Arren/Morrigan – Pillow Fight

Morrigan sighed in relief as the door to their room closed behind them. "That was awkward," she said, voice level. "I will be glad when all this is over and we no longer need to put up with that fool of a man," she added, frowning darkly.

Arren snorted, looking over the heavy shield, prominently emblazoned with the Redcliffe crest, that Arl Eamon had given him as a reward for the saving his life. "I have to admit, I wasn't very well-inclined toward him after hearing Alistair's stories about his childhood here, but..." he stopped, and shook his head, before leaning the shied against the wall in one corner of the room. Then he unstrapped his massive two-handed sword from his back, and stood it in the corner as well. He bent his head from side to side and rolled his shoulders, loosening sore muscles.

"He is a blind man," Morrigan said softly, as she walked over and began to massage the back of his neck. "Purposefully blind, seeing things only as he wants to see them, not as they are."

"Perhaps," Arren agreed, then turned around and smiled warmly at her. "But I would rather forget him, now that we finally have some privacy," he said, and leaned forward to kiss her.

Morrigan smiled at him when the kiss ended. "So very forward," she observed, then reached up to stroke her hand along his cheek. "Shall we take this to the bed?" she asked, voice low and sultry.

Before Arren could answer, the quiet was broken by an outcry from next door, a mix of shouts and barks. Arren had his sword in hand and was out the door in seconds, running to see what the commotion was, Morrigan following on his heels. They burst into the room next door, and froze, then burst into laughter.

Mouse and Briar had a laughing Alistair down on the floor, each mabari with a pillow grasped in its mouth. They were shaking the pillows like a terrier shakes a rat, the ends of the pillows smacking repeatedly against Alistair as he rolled around on the floor, arms bent around his head to fend off the blows. The three stopped as they became aware of their audience.

Arren snorted, and shook his head. "You're teaching my mabari bad habits," he scolded Alistair.

"It wasn't me! It was all Briar's idea!" Alistair exclaimed.

Briar attempted to look innocent, but his raised ears and fiercely wagging tail gave him away. Mouse at least attempted to look remorseful.

Arren shook his head again, then smiled crookedly. "Carry on. Just... keep it down, all right?"

He and Morrigan left, closing the door behind them and returning to their own room. Only once their own door was closed did they look at each other, and burst into loud laughter.

Mouse, leaving things in Morrigan's pack

Mouse eased through the undergrowth on near-silent feet. He paused as he drew near the glow of the fire, ears lifting, listening closely. Two people, breathing deep and even, asleep. He eased a little closer, sniffling cautiously at the air, tongue lolling out in a doggish grin as he took in the interesting smells around the pair.

He knew the sound of their names in the noises the two-legs made at each other, but to him they were partner-with-big-sharp and she-who-is-sometimes-a-wolf, or partner and she. Not to be confused with she-who-sings-bright-colours, who had left the pack some time ago anyway, and old-she-who-smells-like-baths, or little-she-no-pelt, who had joined them recently along with long-pelt-big-he.

Assured that partner and she were deeply asleep, he padded a few steps closer, lowered his head to grasp the straps of the backpack near the fire, then carefully lifted it up and carried it off, head held high to keep it from dragging on the ground, picking his path carefully to be as quiet as possible in his retreat.

He carried it to where he had his gift for she waiting. His first gift had not been well received; it had disappointed him, he had assumed someone who could be a wolf – and a bear, as well – would like a nice juicy bit of carrion to snack on or roll in. He'd found a cake one day, too, forgotten on a table near a window, and brought that to give to she. But that had not been liked either, the delicious confection discarded in the grass, himself scolded for getting stick icing all over her things. He'd eaten it himself in the end, not since even big-he-likes-sweets had wanted any of it.

But today, he thought as he worried open the flap and pawed out a place in the contents of the pack, he was sure he had the perfect gift. Not something sticky, or stinky, or that would smear all over her clothes. Something he had found while digging in a pile of interestingly smelly debris in the ruins nearby last night, where they'd fought the hot lizard earlier in the day. He'd been careful to drop it in the stream and wash the smelly stuff off of it. He hoped she would like this gift.

"Oh, drat, I think that blighted dog of yours has been rooting around in my pack again," Morrigan exclaimed. "Paw marks all over half my clothing..." she broke off, then smiled. "Why Arren... this is beautiful! Thank you," Morrigan said warmly as she held up the silver medallion she'd just found in her pack.

Arren blinked at it in surprise. "That's not from me," he said.

Morrigan laughed. "Who then? The dog? If so, he has uncommonly good taste in jewellery," she said, and ran a hand along the blackened chain, the tarnish vanishing in its wake. "Lovely work – elven, isn't it?" she asked, as she peered closely at the necklace, then held it up to fasten around her neck.

Arren frowned and leaned forward to look at the design inscribed on the circular medallion. "It might be. But it's not from me," he repeated.

"I'll have to thank Mouse for it later then, I suppose," Morrigan said, sounding amused. "After I scold him for muddying my clothes."

Arren gave up the argument. And wondered if it really was from the dog.

Arren/Morrigan, Morrigan being extremely ticklish

"Do not," Morrigan said, a note of warning in her voice, the look she gave Arren a stern one.

He withdrew his fingers from her ribs, lips crooking slightly as he snorted quietly. "You're no fun."

"You could persist, if you wished," she said calmly. "But I should warn you that if you do, I shall turn you into a toad."

Arren gave her an interested look. "Can you really do that?" he asked.

One eyebrow rose, just slightly. "Try tickling me again, and you'll find out," she said darkly.

Arren/Morrigan – Morrigan watching Arren sleep

She held her breath and leaned close, nose almost touching his, and watched the motion of his eyes, flicking back and forth behind his closed eyelids.

Dreaming.

She wondered what of. Her, perhaps? Their day's adventures? Or was it an Archdemon-sent nightmare, as sometimes woke him and Alistair? Or something more innocent... or less.

The faintest furrowed lines appeared on his face, between his high-arched brows, and he twitched slightly, gasped faintly. Not something pleasant then, she guessed.

She shifted her weight onto one elbow, and lifted her other hand to lightly touch his hair, a caress as light as the evening breeze, and hummed a snatch of a Dalish lullaby, barely louder then the sound of the trees rustling outside their tent.

His face smoothed out, his breathing deepened and slowed, his eyes went still again. She smiled, and very carefully lay down again, one arm draped over him, her head cushioned on his arm. And sighed just slightly herself. This could not last, this relationship of theirs. She could almost count the days remaining, and then... and then she would have to leave him.

She lay awake, counting the steady beats of his heart, not wanting to lose in sleep even one moment more with him than she must.

Arren/Morrigan – relaxation

He heard Morrigan before he saw her, the cry of a hunting hawk high overhead. He shaded his eyes and looked upwards, squinting against the brightness of the sky, and watched her stoop, dropping fast, wings folded close to her lean feathered body. He wished, not for the first time, that he could experience what that felt like, that abrupt drop from on high, the wind streaming over and through tight-pressed feathers. He could imagine what it felt like, she had even tried to describe it to him one night, when he'd asked, but... it was not the same as experiencing it.

She didn't pull out of the stoop until she was under the trees, her dive downwards suddenly slowing, path curving as wings spread wide, tail flared, legs and claws spreading wide as well, slowing her plummet. She back-winged neatly to a landing on a branch just over Arren's head, sharp claws sinking deep in the thick plates of bark as she gripped on. Her beak opened in a second, quieter cry, and golden eyes peered down at him, pupils hugely distended there in the dimness under the trees, then she turned her head and preened at one wing, spreading it out to one side as she groomed the wide-spread feathers.

He smiled, and stepped closer, raising his arm over his held, elbow bent. She folded the wing again, and peered down at him, then stepped off of the branch, sharp-clawed feet closing with surprising delicacy around his leather-clad wrist. He knew what strength there was in those feet; enough to pierce the hard-boiled leather as if it were paper, had she wished to. But she stood lightly, wings mantling just slightly as he lowered his arm, as she kept her balance, feet shifting just slightly as she adjusted her stance to the movement of his arm.

He held his arm crooked in front of him, her head on a level with his, looking into those feral golden eyes, so like and unlike her own. He lightly ran the back of one finger down the soft plumage on her front. She tolerated the touch, as no wild bird would have, head turning from side to side to watch him out of first one eye, then the other. Then bent her head, catching his finger in her beak. He froze, knowing, too, what damage that beak could do. But she held the finger carefully, and he felt the tickle of her tongue against his skin, and laughed, softly.

"Will you join me?" he asked, unable to keep a note of longing out of his voice. "Or do you prefer to hunt?"

She released his finger. Her head curved in a slight bow, as close to a nod as she could manage in avian form. He knelt, carefully, and held his arm straighter. She hopped off his wrist, and onto the ground. As he rose there was a shimmer of magical energy; the bird vanished; the woman appeared. Arren smiled, and lifted her hand, giving her a courtly kiss on the back of it. She smiled, then laughed when he turned her hand over and kissed it again, the palm this time, his tongue flicking briefly against the soft skin.

"There is a clearing nearby," she said, gesturing off to one side. "Let us go lie in the sun for a time."

Arren frowned, just slightly. "I should go back to camp soon, and check on Jowan and Alistair..."

"They are not there," Morrigan said composedly. "They have gone for a walk together. I saw them, when I was flying, on a hilltop, over there," she said, and gestured, then smiled. "Did you foresee them becoming friends when you put Alistair in charge of the mage?" she asked curiously, as she turned her hand in his to clasp it, and began to lead him in the direction of the clearing.

Arren smiled. "I wish I could say yes, but no... I didn't. It just seemed to me that Alistair was likely the best able of us to deal with Jowan if he proved... problematical."

She nodded. "You have good instincts then. I think they are... good for each other. It surprises me."

"Why? Because Alistair was almost a templar, and the mage is what he is?"

"In part, yes. But I did not join you to waste time in speaking of others," she said, tone mildly scolding, as they reached the clearing she'd spoken of, and turned to smile at him, the sunlight warm on her skin. "We have some time before we must return to camp... let us enjoy our privacy while we can."

"All right," he agreed, and smiled as he drew her into his arms.