This is a one-shot look at the feelings between my bitter Dalish elf and Alistair, and what could be a 'relationship' if the story progresses. I'm still undecided to continue it, even though I have an outline written out for it, but thought I'd share this with you all the same.
The story itself is not a very happy one, but has its moments and is full of romance and angst, lol
Zevran and Lyna are already a couple and Alistair, well...he's just Alistair, which makes him awkward and adorable, but full of flaws that we know and love.
I hope to read your feedback on this, and maybe if you express a desire to read it, I'll write it out for all of you one day.
Bioware owns everything, I merely use my imagination and fill in the blanks.
Inner Feelings
Lyna Mahariel sighed as she felt her lover's hands fondle her breasts, tweaking her nipples expertly. She arched her body towards him, feeling her soul arch in that direction as well. He knew her and knew how to get the response he needed.
His hands deftly roamed around her body, and one of them settled on her...
"Maker's breath! I- I didn't know there was anybody here, I was coming to bathe..." Alistair stammered as he saw Lyna and Zevran break away at the sound of his voice, his blush threatening to turn purple at what he had just interrupted. His eyes lingered on Lyna's very large breasts and he turned his gaze away quickly.
"Ah, you care to join us, my little Templar?" Zevran's voice coolly pierced the warm Ferelden night.
Alistair shook his head so violently that Zevran burst out laughing. Lyna had managed to put her armor back on, and her countenance was a stormy one when she gazed upon Alistair.
Stupid shem! A lying hypocrite, just like the rest of them!
She knew that Alistair wanted her, she had often caught him gazing at her with desire in his eyes while they went about their tasks to unite Ferelden under the threat of the Blight.
"Why are you here, shem?" The last word in her sentence was practically spit out through clenched teeth as she stood up, facing him.
He looked down into her lovely silver eyes, that were seething with anger.
"I- I wanted to bathe, I didn't know you two were here, or I never would-" he stammered out and Lyna rapidly stormed out of the clearing in front of the stream, not giving him a chance to finish.
"Maker! Why does she hate me so?" He asked aloud, but he already knew the answer to that.
"You are human, and she is a very proud Dalish woman. But it goes beyond that. You should try to ask her what she keeps inside her, and help her with it, instead of complaining and whining all the time. Offer a shoulder for her to cry on, not that she would take it," Zevran said, his light brown eyes observed Alistair's reaction closely.
His face crumbled under his gaze. He looked very guilty and very uncomfortable. Zevran chuckled. It was so easy to see through this man, who wore his heart on his sleeve. He would have made a very easy mark, if he had been inclined to accept a man's advances, which he knew he was not.
Alistair's head jerked up to meet the elf's and his look darkened. "I don't need your advice, assassin."
"No, I don't suppose you do. This is why she will continue to seek comfort in my arms every night," he grinned and left Alistair standing there looking foolishly after him.
He pondered on Zevran's words for a few minutes, lingering on the veracity of them. He was right, of course. He was always complaining, whining and disapproving of her decisions, even though he had flung the weight of leadership upon her shoulders.
He frowned and thought about a way to make it better and as he did so, his hand went to his pocket and touched the rose that he took with him always, ever since he had picked it in Lothering.
He shook his head and sighed. She would not like it. First of all, he was a human man, and that in itself was the upmost deterrent, though he certainly didn't care she was an elf. In fact, he thought she was more beautiful because she was one. In the second place, she already was in a relationship with Zevran. Smooth Zevran, who always knew what to say and knew what to do to drive women crazy. He was just a clumsy big oaf, with an unholy love for cheese. And last but not least, she was Dalish. A Dalish could never love a human man, the Dalish were too proud of their heritage to stoop that low.
He pushed the rose deeper into his pocket and sighed audibly.
No, she would definitely not like it.
A memory suddenly came forth from the recess of his mind. She had been smiling at times when they met at Ostagar. He had seen her almost relax and she had definitely smiled at a couple of his jokes. In fact, later on, while they were in Lothering, she had looked at him with sad eyes and asked him if he wanted to speak about Duncan. He had poured his grief out to her then, and cried. She had patted his shoulder briefly offering words of comfort.
She had then told him how the Dalish buried their dead and planted a tree over the grave, and he had genuinely thought that that was the most beautiful thing he had heard, and had told her this. That is so beautiful. Life springing from death. And he remembered how she had smiled at him then, her silver eyes suddenly very warm as she gazed up into his amber ones. That look had made his heart do a funny little flip and flutter.
Another memory jumped up at him, when she had spoken to Connor softly. She seemed to genuinely want to help the boy and she had asked Jowan later to perform the blood ritual that would save him, not wanting to risk another attack on the villagers, which he should have recognized then as an act of mercy in itself. Then he remembered how angry he had been at her decision, when Isolde, who had done nothing but reject him and treat him badly when he was a child, had died to save her son. He remembered the angry words he had said to her when they were back in camp, and how he had treated her and he felt an indescribable sadness in his heart and a sense of loss that had not been there before.
He shook his head and sighed as he stripped his armor and undergarments off, and went into the water feeling its coolness envelop him as he bathed, giving him temporary relief.
But as Alistair left the water when he was done, and dressed in his leather breeches and tunic for the night, his heart was still heavy because he knew he would not gain her trust again.
...
Lyna was the only one at the fire, eating another bowl of stew, when Alistair came back from his evening bath. His stomach growled and he decided he would have another bowl as well. He did not look at her and served himself some of the stew, sitting across from her in front of the fire, keeping his eyes on the food.
There were no words between them, yet they occasionally glanced at each other when the other wasn't looking, and their looks spoke of what went on inside them, while their mouths kept silent. Lyna found herself staring at his beautiful face, so chiseled and handsome, and her eyes trailed down his muscular chest. She could not stop the tremble in her body then, and he looked up at that moment, briefly catching her look and her trembling body.
His eyes widened with surprise. He was so readable, this shem, and for a moment she felt a smile start at the corners of her lips, but then got a grip on herself and looked down at her stew, taking another bite.
He had seen that look as well, and the beginnings of her smile and he looked at her with a puzzled expression. His eyes took in her elven beauty, lingering on the tattoo on her forehead. It looked like a tree, its branches disappearing into her hairline. His eyes then rested on her dark silky hair, which she had up in a messy pony tail at the back of her head. They then dropped down to her small but slightly upturned nose and her full pink lips, which looked so tantalizing to him, even now as they chewed and savored the food she was eating.
Briefly, he imagined her lips savoring his, and he blushed, his hand trembling as he reached for his spoon to finish his stew.
He felt her eyes on him again, and glanced up quickly, only to have her blush at this and look down at her bowl.
He did not know why he did it, but he stood up and went to sit beside her and this movement startled her. She looked up into his eyes then, and did not blush. The look she gave him then was defiant, harsh and cold.
The words came tumbling out, before he had a chance to stop them.
"I- I'm sorry to have disrupted...er...interrupted...well, you know," he finished lamely. "I truly had no idea you were there..."
She said nothing but he saw her gaze soften a little and drop.
He took heart at this and his hand suddenly went to his pocket as he briefly stroked the soft rose petals inside.
"It is fine. Zevran and I will be able to pick up where we left off, once he wakes up from his nap," she said quietly.
He stiffened for a moment and the rose suddenly seemed like a very bad idea.
"I wish...I could go back in time, and never have said those terrible things I said to you, my lady." His voice was shaking but his face was determined. "I want you to know how sorry I am. I know you will probably never forgive me, but I had to say this."
He stood up, and suddenly he was not very hungry anymore.
She looked up and her face was flushed with anger. When she spoke her voice was incredibly bitter.
"You hurt me a lot that day, more than you'll ever know."
She stood up then, and faced him, and he was surprised to see tears glistening in her eyes.
He moved towards her without thinking but stopped when she backed away.
"I hope you understand that," she finished and turned, setting her bowl on the ground next to the large pot of stew.
Before she left, she uttered words which sent his heart soaring into the sky and beyond.
"In case you don't know, and I know you don't, I have already forgiven you, Alistair."
Then she was gone.
He stood there, a glimmer of hope in his heart, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips, and suddenly the rose did not seem like such a bad idea after all.