"I guess this will do..." Marta worked her fingers under one strap of her pack as she surveyed the clearing. She'd been hoping to make more progress, but some things were beyond her control.
"But we need to get back to Redcliffe," Alistair protested. "The longer we take, the more likely the demon-"
"I know," Marta snapped, letting her pack thud to the ground as exhaustion and the change of plans made her voice far sharper than usual. "I know there's a risk for Connor, and I'm sorry. I wasn't counting on the damn rebellion at the Circle-or the assassination attempt afterwards." She sent a meaningful look toward her newest follower, and the blond elf simply shrugged.
Alistair's shoulders slumped dejectedly. "I... understand..."
Mentally scolding herself for the harshness of her words, Marta placed a consoling hand on her fellow Warden's shoulder and considerably gentled her tone. "I wanted to make more progress today as well, Alistair. I realize what Arl Eamon means to you, but it's not safe to push on through the night. We need rest. I promise, we'll start as early as possible tomorrow morning."
He nodded. "Thank you." A hard look toward Zevran. "Assuming we're still alive come morning."
The assassin raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. "I pledged my loyalty to your lovely fellow Warden, amico. I shall do nothing to jeopardize this new and fascinating friendship, no?"
Alistair snorted disbelief and unslung his pack. "See that you don't."
It didn't take long to get the camp set up, and Alistair and Leliana almost immediately commenced preparing food, bickering good-naturedly every step of the way. The result was something very similar to Alistair's beloved lamb and pea stew, just with more taste. And less proclivity to get stuck between the teeth.
Upon being waved off of clean-up duty by Wynne-something about the mage wanting to pull her own weight-Marta pulled out the small book she'd been using as a diary of sorts, written as letters to the brother she still hoped to find alive. She'd barely found the earliest blank page, however, when she was interrupted.
"I'm sorry, Marta, can we... talk for a moment? If you aren't too busy?" Alistair fumbled, seeming especially nervous.
"Of course," she nodded, patting the log next to her as an invitation to sit. He did so awkwardly, trying to block her view of whatever was in his right hand. "What did you need, Alistair?" Marta asked, fingers curling loosely around the edges of her book as she tried to give him her full attention.
The warrior took a deep breath and moved his hand into view from behind his back. "Here, d'you know what this is?"
Marta looked down and felt all the air leave her lungs at the sight of the rich red-slightly mushed-rose held carefully in sword-calloused fingers. "Is... is that a trick question?" she fumbled, trying desperately to keep her composure and fight off the surging tide of memories rising in her mind.
"Yes, absolutely," Alistair chuckled self-deprecatingly. "I'm trying to trick you. Is it working?"
Nonono, I can't do this, but he wouldn't understand..."You've been carrying that a while now, haven't you?" she asked, trying to divert the conversation from what she feared was its intended course.
"I picked it in Lothering," he confirmed. "I wondered at the time how something so beautiful could exist in the midst of such despair and ugliness." He shrugged, fixing her with a look that further validated her fears about the direction this was heading: Adoration."I prob'ly should have left it alone, but I just couldn't. The darkspawns' taint would've destroyed it. I've had it ever since."
Marta somehow found enough saliva to swallow, clutching her diary to her chest like a shield. "And... what were you planning to do with it now?"
Alistair hesitantly extended it toward her. "I thought I might... give it to you, actually."
The floodgates opened and the tears finally pricked her eyes. "I-I-" It died in a strangled sob as she wheeled, her diary tumbling to the ground as she fled into the surrounding darkness.
oooooooo
Well. He hadn't expected that. Not from their cool, collected, poised and kind leader. Marta hadn't reacted with such panicked emotion to anything since the day he met her. Reddened eyes suggested she'd cried her tears for her family, and while he knew she was anxious to find Fergus, she always gave the impression she had begun to make peace with the circumstances of her recruitment.
Alistair stared after the fleeing noblewoman, wondering what on earth he'd said to trigger that reaction. He wanted to avoid it in the future.
oooooooo
She didn't stop running until the campfire was a barely visible pinprick in the darkness around her, sitting with far less than her usual grace to lean against a tree. Her fingers dug into her hair regardless of the tremors coursing through her, shaky breaths filling her lungs as the images and doubts of That Night strangled her again.
Thomas, I don't know what to do anymore. I can't stand this uncertainty.
And with that thought, the memories won and dragged her into their embrace.
oooooooo
"How much longer do we have to keep this a secret?" she whispers, leaning her head against his shoulder, the stone bench cool even through their clothes.
Thomas shifts, links his fingers between hers. "Not too much, I hope. We're both of marriagable age, I know my father is amenable to the match, and I sincerely doubt there is a single member of either of our families that doesn't at least suspect. Your sister in law, for example, reminded me completely out of the blue yesterday that Antivan women are quite skilled with a variety of undetectable poisons."
A small smile curves her lips. "Our families knowing and doing nothing to dissuade us is not the same as our fathers announcing and approving a betrothal-and eventual marriage-between us."
Thomas let out a small, breath of laughter through his nose, raising her hand to kiss the back of it. "A very good point. You would make an excellent ambassador, my dear."
"Because I notice, and care about, nuance?" She pulls their joined hands into her lap, relishing the feeling of his arm around her.
"Among other things," he laughs quietly, and Marta pictures brown eyes she can't see dancing with amusement as he commences the list. "You are incredibly smart, poised even in the face of rudeness, calm, witty, and-if I may be so forward-very beautiful on top of all the rest."
She scoffs. "Thomas Howe, you are the only man who has ever found me beautiful, and I doubt that shall ever change."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that," he whispers against her hair.
She can't quite believe that, but it warms her that he does. "If such is true, why have I had no other suitors filling my ears with praise of my beauty?"
"I've scared them all off with whispered tales of my own skill with a variety of poisons," Thomas rejoins, a wink in his voice.
She sits bolt upright to eye him, not sure if he's serious or teasing. It's hard to tell with him, even for her. "You didn't!"
"You have me there," he concedes. "But there are rumors you have been promised. As a way of strengthening an alliance between two friends."
Two can play this game, she decides, features dropping into a soft pout. "Is that all I am to you, then?"
"Maker, no!" The vehemence of Thomas' denial surprises her. "I love you, Marta, and you know that. Such rumors are simply the most convenient way to remove competition without revealing secrets." He leans over to one of the nearby rose bushes, breaks off a single, peach-tinged bloom, and presents it to her with the best bow he can manage in a seated position. "For you. With heartfelt affection-" he kisses her cheek- "and desire."
The sound of someone calling his name reaches their ears, and he presses one final kiss to the back of her hand as he rises to depart. "I am yours, and shall remain so, my Highever rose."
oooooooooooooooo
The rustle of bushes and growing flare of a torch pulled Marta from her reverie, and as she scrubbed tears from her face she wondered how long she'd been gone.
When the shrubbery finally parted to reveal Alistair, small scratches and bug bites visible on his arms and neck, she felt a rush of awkward, sympathetic guilt.
The two of them stared at each other for a few horribly long seconds before the warrior cleared his throat. "I... You dropped your, um, book," he mumbled lamely, holding out the dirt-streaked volume until Marta took it from him. "Are you okay? I wanted to apologi- What?"
Marta continued shaking her head. "You did nothing to warrant an apology." Her free hand tapped the ground to her right until Alistair sat next to her. "In fact, I feel I owe you something of an explanation. The short version being I'm not entirely sure I'm... romantically available..."
It must have been the way she let the sentence trail off that gave Alistair the courage to ask, "And the not-so-short version?"
"I... I was in love before... before my recruitment," she began carefully, hesitantly, not entirely sure how much to tell him. "Childhood sweethearts, you might call it. With Arl Howe's youngest son."
Alistair stilled, and his face was a study in mixed emotions as he processed that. "Was... did he... know?" he finally asked.
Marta lifted her shoulders in a weary shrug. "I don't know. I don't know if he was aware of his father's plans or not, I don't know if he's still alive... But I feel bound to wait until I have compelling evidence of either his complicity or his death before moving on."
"Understandable," Alistair nodded. "And if it wasn't something I said, you freaking out and running for the woods was because...?"
"Thomas gave me a rose once. I'd been playing coy and it was a reassurance he valued me, not simply my family's title." She fell silent, plagued by doubts about even that gesture's sincerity. "I just... don't know what to think anymore," she confessed in a whisper.
Alistair didn't reply for a long moment, couldn't. He scratched at a bug bite, stared at his hands, at hers. He knew next to nothing about politics, and even less about love. What was he supposed to say?
"Well, whatever you decide about him-Thomas, I mean-" Idiot, who else would you mean? "I hope you know you can always count on me. As a friend, or brother-at-arms, or whatever you need me to be." Though I can't help hoping for more...
"My shield in the darkness?" Marta supplied glibly. "Thank you, Alistair." A single tear slid down the fresh tracks on her cheek. "That... means a lot."
He stood, glad the light was all wrong for her to see him blushing, and offered her a hand up as well. She accepted, and he hauled her to her feet, careful not to send her careening into his torch. "Marta?"
"Mm?"
"I still want you to have this." He fumbled in his pocket for a moment before extending the bedraggled rose in her direction. "No strings attached, no underhand romantic message intended, just a reminder that I have your back and consider you the one bright spot in all that's happened."
She felt a smile growing as the words poured out of him in a rush. A platonic symbol of the hope she prayed daily she'd manage to inspire... yes, she could accept it as that. Marta carefully took the flower from Alistair, noting with some surprise that all the thorns had been broken or nicked off.
"Thank you," she mumbled softly. She held it awkwardly for a moment before an idea struck and she began working the stem through her bun until the flower was neatly nestled between the coil of hair and the crown of her head.
"Lovely," Alistair smiled, gesturing dramatically back toward the campsite. "Shall we, my lady?"
"I see no reason why not, good ser," Marta returned, trying valiantly to keep a straight face.
They headed back side by side, and if their hands met and clasped between them, neither Warden felt need to mention it.
A/N: So I think this needs a bit more explanation here than it did on dA. Fun as it is to imagine Thomas Howe as a total prat, I've always thought
it would be fun to have at least one Cousland who didn't totally hate him. So, when I got my new laptop last year, I decided to do exactly that. Only, since I love my extremes, instead of just not hating Thomas, Marta would up head over heels in love with the dude. She's currently at a point where she doesn't know if he's alive or dead, or if he knew what his father was planning to do, so she's very confused and muddled, and the fact Alistair is very much Her Type ISN'T HELPING. They're very good friends by this point, so she doesn't want to hurt his feelings, but she's not entirely sure she's 'on the market' so to speak and doesn't want to lead him on either. Hers was a very... interesting playthrough.