Author's note: I'm having a lot of fun with this story, I hope you're enjoying reading it! Thanks for all the amazing reviews!

Thanks to Epiphany sola Gratia, my awesome beta, I'd be lost without you!

Things were awkward.

First of all, Kallian woke up that morning in his tent, her eyes all puffy and her hair tousled in such an endearing way, looking so adorably confused, and he felt something warm stirring deep in his chest. It only took a minute though before she turned slightly green and dragged herself out of the tent on hands and knees just in time to throw up everything in her stomach… and the feeling was gone.

He closed his eyes, took deep breaths in an attempt to settle his own upset stomach and lay back with a growl, a hand on his forehead to try and keep his brain from spilling out of his skull.

Zevran, of course, was up and enjoying every minute of the show.

"Ah, my lovely Grey Warden, surely a night with Alistair is not that bad, yes?"

Stupid assassin with his stupid accent and his stupid… good mood…

"Shut up, Zev," came a strained reply from outside the tent, and Alistair smiled despite his horrible state.

Wynne was far nicer about the whole thing that she should have been, healing the both of them without any fuss. Alistair had a feeling the mage knew about Kallian's story and thought the young elf was entitled to a little debauchery. Or maybe she heard everything. Tents weren't very private, after all.

But then they had breakfast and broke camp and walked, and walked, and walked, and Kallian didn't talk to him all day. It was clear she was regretting their little drinking contest. Sometimes he would catch her throwing glances at him, but she would turn her gaze back on the road when she realized he was watching her. What was that all about?

That night, she sat aside with Leliana and spent the whole night talking to her in hushed tones. Well, so much for their blossoming friendship. Maybe she was mad because of all the bad jokes… That left him by the fire with nothing to do but talk to Zevran or Sten. He considered shoving his sword through his own torso and banging on the pommel with his shield to make this night more fun.

The next morning, it was raining and they all decided they could afford a late start. He was snugly wrapped in his covers, keeping warm in the comfort of his tent, when he heard Kallian ask Zevran if he would train with her. They were going to train in this rain? He poked his head outside.

They were.

Not only that, but Zevran was not in armour. Instead, he was only wearing a white shirt and loose trousers. Of course, his shirt was soon soaked with rainwater and it became very transparent, clinging to his chest like a second skin, exposing his stupid muscles and tattoos to Kallian's eyes and… hands, and the stupid blond elf was forever slipping behind her, moulding his body to hers as he helped her raised her arm in a particular stance, and murmuring in her ear as she moved into him, and sliding his stupid fingers down her arm, and smiling his stupid smile at her progress and why was he getting so upset over this?

Why was she training with the assassin instead of with him? Okay, maybe they were both dual-weapons fighters but he could teach her… stuff…

He only wanted to protect her, he decided. Zevran was a dangerous assassin hired to kill them both. He shouldn't be that close to her. She looked even smaller, out there in the warm rain, with her ginger hair flatten on her head, locks of it clinging to her cheeks as raindrops fell on her face, rolled over her rosy lips, down her throat and then lower under her armour, and there was that warm feeling in his chest again and what was that all about?

That day, he was the one who wasn't talking to her on the road. He was mad at her and he didn't really know why, but his anger was perfectly justified.

And so she didn't talk to him and he didn't talk to her, and she was whispering and Leliana was giggling and glancing his way, and Zevran kept staring at him with this lurid grin and he didn't know why any of this was happening but really? Awkward!

She was in awe of the Dalish. She ran around their camp, talking to everyone who would speak to her, looking at every statue they had lying around. She spent hours leaning on the fence, watching the hallas with fascination. He found her impossibly adorable when she sat at Sarel's feet and listened with wide eyes filled with wonder to the story of the Dales. It was the first time he saw her so truly happy.

She talked to Cammen and immediately took the matter in her own hands, promising to speak with Gheyna. It was so endearing, the way she took everything that concerned them to heart. She sat by the red-haired elf and listened as the girl explained the reasons why she couldn't be with Cammen. Kallian shook her head slowly.

"If you love him," she began, "it doesn't matter…" She stopped suddenly and her eyes widened. She gasped softly, as if she was realizing something that surprised her greatly. It took a couple of seconds before she finished her sentence: "… it doesn't matter what he is, does it?"

"But what if he never becomes a proper hunter? What will become of our family?" Gheyna was asking, but Kallian didn't seem to listen anymore, lost in thoughts.

"Why should everything depend on him?" she was saying, and it was an answer to Gheyna's question, but she seemed to be talking to herself. She was looking far away and biting her lower lip thoughtfully.

"I know I cannot be like you, both woman and a Grey Warden, but I can be formidable in my own small way, can't I?" Gheyna was saying excitedly, jumping to her feet to go speak to Cammen. Kallian stayed where she was, looking slightly stunned.

"I am a formidable woman, aren't I?" she whispered to herself, as if coming to some sort of inner conclusion.

He should have known, right then, that it had nothing to do with two, random Dalish in love. All of the hints were there.

He had always been clueless.

Kallian was acting strange.

Not her usual crazy strange, though: more like… like weird strange. He first noticed it while they were exploring the Brecilian forest, looking for Witherfang. Suddenly she was beside him, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. She cleared her throat.

"So… has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?"

Well… she didn't talk to him at all for days and then she threw this bombshell at him. Really strange!

He tried to truthfully answer the question because, really, what else could he do? She was frowning deeper and deeper the more he talked, though, so he was most certainly doing something wrong there. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it and bit her lower lip.

"Wait…" she interrupted him. "When you say those women were… 'not like me,' are you… are you actually telling me about a time you were told you were handsome by a bunch of whores?"

"Hum… no?" he tried, and she sighed. "Wait…" he said as something occurred to him, "… is that your way of telling me you think I'm handsome?"

"Never mind," she said with a sigh, walking away.

He watched her go, bewildered.

"What?" he called after her, but she just waved him away. He turned to Leliana, "That was strange, right? She's weird, then, it's not just me, right?" Leliana patted him condescendingly on the shoulder, which didn't make him feel better at all.

Then later, at camp, the whole thing seemed to be forgotten. They were both sitting cross-legged facing each other, and he was trying to teach her how to make a blade of grass sing by pressing it between his palms and blowing on it. She was awful at it, mostly because she would begin blowing and then burst into fits of laughter that ruined the whole effort.

"No, wait, you need to open your hands a little, just the tiniest bit of space between the two… here," he said, holding her hands in his to position them correctly. She looked at him above their joined hands, smiling.

"I need to tell you how much I enjoy your company," she said softly. He chuckled.

"You know, I was just thinking the same thing. Given the circumstances, things could have been so much worse. I'm so grateful that you're… you, instead of… some other Grey Warden…"

Yeah, this time he could see where he went wrong. She wasn't smiling anymore, and gently took her hands from his.

"Umm… that sounded better in my head. I just mean to say that I've… really come to care about you."

As he said it, he realized how much he meant it. He really did care very much for this tiny, crazy, funny elf. That seemed to be the right thing to say, too, because her smile was returning.

"Thank you, Alistair."

Now all he had to do was not ruin the moment.

"Now we just need to be rid of that pesky Archdemon and everything will be back to normal, right?" He chuckled nervously.

She sighed and stood up.

"Right," she whispered, walking away.

"Even I see where this went wrong," Sten said stoically.

"I know, all right? I heard it too!" Alistair hissed between clenched teeth.

He watched as Kallian sat on the other side of the fire and dropped her face in her hands. Surely it wasn't that bad, was it? She had always laughed at his poor excuses for jokes before. What was different now?

Love. It is a powerful thing, so powerful, in fact, that most people don't know what to do with it once it hits them. It is a well-known fact that love can make anyone look like a bumbling idiot, and Kallian was no exception. Love can sweep you off your feet, make you lose your bearings; doubt everything you thought you knew about yourself and about the world. It can hit you with the force of a tidal wave and all you can do, stunned and bewildered, is go with the flow and hope not to drown.

It can also creep up on you, unannounced and undetected, work its way around your heart until you're left blinking in a stupor from its blinding light wondering how you didn't see it coming. It can make your heart race and your breath catch and still leave you completely oblivious to the truth.

He was looking at her often as they fought their way through the treacherous Brecilian forest, admiring her newfound combat abilities. Her training with Zevran was bearing fruit: her movements were more precise, her technique more refined and her stance more solid. She was focused and did not lose herself in the rush of battle as much. Fighting seemed less of a brutal struggle for her, and more of a well-choreographed dance of death. Her attacks flowed effortlessly, succeeding one another in a whirlwind of destruction. He was astonished. He was in awe.

He was distracted.

Pain surged through him as he felt claws slashing his back, making him scream in agony and fall to his knees. He heard her call his name in a desperate cry before he lost consciousness. He woke up to the sight of her face bent over his, creased in worry, and to the feeling of a cool cloth being swept across his brow. Her eyes went wide.

"Wynne! Wynne, he's awake! Wynne!" she shouted, getting on her feet and hurrying away. Leliana took her place by his side, picking up the cloth.

"You've been out for almost a day and a night now." She leaned closer to whisper in his ear: "She has not left your side for a second."

"Really?" he managed to croak. In the distance, he could hear confused shouting.

"Wynne!"

"She's asleep."

"I don't care!"

He was not aware at that time of the smile that lingered on his lips while Leliana spoke to him. He felt warmth spreading in his chest and didn't quite know what it was, but it felt very nice.

Love can be the most potent thing of all. It can also be the subtlest.

She sat by him one the log, her hands on her knees, and stared at the air in front of her.

"So… how was life in the Chantry?"

Huh. That was weird, out of the blue like that. Maybe it wasn't his favourite subject, but at least they were talking, which was something to be grateful for. So he told her about the training and the discipline, but she barely seemed to listen, and she never looked at him. That was just insulting, really. Here he was even trying to be clever and everything. If she didn't want to talk to him why did she come? Maybe a bit of brandy would help…

"But if you were raised by the Chantry, does that mean that you never… hum…" her voice trailed and faded, and she bit her lower lip.

Ah, so that was what it was all about, this weird conversation they were having. Well, that was an even less favourite subject of his. Luckily he had mastered the art of avoidance by humour.

"Have I never what? Had a good pair of shoes? Seen a basilisk? Ate jellied ham? Licked a lamppost in winter?"

She seemed to grow more and more confused each time he added something to the list, and it was highly amusing, until she exclaimed: "No, I mean sex!" and then it was a lot less funny. Better to get this over with then, since feigning stupidity had been a huge letdown.

"I myself never had the pleasure…" he began, but she cut him off when she jumped to her feet and yelled across the fire, in a tone of voice that must have carried all the way to the other side of the Dalish camp: "No, Leli, he's never done it!"

"…What?"

She gasped, realizing her mistake, and her eyes widened in horror as she clasped a hand over her mouth. Leliana roared with laughter, Morrigan rolled her eyes and Zevran winked at him and said: "Well if this isn't a desperate plea for help, I don't know what is!"

All he was able to do was gape at her in disbelief and turn a shade of red that was almost purple.

Leliana was singing something in Elven, and it was beautiful and sad, but Alistair wasn't looking at the bard. He was looking at Kallian.

She was listening to the song, almost mesmerized, and he wondered if she knew tears were falling down her face. He yearned to go to her, hold her in his arms, to comfort her. The Dalish had not been everything she wanted them to be. Their keeper, their leader and guide, had let himself be blinded by hate. He had inflicted so much suffering.

The Dalish were not perfect. They were real. Maybe tonight a dream was dying.

"Do you think he felt trapped?" she had asked him as they emerged from the ruins, her voice trembling. "When he was running to save his kidnapped children, do you think he felt himself moving too slowly? Do you think he knew he would be too late to save them from their fate?"

Seeing the monster that you could be is unsettling, she had told Wynne once…

She was so beautiful, standing there with her arms wrapped around herself, her wide eyes shining with tears as she listened to the song, her trembling lips slightly parted. She was so brave, and yet so scared; so strong and yet so fragile. He wanted to be there for her, to be an arm to lean on and a shoulder to cry on. He could be her shield. He could be her knight. He could…

He loved her.

…and he felt like something should be happening, as the realization hit him. There should be music, loud, thundering music, like the chant reverberating on the Denerim Chantry walls when the choir sang of miracles. The sky should be opening and a white, bright ray of light should descend on him… or something.

But there was nothing, just Leliana's voice, slowly fading as her song came to an end, just the light of the campfire flickering on her face, just the sound of his own sharp intake of breath.

Kallian wiped the tears from her cheeks and turned to him with a world of sadness in her eyes, and before he knew it he was on his feet and walking, and his arms closed around her. It felt right.

This was where he belonged.