Maybe This is Too Soon

His emotions were too close to the surface. Alistair knew that, but he couldn't seem to pull back from them and look at the situation objectively. It had been all he could do not to rush Loghain when the regent had appeared, unannounced, at Arl Eamon's Denerim estate. His fingers had itched to grasp his sword and thrust it under the bastard's chin. He'd actually started reaching for his weapon when Bryn's hand had stayed his. Then to hear Loghain talk down to Bryn, to pull out the Blight as the reason Arl Eamon should back away from calling the Landsmeet, when all this time he had been the one ignoring the threat posed by the darkspawn...

Well. It was a wonder Alistair's head hadn't exploded from the stress.

He'd half expected Howe's throat to sprout a dagger when his new title of Teyrn of Highever had been revealed, but Bryn had been...blank. Collected. Calm in the presence of her family's murderer. Once more he was reminded of the strength she possessed.

Maker. Maybe they should put her forth as potential ruler instead of him. In many ways, it made much more sense. She was a noble, not only in name but in countenance and manner. She'd been trained to be at court: how to act, what to say, how to make decisions. He'd had none of that. Despite her reassurances, he knew that he was going to be a terrible king.

He was tempted to suggest it to Eamon just to see the Arl's jaw drop in surprise. It would almost be worth the disappointed looks it would earn him.

Bryn had been quiet, withdrawn, since the encounter with Loghain and his entourage. She'd retreated to the library with barely a word to anyone, which wasn't like her. Alistair hesitated at the doorway as he spotted her in front of the fire. She held herself rigidly, her back stiff and straight, her arms crossed over her chest. Her drakeskin armor fit her like a second skin, molding to her curves...

And now was not the time for those kinds of thoughts.

He cleared his throat and she turned, her eyes shadowed. "Eamon would like to see us," he said.

She nodded and he felt her mask of control slip back into place. Was that a trick born-and-bred nobles learned? She walked up to him and stared to move past, but he laid a hand on her arm to stop her. "Are you all right?"

She looked up at him and he saw the truth in the muddied green of her eyes. She was not all right, not even close, but she'd never tell anyone that. He'd put in her the position of leader, and she'd accepted it, but he'd never meant for her to shoulder the burden alone. "Bryn, I--"

"Let's go see what Eamon wants," she said, and squeezed through the doorway.

He wanted to call her back, to tell her...Maker, he didn't know what, but there had to be something he could say that would restore the light to her eyes.

Instead, he followed.

Eamon was waiting for them in his study, along with a dark-haired elf. Alistair frowned, a sense of foreboding tingling through him. His frown only grew as the elf--Erlina--told Bryn that Queen Anora was being held against her will at Howe's estate. Everything in him screamed that it was a trap, a setup by Loghain to get rid of them, but he couldn't argue with Eamon's logic that they could be blamed for Anora's death just as easily if they weren't there. At least by going to see her, despite the danger, they might have a chance to save her and gain her support.

"We'll go," Bryn decided.

Erlina bowed. "Thank you, my lady. I will be waiting for you at Teyrn Howe's estate."

Alistair didn't miss the tightening of Bryn's shoulders at the casual use of Howe's title. His arms ached to hold her, to soothe away the tension, but he kept his distance. He wasn't sure if she'd welcome the contact; she seemed brittle, somehow, and he worried that his touch might shatter her instead of strengthen her.

"I'm glad you decided to help," Arl Eamon said as Erlina exited the room. "If we can get Loghain's own daughter on our side..."

Alistair rolled his shoulders, the weight of his armor a comforting reminder of his true place in the world. "All right, then," he said. "Let's go and get this over with."

"I'll take Oghren, Wynne and Zevran," Bryn announced to no one in particular, and headed for the door.

"Wait." Alistair frowned. "What?"

Bryn paused. "If it's a trap..." She shook her head. "One of us needs to stay free of it."

"No. You're not doing this without me."

"And you're the future king," she continued, heedless of his protest. "You shouldn't be involved."

"I shouldn't be involved?" His frown deepened. "Are you hearing yourself?"

"I've made my decision." She turned and walked out of the room.

Alistair rushed after her and yanked her to a halt just outside of the study. "I don't want you doing this alone. You shouldn't have to face Howe by yourself."

"I won't be alone. I'll have Wynne, and Zevran, and--"

"Damn it, you know what I mean." He put his hands on her shoulders. "We're partners, remember? In this together? I've got your back and all that?"

She placed her hands over his, then deliberately lifted them from her shoulders. "I don't want you there," she breathed. Something flared in her eyes, something he'd never seen before.

Murder.

"Bryn--"

"Please." Her voice trembled. Not enough that anyone who didn't know her would hear it, but he did. "Just let me go."

Let her go? No. Never.

For once in his life, he didn't think. He didn't worry about where they were, or who was watching, or if it was right or not, or too soon, or not soon enough. He just pulled her into his arms and slanted his mouth over hers.

And...it was right. Maker, it was perfect.

Her lips softened under his and she sighed, pressing against him. He had a second to curse the armor that separated them--he longed to feel her lithe body pressing against his--before her tongue touched his lips and thought fled. He'd never really kissed anyone before. He hadn't known it could be like...like this. Heady and wonderful and confusing and awe-inspiring, all at once. His ears buzzed. Her warm scent--made up of equal parts of leather, the oil with which she cleaned her blades, and the sweet soap she insisted on using--surrounded him like a nimbus.

He wanted her. More than anything in his life. More than escaping the Chantry, more than being a Grey Warden, more than meeting his sister. He wanted Bryn.

Forever.

The realization made him pull back. When she opened her eyes, they seemed clearer, just a little.

"Go, then," he said softly. He traced the curve of her cheek with one gauntleted hand, brushing aside a stray strand of dark hair. "But come back to me."

She bit her lip, nodded, and then she was gone.