Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age: Origins or any characters therein.
A/N: Written an age ago as a birthday present for my fiancee, Uncake, and posted with her permission.
A/N2: Warden and Alistair friendship, Male Surana/Zevran in background.
Malcai sat on the very edge of camp, staring darkly at the little outcrop of sparse shrubs at the bottom of the hill and carefully freezing them one by one. It was good to have sufficient arcane power at his fingertips to make the local vegetation quake in terror.
He didn't look round when he heard the footsteps. Metal armour and bouncy. Alistair. Well, that or he was about to be clobbered by one of Loghain's men who really enjoyed his work. Or someone had gotten Sten drunk.
His musings were cut off when Alistair dropped down beside him, sprawling on the grass with a remarkable lack of dignity for a man who might well be next in line for the throne. "What you doing?" Alistair asked him brightly.
Malcai considered the question carefully and froze another bush. "Improving my aim."
"Oh," Alistair nodded gravely. "As a man with frostbite I thank you from the bottom of my toes."
He smiled a little in spite of himself. "You're not going to let me forget that anytime soon, are you?"
"You froze me," Alistair answered indignantly. "Do you think I'm going to forget it? Do you have any idea what it's like to be happily swinging your sword at a darkspawn only to suddenly find both you and it are frozen solid, staring stupidly at each other like you're trying to blink each other to death? And it was cold!"
"I was aiming for the ogre," Malcai told him. "Be thankful my next spell shattered him and not you."
"Do I look like an ogre to you?" Alistair demanded. "No, wait, don't answer that. I don't want to know."
"You don't have frostbite anyway," Malcai pointed out. "Wynne fixed you right up, good as new. Don't be such a baby, Alistair."
"Oh, that's right, Wynne fixed me up," Alistair nodded. "When we finally got back to her, that is, Mr I-can-destroy-blast-burn-or-freeze-anything-you-put-in-front-of-me-but-don't-ask-me-to-actually-fix-anything-that-I've-hurt-because-I-never-actually-bothered-learning-any-healing-magic-so-I'll-just-stand-here-looking-cute."
"You quite finished?" Malcai asked dryly.
"For the moment," Alistair agreed. "I reserve the right to come back to it anytime I feel like."
"Noted," Malcai nodded, casually destroying another bush.
For a moment there was silence and Malcai waited patiently for the inevitable question.
"So what are you actually doing?" Alistair began at last. "Or, rather, why are you doing it? Normally, by this time in the evening, you and Zevran have retired to your tent to, ah, well..." Alistair trailed off abruptly in a slight tangle of confusion.
Malcai looked round. Sure enough, the templar was blushing. "I told Zev I needed some time alone."
"Oh," Alistair said wisely. "That would explain the kicked puppy look then. And why he's desperately trying to flirt with Sten."
Malcai blinked. "Sten?" he asked, trying to figure out if the unsettled feeling was down to jealousy or just disbelief.
"I'm not sure that Sten's certain what to make of him," Alistair pondered. "But I think he's thinking maybe an ornamental hatstand and a nice pair of elf-skin curtains."
Barely paying attention, Malcai twisted savagely at the grass beneath his hand. "He's free to flirt with whoever he likes."
Alistair raised his eyebrows. "Sten? I'm sure he'll be delighted to hear you say so."
"Zevran," Malcai said woodenly.
"Of course he is," Alistair agreed amiably. "Actually, no, wait, he isn't. He's supposed to be your – our – prisoner. Sort of. Kind of. Or have you forgotten that?"
Malcai sighed. "Don't you think he's done enough to earn his freedom?"
"Do you?" Alistair waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"I wasn't thinking of that," Malcai objected. He paused. "Actually, I was thinking of this afternoon when he got that highwayman in the back just in time to stop him cutting your head off."
"I would have thought of something," Alistair protested.
"You were flat on your back and practically unconscious," Malcai said mildly and he could still see the scene in his head. He'd had no spells ready and there'd been a half dozen men between him and Alistair, and he hadn't even seen Zev. He'd been sure he was about to watch his friend die.
"Yeah," Alistair said quietly. "Okay. I guess your sweetheart can be useful."
"He's not my sweetheart," Malcai said automatically.
"Your what then," Alistair pressed, looking serious for a moment. "Your prisoner? Your paramour? Your concubine?"
"Such long words," Malcai said lightly. "Is your head hurting?"
Alistair crossed his arms. "I just think that you need to be careful, that's all. In case you haven't noticed, we're in the middle of a Blight and a civil war and people are trying to kill us every day. I'm not sure it's the right time to be pursuing a romance with an assassin."
"Alistair, out of all the people in this camp, I'm not sure that you're the one best qualified to give relationship advice," Malcai said firmly.
Alistair grinned. "Oh? You'd rather be having this conversation with Sten?"
Malcai's lips twitched. "No," he conceded.
"Leiliana, then?" Alistair suggested. "I believe she's already picked out a pair of shoes for you and Zevran's wedding.
He could believe that. "Maker, no," he groaned.
"Or," Alistair added, lowering his voice and leaning in dramatically. "Morrigan."
The two Grey Wardens stared at each other for a moment, and then collapsed into helpless laughter. Absently, Malcai reflected that he thought that the order had probably become several thousand times less dignified since...since Ostagar. It was a thought he resolved never to share with Alistair.
"It's good to hear you laugh again, Mal," Alistair remarked, sitting up straighter. "It's been a while."
"Has it?" Malcai asked mildly. He then thought for a moment. "Has it?" he asked again, curiously this time.
"Yes," Alistair nodded. "I suppose you could say that there's not been much to laugh about in the last while. Except that's been true since the day we met and we've always found something. And then, tonight, you hardly said a word at dinner. Hardly ate a bite. And it wasn't even my turn to cook. And then, when you came over here and started eradicating the local plantlife...Mutt was worried."
"Mutt was worried," Malcai asked, eyebrows raised.
"Right," Alistair agreed. "He looked up at me with those big, puppy-dog eyes of his. So we chatted about if for a bit and we agreed that one of us should go talk to you."
"And he decided it wasn't a job for intelligence," Malcai noted.
Alistair mock-scowled. "You wound me, ser." He sat up and looked straight at Malcai. "So. My turn to ask the sensitive-yet-probing questions. Your current mood has nothing to do with the fact that you're romancing a man who was paid to kill us all." It was a statement, not a question.
"No," Malcai agreed.
"Funny, that would bother me," Alistair muttered.
"I'll be sure to let Zev know he can forget any kind of happily-ever-after for the two of you," Malcai told him with a slight smile.
Alistair leaned in close and spoke in a low voice. "It's the tower, isn't it?"
Malcai didn't say anything.
"You said that place had been your home for years," Alistair said quietly. "Seeing it overrun like that...So many people dead. It must have been difficult."
"Like seeing Redcliffe overrun with zombies, I imagine," Malcai said, meeting Alistair's eyes.
Alistair took a sharp breath. "Yes. That was … painful." He sighed despondently, leaned back and looked up at the stars. "Do you ever think that we're fighting a losing battle here? That we're fooling ourselves into thinking that we can stop the Blight? I mean, this isn't exactly the group I'd have picked to save the world. Take me. Me, out of all the Grey Wardens, for Maker's sake. Sten's a murderer. Wynne looks like everyone's grandmother. Zevran's pretty much useless in any situation that doesn't involve sex or death. Leiliana's an ant short of a picnic. Morrigan's an Apostate."
Malcai leaned over and hit Alistair lightly across the back of the head.
"Ow!" Alistair complained, rubbing the back of his head lightly.
"We can't think that way, Alistair. If we don't believe we can do this then we might as well lie down and wait for the Archdemon to eat us." Malcai frowned, momentarily diverted. "What do Archdemons eat, anyway?" he wondered aloud, and Alistair shrugged blankly. "Anyway, we can do this. We have to do this. We've come this far, and we're not going to give up. Not ever. You understand?" he asked Alistair fiercely. "And you underestimate them," he added, glancing back to camp. "You underestimate all of us." He licked his lips. "You underestimate yourself. There's no one I'd rather have at my side, Alistair. You should know that."
Alistair was smiling. "That's why we need you, Malcai," he said sincerely. "You're the only one who can lead this group." The smile vanished. "And that's why we can't afford to have you in this mood. I'm sorry. Without you, things fall apart. You're the leader. You don't get to have bad days."
"You're smarter than you look," Malcai remarked after a pause.
"Thank you," Alistair said smugly.
"Gonna call Morrigan an Apostate to her face?"
"Noooo," Alistair said, shaking his head frantically. "Don't annoy the people who can turn you into a frog, that's my motto."
"And yet you have no problem annoying me," Malcai noted.
"You wouldn't turn me into a frog," Alistair said, with remarkable confidence.
"Mmm. Keep telling yourself that," Malcai smiled, and Alistair looked worried. After a moment, he leaned back on the grass and stared absently at the sky. "It wasn't the tower," he told Alistair presently. "Not just the tower. I mean, you're right, obviously, that was...painful, but..." he sighed. "It's Jowan," he admitted finally
"The blood mage?" Alistair checked. "In Redcliffe?"
"Yes," Malcai said simply. He hesitated. "What do you...do you think they'll execute him?"
"Of course, you knew him," Alistair said, in sudden realisation. "From the tower. You were friends?"
"Yes..." Malcai sighed. "You were a templar, Alistair. How much do you know about relationships in the circle?"
Alistair frowned. "Not that much. I mean, rumour has it that all mages are rather...oh!" He stared, in sudden realisation. "You and Jowan?"
"Yes," Malcai agreed tiredly.
"You...and...Jowan," Alistair said again, sounding incredulous.
"Yes," Malcai agreed.
"You and Jowan were..." Alistair hesitated, obviously searching for the words.
"Licking each other's lampposts?" Malcai suggested sardonically.
Alistair choked. "Not quite what I was...Ah! AH! Mental picture! Mental picture!"
Malcai grinned and then grew serious. "We were...close. We were friends. He was the first person I ever met after they took me to the tower. Newly dragged from a life of begging in the alienage and absolutely terrified. And Jowan was...Jowan was nice. He showed me round the tower. He never cared I was an elf. Later, I helped him study and he protected me from some of the other apprentices who did care. Until I learned enough to defend myself that is." He smiled briefly. "After that, they left me alone. Then, when we were older..." He sighed. "He was the first...he was my first." He caught sight of the look on Alistair's face. "Oh, we were never lovers like you're thinking. We were never in love. You know that apprentices are forbidden from leaving the tower, right?"
Alistair nodded silently.
"Well, there's not much to do except study and screw. And neither of us were ever especially studious. We would relax together at the end of a day. Talk about what it would be like when we were both full mages."
"And then he turned to blood magic," Alistair said darkly.
Malcai shrugged. "And then he fell in love. And he wanted to keep everything in him that was capable of love. He was terrified of being made tranquil." And this was the part where he was afraid of losing Alistair. "I can't say for certain I wouldn't have done the same thing."
Alistair stared at him and he could see the thoughts whirling. "I … I think I can understand that," Alistair said at last.
"Really?" Malcai asked hopefully.
"Yes," Alistair said with more confidence. "I've seen the tranquil. I...for some inexplicable reason that will probably baffle historians for centuries to come, I've grown rather attached to you over the past few weeks. I wouldn't want that for you. And I think I'd kill anyone who tried it."
Malcai smiled his acknowledgement. "I look at Jowan and I think, that could have been me. And I remember everything he was and everything we had...and it hurts."
"But it wasn't you," Alistair said quietly. "You're here. And you're going to kill the archdemon, stop the Blight and save the world."
"Yeah..." Malcai bit his lip. "You think it's too late to change my mind about the whole tranquil thing?"
Alistair laughed. "You don't get out of it that easy. Here," He produced a bottle of wine from absolutely nowhere and took a swig. "Let's drink to our glorious defeat or our ignoble victory."
Malcai grinned, took the bottle and raised it in toast. "Tomorrow we fight on a hangover!"