Standard disclaimers still apply.

IN THE ABSENCE OF MARTYRS

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He looks so tired.

He isn't sleeping, and she brushes aside the vague impression of disappointment. It would have been nice to have a moment to gather her thoughts, to look without being seen, to have the advantage over him for just a moment. But Elissa has seen him sleeping many times before, and – that train of thought is nipped very neatly in the bud, thank you very much.

He is sitting on the edge of one of the low beds on the far side of the long, narrow dormitory, hunched over with his head in his hands. She is briefly pleased to see that Simeon was able to find clean clothes that fit him, but that pleasure is quickly replaced by horror at how much thinner he looks. What in the name of the holy prophet has he been doing with himself?

Focus, she tells herself. She keeps her steps slow and even as she approaches, uncertainty clawing at her stomach like a wet cat. He stiffens a little as she draws close, then drops his hands to his lap and raises his head. His eyes lock on her boots as she stops in front of him, then slide up slowly, lingering a moment on the warm mug she holds out to him before finally looking up to her face.

Fixing him with what she hopes is an impassive gaze, she bounces the proffered mug very slightly in the air. "Here," she says. "I put in extra honey."

After a moment he takes the cup gingerly, without breaking eye contact, and she cannot shake the relief that blossoms in her chest when his fingers do not brush hers. His stare is relentless, but this she understands, this she can do. Elissa has never lost a staring contest in this castle, be it with Fergus, Father, or Dog, and she has no intention of starting now.

Her victory doesn't take long, and she is once again vaguely disappointed. When did you become so childish? she chides herself as Alistair drops his eyes and finally drinks deeply from the tea.

After a moment he balances the cup carefully on an open palm and stares at it. "Why?" he whispers hoarsely, the second word he's spoken to her in twice as many years.

She isn't sure what he's asking - Why did you spare Loghain? Why do you remember how I like my tea? Why did you call off your pet warhound of a Warden last night? Why am I shut away in this room like a prisoner? Why is all not sunshine and thrice-damned roses?

She also doesn't care. She's suddenly angry once more, and how dare he?

"No," she says. "You don't get to ask the questions here."

He gives a humorless bark of a laugh. "I see. I'm in no position to argue, now am I?" he asks softly, looking back up at her through a fringe of hair grown slightly too long.

She can't read his expression or his tone, and she sets her own cup down on one of the plain bedside tables and twists her fingers together behind her back before he can notice how hard her hands are shaking.

"Why are you here, Alistair?" she asks plainly.

He smiles a little grimly. "Because I have nowhere else to be."

Elissa makes an impatient sound in her throat. "You've clearly had somewhere else to be for the past four years. And you certainly seemed to be in a hurry to get there when you tucked tail and ran out on us day before the battle with the blighted hordes of darkspawn and the maker-damned ARCHDEMON; have you forgotten?" Her voice is escalating, and the vitriol and bitterness in her tone sound harsh even to her own ears.

Alistair shoves himself to his feet with more force than necessary and stands uncomfortably close to her, defensiveness and a hint of anger evident in his expression. "It wasn't like that and you know it," he growls down at her. "It was rash and it was a mistake, I can't deny that now, but it was a matter of honor at–"

"Oh, the abyss take your honor!" she bursts out. "Honor didn't hold you to your vows, did it? Honor didn't keep you in Denerim when there were three of us against that monster, did it? Deserting us wasn't honorable, Alistair! It was cowardice and damn well near treason!"

"Then why didn't you just kill me and be done with it?" he shouts back. "The Wardens tolerate no cowardice," -he spat the word out as though it were distasteful- "as you saw firsthand at your Joining! Why did you bar my execution? Why invoke your right to a boon from the queen to save a deserter?"

"Because I needed you! Your country needed you and you just – left – and – oh!" She stops with a groan of frustration. There is an edge of hysteria creeping into her voice and traitorous tears are threatening to spill, and she will be damned if she sheds another tear over him or this mess he created. She turns her back to him and presses the heels of her hands to her eyes, trying to regain her composure and steady her breathing.

Only then she can't breathe at all, because his hands are suddenly hard on her shoulders and he is spinning her about, pulling her body roughly to his, and crushing her against him with an air of desperation. His arms are so tight around her that it hurts and the hot stirring of his ragged breath in her hair makes her chest hitch with a dry sob. It shouldn't still feel so familiar and it certainly shouldn't feel so right. She had thought the memories damn well banished, but her body remembers –oh, it remembers– and for a few seconds she is lost.

"I know, I know," he says miserably. "Just please... stop. Stop... and…"

His voice is too close and his hands on her back are too intimate and it is just too much. Elissa shoves her hands against his chest hard, pushing him away with all her strength. She can feel his skin slipping loosely over the ribs beneath her fingers and she remembers: this is what heartbreak feels like.

"No. Don't – touch – me," she grinds out, taking two unsteady steps back and ignoring that look on his face. "It is inappropriate and unwanted."

For several long moments the harsh sounds of their uneven breath are the only break in the stillness. Then Alistair eases himself slowly back down on the edge of the bed, his movements slow and shaky like those of a much older man. He drops his face back into his hands for a moment. "I'm sorry, Elissa," he says, his voice muffled and echoing strangely through his palms. "You have no idea how sorry."

She sighs long and slow, unsure how to respond. It is neither that simple nor that easy, and they both know it. There is no guidebook for this, no protocol she can follow.

"What am I supposed to do with you?" she whispers.

"Whatever you like," he says, his voice free of implication. "I've been fighting this pull for too long. I don't know. I don't care. Your men, the big one at least, would see me strung up as a deserter. I can't argue with you if you trust his word. He's an old-timer, maybe that's the way of things at Weisshaupt. We're both–"

"Don't be ridiculous," she interrupts. "I'm not saying that the urge to have your head wasn't powerfully strong once upon a time, but I'm not going to kill you, Alistair. If that is the way at Weisshaupt – well, this is not Weisshaupt. And Edgard talks loudly... and certainly has his own ideas... but at the end of the day he will follow my lead, as will every other man in this fortress. To be honest, if you were anyone else... well, I don't think he would have reacted quite so strongly. At times I'm afraid he sees me more as a surrogate daughter than his commander, and he can be... protective."

Alistair looks at her strangely for a moment. "What exactly did you tell him about me?"

Elissa makes a sound very like an indignant snort. "We weren't exactly discreet, Alistair," she says severely. " And after all the nobility at the landsmeet saw and heard, by the time Edgard and the other Orlesian Wardens arrived, the rumors were rampant. The entire capital knew what the two of us were about – everyone who had seen us together. And," she mutters as an afterthought, "Everyone who saw me after."

"I was blindsided, Elissa," he whispers. "Angry and – and bewildered. I didn't mean to hurt you. And I never wanted – it was just – Loghain! I don't – I don't know even know how you could...."

"He killed the archdemon, you know," she says quietly. "After Riordan died trying."

Alistair exhales harshly, rubbing a hand over his disheveled head. "I know. Died a hero of Ferelden, bless his shriveled black heart."

"He died helping to right the wrongs he committed against us, Alistair." She scowls at his exasperated look. "He died so neither of us had to. Why is this so offensive to you?"

"Because it should have been me," he says, his voice sharp. "It should have been me fighting beside you. It should have been me who died at the keep that day. He didn't deserve the honor. He deserved a traitor's death, and you gave him the opposite."

She exhales and bites back a retort. "Look," she says wearily after a moment, "We aren't going to agree on this. And frankly, I don't give two figs for your would-be pissing contest for dying rights. It happened, neither of us liked it, but we both did what we believed necessary. Now you're here, and we deal with the consequences." The words are harsh but her tone is not. She can't muster the energy to even feign anger right now.

He doesn't answer, just looks at her silently.

She gives in first.

"So. We've established I'm not going to kill you. What now?"

Alistair scrubs at his face and the thin, hollowed angles still seem all wrong to Elissa. "I hadn't really thought that far ahead, to be completely honest," he admits. "Unless it is going to cause a rift amongst the men, I would – well, I would like to stay here. I'm a Warden, and I can't fight that. Just – being near others brings more peace than I've had in years." He drops his brooding gaze to the floor for a moment before looking back up with the closest thing to a smile she's seen from him yet. "And I'm rather fond of being in the sunshine and having proper food after all that time underground..."

"Underground?" she interrupts, quirking a questioning brow.

"Orzammar," he replies, and hesitates. "I'll – can we talk about this later?"

She regards him silently for a moment, then nods once. "We will," she says, but her tone emphasizes: don't think this is over.

"Come then. If you're to be... reinitiated, as it were, you should meet the others. The sub commanders need to know that you're here, and who you are. And there will need to be a meeting with them all later in a more official capacity to discuss the finer points of what will be expected of you. Since this is rather a special case."

She considers for a moment, and then plows ahead. She has to say it. "Alistair, when you join the Grey Wardens, you join for life. You know that. But you also must know that your loyalty will be called deeply under question."

"I know that," he says, meeting her gaze.

"I don't trust you." The words tear themselves from her throat like knives. "And no one here has any more reason to than I. I am your commander here, not your friend. I will not make this easy. You have a great deal to prove."

He doesn't falter. "Whatever it takes," he says, an odd expression twisting his jaw. "Commander."

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