A/N: Wow! I love you lot, thank you for the reviews, I'm very grateful. Snogs all round! I'm afraid Chapter Seven won't be out as soon as this one- I'm off on holiday on Saturday (tomorrow) and probably won't have much time to write. This one's extra long to make up for it, the last few parts were supposed to be the next chapter. I'll see you all in September!

Chapter Six
"Wiry gypsy boy, take my hand, and you'll not be found come mornin'."
~ Taglio! - SJ Tucker.

Trija had passed out in his arms a few minutes before. Alistair couldn't even lie to himself, he was terrified. She was freezing cold, despite the day being a misty, mild one. Without her being able to support her own weight, he had gingerly lifted her. It was a terrifying feeling, she was horrifyingly limp in his arms. The expression "dead weight" seemed like nonsense.

The forest was also incomprehensible. It seemed like a trick of the eye, the trees coming and going until the modest cottage appeared by an outer layer of a wild thicket of trees. Alistair hadn't know what to expect. Nothing out of the ordinary, such as a fairytale would have.

He may have been in panic, but he still, rather guiltily, realised where his hands went. Touching her for the first time in so many years felt bizarre...he hadn't forgotten what it was like though. How could someone forget something so intense? That first night in their camp, Alistair had never experienced something so extraordinary. It had been bitterly cold under the stars, but warm and humid inside the tent, somehow. She had been even warmer...

Alistair snapped his thoughts back to the present. The woman that Trija must have mentioned as a healer was outside of her home before he could even made his presence known. She was small, but was able-bodied in her swift strides in his direction. The woman appeared to be quite old, and dressed like she had no interest in any fashion that may exist on the other side of those trees.

The sleeves of her simple black robe fell over her wrists as she lifted Trija away from Alistair and into her own arms. His heart sank, and his arms were now unsure of what to do without her. The look the old woman had given him had been odd, not at all like anyone dared give him in his time king. She looked at him with accusing look of reproach, but didn't look over her shoulder as Alistair followed her inside.

The inside of the cottage was as it was outside; dusty, wooden and dreary. It was the kind of house that would make a hag grin at the choice of décor, and like the ones said hag would inhabit in the old fairytales. Alistair shuddered in spite of himself.

Various pots and chipped bowls decorated the room, some candles gathered in their own set area, mortar and pestles had grouped in their own space.

"Well, boy?" It took Alistair a while to realise she was speaking to him. She raised her eyebrows in annoyance. "Are you going to help me?"
Alistair stuttered and stumbled over his own limbs to close the gap between them, trying to include an apology of sorts in his fragmented speech.

The woman had laid Trija out on a surface much like a table, but one that seemed to have been adapted for medical purposes. The woman was inspecting her face, moving the clump of hair that had been threatening to cloak her face and checking the features of her face, moving eyelids, checking pupils.
"What happened to her?" She grunted to Alistair, a hint of concern in the pit of her rough voice. He tilted his face upwards.

"I- she...mentioned animals." He offered meekly. The woman's face seem to ease into a kinder one at this, a polite smile on her lips.
"Ah," she breathed. "There are, of course, animals everywhere in the forest, as you already know."
Alistair's brow furrowed. "As I already know?"
"I'm a good guesser." She grinned up at him. Alright, then, he thought. "I can patch her up, but it will be quite painful on her end, as I imagine it's already been. I'll have to give her something for the pain, but I can do that, I'm sure I can."

Alistair felt his panic and guilt lessen, but he was amused at the woman. She seemed intent on getting every thought she had in her head out in one sentence. She was rather eccentric, to say the very least. Letting himself relax slightly, Alistair perched himself on a nearby table.

He watched her, back to him, fumble with the implements she kept, the mortar and pestle, herbs, pots, various bottles with odd labels.
"Thank you..." He realised he didn't know her name. Ah.
"Kerren!" She shot over her shoulder.
"Thank you...Kerren." He tried to keep the amusement out of his voice. She turned her upper body more to face him.

"It's not problem," she smiled. "I've done this enough times."
"Done this enough times in general, or for Trija?" Kerren laughed at that.
"No, no!" She cackled, pausing afterwards. "Didn't tell you she had a daughter, did she? Young girl, nice enough, a bit annoying, but sweet. Husband, too. Tall, dark, handsome, broody."
Something twinged in Alistair, and the woman grinned at him once more.
"Erm, yes, she did tell me."

The woman's mouth fell into a surprised 'o' as she turned to fumble once more with her tools. All that could be heard from her was the grinding of her mortar and pestle. Alistair dug his fingers into the table around him before launching himself gently in the direction of the elf.

"She should come to in a while, hopefully not before I patch her up, though. Would be quite uncomfortable, sting dreadfully, and ache. Bandages on after this." She gestured to her mortar and pestle. All Alistair could do was nod. Kerren inspected a roll of white cloth he recognised as bandages, nodding to herself as she went.

She gave him a pointed look when her nodding had stopped.
"I think you should go in the other room while I dress her wounds, boy."
A look of confusion lit his face, slowly changing into realisation. "Oh." He just knew he was blushing like a fool again as he went through to the dingy and miserable hall.

* * *
A few years prior...
She had been brushing the front yard for what felt like a lifetime. Bloody cats where everywhere, and they didn't care what they leapt on. Little gits. I don't know, she thought. Get two cats and you end up with a colony of them.

A momentous sneeze left her as the mushroom cloud of dust she had swept too fiercely made contact with her sinuses. Nothing a few herbs and a mortar and pestle couldn't ease, or kicking out a few cats who left fur on every surface. She didn't rightly know if it was the dust affecting her somewhat unreliable memory, but there was a girl stumbling around by the edge of the trees ahead of her, looking lost, not to mention heavily pregnant.

Kerren set her broom against her old wooden shack and took a few steps towards the girl, hands on robed hips.

"You, there!" She tried to yell with concern in her voice, trying to add a bit of I-don't-eat-kids emotion into her voice. "Are you alright?"
The young girl eyed her, and attempted to hobble over. Not easy in her current state. Her eyes were glassed over with what seemed to be tears. She spoke when she was near to Kerren, hands clutching stomach protectively.

"Have you seen my husband?" She almost mewled, something frantic in her voice. "Or perhaps my cousin?" Ah, outsiders, thought Kerren. She hoped that her expression had been convincing, she wasn't really thinking.
"Hmmm, nope, sorry I don't-"
"It's just that I think I might be giving birth." The girl uttered, her voice breaking down near the end and letting out a tangled yell. Kerren widened her eyes. Oh, no.

Without thinking on whether it may be a bad idea and acting on instinct, she seized the girl's nearest elbow.
"Come inside, dear. I can help you." The older woman announced, her voice sincere. It was probably best not to go in to a strange woman's cottage, but she didn't really have a choice now. She let herself be supported by her.

"My husband...he is in the town," she gasped out. "I can just...get him." Kerren seized the other elbow to stay her.
"No, no, my dear. Don't hurt yourself. He'll be here."

That night had been the most painful Trija had ever experienced. It seemed to go on forever. She thanked whatever divine force there may be for the old woman who had helped her so kindly and plied her with her remedies and salves.

They had exchanged names, and Trija had told her quite thoroughly of her background. When the woman named Kerren had left the room about a day and half of tending to her, Trija had left her house, out into the night with her child in her arms. Under the stars, she looked at her new daughter properly for the first time since her birth.

Her little eyes were carefree, and her tiny hands were wrinkled and warm from the cosy depths of Kerren's home. Unconditional love flooded the mother as she smiled down at her daughter.
"Hello..." she cooed, sugary enough to make even the soppiest poet cringe. The little baby did an odd gesture with her lips, not quite knowing what they were for. Her little tongue visibly moved across them.
"Hello, Salvia," She stated defiantly, still somewhat sugary. "That's a healing plant. A very nice old lady named Kerren taught me that."

The little girl's tongue moved in an odd form of what Trija pinned as a smile.
"I like it too." She grinned before making her way back home.

Alistair had been impatiently inspecting dusty bottles in her dingy front room. Each one was labelled with a stiff parchment label and their names neatly curled in black ink. Stagnant-looking pastes glutted in their containers, earthy-looking ones curled themselves inside their glasses whilst others just lay. Many of the ingredients seemed unknown or exotic, Alistair couldn't even recognise some of them.

He picked up a rather dusty looking one with a yellowed label, the ink nearly fading and the glass smoky with dust. The label read "Salvia" in curled letters. Odd, thought Alistair.

His train of thought was interrupted by a throat being cleared behind him. In his haste, Alistair almost dropped the glass vial back on to its counter. He smiled bashfully at Kerren, who was looking at him with narrowed eyes and good humour in the lines of her face.

"She ok," Kerren smiled. "A bit...bandaged up, but fine." At that, the old woman turned in the direction of the crooked front door. Alistair moved to her to make her stop in her tracks.
"Wait- will she...is she alright? I mean, nothing too serious?"
Kerren gave him a look that implied she had patched up worse. "Nothing too serious, boy. Go and see her."
"But where are you going?" He couldn't help but blurt it out. The woman grabbed the broom leant against the wall and gestured with it.
"My bloody cats have wandered off again," she winked, and proceeded out the door. Sarcastic thoughts flittered through his mind, but he couldn't rightfully entertain them just yet.

She was still lying down on the same surface. She wasn't wearing her dress anymore. Kerren must have given her the clothes she wore: the simple, woollen trousers with her legs threaded through them and a simple, matching tunic cut above her midriff. Her midriff was heavilly bandaged, and the room was pungent with eye-watering herby scents.

Alistair perched on the surface she laid gingerly, not wanting to touch her incase she was badly injured. He watched her lying still for a moment, chest moving with her breaths and eyes flickering beneath their lids. Hesitantly, he laid a hand on her hair, stroking and uncertain of what may happen.

Kerren had cleaned Trija up, it seemed. Her face was no longer muddy, but the skin there was soft, he learned, fingers trailing there and across her cheeks. When they had first met, one of the first things he had noticed was a slight scar that had ran from the bridge of her nose to just under her left eye. It had been almost unnoticeable, but he had spotted it, even kissed it gently on the first night they'd had together, feeling her shiver in his arms.

Trija's eyes fluttered open almost unexpectedly. He didn't draw his hand away in fear this time, even as she smiled up at him with tired eyes.
"Hello." One meek word from her lips.
"Hey," He replied, almost as meek and hands still on her hair. "Do you feel better?"
"I do now." She grinned weakly. A thread of shock pulled inside him when she lifted a weak hand from her side to cup his cheek.

He moved from Trija's hand ever so slightly, thinking of the cons of the situation before moving back to her in just as quick a motion. Her eyes had changed, she looked sad.
"I've missed you." She stated simply, her voice thick with emotion.
"And I, you."

She had been crying. He was so close to her now he could probably count the little droplets that clung to the end of her eyelashes. So close he could smell everything about her: some of the ground that still clung to her, her scent...her fear. So close he could just lean in...
"Stay with me," he spoke. "Just for the next ten minutes." Her forehead was pressed to his, his neck craned to do so. She smiled with her entire being.
"And what about after that?"
"I can ask you again...for another ten." He offered, letting the corners of his mouth lift.

Instead of replying, she simply closed the gap between their lips, kissing him firmly. Oh, how he had missed her. Something inside him broke free of its restraints, and demanded more. Trija reacted the same way, too, sitting up and moving closer to him as the kiss grew. Alistair could feel her eyelashes tickle his skin, and now moved to wrap his arms around her, afraid she may leave him again if he didn't.

She gave a moan as her back met the surface, Alistair taking turn to deepen their kiss even further. Trija hadn't felt so...safe in years. Their skin meeting was electrifying as the first time it ever had. She could stay very much like this for the rest of the night, and could plan on it. Oh, no, she thought. Not here, not now. Not Kerren's house.

With that she broke out of his embrace with much difficulty.
"Alistair.." She studied him, now out of his arms and drawing to her feet. "I'm sorry, I-I just can't. Not here."
She turned from him once again, leaving him sitting alone staring in shock at what he had done, and how she had left him again. What did that mean? He wasn't going to let things slide anymore. Alistair had at least gotten some sort of backbone in the last few years.

Not realising nor caring that her bare feet met wet forest floor, Trija moved her feet fast back to her village.

A/N: Oooh, so what did you all think? Things are really starting to kick off, aren't they? I'm betting that the next chapter will be rather a lot more steamy, not sure if the rating will go up. I'm kind of annoyed that I won't be able to write it for a while, gah! Reviews are much welcomed, this one kind of got out of hand. Please do tell me what you think of it so far, or perhaps what you want to happen? Ahh. And it is just me, or did Kerren slowly turn into Mordin of Mass Effect 2? I hope this chapter was clear enough, it seems like a mess! Haha, anyway, see you all after my holiday. :)

Oh, and mistakes are unchecked, so don't laugh at me!