I do not own Dragon Age in any way.
Just a quick drabble I wanted to write down, nothing special.
Enjoy!
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It had been a long day. It seemed that the sun itself felt great relief once it finally sank below the horizon, and now it was time for the moon to reign over Ferelden. There were no clouds to interrupt the moon's illumination, and Lyra Amell was grateful for that. Once she and her companions left the Brecilian Forest, they quickly set up camp and retreated to their own business. The Warden decided to sneak off to the small pond behind Bodahn's cart. Tonight, she would rather keep to herself instead of politely denying one of Zevran's 'special massages' yet again. The brunette slinked past the dwarves without notice. Once she was in the clear, she sighed with relief, blowing strands of her waves out of her face.
Lyra staked out a patch of dry grass right next to the little pond. The way the moon bounced off the surface of the pond made for great lighting; she was able to see the object she pulled from her robes perfectly. The Warden held the onyx demon statuette towards the sky, admiring the intricate carvings and detail. To Lyra, the tiny statue of a demon was almost cute. It was a perfect addition to her collection of totems and rune stones. She wondered when the statue was created, and then suddenly a million more questions bubbled in her mind regarding the statuette.
Lyra was always an inquisitive girl. The Arcane arts always fascinated her, so she studied and studied until she read practically every book in the Circle's library. She and Finn would often get into heated debates about magic, blood magic, and "grey areas," as they liked to call them. They would also compete constantly. Every day it would be, "who can master this spell first," or "who knows more about the history of the Tevinter Emperium," but it was all friendly competition to the both of them (for the most part). The Warden slowly seated herself on her little patch of grass, barely aware of her surroundings anymore. Nostalgia filled her thoughts, making her heart heavy and wistful. She was so lost in thought; she didn't hear the footsteps of a certain Templar draw near.
"There you are!" Alistair cheerfully announced. Lyra responded with a surprised 'Eep!' as her body went rigid, but her rigidity melted away as soon as she saw Alistair's jovial smile.
"You shouldn't sneak up on mages, Alistair. Might turn you into a toad by accident," she teased, recalling his silly fear when they first encountered Morrigan. Alistair raised his hands up and backed away in mock fear.
"Oh, please Lady Mage! I'll do anything! Just tell me what you want, the heart of a virgin? A sacrificial lamb perhaps?" the Templar teased. Lyra chuckled at Alistair's ridiculous face. He was always good at making her laugh, that was for certain. Alistair clumsily sat himself next to Lyra, and he crooked his neck to see what she was holding on to. He studied the object closely, not realizing how he made Lyra's heart skip a beat. She thought it was absolutely ridiculous how he was able to reduce her to a stammering mess sometimes.
'He doesn't even realize! Maker, curse him for his stupidly handsome face . . .'
Finally, Alistair broke the silence and said, "That little guy is wonderful, where'd you find him?"
Lyra was genuinely surprised that a Templar, a man raised by the Chantry, found her little demon statuette interesting. She cleared her throat before responding, "I found it in the Brecilian Forest. It's silly, I just thought it'd make a good addition to my collection and—"
Alistair enthusiastically cut her off. "You have more?" he asked, his eyes widening with excitement. Lyra wasn't sure if he was serious or not. She nodded and explained to him her fascination with the arcane and occult. When Alistair said that he shared her fascination with such things, she almost called it as a bluff, but when she saw the genuine interest in his hazel eyes, she smiled and began to explain what the statuette was of.
"It's an onyx statuette of a demon, although it's difficult to determine what sort of demon it is." She said matter-of-factly. Little did Lyra know that she had Alistair hanging on her every word.
The reason Alistair was searching for Lyra in the first was simply because he enjoyed being around her. That, and he wanted to make sure Zevran wasn't indulging her in one of his—he shudders to think of it—'massages.' Thankfully that was not the case. Alistair first felt truly drawn to Lyra during the battle at Ostagar, when they battled their way towards the beacon at the top of the Tower of Ishal. The way she directed the group, seeming to have a plan for any situation, the way she just seemed to know what to do, it was entirely impressive to him. When Lyra spoke, it was like gravity shifted so everything was revolving around her. Her eloquence was unmatched as far as he was concerned. Even so, her presence alone could silence a room. Her wondrously wild brunette locks, eyes that were as green as emeralds, and those lips . . . Alistair had to stop himself before he did something rash. He was terrible at this sort of thing and wasn't sure if he should even try to pursue his feelings. She was beautiful, but didn't seem interested in the least. Lately, she had bouts of nervousness around him. When that happened, she had a hard time even looking at him! Was it something he'd done? Maker he hoped not, although wouldn't be surprised. He was good at messing things up it seemed.
Now, he simply listened to her speak, utterly mesmerized. He asked about her Harrowing, and she spoke of the little 'mouse' she encountered as well as the Spirit of Justice and of course the demons. Alistair sat next to her, his hand propping up his head, as she continued her tale.
"Rage demons are really nothing to worry about though," she explained, staring intently at the statuette, "They're not very intelligent, so it's easy to defeat them. They just charge blindly at their opponents."
Lyra knew she was rambling, but couldn't stop herself. It wasn't often she found someone willing to listen to her arsenal of useless facts. As she spoke, she turned her head towards Alistair. When their eyes met, her face flushed. "I'm sorry; I know I talk too much. You could've stopped me anytime." she said, laughing nervously.
Alistair looked almost insulted. "Stopped you? Why would I ever do that?" he furrowed his brows, genuinely curious as to why anyone wouldn't be interested in what she had to say. It seemed that his comment made her smile, and her smile made his night.
Lyra suddenly grasped his wrist and placed the statuette in his hand. "This is for listening." she said, her voice quiet and soft. Alistair was dumbfounded. He honestly didn't know what to say.
"But, what about your collection?" He asked.
Lyra merely shrugged and said, "I have plenty." At that, Alistair beamed. He thanked her profusely, making her giggle at the silly antics he threw in between thanks. Alistair studied the statuette a moment before asking Lyra about the little details. The mage scooted closer, and with a delicate finger, traced each marking on the statue and explained its meaning. All the while, Alistair's attention began to trail off when he noticed just how close she was to her. Maker, he felt like a helpless school boy.
Lyra had the feeling that Alistair wasn't listening anymore. She lifted her head to teasingly scold him for not paying attention, but the teasing never came. When she saw Alistair's smiling eyes, she couldn't help but giggle.
'Him and his ridiculously handsome eyes.'
'Her and her ridiculously gorgeous smile.'
"Warden! Your dog is putting dead animals in my unmentionables again. I suggest you do something about it!" a very angry Morrigan shouted from the camp site.
The two turned their attention to the sound of a very angry witch and laughed. Alistair placed his new treasure in his pack and then stood up.
"Maker, can't Morrigan see that Xercon is the only man that will ever love her?" Alistair teased, holding out a hand for Lyra. When she grasped his hand (a wonderful feeling indeed!), Alistair hoisted her up. Lyra tried to stifle her laugh.
"That's not nice, Alistair," she said between chuckles. She placed her hand on his chest in affection. Touching someone's shoulder or chest was a habit of Lyra's, a way of showing her fondness towards someone. The two grinned at each other before heading back to camp.
From the shadows of the trees surrounding the pond, a tanned figure emerged. Zevran crossed his arms, a smug grin spread across his face. He was going to once again harass Lyra into accepting his 'massage' offer, but it seems Alistair beat him to the punch.
"So that is why she will not accept my offer." He muttered, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. He chuckled to himself. "If only they knew how badly they had it for each other."
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Again, thanks for reading!