I just finished Awakenings and though I adore Anders (expect Anders fanfics in the future haha) I decided that I should first write a story about my first Dragon Age crush: Alistair. In this story he's paired with Eleks, my elven mage with an affinity for tattoos and a burning hatred for darkspawn.

Possible spoilers for Dragon Age: Origins.

The Grey Wardens were supposed to be heroes, Alistair couldn't help but think as he sat on the log around the campfire. In his lap was a wooden bowl full of… something. Wynne had said it was some kind of tuber or root or something. Right now, anyway, it didn't look very appetizing, looking more laundry water and mashed potatoes mixed together and less like dinner. Warily, the ex-templar glanced up from his seat to see how everyone else was reacting to the new… dish.

Zevran and Leliana were talking quite animatedly, which drew his attention. They were making wild hand gestures… with their bowls still in their hands. Alistair almost laughed when he realized that every time they made a gesture, a little bit of the meal would slip from their bowls. Clever.

Morrigan was too far away for him to know if she was trying to eat the soup (stew?) or not. Probably not. Did demons even eat? Maybe she had sacrificed a small goat and was drinking its blood, instead.

Oghren, as usual, was attached to his bottle like he was born with it there.

Sten was eating it, though he didn't look happy about it. Well, wait, no. Sten didn't ever look happy, so Alistair guessed this was as cheerful as the qunari would ever get. How he was choking down the mashed tuber/root/dishwater, he wasn't quite sure. Maybe it had to do with his war training.

Wynne was, obviously, eating her own soup. She looked happy about it, though she was pretty old and Alistair couldn't help but think maybe her taste buds were going out of commission.

And the Warden…

Huh.

Eleks was asleep. The elf was on a log adjacent to Alistair, but she was soundly asleep as she sat. Her left hand was in her lap, relaxingly cupping the bowl that was cradled in the folds of her mage robe. Her head was in her right palm, which was in turn supported by her elbow being propped against her knee. How bizarre that she could sleep so soundly.

Alistair was about to wake her, when he stopped. She looked… she looked so tired. Not just the usual lack of sleep tired, but aged tired. Had she always had those little crows feet around her eyes? He wasn't sure. He felt bad for not noticing how ragged they were all running her… it had to be a lot of pressure to put onto one person's shoulder.

He took a moment to contemplate how much responsibility she had to be undertaking as he slowly forced the tuber stew down his throat. (It honestly wasn't that bad tasting, mostly just bland, textured plants mixed with water.) Eleks had only been a Grey Warden for a day when all of this was pressed upon her… because he hadn't wanted the responsibility or the leadership, she had been forced to carry them.

And now she looked sad and tired and like she was being forced to put on a mask of hope and determination when Maker knew how she really felt on the inside. As Alistair quietly stood from his spot on the log and moved her bowl from her lap to the ground, he made a mental note to have a good talk with her some day soon.

As he hooked one arm underneath her legs and used the other to support her back, he also made a mental note to ask her about her tattoos. A brightly colored blue tattoo wrapped around the wrist that dangled down towards the ground as he carried her towards her tent. With her mage robe hiked up slightly, he could see a purple swirled design trailing up her ankle to her calf. Alistair wondered if they had any significance… they probably did.

He also wondered if he imagined how amazing her hair smelled. He caught a small whiff of it as he gently laid her down on her bedroll inside her khaki tent… it smelled sweet, at first, like lilacs. But as he pulled himself out of her tent, it changed to a spiced apple smell.

Alistair didn't get long to contemplate the change of scents, however, as soon Zevran was smirking over at him from his spot with Leliana. "What?" Alistair demanded, aware of how his cheeks and ears were starting to warm.

"Nothing," Zevran said with a short laugh. "I cannot help but notice that you were in there for an awfully short amount of time. Do not get me wrong, I am not trying to offend you. But I believe you are doing something wrong if you retreat from her tent in two minutes."

Leliana gave a short giggle, before pressing her mouth over her hand. "Oh, Alistair, please do not get offended. Zev was only joking, of course!" she called softly as he stomped off to his own tent. Away from Leliana, away from Zevran, away from lewd remarks.

And away from the scent of spiced apples.