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Chapter Text

When she gets word from one of Leliana's ravens that Alistair and her second cousin, Violet Hawke, entered the Fade at Adamant Fortress, Lila Amell panics. With rushed apologies to Nathaniel and Velanna, who have been accompanying her on the hunt for the Calling cure, she departs the tiny Orlesian village they'd stopped in on horseback.

Her bright red hair whips against her face, pieces ripped free from her short ponytail by the wind. She briefly considers riding toward Skyhold, but she feels certain she would arrive before the Inquisition forces return. The waiting would eat her up inside. So instead she rides southwest toward the fortress itself. If nothing else, she'll encounter the army en route. Hopefully.

She and her companions were further north than Val Royeaux... it will take days for her to reach them. Days they could all be trapped in the Fade. She supposes she should be concerned for the Inquisitor, for her companions, for Violet, but the fear that holds her in a vice grip is for Alistair. The first time he was in the Fade was in Kinloch Hold. A decade ago. Before they defeated the archdemon, before the Landsmeet, before the two of them had ever even kissed, let alone lain together or... confessed their love for one another.

His dream was one of a happy family. With a sister and nieces and nephews. It was the first time she considered a future with him...a future at all, really. One beyond the Blight. At the time, she shut it down immediately, needing to focus on the task at hand, on getting him out of there.

The second time was on his hunt for King Maric. She, regrettably, hadn't been able to go with him on the journey, but Violet assured Lila that her friends would keep him safe. She didn't discover their jaunt through the Fade until Alistair returned to her. Varric, Isabela, and a magister named Maevaris found him in a dream with his father.

Could Lila trust the Inquisitor to do the same? To not be... distracted by the illusions of the Fade, to pull them out of there.

The Inquisitor is a mage. So is Violet. They have experience with walking the world of dreams. And yet the raw Fade could be completely different from crossing the Veil the way mages do. The thought makes her feel a bit sick.

Her tenderhearted partner is not cut out for... what had the missive said? A Nightmare demon? Alistair is not cut out for that, and she isn't there to shield him from it. He is brave and he is strong and he is smart. He can handle himself. But they've always had a tendency to out-protect one another. Him from magic and forces beyond, her from the daggers in the shadows and the maces and swords on the field.

She wishes he hadn't been by the Inquisitor's side. That he had remained with Ser—Commander Cullen and the Inquisition soldiers to battle physical beings. If no one else, she thinks that Cullen might have at least kept an eye on her love. Whether in spite of or because of their own past, she's not sure. She knows him, or she used to, a long time ago.

But she knows nothing of the others, the ones currently in the Fade with her partner. Except for her cousin, who will do her best but is just as much an outsider in the Inquisition as Alistair is. Knowing them wouldn't make her feel better about it. It wouldn't stop her from pushing her horse to its limits. But maybe it would spark a single thread of hope inside her pit of terror.

She wishes he hadn't been by the Inquisitor's side, but perhaps for Alistair, it felt easier to follow the Herald than to face his former comrades in battle. She can't fault him for that. No, she can't fault him for that at all.

Maker protect him.

She can feel the Veil thinning the closer she gets to Adamant. It's always been thin there, but it's clear something has been disturbed. She would've been able to tell even without knowing what had transpired.

Only, the closer she gets, the clearer it becomes that the Inquisition has left. The bulk of their forces have, anyway.

On the off chance Alistair didn't return to Skyhold with the others, she approaches the fortress.

"Warden-Commander Amell, we weren't expecting you," says the Grey Warden at the gates. He straightened as soon as he saw her. No doubt her hair gave her away. It always gives her away. Bards sing about her brilliant coppery red hair. She blames Leliana.

"Is Alistair alive?" she demands, uncaring of her harsh tone. She hasn't spoken since she left Nathaniel and Velanna and the desert is dry, so it's not like her voice could be anything better than rough if she tried.

The guard winces and shifts on his feet. "Yes, but he's left with the Inquisition." Lila sighs in relief and dismounts, exhaustion catching up with her.

"Have you any provisions? Food? Water?" Her horse is clearly relieved to be free of her weight and nudges her with his nose. She gives him a few gentle strokes before swinging the reins over his head, ready to guide him inside.

He blinks at her in surprise and nods. "Yes, of course." He calls for another guard to open the doors, and a few moments later they start to creak open. She guides her horse inside and toward the stables. "Warden-Commander?"

She turns back to the younger man with raised brows.

"I figured you should know, we're set to depart in the morning for Skyhold as well," he says. "If you would prefer not to travel alone." She tilts her head, trying to discern if there's something he's not saying or if he's simply awkward.

"Thank you," Lila says. "I'll keep with the group as long as I can." He gives her a quizzical look, but she doesn't explain.

The safety of travelling in a group is a benefit. But they tend to move slower. And the safety of her lover tugs at her more than her own.

She isn't sure how much rest she's going to get with the Veil so thin, but it's the only physically defensible place she knows of. She can fight off a few demons, so long as it's only in her dreams.

After watering and feeding herself and her horse, Lila finds a free cot in the barracks and collapses into it. Tomorrow she'll return east.

After a handful of days with the other Wardens, Lila pushes ahead, trying to catch up to the rest of the Inquisition. It's probably futile. They're days ahead of her and likely nearing the mountaintop fortress already, but she's nothing if not determined.

You can't fight and kill an archdemon and live to tell the tale without determination.

In the end, she reaches Skyhold five days after the army. She's sure she's a haggard sight to the guards and to Leliana who greets her at the entrance. She lets her old friend pull her into a hug. And she returns it, albeit with less strength than she wants to.

She's exhausted.

Leliana is talking to her, she thinks, but she can't make out anything beyond the pretty Orlesian lilt to her voice. Her friend takes her by the hand and leads her up the steps of the outer wall. She assumes she's being taken to Alistair. She hopes she's being taken to Alistair.

What she isn't expecting is to see Cullen and Inquisitor Lavellan on the battlements looking... cozy? But it's more than that. The Inquisitor frowns and Cullen cups her face in his hands, bends down to touch his forehead to hers. Lavellan's face softens. The Commander pulls her into a tight embrace.

Good, Lila thinks. He deserves something good after what he's been through. And now that, according to Alistair, he's trying to be better than the man he was in Kirkwall.

"They get angry when I stare," Leliana says quietly and tugs on Lila's hand.

"They're out in front of everyone," Lila says, breaking her silence with a snort. "People are going to stare."

"Apparently, it's different because I'm their spymaster," Leli says.

"The Inquisitor doesn't enjoy girl talk? What a shame."

Leliana laughs. It's a sound that brings her great comfort.

"I never said that," the bard says, swinging their hands between them as they walk. Lila smiles a little. "She just doesn't like when I already know everything juicy she wants to share."

Lila starts to reply, but the words die in her throat as they arrive at one of the towers and Leliana pushes the door open. Just inside, Alistair is leaning over a table facing away from her and pointing out something on a map to a solemn-looking dwarf she's sure she's supposed to know and a young man who looks like he might disappear into thin air at any moment.

"Alistair," she says. His head snaps up and he whirls around. Her eyes sting with tears she's held back for nearly two weeks now. A quick scan shows no outward injuries. His eyes are clear and wholly fixed on her. He looks confused to see her. Had no one told him she was coming? Well… she hadn't sent word ahead, but Leliana could have assumed. No matter.

The confusion quickly fades into relief. "Lila, my love." He crosses to her in a few long strides and sweeps her up into his strong arms. Her feet leave the ground. She buries her face in his neck as the tears begin to fall. He's alive and he's unharmed and she's in his arms again.

"I was so afraid," she confesses, clinging onto him. He holds her tighter and kisses the top of her head.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. She sniffles and shakes her head.

"You couldn't have known," she says. She pulls back enough to look up at him and touch his face. "You're all right."

His smile doesn't quite meet his eyes as he strokes her cheek with the back of his hand. "Not all of us were so lucky." Her stomach twists.

"...What do you mean?"

"Someone had to stay in the Fade to hold off the Nightmare demon," the dwarf pipes up. Lila's heart drops. "Hawke..." She steps out of Alistair's embrace, though she clasps his hand in hers.

"Violet's gone?"

"Well, she hasn't exited the Fade, Hero," he says bitterly. It hits her then, who he is. This is Varric. He accompanied Alistair when he went looking for his father. He is—or was, she realises—Violet's closest friend. "At least she hadn't the last we got news from the remaining Wardens at the fortress."

Lila winces. "Those Wardens will be here tomorrow."

"Damn it," Varric hisses. "Fucking... damn it, Hawke." He slams his fist on the table. He glances at the young man and sighs. "Sorry, kid. I—"

"I know, Varric," he says, his voice full of sorrow, his expression pained like he can feel the dwarf's grief within himself.

Varric casts his eyes down. "Right. Well, I have some letters I need to write. Drinks to down."

Lila opens her mouth to apologise, to share condolences, but Alistair subtly shakes his head.

The young man watches Varric go. "The stone is cracked, split, jagged. The hawk would've been safe if it had stayed, but that isn't what hawks do," he says. Lila's frown deepens. Before she can reply, the boy disappears.

"That's Cole," Leliana supplies when Lila looks to her in confusion. "He's… a spirit of Compassion, sort of."

"Sort of?" Her friend shrugs.

"I'm not the one to ask. Perhaps Solas or the Inquisitor would be able to answer any questions you have," Leliana says. "For now, I insist you eat and rest. I sent your things up to Alistair's quarters. And took the liberty of requesting a bath be drawn for you."

"You know me so well," Lila says. She lets go of Alistair's hand to hug her friend again and kiss her cheek. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you, too. We'll catch up later. Morrigan will want to see you as well, I'm sure."

"Thank you for that reminder, Leliana," Alistair says. "I'll be taking Lila now, before you or the witch steal her away." She yelps as her partner scoops her up into his arms, one arm under her knees and the other behind her back. Leliana laughs brightly. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of her."

"Maker's breath, Alistair," Lila says, hiding her burning face in his neck. He used to be so shy about public displays of affection. Over the years, he's stopped caring as much. For all her blushing, she really doesn't mind.

"I'm going back to work," Leli says as she exits the door opposite the one Alistair walks toward. He bids her farewell absently and steps out into the mountain air.

Lila peers at their surroundings as her lover carries her around the battlements but avoids eye contact with anyone they pass. There are people everywhere. She'd known the Inquisition was a force to be reckoned with, but seeing its heart is something else. The force they mounted against the Blight, against Urthemiel, came nowhere close to something like this.

"You can explore later," Alistair says, his voice lightly vibrating against her. "You look like you could fall asleep standing up." She hums and closes her eyes before nuzzling into his neck.

"And I smell."

"…Well, I wasn't going to say it." She laughs quietly. He kisses her temple as he trots down a set of stairs.

They come to a stop outside a wooden door—the third in a row of similar doors: guest quarters, she assumes. He tries the handle and grunts.

"They could've left the door unlocked," he grumbles, then sets her on her feet. He retrieves his room key from his pocket and unlocks the door with a click.

A fire has been started in the main room. Her things have been set on a table; she examines them briefly, checking that everything is there: staff, spellblade, main rucksack, rucksack full of trinkets she's collected. She rifles around in her main bag for her soaps and a fresh set of smalls and finds a clean cotton shirt to throw on. The bed is very inviting, and once she's clean she has no doubt she'll be giving into its allure.

She finds the washroom through the open door on one side of the room. Steam wafts up from the bath and a few towels have been provided for her. It smells faintly of lavender, making her wonder if they added some bath salts. She hopes so. Her body aches. There are some soaps provided too, but she won't be using them herself. She carries her own around for more than just wilderness convenience. She knows exactly what kind she likes.

With a sigh, she starts unbuckling her armoured robes. Alistair comes up behind her and touches her waist briefly before lifting his hands to take out her unruly braids that barely even touch her shoulders since her recent haircut.

He helps her with her robes wherever he deems it necessary and keeps her from dropping everything on the floor. He sets the metal and leather on the countertop and tosses cloth items in a hamper.

When she's bare, he catches her around the waist and drops a kiss on her shoulder. She leans into him for a few moments.

"I love you," he says. "Enjoy your bath. Don't fall asleep—I will not have you drowning in a tub after you came all this way." She laughs and reaches back to touch his face.

"I love you, and I promise I won't fall asleep," she says, turning her head to kiss his cheek. He hums in approval and releases her. She watches him return to the main room before climbing into the bathtub.

The thing about being able to keep bathwater warm is that Lila always luxuriates in it for a long, long while before making any move to wash up. She sinks down so everything below her nose is submersed, her hair fanning out on the surface of the water. And she soaks.

As soothing as it is, her fingers and toes begin to prune after a while, which is her signal to actually start scrubbing away the dirt and grime on her skin and in her hair.

Lila steps out of the bath a short time later feeling refreshed. She dries off and grabs the clothing she'd pulled from her rucksack. She runs the towel over her hair and teases out the tangles with a comb before returning to the bedroom.

Alistair is sitting at the desk and writing. He has one hand on his forehead, keeping his hair out of his eyes—it needs a trim. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows—Maker, she's missed those muscled arms. His full lips are pursed. She puts her hands on her hips.

"Are you working?"

He looks up, startled like he hadn't heard her come in. "Yes." He drinks her in with a long look and swallows but says nothing else. She crosses to the bed and climbs in. He tracks her with his eyes as she does so.

"Can it wait?" She's just going to sleep, but she wants him close. He glances down at the parchment on the desktop, then turns back to her.

"Yes," he says, quieter this time. He sets down his quill, rises from the chair, and quickly walks over. She smiles at him. He smiles back and sinks down next to her. "I'm glad you're here." He pulls her close, banding his strong arms around her and tangling their legs together.

"Oh yeah?"

"Mmm, I missed you," he says. "It was… agonizing. I don't want to do that again." He inhales like he has something else to say, but nothing comes.

"…But?"

He grumbles. "Caught that, did you?" She waits. "I should probably report to Weisshaupt." She sighs and kisses his jaw gently.

"Probably. I'll go with you," Lila says. He starts to pull back. She shakes her head and holds him tighter. "We'll talk about it later."

"And about… Hawke?"

Lila frowns, staring at a wrinkle in the bedsheet. "What more is there to say? She's gone. I'll miss her. I wish it wasn't a choice between you two, because I feel guilty for being glad you're the one who got to leave." Alistair kisses her shoulder. "I… I don't know what I would've done if it had been the other way round." It's not completely true. She likely would've torn the world apart to get him back.

Fenris might've done the same, if Violet weren't across the Veil.

"I'll miss her," Lila repeats and blinks back tears.

"I know. I will, too," her lover says. He takes one of her hands and holds it firmly. A pair of tears slip out of the corner of her eye and into her hair without her permission. Violet deserved to rest after the shit she's been through in the last decade. And instead she's gone. She never meant to be a hero. Most heroes don't.

"Tell your mind to be quiet," Alistair whispers, interrupting her melancholy.

So she tries. And eventually she drifts off with his arms protectively around her.

She wakes up hungry… and horny… in an empty bed after the sun has set. Where did he—? She sits up and looks around. Not at the desk. Not in the bathroom. No note. The bed isn't cold, but she keeps it warm on her own, so that's not a great indicator of how long he's been gone. Not helping matters is the fact that the damp fabric of her panties rubs against her when she moves.

Maybe she can just fall back asleep. Alistair will be back soon. She hopes.

She flops back down and closes her eyes. She can't remember the dream she was having before, but it must have been… steamy. It's her own fault, asking Alistair to lay beside her while she slept after over half a year apart. She shifts around, but she can't get comfortable.

Fuck this.

With a huff, she drags her hand down her torso and strokes a pair of fingers up her clothed slit.

The bedroom door opens slowly. She jolts and yanks her hand away from herself. Alistair enters as quietly as he can, clearly not realising she's awake. In his arms is a tray with two steaming bowls of soup—she assumes—and a hunk of bread. Food. He went to get food.

He sets it down on the tea table, which sits in between two sofas in one corner of the room. She sits up to admire his backside as he does so. He turns and halts.

"You're awake," he says.

"I think so, yes," Lila says, offering him a smile and stretching her arms over her head. "You brought food?" He nods.

"Potato leek soup." Fereldan food. It's been too long.

She slips out of bed and eagerly makes her way to the sofa. His gaze drops to her bare legs. She dances around him. He follows her to the loveseat and sits so close she holds her breath for a moment. It isn't wholly intentional on his part, she thinks; there's really only room for two. She tucks one ankle under her and leans forward to blow lightly on the soup. He takes a spoon and stirs it around his bowl.

"Lots of Fereldans in the Inquisition," Alistair says. He hates silence, even comfortable silence. She lifts a spoonful of soup to her lips with a smile. "Plenty of Orlesians, too, but the Breach is in Ferelden, so…"

"I wonder how the Orlesians have taken to Fereldan cooking," Lila says before closing her lips around her spoon. Alistair watches her intently. A smile blooms on his face.

"I know what you're doing, and it's not going to work," he says, tearing his gaze away from her lips as she slowly pulls the spoon from her mouth. "Not until you eat, anyway." She sighs dramatically and turns her attention to her food.

"As you wish."

They chat as they eat—about unserious things like barracks gossip, darkspawn fights in the Western Approach, and the quality of the drinks at the Herald's Rest. She finishes her soup first and places the bowl back on the tray. Alistair is still eating, and she lets him for a few minutes until it becomes clear he's purposely eating as slow as possible.

"You're taking too long," Lila says. She turns and bends her knees to put her feet flat on the couch cushion. If he would just look down. "You said I had to eat. And I did. Now you're just torturing me." His gaze slides to hers. She pokes his leg with her toe and tilts her hips. There. He looks down and his eyes darken. "Put. The Bowl. Down." He exhales.

"Yes, ma'am," Alistair says. As soon as he sets the bowl aside, he leans over and captures her lips, his arm sliding under her. She opens for him and sinks her fingers into his hair. His callused sword hand falls to her bare thigh and squeezes gently, drawing a soft moan from her.

He slots in between her legs, their chests brushing together through too many layers. She tugs on his shirt until he pulls back and lets her lift it over his head. He casts it aside, and she hardly has a moment to look before he's kissing her again.

"Touch me," she whispers, taking one of his hands and guiding it between her thighs. He groans as he presses the tip of his finger to her core over her soaking underwear. He drags his finger up, over her clit, to her navel, where it swirls around lazily. "Alistair…" His name holds a warning, one he heeds.

"Forgive me," he breathes, then slips his hand into her panties. He parts her with two fingers and she drops her head back. His lips quickly find her neck.

Months apart hasn't changed the fact that he knows exactly where to touch her and how to touch her. As his fingers find their rhythm, his nose trails up her neck. He presses a kiss right behind her ear.

"You smell the same," he says into her skin. He sounds… relieved?

"I haven't changed the soap I use," Lila says absently. She did so once and he'd been so put off by the sudden change that she switched back immediately and gave the soap to Velanna. Alistair hums, pleased, and continues to lavish her neck with kisses that are sometimes small and sweet and sometimes openmouthed and accompanied by his tongue.

Once she's ready to demand he put his damned fingers inside her, he lifts his head and touches his forehead to hers. His middle finger—she thinks—circles her entrance. It makes her toes curl. His gaze flicks between her eyes and her lips. He plunges two fingers inside her, and she moans. She hears him exhale shakily before his mouth is back on hers.

His free hand finds its way to her chest and gives one of her breasts a squeeze. He doesn't try to remove her shirt or even slip his hand underneath. Just massages gently while his fingers pump in and out of her and he kisses her like he can't get enough. She bites down on his bottom lip and he pulls away with a gasp before lowering his head.

He breathes hot air on her breast, mouthing the tender flesh through her shirt. She shudders and arches her back. He circles her nipple with his tongue, then sucks it into his mouth. She whines, twisting her fingers in his hair. She wants more, but he sits back. Her hands fall, one to her side, the other across her collarbones. There's a damp patch on her shirt that now brushes across her hard nipple with every breath. He stares like he's trying to memorize this exact picture.

She drinks him in as well: the fair hair that covers his chest, the soft but scarred skin over firm muscle, the flex of his arm as he—

Alistair curls his fingers inside her and she cries out, throwing her head back on the couch arm. His knuckles brush along her jaw.

"You are so beautiful," he says reverently. His thumb rubs her clit with increasing pressure. She grabs the back of his neck and brings him with her as she leans back. He smiles at her. Fuck.

She squeezes his neck. "Alistair." His name is followed by something like a squeak. Her muscles tense.

"Ah." He doesn't change a thing, not the pressure on her bud or the pace of his fingers inside her. He does, however, bring his other hand back to the breast he previously worked on. Her hand on his nape somehow tightens more and her other clings to his shoulder as she arches against him. He swallows her climatic cry with his lips on hers.

"You know, I can finger myself and fantasize about you all I want, but nothing compares to the real thing," Lila mumbles when she comes down from her high, gliding her hands across his shoulders and down his arms. Alistair makes a small sound that is definitely involuntary and his cheeks pink as he sits back and pulls his fingers from her.

He brings them to his lips, and his eyes fall closed as he licks them clean. She shakes her head and surges forward, shoving him back. He laughs in surprise, his eyes wide. She presses a searing kiss to his lips as she finds the buttons of his trousers. He sighs her name, and she scoots back to pull his pants down and off. He helps her as best he can, but they get caught around his ankles.

By the time they throw the trousers across the room, they're both giggling like children.

"Hmm, these too?" Alistair asks, hooking his fingers into her panties. How could she forget? She nods and he pulls the soaked fabric down her thighs, the wetness cool on her heated skin. She steps out of her smalls and her lover lifts them to his line of sight. He doesn't often smirk, but he looks pretty pleased with himself when he examines them briefly.

Lila snatches them, tosses them aside, then sits him back again and straddles him with ease. He watches with delight as she finally peels off her shirt. His hands slide up her back, then down to her hips.

"Maker, I love you," Alistair says and kisses her breast. "Your skin is so soft." A trail of kisses over to her other breast. "Your—" He chokes on whatever he was going to say next because she takes his cock in hand, lines him up, and sinks onto him. It takes her breath away as well. It's been far too long. "You're so wet." This is quieter than before, more shy, but no less earnest. She moans, and he looks up at her like there's nothing more important in the world. "You feel so good."

She swallows roughly and her eyes suddenly fill with tears. She could've lost him.

"Baby, don't cry," her lover whispers, lifting a hand to one cheek and kissing the other. She leans into his hand and wills her eyes to stop burning.

"You were in the Fade," she says. With a fear demon so powerful it was called a Nightmare. She covers his hand with hers and squeezes.

He pulls back to look her in the eye. "I'm here now." She nods and takes a deep breath. He's okay. They're okay. And he is… fully inside her. As close as he could possibly be.

She cards her fingers through his hair and pulls his head back gently, then kisses him, hot and openmouthed. He returns it with just as much passion as she lifts her hips and rolls them back down again.

With her lover's cock deep inside her, she swirls her hips in a circle. He moans into her mouth. She drags her lips from his, smiling, and skims her nose down his neck. He sighs unsteadily into her ear, then tilts his head to the side. She traces the same path with her tongue.

"Lila, please," he breathes, his hands tightening on her hips. He doesn't try to lift her, which means he's begging for something else. Perhaps… she sinks her teeth into the tender skin, and Alistair whimpers.

She can't help but huff a laugh. "Is that what you wanted, lovely?"

"Yes. More." Well, if he insists.

She continues the lazy swirl around his cock as she obliges him with a handful of kisses that leave behind marks. One below his collarbone, another in the place his neck meets his shoulder, a pair close together farther up his neck. His hands caress her back and sides, squeezing every so often.

A nipping kiss just below his ear makes him thrust up into her. She bites down harder on reflex and he cries out. She murmurs an apology, her lips against the shell of his ear. He shakes his head.

"I'm good," he says, though his voice is strained. "Really, really turned on, but good... I missed you." Her heart goes pitter-patter, even after all this time. She pulls back from his neck to press her forehead to his.

"I missed you, too," she says and starts to rock against him. His heart speeds up under her palm. She smiles at him. He smiles back. "Is it okay if I…?" She trails off as she picks up her pace.

"Yes, Maker, you feel so good," he groans and grasps her hips.

"You said that already." She pecks his lips and finds her rhythm, riding him into the settee with one hand on his shoulder and the other on the cushion behind him.

"I just… needed to reiterate," he says before tilting his head to kiss her breasts again. His lips close around one nipple and his tongue circles it. She drops her head back and grabs onto his hair to keep him right there. He skims his short nails up her sides and down her thighs. The sensation makes goosebumps spread across her skin.

He lavishes her other breast as well, even leaving a light mark in his wake, before returning to her face and repeatedly pecking her lips. She watches him with amusement and tenderness and runs her fingers through his hair.

Alistair grabs her hips firmly and the next time she sinks down, he thrusts up into her. Her eyes flutter closed. He does it again and she moans, dropping her forehead against his.

"I like that," she breathes and wraps her arm around his shoulders.

His lips brush against hers as he says, "I know." He would know, after a decade of moments like this, tangled up in each other. Since that first clumsy, sweet night in her tent in the Fereldan wilderness… Maker, they were so young then. They would still be young in the grand scheme of things, if she could find them a cure.

Brows furrowed at the path her thoughts took, she kisses him desperately. She splays a hand across his collarbones. He reacts immediately: taking her wrist and moving her hand higher so it rests on the column of his neck. She gives it the tiniest squeeze, and he moans into her mouth.

They find a messy rhythm of thrusting and grinding and grabbing that makes kissing difficult. Still, their breath mingles in the small space between them, their own little world.

"Lila," he murmurs, warm and sweet like honey. She blinks her eyes open to meet his heady gaze. His fingers tweak her nipple and she tugs on his hair with a gasp, tension coiling tighter inside her. His lips twitch into an openmouthed smile that she finds painfully attractive. "Lila, my sweet Lila." He keeps toying with her nipple like if he touches it just the right way, she'll shatter around him. And, well, in combination with his cock hitting that perfect spot inside her, he's not wrong.

Her thighs tremble as she finds her release, unable to keep up her movement. Her fingers dig into his shoulder and her body arches against his. Alistair continues thrusting until she gently tightens her hold on his throat and he spills inside her with a litany of "I love you's" chanted against her soft skin.

She slumps against him, both of them spent, his cock still inside her. The corners of her mouth lift in the echo of a smile, that warm and fuzzy feeling blooming in her chest. If she had it her way, she'd doze right here on top of him, sweat sticky skin and all. But Alistair likes to fuss, and she's happy to let him.

He cups her ass to lift her off his cock and groans. She snickers, even as she mourns the comfort of him inside her and her eyelids flutter at the slickness between her legs. He brushes featherlight kisses along her neck and jaw until he meets her lips.

Then he rises to carry her across the room and gently lay her on the bed. She hums blissfully, stretched out on top of the covers.

"I'll be right back."

He can't have been gone long enough for her to doze, but his hands on her thighs come as a surprise that stirs her from an almost-sleep. She peers up at him curiously. He must have cleaned himself up, a fresh pair of smalls now hug his hips.

"I have—I want to—" He starts, then frowns, a blush rising on his tanned cheeks. Instead of continuing the sentence, he settles between her legs and hooks them over his shoulders. He looks up at her with deep affection, accompanied by the obvious question.

She sighs contently and nods. "If you want," she says noncommittally, which for her means a tired but enthusiastic yes. He grins and kisses her navel before making it to his destination.

Lila shudders at the first touch of his tongue on her still sensitive core. He smiles and nuzzles her thigh.

"You're sure I can do this?" he teases.

"Yes, it's been too long," she whines and wiggles her hips. He chuckles and presses a hand to her abdomen to still her.

"Insatiable, you are," Alistair says. "What would the lovely people of Ferelden think if they knew that about their great Hero?"

"'Good for her', hopefully," Lila says. This exchange happens fairly often, where he asks what Ferelden would think and she tells him they should be happy for her. They still share a laugh every time. "Now, this was your idea, handsome. Get to it." She drops her head back onto the pillows in a dramatic gesture.

"Your wish is my command, fair lady."

She rolls her eyes affectionately and puts an arm behind her head so she can watch him with ease. He smirks before delving into her folds. He goes slow at first, careful of her heightened sensitivity. She sighs and softly moans as he does. He winds her tighter and tighter until her toes are curling.

"Alistair, please. More," she begs, pressing against the hand on her stomach. He looks up and meets her ardent stare. Her breath catches in her throat—fuck, that's hot. Both of his hands move to her hipbones as he hums into her.

The sound that comes out of her is nearly a shriek when he flicks his tongue over her clit for the first time. Her partner is unfazed. The grip of his hands is unyielding and the attentions of his lips and tongue are relentless. She quickly devolves into a panting, babbling mess. Her thighs tighten around his head. She clutches at her own hair and swears the room grows brighter from the fire in the hearth.

Alistair groans. She whimpers his name, a broken plea that is soon answered by him sucking her bud between his lips.

"Oh, fuck," she gasps. Her abdomen tenses like she would've thrust her hips were they not securely pinned to the mattress. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Her whole body quakes with pleasure—so much it would be embarrassing if her partner hadn't seen it all before. Her heels dig into his back hard enough that she distantly worries she'll hurt him. But he keeps lapping her up, remnants of his own release no doubt mixing with her own. Only when her twitching and clenching fully subside and she whimpers from overstimulation does he release his hold and retract his tongue.

Her legs slide off his shoulders as he sits back on his heels. She doesn't make any effort to close them; let him look all he wants. Honestly, she's not sure she could move. Her legs feel like pudding.

"I did a very good job, didn't I?" he says, somehow smug and reverent at the same time. She just nods her agreement. "You are… exquisite." She's certain if she could be any more flushed right now, she would be. She feels him lean over her and kiss her sternum before he flops down right beside her.

"It's so hot in here," she mumbles, draping her forearm over her forehead. She gestures vaguely toward the fireplace with one hand to snuff out the flame.

Alistair huffs a laugh. "Back to sleep then?"

"In a little while," she says and drops her hand from her forehead and onto his chest. She lolls her head to the side and peers at him. "Talk to me first? About anything. I just… missed your voice." He smiles and nudges her nose with his.

"I'd be happy to."

Hawke is at his side, whacking at darkspawn with her bladed staff. At her back, Varric is firing crossbow bolts and trading jabs with anyone deigning to listen. Alistair kicks one darkspawn back, slashes at another. These can't be real darkspawn; he would've sensed them if they were. No, these must be aspects of the Nightmare… how fitting.

"Andraste's tits, there's a lot of these fuckers," Hawke growls.

"In war, victory," Alistair parrots as he decapitates a genlock.

Hawke groans. "I hate Wardens." The others in their group are somewhere in the fray, out of his line of sight. He has to trust they can handle themselves. At least these "darkspawn" can't infect them.

He gets drawn into a duel with a rather pesky hurlock. It takes him away from Hawke and Varric, but no other critters follow. Parry, block, strike. He's landed more blows than his opponent, who has several weeping cuts across its deformed body. If he could just find an opening…

Alistair thrusts his sword into the hurlock at an angle, black ichor quickly trickling from the wound. Only, as soon as he notices the ichor, it turns red like blood. Human blood. It pours over his sword hand. And the armour—He pulls the blade away with a sickening sound.

He hears a gasp. Two hands, smaller than his and uncomfortably familiar, scramble for purchase on his armour. He dares to look up from his blade. Into the dark blue, panicked eyes of the woman he loves. No.

His sword clatters to the ground. No, no, no, what has he done?

"Alistair," she says through the gurgling of her own blood in her mouth. He catches her as her knees buckle, holding her upright only for a moment before he falls with her.

She whimpers, tears streaming down her face. He presses a hand to her wound, like he could possibly stop the bleeding. Her grip on him grows weaker by the second.

"I'm sorry," he breathes. She chokes and blood spills from her lips. He shakes his head and brings his bloody hand to her face. "I'm so sorry." She doesn't speak, her face contorted in pain. He pulls her close and rocks her as he murmurs apologies over and over.

And then she goes limp in his arms.

And he screams.

Alistair wakes with a cry, then clamps a hand over his mouth. His cheeks are damp with tears. He's soaked in sweat. The sheets are too. It feels like blood. Her blood.

He sits up, gasping for air.

Not real. A nightmare. Not real. It wasn't real. Lila is fine, she'll be fine.

The sheets rustle behind him.

"Ali?" Fingers brush against his back. His breath hitches. The mattress shifts and the touch on his skin becomes firmer. Lips against his shoulder, like she can't help herself.

She… oh, she's here. She's safe. In Skyhold. In bed. With him.

"Sweetheart? Did something happen?" A hand on his chin forces him to look at her. Her brows are slightly furrowed in concern. He can barely make out the blue of her eyes in the darkness. Her hair is messy from sleep. She's also entirely naked, the sheets bunched around her pelvis.

Maker, but she's perfect.

Her nose scrunches and he realises he may have said it aloud. He doesn't care; it's true. "That doesn't answer my question." He drops his gaze and turns his head out of her grasp.

"In the Fade, we saw and heard a lot of things. Tailored, we think, to each person. The Inquisitor saw giant spiders where I saw darkspawn." Alistair says, his voice rough like he'd actually been screaming. Lila leans her head on his shoulder and strokes his arm soothingly. It's not the first time one or both of them has been plagued by nightmares, but… "Except, one of the times I was slaying a hurlock, it…"

He falls silent as the image of her blood on his hands resurfaces. The fear in her eyes.

"What, love?" she whispers, gently urging him to continue.

"The second I ran it through, it turned into you," he rasps. He hangs his head and doesn't bother to hold back the tears that spring to his eyes. "And you—Maker's breath, Lila, I can't say it." And that's just one of the times she appeared. The Nightmare said it would bind her to one of its minions, like had been done to the Orlesian Wardens. And then it showed him.

He shudders.

"It's okay. You're okay. I'm okay," she says as she crawls into his lap and wraps herself around him as best she can. He buries his face in her neck and holds onto her tightly. "You'd never hurt me."

"Something else might."

She sighs and rakes her fingers through his hair. "It'll never go away, will it? Our fear of each other's death." He shakes his head.

The memory of her unconscious and bleeding out at Fort Drakon in the shadow of Urthemiel still haunts him—worse when they're apart. His experience at Adamant will join that one in fueling his nightmares. If he's lucky, he won't have to leave her side ever again and they'll subside.

"I can live with the fear and the nightmares so long as we're at each other's side," Alistair says. He smooths his hands up her back, as much a comfort for him as it is for her.

"I concur." She kisses his temple, her lips curved in a small smile.

He pulls back enough to cup her face in both hands. She blinks at him slowly, like a content cat. "Let's get married."

Her brows flick up. "That's not what I thought you were going to say."

"What did you think I was going to say?"

"I don't know, something sappy, surely, but not…" Her cheeks flush under his hands and she drops her gaze to her fingers swirling in his chest hair. "I mean, we've talked about it. You already know I want to." He brushes his thumbs across her cheekbones with a soft smile.

"Soon. Let's get married soon." They've been talking about it for years. It's about damn time.

"How soon?"

"As soon as I can get rings?" He runs his hands across her shoulders and down her arms to hold her hands.

"I worry they'll get lost," she says with an adorable crinkle between her brows. He tilts his head, wondering what she'll suggest instead. "What if… hear me out—what if… tattoos?"

"…Of?" He brings her hands to his lips and kisses each of her knuckles.

She hesitates for a moment, but he can see in her face that she's given this some thought already. "A Joining chalice, maybe? Because that's how we, I mean, the first thing we did together was collect the items needed for my Joining."

"Oh, but I'm the sappy one," Alistair says as he smiles warmly. She sticks her tongue out at him. "I love that idea." She smiles back at him and pulls her hands from his to drape her arms over his shoulders.

"You're willing to get repetitively jabbed with a needle for me?"

"I would do anything for you, Lila."

She giggles and shifts in his lap. "Anything?"

Alistair twists slightly and lays her back down on the bed. He braces himself over her, watching as she makes the adorable face she always makes when she gets what she wants. Her eyes twinkle and she visibly fights back a smile. He leans down and kisses her languidly.

After a few moments, he nudges her nose with his and meets her gaze. "Yes, anything," he murmurs. She exhales unsteadily before capturing his lips again in a heated kiss.

And so they chase away their nightmares with each other's touch, each other's love.

Chapter Text

After another tumble in the sheets the next morning, Lila heads out into the keep with plans to explore and hopefully find Leliana and Morrigan for some "girl time". Alistair leaves their quarters shortly after her, heading down to the training yard for some late morning sparring.

Being in Skyhold makes him lazy, he's come to realise. It isn't wholly different from Weisshaupt in that way, but, well, the Inquisition soldiers aren't as stuck up as most of the Wardens who spend their days in their Anderfels fortress. The realisation came when he stopped wearing his armour down to the yard. Sure, there are plenty of armoured soldiers training, but there are just as many in their tunics and trousers, or shirtless on particularly warm days.

(The Commander was so rarely seen without his armour, many wondered if it ever came off. At least they had the first time Alistair stayed in Skyhold. Since he returned with the troops from Adamant, most have decided it must come off when he and the Inquisitor make love. Though from other reports, Alistair doesn't believe it always comes off… No one is getting butt naked in a stairwell.)

The sounds of the training ground are a comfort in a way. The clashing of metal, the huffing and grunting, the flashes of magic in the sparring rings, the barked corrections from officers. It's familiar.

What's not familiar is the whistling that accompanies his arrival. He peers at the gaggle of Inquisition soldiers with a raised brow.

"Ah, you've finally reunited with the wife, I see," comes a deep voice, followed by a heavy hand on his shoulder. His gaze slides to the qunari beside him. How the Iron Bull manages to tread quietly, Alistair will never understand.

"Not wife. Yet," he corrects. "Wait, how'd you know?"

"Even if I hadn't heard murmurings around the keep about you carrying a redheaded mage to your room yesterday afternoon," Iron Bull says, "it doesn't take a Ben-Hassrath to figure it out." He looks pointedly at Alistair's neck, exposed by his lack of armour or highnecked coat.

Ah, the marks. He doesn't blush as he may have once. Instead, he raises his chin with a bit of pride. "Just a few tokens of affection." The qunari snorts.

"I'm not saying there's anything to be ashamed of," Bull says, "but you may want to look in a mirror at some point. There are more than a few." Alistair touches both sides of his neck, finding… definitely more than a few bruises. He must have been too caught up in her to notice. But he finds he doesn't wholly mind. It—at least partially—makes up for the months apart. "I like a woman who marks her territory." This does make his cheeks heat a bit.

"And I know about your thing for redheads," Alistair says drily. "Don't even think about it." The threat is empty, a joke. They both know he won't.

"Hah! I wouldn't dare. The recruits, on the other hand…" Iron Bull looks over at the soldiers who are doing a horrible job of pretending they aren't trying to listen to every word being exchanged. "The Warden heroes of the Fifth Blight are just as off limits as the Inquisitor and her Commander, understood?" There are some murmurings, but a good number of soldiers return to their drills.

"Iron Bull." Commander Cullen crosses the yard to them with a barely concealed scowl. He's blushing, which Alistair would find more funny if he weren't also blushing a little.

"Yes, Commander?"

"You're not helping," Cullen mutters. It's clear he doesn't want his soldiers hearing him.

"Sure, I am," Bull says with a grin. "Back to work! You're not being trained to ogle Wardens." That takes care of the rest of the distracted troops. Alistair doesn't mourn the extra attention.

"Why do I even…" The commander shakes his head and walks away.

The Bull jostles Alistair. "Let's get you to work."

"Warden-Commander Amell," a female voice says behind her. Lila turns from the bookshelf with raised brows. The woman before her is elven, with dark hair and light eyes. It takes her a moment to realise she knows this woman. At least enough to recognise her.

"Grand Enchanter Fiona," Lila says, trying to keep the surprise from her voice. She hasn't been a Circle mage for over a decade, but she's kept up with the political maneuverings well enough. She's more surprised that the other mage approached her than by her presence in Skyhold. Though she's not sure 'Grand Enchanter' is her title now that she's leading a rebellion that's allied with the Inquisition.

"I believe you know my—" Fiona frowns and tries again. "You are familiar with Alistair?"

Lila can't help but laugh a little. Familiar would be an understatement even to anyone who only knew what was written in books. They'd ended the Fifth Blight together. But she likely wouldn't have journeyed all the way to Skyhold for an old companion. She hadn't planned on visiting Leliana or Morrigan, after all.

"Yes, I would say so," she says. She tries not to think of how he fucked her in his guest room the day before... and the night before... and this morning. Familiar, indeed. She plays with the ends of her hair. "We've been trying to get married for years... Haven't found the time. Or the place, I suppose. Sorry, I'm not sure why I'm telling you this."

Fiona's expression has turned into something like longing. "There's no need to apologise. It's... I would like to know more about him."

Lila tilts her head to the side in curiosity. "You used to be a Warden, didn't you?"

Fiona laughs somewhat bitterly. "Yes, though I haven't been a Warden about as long as Alistair has been alive. We've never met, but I knew his father." She pauses and suddenly looks stricken, as if she had said something she hadn't meant to.

"You wish to know if he's anything like King Maric?" Lila prods.

"I suppose." The older mage's voice is strained, and she won't meet Lila's stare.

"Teyrn Loghain seemed to resent him for it, for how alike they were," Lila says thoughtfully. It's been a decade, but she doesn't think she'll ever forget that scowl. "Others... admired him for it. But he never wanted to be king."

"Neither did Maric," Fiona says with a sad smile. "But he was a good man." That longing look enters her eyes again. How… interesting.

"You knew him well?"

"I—"

"There you are, my dear!" Alistair appears behind Fiona. "Leliana said I might find you here." He must've found her in the war room. Lila smiles. She can't help but smile when he's around. He's sweaty, with mussed hair and untucked shirt. The marks she's left on him since their reunion are on full display on his neck. Which means everyone has seen them. But, Maker, he looks too sexy to be embarrassed.

"Warden Alistair, I presume?" Fiona says. She offers her hand and he shakes it with a smile. "I'm Fiona."

"Just Fiona?" The look on his face tells Lila he knows exactly who she is.

"Former Grand Enchanter, if you must have a title for me," the mage says, narrowing her eyes. As Lila looks between Fiona and her partner, her smile fades.

It can't be... can it? His mother is dead. And yet Lila can't help but see some resemblance between the two of them. Her brows furrow.

"Pleasure to meet you," Alistair says warmly. "Well, I hate to intrude. If either of you wish to see the Seeker kick my ass, we'll be in the courtyard."

"Fiona," Lila says. The enchanter looks over at her in confusion that quickly shifts to alarm when she sees Lila's face. So her suspicions are correct. She inhales sharply. Alistair pauses and glances between the women, puzzlement plain on his face.

"I'm totally missing something here," he says.

Fiona silently pleads with her to change the subject. But when Lila remains resolute, the older woman sighs and bows her head. Good. She doesn't think she could've kept that secret from him. Nor does she want to.

"I'll leave you alone," Lila says kindly. She gives Fiona's shoulder a squeeze, then lifts her head to peck Alistair's lightly freckled cheek.

"Lila?" he says, catching her hand as she steps away. She turns back to him with a reassuring smile and squeezes his hand gently. He scans her face in confusion. She silently urges him to trust her.

After a few moments, he releases her hand, still confused, but willing to figure out what's going on. With an encouraging nod to both of them, Lila walks away.

Alistair watches Lila go, then slowly turns back to the Grand Enchanter. Her dark eyes shine like she's holding back tears. Okay, weird.

"You may want to sit down," Fiona says, gesturing towards the armchairs by the window. His bewilderment only deepens. He doesn't move except to cross his arms over his chest. She sighs and takes a seat herself. "About 30 years ago, I was a Grey Warden. My commander brought Duncan and I and a handful of others to Denerim to—"

"Duncan? You knew Duncan?" His heart pangs with grief never fully healed.

Fiona snorts. "I was the one stuck with him after he survived his Joining."

"So you hadn't been a Warden long," Alistair says. He'd been 'stuck with' Lila after her Joining, being the most recent recruit before her. And then Duncan died and there was a Blight and… Well, he still doesn't know where she's going with this but he's curious all the same.

"No, I hadn't," she confirms. "My commander... well, it doesn't much matter now... I hear your... Hero of Ferelden stopped the Architect in the end."

Alistair nods. He's unsure what he can even say. He could ask about her and the Architect, but he's pretty sure that's not what Lila left him here for. From what he's heard from his partner, Fiona came back from a Deep Roads expedition and was cured of the Taint somehow. The only one in her party. If the cure had something to do with the Architect... Alistair stops before his head starts spinning. He and Lila can ask Fiona about her cure together at later time.

"The point is, we went to court to ask for Teyrn Loghain to join our expedition, as he and... your father had ventured there before," Fiona says. "Loghain refused. Maric offered to go instead. Loghain refused that too, but..." She does the most unexpected thing then. She smiles. It's a small thing, but her fondness is evident. Yet another person who admired his father. "Maric snuck out and came along anyway."

"He just... left?" Cailan couldn't have been more than, what, eight? Not the best of parenting decisions, though Alistair isn't exactly surprised.

"He was in a very dark place after Queen Rowan died," she says. As if that's explanation enough. Perhaps she's trying to be respectful of Maric's privacy. He supposes he can't fault her for that. "I hated him at first. I thought the stories couldn't possibly be true. That he couldn't possibly be... genuinely good. I was wrong."

"I'm sorry, Fiona. I'm not sure I understand where you're going with this," Alistair says. He doesn't mean to be rude or seem impatient, but he hates not knowing what's going on.

Fiona sighs. "I'm your mother, Alistair."

He freezes and frowns. "That's not a funny joke. My mother is dead. She—she died giving birth to me."

"Is that what you were told?" Her expression is pained. "I suppose that may have hurt less than being abandoned." He blinks at her for several seconds, then sits in the other chair.

"You—Did—Explain," Alistair says, "please."

"I returned to Weisshaupt with Duncan after the expedition. And I was... taint-free and pregnant. Very shortly after you were born, we travelled to Denerim to see your father. I couldn't... You know Wardens don't raise children." Grey Warden children are so rare, Alistair has never encountered someone who's gone through the process. He's heard of a few through the grapevine, but no one he came in contact with.

"I was no longer physically a Warden, but they needed to test and investigate my cure. As I understand, Warden Amell has been following their old leads. No matter. We brought you to Denerim. I wanted you to have a better life than I did. But I didn't want you to face the troubles of the royal life that brought your father such pain. I asked that he find you some place you'd be cared for. I hear he gave you to Queen Rowan's brother."

"Unfortunately," Alistair says softly.

"Duncan said he would watch over you, but I guess he didn't do a great job," Fiona says, not unkindly.

"He saved me from the Templars," he argues. She smiles.

"And I'm sure he's found Maric in the Fade to kick his ass for allowing that to happen in the first place."

Despite himself, Alistair laughs. Fiona's eyes widen in surprise. He sobers and rubs the back of his neck.

"Duncan was more like a father to me than anyone," he says. "I didn't know him very long, but... it was more than I had with Maric."

"I assume he kept away out of respect for me and our agreement to shield you from successional politics, for which I am sorry," Fiona says. Her expression reflects her regret. "I am sorry we abandoned you."

He believes her. As much as it hurts, he also understands. He understands why they did what they did. But he doesn't know what to do with that.

"Did you love him?" The question bursts out of him before he can stop it. He always figured... well, after what Goldanna had said, he figured Maric had taken advantage of his mother. Lila and Leliana had discouraged him from taking Goldanna at her word, but it lingered.

After he hunted down a rumour and found his father in the Fade, he questioned that. It was hard to reconcile his half sister's anger with his father's affection. Now, perhaps it makes sense.

She looks startled. "I think I did... or I would have if we had been allowed more time by the Maker." She gazes out the window with a faraway look.

"He loved you," Alistair says. Her attention snaps back to him. "He told me so. In the Fade. That's a... long story. But he told me my mother was there, implied she was no longer alive."

"You don't have to be dead to appear in someone's dream," Fiona says thoughtfully. "I was probably conjured up... which means..." She trails off and looks out the window again as tears slip from her eyes. His compassionate heart aches for her.

"He loved you," Alistair repeats, more sure than ever. "The Fade guides you toward what you desire."

Her face scrunches like she disagrees and she wipes away her tears. "It depends on the circumstances of how you enter the Fade, but..." She sighs. "Yes, it can do that."

Satisfied with that response, Alistair offers her something else.

"I understand." Her dark brows lift. "Why you gave me away. You couldn't have known what would happen."

"Alistair, you don't have to—"

He holds up a hand. "I know, but I want to," he says. "It's not your fault. You both did what you thought was best. Could Maric have intervened? Sure. But I don't blame him anymore. I don't blame either of you."

She's crying again, he realises. He doesn't like when people cry, especially when they cry because of him. His instinct is to comfort her, but they only just met. He can't exactly hug her like he does Lila.

"You're so much like him, you know," Fiona says. "You're a good man." They sit in silence for a few long moments.

"...Tell me about him? Most people didn't actually know him," Alistair says. "Or about yourself? Or about your Deep Roads expedition? Or—"

"Let's start with the expedition." She smiles tentatively, and he smiles back.

Sparring with a seeker was not on Lila's to-do list, but with her partner occupied with his mother, someone had to take his place. There would've been far too much disappointment otherwise.

"I don't suppose you have any weapons like the arcane warriors used," Lila asks the soldier by the weapons rack. They stare at her blankly. As expected.

"Uhhh, Messere Solas may know of one," they say uncertainly. Well, if she's going anywhere it's up to her quarters to retrieve Spellweaver. No, she'll just have to settle for a simple blade of a similar enough shape and balance. She's practiced with Alistair's various swords over the years, but nothing fits quite like her own blade. Not to mention no other blade enhances and channels her magic. Alas.

She picks out a slightly curved longsword of a lightweight metal. It'll do. It won't aid in her spellcasting the same way, like her staff or her own blade, but she'll manage. She's done so before. Though she hasn't fought against any templar or seeker, well, ever. She knows some templars at least learned to wield their abilities with care. Seekers, she's not so sure of.

"All right, Seeker, let's do this," Lila says and steps into the chalk ring.

"Warden-Commander." Better than Hero of Ferelden. "To first blood?" She nods once. The Nevarran woman returns the motion and draws her sword. Lila hears murmurs of bets being placed. She can't tell who's favoured. Likely the Seeker, former Right Hand of the Divine. She doesn't much care.

She casts her usual combat magic and feels it thrum through her. She debates casting flames on her sword as well as they slowly begin to circle each other. That might be unfair. And she doesn't want to set Lady Cassandra on fire.

It's clear the Seeker is waiting for her to strike first. Lila can't blame her, but, Maker, she doesn't want to go first. She's gotten used to matches with Alistair and doesn't hesitate to initate… Cassandra is far more intimidating.

After some hollering from spectators, she relents and inches closer. Her first blow is parried effortlessly. Noted. A feint to one side before striking gets her closer than her first attempt, but not by much. That probably won't work again. Lunge? No. It occurs to her that the Seeker is merely trying to learn how she fights before making any real moves of her own.

Lila frowns and steps back, keeping her sword raised. No more probing; Cassandra can come to her. Her opponent looks disinterested, which is definitely just a tactic as well, but it makes Lila bristle all the same.

"You don't fight like a templar," Cassandra comments as she swings at Lila. She dodges and jabs toward the Seeker's side. Her blade meets nothing but air.

"Why would I?"

The seeker snorts. "You have a former templar for a trainer." Calling Alistair her trainer is comical.

"Ah, but I have the memories of an ancient arcane warrior," Lila says with a grin and ducks under Cassandra's blade as the Seeker swings it in a move Alistair uses. She swipes for the Seeker's legs but doesn't reach far enough to make contact. Damn.

Her opponent looks displeased when she rises again. From her mention of the arcane warrior? That wouldn't surprise her. Absorbing the memories of a trapped spirit may sound like possession to anyone unfamiliar with it. Yet Cassandra makes no further comment as they continue to trade blows.

Sooner than she would've liked, Lila is completely on defense. It's all she can do to block the flurry of blows Cassandra swings at her. She swipes at her side, narrowly missing the fabric. Too close.

Lila pulls magic to her and uses it to force the Seeker across the ring so she can have a moment to breathe and strategize. She doesn't get that moment, though.

Cassandra swings her arms, and Lila cries out in agony as she's cut off from the Fade. The pain brings her to her knees. She gasps for air, her fingers digging into the dirt beneath her.

The other woman approaches. Lila raises her sword in an admittedly pathetic effort to fend off any incoming attack. The blade trembles like her arms. The light chill of the mountain air seeps into her and sends a shiver through her body. Cold. She's cold.

"Maker's breath, Cassandra, you can't go around dispelling our allies," comes a Fereldan's voice. Familiar enough that she's certain she would be able to place it if her body didn't feel like it was sapped of all its energy. The Seeker's boots come to a stop a few feet in front of her.

"The templars do it all the time," Cassandra protests. Well, yes, she's sure it's great in real combat to be able to disable a mage this way, but, Maker, she was not ready for it to happen to her. Lila looks up at her, then over to—yes, that face is certainly familiar. Older, certainly, but familiar nonetheless.

"In a controlled environment. For both parties to practice using and experiencing the effect," Cullen says, a hand on the pommel of his sword. "Not with the intent to injure. In fact, they take great care to do as little harm as possible."

"I'm fine, Cullen," Lila says, but she's definitely not. Not enough to finish their match anyway. She wants Alistair. Or Leli. Or Morrigan.

"See, she's fine." She gestures with her sword, a little too close for comfort. Lila leans out of the way.

"She's lying," Cullen says wryly, sparing her a brief glance. She blows a piece of hair off her forehead. Bloody templars… "Show's over. Back to work, you lot. Jim, fetch a healer."

Once the soldiers begin milling about, returning to their training or other duties, Cullen comes closer.

"For the record, rough use of such abilities can make a mage feel like they've been torn apart into a million tiny pieces," he tells the Seeker. That's… accurate.

"Are you calling my methods sloppy? Because they're quite effective on the battlefield, Commander." Cullen sighs.

"I'm trying to make you understand the pain she's likely in," he says.

"'She' is right here," Lila says, then clutches her head as the dull ache begins to throb. "Fuck, when is this going to wear off?" Not only is it painful, she feels almost naked without her magic.

"Within a few more minutes, I would expect," Cassandra offers along with a hand to help Lila stand. She takes it and closes her eyes against the wave of nausea that comes over her. "My apologies, Warden-Commander." She sways slightly as she gets to her feet. Cassandra releases her hand, and Lila resists the urge to grab it again to keep herself from toppling over. She takes a deep breath and meets Cullen's gaze.

"The side effects may last up to a day, however," he says with a nearly imperceptible wince. Great. She looks away, the sun behind him too bright for her to handle. "Luckily, our healers have become familiar with methods to alleviate the worst of the symptoms due to how often they go up against Red Templars."

One of those healers approaches with a kit in hand. Don't fall, don't fall, don't fall. The healer frowns as he stops in front of her.

"You can sit, Warden-Commander," the healer says. Lila isn't too proud to have to be told twice. She sits down in the dirt again and covers her eyes with her hand. "Has your connection been restored yet?"

She shakes her pounding head. She doesn't even need to try to pull magic; she still feels empty. The healer sighs.

"Well, this won't help much until it comes back," he says but sets his hands on her shoulders anyway. Warmth blooms from his fingertips, and her head and stomach calm a fraction. Enough that she drops her hand from her eyes. "The best thing you can do is rest. Sweets allegedly help as well." She'll have to stop in the kitchens, maybe.

"Thanks," she says and leans forward to push herself to her feet again. "I'll just go find—"

"Hey, what happened?" Alistair calls across the yard as he jogs up. There he is. She dusts off her hands and takes a step toward her partner. "Messenger came and found me." Word certainly spreads fast.

"You're done… talking already?" She leans into him as he wraps an arm around her.

"…No," he says carefully, "but they said you'd been hurt." He looks her over for outward injury. "We agreed to meet for supper." That brings a smile to Lila's face.

"Oh, good," she says. "I'm proud of you." Alistair blushes the tiniest bit.

Cullen and Cassandra look thoroughly confused by the exchange. At least that bit of information hasn't spread. Cullen speaks first after clearing his throat.

"Lady Cassandra used one of her abilities during their match—"

"You took my place?" It's not an accusatory statement, more surprised than anything. Lila shrugs and doesn't meet his gaze. She would've been fine… if Cassandra wasn't a seeker.

"She tried magically shoving me across the ring—it was instinct," Cassandra explains. 'Tried' is also downplaying it. Lila successfully forced her back a few meters.

"She could've set her blade on fire, Cass." "Well, her favourite spell is fireball." Cullen and Alistair speak at the same time, both offering ways it could've been worse for the Seeker. Cassandra frowns.

"Thank you for the reminder, gentlemen," she says. Lila's skin tingles, and warmth slowly spreads through her. She sighs in relief and pulls the tiniest flame to the palm of her hand with a tired smile. It takes more effort than it should, but it's better than nothing.

When she looks up at Alistair, he's still displeased. She tugs on his arm. "Leave her alone," Lila says, dragging out the 'o' in alone. "She didn't mean to."

"All right," Alistair says with a sigh.

"I need blackberry crumble," she mumbles and turns into him so her head is on his chest.

"You need it?"

She nods, her eyes drooping with tiredness. "The healer said sweets would help with the side effects!"

"Ah, but of course," Alistair says and bends his knees so he can pick her up by her bottom. She wraps her arms and legs around him and rests her head on his shoulder. He turns a bit so she can still see Cullen and Cassandra. The Seeker is staring. The Commander is…

"I'll… see what I can do," Cullen offers, shifting on his feet. She smiles and plays with her partner's hair.

"That's very kind of you, Commander," Lila says. "You know how I love blackberry crumble." He is the one who used to save her half of his own portion back in Kinloch Hold because he knew it was her favourite. As if remembering this too, the corners of his mouth lift in a hint of a smile.

"Yes, well… Feel better, Warden-Commander," he says with a slight bow of his head. He and Cassandra return to the fray of troops.

"Right, then, I'm taking you back to bed," Alistair says as he starts toward the nearby staircase.

"I worry I'll fall asleep while you're making love to me," Lila says mournfully.

He shakes his head. "Baby, I mean so you can rest."

"So you're saying you don't want to fuck?" She nips his neck, which makes him hiss.

"Maker's breath—No, that's not what I'm saying." He gives her backside a pointed squeeze.

"Oh, good, it'll help with my headache."

"You have a headache?"

"And a whole body ache, yes," Lila says. She really doesn't know if she could've made it up to their room without her knees giving out. All the stairs… "It would really help if I had an orgasm or two." She kisses over the marks she left previously. He doesn't budge.

"We'll see."

"You seem a little tired for lovemaking, dearest," Alistair says as he sets her down on their bed a short time later. He kneels down to untie and remove her boots for her.

She sighs and brushes her thumb across the bruises on his neck. "Just touch me." He nods and pecks her lips as he gets to his feet. She lets him move her so she's laying down with enough room for him.

He stretches out beside her, propping his head on one hand, stroking the other hand down her torso. She turns her head into his shoulder and exhales in relief as he slides his hand into her smalls.

"I've missed taking care of you," her partner says, his lips against her temple. His words make her want to crawl inside him, but she's so tired all she can manage to do in response is make a small sound.

His fingers caress her folds lazily until she's panting into his shirt and gripping the sheets. They move to her bud and rub firmly. She writhes under his sure touch. Tension coils quickly, then snaps and she mewls as her back arches off the bed.

"There you go," he says, stroking her a few more times through the pulsing of her walls. He removes his hand and pulls the covers up over her. He slips out of bed, and she makes a noise of complaint and tries to grab his shirt. Her eyes won't open so she can't see and therefore misses her mark, though she's not sure by how much.

He catches her hand and brings it to his lips. She smiles a little bit at the sweet gesture. He sets her hand down on her abdomen, but gives it a squeeze before releasing his hold.

"Rest now, my love. I'll make sure Morrigan and Leliana will visit when you wake," he says softly and brushes his knuckles down her face. Lila mumbles her agreement and rolls over in bed. She falls asleep with her face pressed into her lover's pillow.

When she wakes, her headache is a little better and the nausea has all but subsided. There's a hand in her hair, stroking gently. She hums and reaches blindly for her partner. Her hand finds his thigh first. She blinks her eyes open to find him sitting up, holding a book open but looking down at her.

"Hi." She lays her head in his lap and peers at the rest of the room. "Where are my friends? You said they would visit when I woke up."

"They do have jobs, you know," Alistair says. She huffs, knowing she's acting like a child. It's the dispelling's fault. "They couldn't wait in here for hours until you woke up. I'll go fetch them as soon as you free me."

She grumbles and hugs his leg. She definitely drifts off again, but she's still in the same spot when she stirs.

"Okay, go get them," Lila says, groaning as she stretches out on the bed. "I'll make myself presentable while you do." Her friends may love her dearly, but they would still comment if her hair was tangled.

Alistair returns with Leliana, Morrigan, and gifts of food and tea a short time later. Lila has found a spot on one of the sofas, curled up with a book she isn't really reading.

Morrigan frowns immediately. "That Seeker is lucky I wasn't around. You look terrible. Doesn't help that your hair is almost as short as Leliana's." Leliana swats at her arm.

"If I look terrible now, I shudder to think what I looked like when it first happened," Lila says, unfazed by the other mage's commentary. Morrigan comes to sit beside her and Leliana takes a seat on the chaise across from them.

"It wasn't great, that's all I'll say," Alistair says as he sets the treats down on the table. "But at least you're getting blackberry crumble out of it." She snatches the dish as soon as he sets it down and takes a big sniff. Her lover hands her a fork and Leliana laughs as she digs in.

"You're a glutton," Morrigan says.

"But I'm so pretty and charming and good at magic, that must count for something," Lila says, swallowing a mouthful of crumble. Morrigan rolls her eyes.

"Don't let her fool you, Lila," Leli says. "She's been impatiently waiting to visit with you."

"She's been in the fortress a full day and I'm only just now laying eyes on her," Morrigan argues. "Just what have you been doing, little flower?"

"I'll see myself out now," Alistair says and makes a beeline for the door. Lila and Leliana both snicker.

"Why am I not surprised?" Morrigan says as the door shuts. She pushes her bangs off her forehead with a sigh.

"You love it," Leliana says.

"I most certainly do not. They're just as insufferable now as they were during the Blight."

"And yet…" Lila smiles and leans her head on Morrigan's shoulder. Her friend scoffs but rests her cheek on the top of Lila's head and links their arms. Leliana winks, and Lila holds back a snort.

"Eat your crumble while I tell you about the antics of your lover's son."

"Oh, and then I can tell you about all the times Alistair drunkenly cried over you in the Herald's Rest," Leliana says cheerfully. Lila sighs, unsurprised.

Still, she can't think of anything she would rather be doing. Maker, she's missed them.

She gestures with a spoonful of crumble for Morrigan to begin, and the raven-haired mage does so gladly.

Lila doesn't think to knock before she opens the tower door hours later.

At the far side of the large room is a desk. Cullen sits behind it and the Inquisitor sits on the front, torso angled toward him. He's in his usual armour. She's wearing a pretty set of mage robes that are cream with green floral embroidery and long, off-the-shoulder sleeves. Lila doesn't often have occasion to wear such fancy robes, but she's going to have to ask who the tailor is.

"Hello," Lila says, lifting her hand to wave. Their attention snaps to her. The Inquisitor peers at her curiously. Cullen, on the other hand…

"Lila—! Amell. Lila Amell." Okay, so he never grew out of the whole fumbling his words thing. "You're feeling better, I take it?"

"Yes, that blackberry crumble helped." Among other things, like Alistair getting her off before she slept the afternoon away. Her headache is nearly gone, nothing she can't handle. "Leliana and Morrigan approved of it as well." Not that they got to eat much of it.

"I'm glad," he says. The Inquisitor looks over at him expectantly. "Oh, right, um, Cordelia, this is the Hero of Ferelden, Warden-Commander Lila Amell. The one I... uh, told you about."

Inquisitor Lavellan's gaze slides between Lila and her commander. She smirks. "The one you had a massive crush on in the Circle?"

Cullen splutters, his cheeks pinking. "Cor, must you always...?"

The Inquisitor casts Lila a look that says she lives for flustering him.

"He told me he ran away from you when you flirted with him after your Harrowing," Lavellan says. Lila's lips twitch upwards at the memory. Cullen closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Mmhmm, he was so red I thought he might explode," Lila says, shifting her weight to one side and crossing her arms.

"I hate you both," Cullen laments. The Inquisitor giggles and leans over the desk. She hooks a finger under his chin. He looks up at her a bit like a pathetic puppy.

"No, you don't." Lavellan brushes her thumb over Cullen's lips, and Lila feels like she's intruding. She turns away awkwardly. They exchange a few whispered words.

Then Cullen clears his throat and the Inquisitor hops down from his desk.

"Lovely to meet you, Lila," she says as she walks toward the southern exit of the tower.

"I—you too, Inquisitor," Lila replies. Her brows furrow, and she turns back to Cullen. He stands and rubs the back of his neck. One of his nervous ticks if she remembers correctly. "It's been a long time."

"Long enough that I shouldn't be struggling to phrase my apology," he says sheepishly.

"Your apology?"

"For my behaviour in the tower."

Oh.

"Cullen, you don't have to—"

"Yes, I do," he says. "What I went through will stay with me for the rest of my life, but that does not excuse how horrible I was to you, to all mages, following Uldred's... torture."

Lila considers speaking, but she can tell he's not finished.

"I also need to apologise for the things I said while imprisoned," Cullen says. "It can't have been comfortable for you." She shakes her head.

"All I felt was sorrow and fear for you in that moment, Cullen. I cared about you," she says. It had torn her up inside, not being able to get through to him, seeing him in such agony. "If I hadn't left to join the Wardens... I know I couldn't have prevented what happened, but for a long time I did wonder."

"I thought you died at Ostagar," he says, quieter than anything prior. "I mourned you. When I was trapped..."

"I know," Lila says. He said enough that day in the tower that she knew what kind of demons had tormented him. "It wasn't wrong. What you felt. What we both felt. I hope you know that now."

"I... do." His gaze flicks down to the desk, then back up at her. "I've stopped taking lyrium."

She straightens in surprise. That fact had not been relayed to her. "When did you do that?"

"When Cassandra recruited me in Kirkwall," he says. Andraste's tits, how has he not died or gone mad? "It... I couldn't be part of the Order anymore. Not after... Maker, everything that happened there. She swore to hold me accountable. And she has."

The reports Lila received about Kirkwall over the years—from her cousin, primarily, sometimes from Anders—had sickened her. She'd been so angry with him, with Meredith, with the Chantry as a whole. But she continuously struggled to reconcile the boy she'd known with the man serving as Knight-Captain.

She was relieved to hear of his position in the Inquisition with their elven mage figurehead, then more relieved to hear positive commentary from Alistair. (She hadn't asked Alistair for such information, but he insisted she would want to know. Which she did.) But his cessation of lyrium is the greatest relief.

"And the Inquisitor?"

He straightens at the mention of his lover. "What about her?"

"Does she hold you accountable?"

"Since I let her in, yes. She..." He smiles, more to himself than to her. "She does a great deal more than that."

Lila smiles a bit. "It figures you would end up with a mage."

Cullen huffs and blushes again. "I wouldn't say we've... ended up together."

"Yet."

"There's still a long road ahead of us," he says, his gaze growing distant.

"There always is," she says. He grunts in agreement. "It's good to see you. I'm… glad you're working to do better, be better."

Cullen inhales shakily, then sighs. "I'm not sure it will ever be enough." For many mages, it might not be. Yet…

"It's enough for her," Lila says, and he finally looks at her again. There's a slight furrow to his brow, like he's a bit puzzled.

"Yes, I suppose it is," he says, and his expression softens. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. I'll leave you to your work." She gestures to the paperwork he definitely hadn't been doing when she arrived. He nods, and she makes for the exit.

She pauses when she catches sight of a conspicuous mark on the wooden door. "Cullen?"

"Hm?"

"Inquisitor Lavellan is a pyromancer, no?"

"… She is. Why?"

"Well, this burn mark looks suspiciously like a handprint is all," she says, gesturing to the spot as she glances over her shoulder at him. She's left similar ones herself from time to time.

"Maker's breath," he mutters. He blushes redder than he has this entire time and covers his eyes with one hand. "I'll—That will be addressed, thank you for your concern, Warden-Commander. Please leave now."

Lila laughs without restraint but does as he says, slipping out onto the path leading to the rotunda.

Lila and Alistair venture into the garden the next morning. It's early enough that the fortress hasn't fully awoken. There are certainly people up and about, but it's mostly recruits heading to the yard for mandatory morning drills and servants preparing the great hall for breakfast.

And, she supposes, little boys with souls of Old Gods.

Kieran sits with a dead plant and slowly raises his hands to hover near it. She sees the barest twinkle of magic, and the plant perks up, its near-crumbling leaves regaining their colour. She blinks in surprise.

"Usually only the Chantry women visit the garden at this hour," he says, turning from the plant. He looks remarkably like his mother and absolutely nothing like his father, bar the brown eyes that look upon her keenly.

"We didn't mean to intrude," Lila says. He shakes his head, a dismissal of her apology.

"Mother doesn't care for most Tainted ones, but she speaks of you like kin," Kieran says.

"Even me?" Alistair says skeptically. She elbows him.

"Yes." Kieran tilts his head curiously and fixes his gaze on Alistair. They've met once before, according to both Morrigan and Alistair, but only briefly. "She doesn't know that I know."

"Know… what?"

"That you're my father." Well, this visit has been full of parental revelations, hasn't it? First Fiona—which is going well, according to her partner—and now this. Morrigan is going to throttle him—not Kieran, Alistair.

Alistair laughs nervously and glances at Lila like she can help. She cannot. "How?" he asks.

The boy frowns in confusion, like it should be obvious. "It is easy to know when your blood is in my veins. But apart from that, my friend told me what Mother was thinking when you came to see her."

"Your friend… Cole?" Lila does not remember meeting anyone named Cole.

Kieran's expression brightens. "Compassion, yes." He smiles reassuringly at her. "Don't fret, Hero of Ferelden, many do not remember him." She's not sure if he read her mind somehow or if it's simply such a frequent occurrence he thought it prudent to mention.

"Hello!" Lila jumps at the voice and the sudden appearance of a young man with a large hat. He lifts his head a little, enough that she can see his lips moving as he speaks. "The Left Hand and the witch's daughter are happy you're here. You remind them that they're allowed to feel."

"Oh," Lila says dumbly. She could've guessed the first part. The second makes her heart ache a little.

"Good morning, Cole," Alistair says, resting his hand on her lower back. It isn't protective, she thinks, more a comfort. Cole smiles.

"Good morning, Warden Alistair."

"We've been over this. Alistair is fine," he says kindly.

"Right. I'm sorry." He frowns and looks across the garden. "Kieran, your mother is coming to find you for breakfast."

"Good, we can eat together," Kieran says, turning to Lila and Alistair with a smile. She admires his optimism, but it's clear he has no idea that there was a time when Alistair didn't trust Morrigan near the campfire because he was worried she would poison his stew.

Morrigan exits her room a moment later and frowns as she steps down onto the grass and spots their group.

"If that fool is filling my son's head with nonsense," Cole mutters. Lila claps a hand over her mouth to hide the startled laugh that nearly escapes her.

Alistair scoffs. "I'm not doing anything, Morrigan! He's too clever to be corrupted by the likes of me!" Morrigan doesn't deign to respond, instead finding Lila's gaze.

"Red hair, blue eyes. Looking brighter today. She will keep me sane." Lila smiles at that. She'll certainly try.

"Of course, her thoughts of you are touching," Alistair says, rolling his eyes.

"Good morning, little flower," Morrigan says as she reaches them. She refrains from physical affection, though her tone is warm. "Alistair." Considerably less warm, but surprisingly not outright scathing. Perhaps she'll be open to tolerating a single meal, for her son's sake.

"Can your friends join us for breakfast, Mother?" Kieran asks eagerly. She hesitates. "Please?"

"One like a sister, the other like a brother as a consequence of the sister's love for him," Cole says. Lila can't initially tell if he's reading Kieran or Morrigan, but— "He wants to know his mother's kin." Oh. Alistair's hand tenses on her back.

Kieran glares at Cole for spilling his thoughts. The spirit boy is not bothered.

"He knows, he must know. Why else would he be so insistent?"

"That's quite enough, Cole," Morrigan says firmly.

"He does know, Lady Morrigan," Cole says and disappears before the mage can banish him herself.

"I didn't tell him," Alistair says, throwing his hands up.

Morrigan sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. "I know." He opens his mouth, but Lila grabs his arm to stop him from saying anything else.

"Why did you wish to keep it from me?" Kieran asks as he takes a step toward his mother.

"It—You were never supposed to even lay eyes on him," Morrigan says. She glances at Alistair like he could've known they would both end up aiding the Inquisition. "That is what was agreed upon." Lila is pleasantly surprised she doesn't throw Alistair under the cart. It would have been easy for her to tell Kieran that Alistair didn't want him to know, which would've been true, even though that wasn't the whole of it.

"But why, Mother?" Was Morrigan like this with Flemeth? Lila imagines so. The image of a little Morrigan pressing her mother for answers almost brings a smile to Lila's face.

Morrigan frowns and puts her hands on her hips. "Because you are special, Kieran, and I wished to raise you on my own." He doesn't look satisfied with this answer. Lila shares an uneasy look with Alistair. "Tis a complex matter I hadn't planned to discuss for several more years. Can you forgive me if I don't yet explain further?"

He considers this for a few moments, then nods. Morrigan's shoulders drop in relief, though Kieran surely doesn't notice. "I still wish to breakfast with them."

Morrigan huffs what might be considered a laugh. "Fine," she says, shooting a warning glare at Alistair. Lila can't help but smile.

Breakfast goes over surprisingly well, though not without the obligatory bickering and thinly-veiled barbs between Morrigan and Alistair. Kieran is happy, and Lila knows that's all that matters to her friend in the end.

Over the next couple days, Lila finds time to meet with the Inquisitor and her self-proclaimed closest friend, who she gets on with like a house on fire. With three powerful fire wielders, they're lucky nothing actually caught on fire. Cullen probably would've popped a blood vessel.

She spends time with Cordelia and her female advisors as well, sipping wine and trading stories. Morrigan observes more than she speaks, but Lila manages to goad her into a few tales by intentionally misrepresenting the situation.

She dines with Alistair and Fiona twice. He grows more comfortable with her each time and expresses to Lila how wild it is to finally get to know his mother. He never in a million years thought this would happen.

"Walking in the Fade physically seemed more likely than meeting my mother," he says the night before they leave for Weisshaupt. She laughs at the absurdity of it. "Truly! I mean, I thought she was as dead as dirt."

"I know, it's just… it's funny," she says, leaning back against his chest. "How many more impossible things must we experience?"

"'Must we?' Impossible things can be good, Lila dear," he says. "Meeting my mother is good, I think. She's… great."

"What other good impossibilities can you think of?" She tilts her head back so she can kiss his jaw. He hums in thought. "I would be satisfied with even one."

"Griffons could come back to life," he offers.

She arches a brow. "Like, magically?"

"No, I mean, I don't know," Alistair says, waving his arms in front of them. "Somehow, they exist again. That would be great."

"…You're right."

"And the longer we live, the more time for things like that to happen." The weight of his words settles on her shoulders uncomfortably.

"I'll find a cure, Ali," she says quietly. His arms tighten around her.

"We'll find it. Together," he insists. "You're not going to do anymore of it alone." Some of the weight lifts.

"Together," she repeats.

"That's right," he says. He touches his lips to the shell of her ear. "We'll get tattooed in Weisshaupt." He traces her forearm, where the ink will lay. "Come back to Ferelden to get married proper-like." His finger trails lazily up to her sternum and around the curve of her breast.

"Then, we'll cure the damn Calling." His other hand moves to her leg where he bunches up the lacy nightgown Cordelia insisted she take in their wine-induced stupor. "And, once we do," his hand is warm on her thigh and the kiss he places behind her ear is wet, "I'll have a long, long life to love you."

His certainty soothes her. And she erupts into pleased giggles when he abruptly flips them so she's on her back beneath him. He peppers her entire face with sweet kisses. She drapes her arms around his neck, still laughing softly as he finds her lips for a proper kiss.

"I love you," she says and hooks her ankles around his hips.

They've one last night in this very nice, comfortable bed. And Lila intends to make the most of it.