A/N: I decided to write and post this now, as tomorrow (the 8th) is my birthday and I'll be quite busy! More flashback-y goodness! Short chapter, but I think the next will be the one I've been really wanting to write for a long time, and rather long at that. Rating change, maybe? Nothing too bad, though.
Chapter Eight
"We have come so far, we have shed our skin."
~Idina Menzel.

Alistair's hand dropped from Trija's arm as if it had been burnt.

"What?" He managed to say, his breath completely torn as it left him. It was very much possible to tell from Trija's expression that she was fully regretting her current situation.
"Oh, Maker." She breathed, barely audible. The young elf started to wring her hands together and stared in the direction of her daughter.

"I-I shall tell you everything. Away from Salvia." Trija started towards the girl and Alistair's eyes fell on the girl in question. If it is true, he contemplated. Then, Maker's breath, how could I not have known?

Trija gathered Salvia in her arms, her little legs swinging through the air as her mother picked her up, a gleeful sound coming out of her mouth.

Alistair could not do more than follow Trija in complete awe. How could I not have known?

Trija's skin goosepimpled under the cold air that seemed to follow the camp wherever it happened to lay down its roots. She liked this camp the most out of them all: on the very edge, there was a lake that had frozen over due to the winter's merciless frost. She stood at the very edge of it now, contemplating whether or not the frozen water could take her weight.

Trija led Alistair and her daughter inside the house, firmly closing the wooden door behind them. If his ears could be trusted, Alistair could have noted that Trija told her daughter to go into her room in a gentle, unthreatening manner.

Cautiously testing it with her foot, the elf realised that she wouldn't know whether or not it would hold her weight without trying. Allowing her whole right foot to place itself on the ice, Trija let out a little sound of surprise as the ice did not crack. Another foot didn't push it, and it still didn't when she brought herself up to her full height, arms flailing ridiculously to keep her balance. Still, the ice didn't crack.

Turning to face him with an unplaceable look on her face was terrifying to Alistair. He couldn't place her emotions, and that scared him. He had a whole tangled mess of instincts running through his head: some told him the "right" thing to do, some, the "wrong", others a blurred line between both and one even said "run".

Trija didn't realise that Alistair had been watching her fool around on the ice. He had a somber look on his face, like she had decided to do a zany jig at a funeral. She responded by grinning at him and trying to hold her hand out to persuade him onto the ice. His expression didn't change, yet he stopped himself from taking her hand.

She opened her mouth to talk.
"Alistair, it's just that-" Trija began. Alistair moved closer to her.
"No, please. No more games."

"Come on then, grumpy arse." She managed to get out, despite being a bit out of breath, also managing to extend her hand. He did take her hand this time, but pulled her off the ice. She gave him an odd look.
"What?" She half-laughed.
"I need to talk to you," he said. Trija's face fell. "About what's to come. I don't think we can be together, if I'm to become king."

Much to Alistair's surprise, she started crying. He hadn't even seen her cry when they had been together, despite that being a short few months.

"Why not?" Trija asked, as if the very idea was ridiculous. Alistair tried to block her out, walking slowly back to the camp.
"Why not?" She repeated louder, following him. "Are you worried what people might say? I know what they'd say. What they would call me-"
"No! It's just...I don't want to make any empty promises."
"Then don't!" Trija said, her voice rising in volume. He stopped to face her.
"Do you really think it's that easy?" He whispered. Trija merely nodded.
"Then what should I do?" It sounded like Alistair was pleading this time. Trija approached him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
"Stay."

"I'm sorry, Alistair." Her tears didn't seem to affect her speech, oddly; it was as if she didn't even notice them. "I'm really, really sorry."
A short silence fell while she gathered herself. She spoke as if she had practiced the words mentally.

"Just when we got through the Blight was when I noticed. I-I didn't rightfully know what to do. I couldn't stay around, and I certainly couldn't tell you...Anora would murder me. I was supposed to go to Par Vollen with Sten, and I wanted you to think I had. It would have been easier if you still thought I was there."
"Soris offered to bring me here...and here I came. I married Farridan because he could look after me, and more importantly the...baby. Well, and he, in a way, reminded me of you." The last part was said as if it was greatly embarrassing to admit.

Alistair was still completely dumbfounded and turned his gaze to examine the floor as her story went on. This made Trija's worry deepen.
"I'm really, really sorry. I understand that you want to leave me, and I don't blame you one bit. I would want to do the same. I'm just sorry that you found out."

Alistair snapped his gaze up to look at her again.

"What?" His lips slightly parted.
"I didn't plan on...seeing you again. That's why I ran away. I wanted to come back to Denerim after Par Vollen, but I didn't go once I found out. I went to Highever instead, and I couldn't return with your child in my arms."
Alistair still looked slightly confused. "My child..."
"I wouldn't lie, Alistair. I'm telling the truth."
He nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry, I really am. I just never should have-"
"I don't care." He stated.
"Excuse me?" She looked surprised, as if he was dumping her all over again.
"What I mean to say is: I don't mind. I believe you." Trija's eyes widened at this, and he would laugh if he wasn't already so weighed down by his other emotions. He closed the gap between them and stood in front of her, staring down into her glassy eyes.

"I don't think I've ever really adapted to being king, and I don't think you could possibly have adapted to life out here."
She nodded, listening to him continue. Her tears stopped as she spoke.
"But what do you want me to do, Alistair? I can't do anything! I'm just...me. Not a big hero anymore that can save the world and turn back time with one wave of a sword."

He smiled gently down at her as history repeated itself. "You can stay."
"What?" Trija involuntarily took a step back in her shock, eyebrows lifting slightly.

He hesitated before doing so, but lifted his right hand to sweep back a strand of her silvery hair to tuck behind her ear, such as had been their trademark to do so. Realising what he meant, Trija's eyes changed in some unrecognisable way.

"Stay." He repeated, whispering into her ear. "I don't quite think I've stopped loving you."

They kissed for the second time that day, like no time had passed in the many years apart, like two teenagers who desperately did not want to wake the adults after sneaking in one night. Like they had not become accustomed to making themselves kiss those they had so not wanted to. Like their first kiss they had ever shared after he had given her Lothering's remaining rose. Gentle, but implying something greater than the unmarked territory they started to wander into, not knowing if it was terribly dangerous or utterly safe.

It felt safe, though. For now, at least.