A/N: I hope you enjoy reading! Thanks for keeping up with the story so far! And as promised, Alistair and Elissa! *grins*
Your first meal in a really really really long time
He tried not to feel so sorry for himself—tried to mentally will his growling middle into submission—tried to stop thinking about how pretty that girl was—and was failing. Miserably. Alistair wondered if she'd come back, though chances were slim. She was probably enjoying herself inside; the party had to be some kind of fun, and for the first time… he felt just a tad left out. He leant against the wall of the dank, slightly smelly (he had long gotten used to the fumes) stable, sighing.
A sudden scrambling at the door made him turn and stare at it, before the same girl tumbled through—back first, almost falling. Alistair steadied her just in time, gripping her shoulder, balancing the large dish she cradled in her arms. The girl's hair seemed slightly frazzled, but her eyes shone with something—excitement? She seemed very pleased to see him. The feeling was no doubt, quite mutual; he couldn't help but grin, touched that she had come back. For him. She proffered the things at him, and the side of the huge plate jabbed mildly at his chest through his roughspun clothes.
Wait—a large dish? A foreign smell caught Alistair's nose, and he glanced downwards to find—what appeared to be food. A magnificent pile of buns, and some lumps— and thick slices of a decidedly pale yellow colour made up its contents. Sure enough, a rumble came from his belly, and the girl giggled.
But as he made for the topmost roll, the girl drew the plate back, away from him. "Hands. You have to wash them first." Of course. Such simple etiquette—he barely even slowed, swiftly dunking the offending limbs in a nearby pail of water. Alistair took the time to dry these, hoping that his eagerness to fill his protesting stomach did not make him to be a barbarian in front of someone he clearly wished to impress.
Out of habit, from the times when he had actually lived in the castle with Arl Eamon, he showed his now (relatively) clean hands to the girl, and these she looked over with a mock seriousness, before firmly voicing her approval.
"Now, you may eat." He didn't need a second invitation to dig in; the moment they sat down on the hay—Alistair found himself stuffing his mouth with two rolls of bread, a little unwilling to try the odd-smelling cheeses.
For some moments that was all he could think of, wonderful, sacred bread, when he finally came to his senses and realized that he hadn't even thanked the girl (he really needed to know here name). The boy choked, unable to swallow, not to mention speak to the girl who sat, watching his frantic chewing and horrible manners with an amused glitter in her blue eyes.
She seemed to understand, lifting a goblet from beside her, and this she offered to him too.
Alistair took it, tried to express his gratitude with quick nods and hopefully, equally thankful grunts of appreciation. He saw her smile again, though this time she tried to hide it behind a hand.
At this moment, Alistair didn't care if she laughed outright at him, he meant it all—though admittedly, it could have been… more civilized.
A first gulp of the liquid told him that it was sweet. Very sweet. He offered it back at her, and the noble child actually sipped from it, before wrinkling her nose, quite delicately.
She seemed curious, he noted, watching her profile as she stared into the opaque drink. "This, is not grape juice." But still, they shared it, the large goblet all but emptying within the next few minutes.
Alistair began to feel bolder, and asked a very important question. Not the most important, mind you, but all the same, very essential.
"What's your name?"
The girl looked decidedly flushed, a pinkness had crept into her cheeks, and she struggled to hold back some hiccups.
"E-lis-sa. C-cousla-nd." Suddenly, everything seemed funny. Alistair could not stop chuckling, very ungainly at a mere mention of her name. He looked over at her, wiping the tears from his eyes—thinking that perhaps the hiccups that had stricken the girl for she had doubled over too— wondering if she needed help, before more sounds of mirth erupted.
This was indeed, the most fun he had had in quite some time.
A long while later, after they had laughed themselves silly, E-lis-sa clambered back to a seated position, though evidently finding it hard to do so in the soft heaps of hay.
"Your name." It was a statement, but also a question. Alistair answered it as best as he could.
"A-l-lisss-ter," he began, before clearing his throat. Now was certainly not the time to set the both of them off again. "Alistair."
Elissa cocked her head to the side. "Just Alistair?" Now, she was frowning.
"I suppose you could call me Fair, or Reasonable too" He grinned, though the girl staring back at him did not appear to have gotten the joke. Their moment of shared hilarity had passed, then.
"I don't have a last name." There, it was out. He waited for her eyes to take on that pitying, or even worse, scornful glow. He had no proper father—he was a bastard.
"You don't really need one. I don't know any other Alistairs." The girl mused aloud. The sudden flash of emerald struck at his heart, and an impish grin spread.
"Oooh I know. Alistair Cheese."