fanfic: A Fish Out of Water

[bellaknoti]

An AU to Wings of the Storm Crow

Title: Phoenix Rising (Chapter Twenty-Nine)
Rating: AO
Pairing:
Summary: Okay. Okay so now... now I need to go home, pick up the pieces of my life, and try to... carry on. This doesn't change anything. It can't. ...It has. It's changed me. Now what the hell am I supposed to do with that? How do I-- I just don't have any choice. I just keep moving forward. I need my stability back.



scarylady is very awesome, and fixes all the injustices and horrible liberties I take with the language without even meaning to.




“Zev,” I whisper. “What have you done to us?”

“Do you still not understand?”

“No,” I say, my voice tight with the strain of this lie, and his arm slips off the back of the couch to wrap around me. I don’t want to understand. I lay my head on his shoulder, watching our little Arianna bang a small cowbell on the floor and squeal with delight at the sound it makes. “I would never leave you. I couldn’t. Even there, you’re my reason for breathing.” He squeezes my arm gently and kisses the top of my head as I make little damp circles on the sleeve of his henley.

“You did not see, when you wrote that scene with Alistair, the things that you said, but I did. So telling,” he chides gently, and I blush. “Yet how could I continue, how could I force your hand like that, hm?” He sighs, slipping his fingers between mine. “What we have can only exist in a world without the Crows. Do you not believe that they would crush all the light from you? How was I to protect that in a den of killers? You explain that to me, cara, because I cannot see it. And to think of a child? Our child? Look at her, moglie mia, and tell me that you could take her in there. Look me in the eyes and tell me we could protect her, even with both of us to fight for her.” He leans back, looking down at me, but I just shake my head, shrugging with one shoulder.

“Surely other Crows had families,” I try, but he remains impassive.

“Of course; the noble families all had many children. It was not uncommon for a woman to bear perhaps seven or eight sons and daughters. The women took it as a point of pride if they could surpass six children without undue stress to their health. One or two, if they were fortunate, might even live long enough to be married. Those with the most influence, perhaps three. But of course, alliances and enemies are made in such ways, titles traded and fortunes made or lost.”

He takes a deep breath, then shakes his head slightly. “Tell me, how would you feel, seeing four out of six children into the flames? Yours. Ours. Seen as possible sacrificial pawns by all but us. Could you look at having many children as a way of giving yourself merely a better chance that you wouldn’t be left entirely childless?

“You barely touched the edge of it and came away scarred, written by your own hand. And you, my brave Lily, you would fight on, regardless. You would tell yourself you could handle it because you had to, and you would tear yourself apart from the inside. You would tell yourself it was your failure to thrive, and look: so you have,” he says, gesturing to the open laptop on the table beside me.

“But it is a weakness. Why would it be wrong for me to feel that way?”

He snorts. “Because you are calling ‘weakness’ what is just good sense and healthy self-preservation instinct. How many of the women you know do you suppose would be well-equipped to jump into such a situation, hm? Bethany? Captain Lydia? Sofia? You are not a soldier, not raised to a life of it, nor trained for the way of it. You can swing a dagger or a sword in the training yard all you wish, but to take that out into the killing field is another matter entirely, yes? You even know so, for you say as much after ‘That Night’, as you call it, but you shy from it, refuse to believe.”

I look at our Chickpea and feel sick. Not for the first time, I wonder if I’m spinning fiction or recording a history. Oh, other me, I’m sorry. This is revealing sides of him that neither of us wanted to see.

“Not only that, but consider how many would have to fall by my hand in order for all the Crows left standing to fear me enough that they submit, swearing to put me at the head of the table leading all of Antiva. Consider medieval and renaissance politics. What would a man do, when he usurped a throne, with the former ruling family? For have no doubt: that is exactly what I have done. And what would happen to him, as long as even one member of that family still drew breath?” I stare at him, wide-eyed, and his honeyed amber, usually so warm, is flat and hard as gold.

“Even the childrens,” he says evenly, deliberately, then pauses, pinning me to the spot and sending a chill up my spine. I don’t see the Crow side of him very often, and it always freaks me out. He’s right; he would have to be ruthless and cold as steel. And after a year and a half, Thedas-me brings him there and does this to him, perhaps the only thing left of him that was still soft: me. Us. “Could you watch me do that, cara?” he asks, softly. “Would you yet stand by my side? And if you did, what would you become? What would become of you?”

He studies me for a moment while I stare at him in silence, unable to refute it, and then he throws one more brick at me. “You are my wife, and you would, indeed, be a queen. Could you callously order the death of another? You could not do it when it was your own life - our lives - in danger, or have you forgotten the scene in the alley, with the Warden patrol?” I know he sees that I remember, and he nods. “Just so. I did warn you: the Crows, they are not so forgiving of amateurs.”

I nod reluctantly. “You’re right. But so am I: if I were to have gone there, I wouldn’t be strong enough to hold you, and... knowing who we are together? That’s a crime, and a failure.”

“Hmm... Never mind that the weakness is equally upon my own shoulders? For neither could I keep you safe.”

“I should have been able to keep myself safe, and so I would lose the love of my life for not being strong enough to deserve it,” I counter.

He regards me seriously. “Even there, what happens between us when we do this...” Leaning in, he kisses me softly, this echo, the way of our first kiss, gentle and questing. The one that always makes my heart soar. After a moment, he draws back; I blink, forever slow to come out of it, and see that look in his eyes, too. “...never changes. There is a reason the link cannot be broken. But there would only be two roads, if I let you follow me into the darkness: I would be forced to watch you slowly either come to think of me as a monster and fear me, or weather away to a cynical and jaded shadow of yourself, becoming hard as stone. That is, if you survived, were not taken and used against me somehow. Something else I told you: the Crows do not encourage personal attachments.”

“Renata and Lothrein--” I begin, but he just shakes his head.

“Both Crows. There was no true love there, only possessiveness and mutual agreement. Perhaps a certain amount of passion, for she was a very jealous woman, but she asked you if you had designs on her husband because she wished to know what game you played at, not to keep you from his bed. Each would kill the other without a second thought, if it suited their purpose.” I look down at Chickpea and a tear falls off my eyelashes. “Ahhh... Cara,” he says, “You called me your sunlight, but look at what life I come from. What do you suppose you do for me, hmm?” I blink, meeting his gaze again, and he cups my cheek, brushing the errant tear away with his thumb. “There. Just so. Crows do not cry, not like this. You still have a heart to break.”

“You have a heart; I’ve seen you cry,” I protest, and his eyes, oh, his eyes, the weight of them when he looks at me.

“Only because you gave me yours.” He pauses, then shakes his head just a fraction. “But I would lose you to Alistair.”

I swallow. “I’d lose you to the Crows.”

After a moment, he picks up the laptop and puts it in my hands. “Say on, Lily mia. We are still alive, yes? What is next? There are questions left unanswered.”

“So there are,” I agree softly.

.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.

I sit in the chair by the window, staring at the night sky, watching it slowly turn from inky black to indigo, bleeding into grey. Not until it is light enough to show the ripples on the water do I realise, if I had only been patient, the Crows would still believe him dead, and we could have been free.

And right on the heels of that thought, so quick they overlap: Oh, so you’d just ditch Alistair.

No. I did make him a promise. I didn’t have to use the words of a verbal contract to have it be understood between us. He warned me, if I let him hold me, he wouldn’t want to let go, and I asked him not to. I have asked him many times not to.

For the first time, to think of Alistair burns me, and that is a searing brand that takes my breath away.

Oh gods, no, what have I done?

Faithless.

I stand, pick up my bag, and head for the door. Ponka wiggles out from under the bed, and I wait for him to be able to stand next to me before I open it to head back home.

Home.

The Warden base.

My stomach begins to twist up in knots before I even get to the gate.

The night before last, Anders was in the midst of his poisoning, but he was trying to tell me something, something so vital that he struggled through his haze of delirium to speak. Chains bind heavy loads, logic, chains, people, events... and then he quoted my grandmother. Did... did he see inside our heads? Oh gods, that’s frightening. No wonder he ended up having an aneurysm.

I need to see the letter, and get the jewellery back, and then put it away someplace and never look at it again.

There is a new recruit on the door, must have arrived just yesterday, and he doesn’t know me. I have a hassle trying to get in until one of the Warden patrols coming in for breakfast strolls up, and the incident leaves me shaken.

It could be that easy, to have it all just crumble like a puff of dust. Only one day away, and I already have trouble getting back into my home.

I head back to my room to ditch my bag and gather some clean clothes. Looking down at my dog, I smile and scratch his head. “You’re such a good boy. Go find something to eat and a place to relax, okay? You’ve done a good job.” He barks happily, wiggling his tail-bump, and trots off, head high. I can’t help but smile; he’s so easy to please. After spending so long in the baths that I turn into a raisin, I head back to my room and flop down on the bed, just laying there, staring at the canopy.

Zev...

No. Shut up.

That part of my life is over, and there’s no going back. I may never see him again, no matter how unfair it is. The Crows ate him, but not how I thought, and I tipped his hand to them without meaning to when I asked Ferrilin to take a message to Zev for me. I didn’t even think about it, the idea that the Crows might not know he was still alive.

I just selfishly tried to contact him, made him come out of hiding.

And it didn’t even work.

It never would have worked.

I had to try.

I can’t stay here forever. I have to get up, I have to move. I need to find something to do, so I can stop brooding, so I can try to build up that wall again, so I can try to pick up my life again.

Last night doesn’t change anything about what I’ve been doing for the last eighteen months. It can’t. That’s the whole point of all this sacrifice, isn’t it?

I don’t deserve this.

Be careful what you wish for.

I force myself to get up and run a brush through my hair, even though I really couldn’t care less. I have to try and do all the normal things I would do every day. That means I need to eat, because I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. It doesn’t matter if I’m not hungry. In fact, that’s probably a bad sign, considering it’s been almost a whole day. I pick up my bag by habit; there’s a bowl in the bottom that needs to go back to the hall anyway.

The hall is mostly deserted by now, just a few off-duty guys still munching on the tag ends of their meals over cribbage or cards. I slip out the side door with my plate, not even really looking around much, and find a place to be, somewhere out of the way in a corner of the courtyard. I sit on the floor, my back against a wall, and set my plate in my lap, looking down at it. None of it looks like food. I don’t want to eat. I pick up a strawberry and pull the hull off, taking a bite, and it tastes like nothing.

I eat it anyway, because I should, but I haven’t got much further than that when Leliana finds me. My first clue that she’s near is the rustle of fabric that accompanies her dropping to the stone to sit beside me. I force myself to eat a piece of broccoli, then continue to stare at my plate.

At last, she says, “You don’t look happy.”

I sigh. “I’m not.”

“You weren’t gone very long. Did it go badly?” she asks, and I pause, because I really don’t have a good answer for that at first.

“Uh... Well...” I shrug awkwardly. “Yes and no. It... didn’t work.”

“You could not break the connection?” she asks, and I shake my head.

“I’d have to hate him, I think, and... I just... I can’t,” I say, my voice breaking and ending on a whisper.

Lels wraps an arm around my waist, and I lean into her. “Hate? Really?”

I nod, feeling tears burning behind my eyes, and swallow thickly. “It’s... We’re tied because of love, and... the opposite of love is hate. So... I think we’d have to hate each other to break it.”

She pauses, then shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so. Love is a very strong emotion, and so is hate. The opposite of both is apathy.”

Could I ever look on him and feel nothing at all? No.

I shake my head ruefully. “Ah, well. It doesn’t really matter, because there’s no way I could bring myself to do either one.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetling. It can’t have been easy,” she says, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “Was he cruel?” she asks softly, and my mouth twists.

“Not intentionally. The entire situation has been cruel to both of us.”

“Hmh. I don’t know about that,” she retorts. “He was terribly unkind to you, that last day he was here.”

I shake my head, dangerously close to crying, and I can’t have that. I swallow hard a couple of times and sit up, looking down at my plate. Grabbing a small piece of chicken, I stuff it in my mouth to buy myself a little bit of time before I have to answer. “I know. But he had his reasons, and now that I know what they were... I... I can’t be mad at him. It just hurts now.” I glance up at her as the silence stretches on, and she is staring at me, shocked. I know, this is an abrupt about-face from the position I have held - and often ranted about - for the last eighteen months. I offer her a weak smile, and shrug. “Once I’ve found Anders, I’ll come see you and explain... but I think I should talk to Alistair first.”

My stomach clenches, and I find that I have lost my appetite entirely. Oh gods. I split my roll in half and stuff all the chicken in it, then wrap up my food in the napkin, tying the corners together. Leliana gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Well, you know where to find me, though I’ll be out for a time, tonight. If I don’t see you before I go, I’ll come find you after I return.” I nod, and she kisses me on the cheek before she gets up and saunters off.

I drop my breakfast into the little box in my satchel that I keep for just that purpose, sliding the lid closed. I may not be hungry now, but I will be later, and I can’t bring myself to waste food like that. It’ll keep; the chicken was pretty well-spiced. I’m stalling.

Hauling myself to my feet, I weave a little, and put my hand out to brace myself on the wall. I’m running out of energy; it’s going on thirty hours now since I slept. Sighing heavily, I push my hair out of my face and head over to the clinic. I barely catch Anders down the hall on his way out and have to push myself into a bit of a trot to catch up.

“Anders, hey.”

He turns around, surprised, and then frowns when he sees me. “Lily! I thought you were going to be gone for three days,” he says, and I look at my feet for a moment, shifting uncomfortably.

“Uh... yeahhh... so did I. Things never go according to plan though, right?” I peek up at him and he shakes his head, a little mystified, a little amused.

“So what can I do for you?” he prompts, and I hesitate, because of the way he said that, but I really have to ask.

“I need the paper that was in the bottom of the silver pouch. I know what it is now, and what to do with it.”

He looks at me doubtfully. “What about the compulsion on it?” he asks warily, and I shake my head.

“Wasn’t a compulsion. It was connected to the chain, so of course it tugged on me, just like you said, but it can’t hurt me anymore.”

He studies me for another moment, no doubt taking in the bags under my eyes and my slouch. “C’mon, please? I still have to talk to Alistair about all this before I can sleep,” I complain, rubbing my eye, and he finally relents.

“All right... but if it looks like it’s going to grab you again, you’re not getting it,” he warns, and I nod.

“Fair enough.” Benina beats a hasty retreat to the back room to give us privacy as we enter, and Anders reaches up to a top shelf to fetch down a small box that has old letters in it. After a moment’s deliberation, he hands over the letter Zev left me warily, expecting it to cause me problems at any moment. It doesn’t. It’s just a piece of paper, now. Such a tiny thing, to cause so many problems. “Thank you,” I murmur, glancing up at him, then tuck it in my sleeve. He presses his lips together, still not liking it, but he nods.

“Right. Well, I’m late, but it seemed like this was important.” He touches my shoulder as he passes me, and I turn, following him out so Benina can resume her work.

“Thanks,” I say again. “Sorry I made you late.” He just nods, then turns, giving me a little wave as he heads out, leaving me standing there with the letter.

I don’t want to read this.

I have to read this.

You do realise you said that you have to, right? Not that you want to?

Shut up. I know. Doesn’t make it any less true. Sometimes, yes, you have to.

Perhaps for the last time, so let me have this. It’s probably the last thing I’ll touch that was in his hands.

There’s no one around, so I tug it out of my sleeve, flip it over and am immediately stopped by the seal. The pattern from his ring. I hesitate a moment, then slide my finger under it. It unfolds like a flower, clearly hastily done from rote practice, but by someone who knows paper-folding as an art form, and has often used it in lieu of envelopes. Something else about my man-- no, about Zevran, that I never knew. Gods, the flow of his hand across the page; his handwriting is beautiful, a perfect script, and with it, he damns me completely. There are two pages.

Easier to think I never loved you!

You think this is easy for me? That I wanted this? It's tearing me in half!

I do trust you, Alistair... completely. Utterly. I want to do the safe thing, the easy thing, and believe me, I know how easy it would be. Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. But in the end I could never forgive myself for being a coward.

I can't change what's already happened, but you can't tell me I didn't give you anything. I died for you. Not for the Blight, not to save Denerim, not for the dwarves, Ferelden, the Grey Wardens, or even my clan. Just you. Everything I held, all that I desired, everything I was, all my Tainted blood and every scrap of my Dalish soul. I gave it up for you. Not him.

I couldn't bear the thought of the world without you in it. It was the last thing I could offer you... The only thing I had left.

I do love you. I looked-- look up to you, more than you'll ever know, maybe. I've never known what to say, how to be, what to do... You make it hard to think straight, you know that? The problem is, both of you have a hold on me, and I know I can't have it both ways. I never could.

I wish I could give you what you want, what you deserve.

I hang my head, holding the paper to my breast for a moment. I said these things, out loud, to Alistair, and didn’t even hear myself. After a few deep breaths, I move the top paper aside, and there is the earring, and my wedding ring as well. I put the top paper underneath and pick them up, tuck them into my palm. Of course, there is more. The second note turns me to ash.

You will not allow yourself to accept what you truly want and need while you are utterly consumed with blind desire.

They will never come for you now. It is the best I can do.

Sempre, tutto, ma solo per te, moglie mia. (Always, everything, but only for you, my wife.)

Emma ir abelas... ma serranas samahlen, na nehn, enansal na lath. Suledin. Numin’din. Ar era’din, dareth. Ma’uth emma vhenan’arla. Vir bor’assan, emma sa’lath. (I am filled with sorrow... thank you for the laughter, your joy, the gift of your love. Endure. No more tears. Do not dream of me, and be safe. You will always be my heart’s home. Bend, but never break, my one love.)

Lord, what fools these mortals be.

After a moment where I just stand there staring down at it, not really seeing, I put the jewellery back on the paper. I carefully fold it back up the way that it was, and stick it in my back pocket, then take a couple of deep breaths. I’m so tired, my bones ache. I want to lay them down.

A small, quiet voice within me whispers of heat and strength, the smell of cedar and hazel eyes. I need him, and just when I need him most, he may decide to push me away, but I cannot lie to him, either.

Looking up, I realise that my feet have carried me to Alistair’s door without conscious direction on my part, which is also a bad sign, because I only start doing that around the time I’m about to be capable of sleeping on a set of concrete stairs. No lie.

The door is closed, but there’s no guard on it; my hand is filled with lead and inertia as I raise it and knock. “Come,” he replies curtly, and I take another deep breath before opening the door. He doesn’t look up at first, head bent over a ledger as he finishes making the entry, but when he does, my heart flips. I do love him, and I need him, desperately. I have no idea how I must look right now - probably like hell - but he’s looking at me with mixed emotions, mostly concern, and I realise I’m still standing in the doorway. I take a couple of steps in and shut it behind me, then lean against it.

“Hi,” I say softly, and immediately have to fight the urge to burst into tears as everything stacks up in my throat and I can’t say a bloody word else. I swallow thickly, then push away from the door, moving to stand by his desk as he looks at me with deeper worry stealing across his brow. “I’m back.”

Something in his eyes changes then, and he lays his quill aside, pushing back from the table. I duck out from under my satchel strap and drop it on the chair nearby, not looking away from him. “You weren’t gone very long,” he says cautiously, and I shake my head, swallowing hard again.

“I know. It... didn’t work. We couldn’t break it.” I bow my head. “I’m sorry. I really tried, but there were things...” I take a deep breath, putting my hand over my mouth for a moment, and I notice it’s shaking. “Do you remember the day in the training yard, before I went to that stupid Crow party? You had just come back--”

“Yes. I remember,” he says, and I pause. He’s gone very intense on me all of a sudden, and it makes my breath catch.

Rather than go through a long explanation, I just let Zev do it for me. “This is what was in the bottom of the pouch of silver, two days later,” I say, handing it to him, then watch as he opens it and reads. His face transforms from surprise to grim and understanding resignation as he reaches about the middle of the first page, then goes desolate as he reads the second, as he finds the jewellery.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much how I felt,” I say softly, watching the emotions play across his face.

“So it was all fake. Do I want to know what the Elvish says?” he asks hoarsely, once he reaches the bottom, and I shrug.

“Most of it... probably not,” I admit.

He stares at me for a long moment, then his face and his voice are very carefully neutral as he asks me, “So, what now?”

“Uh...” I rub my eyes, trying to convince them not to be blurry, and feel myself sway, my hip colliding with the side of the desk before I look up again. “I haven’t slept since the night before last. I’m so tired,” I say, running my hands through my hair to try and convince myself to stay awake a little longer. “I just want to sleep.”

“Why haven’t you slept?” he asks, eyeing me. I’m interrupted by a yawn as I try to reply, and cover my mouth, shaking my head.

“Because the contents of the letter weren’t news to me when I opened it this morning,” I say wearily. “He told me last night, before he left, and then I sat there and waited for the sun to come up so I could come back here.”

There is a moment of silence while I rub my forehead, and then his voice is still carefully neutral as he asks, “And after you sleep?”

“I’ll probably need to eat again; I’ve only had like, a strawberry, a piece of broccoli, and a bite of chicken since lunch yesterday,” I tell him, leaning against the edge of his desk for balance.

He sighs softly, but I know that sound: he’s frustrated. I look up at him, my brow furrowed. “And after that? After that, after that,” he says, making an impatient hand gesture. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”

It takes a moment for my brain to process, as I stand there blinking at him. “Well, I’ve got a lot of work to do,” I say, too tired to raise my voice above a husky rasp for the moment, and clear my throat. “But I feel like the rest of the day and most of the night is going to be wasted on me just trying to rest after yesterday. It’s been a lot of shocks all at once. I’m not... I’m not in a very good place right now,” I admit, and I see that my eyes are leaking again, droplets hanging off my hair and making little wet circles on his desktop between my hands.

“And I haven’t been, not since yesterday morning when I left your bed. I had hoped, when I went out, that everything would be resolved without any metaphorical bloodshed, but it didn’t go that way. So I had a very rough night, and then I just... I know I gave myself three days to try and resolve it, but it hurt too much, and I-- I didn’t have the heart to keep trying. Not when it had to be like that.”

“Like what? What were you doing?” he asks.

“Trying to break the link,” I repeat, then shake my head. “I told you, it could only be done the same way it was made.”

“Yeeeessss...?”

Oh gods. No. He didn’t understand? “In person,” I prompt, but his expression doesn’t change. I take a deep breath. “In person. Something like that doesn’t happen just from holding hands,” I whisper, ashamed, and throw my hands up helplessly, then bow my head, a silent sob rocking me as I feel my shoulders begin to shake.

“You... Again. With him,” he says, flatly, and I nod miserably.

“And it didn’t even work,” I lament, my voice thick with the sobs I’m trying to choke back. I don’t have a right to this agony. I did this to myself. “Being there, with him again... feeling all the intensity and that heavy pull again, I just... There came a moment when I realised what I really wanted was just to go home. I need to be back where I belong.”

There is a long silence while I gather myself, and I see him folding up the paper again, carefully flattening it out and setting it to rights before he slides it across the table to me. “Right then, I guess that’s it. Unless there’s something else,” he says, voice low and hard, and I look up sharply, the bottom falling out of my stomach. Oh no.

“Alistair--” I start, but he cuts me off.

“No, no I get it. I really do,” he says, folding his arms over his chest as he sits back, and I can feel my eyes getting wider as a sick feeling of horror oozes its way into my stomach. Oh gods, his face, it’s cold as winter.

Please, no, not this. No, not after everything else. “I--”

His mouth twists as he cuts me off again, gesturing behind him, toward my room. “Spare me. You can just take the extra trunk in your room; I’m sure Mahariel’s won’t hold it all.”

And there it is. Strike me dead. He’s fed up with me. I couldn’t break the chain, spent the night away from him, and now I pay for it with everything. At least with Zevran, I could be righteous; I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong. Not so, here. He’s right to do it. I don’t even bother trying to hide my desolation, the tears that now flow freely. I can’t pretend.

“Oh...” I say, weakly, backing away from him. They always say, ‘you can’t go home again’, and look, I left it, and I don’t get to have it back. I deserve this, I really do. I knew I was being unfaithful last night, but I did it anyway, hoping it would let me keep my life, and instead, I just threw it all in the sea. “Okay... I understand... I’ll...” I swallow as my back hits the door, resting my hand on the latch. “I’ll find another place to live,” I say softly, my eyes sliding away, because I can’t bear to see any more rejection right now. I can’t even keep my shit together, I’m so tired. He’s getting a rare dose of unmasked Lily right now, and there’s not a damned thing I can really do about it. I’m talking to my boots now. I nod, trying to steel myself. “After that... I mean, why would you still want me? It wouldn’t make any sense.”

Too weak to hold Zevran, too faithless and broken to hold Alistair.

I can’t stand it anymore, and I just start babbling, speaking all in a rush. “I’m so sorry-- But I brought this on myself, I know, and-- Y-You deserve better--” Choking as I open the door behind me, I quickly roll through the opening and stumble down the hallway toward my room before I hear any more of that terrible, flat tone.

It is condemnation enough. There’s no defending what I’ve done. I know, it was in the name of trying to break free, but the fact is, all I did was take everything away from myself. “Just like always-- Destroying everything, every time I turn around, so stupid-- Can’t just be happy with what I’ve got, no-- Everyone dies someday, could’ve just let things go, but oh no, can’t do that--” I murmur to myself, still talking fast, shaking my head as I bend to fetch the key that’s slipped out of my shaking fingers.

This is going to hurt Anders, who’s laid his life on the line for me more than once, who nearly died for me a couple of nights ago. This is going to hurt Leliana, when all she’s ever done is support me and stand by me. This is going to hurt Brizio, who has come to treat me as an equal and a partner; I won’t be able to work here anymore. Worst of all, I’ve hurt Alistair, the one man in all the world who was innocent in all of this charade, and broke his faith, his trust in me. I never deserved it. Not any of it. And now I’ve done the one thing in all my life I swore I would never, ever do to someone: cheat. I deserve this.

“Should’ve kept my hands to myself-- Should’ve known better-- Deserves better than me-- Of course he does, idiot-- Tearing people’s lives apart, so stupid-- oh gods.” I try to shove the key in the lock and drop it again. “Trying to hold onto things I don’t deserve-- Again-- So faithless, what’s wrong with me? Thinking I can have a life like this-- Should’ve known-- Should’ve just drowned--” I sob again in frustration as the key slips against the lock for the third time, and then a big hand folds itself over mine, steadying me. Instead of helping, though, he pulls the key away from me, and I let him, covering my face with both hands and turning away. I’m not his problem anymore.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, putting his hands on my shoulders, and I jump, instinctively trying to scramble back, because I know better than to try to lean on him now.

“No, no don’t-- I can’t-- Don’t touch me anymore, I can’t take it-- I know I have to leave-- It’s too much, I just can’t--” I babble, pulling away.

“Shhh... Lily, Lily stop, shhh...” Suddenly I’m enveloped in his heat, his strength; his arms wrap tightly around me as he pulls me into his chest. My voice breaks on a shattered scream, barely enough to make any noise at all, as I flail, completely ineffectually because I want to get away to protect myself and my stupid, wretched heart, but I also don’t want him to let go. Ever. “Maker’s breath, woman,” he murmurs, and I feel his lips press to the top of my head, touching off another round of shameful, useless sobbing.

He shifts toward me and I hear the lock click on my door, feel the way he moves as he pulls it open; I stumble along with him, trying to get a grip, but I’m just too tired and miserable to be capable of it. I pull free as he turns to shut it behind him, careening over to the bed, and sit down, wrapping my arms around my waist, hunched in on myself. “It’s okay, you don’t have to stay; I’m not stupid. I’m not going to hurt myself, break anything, or steal from you. I’ll be fine. You can go,” I say all at once, and then feel the bed dip as he completely ignores me and sits down at my side.

“Maker,” he says again, and I feel his hand taking up almost a quarter of my back. “Get you upset and you talk so fast I wonder how you breathe,” he murmurs, all that heat slowly tracing broad circles from my shoulder to my waist and back again. I can’t help how he affects me, the peace he always has about him slowly filtering through me, calming my trembling. I don’t have a right to this, either. He’s taking care of me, when I’ve just done so much to tear him up, when I should be packing my shit, he’s sitting here trying to calm my ass down instead of doing the shit he needs to do with his day. Here I am, turning people’s lives upside down again.

Slowly, my breathing evens out as I slump forward, hair hanging to my ankles when I rest my head on my knees. Everything is spinning, I’m so tired. I don’t have the energy to keep up with my fear and self-hate right now, as it all hollows out, pushing to the edges in favour of a numb blackness that is stealing over me, turning me to ice. I can feel myself leaning into him, and that’s dangerous. I can’t afford to be seeking solace here anymore. I need to learn to stand on my own damned feet again. I should have known better than to believe in a life safe enough to lean on people. There’s no such thing. I should have known better. I should have known.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get hysterical,” I say, after a while, face still buried in my knees. “I wasn’t trying to manipulate you into feeling sorry for me. Just too tired to keep a grip on things I normally would. I’ll pack my things and be out by lunch; you don’t have to stay.” My voice is husky with the dregs of my freak-out, but at least it’s steady this time. I need to be done with this idea that other people want to deal with my shit. Emotional roller-coaster, that’s what my mom always used to call me. ‘You leave a wake of destruction everywhere you go,’ she told me, and she’s right. Look: she’s right. Stupid. I’ve been told before how toxic and destructive I am. I should know better than to try and tie myself to people. All I do is tear their lives apart. I’m no good for anyone. Once he’s gone, I’ll just pack my shit and go. I’ve got enough coin that I can probably rent an apartment or something, whatever the hell it is people do here. I’ll be fine. I’ll sleep when I get there.

His hand pauses in one of its revolutions, having long since shifted to include my entire back, and I tense. “I know,” he says slowly, his own voice low. “Is it okay if I want to?”

My heart thuds dangerously, stopping my breath as I ball my fists in my shirt. No. Do I even dare look at this out of just the corner of my eye? We’ve had a conversation like this before. Surely it’s not coincidence. “You... want... to?” I ask hesitantly, my line in this play, and his hand shifts further across my back, wrapping around my opposite shoulder as he leans closer.

No-no-no-no-no-- I can’t leave if he does this, no-- It already hurts too much, oh gods, please--

“Sometimes the complicated thing is necessary, so the easy thing can be possible,” he says, and I choke on it, because that’s what I said to him yesterday before I left, trying to justify myself. I feel his heat slowly creep across my shoulders, and then my hair is shifting away, stroked aside by thick, gentle fingers, though I keep my face pressed to my knees to hide my shame.

”What...?” My voice is strangled and muffled from my hiding. Is he trying to remind me of all my broken promises?

The bed evens out as he rises from it, not answering, and then he’s at my feet, unlacing my boots and taking my socks, as well.

“You’re not leaving,” he says firmly, stopping my heart. The tone of his voice brooks no argument, even were I inclined to make one. I hum softly, desperately, still not daring to believe as his hands pass over my feet, both gentle enough to soothe and firm enough not to tickle, the only hands I’ve ever truly trusted them to, and he knows that.

Feet bared, he leaves me; I hear him padding across the floor, the flip of the lock, and then the bed dips behind me. Oh gods, what is he doing-- One long arm reaches out, snaking around my hips, and tugs me backward. I roll, finding myself against his bare chest, and suck in a breath, tensing as he throws the blankets over us. “No more talking,” he murmurs as I open my mouth. He puts his finger under my chin, tipping it up, and suddenly his lips are on mine, silencing whatever protest I may have had trembling on them. The sound that comes out of me is less whimper and more wail, but it’s smothered by the softer, more questioning note that follows right behind it.

Could I be so lucky? I don’t know how I rate such forgiveness, but I don’t want to question it right now, and I’m certainly not going to turn it down. Oh gods, a second chance... A bright flame of hope kindles in my breast, but I have to admit, I’m terrified it will burn me.

His hands slide down me, pulling apart the buttons on my jeans easily, and shoving them down over my hips. I wriggle out of them, eventually kicking them out from under the blankets, and all the while, he refuses to let go of my mouth, his tongue wrapping around mine keeping me effectively silenced and melted against him. Once my pants are no longer an issue, I tangle my legs with his, and he pulls me closer, as tightly as possible. His hands wander over my curves restlessly, as though he’s forgotten the shape of me and needs desperately to remember.

After a time, when I’ve stopped trembling completely and have collapsed from all my tension, he tucks my head under his chin, wrapping me up securely, folding me in his safety. “Why?” I ask at last, then immediately wish I hadn’t. What if I make him look at it too closely and he realises he’s made a mistake?

“Hmm?” he mumbles, shifting slightly and brushing some of my hair off his chin. “Hm. Oh.” His arms tighten around me a bit, and he shakes his head. “The look on your face. I’ve only seen it once, and that was in the first couple of days when he left you here. I didn’t understand, at first, but I realised after you ran out that when you said you wanted to be back home, where you belong, you meant here, and you’d looked that way this time at the thought of losing me.”

I make some strange, strangled little sound, burying my face in his shoulder, my fingers flexing against his skin. Aphrodite, I know I owe penance and gratitude in equal measure...

His fingers stroke through my hair, pulling it off my sticky cheeks and out of his stubble. The feeling of his hands against my scalp is a comfort, and something he does that I love, that always calms me, the way he ends up massaging my head at the same time. “And then I came out to the hallway and found you hysterically babbling hateful things to yourself, filled to bursting with the idea that everyone would be better off if you’d never survived to reach us. All because you believed I was done with you and wanted you to leave.” He sighs, and so do I. “I can’t believe you’d think that, Lily, it’s madness. I’m sorry I misunderstood you at first; it took me a moment to catch up. I haven’t had much more sleep than you; it was a rough night for me, too.”

This still doesn’t answer my question, though. Why would he just forgive me like this? It doesn’t make sense. “I don’t understand,” I say, throat tight, and he shakes his head, hands wandering up and down my back.

“I’m not surprised, and that’s a sad thing. Maybe after a while, you will.”

“You still want me?” I ask, my voice tiny, still barely believing, even with my ear pressed to his heart and his arms around me.

“You’re crazy, and a little broken,” he says, quoting me, and I can hear the touch of humour in his voice. “But you’re my crazy, broken girl.”

Oh, my heart. “Even after--”

“Yes, even after,” he says, weary. So am I. “I understand. You didn’t do it for fun or some kind of lingering affection; you did it because you thought you had to, making yourself a sacrifice again. I could see it in your face. You’ve really got to stop that, you know.” He pauses, then says, “And because I love you, Lily. Even before you came, though it’s taken this last year and a bit, listening to you, watching the way you move and the things you do, to separate the pieces and see them for what they were. But once I had, it was so clear... It was never Mahariel I loved. It was you. It was always you.”

My breath catches and I blush hotly. Oh, sweet Aphrodite. “I love you, too,” I whisper, and his hand strays into my hair. It’s true. It’s not the deep well of passionate completion that I feel when I’m with Zevran, but it’s real and true, and bright enough to light my life and warm my soul. “Don’t let go. Please, Alistair--”

“Never,” he promises.

He let me come home. “Thank the gods,” I murmur, relieved, and finally allow myself to pass out, safe in his arms.

[Next Chapter]