&---
He is as oblivious as he is adorable, she notices, because she's just asked him to do the impossible and he left without protest. Protest, sure, in his mind perhaps, perhaps calling her off to the imaginary wardogs in his head. But no, he had jogged right out as soon as the words barely left traces on his mind. He scurries along impishly to the far side of camp, the place where Zevran likes to call 'the black hole' because nobody ever goes in. And nobody ever comes out.
He feels important because he uses his deep, dark voice for it and he thinks he can scare Leliana with it. He's successful most of the time, which pathetically inflates his ego like a balloon.
She rolls her eyes as he repeats the remark again, gravely, possibly watching Alistair's ass sway with each hesitant stride. There are raised eyebrows— remarkably one from Sten for the love of the Maker— as Alistair's nervous voice echoes against Morrigan's cloth and into the next campsite over. She puts down a book, (Wynne tries to glance but fails miserably) a child or something equally devilish and she looks over Alistair's shoulder and towards them.
They focus to their stew brewing, their hands, or their awful leather shoes, turning quickly at her glare. Sten looks fondly at the dirt, feeling stupid for looking long enough to meet her eyes. Zevran's voice can be heard as he repeats his line, and all focus back on the pair.
"I, well, I," Alistair booms eloquently and she tosses her book to the side. He clears his throat for possibly the third time that minute and continues in a shaky voice, "Hello, Morrigan."
The words leave his lips peculiarly, and he licks his lips curiously at the taste of it. No, he decides after one taste, he does not like being nice to Morrigan. She snarls, repeating her last action of looking over his shoulder. She does it with much more vigor, pushing Alistair away with her left hand.
An elven mage smiles, waving sheepishly and a dog barks.
Morrigan is going to kill them, the words echo lovingly in their minds.
"Hello Alistair," she snaps, reaching for her book again.
There is silence, and even Alistair knows he will be dead by tomorrow morning, with Morrigan going through his unmentionables and taking the love letters he wrote to a certain mage but never had the audacity to present them to her.
"I uh, well I have— well I kind of made it! It's stew, you see!" he says, scared and frightened.
Zevran leans back on his log, dipping his eyes back to the giggling elf. "Remember that if he looks behind him, he loses the bet."
"He won't forget. This is three sovereigns we're talking about. And for just talking to Morrigan?" she sighs, sitting down on her makeshift bed.
Alistair clears his throat, and everyone at the campsite groans, almost to the point of harmonizing.
"It's a stew." he repeats.
"I very well see that, Alistair. It goes into your mouth sometimes," she remarks, and she makes the motion with her free hand. She chews obnoxiously, mimicking him.
"I made it for you, you see!" His voice is high-pitched and forced. "Please take it…"
Morrigan ducks around him to turn to the campsite one last time, a look of despair and possibly fear in her facial features.
"Okay, Alistair, how thoughtful of you, why! Thank you!" she laughs, enthusiastically and not at all sarcastically. Almost immediately she lifts the wooden spoon lying in the bowl and shoving it quickly in her mouth. Her face squirms, and she looks as if she's saw the Archdemon herself. Somebody in the next camp over gags.
It doesn't matter to him. Alistair jumps, almost spilling the stew on himself as he raises his fist in triumph. He turns to the camp as if they missed seeing his front side, a smile glowing on his face. He runs to the small mage, declaring his words serious with each thrust of his index finger.
"You. owe. me. sovereigns."
She bursts into full fledged laughter, and Zevran appears to pat him on the shoulder regretfully.
"We bet Morrigan five sovereigns if she'd eat your crappy stew. Sorry, friend," he chuckles, running over to her side, pumping his fist in the air towards Sandal and screaming 'enchantment!' Zevran smiles at the small but lingering 'enchantment!' he gets as a reply, and pulls out a small bag of coins for Morrigan.
Alistair slouches down and collapses on the floor. Wynne asks him if he's alright and he shuffles, spitting out dirt from his mouth.
"I was cheated!" he sighs, letting go of his body again.
Zevran runs back and kicks him in his armored leg. He stands him upright and cheers him up by telling him the story of 'the black hole'. Leliana ponders his story, while Alistair cuts him straight in the jaw.
"Three sovereigns if Alistair can beat up Zevran," Wynne says, rather hushed, to the campsite.
Everyone turns to Alistair and Zevran, each jingling their purses almost harmoniously.
---&
Because with a darkspawn horde approaching, there is nothing better to do than place bets on your friends.
I'm so in love with DA:O it's not funny anymore.