Snowfall

It was too cold to get up yet. Alistair wriggled his toes under the heavy winter blanket that was tucked up under his chin and rolled over, keeping the blanket pulled tightly around him. He could see the faint plume of his breath, even inside his tent, as he lifted his head slightly to listen. There were no voices, no clanking of armor, and he settled his head back down with a contented sigh. Unable to go back to sleep, he let his mind wander over the events of the past few months, settling, as he always seemed to these days, on Neria.

She'd been nothing like he'd expected from a mage. All the ones he'd dealt with had been all grumpy and stuck up, but she was… well, nice. Right from the start, she'd smiled at him, warm and gentle, and he'd felt like his insides had turned to butter. And then, after… what had happened at Ostagar, she'd kept him moving, helped him cope, always made him feel included. She actually asked him for advice. Him! Alistair buried himself a little further beneath the blankets. Last night, as they had sat next to the fire with their hands wrapped around their mugs of tea for warmth, she had leaned against him in a way that had made his heart go tight in his chest, the realization of what he was really feeling slamming into his stomach like an ogre.

He loved her.

It was so simple and yet… he didn't know what to do about it. Did she feel the same way? How was he supposed to find out? Sure, she always smiled at him, gave him little trinkets they picked up on their travels, but… she did that for everyone. Even Morrigan. Her hand had rested lightly on his knee last night, her touch burning his skin through the thick material of his trousers, but that was just an innocent gesture… or was it? Thinking about her was making him grow warm—very warm, in certain places—and he rolled over on to his back. He should really get up. Flipping back the covers with a sigh, he paused.

Someone was laughing.

It was Neria.

Maker, how he loved her laugh. So rich and warm, like the hot chocolate Teagan had given him once when he was a boy. Sticking his head out of his tent, he saw her, a vision in the pale watery light of the dawn. It was snowing, tiny flakes dancing down from the sky, just beginning to collect into tiny dunes on the grass. She was standing with her face upturned, her arms stretched up towards the sky; snowflakes dotted the waves of her dark hair and the deep velvet green of her robes. She broke into the biggest smile he'd ever seen as she noticed him.

"Alistair! Look! It's snowing!" Her voice nearly rippled with delight.

He pulled back the front flap of his tent and stepped out, wincing a little as the cold dampness seeped through his socks. But, the sight of her pulled him forward. Boots? Who needed boots when this glorious creature was beckoning him forward?

She was looking up at the sky once more, her cheeks teased into a blush of pink from the cold. "Isn't it beautiful? I never imagined it would feel so soft."

"Very beautiful." He wasn't talking about the snow, but she didn't need to know that. He stood next to her, staring up, too, shifting lightly from foot to foot.

Neria held up a hand and caught a few snowflakes on her palm, watching intently as they melted away into tiny droplets. "Look at them! Isn't it amazing!"

You're amazing.

"It is pretty neat, when you think about it." He had to admit, he'd never really thought about it. It was almost too hard to comprehend that she'd never seen snow before; real snow, not through a window, but stuff that you could touch and taste and feel. He shivered, as the wind ghosted though his linen night shirt and trousers.

She turned to him. "You must be freezing! Silly thing, why didn't you get properly dressed before you came out here?"

Because you wanted me. He felt himself flush.

"Let me help." Neria was facing him, standing so close that he could see each crystal of snow that stuck to her eyelashes. He could feel her magic trickling out as she reached up to touch his shoulders, warmth radiating from her fingers. She slid her fingertips slowly down the lengths of his arms, and he shivered again… not from the cold this time. "Still cold?" she whispered.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, as her hands crept across his collar bone and then in an achingly slow path down his chest. Warmth blossomed through him that could have been from her magic, or just her touch, he couldn't tell. Oh, Maker… he was lost in her eyes and nothing had ever felt this right.

"Still cold?" Everything had gone so very still. There was nothing around them but the blanket of snow drifting down.

"Yes. Very cold," he managed to whisper, proud of himself for not garbling the words.

Her fingertips trailed over his cheeks and down his jaw and then she was pulling him down—or, was he falling?—towards her mouth. The gentle touch of her lips woke something inside of him that roared to life as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Her body was scorching and she pressed up against him hungrily as their kiss spiraled into something deeper, full of want and need. Her tongue swept into his mouth and he couldn't help the groan that escaped him. He didn't know how long it lasted, but he had to bite back a whimper when it ended.

She looked up at him, a fingertip sliding over his lips. "Still cold?" She was breathless, each tiny gasp a wisp of fog in the air.

"Yes?" As if he was going to say 'no.'

She laughed—Maker, how he loved that laugh—and kissed him again until he thought his heart would burst. "Silly thing."

A/N: Look! No angst at all! Just sweet and fluffy. I promise there will be a new chapter of Scars That Bind next Thursday. :)