Weakness

It had been too long since Alistair had received any correspondence from his beloved, Laina. Far too long. To say he was worried would have been a vast understatement, but what could he do? He could search for her, but the Inquisition needed him.

He almost laughed at the prospect that anyone of any importance needed him. Him. Alistair Theirin. Bastard son of... Well, none of that mattered anymore.

Possibly the worst part about her being gone was the calling. No matter what he did it was always there. A constant pressure upon his very being, clawing at his skull, telling him his life was over. Sometimes it wasn't so bad, but most of the time he wanted nothing more than to lock himself in a room and cry. He prayed to the Maker every day and every night that his love would succeed. Until then, he would wait.

To pass the time, Alistair had been granted permission from the Inquisition's commander, Cullen, to train with the troops.

Cullen had eagerly agreed. "It'll give the recruits a real challenge," he'd said with a chuckle.

So, every morning Alistair woke up and sparred with the rest of the soldiers. Occasionally, he'd show them a few tricks he'd learned over the years, and they listened. No matter how many years had passed, he would never get used to the way people looked up to him after the blight. He still half expected Morrigan to swoop in out of nowhere and make various disgusted noises at him.

Morrigan was another story all together. She'd joined the Inquisition shortly before he had, and she had been... kind to him. Kind! Could such a word even be used in the same sentence as Morrigan without all of Thedas bursting into flames? Her son had changed her. His son. Their son.

His stomach knotted up every time he saw the boy. Kieran, his name was.

"He's just a normal boy," Morrigan had said. He could hardly believe it. Kieran was half his, after all.

He shook those thoughts from his mind. They made his head hurt worse than normal, and that was not something he needed at that moment.

A cool chill swept across Alistair's bare skin; his undershirt having been forgotten on top of one of the fence posts. He stood in the center of a small ring waiting for Cullen to send in another recruit. They had been testing the mettle of the newest members of the Inquisition. It was a slow grueling task, but it kept his mind occupied.

Most of the time.

The next recruit that stepped into the ring was known around the hold as The Champ. He'd come to Skyhold along with a small group of soldiers from some noble in Orlais. Apparently, he'd been a big deal back home. Alistair internally scoffed at the nickname. The kid had shown promise, sure, but he was a pup barely off the teat.

Alistair shook out his shoulders, and resumed his stance.

"You ready to be put into your place, Old Man," he asked sneering as he knocked his shield with the flat of his sword.

Alistair feigned hurt, "Ow... You've wounded me with your cruel words. How can I possibly go on?"

The Champ opened his mouth to retort, but Cullen interjected, "Shut up, recruit. We haven't got all day."

The younger man frowned and grumbled something under his breath, but otherwise did as he was told.

There were a number of things to improve before he could even strike a blow. Clearly his luck in previous bouts had gone to his head. His stance reeked with arrogance. Had he been against a real opponent, he would be in serious danger, but, alas, Alistair would go easy on him. It didn't do well to royally beat the crap out of someone in training.

Cullen seemed to frown upon that sort of behavior.

Alistair waited for The Champ to strike the first blow, and was not kept waiting long. He blocked the blow as if he were waving a fly out of his face. The recruit continued the onslaught with reckless waves of his sword looking for a weak spot. He would find none. Alistair had trained too hard and fought too long to let some kid "put him in his place."

It was clear early on that the young recruit had been putting all his energy into each stroke of his blade. He didn't have the kind of stamina to keep it up for very long, but his pride kept him from giving up. Perseverance was a good quality to have, but lack of skill made his attacks sloppy. Well, sloppier than they had been before.

Just before the match was over Alistair felt something brush across his subconscious. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Darkspawn? Here? And they were close. Too close. Why hadn't he sensed them before? More importantly, why wasn't anyone freaking out?

He had to be daft. The calling must be messing with him. Again. What would darkspawn be doing this far up into the mountains? It would be the first time, but that was during a Blight. They'd been pretty quiet since the archdemon had been slain.

As the presence in his mind grew stronger the more concerned Alistair had become. Why hasn't anyone stopped them?

And then he felt something very familiar. One of the creatures stood out among the rest. One he recognized, though he could not believe it.

Maker's breath... Could it be?

Alistair paused, leaving himself open to a particularly strong blow from The Champ. His shield slammed hard into his left cheek and sent him reeling backwards. He caught himself on one of the rails.

The sound of a dog barking in the distance broke through the cheers from the surrounding recruits. He was vaguely aware of Cullen asking if he was alright and hauling him to his feet over the din both inside and outside his head.

He scanned the faces of everyone, but couldn't find who he was desperately searching for. Hopping the fence, he made his way through the crowd. It was like wading through a river opposing the current.

The barking grew louder, more excited, as he pushed his way through the recruits. He could barely make out the brown mabari prancing and hopping around, overwhelmed by the new sights and smells.

And then he saw her.

Her long black hair had grown since the last time he saw her. It fell over her shoulders in waves all the way down to her lower back, and her long pointed ears defiantly poked out through the strands. She held her staff with a firm grip for support. She appeared to have been limping. When her beautiful green eyes finally found him she dropped it. Her mouth opened as if to say something, but couldn't.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and a smile blossomed onto her face. His heart skipped a beat when he finally reached her, taking her into his arms. He held her tightly still unsure if she was real.

"Alistair," she breathed.

"Laina... I missed you so much," he nearly sobbed into the crook of her neck.

Her hands ran across his bare back as she held him. "I missed you too," she said softly.

He pulled back just enough to bring his lips to hers. She whimpered when his tongue ran along her lower lip, allowing him entrance, deepening the kiss. Their hands were everywhere trying to memorize every new detail. She dragged her nails down his back, along his jaw, and through his hair. He groaned into her mouth.

All too soon she broke the kiss. Her eyes examined his face with a look of concern as she stroked his hair, "Alistair," she said breathlessly, "what happened to your face?"

He looked at her dumbstruck for a long moment and then he realized what she was talking about. "Sparring accident," he said sheepishly.

She smiled up at him. When he felt the familiar warmth of her healing magic on his cheek he leaned into her palm. "I'm really tired of people trying to kill you, love."

He chuckled, "You and me both."

"Uh... guys?" Sigrun approached the couple with a devious smirk on her face. "You've drawn the attention of... well... everyone."

Alistair looked up to see everyone in the yard staring at them. His cheeks heating up with embarrassment. A few of the soldiers nodded in approval, some looked downright shocked, and everyone else tried to act as if they hadn't seen anything.

A nervous chuckle escaped Laina's lips, "Uh... perhaps we could go some place private?"

Alistair turned to her with a boyish grin, "Of course! There are... things we must discuss. Private Grey Warden things."

"And what are we supposed to do," asked Sigrun gesturing to Nathaniel, who was looking about the recruits with disdain, and Laina's war hound, D'Artagnan, who was still bouncing around with excitement.

Laina smiled down at her, "Play nice with the other kids, Sigrun."

"I can't guarantee anything, Commander, but I'll do my best," she replied with a wink.

Laina freed herself from Alistair's hold to retrieve her forgotten staff laying in the grass. "Where to," she asked smiling up at him.

"I have a room not far from here," he said taking her small hand in his and led her to a flight of stairs leading up to one of the towers on the battlements. He couldn't help but notice her limping. "Are you alright, love?" He stopped them just before the steps.

"Yes," she said, though she didn't sound convincing. He frowned at her and she continued, "We ran into some crazed templars on the way out here. One of them got lucky."

"Laina."

She rolled her eyes, but smiled in spite of herself, "I'll be fine, Alistair. Besides, I'm not the one who had a giant gash on my face. I can't remember the last time someone bested you in a sparring match."

"He got lucky," Alistair said defensively.

"Lucky?"

"He found my weakness."

She raised an eyebrow, "And that is...?"

His smiled spread across his entire face as he lowered himself to nuzzle her cheek. "You," he whispered in her ear, and with that he lifted her up off the ground and carried her the rest of the way to his quarters where they could finally be together. Forever this time.