They're still basically avoiding one another, but Rhyanon had promised Alistair that they'd look for his sister in Denerim, and he still wants to try, so she goes with him.

It turns out to be a spectacularly bad idea.

The woman's a bitch, all around, even Morrigan agrees.

She tells Alistair that the Redcliffe guards had thrown her out of the castle with the news that her baby brother had died, and the way she says it implies that she wishes it were true.

But since it isn't, she'll take what she can get from him.

And that's not a relationship, or even a conversation, it's just money.

Alistair tosses her a few coins, because he has them to spare. It doesn't hurt him to lose gold nearly as much as it hurts to lose the possibility of having a family somewhere, someone that might care about what happens to him.

"Everybody's out for themselves, Alistair," Rhyanon tells him. "You have to learn that."

It comes out sounding a lot more cruel than she'd intended.

It's not something she'd usually say to him, but she's still bitter at the fact that he'd left her alone the night she'd pretty much needed him the most, too wrapped up in his regrets about a family he'd adopted in his head to see the real woman in front of him now.

And there's a darker part of her that thinks it's only fair. She was ripped away from her family by people like him, so why should he get some kind of happy reunion?

And anyway, it's true.

True tests never end, the demon had whispered as she fought her way out of the lyrium-fueled cage the Harrowing had locked her into.

She'd never been forced into the Fade before. It had always been her choice to visit the dream realm, and she could always leave at will.

Not that time. She could feel the walls around her even where there were none to be seen.

"Can't you feel the sword at your neck?" they'd taunted, knowing how she'd react to the reminder of the one thing she could never forget. The templars always held the power of life and death over her. Their weapons, their walls, their intimidating presence was always close.

The Harrowing was a one-time thing, maybe, but the cage never went away.

Trapped in here, dead out there.

Always.

Unless she fought.

She'd battled against the demons in that dream with all the ferocity she'd never been allowed to turn against the templars who forced the fight. They hurther, and she could never hurt them back.

They taught her not to fight, taught her that control meant taking their hits without a word, taught her that willpower meant never letting anyone see how she really felt.

Good thing she had other people close to her, to teach her other lessons.

They don't win unless you let them.

So she fought.

The real dangers are preconceptions, careless trust...

Yeah, never trust, that one she'd learned pretty well. Nobody helps you unless you help yourself. She tried to help Anders, but when it really mattered she was too afraid to really try, and the templars. wouldn't let her anyway.

And she and Anders both had known that if she had done more, it would have only given the templars more power to hurt them.

Because there's no such thing as love in the Circle Tower.

And everybody's out for themselves. Human, demon, darkspawn... everything fights to survive.

And if they have to go through you, to hurt you or kill you, to keep themselves alive, they'll do it.

So she's not surprised at all when Zevran attacks them in a Denerim back-alley that night.

And she doesn't really want to kill him, because they'd become friends, of a sort. He'd told her crazy stories about Antiva and they'd commiserated about how much it sucked to have no family in a world that's built on family, stashed away in some dark hole, surrounded by men just waiting to kill you.

She knows Zevran doesn't really want to kill her either. Murder's never personal, with him. He took a contract, that's all, and his feelings about the mark, if any, do not have anything to do with it.

He comes at her, and she kills him first, because it keeps her alive.

To his credit, Alistair does not even say "I told you so."

"I've been thinking," he tells her later, in the camp. And although she'd usually give him grief about that, she's not sure where they stand right now, so she just lets him talk.

He seems as surprised as she is that she's not making a joke. He clears his throat nervously. He probably figures she's still mad at him. He's probably right.

"About what you said," he clarifies. "You're right. I can't let other people tell me what I want. I have to stand up for myself more often."

And gives him a hesitant smile, testing the waters. Because it's exhausting being angry all the time. And she doesn't want to be afraid of him anymore. "As long as you still listen to me, I think that's a great idea," she teases.

"Oh, of course," he drawls. "Your wish is my command, my lady."

He's smiling again, that huge Alistair-grin that she loves so much, and he wraps his arms around her, warm and strong, and she lets him.

"Does this mean we're not fighting anymore?" she whispers.

He kisses her, which is probably better than any verbal answer she could hope to hear, except... what the hell? She squirms in his arms and pushes him away, hard. Physically, and maybe with just a little magical force thrown in.

He staggers backward, shocked and panting. "Sorry," he stammers. "I'm so sorry, Rhyanon. I didn't, I don't... I..."

She doesn't give him the time to figure out what he's trying to say, just turns her back on him and burrows into her own tent.

To lay awake all night, again, trying to make sense of her own feelings.

Because when he kissed her, it didn't feel wrong.