Hi everyone! Welcome (especially those of you from the Alistair Fan Club, haha)! Done fanfics before, but this is my first Dragon Age one. I don't own anything Dragon Age, etc. All belongs to the mighty Bioware :P. Except Sierra, she's mine. Forgive me any typos and stuff. I have a tendency to think one word and type another that's similar to it, but not quite right, lol.

Alistair/PC.

"Ah, so it is you. How did you find me?"

"You're quite a striking woman, Morrigan. You do not escape notice. People talk."

"So I am found. What do you want?"

"I need your help."

"Help you? I'm fairly sure the last time I asked you for something, it did not go very well."

"Yes, well, this is now, hmm?"

"Ah, you are not alone. Our little Chantry sister shows herself to be more bard than nun. Kindly remove your knife from my throat."

"Kindly agree to help us."

"Unlikely. Regardless of who you have with you, you'll not convince me to assist you in the least. Did I not follow you all over Ferelden recruiting allies and wading through darkspawn hordes?"

"Yet you were absent from the final battle. Thanks for that, by the way."

"I left, bard, because my very simple request was denied. My request which would've saved someone's life, I might add."

"Well, you're in luck. Now you have that chance again. It will really fulfill those helpful tendencies of yours. Tell her, Sierra."

"By the… What has happened to you?"

"You care? I'm touched. What has happened to me is irrelevant."

"It is relevant to me in that this is no ordinary dilemma, not if it has caused you this kind of damage. Where is your templar in shining armor? Surely he has not allowed whatever this is to happen to you."

"So you really did leave? Without even watching from afar to see how the battle turned out?"

"I no longer cared. My duty to you was done. Now, what's the meaning of this?!"

"We have to save Alistair's soul."

*~*~*~*~One year earlier*~*~*~*~*~

Lost, that's what she was. Figuratively and literally.

Sierra, Dalish elf though she was, found herself wandering around the Brecilian woods, as turned around as a shemlen would be. Disgrace to her people. That was the least of her worries, however.

Perhaps she could blame it on not being accustomed to being alone. That sounded good. She'd went from her clan, to the Grey Wardens, to her ragtag party out to stop the Blight and save mankind. "Alone" was a foreign concept to the Dalish. That's why she was lost.

A sharp twist of pain wrenched her heart. Truer words were never spoken. She was lost because she was alone. She was, however, lost because she was alone. Without his presence, without his jokes, without his quiet strength. Well, perhaps "quiet" wasn't exactly true…

The great battleaxe slung across her back seemed to weigh an inordinate amount lately. Probably due to lack of sleep, as it had never seemed heavy before. Maybe it had been heavy all along, and without him to distract her, she only now felt its pull on her shoulders and spine.

Ah, sleep. She missed that almost as much as she missed her companions. Not him, though. Nothing could be missed as much as she missed him. His scent, his touch, his voice, his hair, his…being. Sleep could only place second to the ache in her chest. It was definitely missed, though.

How could she sleep? It was a luxury not allowed to her. One would think tearing away the man that meant the most to her would be cruel enough, but apparently not. Nightmares that woke her screaming, trembling with rage and helplessness, that seemed appropriate, too. For a berserker, shaking with anger was a common feeling, but usually when enemies were around, not alone in the middle of the night, floundering around in one's bedclothes.

Enough mental wanderings. There was enough wandering going on in her current situation. If she could only find her fellow Dalish, that would solve one of her many problems. Her own clan would not do; her present state would terrify them. Sickly pale, haggard, sleep-deprived, carrying a giant axe? Oh yes, they'd love that. No, no. She needed Dalish who knew her first as a Grey Warden. Already considered formidable, perhaps her appearance would not be as readily noticed.

Another fierce stab of pain. Sierra thought they had stopped. Walking these forest paths and thinking about being a Grey Warden was too much for her mind to cope with covering up, evidently. Without warning, the elf was blind-sided by memory.

She pushed a great bough of a tree out of the way, trying to see up the path before they all started merrily marching that way. They'd been ambushed by werewolves several times already. She wasn't being much of a leader by constantly leading them into danger. Behind her, she could hear Alistair and Leilana discussing the Orlesian's talents.

"Ah, yes, but I heard you often seduced your targets. They'd remember you," the former templar-in-training was saying.

"Not if they died." Sierra had to bite her lip at the way Leilana trailed off; even talking of assassination, the bard's tone was as sweet as honey.

"Oh." The Grey Warden bit her lip harder. She didn't need to turn around to see the delayed reaction on Alistair's face. As accomplished a warrior as he was, he could still be surprised by the shadier dealings of the world. Though she was a sheltered Dalish, Sierra had spent more time with Leilana and has grasped the implications of her abilities far sooner.

"Dying while in the company of a lovely seductress...tell me that isn't a good death," the bard was reasoning with Alistair gently.

"I don't know if I should take you seriously...but you scare me sometimes," he admitted.

It was all Sierra could do to stifle a giggle, but then quickly sobered. She wasn't focusing on the task at hand. All her focus was attuned to him. It was bothersome and delightful all at once. She'd never met anyone like him in her life, and she reveled in this foreign feeling that dancing through the pit of her stomach every time they touched, talked, or kissed…

The first time had only been last night, before they'd found the Dalish camp, in the shadows just beyond reach of the fire's light. When her lips had touched his, lightning had spiked through her. She'd been sure the spasm of her body would've broken the moment, but thankfully he'd crushed her against his armored chest at the same moment with an arm around her waist.

"Daydreaming?" came a whisper. His whisper.

She tried to cover her start of surprise with a stern glare. "Do you mind? I'm trying to observe."

Winking devilishly, Alistair peeked his amber eyes down the path. "Looks clear to me," he teased.

"Does it?" Sierra challenged, raising an eyebrow. "Perhaps you want to lead?"

"What? Lead? Me? No, no, no. No leading. Bad things happen when I lead-"

"I know, I know. Being lost, death, and you with no pants," the elf finished for him. Giving him a sidelong glance, she added, "Can't say I'd complain about that last part. Maybe you should lead."

The blush flared up so fast, if she'd blinked she would've missed the rush of scarlet. Alistair muttered something, and drudged forward up the path, crimson to his earlobes. Sierra's mischievous grin as she watched him go was wiped instantly from her face as movement to the left of the trail caught her attention. No werewolves. Not this time.

His amber eyes caught the movement, too, and he turned to see a towering tree taking huge, earth-shaking steps toward him. "By the Maker…" With only a blink of hesitation, he went barreling toward its trunk with his shield.

"Imbecile," Morrigan muttered, but Sierra barely heard her. She was already racing forward, as Alistair's signature move had caused him to go bouncing of its thick trunk, and the tree was currently reaching a massive wooden hand toward him as he was regaining his feet.

The Dalish elf plowed into her fellow Grey Warden, using her berserker strength to shove him clear. Just in time. Not only did the branchy hand miss, but the tree burst into flames as fire erupted from Morrigan's hands.

The tree let out an eerie wail as it burned. Leilana's bolts sped through the air, piercing the bark in a dozen places before Sierra could draw another stunned breath from the ground. Staggering, the tree toppled over. Right in her direction.

An armor-covered arm swooped across her body and rolled her swiftly out of the way, and the flaming tree slammed to the ground mere feet away.

Sierra looked down at Alistair from where she lay on top of him. He returned her wide gaze with one of his own. "Are you all right?" they both asked at the same time. After a moment of shocked silence, they burst into simultaneous, relieved laughter.

"You're right. You're never allowed to lead again," she said, patting him reassuringly on his heavy breastplate.

"I told you!" he shouted. "Thanks for the push, by the way. Must have hurt, slamming into all this." He gestured to his armor.

"Nah. Didn't feel a thing," Sierra assured him. "Thanks for the-" she gestured to place where she'd been, where the tree now was.

"Can't have you getting squished, can we? After all, clearly, I can't lead."

"So it was just to avoid responsibility? There wasn't any other motive, like, say maybe, ending up with me laying on top of you?"

Alistair blushed again, but rallied and glanced down the length of their legs tangled together. He tapped his boots against hers. "Could be. Is it comfy up there?"

"All right, you two," called Leilana. She and Morrigan were making their way around the tree's prone, still-flaming form. "I told you they were fine," she said to the witch.

"Then why are they still laying there?" the raven-haired woman questioned. "Get up, if you both have all your faculties."

"Back to work," Alistair said with a grin that melted Sierra's heart.

"Grey Warden?"

Sierra was snapped painfully out of her memory. Before her stood a few of the very Dalish she'd been looking for. Looking at her very strangely. Damn.

"Mithra, is it?" she said quickly, to attempt to distract them from her appearance and apparent daydreaming. How could she forget the elf? Her facial tattoos were striking.

"Yes, Warden," the small woman answered with a proud, if slightly bewildered, smile on her face. "Andaran atish'an."

Happy the famous Grey Warden remembered her. Sierra felt the sudden urge to vomit. She didn't deserve this admiration, and the one who did was no longer with her. "Andaran atish'an," she managed. "I was wondering if you could take me to your camp. It's so easy to get turned around in here. That is, of course, if this is a good time for a guest to barge in."

"Of course, Grey Warden! Lanaya will be pleased that you have come to visit," Mithra answered, a smile lighting her face. "Come, the camp is not far. I'm sure you would've reached it eventually."

Falling in step behind the small group, Sierra rolled her eyes. Not bloody likely. Not when she was so lost.