Alistair had always known that being a Grey Warden came with sacrifices. He’d accepted the loneliness, the constant danger, the dark future that loomed ahead. But what he hadn’t prepared for was the pain of watching you slip further from his grasp.

He hadn’t planned on falling for you. Maker, he’d tried to avoid it, telling himself it was foolish, dangerous even. Yet, every conversation, every shared moment had chipped away at his resolve. Now, it was too late—he was in too deep. But you… you had found comfort elsewhere. Your smiles, your laughter, were for another in camp, and it tore at him more than any blade ever could.

Now, as the quiet of camp settled around him, Alistair found himself standing at the edge of saying something—anything—but the words remained trapped in his throat.

How could he tell you what was tearing him apart? How could he ask for something you’d already given to someone else? So he stayed silent, his gaze lingering on you just a little too long, a weight in his chest that only seemed to grow heavier with every passing day.