Disclaimer: Dragon Age: Origins, its characters, names and locations are all property of Bioware and EA Games. This is only a fanfic.
Right, so I needed to write something different, and since I'm currently playing this rather delightful RPG, I figured that I'd write about a situation I wish existed in the game (as well as a romance option). WARNING: THIS CONTAINS SLASH! If you don't like it, don't read it. Oh, and I suppose there's a bit of OOCness in there as well, though I did my best in keeping the characters in line with their in-game personalities.
A Return
Night had fallen upon Ferelden, and the cool air was filled with the buzz of insects and the growls of nocturnal creatures as they foraged or hunted for food. The night was cool, fall setting in after a long and warm summer, the frost setting in just in time for another Blight to fall upon the land. All was quiet, save for the pounding footsteps of one brown-haired Grey Warden as he trudged through a thicket of trees, cursing to himself.
Alistair was angry. His steps were long and quick, not even caring that he was basically stepping through mire and that filthy, mucky water was pouring into his boots by the gallons. Yes, Alistair was angry, but not one would usually expect when it came to this particular Warden. He could have been angry with Morrigan after she had insulted his intelligence for what must have been the thousandth time by now, or he could have been angry with the assassin—Zev, as he liked to be called—for regaling everyone, whether they wanted to or not, with stories of his successful missions. No, Alistair was angry at himself. For what he had done, for what he had said.
"Why did I do that? Why?" he kept asking himself as he avoided stepping into a bog that surely could have been the end of his life right there and then, not even acknowledging it by looking at it. "Why did I say that?" he said out loud.
He had lost control. That was it. The anger, the outrage had built up ever since they left Redcliffe on their way to the Circle of Magi, and had overwhelmed him as they had made camp for the night. He had meant it to be civil conversation, starting off with a simple request to speak with his fellow Warden about what had happened at the castle that had once been his home. But when the elf had simply said that Alistair had been there too and continued piling wood on the fire, like nothing really significant had happened, Alistair had lost it, yelling at the young Warden for even considering that Blood Magic could be an option to solve the problem with the demon that was possessing Connor.
And Alistair didn't understand why he had done so. Micha had eventually come to the conclusion that Blood Magic wasn't worth it and that a visit to the Circle was a better option, which was what Alistair truly wanted. But that was it, wasn't it? Micha had considered the forbidden magic, had even contemplated killing Connor to stop the nightmare that had befallen the castle at Redcliffe. He knew this meant a lot to Alistair, but he still did it…
But still…it didn't justify the outburst or the tongue lashing Alistair had given him. The look of hurt, confusion and—if Alistair had seen it correctly—fear on the elf's face had banished the anger in him immediately, but the damage was already done. With the entire camp staring at them—Morrigan, Sten, Zevran, Leliana, the two dwarves who had happened upon their camp—Alistair had panicked and run off into the forest. No one had come after him. Why would they? They had all just seen their leader insulted and cursed at by one of their own for no apparent reason. For all they knew, Alistair had just gone rogue.
"Damn it," Alistair said, cursing once again under his breath as he came to a stop by the edge of a small lake—more like a pond—and crouched down. He was thirsty, and the water looked okay, unlike the dirty water he had passed on his way through the marsh. It tasted of rot, and he spat it out again quickly. "Damn it!" he shouted, punching the ground beneath him.
"There you are," a familiar voice suddenly said from behind him. Alistair whirled around, hand at his sword's hilt in case of an ambush. He relaxed slightly when he saw that it was Morrigan who had snuck up on him, though remained alert. "I was wondering, and perhaps even hoping, that you had tripped over your own clumsy feet and drowned in a bog. Pity."
"What do you want, Morrigan?" Alistair asked, not in the mood to argue with the witch—for that was what she was, no matter what anyone said—or to have his intelligence insulted again, though he knew he deserved it.
"Is it not obvious?" Morrigan asked, her face completely neutral, her eyes staring into his. "I am here to bring you back the camp so you can explain yourself."
"I don't have to explain myself to you," Alistair said, his voice positively poisonous at the last word.
"I could not care less about you," Morrigan said, looking down her nose at him. "But he does, and he wants you to come back."
"What?" Alistair asked. "He's not angry?"
"No, and for some unfathomable reason, he wishes to apologise to you, though it clearly should be the other way around," Morrigan said.
"I don't understand," Alistair said, feeling confused. "Why would he want—"
"Honestly, I do not know, nor do I particularly care," Morrigan said, brandishing her staff. "All I know is that our leader commanded it, and I shall follow. Will you come willingly, or shall I have to use force? Please say force. Nothing would satisfy me more than changing into a bear and knocking your tiny brains in."
Alistair sighed, looking at the ground. "I guess I've no choice…"
"Oh, you most definitely have a choice" Morrigan said, her fingers curling slightly to appear like claws.
"Fine, I'll come back," Alistair said hurriedly. He had just spotted something he had never seen before in the eyes of the young witch. Anger. Annoyance and irritation, sure, but never full-blown anger. "Just…don't hurt me," he added, unsure how Morrigan would act at the moment.
"I shan't make any promises," Morrigan said, stepping aside to allow Alistair to pass. "Back to the camp, then."
"Right," Alistair said, dread filling his very being. After a few minutes of brisk and silent walking, he realised something. He looked at Morrigan, who was following a step or two behind him. "Er…"
"What is it now?" she asked with a huff. Morrigan never huffed.
"Do you know the way back?" Alistair asked, trying to do his usual embarrassed grin, failing miserably. "I've gotten…kinda turned around."
Morrigan glared at him for a few seconds before sighing and taking the lead. "Sometimes I wonder what the other Wardens ever saw in you…"
Alistair had stomped farther through the woods than he thought. What had felt like a ten-minute, brisk walk turned out to actually be over half an hour's worth. At least Morrigan knew the way, which was both a relief and worrying. Why had she followed him? Sure, Micha could have told her to go after him, but Morrigan never really followed the other Warden's directions and orders unless she too saw the wisdom in it—which wasn't all too often. Obviously, from the anger radiating from her right now, Alistair was pretty sure she had not seen any wisdom in this.
Did she pity their leader? Did she want him to square things up with Alistair? No, that couldn't be it. But why else would she go to this length to bring them together again? Unless…no, not that. He wanted to groan.
"Morrigan," he said suddenly, surprising himself. "Please stop."
"What is it now?" she asked, turning around to face him. "Have you any more stupid comments to make?"
"Why are you doing this?" Alistair asked. "Why did you come after me?"
"I already told you," she answered. "Micha—"
"Asked you, yeah, I got that part, stupid as I may be," Alistair said. "But why? You've never really done him favours before, have you? Or treated him as anything but a nuisance in general…"
"True enough. So what?"
"It's just…I can't think of any other reason for you to come after me on his behalf like this."
"That reason being…?"
"Is there a thing between you two? I mean, there's been talk among the others, and you two do seem to get rather close whenever we make camp." He scratched his neck, wondering if he was overstepping a line here. The fact that he wasn't just some smudge on the rocks yet was a good sign, he supposed, but still… He dared to look at her. Morrigan's face had not changed from the neutral mask.
"A thing?" she asked eventually. "Please elaborate."
"You know…" Alistair said, already feeling his face heating up as he began to blush. He had never been good at discussing these things. "A thing."
"If you are asking whether or not there is something happening between the Warden and I romantically, then I must disappoint you and say no. The Warden and I are merely conversing on the nature of magic and the ability to shapechange. Childish and stupid as he may seem at times, he is quite interested in learning about it, which is more than I can say for certain other Grey Wardens." She pivoted around, her back facing Alistair. "If that is all, then shall we continue on our way?"
"Yeah, sure," Alistair said, falling into step behind her. For some reason, he was feeling strangely elated. He supposed he was relieved that nothing was happening between this witch and the only other Warden remaining in Ferelden and that she wasn't corrupting him. But there was something gnawing at the back of his mind, as if he didn't truly believe even his own thoughts.
"You made him cry, you know," Morrigan suddenly said as they passed underneath a broken tree trunk, their steps making the colourful, dead leaves of autumn crunch beneath their boots. The comment had come out of nowhere.
"What?" Alistair asked, surprised.
"You heard me," Morrigan said. "Your irrational and—quite frankly—childish fit touched him somewhere deep inside. I've no idea why, so do not ask. The others did not see him as he went slightly away from the camp, but I did."
"I didn't mean to—"Alistair began, but was interrupted by the witch turning around to face him again.
"What you meant does not matter," she said, that same, chilling fury still in her eyes. "The fact remains that you hurt him far more than any sword, arrow or spell could ever do. I expect you to do something about this. Do you understand?"
Alistair felt a pang in his chest. He hadn't meant for Micha to get hurt, not at all. He just needed to vent his anger at something, and Micha had—unfortunately—been the easiest and most available target. But for the elf to take it this personal…well… "Of course I will," he finally said. "He's my best friend."
"I do wonder about that," Morrigan said. "And…I believe he does as well." Without elaborating, she turned back around, but did not walk just yet. "If you ever do something like this again, Warden, you will sorely regret it."
"I already do," Alistair said, knowing there was no point in asking her about the best friend-part.
"Not nearly as much as you will if you do it again," the witch said.
After another ten minutes or so of silence and walking, they began to hear hushed voices in the distance. The rumbling laughter of one of the dwarves gave them away immediately, and Alistair felt a slight elation at being back at the camp—and then a rock tumbled into his stomach as he remembered that everyone had seen and heard his tantrum—for that was all it had been, really.
"Right, we're here," Morrigan said, pushing a few tree branches aside, revealing the small grove where they had decided to spend the night. "I'd wish you luck, but then again, I really wish to see you fail horribly." With those words of wisdom, Morrigan left Alistair there, heading back towards her tent, isolated from the rest, like always.
Alistair stayed there for a few minutes, just taking deep breaths. From what he could see, Sten—the big bastard he was—was sleeping in his tent, apparently unperturbed by the evening's events. Leliana was conversing with the dwarves. Zevran was sitting by the fire, his skin positively glowing in the light from the flames. And next to him…
Micha had indeed been crying. His puffy eyes gave him away. His shoulder-length, golden blond hair was slightly untidy, as if he had just gotten out of bed. The faded two-tone tattoo of a tree on his forehead was more or less invisible now. He looked miserable, his youthful face marred by sadness. Alistair felt another pang of guilt. But there was something else in there as well. Zevran, the ever-slick, charming elf assassin from Antiva, had his arm around Micha's shoulders, holding him close in an embrace, whispering things into the Warden's ear. Every now and then, a weak smile would spread on Micha's face before it fell into the miserable mask it had assumed a few minutes later.
"Damn assassin," Alistair whispered to himself from his hiding place. He hated Zevran. Assassins were even lower on Alistair's list of things he liked than Blood Magic. But was that really why he hated the other elf, or was it something else? Zevran flirted with Micha all the time, and he was either too oblivious or too innocent to realise so. Every time he did, Alistair would feel a desire to punch the handsome assassin in the mouth.
No one seemed to notice Morrigan casually strolling through the camp and seating herself by her tent, not even Micha, who always noticed whenever a member of their group entered or left his presence. This was bad, Alistair knew. He looked down at his hands, which were shaking. Why were they shaking? Was he really that nervous about this? He had done something stupid and hurt his best friend, yes, but apologising surely shouldn't be that difficult? Micha was the very incarnation of benevolence and forgiveness, even though he had his dark moments, just like everyone else—except for Morrigan and Sten, who both seemed to be just…dark.
There was a giggle. Micha had just giggled. Alistair glared at the Antivan elf, who was taking advantage of the Warden's laughter by pulling him closer, practically into his lap.
"How dare he?" Alistair whispered to himself, finally done with worrying about what would happen. He stepped out from the tree line and headed directly for the fire and the two laughing elves. Zevran noticed him first, and Alistair could have sworn he saw the elf's eyes narrow as he continued telling Micha the story that was having the Warden in stitches.
"And then," he said in his thick, exotic accent, "I told the prince: say whatever you will, Your Majesty, but you can't deny that you enjoyed it. The man was furious and had me defenestrated."
Micha giggled again. Alistair had never heard his friend laugh like this, not even at his jokes. He finally reached the fire and stood still, glaring at the assassin.
"Ah, it appears we have a visitor," Zevran said, visibly tightening his hold on Micha, who suddenly looked rather nervous as he gazed up at Alistair. "Come to yell at him some more? I won't let you." He turned his attention to Micha. "Just say the word, and I can remove him."
"No, Zev," Micha said, his voice weak and wavering. The crying seemed to have taken a lot out of him as he struggled to even extract himself from Zevran's embrace. "Alistair and I…need to talk. Alone."
"Alright," Zevran said, releasing the younger elf and standing up as well, looking none-too-pleased. "But I'll stay close. One wrong move, human…" he told Alistair, staring into his eyes as he walked away, out of earshot.
"Do you want to talk somewhere else?" Micha asked, smiling nervously at Alistair. "I…don't think the middle of the camp where everyone else can hear us is the best place, y'know?"
"Sure," Alistair said. He had been seconds away from blurting out an apology and throwing himself at Micha's feet, begging to be forgiven. Maybe it just as well that the Dalish elf wanted some privacy.
"Alright," Micha said. "Come with me."
They walked to the edge of the camp, to where a small stream from which they got the water for their canteens flowed gurgling by. It provided perfect cover, the pine trees forming a little alcove of sorts. Alistair knew that Zevran was close by, but at least the assassin had the decency of making himself unseen and unheard. Micha smiled as he sat down by the stream, patting the ground next to him. Alistair seated himself next to him, heart thumping wildly. Why was it so hard to simply apologise?
"Alistair, I—"Micha began.
"Do you hate me?" Alistair interrupted him, keeping his gaze straight forward, avoiding looking at his friend.
"Excuse me?" the elf asked.
"You heard me," Alistair said, still not looking at him. "Do you hate me? For what I did?"
"What did you do?" asked Micha, looking innocently at him.
"I yelled at you."
"I probably deserved it."
That was what was so infuriating about the young elf at times—he accepted blame all to readily, even though it really wasn't his fault, not wishing to start unnecessary conflicts and battles. Having grown up among the Dalish elves, Alistair had expected Micha to be far more aggressive than the city elves he had known from before, but Micha…Micha was just too soft. That was it, really. Not that Alistair hated him for it—if anything, he loved Micha for it. It was good to see someone show compassion in this horrible world, even though it meant extra trouble at times.
"No, you didn't deserve it," Alistair finally said, still unable to look at him. "If anything, you should have yelled right back at me. I was out of line. I'm sorry."
"What for?" Micha asked. "I completely understand why you were so angry with me. I thought about using Blood Magic to save Connor."
"Yeah, but you decided not to."
"And I contemplated slaying the child in order to exorcise the demon."
"Yet you didn't." Alistair could feel a headache coming on. Once Micha was set on taking the blame, it was hard to get him to stop. Usually impossible, in fact. "I could never imagine you slaying a child—you love them too much."
"Aye, 'tis true," said Micha, sighing. "The mere thought of killing Connor made me sick to my stomach. But still, you were right to—"
"No, I wasn't!" Alistair all but yelled. "I yelled at you for no reason! Had you actually decided to use Blood Magic, I would have been! Had you actually killed Connor, I would have been! But you didn't, and I wasn't!"
"Alistair, I—"
"No!" Alistair said, standing up and pacing back and forth in front of the other Warden. "I don't want to hear another peep from you unless it's to confirm that I was wrong."
Micha looked up at him for a few seconds, sighed and stood up as well, placing a hand on Alistair's shoulder. "Listen, Alistair, I know how you must have felt while we were standing inside the castle. You heard me seriously contemplating killing the people you owe so much to…your family. I would have been furious too. Truth be told, I was expecting you to yell at me right then and there."
"You cried," Alistair said, suddenly finding himself unable to tear his eyes away from Micha's still slightly puffy ones. "I made you sad."
"Only because I was…overwhelmed by the tragedies I saw today," Micha said, still holding a hand on his shoulder. "Families torn apart and slaughtered, friends murdered…"
They both fell silent. Alistair had a question he had been waiting to ask for a long time, but had never found the right time. He was pretty sure this wasn't the right time, but…it seemed fitting, somehow. "What is your family like?"
"My family?" Micha asked.
"Yeah," confirmed Alistair. "Mother, father, sister, brother, that type of thing. I never hear you talking about them."
"That's because I don't have them," said Micha, still smiling gently.
"Oh…I'm sorry, I didn't—"
"My father was killed by bandits while defending my mother, who died upon giving birth to me," Micha continued, voice eerily steady as if he was reciting the Chant lyrics. "The clan raised me."
"I—"
"As for brother and sister…well, I never had a sister, but Tamlen was like a brother to me, and I failed him in the ruins." Again, all this was said in a monotonous, almost bored voice. Micha's eyes shifted to look at his feet. "But…to be honest…the only family I've ever had…is you. All of you. You, Morrigan, Zev, Leliana, Sten…we may not always get along, but we always find our way back to each other."
Yeah, a family that tries to entice you into sexual debauchery, Alistair thought, remembering Zevran's unceasing flirting with Micha. He placed his hand on Micha's shoulder, mirroring the other Warden. "I'm sorry I asked, Micha…"
"Don't be. It felt…reliving to tell you about it. Besides, it is only right since you told me about your true lineage."
"Oh yeah, that puddle of mud," said Alistair bitterly. "Royal bastard—in both senses of the word."
Micha giggled. Alistair loved that sound. He had heard the other Warden laugh before, of course, but the giggling was just about the cutest thing he had seen or heard him do, much like the look Micha got on his face when he was irritated. And then it struck him. How hadn't he seen it before now?
"By the way, why are you so edgy around Zev?" Micha asked suddenly, his stance relaxing slightly as he let go of Alistair's shoulder to sit down again, motioning for the brunette to join him once more. "You two are always at each other's throats…"
"I just don't trust assassins, s'all," said Alistair, noticing that Micha was sitting rather close to him. "Plus, he's all…touchy-feely around you."
"Hm?" asked Micha. "How do you mean?"
"The way you were sitting by the fire just now, for example," Alistair continued. "You were practically in his lap. He was stroking your hair. I don't know, I just don't like the way he takes advantage of you like that."
"We elves are very affectionate beings," Micha said, putting his head on Alistair's shoulder, as if to prove a point. "See? There's nothing weird about this to me, or him. Perhaps it is for you humans, though." He righted himself again.
"He's outright flirting with you," Alistair said, missing the feeling of the elf's head already. "I mean, the first thing conversation we ever had with him involved his interests in the…in the…er…" He had never been good with this kind of thing.
"Sexual experiences of life?" Micha asked. He made it sound like the most natural thing to say, though the blush on his face told Alistair otherwise. "Yes…I remember that. Surely he's not interested in doing…that…with me?"
You really are clueless, aren't you, Alistair thought. "I'm pretty sure he is," he said.
"But I…I…he's just a friend, a battle-brother," Micha said, suddenly slightly panicky. "I mean, I like him and all, but not like that, not like y—"he cut himself off, blushing heavily.
"Heh, you really are cute when you're all flustered," Alistair said automatically. Seeing a fierce warrior like Micha like this was delicious.
"Shut up!" Micha exclaimed, embarrassed.
They stayed there for a while, just lying in the grass and staring up at the stars above them. Alistair liked this. He liked sleeping outdoors, but staring up at the stars had never really been something of interest to him, but with Micha explaining the different constellations and what they meant to his race, Alistair found himself captivated by the night sky. Maybe things weren't so bad, after all.
"Alistair?" Micha asked suddenly, cutting himself off in the middle of a constellation story. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Only if I get to stare luridly as you do so," Alistair said, imitating Zevran's accent as best he could.
"Heh, you sound like him," Micha said.
"I hope not," said Alistair. "I don't want to be like him in any way, especially not speech patterns. Ask away."
"Well, it's not as much a question as it is…a return, of sorts," said Micha, fumbling around in his pocket, pulling out something metallic.
"A return?" Alistair asked.
"Yes, a return," Micha said, looking at the object in his hand. "When we were at Redcliffe, fighting inside the castle, I couldn't help but open a large desk in one of the studies…"
"Yes, and?" Alistair asked, hoping to the Maker that Micha hadn't stolen anything. He had a tendency to take shiny things he liked, Alistair had noticed.
"Well, I remembered what you told me of your childhood there and about your mother…"
Alistair sat up, looking down at Micha, his face serious. "Micha, what did you find?"
Micha looked nervous again. "I think this belongs to you," he said and put the object in Alistair's hand.
At first, Alistair wanted to scoff and tell Micha he was wrong, that it couldn't possibly be it. But when he looked at the shape, the cracks where it had carefully been glued together, the pendant… There was no doubt. This was his mother's necklace, the one he had accidentally broken in a fit of rage so many years before. A strange mix of pain and joy clenched around his heart as he looked from the necklace to Micha and back, his mouth moving but with no sound coming out.
"My…my…" he said.
"Perhaps I shouldn't have taken it, but since it belonged to you and is your only remaining memory of your mother—oh!"
Micha was interrupted by Alistair pulling the young elf up by his arms and embracing him in the tightest hug he had ever gotten.
"Thank you," Alistair whispered over and over. "Thank you."
Micha pulled himself away, blushing. "You're welcome."
Alistair stared at him, still holding the necklace. The gaze was so piercing that Micha began to fidget under it.
This is it, Alistair thought. Now or never. It's time to get to the bottom of this.
Without warning, he leaned forward and pressed his lips gently to Micha's. A warm feeling spread from his stomach, his heart fluttering. His first kiss—and it felt so right. At first Micha didn't seem to know what to do, but Alistair soon felt him respond, moving his lips against Alistair's, the elf's hands coming up to cup the human's face in his hands, thumbs stroking the patches of rough hair that was Alistair's excuse for sideburns.
The kiss seemed to last forever, and when they pulled away from each other, their faces were both flushed and they were panting.
"That…" Micha began. "Was…"
"Amazing," Alistair finished.
"So…does this mean we're…together now?" Micha asked, still blushing like a waif. Alistair liked it.
"I suppose so," Alistair said, lying on his side and looking down at Micha. "Or…I hope so."
"Then I hope so too," Micha said.
"Heh, the assassin is going to be pissed," Alistair said, grinning wickedly.
"He will simply have to find someone else," Micha said. "Perhaps Morrigan…"
"She'd rather stab him in the face with a dagger than let him touch her, I think," Alistair chuckled.
"Speaking of Morrigan," Micha said, rolling on to his side as well. "When you asked me if something was going on between her and me the other night…"
"Yeah?"
"Were you jealous?"
"Oh, I don't know about that…"
Micha stared at him in that way only an elf could, his blue eyes piercing Alistair's until he could do nothing but relent.
"Okay, I was jealous," Alistair admitted. "But I didn't know it yet, okay?"
"Okay," Micha repeated, grinning. "And…all this talk about licking lampposts in the middle of winter…"
"Wouldn't you like to find out?"
The End