So much for my 2nd January deadline! Took a break for Christmas, and it was a little longer than expected, but I'm back as of now. The new POVs will still happen, don't worry (Next up: Morrigan).

Another song chapter - the "angsty bit" inspired, in terms of mood rather than lyrics, by the pretty titular "Someone Like You", courtesy of Adele. If you want a song to rip out your heart, stamp on it a little (in a good way) and leave you feeling better for it, I'd recommend it.

Someone

Morgana

There is an unusual silence beside her. She's only heard it a few times; one was after Ostagar, grief strangling his words, the other was on the way to Redcliffe, tense and more than a little frightened. She's used to Alistair's voice, making idle observations or fending off Leliana's well-intentioned questions about the Chantry; without it, the quiet echoes. She can't help being tense, too, simply waiting for darkspawn to jump out at them or... something.

He stares at the road ahead of them, lip permanently twisted as if in silent, unwelcome thought, until she can't stand it any longer and falls behind to ask Leliana, "Something wrong with him?"

Leliana shakes her head. "Nothing I saw."

There's a small, "Er..." from behind them, and she turns swiftly to see Levi looking at them rather sheepishly. "'Im and the elf, they were... arguing about something."

She and Leliana exchange a swift glance of confusion before the ex-bard says, "Arguing? Did you hear what about?"

The merchant looks away and to the horizon, seeming to consider something for a moment, and she hears him take a deep breath before his eyes meet hers again, and he replies, "Not a thing, Warden."

She looks at him sceptically, and there's a long pause before she slowly nods, taking a few steps away. She almost misses Leliana's whisper in her ear. "He's lying."

She replies out of the side of her mouth, not looking at the merchant, "I know. Why?"

"I have no idea. I'm sure it would be easy enough to find out, however. A generous drop of the brandy, perhaps..." An impish smile tugs at the redhead's mouth.

"No." She frowns. "I'll find this out the simple way."

The simple way is, of course, from Alistair's own lips, and so she falls back into step with him.

His mind far away, he jumps when she says to him gently, "Last time I looked, my name wasn't Zevran."

He frowns at her. "I... What?"

"You've been a little quiet, even with me, and that's not..." She feels a blush beginning, the comment feeling a little too... proprietary, putting a mark on a relationship she still doesn't understand. On a man she doesn't either. She ends the sentence in an attempt to halt the colour's progress. "I can tell something is wrong. What's the assassin done, finally made you admit it?"

He suddenly tenses, missing a step as he walks and nearly tripping over a stone; he looks away from her, brow furrowed and eyes to the ground, murmuring, "Maybe. I don't know." He looks up, eyes suddenly wider. "How did you - ?"

Concern rising in her, she places a hand on his shoulder, a gesture she's still not used to but enjoys the warmth of. She ignores his surprised stare at her pale fingers resting on the worn plate and the jolt it causes within her, tries briefly to laugh it off. "I meant your unutterable love for him, but - " She leans closer, taking a good look at him. Well, yet another, she confesses, somewhere in the back of her mind. " - Something's wrong, I can tell. And, to be honest..." It's her turn to look away now, the comment a little too close to a truth she never intends to tell. "... I miss you."

A moment of silence, and something she can't quite catch flickers across his face. Then it's gone, and he gives her a wide, sheepish grin. "Sorry. I know I've been a little distant - "

"Very. All day." Her voice is sharper than she intended. "There's always a reason with you, you just don't have grey moods. Perhaps if you actually told me what it was, I could... help, somehow? Solve whatever this is?"

He looks to the sky, mouthing something that looks distinctly like as if, then back to her. "It's not important. Really. It's not going to stop the Blight, anyway, and that's what we're here for, right?"

The silence becomes just a little too long between them, and she finds herself simply staring into his eyes, wishing for something she knows she won't, can't, have. She has to fight herself not to reach out and touch him again.

She realises abruptly that if she had never left the Tower, she would never have met him. If he had never left the Chantry...

The Wardens saved them both, somehow; made them more than the labels they'd been given, and instead into comrades, equals. Friends.

Then she remembers the way he first spoke to Morrigan, his reaction at discovering she was a mage, her reaction at finding out he was Chantry-raised...

She stopped seeing a templar when she looked at him a long time ago, but this (and she's afraid of even thinking the word love, just in case it's true, because she's only ever read about it and it hurts people, it always does) tears away all of it, leaves only labels and old wounds.

Frightened, prejudiced man. Lovesick, stupid mage. The Chantry wins once again.

Even knowing that, she can't help but watch him, take in the small details of his face that she shouldn't notice. Frozen in time, she allows herself briefly to wish, and to imagine.

Then she looks away, nodding once. "I suppose. Just... speak to me, if you need to. I'm here."

A long pause next to her, and she wonders if he, too, is thinking of a conversation that seems a distant memory, her awkward words attempting to comfort him after Ostagar, even then trying to understand. She is certain of it when he replies, quietly, "I know."