Thanks for the reviews, here's another that I hope you enjoy.

Also, I'm going to make it habit to start off each chapter with a flashback of events that took place within the war against the Blight, (in italics, of course. You can't have flashbacks without slightly slanted writing.)

Enjoy...

II

FUEL

"So whoever kills the Archdemon dies?" Nallia pressed disbelievingly, "Typical."

She looked at the other Grey Warden, Riordan, with a hint of scepticism in her eyes. She shook her head, as if it were all just some sick, twisted joke.

"Well that sucks," I admitted hopelessly.

"Useful input, as always, Alistair," Nallia muttered darkly.

I offered her a mischievous grin that she chose to pointedly ignore.

"I am sorry to be the one telling you this, but thus has always been the way," Riordan replied, "In death; sacrifice. I am the oldest, and the taint shall not allow me to live for much longer, thus it falls upon me to deliver the killing blow. Should I fall in battle before I can, however, one of you will have to carry on in my place."

I'd willingly give my life to save Nallia from such a fate. Even after everything that has transpired between us the past few days, especially after everything. Recent dealings had changed nothing of how I felt about her. I doubted anything ever would.

Anyway, I should have fallen in battle a long time ago; it seems I would be the next best choice should Riordan kick the bucket before bringing down the Archdemon.

Nallia was shaking her head in disbelief. Her thin, dark brows were curved in a deep set frown. Her eyes hardened moments later, and a scowl set in place.

"I'd rather not if I could avoid it," she admitted stubbornly. "I should get to at least live in the world I've saved, don't you think? Or don't I deserve some happiness?"

My chest constricted painfully and I avoided her angry, wandering gaze.

I wished more than anything to simply be able to relieve her of her duties, but she was a Grey Warden, nothing would ―or could― change that.

"I shall deal the killing blow should Riordan fail to do so," I offered flatly.

I watched her from the corner of my eye. From the fiery glare she sent in my direction, my words had only seemed to anger her further, fuelling the fire in her eyes.

"What about being king?" she pressed with harsh, clipped words. "I thought that was where your obligations lay, your highness. Willing to dismiss your kingly duties as flippantly as you have everything else thus far?"

I openly flinched at her harsh words but kept my voice as impassive as possible as I spoke next. I looked to my right, staring her down.

"I would willingly give my life in service of Ferelden," I said simply. "I would not be so selfish as to do otherwise."

Within her eyes I saw flames of fury, but ―thankfully― my words had silenced her for a time.

I knew why she hid behind her shows of anger, something she was resorting to far more commonly as time passed. I understood it, and so I let it slide without thinking any less of her. I knew it was not selfishness that made her say such things. She had given so much; shed so much blood, sweat and tears to our cause. She was not a cruelly angry person by nature; it was the recent dark happenings that had shaped her as such. Anger was the only way she could deal with everything. Anger was the only way she knew how to deal with everything. It was either that or curling up into a ball and giving up. We all had our methods for coping. I dared not question hers.

She ran off her anger and it was her last source of fuel. Without it, she would surely fall. Without her, none of us stood a chance in the upcoming battle. Where she got her strength made no difference. As long as it worked.

Sacrifices had to be made.

Little did Riordan know, Nallia had already made the greatest sacrifice of all. She'd sacrificed her very being; her anger would eventually burn out and consume her. She accepted such an inevitable fate with open arms.

It was all she could do if she wanted to win.

He lent casually against one of my bed's four banisters, a polished grin on his smug face. I kept a safe distance from the elf, my arms crossed atop my chest indifferently.

"This is as alone as we're going to get, Zevran," I stated. "Come on, out with it, already."

I'd always been one to skip to conclusions, and now was no different. I could only think of only one reason as to why Zevran would be here alone. I could think of only one thing he could have to talk about upon the topic of my fellow Grey Warden. Was she…? No, I couldn't think such things.

The elf admitted a dry chuckle, shaking his head with his wry smile still in place. He'd obviously guessed the unbidden thoughts that were swirling through my mind. I'd never been very good at covering up my true feelings, being King for five years had not changed this.

"Rest assured, our dear lady is not dead," he offered bluntly.

I released a small breath of air I had not realised I'd been holding and felt a great weight lifted from my shoulders. The feeling of calm was quick to pass, however. The question as to why he was here remained.

"In fact," he grinned, "she's within the walls of Denerim as we speak."

He said nothing for a few moments more, trying to seize up my reaction to such news. I don't know what he saw on my face, but a humourless smile was what I was granted in reply.

Truthfully, I did not know how to react to such news. She'd not returned to Denerim since my coronation as King, let alone touched the city with a ten foot pole in the time between. The fact that she had chosen not to see me, sending Zevran instead, bore heavily upon my heart. So she had not forgiven me, even now. Regardless, the very fact that she was within the city chased away such hurtful truths with fleetingly naive thoughts of hope, feelings that I dared not question lest they fritter away from my tight grasp.

"I fail to see why this news had to be shared within the confines of my chamber. Denerim would be happy to know their hero has returned," I pressed sceptically. "Or is this a new service you're offering in which you'll come to see me every day telling me that she is not dead."

I blandly thought of how ironic such a service would be. I'd be forever dreading the day that Zevran would not come to see me, instead of the other way around.

I received yet another dry chuckle from the elf.

"I shall cut straight to the chase, no?" he said. "We had a bit of a run in with our dearly beloved Morrigan. Speaking of which, the witch was more dearly beloved than I had originally thought. Well, by some of us anyway."

He leered at me before waggling his eyebrows suggestively, his grin forever intact. Nallia had told him of the loveless night shared between the witch and me, it seemed.

I offered a great sigh. I knew this would come back to bite me in the arse. Just a matter of how hard and when had been the only unknown factors. I just hope Nallia's trust in the elf was not misguided.

Anyway, this was cutting straight to the chase? The elf had yet to tell me anything remotely substantial.

"To put it plainly, it did not end well," he continued.

Of course not, it's Morrigan; nothing ever does.

"Shock horror," I drawled.

I paced the length of my room twice, a frown on my face. I still failed to see where I came in. I finally rounded on him once more, an expecting look upon my face.

"Why did Nallia send you to tell me this?" I pressed. "What good does it do me knowing that you and she had a run in with that harpy?"

He gave a one-sided smirk.

"Nallia did not send me, I chose to get your help," he stated with a chuckle. "Do not be so surprised."

He received yet another frown on my behalf.

"Well, you're here and I'm listening; now's as good a time as any to ask for it," I stated.

Zevran pushed off from the banister of my bed, running a hand carefully through his light hair.

"I need help finding Morrigan," the elf said. "Well, finding her again."

Frowning, I gaped at the elf a little, somewhat taken aback by such a request.

"What?" I asked. "Why would you need to do such a thing? When she does not want to be found, she won't be. Believe me."

I'd had small search parties scouring this way and that for her for the first year of my crowning. I'd relented in the search quickly, however, upon having one of the said groups wiped out completely by a random encounter with a fire storm. A fire storm in the middle of winter left no question as to where, or more specifically who, it had truly originated from.

"Trust me in this, I did not particularily like the thought of asking for your help, but you're one of the only people I know that would not greet me with the pointy end of a knife," as an after thought he added; "Not to mention I can't go around telling people about Morrigan and her bastard child willy nilly, no? So, hear me out."

He took a deep breath, frowning.

"She stole something very important of Nallia's, so to speak," he replied ambiguously.

I frowned again. I wasn't enjoying the cryptic undertone of the usually blunt elf.

"What did the witch steal, Zevran? Come on, out with it," I pressed further. "Was it Nallia's favourite boots, her lunch money, what did Morrigan take?"

He avoided my gaze for a moment.

"Perhaps it's easier to show you, than to simply tell you, hmm?" he offered.

I glared. When the assassin was avoiding a topic it was usually bad. This did not bode well.

"Tell me, Zevran," I ordered of him.

He sighed, running a slender hand over his face in exasperation.

"We'd been tracking the witch for days. We'd known that we did not find hints of her whereabouts by our sheer skill alone, she was toying with us, leaving clues, and we knew it from the start. I think she figured she might as well lead us to her and then deal with us appropriately, who knows?" he explained. "Nallia, ever stubborn, pressed on despite her obvious clues and my many warnings. I don't know why it is that she was so intent on finding Morrigan and her child, she didn't tell me. She only said that it was important."

I only barely listened in on the assassin's now thorough explanation. Only one thought ran through my head, though, and that was 'what had she lost that had Zevran worried so?'

"We found her, that is for sure," he said bemusedly with a huff. "She had offered us but a single warning; telling us to leave. Of course, our dear girl did not listen. When does Nallia ever listen?"

He chuckled lightly, his affection for the other elf clear.

I felt my gut twist and ignored it as best as I could manage. In perfect synchrony, my heart hammered and I found myself cursing my betraying organs childishly.

"I am ashamed to admit that I did not last very long when the battle broke out," the elf confessed. "I had awoken much later to find no traces of the witch save for a terrible headache on my behalf, and Nallia sitting frightened in a corner."

Another frown broke out on my face, the only expression I was beginning to think myself capable of. Nallia was able to feel fear? I couldn't picture such a thing, choosing to simply put it down to Zevran exaggerating events as he was often guilty of doing.

"I do not know much about the Fade, nor do I pretend to. Leave it to the mages and the dead, if you ask me," he said.

What's this to do with the Fade, now? I know I'm not the sharpest person in the world, (I had my sword to accommodate for that), but I failed to see how the event was tied to the Fade in any way.

He paused, looking for the right words.

"You are an ex-templar, yes? You know of the tranquil? Their aspirations, their emotions, they are stripped of them until they are but a husk of their former selves," he started. "More hollowed out than even a golem."

She's tranquil? My little fire cracker, I used to call her. Had she had that stripped of her? Had Morrigan followed through with the inhumane ritual to punish her for going back on her promise?

Nallia would simply not be Nallia anymore without her emotions.

"Nallia's become tranquil? I thought it could only be done to mages," I said uncertainly.

I cringed upon noticing the smile I received from the elf in reply to my weakly wavering voice.

"No, it can be done to any. You are sure you were a templar?" he questioned. "To answer your question, no, she was not made tranquil. Not quite tranquil, anyway. I know not why Morrigan chose to do it, but she stole Nallia's memories. I think it was done in such the way the tranquil are made; a ritual of sorts. I asked Nallia what she remembered. All she remembered was a woman in her dream. I think Morrigan used the Fade to steal them from her."

Nallia didn't remember anything? She didn't remember her father in the alienage, she didn't remember Duncan and his unnecessary sacrifice, she didn't remember the unquestionably evil dark spawn, she didn't remember the Archdemon, and she didn't remember me.

Such a thing, however, did not have to be a curse. Then again, was feeling nothing towards me any better than only unadulterated anger and hate?

I silently reprimanded myself upon thinking of it as a mixed blessing. I pushed such thoughts quickly aside. No, she would not be the Nallia that I knew without her memories. They were what made her who she truly was. They were what made her the woman I'd fallen in love with so long ago. Not to mention, she had so many enemies; she would be utterly defenceless.

"Why isn't she with you?" I pressed with concern. "You said she was in Denerim."

He frowned, as if he didn't understand my concern.

"She is in Denerim," he repeated. "She said she wanted to have a look around the city whilst I conversed with you. I think she hopes to find something familiar; thus far she has had no luck. There is not a remnant of her memories left, it was done properly. Believe me; I am not so easily forgotten."

Again, he waggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing my blood to boil. He still knew how to effortlessly get under my skin, it seemed.

"You left her alone?" I asked in bewilderment. "She's a hero here. People will recognise her."

Zevran simply laughed heartily at my show of concern. And I was apparently the group's idiot, yet here he was letting one of Ferelden's most famous people wander around Ferelden's busiest city without her damnable memory.

I took another calming breath. It didn't help much.

"She shall be fine, if not, her mutt is with her. So fear not, I warned her to keep her hood up. No one but we shall get to see her pretty face," he said with a shrug. "Besides, she said she did not like the look of the castle. It gave her the 'creeps' or something of the sorts, so I simply did not force her to come. Does that suffice, my king?"

He was mocking me; there was no doubt about it.

It really amazed me that Nallia had managed to stay alive thus long without her memory and Zevran caring for her. It did, however, bring me some comfort knowing that her ever loyal war hound was by her side.

Then it occurred to me…

I shook my head and laughed heartily, clapping the elf roughly on the back.

"Good one," I praised him. "I didn't think you had it in you, little guy. She put you up to this, didn't she? This is pay-back for all the terrible jokes I put you both through. You almost had me going for a moment there."

He rolled his eyes at me, offering a sigh.

"Yes, Alistair, you caught me," he replied, his tone dry and sarcastic. "Nallia and I travelled all the way to Ferelden after avoiding you for five years to pull a prank on you. You are simply too good for me."

Hey, sarcasm is my thing.

I sighed, my tone once more sombre.

"Well, it never hurts to hope," I said.

He gave another dry chuckle, offering a smirk.

"Untrue," Zevran replied. "Hope builds you up with unrealistic ideals and means you have further to fall when it all inevitably comes crashing down."

I gave a lop-sided grin, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"When did you become a pessimist?" I asked light-heartedly.

"Right about the time you became king," he retaliated with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Of the two, I think my pessimism is the least implausible."

Well played, my ―apparently― pessimistic old friend.

"Now that I've gotten five years of pent up and unappreciated joking out of the way," I started sarcastically, "I think it's high time I see this amnesic Nallia ―catchy nickname, right?― for myself. Truthfully, I'll only really believe it when I see it."

Yeah, if that was five years worth of jokes I was really getting rusty. Oh well, I'd simply have to make up for lost time.

Despite the dire news Zevran had brought me and the imposing reunion with Nallia, I could not help but feel I'd get the chance to make up for lost time… and not just by telling more jokes.

Lots of dialogue, I know, but I hope you've bared with it and enjoyed it none the less.

Reviews are very appreciated, even if it is just to point out a flaw in my knowledge of Dragon Age lore, or writting a character out of character.

Thanks for reading.