Alistair lingered back from Neria as she flung herself onto the bed, sobbing into the sheets. They had just come from the Assembly. Harrowmont was king - and Bhelen was dead. The Aeducan turned on them despite what was decried to be the will of the Ancestors, and a blood bath had ensued.

The elven mage was not spared from the gore, her armour spattered with it, still shrouded and half-visible. Her body had glowed as she swung the crackling sword, slicing through Bhelen's supporters with a frightening cry. They'd had to fight on little to no sleep, marching straight to Lord Harrowmont when they emerged from the Deep Roads. Their stomachs were still aching from the emptiness. Alistair's own lips were cracked, and his senses were frayed. Pouring a glass of water, he sat on the opposite side of the bed and extended the glass, "Neria?"

"What?" She knocked the glass as she sat up, and the water fell off the side of the bed, splashing on the stone floor. Her eyes were red, and she softly gasped, trying to reign in her breathing.

Mouth dropping open, Alistair looked at her, the fatigue weighing his features. He looked down and shook the water spilt over his hand off, before stepping back to unbuckle his armour.

"Oh Maker," she shuddered and covered her mouth again, the auras about her flickering away and leaving her whole. "Just a sip, please. I do not wish to be like this!"

Alistair dropped his breastplate as Neria pulled off the bed, on her knees by their packs, pulling out the used bandages and empty bottles. There was the clatter of glass, thunking with coins and wood. Her movements grew more frantic, and one of the empty phials shattered as she threw it against the bureau.

The elf's sobs renewed as Alistair pulled her hands away, the fight gone from her. He stripped the rest of his armour before gingerly removing hers. Neria moved her limbs through the motions, still sitting on the floor as she reduced to quiet shudders, her voice a dry whine.

"I-I'm so sorry, Alistair. I'm so sorry."

"Shh, no," he whispered, furrowing his brow. There were bruises at the breaks in her armour, and here and there where it had dented.

"I could hear Him. The crystals, there were so many," she wept, scarce holding herself as he picked her up.

Alistair rubbed his thumbs over her cheeks, wiping the tears away as they spilt, sighing as he pulled her back to the bed with him. She felt smaller than he remembered. It had been so long since they'd been out of their armour.

"Look what I become, what have I done," Neria's voice trembled, stuffy and quiet. Hand in her hair, Alistair cradled her under his chin as she whispered, "I-I'm supposed to be strong."

"You are," he whispered, kissing her hair, no matter the blood and grime. He knew he was no better. Alistair tightened his arms as she tried to move, holding her slender elven frame against him as she trembled. He blinked rapidly to keep the tears from his eyes, sniffing in sharply. "We'll be in the sun soon. Out of the stone."

"Maker," she whimpered, turning to wrap an arm around his neck and crush against him. "I missed this."

Alistair sighed, hands spreading up her back to hold her flush, just linens between them. He rubbed the back of her neck, pressing his cheek to hers. "I love you."

Gripping him tighter, Neria cracked a soft sob, her lips on his cheek as she whispered, "And I you. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Take off your own armour."

Neria almost laughed, closing fists into his shirt as she shivered, "Get my own water to spill."

"Mm. Carry your own hardtack." Alistair closed his eyes, sighing heavily as he realized there was no need to be alert. The only tug in his blood was the woman in his arms, no distant thrum or itch, no screaming dragons or off-kilter beats.

"I've ruined the bed," Neria sighed, shaking again to find herself pinned in strong arms to steady her. Her tears left streaks down her unwashed cheeks, clean, pale rivulets that almost shined.

"I helped a little," Alistair murmured, tucking a hand under her thigh to support her as he stood up. Turning from the bed, one of Harrowmont's servants fled from where she had been working, chin down. The stone bath was filled with steaming water. "Seems we have a day or two to be pampered though. Since we're favourites of the king and all."

Neria sighed, closing her eyes and hiding her face against him as she swallowed the blubbering need inside. "I-I'm so sorry, Alistair."

"You don't want to have a bath with me?"

Neria laughed and sighed again, her hand running up the back of Alistair's head as he grinned against her cheek. "How do you do it?"

"Well, apparently they heat the water over something called fire..."

"No," she smirked, her bottom lip sticking out some as she looked over his face.

His brow was raised in feigned innocence. "You're right, they probably use those lavafalls out there."

"Lavafalls."

"Well it certainly isn't water." Neria groaned and put her lips down on Alistair's shoulder as he murmured, "I'm not that great." With that, he lowered her into the bath, and Neria squeaked in surprise, her clothing soaked.

Alistair smiled a sigh, tugging his shirt off and giggling as Neria splashed him, starting to feel the darkness lift for the first time in weeks.

"How are you faring?"

Neria lifted her head to Zevran and paused. They were almost to the top of the wide steps that led to the surface. "I'll be glad to see the sun."

"You had us quite worried about you."

"Us?"

"Oh yes, Leiliana and Wynne, when we returned from dispatching that woman in the underground," Zevran crossed his arms, keeping Neria's slow pace. "Beside themselves entirely."

"Mm." Neria looked back down. The tremors had faded, having slept through the worst of the withdrawal. The lingering effects of the Deep Roads would take longer to overcome.

"And," Zevran coughed and lowered his voice, "Of course, I am worried. Who might protect me if not for you, tesaro?"

Neria warmed into a light smile, though there were still bags under her eyes, "Yes, you so badly need my protection."

"Indeed I do," he sighed, leaning on her. "Perhaps you could carry me too? These stairs, I cannot go on."

Shaking her head, the elven mage hesitated to cast a rejuvenating spell that glowed yellow over Zevran's skin before dissipating. "All better."

Zevran laughed and kept stride. In another few moments they reached the locked doors that kept the surface out. Oghren looked like he was going to be sick.

"You can down a cask of ale and not bat an eye, but we're going into the fresh air and you look half-dead." Alistair said.

"What's it really like?" Oghren asked one of the sentries unhinging the stonework gears.

"Big," the dwarf replied.

When the doors cracked, they shielded their eyes. Neria found Alistair had taken her arm, and they hurried down the steps out. Her eyes were watering, it was so bright – and it was only overcast.

"By the stone..."

Zevran clapped Oghren on the shoulder, "Don't fall up now."

"Wh-what? The mage said that wouldn't happen!"

"She's been holding on with her toes so long, it's easy to forget." The Antivan chuckled and strode down the steps, leaving Oghren on the threshold of Orzammar as they closed the doors.

"How in the – sodding surfacers..." Oghren frowned and looked down, taking care down the steps.

Neria wiped the butt of her palm over her eyes. She was paler than Alistair remembered, her hair almost glowing against the snows behind her. Morrigan strode by to the merchants, a list of supplies in hand.

"So on to Redcliffe?"

Alistair looked to her, "Can't we enjoy this a moment?"

The dwarven envoys walked by, speaking to each other under their breath. They barely gave Oghren a glance.

"I'll take it in when we're out of the mountains," Neria murmured, closing her eyes and breathing deep. "I want to see spring..."

A stack of missives awaited Neria when they reached the base camp in the foothills where Bodahn and the rest of the military men were. Separate from their growing numbers, it had been easier to forget they were rallying for war. The camp was full of runners waiting to leave with her replies.

The dogwood was blossoming, floppy white petals weighing spindly branches, and underfoot mosses sprang bright green amidst periwinkle and yellow wildflowers. They had been in the mountains for two months, all told.

After spending half the day sparring, Neria walked out of camp to sit on a ridge and address the letters. She sorted out those she needed others advice on and did her best with the rest. Supply lines were under constant threat of darkspawn, and in some cases Loghain's men too. There was concern that the fields would not be planted in time to feed the soldiers, let alone the common folk – it would be a pressing matter in the months to come.

Dressed in her Tevinter robes, Neria faced the late afternoon sun, some of the colour returning to her cheeks – though more likely she was burning. Her quill fluttered in a flourish as she signed the parchment and set it aside to dry.

They'd done it. They had an army amassing to combat the Blight. Unfocused eyes gazed off the ridge as the sound – no, the feeling – of the archdemon roused in her memory. Her dreams had become more vivid and violent in ways she had not thought possible. How would they ever kill it?

"Hey there."

Neria looked up as Alistair moved some of the parchment to sit beside her. His shirt was loose and there was the flush of exertion on his cheeks. She leaned to kiss there as he slipped an arm around her.

"Almost through?"

"Half way," she sighed, putting her quill down.

Alistair nuzzled his chin atop her head, stubble catching her hair, "I never thought I'd appreciate being outside so much."

"Still special to me, I suppose," Neria looked at their hands, weaving her fingers with his. He kissed her neck and she closed her eyes. It was easy to forget the weeks of darkness, the tug of the horde, and the tremble of lyrium while in his arms. They sat in silence until she said, "Things are going to change, aren't they."

"I don't want them to," Alistair whispered, pulling her closer as he added. "Well, don't get me wrong, I might be pleased a little if we end the Blight and defeat down Teryn Loghain."

"Might be?"

"Just maybe."

"I love you," Neria replied, emotion closing her throat.

"I love you too." Alistair closed his eyes and smelt her hair as Neria pushed the papers farther and sank into his embrace. "I don't know what Arl Eamon will want –what... what I may have to do."

"I know," she forced, holding her breath to keep her tears in. She'd avoided thinking of his birthright, but the reality was looming too close.

"I don't want to be king. I've never wanted any of that."

"I know." The tears spilt anyway, and Neria trembled, a soft gasp breaking her lips.

"Hey, hey..." Alistair pulled her back, running a hand over her cheek.

"I've never felt this way, I –" Neria closed her eyes and he kissed her nose. "Maker, I am frightened of losing you."

"Don't be... I – I don't know what comes, but it won't change how I feel..."

Neria's brow furrowed and she pursed her lips to steady herself. Wynne's words echoed in her thoughts. "I try to tell myself the fear is a positive thing - for I would not fear if I didn't have hope. I would not be afraid if you did not mean so much to me... if I did not hope for more. For peace. For... something..."

Alistair put his forehead against Neria's, unable to reply. The sun was hot on their skin, even if the breeze was cool. He could smell the cottonwood growing in the valley below. It's what Redcliffe would smell like.

"We are Grey Wardens. We stay together no matter what."

Alistair kept his eyes closed, soaking her in as much as her words before he said, "Of course."

Inside though, Alistair knew it wouldn't be any choice of their own.

But so did Neria. She tightened her grip on his collar, kissing his chin before their lips met.