"Wakey, wakey, princess!"
Yawning, Emma stretched and wiped the sleep from her eyes. Judging by the heavy shadows in her tent, dawn had broken but the sun was not up yet. She wondered who could be trying to rouse her at this early hour, and why. It certainly wasn't her turn to take watch.
"Are you…are you decent?" It was a male voice, hushed to avoid waking the rest of their party.
When she realized it was Alistair's voice, her heart skipped a beat.
"Just a minute!" she hissed back. She frantically cast about her tent, trying to find a clean change of clothes. She located a tunic and a pair of breeches and hurriedly changed into them. Then she sat down on her bedroll.
"You can come in," she whispered.
HIs disembodied head appeared through the flap. He quickly surveyed the interior of her tent, then grinned at her. A moment later the rest of him followed, crouching awkwardly to avoid hitting the canvas top. He carried a large, covered rectangular tray.
It felt odd, his intrusion into her personal space. A wry thought crossed her mind: Wow, I never thought I'd get him into my tent this easily.
"What have you got there?" she asked, clearly puzzled, angling for a better view. "Loghain's head, I hope!"
"If I had Loghain's head—and I'm not ashamed to admit this—it would be on a pike beside the fire and I'd be dancing around it in my small clothes," he replied. "Good guess though! Points for trying." He smiled down at her, pleased at his successful subterfuge. Then he carefully set the tray down and lowered himself to sit cross-legged opposite her.
"No, I was thinking about what you were saying the other day about life on the road. I think we all dislike it, but probably you most of all because of how you were accustomed to living. So when we were running errands in town yesterday, I decided to pick up a few things."
His eyes twinkled. He reached for the tray's lid, hesitated a moment, then quickly removed it.
She couldn't believe her eyes. Sitting on the tray were two porcelain plates, white with a red floral pattern, loaded with scrambled eggs, salt pork, and toasted rusks. Two bowls of luscious-looking strawberries swimming in cream. Two steaming cups of tea. Crisp, white linen napkins. Elegant silverware. And, in the middle of it all—a single red rose in a white bud vase.
She flushed, silently berating herself for having complained about the rigors of their endless travel. He, who had rarely experienced a comfortable day in his life…instead of being put off and thinking her spoiled, he had done this.
"Alistair, you shouldn't have." She gave him a plaintive look. "I'm sorry I whined about that. We're all fatigued, every last one of us. I don't deserve special treatment. And this can't have been inexpensive."
"Please, Emma," he said, smiling gently. "My brilliant plans are few and far between, so just enjoy this. I borrowed the tableware from Arl Eamon's estate. The only cost was the food, and it wasn't that much. I just hope I didn't disturb anyone this morning, banging those pans around."
Feeling slightly less guilty, she beamed at him. "Thank you so much. It's lovely!"
He grinned. "Now, as Leliana has made me perfectly aware, I'm not exactly the world's best cook. But that's the beautiful thing about breakfast. It's difficult to do badly." He raised his fork and held it aloft. "Shall we?"
"Let's!" she said, lifting her own fork enthusiastically.
They dug into their food. To her surprise, Alistair was right; it actually was quite tasty. It was a nice change from their usual bland staples and grilled game, and the fine place settings somehow made it taste all the more delicious. She found, though, that she could not relax and enjoy it as much as she could have the same meal at home, for the simple fact that Alistair sat mere inches away.
She finished the savory part of her meal and started in on the strawberries, taking care not to spill cream down the front of her shirt. They were deep red, at the peak of ripeness, and perfectly sweet.
"Like those, do you?" he asked innocently.
She looked at him, quizzical. "They're wonderful. Why?"
"Because you're sitting over there saying, 'Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm' under your breath."
As she swallowed, a self-conscious smile spread across her face. Then she laughed and snapped her napkin at him.
When they finished eating, he reached over and plucked the rose from the bud vase. She realized she was holding her breath, wondering what he would say.
"Look at this. Do you know what this is?"
Something fluttered in her stomach. It's a red rose, damn you, and you know perfectly well what it means.
"Um, is that a trick question?"
He smiled and looked at the flower. "I picked it in Lothering. I remember thinking, 'How can something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?' In lots of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you. I know that you haven't exactly had an easy time of it since your Joining, so I thought that I might give it to you—tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this darkness."
She was speechless. Had he really just said all that? About her? It was a good thing she was sitting down.
"Thank you, Alistair," she stammered. "That's a lovely thought. Really."
He held out the rose to her, looking intently into her eyes. In that instant, she felt engulfed by flame. She wished desperately that he would kiss her. She didn't want to have to push him into anything, didn't want to risk rejection or the awkwardness that would result—but dear Maker, these last couple of weeks, she was losing her mind.
And then he said something wholly unexpected.
"I'm glad you like it. Now if we could move right on past this awkward, embarrassing stage and get right to the steamy bits, I'd appreciate it."
He hadn't just say that. Had he?
"All right, off with the clothing," she deadpanned, hoping against hope that he'd actually meant something by it.
Instead, he chortled. "Bluff called! Damn, you saw right through me."
She smiled, but couldn't keep a subtly pained look from her eyes.
He glanced quickly around the tent, then cleared his throat.
"You know, I guess there's no real reason for me to bluff," he said softly. "Apart from the fact that I'm nervous, that is."
"Am I really so frightening?" she asked with a crooked smile.
"Dreadfully so. Can't you see me? I'm quaking in my boots!"
"Come here, you sillykins," she said, rising to her knees and holding out her hand. "I promise I won't bite."
He shuffled toward her.
"So sexy," she giggled, "waddling like a duck."
"Don't I know it!"
Upon reaching her he leaned back on his heels, laid his hands on his thighs, and gazed down at her expectantly. The way he looked at her sent a shiver down her spine.
She reached up and placed a hand on his cheek, feeling the slight scratch of his stubble under her palm. Her heart was racing. He was so handsome and funny, so warm and giving, so good. She loved the fact that he knew himself so well and that despite being reluctant to lead, he had strong opinions and was not at all afraid to speak his mind. She longed to run away with him and lose herself for days in those eyes—damn Loghain, damn the Blight, damn anything else that threatened to get in their way.
She lifted her head and gently kissed him. He hesitated, then slowly began to respond, brushing his lips against hers. His awkwardness was brief; only moments later he was taking her lower lip between his and tenderly sucking on it, making her groan. Her tongue found its way into his mouth and began a gentle exploration, winding lightly against his, then pushing deeper, taking in the feel and taste of him.
All too soon she felt him stir against her leg, and she scooted her hips back to make some room between them. Sure, she knew what she wanted—but there was no point in rushing things and doing something that he might regret later.
Their kiss broke, and she reached up to ruffle his hair. His eyes were warm.
"Not so scary after all?" she murmured.
"Not at all," he breathed.
"Now I think it's time for you to get out of here. The others will be up shortly, and we have a lot of work to do."
"I think I need a minute," he said, glancing down at his lap, then back at her.
She felt heat rise in her face at his unexpected comment. It was so odd, so wonderfully peculiar, to hear him make a reference like that. She felt certain now that not only did he care for her but that this would happen again; things were going to progress between them. And thinking about that, she felt that she might burst.