A/N: It's been a while. For which I apologize. Anywho, just a little to get me started again. Please R&R.\

The duo spent two days in Highever, getting themselves back to their proper state of mind. Zevran flirted with anything that moved while Alistair stepped between deep sadness and a flicker of his old self. Sometimes, a joke or two even came through. The assassin made note of the mood swings.

But, the day came when they had to leave. Early morning covered their trail with a thin fog, the grass on the sides of the road wet with dew and the morning song of the birds. "Ah, fresh air. Should only take a week more before we are in Redcliff, where we once more will make a stop. I have news for the Arl from Amaranthine, which… I should have gave him on the way to you, but decided you were much more important."

"I'm almost flattered," Alistair managed to respond, his eyes half closed from another night with no sleep. Only images of her and him together riddling his thoughts.

"You seem distracted, dear Alistair."

"Tired. Too early to be travelling."

"Really? I remember you being the morning one." The crows laugh was quiet, muffled by his cloak. "Then again, after you and our dear Warden made your appreciation for each other notable, I do believe you stopped being so… 'perky' in the morning, at least to us."

Alistair didn't even try to defend himself, only grunting into his hands. No matter how hard he had been trying to block out those memories he could remember them clearly. The long nights rolling around in his tents without a care in the world except one another. Then the quick, giggle-filled mornings, hell-bent on hiding their lovemaking. How just the sight of her skin would send chills down his spine and how her hair fell just perfectly around her soft shoulders. Shoulders of which he'd probably marked with his mouth in the throws of passion…

The former templar shuddered before sinking back into his saddle. "How much longer before we get to the Keep?" He grumbled.

His query received a chuckle, "First we go to Redcliff, Eamon will be happy to see you. Spend a night or two there. Secondly we head to Denerim to get the Queen's approval for you, and then finally, we head back to the Keep." The assassin tapped his lips with a thin finger, "We may possibly go to the tower, see if we can bring a few fresh healers to the Keep for the pretty Warden's sake."

A wave of guilt washed over Alistair as he sunk into his depression as the rode.

This aura of melancholy only increased as they inched closer to his old home. Scenario after scenario ran back the backs of his eyelids. Night after night. Sometimes Arl Eamon would run to him and embrace him, sobbing apologises, and asking him to stay for forever. Other times the same Arl would scream for Alistair's head on a pike, refusing to listen to his pleadings. One even had the Arl simply look at him and welcome him like a stranger would.

All of them hurt equally.

As the sun rose past the tree-line on the last morning, the constant waves of guilt slowly drowning Alistair rose to an all-time high. For as the two on horses moved towards the village he had once saved, he could clearly see the construction of a statue. It was a woman. In a pose that could rival Andraste's pose. Except she was in full battle armor and wielding her long sword offensively. As the statue of Emily rose, Alistair's hopes plummeted.

"She's going to die, isn't she?"

He barely heard himself speak, but by the swivel of Zevran's head, he spoke loud enough. Perhaps it was just the blood rushing between his ears, nearly forcing tears from his eyes by the pain. For once, the elf seemed not to have anything to say back. His shoulders sagged, face drawn in pain. "I truly hope not."

Alistair merely grunted as they came near to the bride leading out to Redcliff castle. As they had expected, there was a group of Knights outside the gate. One of which Alistair remembered vividly; Ser Perth.

"What should I call you then, M'Lady?"

"Oh, well… Emily would be nice. Or even Warden Emily would be better than 'lady'." Her giggle had roused him from his little day-dream. His imagination working like mad to try and figure out what these night terrors were. But his eyes were drawn to her form, the most relaxed he'd seen her in days. One hip popped out to the side, a hand resting on the curve. Her other hand resting on the hilt of her blade. Her helmet tucked under her helmet and a gentle smile on her soft-looking lips.

"Alright then, Warden Emily," the man was too obvious, even to Alistair. He was leaning much closer than he had to. Trying his best to touch her without looking too eager. This Ser Perth was trying to be sweet and suave. Attempting to woo Emily…

And it seemed to be working. At least, he assumed so by the gentle pink on her usually pale skin. "So, Ser Perth, we have some time before nightfall—"

A grin lit up the Knight's face faster than he could draw his sword. Alistair noticed how her body stiffened at being cut off. "What do you suggest we do?" The man even had the gall to touch the side of the woman's face, even though she rolled her blue-white eyes, she kept a smile.

"I was going to suggest you tell me what the situation is like in town before the attacks, when the Arl was sick."

His face visibly fell, and Alistair cracked a smile before returning to his day dreams.

Trying to keep his usually over-emotional face impassive, he rose behind Zevran to the gates, where the men didn't even ask any questions, merely opening the gates.

Arl Eamon stood on the top of the stairs, a smile on his lips that didn't reach his eyes. Eyes with more crows feet than Alistair remembered being there. The little amount of hair left and the growing mass of hair on his face were streaked white through the grey. The Arl wore his doublet and leggings as he always did, bright flashy colors that represented Redcliff. Oranges, reds and pinks with golden trim, he looked quite good for an aging man. Beside him was his Orleasian wife, dressed in similar colors, her once soft brown hair streaked with grey. On Eamon's other side stood Teagan, wearing the colors of his Bann. His smile more welcoming than Eamon's and… at least existent in comparison to Isolde.

"Welcome Zevran, and welcome Alistair! Welcome back, I should say," Arl Eamon hurried as fast as his aging and heavier body would carry him down the steps towards the two on horses as they dismounted. The Arl's arms wrapped around Alistair as the elder man whispered another 'welcome back.'

To say he was taken back would be a little of an understatement. Alistair was absolutely bewildered. First of all, Arl Eamon embraced him in front of an audience! Second of all, Arlessa Isolde hadn't spoken a word to him (always a welcomed feat). And third of all… he was actually welcomed.

For the first time since he entered the Landsmeet all those months ago, he felt as if he was a part of something.

And as his mind turned to that area of his life, a hole was ripped into his heart, remembering her speaking the words that destroyed his world. Ripping her from him… or should he say, throwing himself from her? Confusion mixed with his guilt and hurt.

But, the former templar pushed away the angst and clung to his original family for the time being. Almost completely forgetting about the elf smiling softly, following behind them.