A/N: Fair warning, this is a long note….Whew! Over 70,000 words later here we are: the end. When I set out to write this, it was mostly because I thought Alistair deserved a happy ending, but also because I wanted him to have it with someone completely unlike our dear Harlow. Harlow was such a well liked character in If I've Killedthat I almost set myself up for failure, but I'm pleased with how Elissa turned out. I know she was not everyone's favorite, but I sorta think that was the point. Not every protagonist can be well loved…I wanted her to have flaws and not be this kick-ass chick who could take on the world and sweep Alistair off his feet…I already wore that woman, I wanted to write a different one, and I'm so happy that I did.

This has been the most rewarding fic to write and it's all because of YOU. It may not seem like a big deal, but because of the number of follows and reviews this story now appears on the FIRST PAGE of Cousland/Alistair fics and that is something that I NEVER thought would happen. Like, ever. I cannot even begin to describe how incredibly grateful I am to each and every one of my readers for taking time out their lives to read my musings and become invested in these characters and these stories.

Some specific thanks:

To Apollo Wings, the crazy writing machine. You are amazing. Are you aware of this? Every word you write is fabulous and I only wish I was able to churn out stories like you. Thank you so much for your constant reviews and kind words (and of course your amazing gift to me!)

Mandymc: Thank you for being one of my first readers and for sticking with me through these two novels! Your love of Zevran always made me smile and I never get tired of your gracious words.

Clafount: You are awesome…I insist you keep writing, and I demand a new chapter for "Fancy Meeting You Here" because I need to know what happens. I am shocked by your dedication to my writing and love that you take the time to review every chapter. People like you are why I keep doing this, and hey…gotta give love to a fellow Buffy fan!

Pollyanna24: I know this story wasn't always what you wanted it to be, but I nonetheless am grateful for your readership. You so could have walked away so many times but you stuck with me and that is a gift that I truly appreciate. You're reviews were always throughout and never nasty and a joy to read.

To Michelle-Anne85, The Warrior of the Light, and Melysande: your loyalty totally kills me and every time my inbox "dinged" with a review from you it brought a smile to my face. Each and every one of you is awesome sauce and I wish I could send you many cookies.

And last but not least, to KatDancer2, beta goddess extraordinaire: Dude…I don't even have the words. You totally took up this role without my even asking and what a huge freaking role it is. I really kinda suck at editing and I cannot tell you how very grateful I am for your "nit picks" and your dedication. Seriously, stop being so awesome.

Sigh…I've spent the better part of a year with Harlow, Alistair, Zevran, and Elissa, and I am really sad to have to let them go…but I feel I've told their story and it's time to bow out. But fear not! I still plan on finishing my Buffy/DA crossover entitled "Chosen and Joined" and have plans for two more fics in the work: one is a pre-origins Cullen/Amell story entitled Glycerine, and the other is an as yet untitled Cousland/Howe one-shot (a promised gift for KatDancer2.) If you would like to read these, go ahead and follow me! So keep an eye out, lovelies, you haven't seen the last of me yet!

Alistair could hear the distant peals of mourning bells echo in the air around him and let out a weary sigh. It had been an hour since Shianni's funeral had ended and Elissa still had yet to return to the castle. He had been ashamed to admit that, during the somber service, his attention had been focused entirely on his mournful wife and not on the proceedings. She had looked so small and broken sitting at the end of a pew, as close as she could be to Shianni without actually standing by the pyre. He had been at the other end of the chantry, hiding shamefully from her gaze. When she had asked for privacy at the services end, he had acquiesced with nary a protest, and slunk off to the castle, head hung low. When the minutes ticked by and she had not returned, he had restlessly paced the expanse of the palace, eventually ending up once more in the castle gardens, dried leaves crunching under foot as he wandered a path that had no destination.

It had been three days since Alistair had managed to rescue her from the vile and despicable ministrations of Mortain, and he had yet to bring himself to face her. It wasn't exactly that he wished to be away from her presence, Maker knew he longed for her in the fiercest way, it was more that he was afraid of what words would cross her lips when he finally mustered the courage to approach her. He was unsure of how to handle her in this delicate state, when she seemed so close to breaking. Those first few hours after the skirmish she had withdrawn so far inward that nothing seemed to reach her. He had practically screamed her name in an effort to elicit a reaction but she remained as blank faced and placid as ever. It was only when a healer was ordered to sedate her did she lash out with a fury he did not know she possessed. It was a memory that made his stomach churn to this day; him having to restrain his wife, pressing her to the bed as she screamed and raved, lips pouring out details of an almost rape that made his blood boil over into a white hot rage. Even now, replaying her words in his brain, he felt the need to lash out and cause massive amounts of harm to someone in retribution for what had happened to his wife. And that more than anything is what had him keeping his distance from her. Elissa needed soothing words and healing, not temper and anger directed at an enemy that had already been slain; and Alistair had no room in him to feel anything beyond rage when he thought back on what she suffered. His fragile hold on his emotions coupled with the fact that the two had yet to speak of his calling and the promise made months before was enough to have him running from his wife like a coward.

But it had become too much and so, in the quiet hours of the night, when the moon hung heavy and bright in the sky, he would slip silently into their room, and join her in their massive bed. Her grief had exhausted her and she never once stirred as he stretched out beside her, a hand tentatively reaching out to brush through her silky hair. For a few stolen hours he would lie beside his wife and watch her sleep, his mind desperately trying to untangle the turmoil of the past week. Try as he might he could not muster any answers or courage, and would steal from their chamber in the cold, grey light of dawn, leaving no trace of his presence behind.

His days had been filled with the headache of politics, trying desperately to tidy up the mess that Mortain left behind. Of the fifty plus elves that had rose up against the crown, over two thirds lay dead. The others were chain up in Fort Drakon, awaiting their execution. Alistair hadn't bothered with individual trials. After hearing Elissa's madness laced rant as she thrashed beneath his hands, he had them all brought before the landsmeet and tried for treason. Ambrose and the remaining elven guard testified to their involvement in the prison break, and not a single person spoke in their defense. The judgment came down quickly; a swift and decisive guilty. The prisoner's expressions had run the gamut from outrage to disbelief, everyone of them shocked that Mortain's plan had brought them their death, and not the freedom that had been promised. Alistair watched them be taken away, eyes hard and pitiless. A part of him knew that there would be political fallout, that the remaining elves in Denerim would sneer at the ruling, but he could not bring himself to care overly much. Shianni Tabris was dead, and his wife a ghost to him…if nothing else they deserved justice.

The shadow of a headache threatened at his temples and he sighed wearily, deciding it better to wait for his errant wife indoors. Head down, he turned and quickly trudged towards the garden's exit, nearly colliding with someone entering through the ivy wrapped archway. Eyes wide he shot out a hand to balance the person, hand coming hard upon a velvet wrapped bicep.

"I'm sorry, I-" he muttered, eyes flicking upwards. His breath caught in his throat as his gaze locked with the most beautiful pair of luminous dark eyes he had ever seen. "Elissa?"

~oOo~

Elissa stared up at her husband and felt her heart swell in her chest. He was so achingly handsome in that moment that she took a few precious seconds to dwell upon his features; gaze raking over the strong line of his jaw, his mussed golden hair, and the way his eyes flashed out at her with a mixture of longing, shame, and guarded anticipation. Taking a deep breath she straightened her spine and slowly raised her hands, placing them lightly on his shoulders. Alistair raised his eyebrows in surprise, but before he could comment on the action she pushed forward, causing him to stumble back.

"That's for disappearing for the last three days," she said tartly, eyes flashing as she followed after him, hands rising to push once more, "and that's for keeping secrets that almost had the power to destroy us." Push. "That's for making it so Maker damned difficult to love you." Alistair flinched as she gripped his doublet fiercely, reading for another blow, but stilled instantly as she rose up on tip toe to press a lingering kiss upon his lips. "And that's for saving me," she whispered against his mouth once she had pulled away. Alistair said nothing as she settled back on her heels, and she watched him calmly, feeling secure and at peace for the first time in months. He opened his mouth a few times, floundering for speech, and Elissa chuckled at his discomfort.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, my king?" she asked, arms folded over her chest.

"I feel as if an apology is the correct answer in this situation," he hedged warily, hand rubbing at his neck. Elissa smiled and grasped his hand in hers, leading him to a nearby bench and settling down beside him.

"Why, Alistair?" she asked softly, "why did you never come to me?"

"I wasn't sure you would want me," he replied, refusing to meet her eyes, "When we restrained you…the things you said…I wasn't sure you would want any man to offer you comfort. Let alone a bumbling idiot of a King who was so blinded with rage at the indignity you suffered that he punched a wall until his knuckles were bloody."

"Idiot," she whispered, "how could you think that in that moment I would want anyone else but my husband by my side?"

"Are you serious?" he asked, eyes flashing with a bit of heat, "Elissa, before your abduction you spent a week avoiding me, refusing to even share the same room with me beyond the duties of our titles. Just because a mad man stole you from me does not erase the fact that there was, and still is, so much undecided between us."

"You're right," she murmured, laying a hand upon his shoulder, "you had no reason to be sure of your welcome. I am sorry for that…but you must admit, there has been little time to discuss our discord as of late."

"I did come to you," he admitted quietly after a moment's pause, "every night I would steal into our room, just to be near you. But I was too damned afraid of what words would cross your lips if you saw me, so like a coward I left before you woke."

"Then let me speak the words," she replied, turning his head to face hers with a gentle hand, "if only to spare you the waiting."

She watched as his eyes flickered closed, face crumbling in preparation for defeat. When at last he gazed upon her once more, she could see that he had readied himself for the blow of something painful, features a placid mask of indifference, though his eyes watered.

"You are forgiven, Alistair," she said firmly, "I will not stop you from going to her, nor will I use her as a weapon against your heart for the years to come. I can accept this grim fact of life if you make me but one promise in return: No more secrets between us. It does us no good and I'd rather not spend our remaining years wondering what bit of information is lurking around the corner to fell us once more."

"Are you sure?" he asked, hope sparking in voice, "Not that I'm unwilling but…Elissa, you realize what you're agreeing to? I don't want you to lie to yourself in an effort to be gracious only to have you cry foul later down road."

"Promise me, Alistair," she reiterated, words pointed and precise.

"I promise," he whispered. Elissa smiled softly before closing her eyes and resting her brow against his.

"Then let us live as husband and wife; elves, lovers past, and revolutions be damned," she murmured before leaning in for a kiss. Alistair pulled back before she could complete the gesture at stared at her in wonder.

"What brought on this sudden shift in feeling? Don't get me wrong…I find myself grateful for this new side of you…though by now I should really know better. You only act this agreeable when you have something up your sleeve."

"I have nothing planned," she sighed impatiently, "and does it matter how I came to this resolution? I would think you would be happy to have me speak such words."

"It does, actually," he said pragmatically, "out with it, Elissa. Something happened between the funeral and this moment, I want to know what."

"You are so infuriating!"

"You yourself said no more secrets," Alistair replied smugly, arms folded across his chest. "Or did that bit of information apply only to me?"

Elissa frowned and rose to pace, hands twisting as she debated her course of action. In the end, Alistair's patient and stubborn gaze decided for her and she sighed wearily before stealing herself against his reaction.

"It was many things," she hedged, trying to prolong the reveal, "a surprisingly romantic speech from Ambrose, and one finds that being held captive under the promise of debasement and certain death will do wonders for one's view of the world…and…well…" Here it was, the moment of truth. Elissa would know once and for all if what said within the sanctity of the Chantry's walls held true based upon Alistair's reaction. "Harlow," she breathed and Alistair started at her name, "I met Harlow."

"How?" Alistair asked in bafflement, a chuckle of disbelief rising from his throat, "Last I heard, she was in Amaranthine."

"And in deference to her, that is the rumor we shall continue to circulate, especially to the ears of her lusty paramour," Elissa said tartly. "She came to accomplish whatever it is heroes of her ilk do, Alistair. She rode into to slay the villains but arrived too late. And so together, in the quiet air of the Chantry, we both said goodbye to her cousin and discussed the man who had the ill fortune to tie himself to us."

Alistair said nothing for a long time, and Elissa fidgeted under the weight of his silence. Distantly the sounds of day to day living echoed around them, and for a brief minute she was thrown by such a notion. How could the world have kept turning these past few days when so many life altering events had transpired? It made her feel small in a vast sort of way, to know that while the balance of friendship, love, and peace had hung in the balance, the rest of the population had continued on as they always had, unaware of such turmoil. When Alistair at last rose from the bench and gently grasped her hands in his, she was torn from her reverie and her breath caught in her throat.

"Let me get this straight," he murmured hesitantly, "The fate of our marriage hinged on a speech from a man who I accused you of dallying with, the deadly plot of a mad man, and advice from my ex lover?" Elissa nodded and Alistair cocked his head to the side in amusement. "Our lives are different than other people's, aren't they?"

Elissa's laughter rang free from her in an unexpected burst, and she felt her heart swell with an emotion too great to name. She had been braced for so many hurtful things, for him to run from the garden and seek out Harlow, to ask so many questions of the woman that it would break her down with every answer to give…but this? This dismissal of the elven woman's presence, the light banter, it filled her with such joy that she thought she may very well burst.

"All too true, my King," she whispered before fiercely taking his face in her hands and kissing the very breath from him. It was a kiss that poets write of, the kind that creates a memory you want to put in a box and bring out on gray days to lighten your spirits. Alistair held her close, a hands tangling in her hair as he returned her passion with equal fervor and delight. When at last they parted, chests rising in labored pants Elissa felt the first pricks of joyful tears upon her cheeks.

"I love you, Alistair," she whispered, and he grinned so wide it was a wonder it did not split his face in two.

"And I you," he murmured, hands still raking through her silky locks, "forever, Elissa…for as long as you'll have me, I love you."

"Then shall we retire to the castle, my husband," she asked grinning as she made to lead him away, "and get on with the business of leading our strange lives?"

"Wait," he protested, pulling her back to him, eyes suddenly serious, "You said there was to be no more secrets. I have but one more."

"Still?" she asked in disbelief.

"The very last, I promise," he insisted, "the Wardens…the taint. In addition to all the lovely side effects I've already mentioned, it renders us next to infertile. It is not unheard of for a Warden to produce a child, but it is rare." Elissa amazed him in that moment by smiling wickedly and pressing herself close.

"Then we shall just have to apply ourselves to the discipline most fiercely," she whispered in his ear before nipping the lobe gently. Alistair shuddered at the sensation and growled low in his throat.

"You little minx," he murmured, hands running over her back in a sensual line.

"Catch me if you can, your majesty," she whispered before spinning from him and leading him on a merry chase through the gardens. It was glorious in how silly it was, and for the first time in all her years, Elissa Cousland stopped worrying about the future, about what was to come and what the consequences would be. It was a future that was woven of many threads, encompassing so many events that the mind spun to think of it. It included politics, uprisings, headaches, illness, and bloody conflicts, framed by moments of happiness and love. There would be another revolution, this time with the mages, the ripples of which would felt all across Thedas, and there would be twins born to the royal couple, a pair of boys, though it would take five years to birth them. It was a future of joy and sorrow, rage and desire, and through it all it would be shared by her doting husband; for in the end that is how we refute entropy. And there would come day, when Alistair would hear a drum sounding through his veins and be reminded of a promise he made long ago. But it was all so distant, and Elissa was unconcerned with the" what may comes" of her life, because for now it was enough that she was in this moment, with the man she loved, running through the royal garden with laughter lighting the air like a promise of spring to come.