A/N: Well this is a few days later than I planned for it to be, it took me longer than I thought to get it finished in my spare time after work, but it's still up before the biweekly mark, so not bad! Anyway, hope you all enjoy - there should only be two more chapters to go after this one.

Thanks to everyone who has favorited, followed, and read the story so far - it's always good to know people are enjoying it!

Extra special thanks to all the reviewers from the last chapter, especially my faithful reviewers - I never get tired of hearing what you think - so thanks to WolFang1011, Asilyessam, XZanayu, Candle in the Night, reality deviant, eriaaile, Ioialoha, and Lethal Dragon!

If this reaches 250 reviews, there will be a gift fic - so please review!

Disclaimer: I don't own Bioware's characters and original events, just my own character and the rest of the story.

And some fitting lyrics for the chapter:

Without you I can see
I would be just another
Sad junkie, mindless freak
Losing sleep dying slowly

Chapter 55: Without You

The howl of utter grief and despair must have come from him, but Alistair didn't remember making it as he tentatively lifted her limp body into his arms, cradling her on his lap. Pain was ripping him to pieces on the inside, white-hot and so violent he felt like the archdemon had raked him open from top to bottom. Could they have really come so close, fought so hard, and finally succeeded only for him to lose everything now? Could fate – could the Maker – really be so cruel?

"Don't leave me," he begged her, his voice broken and hollow even to his own ears as he rocked with her. "I – you – you said you'd marry me, that I'd have you always. We were supposed to – I – I can't do this without you. I need you. This can't happen, not now, not when we were so close! If anybody was going to die, it was supposed to be me! Maker, please! Anything but this!"

"She is not dead!" a voice snapped indignantly above him. Alistair looked up, blinking through the tears he hadn't realized were dripping down his face, to see Zevran standing above him, the elf's face set in angry, grieved lines. "She cannot be, she would not be so weak! Give her to me!"

If he'd had any fight left in him, Alistair would have protested, but he didn't. He was numb with the pain, the grief, and the soul-crushing, heart-wrenching despair of losing her, so he merely handed her over to Zevran when the elf knelt in front of him. With surprising tenderness, the elf laid her down on the stone between them before pressing his ear to her chest. After a few seconds, Zevran straightened up, pulling a gleaming dagger out of his armor, and held it just above Ayla's open mouth. Even in his near-hysterical state, Alistair noticed the faint fog that passed across the dagger after a few seconds, though he couldn't quite seem to process what it meant at the moment.

Zevran sagged backwards, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again, relief stamped across his face. "She is still alive. I knew she was stronger than that. She is breathing, though it is so faint as to hardly be noticeable."

Alistair stared at him for a moment, stunned, hardly daring to believe that he'd heard the elf right. Sweet, blessed relief trickled through his pained, numb body, followed quickly by a sudden panic. She was alive, but just barely, and that could still change at any moment. "WYNNE!" he bellowed at the top of his voice. "MORRIGAN!" He knew that Morrigan had said she would leave after the battle, but he was willing to bet that she'd stayed long enough to make sure Aedan was all right.

Twisting around to look behind him, even as he shouted, he could see that he'd been right; the witch was crouched next to Aedan's body, checking on him, though her head jerked up at the sound of her name. She looked over at him and Zevran, and in the next moment, she was on her feet, racing over to them. "Out of the way, you fool!" she snarled as she reached them, but Alistair was already moving.

He scrambled out of her way, ignoring the insult and the tone of voice, not caring about anything right now except the fact that the witch had the ability to save her. Morrigan knelt down where he'd been, muttering some spell as she laid a hand on Ayla's chest, the hand suddenly flaring with a blue light. "She is still alive, though barely," Morrigan muttered, her eyes flicking back and forth as though looking at something no one else could see. "But I do not understand – her injuries should not be so bad as to cause this state. She has a few broken ribs, yes, a dislocated arm, a small puncture wound on her abdomen, and she must have struck her head; I cannot tell quite how bad the head injury is – but even still . . ." the witch shook her head. "It is as though she has no strength left in her body to fight off the effects of the injuries – I do not –" she paused suddenly, her head jerking up. "How many times did she use her abilities?"

Alistair paled, worry slicing through him as he remembered Ayla telling him that overuse of her powers could lead to exhaustion and being unable to move. "I – I don't-" he shook his head, trying to remember how many times she'd used them throughout the long night of battle. "Once against the archdemon, and once to save me from one of the generals . . ."

"Once to save me, as well," Zevran supplied quietly, his face wracked with guilt, "and another time in the same battle as we were trying to enter the fort, to save Aedan."

"Ah, sister, how foolish and reckless of you," Morrigan murmured, shaking her head. "She will need rejuvenation magic, as well as ordinary healing, if there is any hope of her surviving. Find the old woman," she snapped at Alistair, who was already leaping to his feet, "and you, elf, I will need –"

"Lyrium?" Zevran finished for her, producing a potion from his pouch. "I took it off the body of a mage," he explained, shrugging at Morrigan's look of surprise. "She did not need it anymore."

"Yes," Morrigan nodded, taking the potion from Zevran, "but I will require more than this. Find as much as you can, anywhere you can." The elf nodded, jumping to his feet as well, racing away across the roof.

Alistair followed suit as he heard Morrigan start chanting again behind him, weaving his way along the roof among the dead, wounded, and those still on their feet as quickly as he could, keeping an eye out for Wynne everywhere he went. Please let her be okay, he pleaded silently, not sure what he would do if he found that Wynne hadn't made it, or was unable to help right now.

He nearly tripped over his own feet, stumbling to a halt in relief, when he found Wynne all the way across the roof, just straightening to her feet after healing a wounded Dalish elf. "Wynne," he gasped, gripping the mage by the shoulders, "please, I need you. You have to come, quickly."

Wynne frowned, nodding even as she gently dislodged his hands. "Of course I will, Alistair, but whatever is the matter?"

"It's Ayla," he explained hastily, already tugging Wynne after him as he went back the way he'd come, detailing everything that had happened so far; how they'd found her and what Morrigan had said. "Please, Wynne, you can save her, can't you?" he begged her after he'd finished, as he spotted Morrigan in the distance, still kneeling by Ayla. "If – if she doesn't make it – I don't – I couldn't –"

"Relax, Alistair," Wynne said quietly, reaching up to pat his shoulder as they hurried along. "I know what she means to you, and I assure you I will do everything in my power. Besides, she is a strong young woman; I am certain she will be fine, with a little help."

"I hope you're right," he muttered fervently. Surely, if she had survived this long, there was no way that she'd succumb to her injuries now that both Wynne and Morrigan were here to help, was there?

"Listen, Alistair, I do hate to bring this up right now," Wynne began slowly as they continued moving, "but if Aedan is unconscious, you need to take command of the soldiers up here, and tell them what needs to be done. They need a leader, and you're the only one who can do it. I know you want to stay with Ayla right now," she interrupted him when he went to protest, "but there's nothing you can do for her."

They had reached Ayla and Morrigan by this point; Wynne gathered up her robes before kneeling down on Ayla's other side, opposite the witch, whose eyes were closed as both her hands glowed with energy, spreading healing magic throughout Ayla's body. "I know you're worried about her," Wynne went on calmly, her voice low and soothing, "but you can't help her. You can help those people, though, and find somewhere for her and the other wounded to rest after we are finished."

Alistair stared at her, wanting to protest, but he knew that Wynne was right and the only thing he could do right at this minute was help everybody but Ayla. He wasn't a healer. If only, he thought suddenly, he'd agreed to that life-mate bond of hers. If he had, he could be giving her some of his own strength right now. But he hadn't; he'd let his doubts cloud him, and now, there was nothing he could do for her but make sure she had a bed to rest in if the two mages succeeded in healing her.

"She is right, my friend," Zevran said quietly, suddenly reappearing at his side. The elf dumped a half-dozen lyrium potions next to the two mages, as Wynne began chanting a spell of her own, laying her hands over Ayla as well. "There is nothing more you or I can do for her. What are your orders?"

Alistair blinked, taking a deep breath to try and focus himself. He turned his back, unable to concentrate when he was looking at Ayla's limp form, and instead stared out over the soldiers gathered on the roof, thinking hard. "All right," he said at last, "can you go back to the city gates and find out how Sten and the others are, and if they've got any able-bodied soldiers left down there who can help transport the wounded?"

The elf nodded. "Leave it to me; I will return with anyone I can find." So saying, Zevran trotted away across the roof, back towards the door they'd used to come up.

So began some of the longest and worst hours of Alistair's life. Ignoring every instinct of his heart that wanted to remain with Ayla, watching every breath she took, he directed the soldiers on the roof instead. He ordered a handful of Redcliffe knights who'd suffered only minor wounds to make their way to the palace and see if there was anyone still alive in there that might be able to offer them shelter. The remaining soldiers that were still mobile were ordered to separate the wounded and the dead, to pile the darkspawn dead in a corner to be burned later, and to lay out the bodies of those who had fought with them so that respects could be paid to them properly when there was time.

The wounded he ordered laid out by Ayla, and any mages still alive that possessed healing skills began working on those that could still be saved. He also ordered that the bodies of the dead be searched for any healing potions or herbs that could be used on the wounded. As Zevran had pointed out, the dead no longer had any use for them, and if they could possibly save the lives of others, it would be worth it. He himself searched a few bodies and came up with three healing potions that he passed off to those tending the wounded.

By the time that was done, two of the knights he'd sent down to the palace had returned, telling him that the castle had opened its gates. Anora had apparently been inside, having not left the city as she had planned to before word of the advancing darkspawn army had reached Denerim, and she'd had several soldiers and servants holed up in the castle with her. "Her Majesty is sending men and supplies up to aid us, ser," one of the knights concluded. "She says that the palace will be open to the wounded and all those seeking shelter so that we might rest."

"That's good news," Alistair replied, nodding at the men. "Thank you." It means a bed for her to rest in. "See if you can find anything to make stretchers with, so that we can move the wounded down there."

"Yes, ser!" Both knights snapped salutes before hurrying off to check over the roof for any more supplies.

Morrigan came up to him a few moments later, as he was helping another soldier move a still-unconscious Aedan away from the archdemon's body and over by the others that had been wounded. "How is she?" he demanded as he carefully set Aedan down, nodding at the soldier to dismiss him.

Morrigan smiled, her face looking drawn and weary, but triumphant. "She has stabilized. The old woman says she will be fine, once she wakes up, though that may take a day or two. Her body has much trauma and exhaustion to recover him."

"Thank the Maker." Alistair closed his eyes, suddenly feeling as though he could breathe properly again, as though his heart had finally returned to his chest, battered but beating once more. He opened his eyes, meeting Morrigan's gaze as he said sincerely, "And thank you, Morrigan, really. I owe you so much now, for that and for – this." He gestured at Aedan, then back at the archdemon. "Honestly, I'm sorry that I-"

"Stop." She held up her hand, halting the flow of his words. "You owe me nothing. 'Twas all done for my own reasons, and you had ample reason to mistrust me. Just . . . see to it that you take good care of my sister."

"I – I will, I swear," he promised her hastily, surprised at the heartfelt sincerity in Morrigan's words, and that for once, she didn't take the opportunity to insult him. "What about Aedan, though? Will he be okay?"

She nodded, looking down at Aedan with an unexpected softness in her expression. "He will. He was merely knocked unconscious from being so close to that wave of energy when it exploded. He suffers from no wounds; he should awaken soon. I must leave before he does."

"What?" Alistair frowned, staring at her. "Don't you want to wait until he wakes up and say goodbye to him before you leave?"

She shook her head. "I have already said all that I need to. And were I to remain, he would undoubtedly try to talk me out of leaving. He might even succeed, so I must go now."

"All right," Alistair nodded. He could see her point; if there was one thing Aedan was most definitely good at, it was talking circles around people until he had them doing what he wanted. "Then – thank you, again."

She waved him off dismissively as she began to walk away, calling back over her shoulder, "Tell Ayla that I will see her again!"

"I will!" he shouted after her. Turning, he hurried over to Ayla just to check on her once more before resuming his duties. Wynne had moved to healing some of the other wounded, so Ayla lay by herself where he had left her. He was relieved to see her arm back at its normal angle, her chest rising and falling in a recognizable rhythm now. Sucking in a shaky, relieved breath, he kissed her forehead gently before he straightened, going back to help the others. There was still much to be done.

"Take the Maker-damned potion, Alistair, or so help me, I will make you," Aedan growled, glaring at him, the sleeping potion in question gripped tightly in one of his hands.

Alistair looked up at his brother wearily. It was two days now since the fight with the archdemon, and Ayla had still not awakened; he sat by her bedside in the room that had been given to the two of them by Aedan's orders. The palace was crowded with recovering soldiers and refugees, but their companions had been granted some of the best rooms in the palace to share amongst themselves due to their role in the battle, and no one had protested. He had barely left Ayla's bedside since Aedan had awoken and taken over leading the remaining soldiers. He'd only left a few times to tend his own needs, and that only when someone else had been there to watch her; Zevran, or Leliana, or Wynne, or Oghren.

He had also hardly slept in the last two days, getting maybe a half-hour's sleep at most before nightmares inevitably jerked him awake. He was beyond exhausted, yet he refused to take the sleeping potion that Wynne had made for him and Aedan had been periodically demanding he drink over the last day. He was gripped by an irrational fear that if he allowed himself to sleep properly before Ayla finally opened her eyes, that something would happen to her. He knew it was irrational, but he couldn't shake it, and it appeared Aedan was finally running out of patience for his stubbornness.

"You actually think you can make me?" he asked Aedan quietly, but there was an edge of steel in his tone. No matter how irrational and stubborn he was being, he would not give in on this point, not for anyone.

"Normally? No. Right now, though? Yes, and that's exactly the problem, Alistair." Aedan sighed, shaking his head. "I'm worried about you, brother, that's all. You're exhausted; you've barely slept in the past two days, and none of us slept much at all in the week or so before that. You're making yourself sick, and I can't watch you do it anymore. Please, Alistair, just take it. You need the sleep."

"I know I do," Alistair replied softly, touched at Aedan's concern, but still unwilling to yield, "and thank you for worrying about me, but . . . I can't. Not until she wakes up."

"Alistair . . . she's not going to die just because you get some sleep," Aedan snapped, obviously exasperated. "Do you think Wynne would have said she was going to be fine if she wasn't? Or that Morrigan would have left if she didn't think Ayla was going to be all right? You sleeping or not sleeping is not going to affect her health in any way, but it will affect yours! You –"

"I know I'm being irrational," Alistair interrupted him, "but I can't help it. I – every time I fall asleep, I see her lying there again, only this time, she's really dead. And I can't – I just – I need to see her and talk to her again before I take the potion. Please, Aedan."

"You know the potion makes it so you don't have nightmares," Aedan pointed out. When Alistair didn't answer him, he threw his hands up. "Fine! I'll give you a few more hours. If she hasn't woken up by this afternoon, though, you'll be taking that potion, whether you want to or not, understand?"

Alistair nodded, relieved Aedan had conceded the point for now, and after another moment, Aedan set the potion down on the table in their room, by the water jug and Alistair's half-eaten breakfast, before he left. Alistair turned back to watch Ayla, hoping that she would open her eyes soon; Wynne had been fairly certain it would happen today, now that her body had had some time to recover. He needed to see her awake again, to finally shake that last, lingering doubt that maybe she wouldn't survive, before he could truly relax, no matter how heavily exhaustion was weighing on his body and dragging at his eyelids, trying to close them. He just wanted to see the sparkle in her eyes, see her smile, hear her voice, before he finally gave in.

He must have drifted off again, for he found himself jerking abruptly awake, the mocking sound of the archdemon's voice ringing in his ears, his head lifting from the side of the bed where he'd laid it. He sucked in a few deep breaths, his body trembling, before he looked up, meeting Ayla's green eyes, wide open as she stared back at him from where she was sitting up at the head of the bed. She smiled when his gaze met hers, her smile falling over him like sunlight breaking free on a cloudy day. "Alistair, you're all right."

"Of course I'm all right. It was you that almost –" he halted, unable to voice just how close he'd come to losing everything. He gripped the blanket in front of him tightly in both fists, trying to steady himself, taking a few more shaky breaths.

"I'm so sorry, my love. I must have frightened you badly," she said softly, studying him carefully. Though she was pale, with dark circles under her eyes and her hair mussed from days in bed, he didn't doubt that he looked worse, for there was a steadily growing concern in her eyes.

"You did," he admitted. Ordinarily he wouldn't have stressed her further with this, but he was so exhausted at the moment that he couldn't help but tell her everything he was feeling. "I honestly thought this time that you were really dead, and I couldn't – I – I can't even describe how devastating it was, how I felt when I thought I'd lost you."

"Did it feel like you couldn't breathe? Like your heart had been ripped out of your chest and wasn't there anymore?" He blinked at her, surprised that she'd put it into words so perfectly, and nodded slowly. She smiled sadly. "You forget, I thought you were dead once before, too. I never meant to put you through the same thing, Alistair. I just wanted to make sure that everybody would be okay. I'm so sorry, really. Come here." She gestured to him to join her on the bed.

He hesitated only for a second before his urge to touch her won out over his concern that he would somehow hurt her. He crawled up onto the bed, making his way carefully to her side, and when she opened her arms to him, he willingly slid into them, resting his head in the crook of her neck, slipping his arms around her cautiously. "I'm not going to break if you touch me, you know," she whispered in his ear.

He drew in a shuddering breath from her words, from the pure, blinding, dizzying relief of having her warm and alive in his arms, feeling tears burning at his eyes and clogging his throat. "Maker, love, please don't be so reckless again. I really can't do this without you. I just – don't leave me, please?"

He felt her soft hand stroke gently over his head, sliding through his hair, for he hadn't lifted his head from the warmth of her body. She was only in her smallclothes and breastband right now, leaving him blessedly free to feel the softness of her skin wherever he touched her. "I would never leave you, not willingly, you know that," she told him, her voice firm. "I will always hold on as hard as I can to come back to you, I promise you."

"Good," he said softly, fervently. One awful, bleak glimpse of what life would be like without her was all he ever wanted to see. "And it's a yes, by the way."

"A yes?" Her voice sounded slightly puzzled above his head, her hand never ceasing its soothing motion. "For what?"

"For the life-mate bond." He lifted his head, looking up to meet her eyes squarely, certainly. If it meant he could give strength to her if she ever needed it again, or that he would be able to sense when she was pushing herself too far, he would do it; he would do anything. "Yes, I want to do it."

She frowned. "Alistair, are you sure? You're not exactly thinking clearly right now –"

"I'm sure," he interrupted her. "I've thought it over, and I was already thinking of saying yes, but what happened only made me positive it was the right decision. So as soon as you're strong enough –"

"As soon as we're strong enough," she cut him off gently, a scolding edge in her tone as she searched his face. "How long have you gone without sleeping properly?"

He sighed, dropping his gaze from her perceptive one. "I've slept a bit, here and there."

"Alistair, how many days has it been?" she demanded pointedly.

"Two, since the fight with the archdemon," he admitted at last, reluctantly. "Every time I tried to sleep, I'd have nightmares, so I just . . . stayed awake."

"Wynne has a potion for dreamless sleeping. I used it before, when you were in Fort Drakon. Why didn't you take that?" she asked quietly, concern lacing her tone.

"I needed to see you wake up first," he replied, looking up again. "I just . . . . couldn't shake the feeling that something might happen if I let my guard down before you woke up. I know it was stupid and irrational, but I couldn't help it." He shrugged.

"Goddess, Alistair." She cradled his cheek gently, leaning down to brush her lips over his, making a sweet warmth steal through him at the touch. "I am so sorry for worrying you, but I swear I feel fine now. Actually, I feel surprisingly good, aside from being hungry and thirsty. So please, take the potion now. For me?"

"Maker, of course you're hungry and thirsty!" He shook his head, cursing himself for not thinking of at least grabbing her water as soon as she woke up, as he slid from her embrace and off the bed.

"Alistair, I can get it!" she protested as he crossed over to the table.

"No." He poured her a cup of water from the jug, and placing it on the tray of his half-eaten breakfast, carefully brought it over and laid it across her lap. "Here, have this."

She met his gaze sternly. "The sleeping potion, Alistair. I'll eat and drink, but you have to take the potion. Just lay down next to me, and I'll be right here when you wake up, okay?" When he hesitated, she went on, "Otherwise I won't take this. Not until you sleep."

"You're just stubborn enough to do it, too, aren't you?" He grinned in spite of himself at the familiar set of her jaw, and the overall ridiculousness of the situation.

She laughed softly. "As stubborn as you are, it would seem. But I am serious."

"All right, love." He bent down to kiss her gently once more. "I know when I'm beat." He went back over to the table, scooping up the vial, before returning to the bed and crawling in next to her. He kicked off the leather boots he wore as he did so, but didn't bother removing his tunic and breeches. He took the stopper out of the vial, glancing over at her.

"Go ahead," she urged him softly. "I'm not leaving."

He nodded before he finally drank the potion, giving in at last to his body's desperate need for sleep. She was alive, and she wasn't leaving him, and that was all he needed to know.

"Ah, my dear, you're awake! How are you feeling?" Zevran smiled at Ayla as he entered the room, no more than an hour after Alistair had fallen asleep. He crossed the room to sit in the chair Alistair had occupied previously, next to the right side of the bed where she was currently sitting.

Alistair was on the other side of her, his face half-buried in the pillow, one arm flopped over top of her legs after she'd returned to the bed from setting the tray back down on the table. She wouldn't have minded going to get a little more food, but she hadn't wanted to leave the room on the off chance he might wake up while she was gone. She had, after all, promised to be there when he woke up, and given how badly she'd shaken him previously, she fully intended to keep that promise. "I feel fine, actually; maybe a little weaker than normal, but otherwise good." It was true; whatever had been wrong with her was fully healed now. She smiled at him, glad to see that he, too, was alive and well, before she continued softly, "Not so loud, though, you'll wake Alistair."

"I sincerely doubt it," Zevran replied, shrugging. "He finally took our lovely mage's potion, yes?" When she nodded, he went on, "Wynne tells me she made it extra potent, as he was having such trouble with nightmares. I doubt anything will wake him up for quite some time."

"Oh." She looked down at Alistair, at how peaceful and relaxed he looked right now. He'd looked so tormented and exhausted earlier when he'd jerked awake in the chair, before he'd seen that she was awake, that it tore at her heart even now to think of it. Of course she hadn't hurt him on purpose, but she still couldn't help feeling guilty over it. "How bad was it? I mean . . . what happened after the archdemon threw me off?"

"I did not see it happen," Zevran said softly. "I had my back turned by then, trying to cover one of the ballistae so it might fire. By the time it did, you were no longer on its head, and I was just in time to see Aedan finish it off. There was a blast of energy that knocked everyone on the roof down. By the time I got back up, it was to see Alistair find you, and, well . . ." He shook his head sombrely. "It is not something I wish to ever witness again, your Warden's reaction."

Ayla closed her eyes briefly, feeling pain lance through her at the thought of how Alistair must have felt. "He really thought I was dead?"

"He did, yes, but to be fair, there was no outward sign that you were yet breathing, and I doubt he was thinking clearly. It was I who noticed you were still alive, when I checked a bit more closely, since I refused to accept that you might have died." He smiled ruefully at her. "My own feelings on the matter are not something I ever wish to experience again, either."

"I am so sorry, Zevran. I honestly wasn't trying to be reckless, I was just trying to buy everyone time. I was just about to get down when the archdemon threw me off and I . . . didn't have the strength to land properly," she admitted reluctantly. "I fell instead, and the fall must have injured me badly."

"You were injured, yes," Zevran agreed, "but Morrigan believed that the larger issue was the overuse of your powers, that you did not have the strength to battle your injuries, as it were. Had Wynne not been there as well with her rejuvenation spells, you may not have made it at all. So please, my dear, you must not push yourself so hard. For the sake of your Warden, myself, and everyone else. You are dear to all of us."

"Thank you, Zev." She smiled tremulously at him, her heart warmed by his words, even as she felt renewed guilt at worrying everyone so much. It was really the last thing she'd meant to do. "I will be more careful in the future, I swear. And thank you, as well, for not accepting that I was dead."

He smiled back at her, leaning forward to take her hand in his and squeeze it gently. "You are most welcome, Ayla. I could not, after all, accept that my goddess would die so easily. Now, is there anything you need before I leave? I only meant to stop for a quick check to see how you were; I have duties to carry out for our fearless leader." He rolled his eyes at her, making her laugh softly.

"Well," she said hesitantly, "if you would not mind, I could use a little more food. I would go get it myself, but just in case he does wake up, I should be here."

"Of course, my dear, anything you need." He stood up, squeezing her hand once more before he let it go. "I will send someone with more food than you can possibly eat. Once you are feeling better, we must spar again, yes?"

She nodded. "Of course we will. And thank you, again, Zev, truly," she added as he reached the door.

He swept her a low bow. "You are most welcome. I did promise, as your friend, to get both you and your Warden through the Blight alive, did I not?" With that, he was gone, the door closed behind him before she could say another word.

She sighed, watching the door for another moment before she turned her attention back to Alistair, stroking his hair gently. She had found so much more here than she had ever expected, or could ever have hoped for. She was incredibly relieved to find that she hadn't lost it all with her recklessness, and promised herself that this time, she would really work on not being so careless with her own safety. She didn't want to leave Alistair, or any of her friends, not before she was good and ready to go.

It had been a few days now since Ayla had awakened, and as much as she loved Alistair, he'd been driving her crazy over the past couple of days since he'd finally recovered as well. He'd hovered over her, as though he had to watch her every moment to be sure she still drew breath, and had treated her like she was a breakable figurine, insisting on doing everything for her and not allowing her to lift a finger if he could help it.

She'd managed to keep herself from losing her patience with him, though, because she knew how badly she'd worried him and how shaken he'd been. Still, she was glad that Aedan had asked him to go out on a patrol to find some darkspawn that had still been lingering around Denerim, giving her a moment to breathe. It had taken a bit of talking to convince him that she'd be fine and wouldn't leave the castle if he went out, but between her and Aedan, they'd finally managed to persuade him.

Although, now that he'd gone out to do battle without her, she couldn't help worrying about him, ironically. It was just a few darkspawn, nothing he couldn't handle, and yet she would have felt so much better about being able to fight by his side. But she knew she would never have convinced him to let her go into battle so soon, and at this point, she'd probably be more of a hindrance than anything. Zevran had proved that to her just now in the training ring.

She'd been surprised to find while sparring with him that she was not feeling as strong as she'd thought she had been, nearly losing her footing or making a mistake more than once during the fight. She was still feeling a bit weak, and she obviously needed a bit more time and training to recover from her days of inactivity before she went into a real battle again. Still, it had felt good to stretch her muscles and fight once more; she would have to make a habit of it every day until she was back to herself.

Heading back to her room in the castle, she noticed Leliana walking ahead of her in the hallway. "Leliana!" she called, and the bard turned back to look at her with a smile, though it didn't seem to quite reach her eyes.

"Ayla, how are you feeling?" Leliana asked after she'd caught up, the two continuing to make their way through the castle, which was still bustling with refugees and reconstruction efforts.

"Well, apparently not quite as good as I thought," Ayla answered ruefully. "I put in a rather poor performance against Zevran while we were sparring. Still, it feels good to be on my feet again."

"I imagine it does," Leliana agreed. "We were all quite worried about you after the battle when we found out what happened, you know. I am relieved to see that you are well."

"Thank you, and I apologize for worrying you. But, Leliana –" Ayla pulled her friend aside into a secluded hallway, having noticed how subdued the bard appeared compared to normal, "Is there something you needed to talk about?"

"It's . . . it's nothing." Leliana shook her head, but when Ayla raised her eyebrows at her doubtfully, the bard amended, "I'm fine. I'm just thinking."

"So tell me. I'd like to help. I'm not good for much else at the moment, anyway, it would appear," Ayla said wryly.

"I know it is ridiculous, after everything that's happened to us over the last few weeks, but I can't seem to get what happened with Marjolaine out of my head," Leliana explained slowly, and Ayla nodded. She'd been wondering when this dam would break, and it made sense that it would happen now that the Blight was finally done, and there was so much more time to think than there had been for any of them before. "I'd been in Lothering for years and she still thought I was plotting against her," Leliana continued, sadness lacing her words. "She didn't trust me. Maybe she never did. She loved me when she could use me and control me, and once she couldn't, she wanted me dead. It . . . it hurts to realize that I never really knew her."

"I'm so sorry, Leliana." Ayla put an arm gently around the bard's shoulders, unsure of what else to do in the face of her friend's obvious distress. She couldn't begin to imagine what she was going through. "I don't know what to say . . . is there anything I can do for you?"

Leliana smiled slightly at her, giving a small shake of her head. "You are already helping so much by listening to me. I knew she was ruthless, but I didn't know how far she could go. She was self-serving, cruel . . . she used people, then discarded them, but that's how she survived in the life she led. W-what if she was right?" There was sudden panic in the bard's tone as she met Ayla's gaze, wide-eyed. "What if I am the same? I . . . I should have just stayed in the Chantry."

"No, you shouldn't have," Ayla told her firmly, squeezing her shoulder. "You wanted to help and you did. We would never have made it through this without your help, without everyone's help. You're on the path that you're meant to be on, just like your vision told you. I am certain of that."

"But what if I was wrong?" Leliana demanded, pulling away to pace the hallway. "What if I become like her? I fear it's already happening. When we killed her, I . . . I enjoyed it. Seeing her dead gave me satisfaction." She hung her head in shame.

"If you're ruined, so am I," Ayla said simply, knowing the answer to this part, at least. "I had the exact same feeling after avenging my father. It's a normal reaction when someone hurts you that much – you shouldn't punish yourself, or feel guilty about it."

"But that is no reason to rejoice over her death. That is what she would do. I don't want that!" Leliana exclaimed, her hands trembling as she met Ayla's eyes again. "What we're doing . . . what we've done – hunted men down, killed them – part of me loves it. It invigorates me and this scares me. I . . . I feel myself slipping."

Ayla crossed over to Leliana again, taking her hands and squeezing them as she said gently, "Don't worry about it. You're a good person and you always will be. If you were an evil person, you wouldn't be this distressed over what you'd done. Do you think those slavers we met in the Alienage, or Marjolaine for that matter, ever regretted what they were doing, or worried about it? No, because they were bad people. Sometimes, as good people, we may have to do things we don't want to, to make sure other people are safe. That doesn't make us bad. It just means we're doing what is necessary." That was a truth that Ayla had always believed in, and she only hoped she could convince her friend to believe in it as well, so that she would stop torturing herself with what she'd had to do.

Leliana stared at her for a long moment before she finally nodded. "That . . . that is true. I can always trust you to show me things from a different perspective. I would like to be alone, for now. I have many things to consider. Thank you for listening to me. It did really help – and if you ever need someone to listen to you, please allow me to do so."

"Of course. I'll come to you when I need to vent about Alistair being overprotective." Ayla winked at the bard, drawing a smile out of her. "And I'll always be willing to listen if you need to talk about anything. That's what friends are for, right?"

"Indeed," Leliana smiled softly at her. "Thank you, again." The bard left the hallway, and Ayla followed, continuing on in the direction of her own room, relieved that she'd been able to put Leliana's mind a little bit more at ease. Now if only she could do the same for Alistair.

Ayla whistled cheerfully as she headed back to her room again a few days later. Since returning from his mission, Alistair had been much less overprotective of her, and indeed, nearly back to his normal self. She suspected that Aedan or someone must have had a talk with him and finally succeeded in reassuring him, and she was grateful for it. He hadn't even objected to her daily sparring sessions with Zevran to recover her strength.

That, too, was going much better, which was causing her current bout of cheerfulness. Today's session had ended with her knocking Zevran flat on his back – and he hadn't been taking it easy on her today, either. She finally felt like she was back to her previous strength, and it was a terrific feeling. Now she just needed to convince Alistair that she was strong enough for a different type of sparring session, she thought slyly.

She hadn't expected him to be in their room when she arrived; as it wasn't quite suppertime yet, she'd thought that he would still be helping Aedan with whatever he needed today. So she was surprised to open the door to their room and find him waiting at the table for her, along with food for the both of them. Not to mention, there were candles lit around the room, and – was that a bouquet of roses he was holding?

"Alistair, what is all this?" she asked slowly, closing the door behind her before walking over to the table.

He surprised her further when he got up from the table, handed her the roses, and got down on one knee. She blinked in shock when she realized he was holding a ring up to her; this had to be the ring he'd mentioned getting for her, which he'd yet to give her. It was a beautiful ring, she thought, a trifle dazed; it was a twisted band of shining silver, looping around two small emeralds with a blazing topaz right in the center.

"Ayla," he began softly as she stared at him, dumbfounded, "I've told you before that I'm yours, that I love you, and I meant it. With all my heart and soul, I'm yours, and I always will be. From the moment I met you, I was lost; I thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, and you actually found my jokes funny, which was more than I could have hoped for." She couldn't help laughing at that, and he smiled, his eyes glowing with a warm light as he continued, "I don't know what exact moment I fell in love with you, whether it was when I saw you dance, or the first time we kissed, or when you did your best to make me blush every time I turned around, but I do know you're the best thing that ever happened to me. You took what was a horrible, dark time in my life, and during it, you somehow made me happier than I'd ever been before – than I ever thought I could be. And I hope I do the same for you. I want – I need – to have you in my life, because without you it would be half of a life. So I'll be yours, and you'll be mine, if you'll say yes again. Ayla Trichlor, will you be my wife, and my life-mate?"

Now she was the one blushing, and were those tears pricking at her eyes? How could she be feeling like she wanted to cry when she was happier than she'd ever been? "Yes, of course I will, Alistair. I told you that you didn't have to do any of this! I already said yes, I didn't need the speech, but . . . oh, Goddess." She set the roses aside before throwing herself at him, and he caught her easily with an arm around her waist as she fused her lips to his, clutching his head to hers as she poured all her love for him, all her happiness, into the kiss. She raised her head after a moment, meeting his now-darkened gaze. "You're so sweet, Alistair, I don't even know what to say! That was the most incredible thing anyone has ever said to me – and of course you make me happier than I've ever been. I fought so hard against loving you because I was scared, but I think I've been lost, too, if not from the moment I met you, than certainly from the moment you gave me that rose. So yes. Yes to all of it, yes to everything. I'm yours, completely, always."

"Then I can count myself the luckiest man in Ferelden," he murmured, beaming down at her while he slipped the ring onto her finger, giving her a scorching kiss when he was done, one hand drifting over her body that sent flames springing to life all through her while he held her with the other.

"Bed, now," she growled against his mouth when he came up for air, nipping at his bottom lip hard. He moaned something that might have been a protest, but when she pressed her body flush against his, rubbing herself against him, and licked a trail to his ear, he stood up abruptly, bringing her with him. She smiled in victory, nibbling on his neck as he walked them over to the bed, falling onto it with her.

"What about the bonding ceremony?" he gasped as they rapidly tugged each other's clothes off, their lust burning hot, hard and fast through them. "When – oh Maker . . ."

She pulled her head back from his chest, where she'd just bit at his nipple while rocking her hips against his. "Later. We'll need to get some things ready first and we need to convince Wynne to help . . . ohhh, Alistair," she finished on a moan as he found his way beneath her smallclothes, stroking her until her back arched involuntarily.

"Yes, later," he groaned as he ripped her smallclothes the rest of the way off while she freed him from his. In the next moment, he'd buried himself within her, and soon, she was tumbling toward oblivion with him, with her love that would soon become her life-mate in truth, and she could only thank the Goddess for her good fortune, for still being alive and together with him.