A good hour or so passed and the celebrations were coming to a fevered pitch as nearly the whole settlement was now dressed in celebratory garb and dancing merrily. Still Kathalla sat there and simply watched the festivities before her, now more alert than she was previously. There had been no signs of the two fools since Lanaya intervened, so she at least decided that it may be best to indulge on some food and spirits before they were all gone.

The drums swayed the hearts of the dancers around the large bonfire as the other instruments kept up with the rhythmic timing. It had been a long time since Kathalla had danced as the many did around the fire right now. She felt the hypnotic pull of the drums luring her in, but continuously tried to deny them as she watched instead. A rare treat she was denying herself, and she knew it.

Standing by the tables where the feast was held is a sure-fire way to gain trouble, and it eventually made its way over towards her in garb of silk and twill. Kathalla ignored Alistair as he motioned to stand beside her, also watching the celebrations.

"I'm not really a Shem, am I?" He asked lowly, voice sounding a bit offended by the word she had used earlier to describe him.

"Shouldn't you be talking to your other elven friend?"

There was a slight shrug from Alistair as he lowly stated, "Zevran's - busy. You know him... But really, answer the question."

Kathalla rolled her eyes and crossed her arms in front of her chest. It wasn't exactly an ice-breaker statement. It took her a moment before she finally looked up towards him, as she feigned both awe and excitement in her voice, "Oh, I do apologize good Ser, King, Ser!" She was never good on the human protocols for all of their small nuisances with interactions. "Please allow this humble knife ears to polish your shoes for free!"

Taken back, Alistair now crossed his arms in front of his chest, and took on a pained look. "I never called you that, you know. Ever! ... You know I don't think that way. I even invited the elder of the City Elves to be in my advisory board at the palace. At the least, I thought you could appreciate that."

Still in that mocking tone, the Warden returned with, "Oh, I am ever so thrilled. Shall we bed then, right now, to honor your great feat?"

"That's enough!" Alistair shouted towards her. "I am not an idiot, and you know I can't stand it when people talk down to me. I got that my entire life and I'm still being referred to as The Royal Bastard by some of the Banns." Angrily pointing towards her, he added, "You're acting like a child, like Morrigan even, when I came here to try and talk to you - apologize for what I did. I know I was wrong, but I never spoke down to you, or about you, even when others asked. I always showed you respect, Kathalla!"

She remained quiet and didn't look towards Alistair as he had his fit - only because she may have been inclined to hurt him if she did, because he was right. Her voice lost all of its animosity and no longer dripped with venom as she lowly stated, "The King cannot be seen in a relationship with a Knife Ears. Just as your people believe that one shouldn't be a Warden, to wade in their human business, when I know nothing of their world..."

Alistair grew quiet. This was more than just him breaking up with her after he was announced to take the throne, it involved the Landsmeet as well and how they won little favor over the nobles as they shouted their racial slurs at her, and even turned against her. "But that isn't me, Kathalla. I granted your boon for land for your people. I even tried to help fund the settlement with whatever I could slide under the table."

"So we could get ambushed almost weekly by human bandits and refugees that come through here and hold their grudges against us? We don't belong near Ostagar to them. We still have to fight in order to prove ourselves. This land only makes matters worse because we're now an easy target to be attacked!" The bitterness of the humans was beginning to break the Warden. "I had done so much, in the name of my people... Creators graces, that's the only reason I became a Grey Warden - and nothing has changed!"

Rather than try to prove her wrong, despite the fact that she was to some degree, Alistair moved to hug her. It was a bold move, especially for him – here, as a Shem amongst elves. "It can't happen overnight. People hold fears. They will change though." Even more brazen of him, and possibly very stupid, he brushed his lips against her ear and whispered to her in the elven tongue, "I love you." Again, it was one of the few statements he had learned from her while they were together.

Ever the fighter, Kathalla straightened uncomfortably as she felt his arms wrap around her small frame. The warmth of his touch was something that she had missed and didn't fully realize it until just now. Her eyes closed and she felt part of herself wanting to give in. But when those words were uttered, and in her tongue, she did all but melt to his touch. Instead, she moved. To anyone looking towards the two, it would have appeared to look like an elaborate dance step, but that was only the mask to hide her actions – something she had picked up from Zevran. Kathalla whirled, ducking under the embrace of his arms and she pulled her blade from its hilt in one swift motion. Holding it close to her, she side-stepped and slashed at Alistair's cheek. His words were an insult to her – one that she would not tolerate.

The motion was so precise and hasty, that no one seemed to notice aside for Alistair himself as he hissed in pain and grabbed at his cheek, which was now dripping blood down along the side of his face. "By the Maker! Have you lost your mind, woman?"

Kathalla watched Alistair try to stem the flow of the blood by applying pressure to the source with the sleeve of his silken shirt. Sadly, as satisfying as she had originally thought it to be, wounding him only made her feel worse. Her featured changed from a quick rising anger to suddenly looking very regretful. "Abelas," she quietly uttered towards him. Immediately, she felt her stomach sink. Here she was speaking of the pains her people had to endure, and she just mindlessly harmed the one person who has been trying to help...

With a deep inhalation, she motioned to remove his silken arm from his wound, but Alistair flinched away. "You're not doing that again!" He retorted, still hissing at the pain beneath his eye. "I knew Zevran was a bad influence, Maker's breath."

"Alistair, I'm sorry," she remarked in a sincere tone that was greatly different from what he had heard of her since he arrived. "Please, let me help. If you get blood on your clothes, people may question..."

"Oh, and a bloody scabbed up sliced cheek won't? ...What happened to your cheek, Alistair? Oh, don't worry, I just walked into a bloody sword and didn't know it was there!" Was the wisecrack response from him in typical Alistair fashion.

"You're trying to make me feel bad now," Kathalla accused as she sheathed her dagger and forcefully took his hand, leading him to the wooden hut that belonged to her mother. There wasn't much inside, nor was there much room. It was something he wasn't used to anymore as the palace was much too large for him to even feel comfortable in. There was a small hearth for a fire, and two small rooms for beds. Strewn out along a table by the hearth were many different herbs of various types and rarities.

She led him to that table and had him sit down in a chair. "If my mother comes here, then you did fall on my blade." Quickly, the elf got to work with mending the wound. She took some elfroot extract and rubbed it on a bandage before trying to apply it to his face. "There, now stop your crying," she remarked quietly before plucking a single green herb from a collective bunch and offering it to him. "Eat this, it tastes horrible, but will quicken the healing."

Alistair did as instructed - or at least tried to as he attempted to chew on the herb, but the potent sharp bitter taste almost made him spit it out. "Horrible is an understatement!" He grumbled, but went on with attempting to chew and swallow that herb. Whatever it is, he'll never want to touch it again! Once he was able to stomach talking again - which took him a good few minutes, as the after taste was even more cutting on the tongue than chewing that plant, he looked towards Kathalla, "That hurt, you know."

"I already apologized, Alistair. What more do you want from me?" She stood up from her seat and gazed out the window towards the festivities outside, concentrating more on them than she was Alistair. "Do you want me to turn myself into your palace guards? Tell them I cut their King?"

"No... The Shem thing," he offered quietly as he watched her and drew something from his pocket, placing it down on the table before him. "I still kept it, you know."

Despite facing away from him, Kathalla's gaze visibly lowered to the floor. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" An eyebrow arched curiously as she turned to look at what he was speaking of. There on the table was the small black pouch that she had given him long before they were ever parted. Her voice caught within her throat as she excitedly murmured, "Andruil." She approached the table, taking a seat across from Alistair and moved to open the pouch. The small wooden figure of Andruil was still in perfect condition as the day she gave it to him. "I-I thought you got rid of it."

Alistair shook his head. "I told you I'd never forget it." He watched the elven Warden run her fingers over the figure, remembering it's texture and feel underneath her touch. There was excitement to her motions that she was trying so hard to suppress, but he easily saw past the facade. Yet, he said nothing and instead watched her admire the figure she had once given him. "What were the three teachings again? The arrow, bow, and what was the last one?"

"The forest."

"Right, forest... Together we are stronger than one... That's how it went, right?" Alistair questioned knowingly as he watched Kathalla holding the figure.

She immediately knew what he was getting at – the bond that the two of them once shared. It was a callous thing for him to mention after what he did a month ago. She should have forgotten by now and moved on, but couldn't. There was no end, there was no resolution. The two bit their tongues and held their breath as they put on the strong fronts that they learned to master, in order to save Ferelden and Thedas. The two of them were never allowed to cry, scream, and let any emotion surface – for an entire month.

Her response to his question never came. The woman slowly lowered the figure to the table and averted her gaze from Alistair. There were so many ways to respond to his words, so many wrong ways and not enough that would be satisfying enough. Knowing he wouldn't understand her, she spoke in elven, "You dug the blade into my back, and twisted it when you walked away." Kathalla then gestured, placing her hand over her heart as emotions started to well up to the surface which she had denied for so long. "It was a game. You hunted me down and tamed me like I was your prey. You had your fun and then just left, even when I tried to talk you out of it and pleaded... I wish I had never let Morrigan have her ritual!"

While he wasn't able to understand the words she was speaking, Alistair remained quiet and let her speak in the foreign tongue. It was helping, apparently, and he was able to see as her face grew flushed, she spoke with conviction, and the tears were appearing within her eyes. It hurt him to see this, but he knew Kathalla was a strong woman, almost too strong at times, and too burdened to let anyone help her. She was a hard nut to crack, too self reliant, and he hurt her when she accepted him. These were things that Alistair knew and tortured himself with since they parted ways. But even he understood that there wasn't any silver lining anymore and that they both dangled on emotional tight-ropes, able to fall into the well of emotion and let them be overwhelmed by it if something didn't give soon.

Slowly, he reached out to take her free hand, but she quickly pulled it away. Sparing him no more pain from her words, she slammed an angry fist onto the table and cried out in words he'd understand, "Vir Assan, let your prey not suffer!"

Saying it was almost too much for her. All at once, those floodgates burst open. Her stomach felt weak, and her knees felt as though they were going to give out from underneath her. Tears escaped and trailed down her face, hot and bitter as they stung her eyes, and she began to shake, reverting to the elven tongue to cry out anymore of those curses and harsh jabs towards the man she loved.

The moment Alistair saw the tears start rolling down her cheeks; he stood and approached her, attempting to hush her words and pull her close into his embrace. This time though, he turned his face away, in case she was to try and attack him again... But that attack never came. Instead, she buried her face within the material at his chest and wept, surrendering herself to him - finally.

It should have been a happy moment, but that was far from the reality. Alistair held her there within his arms as she wept. Everything came out at once, her hatred for Alistair just giving up on her - after everything they had been through and shared together, how she was the only Warden left after the arch-demon's death and still had to fight for respect in certain areas due to her race, how all but one of her friends had left and not even attempted to correspond with her, and how her people were foolishly happy when she knew deep down that the troubles that plagued her race would rise again. As grand as the adventure was, as much as the bards will share the stories of the Wardens of Ferelden, this was not how she wanted it to end. It was bitter, cold, and ached within her heart.

But, she was the great hero of Ferelden. She had to put on a strong face in public while the people of Ferelden were happy with their reclaimed freedoms... As did their King.

The two of them remained there, at the corner of the table, holding onto each other and finally allowing the release of their emotions until their legs could no longer support themselves. So, they moved to rest against a far wall, still holding onto each other, almost desperately – hoping to not get swept into the painful tide and get lost from each other's grasp. As the floodgates emptied and there was little emotion left within them, they found themselves having trouble keeping their eyes open and fell asleep as the fires and celebration still roared outside.