He snickers to himself, easing one hand down her bedroll as the tiny mouse squirms frantically. There. Safely dropped off, and their fearless leader none the wiser. Whistling nonchalantly—because whistling is the very picture of innocence, yes?—as he retreats, he thinks that this will get her back for eating the last of the cheese.
Serve her right.
He can already imagine her girlish screams, her frantic desperation as she claws her way into his arms, sobbing for protection in his manly embrace…
…actually, forget the joy of the prank itself. That moment would be well worth it. Especially after all her shameless innuendo and double-entendres about sausages and lampposts and the way she licks her lips and 'accidentally' stumbles across him while bathing…
By the Maker, that woman is maddening.
She grins cheekily at him, slapping his arm as she walks by. "Going to bed, Alistair. If it gets too cold, you know where to find me." His choked response only seems to amuse her, and ears burning, he waits for her to discover the mouse.
A startled yelp. Excellent. He rubs his hands together.
An excited… bellow? What?
"Hot damn, these 'uns are good eating!" she roars, laughing as she emerges from her tent wearing—by the Maker she's practically naked and sauntering around the camp in her smallclothes and why isn't she wearing clothes and the mouse dangles by its tail from one hand and she's guffawing at it! The dwarf eyes her prize intently, her dark hair in wild disarray and her gaze hellish. She looks like nothing so much as a child's picture of the Witch of the Wilds, except that it's a mouse rather than terrified children.
By the Maker that's a horrible thought.
"Hey, songbird! Got any of those herbs 'n spices still?" she hollers, smacking her lips.
Leliana quails, coughing as her face tints a delicate green. "Ah, certainly. But surely you do not intend to eat that thing, do you?" The faintest and most desperate of uptilts turns the question into a quiet plea.
Brosca gives her a strange and pitying look, like one might bestow upon a particularly slow but beloved child. "Of course I'm gonna eat it."
"But why?" Leliana begs, voicing the question that weighs all too heavily on Alistair's mind.
"Because it tastes good," Brosca says slowly. "Hey, we got any honey? I've heard the nobles will even fry 'em and roll 'em in honey, and I bet that'd go down a treat—"
"But lamb! Chicken! Beef! Even the poor things that pass for such in Fereldan cooking!" the bard exclaims, hands fluttering with dismay. "With all those, surely you do not have to eat such a petite mouse?" She finally starts moving to get the cooking supplies. At least the mundane task of opening the packs, pulling out bottles and small packets of spice, gives her purpose while her thoughts are still awhirl with this unexpected revelation about their leader's dining habits. Alistair almost envies her for having something to do.
Shooting Leliana a look of disgust, Jenka jabs her free hand downward, index finger pointed accusingly to the earth… and by extension, the caverns and passages that run far below.
"You think a casteless thug got any of that growing up?" she asks contemptuously, pulling out a small knife and carefully slitting the creature's throat. It gives one final squeak before expiring, and Jenka starts cleaning the diminutive carcass.
"I apologize, my friend. I did not mean…" Leliana says weakly.
Jenka softens, but does not still her hands. "Look, songbird, we would eat nug when we could catch it. I know you love your 'Meester Schmooples'—and I'm not going to eat him, I promise, so stop looking at me that way—but we couldn't afford keeping an animal as a pet. Hell, even Barkspawn there is completely new for me."
Barkspawn lives up to his name, barking happily and wagging his tail as he comes closer to investigate. Jenka playfully swats him away from her tiny prize, rolling it in crushed salt, pepper, and after some hesitation, a tiny dab of cinnamon.
"Oh. I see. And… there is honey," Leliana adds, almost an afterthought. Some of her green pallor has faded, and she looks a bit more like herself.
Jenka licks her lips appreciatively.
"Mm, thanks. Look—I know it might seem strange to you, but these things are really good eating. Better'n nug. I'd offer to share, but this tiny 'un will be about bite sized even for me," she apologizes, though that wicked grin is back on her face. "But if Barkspawn is really good and catches us some more, I bet I can cook enough for everyone, alright?"
"…I'd like that," Alistair says quietly, finally recovering enough to speak.
"I promise, you'll be the first one to eat it. After me, of course," Jenka rushes to assure him.
Later, after her snack, Alistair sits by her. Close enough their thighs nearly touch, but too timid to approach further. Guilt weighs on his mind—even if she did decide to interpret it as a blessing. With a happy sigh, she leans against him, closing the minute distance between them. This prompts him to finally confess.
"Fearless leader?"
"Oh, this oughtta be good," she cackles, tilting her face up. The moon washes away at her dark skin, making her look strangely wraithlike and ethereal. Not at all like her normal solid, earthy self—but even the stars can't bleach away the wicked good humor in her eyes.
"I must tell you… I put that mouse in your bedroll. I am glad you liked it, but I thought… I thought it would be a joke. I thought you would be scared, and…" No help for it, he'll have to simply grit his teeth and admit it. "I was a fool. For trying to play a prank like that on you."
"Mm. That you were," she says agreeably, rubbing his knee affectionately. "I figured. You aren't very sneaky. Besides, we fight darkspawn daily. We've taken a tower full of abominations. You really thought a mouse was going to scare me?"
"I… did not really think that through," Alistair admits, cheeks burning with shame.
"Of course you didn't. But I like you anyway." She cracks her knuckles, rising to her feet and bestowing a kiss on his cheek. He grins foolishly, watching her hips wriggle as she walks back to her tent. "Thanks for the snack."