Part 7: Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

Alistair took her straight to the Chantry at Redcliffe. Another night of dreams, this time all centered around her supposed dragon form, and he felt like he couldn't stand it another minute.

He wanted desperately to be away from her. Mostly because he wanted desperately to jump on her and do things to her that he really shouldn't be thinking about at all. He had gotten to the point where even looking at her aroused him beyond thought. Just for the thoughts running through his mind, the Maker would no doubt end civilization as they knew it.

Ser Perth was there, to Alistair's surprise, and greeted him warmly. At first, Alistair was delighted to see him, though the other man took in his appearance with a start and not a small degree of barely-disguised disgust.

But then Ser Perth bent over Velistara's hand and kissed it.

"She's crazy," Alistair warned again, fighting a sudden, overwhelming urge to beat the other man's face down his throat and out his rump. "I mean, dangerous crazy. Don't let her out of your sight—"

"Oh, you can trust me, I will not," Ser Perth told him.

Alistair bristled... he really doubted he could trust the man at all...

Alistair stomped away to the inn, trying not to remind himself that Ser Perth was not a Templar, and thus had no vows of chastity. He was obviously attracted to the crazy Velistara; as Alistair himself was.

He stopped no less than seven times on his way to the inn, wavering and almost turning around. He desperately wanted to turn around and run back to her. He couldn't bring himself to do it. It was simple self-preservation, he told himself.

He hadn't even said good-bye.

He got to the inn and bought some potions and poultices; as well as finding he was lucky enough that the rotund, friendly innkeeper happened to have a bar of strong soap on him. Soap strong enough to kill the "infestation" on Alistair's scalp and beard. He bought that, as well.

Once in the room he'd rented, he hacked the hair off first, then the beard. When he was done, he bathed, and then took scissors and trimmed both. Next, he shaved. Soon, his hair was back to the old familiar short style, and his beard mostly gone except the bit of it he preferred to keep on his chin.

He looked strange, almost alien to himself. He'd been overgrown for so long that he almost didn't know the man in the mirror—a fleeting memory of someone he might have once been.

He walked down to the common room and ordered a drink. The whiskey was placed in front of him, and he just stared at it for a moment. He felt… bereft. There was no other word for it. Somehow, the whiskey reminded him that he was alone again.

She had come into his life like a whirlwind, and now she was gone just as quickly. He picked up the whiskey tentatively. Perhaps it would ease his mind and clear everything up for him.

He took a drink of it, and felt it rolling to his stomach, permeating him with heat and comfort.

Then the song surged. He felt it roaring through his blood, shouting through his mind, and caressing along his body. He gasped and gripped the table as he felt drowned in poignant, surging music.

"Alistair? Is that you?" a voice asked.

He tried to focus through the haze of Velistara's music. "Leliana?" He thought it was her—if only he could concentrate.

"Three sheets to the wind already?" she asked, disapproval rife in her voice.

"No," he said vaguely, as if down a distant, music-filled tunnel. "I've only had one sip."

"You look rather drunk." She turned to the man at her side, "This is Terrinz," she introduced him. "He's a new Gray Warden."

"Nice to meet you," Alistair said, waving his hand absently.

"You, too," Terrinz told him, holding out a dark, warm brown hand. Alistair shook it and then went back to trying to focus around the strange, emotional music in his head. "What brings you to Redcliffe Village?"

"I… uh. I was just dropping a refugee off at the Chantry," Alistair replied. He suddenly didn't want to tell them more. "What about you?" he asked, more because he knew he should out of courtesy than for any other reason.

"There's been a strange pull on the Wardens for the last two or three weeks," Leliana told him. "We were on our way to try to find the source of it, but it would seem that it has moved. Now it seems to be here—"

"What? What do you mean by a 'pull'?" Alistair interrupted her. His brain was trying to function again, fortunately.

"It's hard to explain." Terrinz looked thoughtful as he tried to explain. "But it's kind of like feeling the Darkspawn, only a lot nicer. It seems to be different for some of us. For example, I'm personally following a smell. Some of the guys felt it was a taste. A couple thought they kept seeing something bright and shimmering. Some say it's like music, and others claim that they can feel warmth on their skin." He shrugged. "It's strange, whatever it is. The Commander thinks it's dangerous, very dangerous."

Alistair snorted. "Like I would trust his judgment, after Loghain."

"I'm not here to argue that with you, Alistair. I'm just doing my job and trying to find the source of this draw," Terrinz sat back and crossed powerful arms across his leather-clad chest, his chair creaking on its two back legs.

"No need, I think I know what it is," Alistair said. "I can't explain its purpose or the reason for it, but I think I know what the source is." He was suddenly depressed beyond belief. "She's at the Chantry."

"She?" Terrinz' eyebrow rose. "Are you saying a person is doing this?"

"She's a mage. A very powerful one," Alistair told him. He pondered trying the whiskey again, but he already felt drugged and overpowered. He pushed it away with distaste. "And she's insane. Not just a little insane, but completely, totally, irreparably insane."

"That's a shame," Terrinz said. "But I suppose that makes getting rid of it easier."