynne said. "We mash the food until it is soft enough to slide down her throat without her having to be awake. Her body can swallow without her being awake, but it can't manage chewing."

That explained his sore throat, and why Keladry looked so skinny. Between the energy needed to heal her and the light diet—especially since she was still in the voracious eater stage of being a new Grey Warden—she simply didn't have any reserves left. He swallowed again. "What can I do?" he asked.

"She is well guarded," Wynne said. "Zevran pointed out, and we agreed, that if any of Arl Howe's old associates wanted to hurt her, this would be the best time for them. Sten, Oghren and Zevran take turns guarding her night and day. Leliana reads to her, and I monitor her health." There was a soft whine from the foot of the bed and Jump sat up, looking at Alistair with his intelligent eyes. "Of course, how could I forget?" Wynne asked with a smile. "Jump guards her from in here; if anyone manages to get past the door guards, he will do whatever necessary."

"So what can I do?" Alistair repeated.

"The best thing you can do is be with her," Leliana said softly. "She worries about you."

Alistair's eyebrows went up. "I thought you said she hasn't woken," he said.

"She hasn't," Wynne said. "But she dreams a great deal. Your name is spoken most often, usually with great agitation. Something about watching her back while she worked the ballista?"

Alistair nodded, still looking at Keladry's pale face. Her skin was almost as white as the sheet covering her. "The ballista was the key to our success," he said. "Without them, we couldn't have gotten as close as we did to actually kill it."

"Interesting," Leliana said, in the tone of someone who is making extensive mental notes for some future project. "When she dreams, she thrashes about quite a bit. We think she can sense, even in her dream, that you are not close by her. This distresses her."

"That's all I can do?" Alistair asked, a lump forming in his throat. "Just…be beside her?"

"Unless you developed a healing ability when I wasn't looking," Wynne said briskly. She softened when she saw Alistair's stricken expression. "She has a small army of healers tending to her," she said. "I remain through the day because she is my friend and I care about her, but she is healing well on her own." Alistair made a soft incredulous noise, and Wynne nodded. "I am glad you were not here when we first brought her into this room," she said. "Except for her face, she was hardly recognizable as a human. Her armor did a lot to keep her safe, but even dragonskin can only handle so much. We packed the armor off to Master Wade for repairs as soon as we knew she would live through the night."

Alistair's sight misted over, and he nodded a little. Moving with extreme care, he slid closer to Keladry and stretched out next to her, feeling the strain in his body from his own healing.

Wynne and Leliana exchanged a look over his head. Leliana shrugged a little. "If you want me to surrender my chair, I will," she offered.

"What?" Alistair asked, lifting his head a little.

Wynne considered a moment, then shook her head a little. "No, her cuts are healed enough," she decided. "And if she feels Alistair beside her, she may not thrash in her sleep."

"What's the problem?" Alistair asked.

"I was a little concerned that you might roll over in your sleep and hurt her," Wynne said. "But it should be all right. Just try to remember the wire frame is there; it won't do you any good to try and hug that."

Alistair smiled and closed his eyes as he let his head rest on the pillow again. "Maker, I'm tired," he murmured.

"Good," Wynne encouraged gently. "Now, sleep. You have your own healing to finish."

She might have said more, but Alistair missed it; he slipped into sleep gratefully.