A/N: The characters and world of Dragon Age belong to BioWare, and I offer my deepest thanks to that company for encouraging community creations.

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A Rare and Wonderful Thing

Funny how the sky could be so blue and the sun so bright when the world was on the brink of disaster. Darkspawn poured from the south like water over a cliff, the entire country seemed about to shatter from the threat of civil war, and still the sun's golden rays lit the world like a promise from the Maker.

Bryn's steps slowed as she admired the fluffy clouds billowing overhead, and she was reminded of a particular childhood summer in Highever. Rebellion had spurred her to abandon her studies more than once in favor of adventuring outside of the castle or watching Fergus train at swordplay. She'd never forget the sinking feeling in her stomach as she'd been called into her father's study after a week of absences. She'd been so certain he was going to lecture her on duty, on the importance of learning her place as a noblewoman and a lady, but instead he'd smiled and given her leave to pursue training with Fergus.

Maker, she missed him.

She waited for the pain to hit, the guilt, and it did; but it had dulled in comparison to the horrendous, mind-twisting numbness that she'd experienced as she and Duncan fled her childhood home. She supposed that meant she was healing.

"Copper for your thoughts?"

"Hm?" Bryn looked at her travelling companion, a quick grin flashing across her lips. "Oh, nothing important."

"We can stop and cloud-gaze for awhile, if you prefer." Alistair's eyes twinkled mischievously. His suit of plate armor rasped as he shifted his shoulders. "I wouldn't mind delaying our arrival at Redcliffe. Really."

"No, we should press on. We need to tell the Arl that the allies are gathered, and I'd rather not be too far behind our companions when they arrive in Denerim. Maker only knows what trouble they'll get into without us." Bryn took a few more steps before she realized her fellow Grey Warden wasn't at her side. She turned, frowning. "Alistair?"

"I, uh...look." He ran a gauntleted hand through his short, reddish hair, making it stand up even more raggedly in the front. "It's just...we're not often completely alone, and I--"

Bryn smiled at him crookedly, one brow raised. "Don't try to sell me that, Alistair. You just don't want to hear anything more about becoming King."

"No, I--" He blew out a breath. "Okay, yes. Fine. That's part of it. Oh, and thank you very much for tying my stomach into knots. Again."

She chuckled and walked back along the path until she stood in front of him. He didn't quite tower over her, but his bulky armor always made her feel tiny. She laid a gloved hand on his arm. "You will be a magnificent king."

"You must be travelling with a different Alistair, because this one will be no such thing." He gave her a rueful smile and shook his head. "I can't even lead a band of misfits to camp without getting lost and falling into a pond. How in the Maker's name am I going to lead a country?"

He truly didn't see it, did he? No--he'd embraced the version of himself that he'd adopted after Ostagar. Afraid to take command, somewhat weak, quick to hide his true feelings behind a witty comment or retort. But he didn't fool her. She'd seen him in the Wilds, when he'd taken command after Jory had been all but ready to race back to the King's camp even before they'd encountered the first band of darkspawn. The death of the Wardens--the death of Duncan--had broken him, much like the death of her family had broken her. They were so similar, the two of them, and yet so different. She'd fallen back on memories of love and happy times and warm thoughts to get her through the grief. What memories had there been for Alistair to buoy himself with after Ostagar? She'd gotten the impression that his time with the Wardens had been the happiest of his life, and it had been ripped away too soon.

She laid her hand on his cheek before she could think better of it and looked deeply into his eyes. "You are not alone, Alistair."

Warmth flared in his hazel gaze and she tore her eyes and hand away. Heat crept up her neck, into her cheeks, and she took a step back, clearing her throat. "Right. Well. Don't want to keep the Arl waiting."

He caught her hand in his before she could continue the march toward Redcliffe. "Bryn, wait."

She stopped and turned back to him, sure that her face was afire now with embarrassment. It comforted her somewhat to see his cheeks just as rosy. Maker, what a pair they were. Old enough to be married off, yet still innocent--yes, well, not totally innocent. Bryn knew where babies came from, she knew the mechanics behind the thing--how could she not, living with an older brother--but as for the actual act...

Let's stop that sequence of thoughts right there, shall we?

"I've been waiting for just the right time..." His voice trailed off, and he fumbled in his belt pouch for a moment. "Here. Do you know what this is?"

She looked down at the mass of petals and frowned. She knew what it looked like, but if he was asking her... "Is this some kind of a trick?"

"Yes, that's it. I'm trying to fool you." His lips stretched in a wide smile, a bit of relief washing over his face as he was able to retreat behind humor. "I almost had you, didn't I?"

She opened her mouth for a quick comeback, but her wit had abandoned her. "It's a rose?"

His smile fell, replaced by...something else. "I picked it in Lothering. I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn't. The darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it...so I've had it ever since."

Ever since Lothering? That was...Maker, a lifetime ago. But its petals were as soft and red as if he'd just picked it. Bryn's breath caught in her throat. Leliana had spoken of the rose that had bloomed on the dead bush in the Chantry's gardens...

"Alistair," she whispered.

"I thought I might give it to you." An uncertain smile flickered on his lips, then died. "In a lot of ways, it reminds me of you."

"I--" Words, normally her truest, most reliable companion, failed her. "I don't know what to say."

Something dashed across his expression, and he shrugged. "I guess it's a bit silly. I was just thinking that...here I've been, doing all of this complaining, and you haven't had a good time of it yourself. Since Ostagar..." He cleared his throat. "It hasn't been easy for either of us, and yet you've shouldered so much, without a single complaint. I don't know how you do it," he admitted softly. "You're so much stronger than I could ever be. If it had been Duncan at the temple..."

Bryn closed her eyes, the memory of her father's ghost, or the spirit that had looked like him, or the memory of him--whatever the vision had been--tugging at her heart. Strangely, it didn't bring pain, just a sense of...purpose.

You have such a long road ahead of you, my girl, and you must be prepared.

"I just--" Alistair looked down for a moment before meeting her eyes again. "I just wanted to tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are, to find amidst all this...darkness."

She just stared at him, her heart fluttering in her chest like a caged bird. Her mouth opened, then closed, her mind as blank as a hurlock's eyes. She'd been on the receiving end of compliments before, mostly light-hearted comments about her beauty, paid with as little notice as one might mention the weather. Never sincere, never heartfelt--until now. And for him to say such things...Alistair, who stammered over thoughts of wooing someone...

Maker, when had she gone and fallen in love with him?

"Please say something." He kept his tone light but worry gleamed in his hazel eyes.

"Thank you?" Her voice cracked and she closed her eyes and lowered her head before he could see the tears glimmering. "I mean...thank you, Alistair. That is...a lovely thought."

When she dared look up at him again, his smile was as radiant as the sun overhead. "I'm glad you like it. Now...if we could just get past this awkward, embarrassing stage, and move on to the steamy bits, I'd appreciate it."

"What?" A startled laugh burst past Bryn's lips. "Now? On the road?"

"No!" Alistair waved his hands in front of him. "Maker's breath. That's not what I meant! Oh, where's a nice crevice to swallow you whole when you need one?"

Giving in to impulse, Bryn pushed onto her tip-toes and pressed her lips to his cheek. "You're so cute when you're flustered."

"Cute, is it?" His eyes seemed to almost glow as she pulled back. "I suppose there are worse things to be called."

"I--" The words she shouldn't say trembled on her tongue. "We'd better go."

His gaze darkened. "Right. Duty, and all that." He sighed and started walking again. "Tell me again why we can't just run away to Orlais?"

"Blight," she said, falling into step with him. "Darkspawn. Archdemon."

"Oh, right, I'd--"

"King."

He groaned. "You had to throw that in there, didn't you?"

"Like I said..." She grinned. "You're cute when you're flustered."