Author's note: Thank you so much for all the kind reviews, I'm so grateful for every one of them! Hello to all of you readers, I hope you like what you read!

And my sincere thanks to my awesome beta, Epiphany sola Gratia!

He was lying awake on his bedroll, hands behind his head, trying not to think about the enormity of the task before them, when he heard her call him softly from outside.

"Alistair? Are you asleep?"

"No," he answered, sitting up. "Is something wrong?"

"No… are you alone?"

He chuckled, before realizing she was serious.

"Ah… yes."

"Are you decent?"

"Yes," he said again, more than intrigued. "What's going on?"

"I'm coming in," she said, pushing the flaps of his tent apart with her foot. She slipped inside his tent rather awkwardly, her full hands making it difficult to keep balance. She was holding a lantern, two shot glasses, and a bottle of Antivan brandy. The real good stuff, too, judging by the label. She sat cross-legged on the floor and he backed away, moving his feet to give her space. To say that he was surprised was an understatement.

"Where did you get that?" he said, pointing to the bottle, deciding to begin with the easiest question. She blushed slightly.

"Ah… arleamonsprivatecellar," she mumbled, so quickly he did not understand one word.

"What?"

She sighed and looked up at him as if defying him to say something, but he could see she was trying not to laugh.

"Arl Eamon's private cellar," she said more audibly. He grinned at her.

"Okay… so… What's the occasion? Is it my birthday?"

She shook her head, laughing.

"No, silly! You don't even know when your own birthday is?"

"I do," he said defensively. "What I don't know for certain is what today is."

"It's not your birthday," she said. "It's mine."

"What?" Alistair thought, frantically trying to remember if anything in his pack could pass for an acceptable gift. The only things he could think of were the gifts she had given him and… well, he couldn't do that.

"Ah… I didn't know… I… I haven't gotten you anything."

"That's okay. I didn't want to make a big thing out of it. We're pretty busy after all. Anyway, I have everything I want right here. I know what I want you to give me for my birthday."

"I'm… not sure I follow…"

"You told me how it was, with the other Grey Wardens. The friendship, the camaraderie, the drinking, the boasting, the passing out… I use to have it, you know. I miss it. That's… that's what I want."

"Okaaay… but there was usually a lot more of us involved," he warned.

Her smile vanished somewhat, and she carefully avoided his eyes as she took extra care to arrange the bottle and glasses on the ground between them.

"Yeah, well… you're all I've got."

He cleared his suddenly tightening throat.

"All right then," he said, opening the bottle and filling the glasses, "one awesome Grey Warden gathering, coming up!"

Her smile returned and she grabbed her drink.

"All right. Tell me if you know this one: There once was a woman, she lived in the sea…"

Alistair listened to the rest of the naughty poem with wide eyes. Well that was a side of her he never saw!

"My wife gets suspicious when I come home smelling like fish!" she finished, laughing, and downed her drink in one shot. "Your turn!"

"Ah… all right, let me think of something…"

He came up with something not too horrible, and the night went on. They went through the bottle of good brandy fairly quickly, and Kallian went back to her tent to fetch a couple of bottles of the less expensive stuff. Of course, by that time, it didn't really matter.

By the third bottle, Alistair was telling her all about his childhood.

"… and when I woke up in the stall ol' Betsie bit me on the… on my… well, let's just say she wasn't a lady about it!"

Kallian burst out laughing, spilling some of the hard liquor on his bedroll, but he couldn't care less. He couldn't believe how good it felt to hear her laugh.

"When I was five," she said excitedly, "I brought a stray cat home, and he bit part of my ear off! See?" She moved her hair to show him her ear. She had a tiny dent and a white scar on the soft part of the lobe.

He scoffed. "This little thing? That's nothing! Good ol' Betsie had a set of teeth on her like you wouldn't believe!"

"You're right, I don't believe! Show me!"

"What? I'm not… I'm not gonna show you!"

"Then I win!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't aware this was a contest!" he said, laughing. "What is it anyway, whose life was worse? Because I think I got you beat!"

She leaned towards him, somewhat unsteadily, her eyes glinting with mischief.

"Bring it on."

He looked at her with amused incredulity.

"All right… For most of my childhood, I lived in the stables and slept with the dogs."

"Well I…" She frowned, wrinkling her nose as if thinking was a bit of a challenge. "… no, you win this one, I mean, my house wasn't much to look at, but it wasn't a stable!"

She downed her drink and poured herself another one, motioning for him to continue.

"When I was in training to become a templar, at least once a week I was sent to scrub the cauldrons and then went to bed without supper, because the commander didn't like my attitude." He made air quotes around "attitude" and she laughed.

"That one time," she said, "my dad lost his job, and we went days without eating anything until my dad went to the neighbours to beg for some food because I couldn't get up anymore."

He looked at her, appalled, but she returned his gaze with only giddy anticipation. Shaking his head slightly, he downed his drink and she applauded, laughing.

"All right, I got another one. I was forced to go to this party, see. It was one of the Wardens' birthday, and he said the only thing he wanted was a woman, so because I was the youngest recruit the others dressed me up in sexy women clothes and made me come out of this giant fake pink cake."

She roared with laughter at his sad mimics. "You're making this up!"

"I wish," he said, pouting, and she laughed again.

Her laughter subsided as he reached to the bottle to refill his glass. She was thinking hard, he could see, and he watched with growing worry as the smile faded slowly from her face and her expression became very serious.

"I was forced to go to this party, see," she said, and there was no trace of laughter in her voice whatsoever. "I was to get married to this stranger from Highever. It was an arranged marriage, and I was very nervous. When I saw Nelaros, I was… I was so relieved. He seemed kind, and handsome, and he promised me he was going to spend the rest of his life learning how to make me happy. During the ceremony, the arl's son came to the alienage. He was looking for women to… liven his party. He took my bridesmaids and me to his estate. The guards… they killed my friend when she protested, right in front of us. They dragged all of my other friends outside, and I was left alone with these two guards who were telling each other what… what they were going to do to me. They had the front of my wedding dress ripped to shreds when Soris came and threw me a sword. A… a sword Duncan had lent him, so he could come and save me. I killed them."

A shaky sigh escaped her lips and Alistair reached out to her, but she flinched and he let his hand fall. Her voice got lower, colder, as she continued.

"I killed them all, every guard, every person that got in my way. Soris and me finally got to this room, and Nelaros was there, facing a group of guards. He… he had come for me. I knew him for about an hour and a half, and he was risking his life for me. He… he was killed. Right there, right before my eyes. We weren't even married yet, not really… He still had my wedding ring on him."

She angrily wiped away the tears that had started falling from her eyes.

"When we got to the arl's son, he had… my cousin Shianni, she was… she already had been…" She shook her head, unable to finish. "He tried to negotiate with me," she said, spitting the word out as if it was poison. "I killed him. The arl of Denerim's son. I gutted him like the pig he was, and I revelled in his blood. When the guards came for me, Duncan conscripted me before they could drag me away."

She took a deep, shaky breath, clutching at her shot glass with both hands, not looking him in the eyes. Alistair was stunned. All he could think of was that he wished she hadn't told him this story while he was so thoroughly, mind-numbingly drunk. Maybe then he would have known how to comfort her.

As he silently looked at her, though, he suddenly could see clearly she didn't want comfort, nor pity. She could have told that story anytime if that was what she wanted. If he was to reach out to her now, he knew she would flinch, or go away, or hit him. She was full of rage, not sadness, and she already seemed to regret telling him her story. So he went about this delicate situation the best way he knew how.

Awkward humour.

"So… not even a fake pink cake then?"

She looked at him then in total disbelief, and a surprised, loud burst of laughter passed her lips before she could think about it further.

"No, sorry. No cake. Just blood and doom."

"Ah. Then… well I'm sorry, but you're gonna have to drink."

"What? No way!"

"Oh, please! My dress had lace. And I had to wear a wig! A blond one, with curls and ribbons!"

She snorted, but he could see in her eyes a glimmer of gratitude as she obediently downed her drink. He refilled her glass.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice shaking slightly. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak at that moment.

Two drinks later, he was telling her another story about Grigor the Mountain when she literally passed out, sprawled across his tent floor, and started snoring softly.

Well. Well. So much for that.

He found a way to lie down without touching her too much, and quickly fell into oblivion himself. His last coherent thought was that at least the tiny elf didn't outdrink him.

He remembers the first time he held her in his arms.

She awoke with a start a few hours later, gasping and sitting up beside him. It wasn't morning yet. He opened his eyes with some difficulty when he sensed her movement, and their gazes met. He could see in her eyes that memories of the past night were coming back to her and she gasped again, a strange, strangled, desperate sound, as if something inside her was breaking. In a second he was sitting up, arms opened wide, and she fell against him, her body shaking with violent, muted, gasping sobs.

It felt like slowly drowning, he thought, to hold her in his arms as she wailed in desperation, and to know he could do nothing else. His heart was pounding, and he could barely breathe without choking, as if something was pressing strongly on his chest. She was so tiny in his arms, so fragile…

"I'm still there…" she whispered, her voice husky and scared. "Every time I close my eyes, every time I raise my weapons and rush to battle, it's like I'm still there, still trapped, and still too late… I… I can't escape…"

She grasped at his shoulders and he moved a hand to her hair, gently rocking her in his arms.

"Shh… you're here, you're safe… I'm here…"

She seemed to calm down a bit, her breathing still shaky and uneven but the sobs subsiding slowly.

"I don't wanna close my eyes anymore," she murmured against his chest.

"Well… maybe you'll be lucky and you'll only get the happy, fluffy, darkspawn-infested nightmare this time," he said before he could think, and immediately felt like punching himself, or picking any direction and start running far, far away. Why did he always do that?

She chuckled softly through her tears and he felt relief wash over him. She wasn't mad.

"Yeah… I should be so lucky," she whispered, sniffling.

"Just go to sleep," he said, his voice soft, soothing. "You're right here in camp with us. And when you wake up, maybe Leliana will be making breakfast. I bet she'll be humming while cooking too, I mean, the girl even hums while killing darkspawn! And maybe Wynne will be reading, or mending some clothes, and Morrigan will make some tea I absolutely will not drink, and Zevran will stare luridly at everyone… and then we'll roll up our tents and be off to a merry day of Grey Wardening…"

He felt her head becoming heavier on his shoulder, her breathing getting more even. He lay her back down on the tent floor and wrapped his own blanket around her. He lay down on his back beside her, hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. He did not find sleep again that night.