Thank you again to the grammar goddess, mackillian, for the beta!

Chapter 2 –Wounded

Her head was being attacked by an ogre and it was ramming her with its horns over and over again. Her mouth was sticky and bitter—what had she eaten? No… what did she drink? Chunks of memory were coming back now. Cards. Anders. Oghren's mystery swill. She groaned and threw her arm up over her eyes to block the light. She was never drinking again, especially not with that wretched dwarf. This was all his fault. But, there was something else… something else important. Neve tried to remember, but thinking was making her head pound even harder. At least she didn't think she was going to throw up. Not yet, anyway.

"Are you awake?"

She froze as the last piece slid into place. The king had arrived and now he was here, in her room. Sweet merciful fuck. She shifted her arm a fraction and opened her eyes. He had pulled one of the chairs over from the corner and was sitting next to the bed. His hair and clothes were disheveled and a huge bruise covered one eye.

"Why—you here?" she managed to get out. It was a struggle to speak; her lips and tongue were as dry as parchment. Her heart contracted with a sharp squeeze as she looked at him.

"Here, take this first." He pulled the stopper from a small glass vial and tried to hand it to her.

She made no move to take it. "What—is?" Her mouth was thick like porridge. This was so fucking humiliating.

"It's a restorative draught apparently. Courtesy of that new mage you recruited."

She searched his eyes, there was nothing malicious there. His face was covered in several days' worth of stubble. She couldn't remember ever seeing him so scruffy and unkempt—even during their desperate months on the road during the Blight, he had used his dagger every morning to shave, his shield propped up as a makeshift mirror.

Hauling herself into a sitting position was a monumental effort. He held out the vial and waited, watching her, but at least he didn't try to help. Her cheeks burned red and it took all her restraint to keep from pulling the covers up over her head and staying there until he left. Her hands trembled as she took the vial from him and he gave her a small, sad smile.

Neve took a long swallow and grimaced at the taste. Her throat tingled, the sensation trickling down into her stomach. After a moment, the ogre took one last swing at her head, and then retreated. Her face relaxed and the rest of the room seemed to come fully into focus. This stuff was fantastic. Alistair had leaned forward in his chair and was fiddling with the edge of her blanket.

Her eyes narrowed. "Why are you here?"

"I, uh, I wanted to talk to you."

"I don't think there's much for us to discuss, do you? You've made yourself perfectly clear."

She struggled to pull herself together, despite the indignity of it all. She was not having this conversation while lying in bed. She shoved the covers back and prayed that she was still dressed since she didn't even remember coming upstairs. She stood up and stumbled forward, but he jerked up and reached out to steady her.

"Neve, please don't—"

"I'm fine," she said and pushed away from his touch. "I'm sorry, your Majesty, I wasn't expecting you to show up in the middle of the night." She walked past him to the far side of the room.

"Please, don't call me that. I would have—"

"Was there something in particular that you needed?" Her voice was calm and detached, but her hands had clenched into tight fists.

"I just… I just needed to talk to you."

She whirled to face him and he recoiled. The ridges of her knuckles had gone white. "You want to talk to me? You want to talk to me? You had three months to talk to me while I was still in Denerim, but I didn't see you once outside of those horrible parties that Eamon made me go to. Even then, you didn't say a word to me aside from all that phony small talk we were expected to make! I don't know why you suddenly feel like we should have a nice cozy heart-to-heart, but I'm really not in the mood."

Her whole body was shaking and he drooped under the weight of her anger, so like the naïve Chantry boy he had been when they first met.

"I suppose I deserved that." He raised his head to meet her eyes. "I wanted to talk to you. I missed you," he whispered. "I was just afraid of making things worse."

"Worse?" She almost laughed. "Worse? Do you really think you could have made it any worse?" All the hurt that she had kept bottled up inside came pouring out in a rush. "You told me you loved me until I actually believed you. I thought you were different. I certainly didn't think you were going to tear my heart to fucking pieces in front of everyone before you sulked off and left me to face them all by myself."

She paced back and forth across the room.

"And then," she threw her hands up, "you went off and fucked Morrigan even though we had both agreed that it was an unthinkable option. Who knows what kind of abomination you've unleashed on the world? Something else for me to take care of for you later, I suppose."

She strode up to him with a defiant stare. Angry tears spilled down across her cheeks.

"I killed the bloody Archdemon, was practically torn in half, and you didn't bother to come by even once while I was recovering. I was relieved when I got the orders from Weisshaupt to come here so I wouldn't have to see you anymore, and now you're here." She poked him in the chest. "Why won't you just leave me alone?"

"I tried. That's… That's what I was trying to do." He was crying, too.

"Then why are you here?"

"Because… I'm still in love with you."

"You fucking bastard," she said and struck him across the face. "How dare you?"

He didn't move but held her gaze, his face full of anguish. Her limited control was crumbling.

"I loved you, you asshole," she was sobbing now, "and you just threw it all away like it was nothing."

She stalked away from him with her arms clutched around her chest, her shoulders heaving. The primal sound of her grief sunk into the pit of his stomach with a lurch. It drew him towards her until he was standing right behind her. He lifted his hands up as if to touch her shoulders, hesitated, and then dropped them back to his sides.

"Neve, I'm sorry."

"Please… please, just go." Each word came out as a gasp.

"I can't."

She turned her head around to look at him. "Why?" A tear rolled down the tip of her nose.

"Because I can't live without you."

She turned her back to him once more. "Then, you're an idiot."

"Oh, I think you've made that abundantly clear."

They both fell silent. The sounds of Neve struggling to muffle her choked sobs echoed in the stillness of the room. Alistair's own tears coursed noiselessly down his cheeks. He wiped them away and took a deep shuddering breath.

"After the Landsmeet, I… panicked. It's stupid, I knew that you were going to put me forward for the throne, but I just didn't want to believe it. I was angry—at you, at Arl Eamon. You know I never wanted this. But, what I wanted… didn't matter anymore."

She heard him run his hand through his hair, an unconscious gesture she remembered well.

"I wanted you—only you—as my queen but it just wasn't possible. Even if we could get the nobles to accept you, we can't have… children." The final word dropped from his lips like a teardrop. "I would love to have had—more than anything…" His voice cracked and he couldn't continue.

Neve wiped her face on her sleeve and sniffled. Guilt oozed through her, thick and viscous, settling down into her bones. He was alone, lost and miserable, and she had done this to him. She could have left Anora on the throne but, no matter how hard she had tried to rationalize it, leaving that double-crossing bitch spawn of Loghain as queen would have been a mistake. Ferelden needed him. If only she hadn't needed him too…

"I tried to stay away from you. I thought it would be easier, for both of us, if I just pushed you away. I—I couldn't face you, knowing how I treated you, and every day that passed just made it harder and harder." He was silent for a moment. "Do you hate me?"

She didn't say anything for a long time. "No," she said, "I don't hate you."

Alistair took a step closer and his chest brushed against her back. She could smell the musky scent of the soap he always used and she almost dropped to her knees, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of memory, the first time that she had buried herself in his embrace. Her legs shook. He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. Neve stiffened with a wince as his arms tightened across her, but didn't push him away. The warmth of his body was so sweet and familiar that she ached. It would be so easy to just give in… if only the reality of their situation wasn't so bloody complicated. She leaned back against him with a sigh, empty now that her anger was spent.

"What do you want from me, Alistair?"

"I just want to be with you, in whatever way we can—a few stolen moments of happiness to keep me from going crazy. I don't know. Maybe coming here was a mistake. Maybe I should have just stayed away. But, I just couldn't do it anymore..."

Her body grew still, an assassin lying in wait. "So, you want me to be your mistress?"

"Please, don't say it like that. It wouldn't be like that."

"No? So what happens once Eamon marries you off to some empty-headed inbred so you can start making lots of babies to keep the nobles happy? What happens to me then?"

"I don't know." His shoulders slumped. "Maker, I know this is all a mess. I just want to hold on to every chance we have to be together, even if it can never be in the way we want."

He was quiet for a long time. "I just—I just need you. You're the only thing that makes sense to me anymore. Please."

She untangled his hands from her waist and turned to face him. Tears were trailing down his jaw and she smoothed them away with her fingers. "I need some time to think," she said. "When do you have to go back to Denerim?"

"I don't know, uh, tomorrow, I think."

"I'll try to give you some sort of answer before you go. But, I don't know if it's going to be the one you want."

"That's all I can ask for." He reached for her hand and placed a soft kiss on her palm. She trembled.

"Alistair…" She pulled her hand back.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

She shook her head. "It's okay." She scrubbed her face against her sleeve and ran her fingers over her hair. "Look, I'll get you set up in the room next door. Why don't you go get something to eat, have a bath, get some sleep? You look awful." She rang for Varel. While they waited, she studied him, half expecting that she was about to wake up. "What happened to your eye, anyway?"

"Oghren. We had a rather physical discussion about my coming here to see you." He ran his fingers over the mottled purple bruise. "He made his point rather well, I think."

There was a cautious knock at the door and Neve stepped out into the hallway. She was startled by the guards outside her door—Alistair's guards. When had everything gotten so crazy? After explaining to Varel what the king needed, pointedly ignoring the questions in his eyes, it was a relief to shut the door behind both of them. Finally alone, she curled herself into the closest chair, and wept.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, alerted, and/or added this story to your favorites. It's very much appreciated. :)