None of this made sense.

While his head refused to believe the words and his broken heart seized on the faintest of hopes, Alistair was torn between the two. But deepest despair was too much for one heart to climb out of alone and his mind began to win out.

It wasn't possible. She had believed Morrigan was dead. The conviction with which she had stopped him; the insistence that he allow her to take the blow and the fervent goodbye she had poured into that kiss. Even when everything else in her mind had been collapsing, that conviction had remained constant. She had to be dead.

And yet...

The shuddering pain in his chest gave him a glimpse of what existed for him if she was indeed dead. Anything to postpone that echoing of his single heartbeat was a welcome distraction. If she was not dead then Morrigan had to be alive. As the child surely was. As the others may be. A few moments ago, his future had lain as a shattered dream at his feet. Now, it was still in his grasp. At least it might be.

The mages were closing in on him. He shrank away, clutching the body in his arms closer to his chest and away from the hands that wanted to wrench her away from him, push him aside and drive him back from her.

Sten took a step towards him with a low growl. "Either she dies in your arms or you consent to have her healed. That is the decision."

Alistair had a desperate need for the time and space to think. But while his mind argued that he had all the time in the world, his heart screamed at him to let the mages do whatever they could. Healing, resurrection, blood magic. It did not matter. She was what mattered.

One of the mages approached him with tentative steps, ducking her head so that his gaze was drawn to hers. He recognised her as the one who had been fetched to tend to Riordan. There was a well-practiced smile of reassurance on her face and his mind blustered at being treated with such condescension. His heart on the other hand hung onto the shred of hope her gaze offered with all its fragile strength.

The woman's smile softened as she recognised the desperation with which he searched her face for an answer to a question he could not voice. With a deliberate movement intended not to panic him, the mage reached out a hand and pointed at Elissa's face. "Look, there is still some colour in her cheeks." Her hand moved to hover over the other woman's chest. "And there, she's breathing." She laid the hand against Elissa's breast. "And beneath this armour her heart still beats. Trust these things for what they are, Warden."

Alistair refused to look down at the body. Instead he continued to stare at the mage, weighing up whether he should trust her gaze or his own. He thought he knew what he had seen but was it possible that she saw what he could not bear to let himself hope for?

The mage caught his indecision. "Let us heal her. Please."

"It's alright, lad," Oghren appeared in his field of vision. "Let them give her the once over."

Sten folded his arms across his chest and grunted. ""She is kadan."

The echoing of his own voice in his head reached fever point. The rational part of him shouted that he was allowing them to desecrate these last moments with her as a result of their own inability to believe she had gone and that he would be left to bear the emotional cost of their stupidity. The argument was sound.

Yet he had allowed his head to rule since that night and it had caused him nothing but hurt. But ever since he had felt her step onto that damned rooftop, every choice had been made by his heart. Now, there was everything to be gained from allowing it one last chance to guide him.

Alistair gave a hesitant nod towards the mage.

"Lay her down," she instructed.

Obediently, he dropped to his knees and gently laid the body out in front of him.

"Now stand back," she beckoned to the mages standing to the side. "Let us work, Warden."

Oghren hooked a hand beneath Alistair's armpit and dragged him back with a well-intentioned roughness. The movement caused Alistair to rock back onto his feet and he straightened to his full height, shrugging off Oghren's hold. He stood stiffly at the side of the Qunari and dwarf and watched as the mages began their healing spells.

Not for the first time in his life, Alistair wished he was something other than what he was. His skill as a warrior seemed so pointless if it could not even protect the people most important to him. All the thoughts and doubts in his mind merged into one confusing mass as he stared at the one constant that should have been present in all his futures. He prayed that she could be revived. The Maker, Andraste, whoever chose to listen.

The brightness and warmth of the mages combined healing spells radiated outwards and he felt the beneficial effects within his own body. The various aches and pains vanished though the weariness in his soul remained. As did the broken heart that did not know whether to be broken or not.

Unable to keep his gaze focused on the increasingly blinding glow, he turned towards the rooftop and watched as heads began to turn towards the spectacle. First one, then a handful and then more. The rumour spread across the rooftop and all stopped what they were doing as they looked towards her, seeking a sign that she survived. He felt their need multiplied tenfold by his own and his heart began to betray him as tendrils of rationality wrapped themselves around it and began to squeeze.

He had allowed her to go to her death. When she was at her most vulnerable, he had let her succumb to her fears. Pandered to her. Such weakness could not be erased so easily. Why would he escape punishment for such a choice? She could not be alive. It would be a mockery of everything. For her to be alive was to give him a second chance. A chance to help her. A chance to love her. A chance to make it right, whatever it was.

Maker, give him that chance.

For such a momentous decision as it had been for him, the time the mages spent over her seemed too short. But they broke away with their knowledge and mana exhausted.

The female mage rubbed a hand across her forehead, eyes glassy as she stared at him. One of the Templars stepped forward and caught her as she stumbled, a hand closing around her upper arm in a half defensive and half protective movement.

"Her injuries were slight. They have been healed," the young woman murmured, leaning into the Templar's grasp. "But she requires rest. We have deliberately kept her in the Fade. She should be allowed to sleep for as long her body deems necessary."

As Alistair stared at the mage swaying in front of him with a sickly pallor, his mind finally caught up with his heart.

She was alive.

Death was an inevitable end. It happened. There was no need for regret.

Yet the way in which Zevran crouched over the body of his fellow rogue suggested that the elf was reluctant to accept his own philosophy as he struggled to keep Leliana alive.

Morrigan rested against the wall where Zevran had propped her. He had tended to her after her groan but save from making her comfortable and handing her one of the small vials of health potion he had uncovered from the bodies of the darkspawn, the elf had not left the side of the Bard.

Her injuries were not as severe as the other woman's. The magic imbued in her robes had deflected much even when her spirit shield had collapsed yet there was still significant hurt to prevent her from moving. She had intended to leave as soon as the battle had been won but was forced to remain in this suffocating room despite her plans.

Morrigan had sensed the end of the battle. The awareness as the soul of the Archdemon sought out the small and defenceless tainted life within her had been odd. She herself had felt a brief surge of panic that all was not as it seemed and she had been fooled by Flemeth. A moment of total fear that she would become some form of powerful abomination. But as the dark and corrupted elements of demon and taint had destroyed one another and the Old God and child became a purified soul, the Witch had regained her composure. The experience had not been painful but it would have been misleading to suggest it was painless. However it could be described, Morrigan was acutely aware that her body now encased so much more than her own being.

The Witch had chosen not to tell Zevran that the battle was won. Aside from the difficulty in answering the question of how she knew such a thing, the news had little bearing on the well-being of Leliana and she could see that the elf had little concern for anything else.

The clatter of footsteps echoed from one of the adjacent halls and Zevran rose from his position, moving to the door with dagger in hand. He took a wary stance next to the door, keeping flat against the wall as he sought out who or what had made the noise. A few moments passed and his posture passed from tensed to relaxed, shoulders dropping and dagger sheathed without hesitation indicating the presence of friend over foe.

"Alistair."

The Witch froze as Zevran stepped from the room and beyond her scope. The ritual would have protected the one who made the killing blow from the sacrifice but it would not have permitted that one to simply walk away. She heard a brief conversation conducted in low tones which prevented her from making out the words. A small pause and the grunt of the Qunari then a clatter of feet as a small group moved off.

Elf and human entered into the room. Morrigan searched Alistair's face for a clue as to how Elissa fared. While Zevran returned to Leliana, the man approached Morrigan and crouched down next to her.

He moved in a slow manner which said more for his mental state than even the weary expression on his face. There was a distant look in his eyes that revealed his heart was elsewhere even while his body remained in the room. Morrigan was charitable in her decision to believe that it was his exhaustion which led him to forget his place and brush some of her hair away from her face. She did not wish to consider that it may have been an attempt to demonstrate some form of connection with the Witch. Or the child.

She could not find the strength to contort her face into a scowl although she did her best to clutch at his arm. "Elissa..."

"She will recover," was the simplistic answer. The unconscious flinch suggested that there was a much more complicated one. "Is he... How badly are you injured?"

"I will recover with some healing."

"I'm glad," he managed a faint smile at what would have been a surprising statement only a few short months ago and which indicated that he had more presence of mind than his current appearance suggested.

Morrigan did scowl then; keen to warn the Warden off any further displays of attachment.

"I don't want to fight," he sighed, catching the underlying message. "The mages need lyrium before they can continue with healing. Will you allow one of my men to carry you to Eamon's estate? That's where I've told Sten to take Elissa."

Morrigan hesitated before motioning her consent with a single nod of her head.

"Good," he turned and gestured at one of the Redcliffe men hovering in the hallway. The man looked distinctly nervous at the obvious delegation of responsibility to manhandle the fabled Witch of the Wilds. "Follow Sten and ask the mages to heal her once they're able." Alistair issued his orders as he moved to allow the man access to scoop the Witch up. "Be gentle."

The man bowed his head in acknowledgement but there was a glint in Alistair's eye as he turned away. With a low growl which only served to unnerve the man further, Morrigan demonstrated her displeasure at being the one to whom the statement had been actually directed.

Alistair did not respond; his attention already fixated on the prone figure lying in the middle of the floor. Zevran maintained his vigil and Alistair took his place next to him.

"She is unconscious," Zevran murmured.

The deliberate way that her body was positioned spoke to the severity of her wounds more than the little Alistair could see of her injuries. He reached out and very gently turned the Bard's head. He controlled his reaction although the sharp intake of breath was enough to accurately convey the horror of the wound. The scorch marks on her armour hinted at further burns which were better hidden.

"I do not know if she will survive even with healing," the elf continued.

"We have to try," Alistair brushed aside Zevran's realism. "She can't stay here."

"There is no danger. It is better that she stay."

"No," Alistair's tone was harsher than he intended but he was not leaving Leliana to die in the bowels of this forsaken Fort. "She should be with those who love her. Not sprawled out on a cold stone floor."

Zevran was silent, unconvinced by the argument but aware that he had little influence over the man beside him.

"I'll carry her," Alistair summoned the last of his energy and gathered her up. He was grateful that her being unconscious prevented her from being aware of the pain that it no doubt caused her even gentle as he was.

Zevran also rose to his feet. He glanced between Leliana and Alistair then back to the Bard again. "I will search out lyrium. The bodies of the darkspawn should yield enough to begin with."

Alistair nodded. "Oghren is on the roof organising those fit enough to begin sweeps of the city streets. Go to him and ask to be assigned some of the dwarves."

The elf inclined his head and made to leave but Alistair called to him.

"Zevran, come as soon as you have enough to replenish the mages. Let the dwarves search out the rest."

"I intended as much," the elf threw over his shoulder as he vanished.

Exiting the Fort with Leliana in his arms, Alistair had made a shambling progress through the Palace District as word travelled faster than he could move. With each step, his ears became filled with the sound of more requests and demands to the extent that he could not distinguish one from another. His route became obstructed by more and more bodies and when he looked up to search out a way forward, he had been confronted by a sea of faces he either did not recognise or had only set eyes on briefly. Panic had begun to take grip of him as he felt completely at a loss. He had no idea what to do or say. There was too much to deal with; too many demands for his time and attention that he had neither knowledge nor inclination to fulfil.

Desperately, he had looked for a familiar face even as he continued to push through the growing crowd. He had no experience of dealing with this. He had no idea how best to repair a city from the edge of ruin let alone a country.

It was with an almost hysterical sense of relief that he had caught sight of Eamon on the fringes of the throng. While Elissa's healing had occupied those on the rooftop, the remainder of the city had had more time to reorganise themselves. The nobles had already begun to coordinate the people in lieu of their King, responding to rumour as it filtered through.

The presence of the older man had a calming effect on Alistair and he had regained himself enough to adjust his direction towards Eamon.

"I have already spoken with the Qunari," Eamon greeted Alistair. "I have sent word to Isolde to prepare for you. I thought you would prefer to be in surroundings that were in part familiar."

"Thank you," Alistair gestured to the woman in his arms. He had deliberately picked her up so her disfigurement was hidden against his chest. "Leliana is badly injured. I need to bring her to the mages. And I need to check on Elissa."

"Of course. With your permission, I will continue to organise what is needed here. See to your companions," Eamon sensed the pointlessness in discussing anything further and permitted the young King to abandon what should have been his more pressing obligations to the city for the time being.

True to his word and embracing his role as advisor, the Arl had seen to it that the crowd began to disperse as he saw to it that their various questions were answered, deflected or referred with a ruthless efficiency. The way to the Arl's estate had cleared and Alistair had been able to pass through the streets with little interference.

And so now, having found the mages and laid Leliana on one of the beds in a neighbouring bedroom, Alistair sat beside his betrothed. Eamon had reappeared for a brief while, keen to assess the prognosis of the newly christened Hero of Ferelden in order to spread the word of her condition throughout the city. But he had taken one look at the near mutiny in Alistair's expression and disappeared once more although he had seen fit to send a change of clothes. With clean clothes in such easy reach, the mages had insisted that Alistair change from his blood-stained armour arguing that there was no need to provide the stench of the taint if it were not required. He had complied only so that he could be left alone with her. The speed with which his armour had been secreted away gave him some idea that Eamon had plans for it but it was nothing Alistair wished to concern himself with at the moment.

Embracing the calmness of his new surroundings, Alistair attempted to run a hand through his hair as a means of displacing his anxiety. But his fingers became tangled in the sweat and blood which had matted it. He had no access to a mirror but he began to get the impression that his clean clothes probably looked ridiculous against the evidence of the battle which was evident in every other part of his appearance. Yet washing would have meant being apart from her for even longer and he was not prepared to be separated from her. The mages had attempted to persuade him to go and rest, promising that he would be woken if she should so much as stir but he refused to agree. True, he couldn't remember the last time he had slept. He was almost sure that it was before... everything. Just... everything. But if he had gone that long without rest then surely he was capable of lasting a few more hours.

Yet the yawn which escaped suggested otherwise and Alistair forced himself back onto his feet, moving to the open window to gaze over what was now his city. He wondered where his friends were. Leliana and Morrigan were accounted for in the adjacent rooms and he knew Oghren was helping to coordinate the army. He imagined that Sten had also returned to the army having carried Elissa to safety. The Qunari had kept watch over Elissa until Alistair arrived but had disappeared from the vicinity shortly afterwards. He knew Zevran was continuing his looting of the darkspawn corpses. The elf's enduring practicality had overridden the sentimentality he had revealed in the Fort and he was now organising a structured approach to the search so that vital supplies of all kinds were not lost before the bodies were taken outside the city walls to be burned. Even so, Alistair had occasionally caught the sound of the elf's voice as he returned with more lyrium for the mages, checking on the progress of the Bard at each visit. Thinking on her condition, Alistair offered a small prayer before he hastily added in any of the injured lying in the city below. He hoped the Maker would not think him selfish.

Having accounted for those who still lived, his mind turned to the companions he had lost. He had little doubt that as order was restored to more and more of the city the number of souls he would have to give special commendation to would increase. But already, there were too many friends on the list.

The knowledge that order was being forced on the chaos engulfing the city amplified the nagging doubt at the back of his mind which told him that he should not be standing doing nothing. While Eamon led and his friend acted, he had a vague sense that he should at least be seen to be doing. Moving corpses, building pyres, sifting through rubble in search of other survivors. But that vague sense was overruled by the definite knowledge that he was not leaving her.

He closed his eyes and leant his head against the cool stone, grateful for the small breeze through the window which prevented him from falling asleep on his feet. Maker, he truly was tired. The quietness of the room was only punctuated by the steady if shallow breathing of Elissa. He took comfort from the sound, reassured by its nearness and the confirmation contained within it that she was indeed alive. He scrunched his eyes and swallowed as he resisted the thoughts of what he could have so easily allowed had he not consented to the mages examining her.

The rough grating of the latch as it was lifted provided a timely escape from his traitorous mind and even relaxed as he had been, his hand instinctively reached to where his sword had rested for so long. Finding only air, he cursed under his breath at his stupidity.

Morrigan flashed him a disapproving look as she slipped into the room, correctly reading his stance as defensive. "Perhaps you expected the Archdemon?"

Alistair let out a held breath. "What are you doing out of bed? You need to rest."

The Witch gave a derisory wave of her hand, succinctly dismissing his anxiety with one gesture. She made her way to the bedside and leant over the young woman with a frown. "I had to be sure."

"Of what?" Alistair moved to the other side of the bed, squinting at Elissa in an attempt to see what the Witch searched for.

"She took the final blow." Morrigan moved her hands over Elissa as she examined her. "Tis something I had not expected."

His poorly buried guilt surfaced and warped her statement into an accusation. His expression darkened and Morrigan glanced up as she sensed the change in him.

"I am not surprised often, Alistair." The Witch remarked as she fixed a cool stare on him. "Do not take criticism where it is not intended."

He resisted the irrational need he felt to explain himself and instead focused on the Witch herself. "Morrigan, you need to rest."

"The child is unharmed and I am healed."

"Zevran told me what you did." He spoke quietly.

Morrigan stiffened, her hands hovering over Elissa faltering for a second. When she spoke, her tone was deliberately caustic. "It was a foolish decision."

"Hers or yours?"

"It matters little," she sneered, "The outcome remains the desired one."

Alistair studied her and waited until the sensation of his stare fixed on her face forced her to meet his gaze. "Thank you, Morrigan."

The words hung in the air between them. With an ill-tempered snarl, the Witch made a point of busying herself while they dissipated.

Alistair gave up trying to reach out to her. Their relationship may have changed but she remained as temperamental as ever towards him and he was at least familiar enough with her to accept it. And wise enough to recognise the warning signs. "Will she be alright?"

"Yes."

"Good. You really need to go and rest then."

Morrigan glanced at him. His concern for her was genuine and it seemed that he had no idea of her true intention. With a smothered sigh, she summoned a soft glow beneath her hands and watched as Alistair's gaze was drawn to it. He became fixated and it was a simple task for her to use suggestion to manipulate his behaviour.

"You are tired, Warden. Sit."

Obediently, he dropped onto the bed as the heaviness of his head and limbs suddenly overwhelmed him.

"Lie back," she murmured.

He struggled to look at her but his eye lids threatened to close mid-movement and instead he lay down, curling against Elissa out of a habit formed from months of sharing limited bedding space and a simple desire to be near to her.

"Now sleep," came the last instruction.

There was a small sense that he should fight the sleep that threatened to rob him of consciousness but it was too welcome a feeling. It took only a few minutes for Alistair to succumb to the temptation.

Regardless, Morrigan waited until Alistair's breathing fell into the same steady rhythm as Elissa's before moving from the bedside. She pulled at the ring on her middle finger, toying with it as she considered whether to leave it or not. A foolish moment of sentimentality had caused her to part with its partner but she felt oddly gratified to see that he wore it on his hand. Whatever she may think of the Warden, he was as fiercely loyal to Elissa as she and it seemed a worthwhile gift to leave the second ring for Elissa to wear. Yet with the limited magical skill they had, she doubted whether either would be able to use the rings as anything other than gaudy trinkets and besides, the connection of their taint was as unique as the rings.

Abruptly, she replaced the ring on her finger and mumbled a few words to temporarily disable the link with its partner. An undetermined future lay in front of her and with the various dangers she imagined would exist, it may be prudent to retain some link to the past.

Summoning a small portion of her mana, there was a small burst of light and the figure of Morrigan vanished as a hawk flew out the window.

Morrigan.

Alistair cracked open an eye. The Witch had cast a sleeping spell over him and true to form, there was now no sign of her. He squinted towards the window. Maker knew how long he had slept but judging from the light creeping in from the window and across the floor, it was early dawn. The city was silent; too late for drunken revelry and too early for sober practicalities, the people had sought out safe places to rest their heads. The acrid stench of burning darkspawn flesh filled his nose as the pyres outside the city each burned through their loads. He had no doubt that there would be enough corpses in the city to ensure that the fires would burn for some time yet.

Glancing around the room, he noticed the tray of food sitting just inside the room although the door itself remained closed. At least his whereabouts were accounted for by someone. The gesture was very much Leliana but he imagined that it had in fact been one of the mages. With a pang, he hoped that the Bard had recovered. He fumbled for some recollection of Morrigan before he had fallen asleep but aside from her checking on Elissa, he could remember little of what had been said. Yet for Morrigan to cast a spell over him suggested she wished to do something he would not approve of. No doubt he would discover the full extent of it given time.

Dismissing the Witch from his thoughts, Alistair turned his attention to the figure enveloped in his arms. The mages had stripped her of her armour and she lay in an oversized linen shirt that had been hastily sourced. He felt the jutting curve of her spine pressing against his chest and his arm draped over the dip of her waist which was exaggerated by the prominence of her hip bones. He had known from the weight of her when he lifted her on the rooftop that she was a shadow of her former self but without her armour to bulk her out, the full extent of her deterioration was revealed.

Alistair made to move his arm with a foolish belief that the weight of his arm would hurt her if it remained across her. As he did so, he heard her breathing change and felt her body tense as she stirred from her sleep. With a small groan, Elissa rolled from her side onto her back and eyed him with a muddled look that revealed that her mind was still mainly in the Fade.

It was her delayed transition between realms to which he attributed the beautiful smile she greeted him with. Reaching across, her fingers brushed over his skin tracing the curve of his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, across the flesh of his cheek and along his jaw line. He pressed his face against her touch, a touch that not so long ago he had not expected to ever experience again. His gaze fixed on her, desperate to burn into his memory the way she was able to make him feel with such simple gestures.

Her smile faltered as she caught the intensity of his reaction. Her gaze flickered to her fingertips as she sensed that his reaction was prompted by something she was yet to remember. Her growing disorientation manifested itself in her touch as she retraced the pattern as though an answer to her developing questions existed on his skin and she just had to find it.

Alistair felt as his chest restricted and his breathing slowed. He did not want her to remember. He wanted her to be as she was now; focused and content. Her smile had begun to fade further but for a brief moment he had caught a glimpse of who she had been all those months ago. Healthy and whole.

The smile deepened into a puzzled frown. Elissa moved her hand to behind his head and lightly ran her hand through as best she could, her jaw clenching in distaste as she felt the clotted blood, before coming to a rest at the base of his neck. Her eyes widened as the flood of memories poured into her mind and the blissful ignorance granted by the Fade was firmly banished. The terror and desperation etched themselves across her face and she began to shake as she struggled to maintain control.

His heart wrenched as he was forced to endure her deterioration once again. Within seconds, the show of the confident Warden she had been vanished and she was the frightened and despairing woman once more. The only difference was this time he would not let her go. Alistair drew her against him in a wordless gesture that was an attempt to shield her from the horror of her own thoughts. Elissa made an attempt to wriggle free but he instinctively tightened his hold and was rewarded as she relaxed against him, searing sobs wracking her body.

He continued to hold her, suppressing any of his own responses in order to better allow her the space she so very much needed. There would be a time when he would be able to indulge in the grief and guilt and relief and whatever other emotion was contained deep within him but now was not that time. Now, she needed him. Now, he was focused entirely on her.

After a time, Elissa quietened as the ferocity of her tears exhausted themselves out. The oppressiveness of the silence in the room seemed to close in around them. Both were aware of the multitude of questions which needed to be asked. There were so many that it was difficult for either to know where to start. But the answer to all of them remained the same, at least for the moment.

"I don't know."

Alistair guessed the words more than heard them, muffled as they were by being spoken into his chest.

"Neither do I," he laid a soft kiss in her hair.

"Then let's just be," she pulled her head back a fraction so the words were clearer. "Here and now. For as long as we can, let's just be."

He knew he should be somewhere else, doing something else and most likely being someone else. But for the next short while, he was himself and he was here with her. The explanations, justifications and consequences would come later.

Elissa lowered her head once again and nestled closer to him. He took in the warmth of her body against his, the scent of the healing poultices on her skin and the reverberating thud of her heartbeat. Slow and regular, it seemed to be synchronised with his own.

"Let's just be," he murmured in agreement as he tightened his arms around her.

For now, just being was enough.