Chapter Twenty

Touched

.

Don't you stand there and then tell me you love me

Then leave again

'Cause I've fallen in love with you again

~ Janet Jackson

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A quiet dusk rolled over Redcliffe, softly deepening the sky outside without accompaniment of the standard thunderstorms in the afternoon, revealing a gauzy purple sky dotted with the first stars.

For the entirety of the day, Alistair had been in a state of nearly frantic activity. The messengers rode in periodically to update him on the progress of the battle taking place a short distance away while the nobles left behind all clamored around him, firing questions at each new rider and sending messages back to their respective captains. Alistair would have liked to tell them to drop the façade—Elissa had more experience with darkspawn and battle tactics then any of the men in the room and they knew it—but it made them feel better to pretend they were somehow involved. He might take a lesson or two from them, he thought wryly, and maybe this cold pit in his stomach would leave him in peace.

But now the study was quiet, most of the nobility gone downstairs as trickle of wounded became a steady stream. He was half tempted to join them, knowing they would be gathered in the great hall, drinking hard and saying little as they waited to see which ones would pull through. The notion of getting completely hammered held a certain amount of appeal.

He had made several appearances downstairs himself, waiting for news as well as personally visiting with some of those who had taken injuries, but his place, his purpose for staying behind, was here in this room, watching over the strange soul who's melodic call had unwittingly summoned the dark horde.

In the stillness, Kern sat contentedly in the corner of the room beside his new friend, though Daniel had already succumbed to exhaustion from the overload of excitement and zonked out right on the floor. Alistair would move him soon, before the rest of the wounded arrived and the castle became a madhouse of pain and ugliness he had no desire for his boy to be witness to. But for now he simply stood beside the window, unable to tear his eyes away from the winding road that swathed through the forest. Waiting, hoping, that Elissa would somehow come into view.

With a sigh he dragged himself away, turning his attention back to his charge.

Kern was even more unusually quiet then Daniel, Alistair had learned through the course of the day. He rarely spoke unless spoken to, and his golden eyes were filled with a thoughtful look that gave him the overall impression of being studiously aware of his surroundings. He was small for his age, rosy-cheeked after a few days of Leliana's attentions and, Alistair had discovered with some degree of disbelief, possessing that indefinable air of quiet happiness that spoke of being well cared for.

He was currently concentrating intently on a flower cupped in his small hands, pilfered from an ornamental vase in the corner of the room. Alistair joined him on the floor, but the child didn't look up from the withered petals, smiling softly to himself as though he could see something there that others could not.

"Aren't you sleepy?" Alistair asked, completely at a loss on what to do now that the elven servant who had taken charge of the boys during the day had been summoned downstairs to aid the healers. He'd never spent so much time with small children—even all the days he'd been in Daniel's company, Elissa had been with them, handling the everyday tasks of making sure he was fed and cleaned up and rested. Weren't they supposed to take regular naps or something?

Kern only shook his head, which was absolutely no help at all.

"Are you sure? Because you know, I'm pretty tired, and I don't have to do all that growing and such that you have to. It must be exhausting."

The boy gazed up at him, all childish beauty and innocence. Alistair sucked in a sharp breath when the flower in his hands curled in on itself and then bloomed once again, bright and dewy as if it had just been plucked. Kern tipped the reborn rose into Alistair's hand and assured solemnly, "My mum's with her."

At that moment Fergus burst into the room, still covered in sweat, his eyes wide. "Alistair—it's Elissa."

… … …

Aeryc clambered up on the moving cart beside Elissa and Morrigan, careful not to jostle the wounded commander as he squeezed in beside them. The arrows still protruded from her torso, broken off as close to the head as they could get them—Morrigan and Thomas had both insisted she would be better off leaving them there until they could reach a proper healer. Elissa was in a state of delirium, shivering despite the warmth of the evening and clammy to the touch. He reached out and stroked her hair away from her forehead.

"Hold on just a bit longer, Liss. We're nearly there."

She looked up at him with bleary eyes and forced out a weak smile. "Wretched darkspawn. I remember now why we kill them."

He chuckled quietly beneath his breath. "Well, the ones that did this to you are cinders now, thanks to Morrigan." Beside her, Morrigan murmured beneath her breath, chanting a resolve of healing that slowed the bleeding to a sluggish flow. The witch looked drained, but her skill had kept her otherwise unharmed in the fighting. "Thank you," he said, and Morrigan started in surprise for a moment before shaking her head in disgust.

"I did nothing for you, Templar," she answered and continued murmuring.

He had rather expected that response. Morrigan's searing tongue was predictable enough, once you began to understand her a little. Aeryc watched her dubiously, wondering if she was up to the task of keeping the spell up until they were able to reach the castle. He reached out with his senses, and felt the waning glow of the power that had exuded from her only this afternoon. "Maybe I should fetch Thomas."

Morrigan only shot him a nasty look and continued chanting, a bit louder than before.

Aeryc ignored her. He could certainly understand how the woman got beneath Alistair's skin, but he had begun to view her as something of a child, highly intelligent but utterly inexperienced in the range and depth of her own humanity, and quick to lash out at what she didn't understand. Instead, he spoke to Elissa. "He's had more time to rest, and he wasn't the one setting the entire battlefield ablaze," he said. "I'm not about to be the one to answer to King Alistair if you die, you know. I prefer to keep my head attached to my shoulders if possible."

Elissa's eyes rolled back before she brought him back into focus, speaking through her teeth. "Nothing vital. Just have to keep bleeding slowed."

"You don't know that."

Elissa was shaking her head, stubborn even against the haze of pain that turned her features flushed and damp. "I'm fine." She closed her eyes for a moment, battling to bring her body back under her own control. "Aeryc… the others…"

He fought to hide his grief, a useless endeavor. The Tainted bond between the Wardens burned brightly, even without the presence of the Archdemon. He knew that Elissa could feel the ripping ties as keenly as he; she could sense each of the mortally wounded like fading flames, lost in the sea of misty grey that would claim them all in the end. "They have healers with them."

"Please, go to them."

"Elissa…"

"Stop hovering!" Aeryc raised an eyebrow at Morrigan's sharp reprimand. "The Warden knows her own mind. Off with you. You are accomplishing nothing except to break my concentration, and I've no desire to listen to your lamenting should she bleed to death."

Aeryc gave her a long, level look. "You're kind of a bitch, you know that?"

Elissa's eyes opened more fully and she gasped out a strangled, watery chuckle, unable to contain herself. Aeryc never spoke to any woman that way, but he was beginning to have his doubts that Morrigan even fit into that category. She was more like a force of nature, magnificently untamed as a summer storm and every bit as ruthless.

Instead of hurling fire at him as he half expected, the witch actually smiled—the small, halfhearted lift of her lips that served well enough for a smile on her. "So I have heard, and from better men then you," she said. "Go and see to your other Wardens, or your Commander will not rest and let the magic help her as she ought."

… … …

Any doubt Elissa may have maintained that the nobility were aware of her resurrected relationship with the king was put to rest by their reactions at seeing her wounded. Instead of being placed with the rest of the injured in the great hall she was hastened upstairs while a page was immediately dispatched to fetch Wynne.

The Wardens had been hit the hardest, but mercifully, the army had survived largely intact. Their losses were keen, but not crippling. The Order would recover, would grieve the loss and move on, surviving as always.

Aeryc ran upstairs to find Elissa on the floor of her chambers, lying on her side in front of a blazing hearth. The king himself was kneeling with her while Wynne hovered nearby, muttering a minor healing spell beneath her breath as she tipped herbs into boiling water. Alistair was flipping a square piece of linen into a twisted line. "Aeryc, hold her down. Wynne can't do it."

He quickly did as he was told. Alistair smiled grimly. "Tighter. She's a thrasher," he said before offering the twisted bit of cloth to Elissa. "Bite down."

Elissa obeyed. Alistair began yanking at the laces that held her armor together. Aeryc was very familiar with the story that was fast becoming legend, but had been difficult to picture Elissa and the King of Ferelden as comrades in arms, homeless and wandering for nearly a year before defeating the Archdemon. Now, while Alistair checked the wound left by the arrows, his sleeves shoved up to his elbows and his hands covered in blood, it was easy to see this was no new occurrence in their relationship. He settled back and pillowed Elissa's head in his lap. "Hold on to me, love."

Elissa nodded. Aeryc could feel her muscles tense and bunch in expectation. She screeched against the cloth in her teeth when Alistair grasped the shaft and yanked it out in a gush of blood before promptly sitting back to make room for the elder healer. Wynne was beside her immediately, blue and soothing magic flowing from her age-scarred hands. Alistair glanced up at Aeryc and nodded, signaling that he could release her. Yet his words were for Elissa, his tone exceedingly gentle. "It's over now, love. See? Nothing at all. Just a quiet evening by the fire."

"Alistair, we need to move her," Wynne said quietly, not looking up from her work. "It would be best if she moves as little as possible for a while. There are some internal injuries and excessive blood loss. All of it will take time to heal."

The king's mouth went into a hard, straight line, but he kept his silence as he got up and lifted Elissa as tenderly as he could. Wynne made to follow him into the chamber. Alistair caught Aeryc's eye, silently asking him to wait.

He wasn't alone for long. Alistair only took a moment to deposit Elissa into her room under the watchful care of Wynne before rejoining him, shutting the door quietly behind him. "What happened?"

Aeryc could only shrug helplessly. "Simple rotten luck, Your Majesty. It happens sometimes, even to one as experienced as Elissa. It's fortunate that Morrigan was there, or it could have been a good sight worse."

Alistair didn't answer right away, looking intently at his blood stained hands, one rubbing the back of the other. "I see." He remained quiet for some time, leaving Aeryc to wonder if he should slip out and leave him alone with his thoughts, but the young king shook himself and looked back up, and Aeryc could see the mask settle into place, falling like a curtain and dousing the bewildered frustration behind his gaze.

"You should probably see to your wounded."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Still, Aeryc hesitated a moment longer. He was unsure what he wanted to say, but a sudden sympathy for the still young man in front of him welled up inside of him. Before he could find the words, Wynne appeared, and the moment vanished.

"She's resting. You can go back in there in a bit."

"Good. We should tell Fergus." Alistair looked over himself in distaste. "Wynne, could you stay with Daniel for a bit? Make sure he isn't seeing any of this, please. I'll be in there as soon as I can wash up."

"Of course."

… … …

Alistair had been removed from the Wardens for so long, he had almost forgotten the power of the bond they shared, the hollow, aching hole that the loss of a single life would inevitably leave behind. Almost, but not quite. No amount of time could make him forget the days that followed Ostagar, when the call in his blood cried out into a vast expanse of nothing at all, and only Elissa's mournful draw rose up in ghostly, muted response of what had once been a chorus of Brothers.

He could see the losses shadowed in her eyes when he returned later, though she smiled softly to herself when she saw Daniel, a bright spot in the gloom. The boy was still drowsy, his head rested sleepily against his father's shoulder as he carried him, but he refused to go back to sleep until he had seen Elissa for himself. Alistair idly stroked his hair and set him down, murmuring, "There she is. Go and say goodnight."

Daniel trotted over to the bedside and crawled up, curling up at his mother's uninjured side and closing his eyes. Elissa smiled. "Okay, sweetling—you can sleep with me tonight."

Alistair moved around to the other side of the bed, shaking a packet of herbs that Wynne had given him. "I've talked to Leliana. The elven girl, Alina—she seemed like a level-headed lass. She's going to act as his nurse while you recover." He frowned as he dumped the packet into a cup of water waiting on the table beside the bed. "Why doesn't he have one, by the way?"

Elissa moved as if to shrug, but immediately winced, her hand going to her injured shoulder. "No reason, really. At first I couldn't find anyone suitable, and so took him everywhere with me. I always had Zevran, Aeryc and Jaedan to help me when I couldn't. We just kind of got used to doing it that way, I think."

"I see." He fought back the urge to grimace at the sound of Jaedan's name. Alistair didn't even want to contemplate what kind of person insisted on competing with a memory. "Zevran wanted me to tell you that he was leading a scouting party to make sure the handful of darkspawn that escaped were properly routed back underground," he told her instead. "Well, he used a lot more fancy words than that, but that was the gist." He smiled when Elissa laughed quietly. "He didn't leave until he knew you were okay."

"I didn't think he had." She sighed and settled herself more comfortably against the pillows. "What is that?" She gestured to the herb-infused potion.

"This," he said, handing her the goblet, "is a specialized brew of Wynne's. She concocted it after spending a year listening to two young and reckless Grey Wardens insist they didn't have time to rest. It occurred to her to take away the option."

"You've finally resorted to drugging me, then?" she asked, but she took the cup when he handed it to her.

"I'll admit the idea of cutting off your chances of escape has its appeal, but no, it's just to help you sleep." He sighed, smoothing out the blankets that covered her hip with his hand. "I can't pretend that I don't hate this, Elissa."

She looked away, her gaze on the window and the deepening night that spread beyond it. "It's usually not this bad. Being the Warden Commander is dangerous, yes, but so is anything."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh really?" Before she could object his hand shot beneath the pillow to grasp the dagger he knew would be there and held it up to make his point. "Most people would prefer a stuffed animal." He tossed it onto the table.

"You were the one who insisted I start doing that."

"When we were camping out in the middle of nowhere with a Blight on our heels." He rubbed his face with his hands. "Haven't you ever wanted a normal life?"

She smiled softly and reached out to touch his fingers. "There's no normal life, Alistair. There's just life. I think this one suits us well enough."

He opened his mouth to argue further, but slowly shut it and shook his head instead. "Things will quiet down after this. Tell me what you want done, as far as the Order goes. I can send out messages and get some of these men stationed back at Ostagar. I was out on the ramparts earlier, trying to get a feel for what's left of the horde. I think the immediate threat is over."

"I'll see to it."

"You're supposed to be resting."

"It's not that bad. I'm just a little incapacitated is all."

"Well, then let me be capacitated for you." He smiled when she laughed at him. "What? It's a word."

"Aren't you busy enough without dealing with the after effects of my stupidity?"

"Maker forbid, you may have to let me take care of you for a few days." He absently rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. "I'm sorry, Elissa, for the men you lost today. I wish I could have known them better."

She closed her eyes and looked away. "I do, too."

He leaned over and kissed her brow, breathing in the scent and warmth of her, trying again to assure himself that she was still alive. "Try not to do this to me again, please," he murmured. "I'll get down on my knees, if it helps."

She looked at him, wavering on the edge of remorse. "Alistair…"

"Get some sleep," he said, cutting her off. "I'll be back first thing in the morning."

… … …

Aeryc was in the outer chamber, his arms crossed over his chest while he argued with Sarah. He looked wearier than Alistair had ever seen him, pale and grey with exhaustion. The archer was oblivious to his grief. She looked positively mutinous, her blue eyes narrow and her anger riding high on her cheeks.

"I'm not some mage, to be playing healer. You should have sent me with the scouts!"

"You're not a Grey Warden yet, Sarah."

"Neither is that foul assassin, but he was allowed to go!"

Aeryc glared at her, and Alistair noticed for the first time just how formidable the man appeared when someone managed to provoke his temper. "Zevran knows much, much more about being a Warden than a thoughtless potential who thinks she needs to kill all the darkspawn in the world in one go. The men who you would call Brothers are downstairs even now, gasping out their last breath in the name of duty, while you plague me your constant whining that you aren't valued. It's high time you learned true strength, rather than this poor imitation that you carry. It's nothing more than a weakness in you." Sarah blinked at him, taken aback by the harsh assessment. "Go and help tend to your Brothers. You may learn something."

"Then put me through my Joining!" she said. "Make me a real Warden! It's well and good to lecture me about sacrifice, when you haven't even given me a chance to prove myself!"

It was too much, after the loss of the day. Alistair's voice was harsher than he expected when he spoke. "You have no idea what you're asking for, little girl." Sarah whirled around, startled to find him standing behind her. "Your commanding officer gave you an order," he said, and she nodded and scampered out the room. Alistair waited until she had gone. "She's going to get someone killed with that attitude."

"She could," Aeryc said with a sigh. "However, Elissa is more than capable of beating blood vengeance out of her recruits after they survive the Joining. Many of us came to the Grey Wardens after losing everything, Your Majesty. It's nothing we haven't dealt with before." He looked up and met Alistair's eyes. "The Joining will help her to see. You know that lesson well, I think."

Alistair leaned back against the wall, taking a moment to really look at the man Elissa had chosen to serve as her second in command. Aeryc's age was indeterminate, for he was a man for whom life had aged beyond his years. His face seemed carved out of stone at times, incapable of expressing anything more than a quiet smile by way of humor on rare occasions, but in the flickering firelight Alistair could see lines of care and grief that slashed his features like shallow scars. Sometime in this man's life his emotions had run strong, and cut deep.

Aeryc noticed his appraisal and nodded as if answering a question. "I understand Sarah better than most," he said. "My wife and son were killed when the darkspawn overran our village during the Blight." His eyes took on a faraway, haunted look as he stared into the fire, remembering. "Timothy was only a year older than Daniel is now."

"I'm sorry," Alistair whispered automatically, icy claws sinking into his flesh at the thought of losing the wide-eyed innocence that had completely captured his heart in so short a time.

"So am I," Aeryc said. "I lived in the same rage that Sarah knows for a year, fueled by mead and bitterness. I'll admit I reached a point where I was rather unfit to live before I learned the lesson I'm trying to teach Sarah."

"What helped you?"

Aeryc smiled his quiet smile. "I met Elissa." He glanced back at Alistair briefly before returning his eyes to the fire. "I was drunk, so sick I could barely stand and out of money. When I saw her and Zevran camping in a clearing, I thought to make a bit of quick coin and tried to lift their packs." He chuckled quietly to himself. "It didn't go well."

"And she recruited you?" Alistair shook his head. "Why am I even surprised?"

Aeryc laughed again. "It's true, Elissa has questionable methods for deciding where to show her mercy. Zevran was all for killing me on the spot, but she stopped him. Maybe I said something that did it—I'm not certain. I don't remember it very clearly. But she took me in, threatening to invoke the Right of Conscription if I refused.

"Elissa knows grief. She knew there was still a chance for me, and she took it. When a man's broken down to naught, he becomes an animal. Give him a purpose, and he has a chance at being a man again." He met Alistair's eyes. "I just wanted you to know, Your Majesty, that I understand what you and Elissa went through to end the Blight. You two were the ones who brought an end to that carnage, despite what it cost you." He paused. "When it came time to report to the First Warden, I didn't have any trouble deciding where my loyalties belonged."

… … …

Elissa appeared to be sound asleep when he entered, but still Alistair crept inside, overwhelmed by a sudden desire to be near her. She was resting on her back, a testament to her injuries, since Elissa religiously slept on her left side, as he remembered. But her breathing was deep and peaceful, her face free of worry lines in repose. Alistair sat at the edge of the bed, looking at her and Daniel, warm under cover. As he watched them, the rest of the world fell away, leaving him to see how ridiculous it all had been. First leaving her, then letting her stay gone, and now being too afraid to ask her to stay.

He reached out and brushed the hair away from her eyes, bending forward so as not to wake Daniel. "Liss, can you hear me?" Her eyes opened only a crack, peeking at him through long, sooty lashes before they fell closed again. He leaned in close enough that his lip brushed the hair at her temple to whisper softly, "I love you."

Her eyes opened wider now, allowing him to see them clearly, and he knew with certainty that whatever war they had been waging was long over on his end. She had him, body and soul, captured somewhere in the endless blue of her eyes.

She reached out and gently caught his fingers, her voice barely a whisper. "Stay."

"Here?"

She nodded, almost imperceptibly. "Please don't leave."

There was more in those words than a request to spend the night beside her, and as Alistair slid beneath the blankets and gingerly slipped his arm around her waist, wary of hurting her, he tried to convey with his touch the vow that echoed in his mind of wistful, echoed regret.

For the first time in a long, long time, Alistair slept soundly.