A/N: And I am back from holiday! I was back at the start of September, but the keys on this netbook were broken up until just before my last fic, but after a few months of using the on-screen keyboard, it's finally been fixed. I think this is the start of what we've been waiting for, so reviewers are much loved and will be covered in melted chocolate and rolled down a very grassy hill. What, that's not how you guys spend your free time? Weirdos.

Chapter Seven
"Now I could paint your portrait if I never saw you again.
When I am old someone may ask me if I ever loved,
and I will speak but they won't recognize my words, they'll say I'm telling lies.
And maybe I am
Maybe I am."
~ Emilie Autumn, Ever.

Alistair's boots were heavy against the soggy forest floor as he thudded his way through. The hesitant rain was tentatively being sprinkled onto the highest leaves of the trees, occasionally assaulting bare skin and goose-pimpled flesh.

The dingy sunlight was giving way to the rain and that particular something that clung to the air.

It was possible to hear the yells of the children in the distance as they ran back inside to the sheltered comfort of their homes, but also the shrieks of glee from the occasional wild child that would not be persuaded back inside until completely drenched, their mothers scolding and fathers stifling a laugh.

Alistair didn't pay much attention to the rain; even when he had passed out of the forest and it pounded him, a drop sliding down his nose from his hairline.

As he approached his horse, Alistair noticed that the housing area was pretty much completely deserted; the rain had started to come down unexpectedly, making those outside flee for warm haven.

Except, it seemed, for Salvia. The young girl was still outside, just ahead of him and standing next to his horse.

The mist and the distance made it near impossible to call to her. She was there as if her friends hadn't left, and as if the rain wasn't merciless.

"Salvia!" He called the girl when near enough. She turned her face to him, wet tresses swinging around her face and cold drops running down her cheeks. Salvia smiled at him despite her trembling bottom lip.

"Alistair!" She called back, trying to imitate the same amount of concern he had possessed in his own voice, almost pulling it off. Alistair didn't think such a young girl could be in tune with such emotion, especially now that he noticed she was crying.

He hoisted the girl up to carry her inside, her legs swinging as she went and making her giggle in spite of her tears. Talking outside would be pointless due to the loud weather.

He decided on taking Salvia to the back of the house, praying that he could remember which room was hers; Maker forbid the last thing he needed was to walk in on someone else's private space. The house was seemingly deserted as they passed to the back.

Salvia had found comfort in Alistair's shoulder, praying that the tears on her face would not deceive her and leave their mark there. She didn't really know what she had been crying about, she just was. Salvia felt like that sometimes.

But her mother was in her room, perched on the big arm chair that sat nonchalantly in front of the door. Trija looked up from the corner she had been staring at to give them both a watery smile; from the rain outside, or tears it wasn't really possible to tell. Alistair guiltily placed the young girl down.

A silence stuck in the air, making Alistair force his eyes to rest in the corner of the room.

He knelt down to match Salvia's height once more, smiling gently.

"Something wrong?" He asked, carefully choosing his words. Salvia pointed her chin as if she was full of rightful indignation. She didn't meet anyone's eyes as she spoke, making her seem like she was telling the ceiling her problems.

"Nothing," She stated. She saw her mother lean forwards to listen as she swivelled her eyes across the ceiling, huffing out a breath. "Jace called me 'Saliva' again."

Trija bit her lower lip to stop her from laughing. Salvia seemed to notice this.
"It's not funny!" She exclaimed, trying to sound martryed and giggling slightly at the same time. Trija did not supress her laugh, letting it flow freely. The rain left abstract patterns on the window.

It may have been a long time that they all laughed together. Alistair had long since entered the house and had now plonked himself onto Salvia's bed. Trija sat in her chair still, but with Salvia perched on her knee.

They shared stories, jokes, anecdotes and various tales that would mundane if told by someone else. It was a cathartic experience for all of them, perhaps in different ways. After the long time they had spent that way, the rain had decided to gently clear up and allow the sun to shine for the last part of the afternoon.

They finished listening to an amusing story Trija told them about her childhood and all three looked up to peer out the window. Salvia dropped off her mother's knee to go and peer out. Trija drew herself up to her full height, stretching rigidly and rolling her neck.

"Come on, let's go down to the beach." She grinned as if the sun was blazing for the first time in months.

**
The "beach" in question was nothing really more than a long stretch of sand, a few large boulders and a body of water. It wasn't something that could keep an adult occupied for very long, but Salvia loved it.

As soon as she arrived she departed from them, her little feet sinking into the sand with ever footstep she threw at it.

Alistair and Trija straggled behind her, watching as she darted away from the waves that were threatening to grab her ankles. They stopped for a moment by one of the few boulders scattered along the beach, their conversation from inside the house and the journey there still ongoing. Trija perched on the apex of the cold boulder, listening to what Alistair was saying intently.

"-and I remember when I would look over from being by the fire and seeing Zevran fluttering his lashes at you. Now I don't think that made me very happy at the time." He chuckled.
"What about Oghren? Especially when he was drunk, oh Maker!" She squared her shoulders to imitate the dwarf and made her voice gruff. "'Hey, you! Where can I get some sauce for that rump roast?'

They both laughed at the memories that they had thought long-forgotten or merely supressed, not knowing in great detail what had happened to most of their former companions. Trija heard Alistair sigh deeply beside her.

"I haven't seen or heard of any of them since the Blight." He admitted shamefully. She mulled this over for a bit.

"Well, that's to have been expected-"
"No, but I wanted to, see." He interupted her. "Being king...I've missed the normal things like having friends and- I just miss them all. I wish I could meet them again, somehow."
"I have." Alistair turned to face her properly and raised an eyebrow. "I mean, Leliana visited after Salvia was born and does every few years."

"Things haven't really been too easy since Wynne..." he trailed off, but Trija understood his point.
"I know," She soothed, quickly trying to lighten the subject. "I bet she never could have foreseen me living like this; with a family and a daughter."
Alistair tried to sound like it didn't bother him. "To be honest, I don't think I could have either." Judging by her expression it had not come out right.

He had now turned his full body to face her, at a loss for words. After a few moments, Trija slid off the rock, crossing her arms across her chest to shield against the winds.
"I don't think I ever could have, too." She said in lowered tones as Alistair reached her side.
"Well, maybe you shouldn't have made me king-"

"What else could I do?" She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him, her voice flaring up with anger. "Anora could not rule alone, you were both great for different reasons. I could not risk not picking the right ruler. It would have been an awful idea, for Ferelden and for us all!"
"For us all? So, running away to get married to a stranger and having his kid was not an "awful" idea?"

"What else could I have done?" She groaned in a cross manner.
"You could have stayed with me!" Alistair growled, Trija groaning at this.
"Oh, yes, definitely." She rolled her eyes. "To do what exactly? What kind of life would I have had? More importantly, what kind of life would Salvia have had?" Her mouth tightened at this, lips closing in on themselves in regret.

"Salvia?" Alistair could feel his cheeks redden and burn. "I don't think she would really have..."
"No, nevermind. We should go." Trija hastily went to retrieve her daughter, but Alistair caught her arm.
"No, tell me." She turned to face him, biting her lip and eyeing him as if he may be a dangerous object.

"You can't tell me that you don't know..." She trailed. Alistair didn't dare speak, but instead listening intently for these words.
"Oh, Maker." She breathed. "Maker, Alistair. Have you not figured out that Salvia is your daughter?"