Bioware owns all. Dragon Age is awesome. Thanks Bioware for allowing me to play in your world…
The Antivan Crow watched as Marielle, the Grey Warden, flitted around the campsite dispersing favors to her companions. Flitted…yes, that was an appropriate word, he mused watching the young woman's slender form clad in heavy plate armor, wind its way through the camp from person to person, her eyes aglow as she delivered the perfect token of her appreciation for all their efforts. A mirror for Morrigan, flowers for Leliana, a small statue for Alistair… and all with no thoughts of anything in return except maybe friendship. He'd never met anyone who did anything for someone else without wanting something in return, but of course his chosen profession perhaps precluded meeting such a person… until now.
Around the campfire her eagerness to learn about each person, a genuine willingness to listen, almost compelled her traveling companions to open up, to tell her things… about themselves, their lives, their hopes and dreams. He'd even succumbed to her, telling her things about his, things probably better left unsaid. She'd wanted to know more about his home, more about Antiva and the Crows… Without really knowing why he'd told her about his childhood, about being an orphan and growing up in a whorehouse. He'd told her about being sold to the Crows when he was seven. Somewhere in the conversation he'd mentioned Antivan Leather boots, how he'd been tempted to buy a pair before his last mission, the mission where he'd tried to assassinate her. She hadn't pointed that out, of course. That was not her way. She was much too… nice… it seemed, never trying to offend anyone, but always getting her way, it seemed. It seemed that she was also too trusting by far since she'd accepted his pledge to her without reservation. He just hoped that unflinching trust wouldn't get her killed…
Tonight, after the evening meal, she'd come flitting over to him, how did someone flit in plate armor anyway? Her eyes were twinkling, a mischievous smile on her plump lips…ah, those lips…too tempting by far… At any rate, she'd settled down on the log beside him. He could feel the cold of the steel through his leathers, she sat so close. He continued cleaning and sharpening his blade, deciding to be perverse and ignore her. She was much too enticing, and he didn't want to admit for even a second that he was beginning to…care for her. He might be intrigued, but then what man, or woman for that matter, would not be? She was beautiful, sexy, strong, dangerous…a heady combination to be sure. But, he would not think of anyone 'that way' ever again. He lived his life according to the Crow ways. No attachments, nothing personal, no feelings. Just the present and whatever pleasures you could take… But with her? No, he would not let himself go there. He would never put himself in that place again, he swore.
When he'd continued ignoring her, she pulled something wrapped in cloth from behind her back and dropped it into his lap, on top of his blade and hands. She'd already given him several small gold and silver bars…knew he liked the finer things in life, that wealth was something he aspired to. But this? Too large and lumpy to be more gold or silver. He wondered just what she'd found that could be 'perfect' for him.
Finally his curiosity got the better of him and he pulled the cloth back to look inside. Boots? She'd given him boots? He was about to give her the "What the hell?" look when the smell reached his nose.
Antivan leather. Antivan leather boots. He closed his eyes and inhaled. Something inside him
quickened, and he realized his heart was pounding in his chest, the thumping a drumbeat in his ears. Somehow, she'd found these boots and thought of him. Thought of him... A faint smile played on his lips… She thought of him…
"Well, go on. Try them on!" she'd urged, laughing at the bemused expression on his face. Bending down to grab his foot, she tried to wrest the boot currently on it, off, ultimately landing on her fanny in front of him because too much bending and plate armor weren't a good combination. Looking up at him, grinning like an idiot, he didn't think she'd ever looked more beautiful. Maker, he couldn't do this again, would not let anyone that close again, ever… He resorted to the only defense he knew, glib remarks and cocky comments, and of course innuendo. In the end he'd managed a huge smile and thanked her and then said something about just needing an Antivan whore, some fish chowder, and a corrupt politician to feel like he was home. She'd kept smiling and told him he was welcome, but all the time the glow in her eyes dimmed, the twinkle faded and her steps were heavier when she made her way to her tent.
It was a few minutes later that she stuck her head out the tent flap and looked around, a pensive expression on her face. Across the camp, Morrigan and Leliana were cleaning up from the evening meal. Wynne was resting in her tent, the day's activities having been taxing on the older woman. Alistair and Sten had ventured into the surrounding woods and were gathering fire wood. Shale, as usual, was standing near the supply wagons talking to Bodahn and Sandal. Seeing no one else close by, she gave him a pained smile and pulled back inside her tent. A little while later he was passing her tent on the way back from his own when he heard muffled sobs and a low, pained moan. Not giving himself time to question his actions, he went over, bent down and poked his head inside the tent. "Mari?" he asked, his eyes adjusting to the dark interior. Maker, where had all that blood come from?