After the Gauntlet

She'd been brave, that was for certain. Braver than he would have given her credit for. Not to say that the last remaining Cousland was a cowardly woman -he'd been with her from the moment she'd brought the joining chalice to her lips and had seen more feats of strength from her than he cared to count.

But the fact remained, she was young. She'd even confessed to him that she felt very overwhelmed outside the once safe walls of her home. Despite her prowess with a bow, she was little skilled in matters of the world. Not that Alistair was one to talk, but that was beside the point. She was strong for sure, but she was also naïve, soft-hearted and childish. Her duality was what he liked best about her. But it was not something he would have thought would have held up to what the Gauntlet had asked of her today.

He wasn't sure what he expected her to do. Part of him wanted to reach out to her when her father appeared before her in the low-lit marble room. He heard her sharp inhale of breath but that was all she allowed. Her face looked as if it were carved from alabaster –unchanging and just cold enough to crack if she let it. But as Bryce Cousland spoke to his daughter, she kept her composure. Her shoulders did not sag under her heavy, dusky armor. Her eyes remained dry.

When he faded away and Alistair watched her take a half-step towards him before his essence vanished completely. He opened his mouth to comfort her. He wasn't sure what he was going to say, but he felt like he had to say something. The silence was so heavy it was going to drown them all. But she broke it herself by unsheathing her longbow and murmuring a soft, "Let's continue."

She'd fought well afterwards. Cool, unresisting and disciplined. But she didn't crack any pleased smiles after a particularly trying foe had fallen, nor did she engage in much conversation as they put up camp for the night many hours and miles later. In fact, she hadn't talked to anyone since they'd been here. She'd sat by the fire with her knees drawn up and her bow by her side. The smooth finish of it reflected the flames of the fire.

Most everyone had retreated to his or her tent for the night. The campground was quiet and empty. But still she sat. Alistair was bone tired, but he couldn't imagine going to sleep knowing she was alone. He approached her from behind, intending to sit and keep her company, but before he could get a word out, she stood and turned. She startled a little at his presence. "Oh, Alistair, I didn't hear you," she said, her voice a wisp.

Maker, she looked tired. But she'd lost so much, it was hardly a surprise. When they first met at Ostagar, he did not remember her having such dark circles under her eyes. Her hair had been shinier too and her smile ready. But he imagined he looked much older to her as well.

They had both changed a great deal along this journey already. Things were asked of them. People left them. Enemies rose against them. Allies fell beside them. And though this woman was still young and naïve, she'd been the one to teach him the most important lesson he was probably ever to learn. One she was evidently still learning as well. Everyone was out for themselves. It was what had cost him Duncan, his fellow Grey Wardens and his hope for a family. It was what had cost her, her old life, the people she loved and her innocence.

Perhaps that's why he felt so inclined to be there for her now. Though they had a campground full of friends, at times he felt like she and him were the only two people left in the world. They understood things about each other that no one else could. And he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel something for her. Though, there was hardly time to act upon such things. For now, all he wanted to do was be there for her, as she'd been there for him after Ostagar.

"Are…are you all right?" he asked her carefully.

She made her eyes look through him but he saw the flash of pain in them all the same, "Fine. Why?"

He gave her a sad half-smile.

"I just wanted to tell you that I thought you were very brave today," he said, "Seeing your father like that couldn't have been easy."

He expected her to brush the comment off as easily as she'd brushed off her grief earlier. But the effort to conceal her pain was finally too much for her to bear. Her face crumpled and her eyes began to fill with tears.

"Oh –oh no, I'm sorry…I didn't mean…please don't cry," he hurried to say, panic raising his voice a few octaves.

He didn't mean to make her cry. Maker, this was what he got for trying to do something nice. He made to apologize again when she suddenly fell against him and wrapped her arms around his waist. She buried her face in his chest. He felt the heat of her tears against the soft material of his tunic.

The movement surprised him, but it didn't take him long to recover. He gathered her into his arms and pressed his cheek against her hair. She smelled of wildflowers, spice and warm things he'd let himself forget.

I'm sorry, he told her wordlessly, through the slow pattern of his hands smoothing her back. For everything you've lost, for everything I've lost, and for what we're going to continue to lose. I'm sorry you have to be brave. I'm sorry there are things in this world that hurt you. If I could take you away from it all, I would. I would.

Aloud, he only whispered, "I'm here. I'm right here."

But that was enough.

I always kind of wished there was some acknowledgement of the aftermath of the Gauntlet trials. So of course I had to write fluffy sad fic about it to give myself some closure.

Thanks for reading!