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Dear Alistair,
Because I can't say this to your face, I'm writing this in a letter that will never be sent. I have to find a way to let you down easy, and knowing the truth won't help. I know, because I've tried the truth, and the results were disastrous. And the truth is, that despite my willingness to try out the star-crossed combination of mage and ex-templar, it just isn't going to work.
I gave you every opportunity, and made my intentions and wishes clear as glass despite your every attempt to turn my invitations into a joke. At least Leliana seems to understand that demons are destroying the world, that almost all other Grey Wardens have been wiped out, and the two who remain are probably on a suicide mission to stop it, and that we've been framed as traitors, and that we risk death every single day, and even if we survive the Blight, our lives have been drastically shortened by darkspawn blood. We have to take our pleasures where we can, and this silly schoolboy personality of yours mocks the gravity of the situation.
So it seemed like I had done or said something wrong at some point, or that I just wasn't your type, and that you really weren't interested, because you preferred to spend the evening taking a cold bath instead of sharing a warm bedroll with me. And Leliana did seem interested. So I gave her the same opportunities I gave you. The difference was, she accepted them. She was right when she said you reminded her of a puppy.
Sure, Wynne had a thing or two to say about it, at first, but she changed her mind soon enough, and apologised for clucking her tongue at us.
And then you gave me that rose. You finally came clean, in your stammering, joking way (which is somewhat cute, but goes too far sometimes), and confirmed your interest. Well, it could still work. I could probably be satisfied with one man and one woman in my life, so I approved. You even seemed to accept my final invitation into my tent, but then confused me by excusing yourself to go stand by the fire blushing before anything happened. And when I came to ask why, you had the gall to deliver me an ultimatum: Break up with Leliana, or get no Alistair love. What?! Are you bloody insane? You want me to hurt and lose the girl of my dreams over you, an unknown quantity? How do I even know you're worth it?
Leliana serenaded me. You yanked a plant out of the ground. You're a slobbery puppy. She's a purring kitten. She sees me as a beacon in a beautiful world to whom the Maker led her. You see me as a flower growing out of a pit of filth. She would travel the world with me after this is all over. You, I suspect, would prefer to lock this mage away in a tower to "protect" me from the world, like the templar you would have become. I think the choice is obvious. Hurting Leliana, and giving her up, is unacceptable.
Despite this, I really didn't want to hurt your feelings. If you wouldn't accept having less than exclusive property rights over me, I at least wanted to spare you the heartbreak, because you'd probably just get yourself killed out there in battle with all your moping around and low morale.
I've turned back the clock several times, saying different things, approaching the problem differently, trying to reach a good compromise. But it all comes down to how many pieces your heart will break into, and I just can't do it right now. For now, I'm just avoiding talking to you in camp at all, because I don't want to give you the opportunity to give me that damned flower. Sorry, puppy.
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