Chapter 59

This Heart of Mine

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Alistair was restless - he frantically paced back and forth, never moving too far from the entrance of the large tent. The "infirmary" he was told, although it didn't look much like one.

The silence and emptiness of that place was disturbing. There was no one, not even a single living soul, wandering around in the Dalish camp. It seemed like everyone who'd once lived there had been swallowed up by the Fade. Not that he preferred company at the moment... But this eerie solitude didn't help to distract his troubled mind, either.

The only person he'd found there was a Dalish woman with short brown hair, and tattoos that swept gracefully along her forehead. She didn't speak to him at first, just stared at him askance; a strange, almost hostile expression on her face.

She'd knelt beside them soon after Kallian had fainted, and without a word had held her sparkling fingers over the little elf. He did not like it at all, to have a strange elf trying to do something unknown to his fellow Warden. Especially because she was clearly a mage, and he was aware of Kallian's thoughts about them.

In response to the invasive touch of the brunette elf, Alistair released a hoarse, harsh growl from the depths of his throat, in a defensive, instinctive act.

His spine seemed to freeze upon hearing himself grunting. It was a normal, slightly audible sound, as well as any human throat could produce, but for Alistair it seemed as if a knife was ripping his throat. With his chest invaded by regret and shame, he ended up allowing the strange elf to approach Kallian.

His arms, however, remained firm as the walls of Orzammar around the little redhead.

The fingers of the mage began releasing small, bright rays throughout Kallian's body, but her brown eyes remained fixed on the human. She saw him staring at his own hands intensely, almost as if not believing that they were even there.

And he did not.

It was strange and comforting to see his hands again, even if bruised, dirty and covered by calluses. It was much better than seeing a sea of hair, claws and blood that only caused destruction and death. However, the grunt was like an old habit. Something he did by instinct, following a nature that was not his own. Something simple, that made him question, even for just a brief moment, the clarity and integrity of his actions.

The brunette elf ignored the internal conflict of the young human and instead sent him to the infirmary. The larger tent, she told him upon seeing his confused expression. She also said something about having to care for someone else first. A Qunari perhaps, he was not sure - his thoughts were too loud inside his head for him to hear the elf's instructions clearly. However, he didn't have time to ask, as the elf left, going to Maker knows where, and was gone from his sight before he could ask her anything. And even if he'd had the chance to speak, he didn't believe the elf would have cared at all.

It was not like he had a choice in the matter. She was a healer, he concluded, who seemed to be willing to help. He was in no position to refuse any help, even from a stranger, so he just followed her orders.

It was all so strange and fast, like a weird dream. Except for the fact that he was awake, carrying the little elf in his arms, sinking his feet into mud and blood as he walked. His head was numb, focusing only on what was best for Kallian, rather than his own existential problems.

The infirmary was a large tent, hard to ignore, and relatively close to where they'd been before. It was nothing spetacular, just a space filled with homemade medicines and makeshift beds, yet it was better than being out in the cold. The chains scattered on the ground didn't inspire confidence, but still, he tried to push those thoughts away and laid Kallian gently on the bed.

She was so light …

Not that she'd ever seemed heavy or anything. She was always so small, a little elf of slender body whose head barely came up to his shoulder, but it was only after holding her in his arms that he realized just how weak she really was.

She was very thin, much more than when they'd first met. Her cheeks were pale and sunken, and her skin seemed painted on her bones, clear signs that she hadn't eaten properly for a long time. Her lips, always so rosy, were without any color, and her complexion looked like ice, cold and clammy.

Only the Maker knew the effort she'd been making to stay strong for so long.

"Hey," the brunette elf said suddenly, taking Alistair away from his thoughts. She entered the Infirmary slowly, with tired features but carrying some fury in her eyes. "Human. Wait outside."

The order came dry and harsh, but Alistair was not surprised. In fact, he'd half been expecting this kind of aggressive behavior from her, and quickly complied. He took one last look at the little elf before he left, with head down and and hurried footsteps, a devasted look on his face.

The elf almost felt guilty, but had no time for regret, as the Templar was out of sight before she could even turn around.

And that's how he ended up there, waiting for news as the minutes dragged into the afternoon without any hurry, solitude and silence as his constant companions.

He sighed. How much time had they been in there? Minutes, hours? He was no longer sure. It seemed almost an eternity, and the wait was agonizing.

His head, however knew the healer was right. Kallian was alive, despite being so weak. He could feel her presence burning, even if it was faint, very close to him. But his heart? No. It would not hear of logic or reason. It would only be calmed when he could be sure. When he could return to the side of the little elf and wait beside her until she opened her eyes. He needed to see, to be sure beyond all doubt.

He considered the possibility of finding the others while he waited, yes, but everything else paled in comparison to the idea of leaving the side of Kallian. He was concerned, of course, especially since he had not seen anyone in their group since returning to the camp, but that did not compare with the fear he felt of losing Kallian again.

He then did the only thing he could do - sat on the ground, buried his face in his hands and began to pray, his heart beating loudly in his ears while fear froze his spine.

I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade

For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light

And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.

"Come in," the voice of the elf almost made Alistair jump from where he sat on the ground. He raised his head in alarm, then turned quickly back to look her in the eyes. She stood in the doorway, arms folded, staring back at him.

She seemed to be not as angry as before, just noticeably cautious. He felt as if his presence alone deeply offended her, but said nothing. He only accepted it as he would have accepted any other form of rebuke he may suffer, simply as part of the punishment he thought he deserved.

He stood silently, a little more slowly than she would have liked, and looked at her. He really looked devastated, almost embarrassed to be there, and it made the elf swallow part of her animosity. She stepped back, allowing him to pass through the narrow cloth door and enter the ward.

His gaze fell immediately upon Kallian.

She wore clean, new clothes, and was sleeping quietly in one of the beds. All the blood (which thanks to the Maker had not been hers, after all) had disappeared, leaving her pale skin bathed in the timid and cold sunshine that invaded the ward because of the holes in the ceiling.

He sighed in relief.

"Sit down there on the bed," the elf said, still with her arms folded, and her small eyes held a mixture of suspicion and a wide disparity of other emotions behind the dark circles that belied her exhaustion. She obviously tried not to look at the human as she walked from one side of the tent to the other, collecting the materials and herbs she needed. "I'm going to heal you"

"You look tired," he said quietly, his voice hoarse because of the strong emotions that choked his throat. "Don't bother about me."

"Do not be stupid," she said sharply as she took some clean cloths from one of the drawers. "I will have plenty of time to rest when this is all over."

He lowered his head again, babbling one barely audible "Right" before he glanced down at his own bare feet. He felt exposed, embarrassed, but it had nothing to do with the fact that he was only wearing dark, ragged pants, which looked more like shorts now. He felt like he was somewhere he did not at all belong, as if he was tresspassing, being near Kallian, receiving care as if nothing had happened.

The guilt he felt was like acid, burning in his stomach and setting his chest aflame.

The elf realized the effect her words had on him and for a moment almost regretted having opened her mouth. He just nodded silently, following her to the bed with his head lowered and sadness in his eyes.

Feeling defeated, she sighed in irritation, placing the materials on the bed, right next to where Alistair was sitting. They stared at each other for long moments, Alistair's eyes never leaving hers, just as he had learned to do with Kallian. He was not trying to try to inspire confidence, but the elf saw something there that narrowed her eyes. However, the silence between them was almost morbid, full of tension and mistrust.

She sighed again.

"Alistair, is not it?" she asked rhetorically, guiding his elbow gently away from his ribs. The cut was very deep - the skin looked like a red cloth that had been torn by force. Except that instead of lines there were remnants of thin, dark vines that were still attached to his wounds, like macabre ornaments of skin hanging from his flesh. It was awful to see.

The man, however, did not seem very concerned about his wounds. His confused look said something else. Before he could ask how she knew his name, however, she added quickly, "Eilleen spoke of you."

"Oh." He let out a small sigh of understanding. "So, you must be the First of the clan."

"Lanaya." she said, running a damp cloth around the cut. "You who took care of that?"

"It was the Lady," he replied comtemplattively, without looking down. "She sewed me up this morning. She knew that something big was going to happen today. But her magic weakened and the stitches broke and tore apart."

"And it does not hurt?" She lightly touched the angry side of the injury, studying the damage. He did not move.

"It hurt when Feralclaw attacked me," he said, but added quickly when he saw the confusion in her eyes. "The black wolf, you know. But now it's gone numb again."

"Ah," she sighed, slowly pinching away the dirt from the wound.

"Why bother?" he asked bluntly.

"Pardon?"

"Initiating conversation," he replied. "Trying to appear friendly when you clearly can not stand the sight of me." He frowned.

Lanaya raised an eyebrow, but her fingers continued working on cleaning the wound. She seemed to think very carefully before answering with, 'It is not for me to judge', in a politically correct and neutral tone, although her heart said otherwise.

"It is written on your face," he said unceremoniously. He continued to look at the elf directly in the eye, even if she was avoiding him. "I know when I am not welcome, lady. And you, elves, have a peculiar way of making that clear."

Lanaya laughed. "Not this elf," she said, and her voice would have sounded funny if it were not bathed in irritation and sarcasm. "She was always talking about saving you."

Alistair opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. Any rebel response he considered was choked by the node in his throat, leaving behind only silence.

What was supposed to have made him feel, if not better, at least a little less distressed, only made him feel worse.

Save him. For the love of the Maker, Kallian had wanted to save him, even after he almost killed her, without hesitation. The little elf had risked herself for him, despite how horrible the situation was, and all he could think about was the heat that invaded his chest when they'd first met after he'd transformed. It was an almost suffocating feeling, which mixed anxiety and adrenaline in such an intense way that it bordered on obsession. It was like a mysterious force controlling him, pulling him to her, ever closer, as if he were a puppet on a string.

Even while fighting Feralclaw, he could feel the attraction, the beast whispering in his ear, heat strengthening his muscles ... Just like the anger when he had turned, injecting an uncontrollable thirst for blood in his veins.

He shook his head. If the curse had not been broken when it was, he probably would have attacked the little elf again. In fact, he was pretty sure of it.

She had a good heart, he concluded. She was a good person. She trusted him to be the same, but he would have killed her if he'd had the chance. And that realization made him feel worse than ever.

Just thinking of that scene repeating itself ... the taste of her blood in his mouth and the smell of her fear invading his lungs ...

The taste of bile soon reached his mouth, while his expression fell back into darkness.

Lanaya just watched him out of the corner of her eye while she continued directing healing magic into his wound. It had been a long time since she had seen someone so emotionally destroyed, and even though she had no reason to feel bad for him, she still could not pretend it did not affect her, at least a little. It was a silent kind of feeling, a sympathy that only those who have lived the experience of being in the depths of the void could cultivate. It was an empathic recognition, however bitter.

"This ... Lady ... .She knew what she was doing," Lanaya said at last, and the human just squinted, as if not understanding why she was talking to him. The name of the spirit of the forest sounded bitter on her lips. "You got lucky. It should not leave a scar."

"Luck?" he whispered softly, his smile resentful and incredulous. "No. Leave the scar."

Lanaya stopped.

"No." She was emphatic, forcing the human to look her in the eyes. "I will not do that."

"Why?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"The young hunters come to me with the least little cut and ask for me to leave the scar, so they will appear more intimidating. They want the marks as trophies, and think the girls will like it. And I'll give you the same answer I give each of them," she said angrily, placing both hands on her hips. It was almost as if she had forgotten that he was not one of her brother elves, but instead a stranger. "I will not allow you to choose a permanent scar on your body because of nonsense."

"That's not nonsense!" he cried hoarsely, without shouting, but with emphasis and force. "I won that wound because I was weak. I had a choice. I could have resisted, could have fought ... But anger ... anger was stronger. She was welcoming ... felt right. And I, I gave into the temptation of her sweetness ... and because of that, Kallian …" His voice trailed off when the tightness in his chest became almost unbearable, and he had to swallow the lump in his throat before continuing. "She was the best thing that ever happened in my life, and I almost lost her. I want this scar left here as a reminder of what I did. I want to look in the mirror every day in the morning and remember the pain that my weakness caused her. To all of them. To myself. It's a promise I want to renew everyday, an oath to never allow something like that to happen again."

Lanaya quietly listened to his story, without interrupting him at all, even when she wanted so badly to say the fault was not his. Maybe it was, maybe not ... But he did not seem interested in hearing any comfort. She knew that if it were she in that situation instead, she would not want the pity of a stranger. So that limited her to offer only what her patient needed - a friendly ear, and the patience to listen.

Or perhaps she'd seen a bit of sincerity in it, a truism in his pain, even though she doubted that any human could feel anything but greed and pride.

"I do not know why I told you that ..." He buried his face in one hand, smiling in embarrassment as he shook his head disapprovingly.

All this talk was testing the limits of Lanaya's compassion, but before she could say anything inappropriate, a peculiar noise caught her attention. It was the sound of hurried and heavy footsteps outside, trampling through the mud and and splashing water everywhere.

"Mahariel," Alistair said before she could ask.

Lanaya opened her mouth to say… something, but then closed it again. She hesitated, torn between going to her friend and caring for her patient. Even though it seemed wrong, her heart was restless and uncertain. But when she glanced at Alistair and he nodded his encouragment, she shook off her doubts and ran out of the tent without looking back.

"So much blood ... What happened here?" Mahariel asked, bringing both hands to her head. Her injuries stretched the skin at certain points on her body, but she did not feel pain. "Where is everybody?"

She stared at the partially destroyed camp with small traces of panic in her eyes. There was blood staining the earth, the trees, the tents and the whole place was hardly more than heaps of rubble. It was a completely different place from the one she'd left behind only that morning.

It looked like a ghost town - quiet and cold, smelling of death.

"Maybe they have fled," Gerald suggested, placing both hands on his hips while inspecting the camp with his watchful eyes. "Maybe ..."

"No one knew Feralclaw was coming," She dropped her arms as if they were too heavy for her to bear them. "Just me ... And I arrived late."

"You don't know ..."

"And neither do you," she snapped, turning to face him. Her green eyes flashed, but no tears fell. They were empty and lost, as if someone had stolen from them their usual light.

Gerald looked at her only for a moment before fixing his gaze somewhere on the horizon, above his head.

The Dalish frowned.

"Eilleen?" A third voice called behind him.

Hearing the voice of Lanaya was like a belly flop in a lake on a hot day. First came the pain, that sharp pain in her chest marking the moment of release of a great burden; then the emptiness in the stomach, weakness in the legs of those who were too exhausted to fight anymore. Finally, a mixture of relief and numbness when the freshness of the water finally overcame the pain, and the body finally relaxed.

It was wrong to feel relief when she had no idea what had happened to the rest of the clan, but ... honestly? She was too tired to pretend to care about anyone but Lanaya.

The First shared the same feelings as the Warden, but all her eyes reflected was the terror and fear, which shone strong enough to realize the severity of the condition of her friend.

Eilleen was in tatters. Her leathers were torn, covered in blood as well as her body. Her blond hair was dark because of the dried blood which seemed glued to the ends. Most shocking, however, were the three long cuts tearing her arms almost from end to end, roughly stitched with the same strange vines that had been in Alistair's ribs.

For a moment, all Lanaya could do was stand there, overcome with shock, but it was not long until her healer's instincts came forth, pulling her out of her trance. She began to focus her mana again, and was surprise by the amount of force she could gather even though she was completely exhausted.

Mahariel took long strides toward her, imitating the movement of her friend, falling onto her in a hard, clumsy bear hug, reflecting all the relief she felt.

It was the closest to "being at home" that she might be able to achieve.

"Come, let me take care of you ..." Lanaya whispered, putting her arms firmly around her.

"It's over," she stammered, clinging to Lanaya as if her life depended on it. "Dead ... All dead ... Noah, he ..." She paused, almost choking on her own sobs. "I can't do this anymore ...I can't bear it, I just can't…"

"All right, all right ..." Lanaya stammered, trying to calm her friend, but soon despaired when her body seemed to fall apart in her arms, especially when she realized that she had no strength to hold her. "Eilleen!" She called desperately, kneeling in the mud as she held her warm, faint body.

"She's got a high fever," Gerald said calmly.

"Her flesh is practically lighting me on fire, so, yes, I think I noticed that, thank you." replied Lanaya sarcastically. "And who, by the Creators, are you?"

Gerald stared at the First frowning, without letting her sharp words affect him, and said without much ceremony, "I'm just the guy who brought your friend home safely."

Lanaya opened her mouth to answer, but ended up closing it shortly thereafter. He did not seem particularly bothered by her aggressiveness, quite the contrary - he seemed to be challenging the elf, as if curious to see how far she would go with her attitude. As if studying the First, and she did not like it.

She inspected him carefully, as if looking for any sign of danger lurking somewhere in his tight clothes, but only sighed in irritation.

"So, be useful and help me carry her inside," she said, with a bitter taste in her mouth.

Gerald stared at her in silence for a few minutes, again as if he were analyzing the First. But this time, his lips formed a barely perceptible smile, as if pleased with something.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, before gathering Mahariel in his arms.

Noah

The night fell upon me like a storm with no rain. I waited anxiously for the to moon rise in the sky and play his silver cloak over the forest, to put some light on those cold ruins. But that night, no moon, no stars dared appear. As if the Maker wanted to leave me in the dark, to make me pay for my sins.

I could only think it was what I deserved.

I wasn't afraid of the dark, but the solitude of the place made my heart go tight - what was left of my heart, anyway. I could feel it beating in my chest, but it felt hollow, like a drum in an empty room.

I did not want to stay there, but did not want to leave: Two halves of myself that were ripping me apart, leaving me paralyzed in that lost place.

Staying was like an eternal reminder of the shit that I'd done that day, all the pain and suffering I had caused everyone; and to leave meant to face the consequences of my actions, something that terrified me and left me shivering in my own skin.

It was not the fear of reprisal that kept me frozen there, no. I never cared about what others thought. It was more .. shame. Ashamed of what I did, ashamed of the type of person that I had become, ashamed to face the elf quietly as she threw it in my face that it was wrong to take me back ...

Or even worse was to put up with all the contempt of the Dalish when she finally looked into my eyes and told me everything I did not want to hear - about how I had struggled so hard to do everything wrong and thrown into the fire all that I had once preached, only to do just the opposite.

I was no better than her, or better than Howe. I was a pathetic coward, who did nothing but run away from everything that was too hard for me to bear.

I had to put my shame in my pocket, build up my courage and face it like a man for the first time since this had all begun.

Just not that night.

That night I was just a broken man, in mourning for a better future that he had killed with his own choices.

Alistair

I've never done this before, so this is kind of embarrassing. You know, talking about it all. And ... I never imagined myself telling this to anyone, so ...

Well, it was night. So late, in fact, that I would say the sun was almost born again. And I? Well, I was in the infirmary ... That big cabin where I had left Kallian earlier ... and where I had not left even for even a minute since.

And everything was in perfect silence, bathed in darkness, cloudy and gray.

If I stop breathing, I could hear the frogs and crickets making noise outside,even with the bad weather. But ... it did not matter. It's not like what the insects did or failed to do mattered.

But ... that was it. That was the soundtrack of my guilt. It was a false sense of serenity that could only make me feel even more empty and lonely inside.

Earlier, Lanaya entered the hut followed by a tall, bearded man, who was carrying Mahariel in his arms. It was perhaps the highlight of the day. She soon went to work, and the stranger just stood watching. I needed no more than a brief glance to recognize Swiftrunner. I had never seen his human appearance, but I knew it was him. And when he looked at me back, I realized that he recognized me.

But I looked away. I don't know why I was feeling embarrassed, but facing Swiftrunner now seemd strangely wrong and out of place. He said nothing, neither to me nor to Lanaya, and only withdrew before anyone could force him to leave, carrying with him the same silence that he had brought with his arrival.

By that point, Lanaya was incredibly tired. Exhausted, from what I could see, because of the heavy look and dark circles under her eyes. She spent even the mana she din't have to take care of us all, and wouldn't stop until she'd accomplished what she set out to do. It was admirable, but I couldn't help but feel a some remorse for being able to do so little to help.

I had to leave at some point so the First could change Mahariel's clothes as she had done with Kallian, and followed the example of Swiftrunner, turning away before I could be expelled. Thanks to the Maker, however, he was not around. I couldn't face him. Not yet.

On the other hand, Leliana was.

She was sitting in the back of the tent, hidden in a corner between a big barrel and a lot of stacked boxes. If not for the sound of her sobs, I would never have suspected that she was there.

I hesitated. I hesitate a lot. But her muffled cries were bothering me too much for me to ignore. I don't pretend that the suffering of others doesn't bother me, so I ended up going to her.

The sister looked at me with those big, wet eyes as if I were a ghost. Her cheeks and nose were redder than her hair, and her sobs were so compulsive that it looked like she might choke and suffocate at any time. However, upon seeing me, it seemed it got worse, and her cries became even louder.

"All these people ..." she said, when I knelt before her. It almost looked like she wanted to touch me, but remained firmly in place. "The wolves. They ... they went back to normal ... and ... it was horrible," she said between sobs as the tears streaming from her eyes made waterfalls down her cheeks. "They were not people. They were ... Life was not in their eyes. They were white, dead. They felt pain, but not were beyond all help. They were trapped souls who could not ..."

She could not say more, but there was no need. The Feralclaw wolves were infected by the taint. It was the Darkspawn disease that fed their insanity. And now, without the curse to give them the impetus and the spark of that destructive temper, they were just bodies without any rationality that were doomed to wander the earth until someone had mercy and ended their suffering.

"Morrigan said we had to finish, end their misery but ..." She continued, almost as if she had heard my thoughts. "I could not. Kill them as well, in cold blood? They do not know what was going on ... There were children there!" She sobbed strongly. "Women and young and ... I could not. I took the dagger, but I could not..!."

"It's okay," I said, surprised to still have a voice, even though it seemed more like the sound of sliding stones than anything else. It was as if I had dried blood in my throat.

"No, it's not," she said. "Not until we're done with it." She flinched again,embracing her knees while sinking her face in her arms.

"We will end it." I said. She needed a hug. She was visibly in need of a hug. But I was too scared to get close to someone else ... Even more because the last time I did, I almost killed someone, so ... Well, I restrained myself to only place hand on her shoulder with all the firmness that my broken spirit could muster, praying that was enough.

She shrank further back, and though she was in need of a hug more than anything, she just accepted my comforting gesture. It was ... weird, because she resumed crying again, but this time it was ... very different. The sound was, not like a call for help, but like an outburst of liberation, renewal ... a cue for me to leave. And so I did.

It was strange how sometimes one broken human being could be enough to relieve some of the pain of another, even though both were torn inside ...

Just know that ... after everything, I found myself going back to the ward, and I ended up finding Lanaya asleep in the chair, sitting beside the bed where Mahariel was now sleeping. And so exhausted was she, she did not even react when I caught her in my arms and gently put her on the bed where I had been before.

She ... She'd done all she could, and deserve a decent rest. It was the least I could do.

In the end, I finished sitting in that chair, right next to Kallian's bed. Awake all night, just watching the evening. Things. People.

Her.

Kallian was lying, sleeping in the same way she'd been when I left her. If she hadn't been breathing, I might have said that she looked nearly dead. Her extremely pale skin and the dark circles under her eyes just made her thinness look even worse than it really was. As if all the forces had been stolen from her body and only a miracle was holding her soul in place.

Still, even if in a somewhat morbid way, she was still beautiful.

I always liked the way that her hair fell over the white skin of her shoulders, even though she never left them exposed very often. Or how the rebels stands hung over her face sometimes, leaving only one golden eye to shine through the cracks of her bangs. Or the way she pulled her hair back, exposing from her ear to her neck ...

And perhaps most importantly, the way she looked at me. In that defiant, and at the same time sweet way, the shining in her eyes like honey before she opened that little and sincere smile that could light up even the most stormy of my days.

I sighed.

Sometime during the night, Shaw found his way home. He crept into the room and jumped on the bed, nestling between her legs. It was ... beautiful. This loyalty the small mabari had with her. Then again, who could blame him?

"Lucky are you, my friend, for this simple and uncomplicated life," I whispered to Shaw, stroking his head. He did not move, only closed his eyes in approval and wagged his tail. "Humans are too complicated. I .. kind of envy you."

Shaw looked at me like I was crazy. And maybe I was ... talking with a dog ... I couldn't blame him for that either.

But the dog's life was very simple. They saw into people's souls, and chose one that was worthy, someone who would be able to return part of the almost infinite love they had to give. And that's it. No problems, no complications. Just a comfortable black and white. But humans? No. Humans were like rain clouds, full of horrible gray tones and unpleasant layers.

My heart was tight. It appeared to be bleeding from everything that had happened. My weakness, my stupid jealousy and my bad choices had made me give too easily into temptation, and I'd almost killed Kallian because of it. I almost killed the person who'd risked herself for me, and I would give my life to protect her without even thinking twice.

I found myself in a world where she did not exist. A world where I was alone with her blood on my hands, and it almost killed me. I was aimlessly without a ground beneath me... Only with a huge void in my chest. Alive on the outside, but completely dead inside. All I saw when I closed my eyes was the sparkle that I adored in her eyes slowly dying, while she still insisted on bringing me back. That haunted my dreams every night.

I had never let anyone get so close to me before. I've never had anyone who had aroused in me the desire to be close to someone. I never realized it, but I was used to having her around. Her voice to be the last thing I heard before going to bed and the first one I listened to upon waking. The sound of her laughter, the sweet tone of her voice when she called my name ... And during the days I lived without it, I finally realized that this was all I needed. That was all I wanted.

She was all I wanted, and that was pretty scary.

"I think I might be falling in love with your master, Shaw," I said in a very faint whisper, a painful outburst.

Shaw, however, threw his head over my hand and fell asleep, not caring about me or anything else.

A / N: Chaotic and busy life, with little time to write, but I'm still here. The updates are still sporadic and unstable, but they will happen sooner or later. I've received many Favs and Follows in recent months, and even reviews I didn't have time to answer. I will soon, yes, but still would like to thank those who are still with me on this journey of almost three years, especially for those who leave their reviews on the chapters, and requests for updates. They keep me going :)

While I know I still have at least one person reading this story, I will continue writing.

A small novelty is Mr. Alistair, who decided to steal the last minute scene and tell the story himself. I confess that getting into the head of Alistair was an unusual and fun experience, and I hope you have enjoyed as much as I enjoyed writing it.

So, should I leave him in charge more often?

Thank you all :D