A/N: The City Elf origin has always fascinated me (don't get me wrong, I love the other origins, but this one has always stood out for me). Yet I found it a strange thing when I began romancing Alistair with my Tabris. It didn't make sense, not canonically. Of course, this simply begs me to throw in some brooding and some spice. Mmm. I rather thrive on conflict, I love challenging my characters.
Inspiration for these two actually comes from the superlative relationship between Farscape's John Crichton and Aeryn Sun.
Warnings: Brooding, mild angst, very mild language, I think. (To be honest, I can never remember if I put it in there, so just to be on the safe side).
Preconceptions
The sun was setting, misty orange light fragmented through the brush. It was irritating, to be honest, seeing she and her companions were subjected to three days of impossibly gloomy weather. No sun, just a layer of grey between her and the sun.
Keelan was glad for the light as she needed it still. Alistair, Leliana, and herself had spent what must have been at least three hours searching for herbs and roots for Wynne. And if by chance they came across a deer or rabbits? It would be well worth the effort.
And the caked mud on her everything.
Except there was no game to speak of. No game. Not even a squirrel. Meat was not necessary for a meal, her family had gone many days without a scrap of meat. Her father was almost infallibly diligent when it came to supplying his family. But to see nothing in the woods? And hardly any roots or herbs? Surely the Blight must have lumbered through here, for there was hardly a scrap to be had.
The point being, she thought, is that if you don't find anything, people will go hungry. And hungry people get stupid. They miss things. They die. You know this. Keelan rubbed her weary eyes, glowering spectacularly. Men. They ate far too much. Back home, she had finely honed skills in regards to taking care of her family. She had to. But here on the road, so many habits had to be adjusted. Sten and Alistair. Big guys. Need a lot of food.
Maker. What an annoyance. She kicked the tall grass violently, petulantly, nearly losing her balance in her fit. To be fair, it wasn't the lack of food that bothered her. On the contrary, she had been accustomed to small portions in the Alienage. The stress was coming from everything else. It had been, what? two months since Ostagar? Two months since everything started falling apart and she was sent on this impossible quest to unite Ferelden under a banner that meant nothing to her, to save the people that had tormented her and her kin.
Keelan huffed, now regretting her outburst. Mother would smack you upside the head, you fool, she chided herself. She ran a calloused hand over the weave in her hay-coloured hair, closing her eyes, attempting to salvage whatever composure she could muster up.
The sun had passed the horizon and dusk had truly set. Night was falling quickly, and she could only hope the others had more luck than she did.
Her keen eyes caught a familiar sight in the underbrush. Upon closer inspection she realized she found the most peculiar sight: embrium intertwined with a thick-stalked plant she forgot the name of. Morrigan would berate her later, surely, for her poor memory. Keelan took her boot knife and drove it into the dirt, quickly unearthing a gangly root. She laughed triumphantly.
"What? What did you find?"
Keelan inhaled sharply, whirling around with her dirtied knife aimed at the voice. Alistair. He held his hands up in defense, a irritatingly charming grin plastered on his face.
"Woah woah, easy!" He chuckled, "I didn't mean to startle you." He continued undaunted. Alistair. Sense... he did not make. Certainly not to her. It was difficult to be around him, as even his smile was disarming. That fact alone demanded she keep a wary guard around him. Humans.
"Find anything?" she asked sharply, bringing Alistair's head out of whatever clouds they were in. He swallowed, shrugging his shoulders.
"Yes! Well... not really. I found a berry bush, but I think they're poisonous. Leliana found some sprigs of something, and Zevran found a root- ah! Like the one you're holding. He found several, in fact." Keelan glowered, feeling rather inadequate. Three hours and she found a blasted root? Tch. "As for the others, I don't know. Bodahn has some spice left, and Morrigan is being... well. Morrigan. Aloof and mean. You know how she is."
Keelan shrugged. She didn't really mind Morrigan, as terse and aloof as she was, she suspected the mage was more sensitive than she let on.
"Actually, I came to collect you. Everyone else gave up a long time ago. We were all a little worried, maybe you got carried off by darkspawn or something." He grinned.
But she frowned. "With all the complaining I had to suffer along the road, one would suspect they would be hungrier than that," the sneer in her voice was clear as she cleaved the leaves off the root and stuffed it into her bag, along with the embrium, re-sheathing her blade. "Perhaps next time they can get the supplies at the next town, of their own coin." She hadn't meant for the words to sound so accusatory, but the fact was that she was out of coin. Her clothes were in desperate need of a proper mend, her haphazard repairs being inadequate, making her look like a beggar. Not to mention she was in need of new equipment altogether; a new pair of daggers and a nice new bow. She couldn't trust her bowstring anymore.
Not to mention she needed a new bedroll. It reeked of something awful ever since she was chased out of Farhill. Bann Loren's lands were not as inviting as they seemed.
"Well. I'm sure we'll have better luck tomorrow night, there should be a town nearby," he tried, sounding as though he were grasping for straws.
"Yes, perhaps we can be thrown out of that one as well!" Well. Farhill was sort-of-kind-of-not her fault. A small town against an uppity elf? Not one of her brighter moments, certainly, but her ire from the incident was far from tempered.
Alistair crossed him arms across his unarmored chest. "Are you all right?" Keelan had never been the epitome of a fine leader, but not this... jumble of emotion. If she couldn't lead, he feared everything would fall apart.
"I'm fine," she snapped, attempting to pass Alistair who planted his arm solidly against a tree, blocking her exit. "Alistair." A warning. Except he wasn't stupid. He wanted to know what was going on. To make her happy-normal, again.
"What's the matter with you?" he snapped in return. Keelan curled her lip.
"Nothing! Now let me pass." The Warden attempted to duck underneath his arm when he did not move. She was not expecting him to take hold of her.
Keelan twisted against his grip, but in the awkward angle it was difficult to gain purchase. The elf snarled, "Release me!" Her nimble fingers scratched at his own, endeavoring to pry his fingers out of their iron hold. When he did not, she shouted, "Void take you, shem, I will run you through!"
She hadn't meant it truly. Deep down she knew that. But apparently the rest of her didn't quite understand that as her hand reached toward her knife. Alistair had heeded her warning and pushed back from her, sending her stumbling. Keelan's back struck a thick tree trunk, eliciting a pained grunt.
What had she just said? Her large, round eyes peered up from beneath her brow, suddenly shamed to look him in the eye. What she found in his own eyes shamed her more; hurt, pain, anger. He had been so different from the humans in Denerim, so different she didn't know how to act around him. So foreign was genuine concern and compassion from a human... that she drove it away. She could not distinguish it, it seemed.
"I-I-" she stumbled over countless empty words, nothing came to mind to save her from herself. Alistair started towards her and she stiffened. Her instincts urged her to do anything but stand there like some petrified creature, allowing itself to be captured.
Alistair froze as well, clearly unsure of how to proceed, becoming more frustrated in the process.
"Can you ever stop acting like this?" He scowled intensely. "I am here to protect you," his voice faltered for a moment, "not... gut you in your sleep, or whatever."
Keelan averted her gaze, falling on the deep-rooted reflex to yield when rebuked. It angered her, deep down, but on the other hand she did not know what to do under these circumstances. When she did not speak, Alistair sighed explosively, pacing somewhat.
The pair of them remained quiet for several long moments. During those moments, Keelan did not move from her position, though she felt Alistair's heated gaze. She could practically hear him putting it all together. His next question could only be one thing.
"You don't trust me, do you?" Alistair murmured, the hurt in his voice causing Keelan to stiffen further. Still she said nothing.
She heard two quick, heavy steps come towards her and Alistair was so close she could feel his breath fuss with a few stray strands of hair. His calloused hand took her chin firmly but gently, turning her to face him. His forefinger instinctively stroked her jaw before he stilled himself, opting to simply stare into her eyes.
For a moment he was caught off guard as their eyes met, her cunning, penetrating eyes, blue like the sea after a storm, staring at him with experience unbecoming of a woman her age. So wise and yet so terribly wild. Her elven bone structure and proud, strong nose seemed to confirm the wisdom behind those untamed eyes. Her thick, flaxen mane of hair only intensified by her sun-kissed skin, firm and smooth beneath his fingertips. Alistair noticed a jagged pink scar coming from underneath her left earlobe, only serving to lead his gaze to her long, pointed ears. Elegant and exotic, his eyes traced her features. For a moment he intended to kiss her pouting lips, if only see that enigmatic smirk that could sink ships and send poets into a fervor to describe it.
Instead, Alistair swallowed and asked her again, "Do you trust me?"
This time Keelan held his gaze, the pitiful creature that was once before him slowly becoming more defiant. With a heavy heart she shook her head and Alistair faltered.
"Keelan," he gave her chin a gentle shake before falling back to his side. "I will never betray you. I would never hurt you. I don't know what I can do to make you believe it."
"Alistair," her voice croaked. Images flashed across her memory. Kindness among humans was rare in Denerim, the kindest being Harlen Vargus, and even he wasn't entirely honorable. Yet how often had it not betrayed her? How often had she come home with new bruise for her father to anguish over? How many times had she simply been lucky enough to make it home in one piece? How much had humans taken away from her? Trust in humans was a frail prospect, a lesson that was hard learned. "You wouldn't understand."
"Why don't you ever talk, then? Help me understand? I want to help you, Keelan." The elf straightened, sneering in indignation.
"I don't need your help, nor do I desire your pity." Her piercing gaze did not leave his, "Quit this game. I've seen it before."
Her mouth didn't know when to shut up, it was burying her.
The rose had long since died.
The ex-templar rubbed underneath one eye in frustration. "There is no game, Keelan. I'm not..." A dark, thoughtful look flickered behind his eyes. "What happened?" He wanted answers, and Keelan didn't know how to tell him.
Keelan pushed off the tree, brushing past him but stopping short. Her thin, wiry arms crossed across her stomach. She wanted to trust him, Maker knows how much she wanted to. But she didn't know how, nor why she wanted to trust him so badly. Several times her mouth moved with no words as she struggled to find the words to the jarring song in her core.
"I am the product of my upbringing, Alistair. Perhaps you missed the part where elves are considered to be little more than tools and slave labour in a society where slavery is no longer practiced. Humans have so very rarely boded me good. I can count them on one hand, and you, Leliana, and Morrigan are included.
"Trust is not something I am inclined to give out easily, especially to a human, for very good reasons. Reasons that left their scars, one way or another."
Alistair recalled the cruel scar by her ear, wondering if that was one of her reasons, if someone had tried to sever her ear. He thought back to Redcliffe Castle, hearing the demon possessing Connor mention how he cut the ears off the elven servents, then feeding them to the dogs. He shuddered at the thought and his blood boiled. It not only angered him that people hurt her, but he was even more furious that there were people, demon-free, that were capable of that cruelty. To mutilate her body, claiming her ears as some... some trophy.
Alistair found himself desperate to hear her speak of her past, so he pressed his lips together to keep himself quiet.
"I am far from perfect, or even decent, Alistair. I am what I am, and as much as I wish I could trust you with more than my life... I-" she breathed deeply, her throat constricting as she forced out the words, "I ruin lives, everything I touch. I can't let that happen. I can't because I can't go through all this again," she hissed, "and I can't hurt you."
Alistair flushed gloriously, completely taken aback by this confession, of sorts. His brow furrowed as he ran over her words again and again. Could it be that she has feelings for me? That this anger could stem from the same frustration I feel? It hurt for him to imagine what could have possibly happened to his friend that she could become so jaded and distrustful to confuse kindness for cruelty. Was that scar by her ear the only one? Or were there more unseen that he would most likely never discover?
Regardless, he squared his jaw and swallowed hard, stepping up behind her.
Keelan squeezed her eyes shut, her posture rigid and hunched as he came closer. Spilling her guts to a shem? Unthinkable. Yet, here she was... speaking a truth she didn't want to believe.
A quiet gasp escaped her lips when his hand snaked around her shoulder to take her chin so gently, she relaxed enough to turn and face him. He is so close. She could feel his breath, hot and quickened, on her mouth. His hand slid to cup her cheek as she tilted her head into his hand, slowly, timidly leaning in, unsure. Alistair followed her lead, feeling emboldened by her acquiescence.
She gave the barest of kisses, her bottom lip brushing his upper lip. Her heart beat wildly in its cage. With fleeting hesitation she closed the distance. His inexperienced mouth worked against her more... practiced one. This feels... right. He's good to me- Keelan pulled away.
Alistair was all shades of red, even his ears were blushing. The elf couldn't resist one of her ephemeral smirks. But the amusement died on her lips when her mind came back to her, reminding her why she stopped. Keelan tried to step back, only to find his hands planted firmly around her slender waist. A wave of panic surged through her, but when she pushed again he released her. Albeit reluctantly.
"This is... too fast, too strange. I don't- I can't-" she sighed, lowering her head. Alistair frowned sadly; worried, possibly, she surmised. His next words surprised her.
"Well, whether you like it or not, I'm willing to risk it. You are worth the wounds." He smiled softly as she met his gaze, taking the opportunity to tuck a few loose strands of her straw-coloured hair behind her elongated ears.
I hope you still believe that by the end of... whatever this is.
Keelan suddenly threw herself back, dusting her sleeves and brushing her hands across her face to clear imaginary imperfections. Weakness. She felt off-balance around him, and it unnerved her.
"Yes," she cleared her throat, starting off toward camp, "we'll see how you feel about that in a few weeks."
"Days, more like," he chuckled. Keelan met him with a gaze of collected amusement.
"Very funny," she mused, mischief dancing behind blue eyes. Alistair had a sneaking suspicion, then, that she was not necessarily joking. A prospect he found both terrifying and impossible to resist.
But with a woman like her, could one expect any less?