“Ali,” Liss soothed, placing a hand on his cheek.

Alistair put his large hand over hers, which she had never thought to be small until now, and squeezed it briefly before dragging it down and away from his face and letting go.  He brought his eyes up to look at her, and the expression shattered her heart. She knew what that look meant, where it led, and that she had nobody and nothing to blame but her own impulsive self.  Instinctively, she took a step back from him.

“Liss, I’m so… sorry,” Alistair said.  It was an introduction, a preface to what he actually wanted to say.

“This is about the kiss, isn’t it?” She stole the gut punch from him.  If she said all the things first, it couldn’t hurt her as much. “I knew I should have asked.  It was a dumb, careless idea. I’m an idiot.”  

“Yes, I mean no...um.”  Alistair huffed and tried again. “What I mean to say is: Yes. This is about the kiss, but no you’re not an idiot.”

“Was it bad?” That was a dumb, pointless question that just fell out of her mouth.

“Maker, no. No! It was very nice,” he answered waving his hands frantically and then settling, “But it shouldn’t have happened.”

”I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep. I’m just horrible at reading people sometimes.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He reached out as if to touch her shoulder, but stopped and let his hand fall to his side. “You didn’t overstep. I…enjoyed it, but it was wrong.”

“Why?” She hated the hurt in her voice but was unable to stop it.  She laughed to brush it off and added, “It was just a kiss.”

“No it wasn’t, Liss.” Alistair dropped his head, “It meant something.”

“Is it so bad for it to mean something?”

“Yes.” He brought his eyes back up to hers again. The word was hard, cold, even in his sympathy, that he might as well have thrown an icicle at her. “It’s just - ”

“I understand,” she said just as coldly, and moved to start packing up her things if only to keep him from seeing her cry. “It is pretty obvious that your heart is elsewhere.”

“Liss,” he muttered and she snapped her eyes up to him causing him to look away.

“No, I get it.” She laughed angrily, and it wasn’t even Alistair she was mad at, not really. “It’s hard to move on from something special.  Sometimes you waste years and years of your life trying to fill that hole, but nothing ever does. Nothing even comes close. Maybe you even start to realize that you’re not really you without that person, and that your best memories are with them.  Only now, they’re gone, and the thought of that person makes you unbearably sad. So you shut it out, you make jokes, and you convince everyone you’re fine, but you’re not. You’re miserable, and the only person who can fix it, the only one in the world you want to see, isn’t there.”

Liss began to roughly ready her horse, and continued, “Maybe you end up kissing a good friend on a whim for comfort. It’s nice and warm and you feel whole again, but it’s just for a moment because surprise, you’ve somehow now made yourself feel ten times worse than you did before, damned for even trying to be happy.”

Alistair blinked at her silently and frowned. “I didn’t tell you about any of that.”

“I never said it was about you,” Liss answered through her teeth and climbed up onto her horse, “Come on.  We can talk about this later if you wish. Right now, I just really want to see my brother.”

Painful, awkward silence hovered over them as they made the final leg of their journey to Highever, and Liss was haunted with the immediate echo of the things she’d said.  Out loud. She squirmed in her saddle and focused every ounce of her energy on not thinking about it, yet she still thought about it anyway. About him. Nate. It finally happened.  Years of hiding and hurting and it all came out just like that. They were feelings she didn’t need. Especially not as she was about to face home for the first time since… well, everything.

As soon as they reached the city gates, Alistair parted with Liss to pay his respects to Duncan as she made her way to her family’s castle.  She stood at the gates for what felt like an eternity, staring up the length of the large wooden doors while her stomach twisted into increasingly intricate knots.  A warrior stomach, it was, braided for the battle to come.

“I’m ready,” she said with a deep breath, nodding to the guards who pushed open the doors and held them for her to enter in to the courtyard.  It was quiet and empty, as it was in the winter, the only signs of life were the soldiers that lined the battlements. She passed another pair of guards through another set of doors to reach the main hall, large, open, and warm.  It was filled with the sound of chatter and servants milling about at their jobs.

“Lady Cousland,” one woman exclaimed, clearly recognizing Liss, though Liss could not return the recognition.  “We were not expecting you.”

“My apologies,” Liss answered, “I know it is polite to send word ahead.”

“No matter,” the woman said, “The Teyrn is in the middle of a meeting with some representatives from Amaranthine, but I will let him know you are here.”

“Thank you, uh…”

“Isobel, milady.”

“Thank you, Isobel,” Liss said with a smile, “You can tell the Teyrn that I will be wandering the halls.  He’ll have to find me.”

Isobel eyed her curiously, likely due to the complete deviance from etiquette, but bowed anyway and left to retrieve Fergus.  Liss remained in the main hall for a few moments, breathing and taking in the scenery. It looked as it always had, smelled as it always had, and sounded the very same.  Yet it was a different place entirely. Everything that had once made it home was gone. Liss did not know what to make of it, nor if it could ever feel like home again. Tears burned in her eyes at the thought of all that Howe had taken from her.  

She tore away from the main hall, not wanting to be seen were she to lose her composure, and ambled up a flight of stairs that led to the living quarters.  A mistake, she knew, but the only relatively private place in the castle. Her chest tightened, breath becoming panicked and shallow as she approached the door to her room.  Each time she blinked she could see pools of blood on the floor. She heard screams and smelled iron, remembered Oren and Oriana’s lifeless faces. It was all her fault. Thoughts raced and swirled in her head. She should have stopped it, done more, died trying.  All the things she’d only revisited in nightmares were crashing down on her all at once and she was suffocating.  

Liss passed by her own room frantically, unable to even look at it, opting instead to turn down an adjacent hallway, the guest wing, running until she reached the very end.  She turned to face the door immediately to her right, the last room in the hall. It was Nathaniel’s, or at least the one he had used during his summers there. How many times had she run down that hall to hide, to be comforted, to see her friend? How many times had she gone into his room when he wasn’t there just to feel closer to him, or just because it felt like the safest place in the world? Of course her feet carried her there now.  It only made sense.

Grabbing a torch from the wall, she pressed down on the door knob gently, hand shaking, and let herself into the room.  It was dark and cold from too many vacant days, but otherwise the same as she remembered it, perhaps the only place in the castle untouched by recent events. She hung the torch in an empty sconce and moved to examine the rows of dusty books that lined the shelves. Most were boring, standard-issue texts on the history of Ferelden, tactical manuals, and refuse from Aldous’ collection.  One book stood out, however. It was smaller, leather bound, and crammed between two volumes of Brother Genetivi’s writings. She pulled it out and examined the cover as she kicked off her boots. Fereldan Myths and Folklore.  

She’d read the book many times over, of course. It was nothing new, but perfect for keeping her mind busy until Fergus came for her.   She climbed up on the bed and sat, back straight against the headboard. As she fanned through the pages, she frowned at the sight of a page that had been folded down at the corner.  It was one of the shorter tales in the book, a chilling legend called “The Baroness of the Blackmarsh.” Her heart fluttered as she noticed charming little letters in black ink, straight and sharp-edged, cluttering the margins at the sides.  Nate.

The tale was simple.  It warned travelers of the Blackmarsh to be wary as they wandered through, making sure to think of the Maker, place Prophet’s Laurel under the tongue, and carry a vial of Lyrium to ward away the demons that whispered in the dark.  Supposedly people who passed through the Blackmarsh reported hearing voices, seeing faces of the dead in the water, and becoming tangled in trees that grabbed at their clothing like gnarly, jagged hands. These events were blamed on a wicked baroness who practiced blood magic to maintain her youth and beauty.  The Veil was bound to be thin in such places after all.  

Liss glanced over to read Nate’s notes at the side.

“Not the whole story.  Baroness was well-loved by her people after she saved them from a dragon.  Something bad must have happened.”

She smiled.  Leave it to Nate to take a folk legend seriously.  Then again, hadn’t he visited the Marsh? Perhaps there was more truth to the myth than it seemed.  She scanned her eyes over the rest of the page, noting another brief message at the bottom.

“Liss, if you read this while I’m gone, I’m not being too serious, so stop thinking it.”

Liss flinched and read the words again.  How dare he presume what she was thinking about him, even nine or more years ago, whenever the stupid note was written.  And how dare he assume she’d pilfer through his things. She may have invaded his personal space on a regular basis, but she drew the line at pilfering. Arse.

Still, the smile that curved at her lips deepened and tears dripped onto the page as she ran her fingers over the writing.  The droplets startled her, and she reached up to wipe them from her face, unaware that she was even crying. Maker, she missed him, and it was easier to breathe just admitting to it.  She missed him.

“There you are,” a familiar voice rang out, causing her to start.  She looked up to see Fergus standing in the doorway, a sad, knowing grin on his face, “I should have known to look here first.”

“Am I so predictable?”

“Yes, actually.”  Fergus stepped into the room to stand at the foot of the bed, tracing the wooden footboard with the fingertips of one hand.  His other arm hung unusually limply at his side. Had he been hurt? “If I knew you were coming, I would have greeted you at the gate, and you wouldn’t have had to face the castle alone... or hide in here to find some little shred of Nathaniel to comfort you.”

“That’s not - “

“I may not be as smart as you, but I’m not an idiot.” Fergus moved over to where she sat on the bed and rested his big, heavy hand on her head, shaking it slightly and causing her head to move around.  

Liss grumbled and slapped his hand away. “I came with a friend, a last minute kind of thing, or I would have written ahead.  Believe me when I say I would have much preferred by glorious return home to not have ended with me a pitiful weeping mess, but I just don’t think there’s a way around it.”

“There wasn’t for me,” he said with a sigh, staring blankly off into the air, “That’s what it takes to get past it, I think.”

“It’s good to see you, Fergus,” Liss muttered weakly, not really wanting to spend the entire visit with her brother stuck in the past. “How are you?”

He laughed and shook his head, looking back at her.  “As well as I can be, considering. And you?” He winced and grasped the limp arm.

“I’ve been better,” Liss replied absently, setting the book aside and sliding to her feet.  She grabbed his arm and examined it through the sleeve. A bulky spot rose up under the material just by his shoulder, a bandage.  “What happened to your arm?”

“You won’t believe it,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“So it’s a good story, then?”

“Depends.” His grin was so wide she could count his teeth, not that she wanted to.

“Well, go on.  Out with it,” she said dryly, sitting down on the edge of the bed “Lest I die from suspense.”

“Well, I was in the Coastlands, on my way to see what was going on in Amaranthine.  I’d heard nothing from the Arlessa, Warden-Commander -- whatever she is-- for weeks, and that pillar of smoke was concerning.”  Fergus paced about in front of the bed, gesturing emphatically. “On my way, I was cornered by some bandits, well… they weren’t actually bandits.  They were some men who’d escaped the fire and darkspawn in the city, who were just desperate for money.

“Anyway, one of them managed to slash my arm and knock me from my horse.  I fell to the ground and hit my head. I was dizzy, and my ears were ringing.  I thought I was done for.”

Fergus paused and looked to Liss expectantly, and she obliged him with a response.  “Don’t you know how to defend yourself? Mother would be so very disappointed.”

Fergus rolled his eyes, but continued with the same level of enthusiasm.  “It didn’t take long for me to notice the men had stopped their attack, and the one who landed the blow to my arm was on the ground clutching a wounded leg.  The others were yelling at this Grey Warden, blaming him for the loss of their families and livelihoods.”

Liss leaned forward, chin in her hands.  “A Grey Warden?”

He nodded. “A Grey Warden.  One of the men tossed a dagger at him, but then another Grey Warden showed up, this mage who made roots come up from the ground to shield her comrade.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m serious.”  He shook his head and she believed him.  “The men called her some unkind names and she was going to attack them, but the other Warden stopped her and began to talk to the men, sympathize with them.  He said he understood and vowed to make it up to them if they’d give him the chance.”

“Mighty noble of someone they just tried to murder,” she said tapping her chin.

“Well,” Fergus said, dropping his gaze to the ground as he kicked at the floor with the toe of his boot, “You know how Nate is.”

Liss’ breath caught in her throat, a noticeable, horribly embarrassing gasp escaping her. She would have sworn her heart stopped for a moment. “Nate?”

“Yes!”

“A Grey Warden?”

“Mhmm.”  Fergus nodded and continued on to explain how Nathaniel had landed among the Wardens’ ranks, how he’d returned believing his father had been murdered and his family disgraced for no reason.  How he believed he needed to avenge them, but decided to just gather some of his family’s belongings instead, and how he’d been captured and branded a thief for doing so. He would have died had it not been for the Warden-Commander.  

“That’s good,” Liss said half-heartedly, “I’m glad he’s not dead.”

Fergus stared at her skeptically for a moment before speaking.  “That’s it? I can’t say you’re as excited as I thought you’d be.  Still pissed he never wrote?”

“I’ll always be pissed about that.  How hard is it to write one damn letter?”

“Pretty hard, depending on who you ask.”  Fergus tried and failed to lighten the mood.

“I miss him,” she said, her voice cracking, “And I want him to miss me too.”

Fergus pulled her into an embrace and squeezed tightly, sighing into her hair.  “I think you should tell him that.”

“Why,” she asked sharply, voice muffled by Fergus’ shirt, “So he can ignore me for another nine  years?”

“No, you idiot,” Fergus said with a frustrated laugh, “So maybe you can be happy again.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible, Fergus,” she rasped, tears falling freely and dampening his shirt, “I forgot how.”