A/N: I know it's been a long time updating our story, sorry about that. I've just gone back to uni so I have like zero time to write. This one was already 99% done though, and it's long(!) so enjoy :)
It was a terrifying sight.
Her head hung cradled in her hands, her posture limp and broken. It was as if all the pride had been crushed out of her, and there was nothing left to prop her up. Her blades and bow lay strewn behind her, and she sat there defencelessly, her grief laid bare to the world.
Lys had been unusually taciturn on the journey away from the elven ruins, and the further they came from them, the less convincing became her veneer of control. It was so extraordinary to see her in such a state that it disconcerted her companions. She was their leader; deemed to be immune to the horrors they so often witnessed, the steadiest rock in these uncertain times. Things hardly ever riled her so, especially not this visibly. That she had lost her nerve over this spoke to them of something above and beyond the trial of deciding the Dalish clan's fate.
The others had tried to get Lys to talk about it once they got back to camp. After Alistair's single timid attempt to discuss it was met with nothing but stony silence, Leliana took it upon herself to prise it out of her, as she paced agitatedly along the length of the campsite. She kicked a lone cookpot out of her path with fervour.
'My friend, tell us what has happened. What was this Rellan, of which Zathrian spoke?'
No response. The elf kept her pace.
'I know a little elven,' Leliana half said this to herself, as she watched Lys stomp around for a stretch. 'It was a person, wasn't it? Someone you knew well?'
She shot daggers in the bard's direction. One didn't have to be on the receiving end to feel the suffering behind her eyes.
'Speak, then!' She exclaimed, not unkindly. 'There is a camp full of people here who know what loss is. And I doubt that any one of them would criticise you for your choices today.'
Lys stopped and twisted around, wretchedness etched into lines on her young face. She looked hard at Leliana before she spoke, unbridled by passion and spite, 'It isn't that. You think I care if anyone judges my actions? You clearly know nothing of me. Don't try to understand. Let me be.'
Leliana's mouth hung open for an instant as she sought the right words. 'You misunderstand my intentions. I didn't mean to pry. Frankly what I cannot understand is the undeserved animosity you always hold towards me.'
'This is nothing to do with you, Leliana!' she positively roared at her, so vehemently that not a few eyes were widened, and Leliana wisely swallowed her nascent retort. She shook her flaming head as she strode away, with no small amount of dignity, to her tent, but the tension stayed hanging in the air like an oppressive cloud.
After this display, Lys started up again, but instead of pacing back and forth, she marched straight off into the forest. The dog trotted up to go with her, but she sent him away before she had reached the tree line. No one else dared follow. Once Lys was out of sight, Crissy disappeared after Leliana.
While the shock subsided, Morrigan couldn't resist commenting. 'Well now. That subtle line of probing was very successful. And to think, supposedly she was once an Orlesian spy. Small wonder she had to join the Chantry then...'
'Morrigan,' Alistair cut her off, 'Not now. I'll... I'll – the Dalish have to be informed of what has happened. Everyone just stay here.' He grabbed up the bundle that contained the heart of Witherfang, put it in his pack, and sighed audibly—'Women's fights'—before departing to speak with Zathrian's First.
The edge of the Dalish camp proper began in just the next clearing, close enough to hear a warning call go out, but far enough that both camps had privacy. Two halla were grazing serenely as he passed, nipping at the grasstips. A chill breeze snaked through the brush, and caught his exposed neck. Curse this forest. He felt rather nervous, going to tell the Dalish of Zathrian's demise himself. Without Lys there, would they take him at his word? He began to wish he had brought a couple of companions just in case, but he wasn't going back again. He was done being spineless, indecisive Alistair. The Dalish would simply have to accept it, and honour the Grey Warden treaty as agreed.
Mithra greeted him frostily as he approached. 'Andaran atish'an, Warden.' Relations with the Dalish had understandably deteriorated somewhat following last night's events. Alistair responded courteously.
'Greetings, Mithra, isn't it? I need to speak to Lanaya.'
'Where is Mahariel?' She eyed him uncertainly, the snakelike markings on her face accentuating the distrust in her expression. She was beautiful indeed, he thought, like so many of her race.
'Maha– Lys is... busy. I have important news that your clan needs to know about.'
'Come.' She turned gracefully and led him towards the main campfire, around which several elves were gathered. 'We have not seen her since your party left this morning. She is safe?' She asked, the apprehension clear in her tone.
'Yes. But I would rather not say more.' This only served to increase her curiosity, but she thankfully stilled any questions on her tongue.
The elder Sarel was the focus of the evening's attention, retelling some tale for a number of avid listeners seated around the fire, Lanaya among them. Alistair didn't know how to interrupt without potentially causing offence. There followed a tense moment when all the elves turned to stare at him, and the elder tailed off mid-sentence, throwing him a dirty look.
Mithra crossed her arms into an unfriendly stance and said, 'Abelas, hahren. Lanaya, the Warden wishes to speak with you.'
'Warden.' She nodded in acknowledgement, rising to her feet.
'I don't mean to interrupt, but I bring news of the werewolf... situation. There turned out to be much more to it than we anticipated.' Anxious whispering broke out around the campfire, most of it unintelligible to him.
Lanaya indicated that they should move a small distance away. It was wise of her not to want the clan members to hear the news from him, he noted with relief. Once they were some paces away, he hesitated, trying to choose his next words carefully. Lanaya looked ready to cling to them. This was one Dalish who did not wear a mask of cool hostility or indifference in his presence; in fact her concern was tangible.
'Your hunters can now be free of the curse.'
She released an anxious breath, 'That is good news for certain. What of Zathrian?'
'He... is gone. I'm sorry.' Though not too sorry. 'He himself was the reason for the werewolf curse in the first place.'
She sighed sadly. 'It is done, then. I... I felt it, when he departed. I think he was ready to go.'
'You knew about what he had done?' The animosity began to swell up in the pit of his stomach.
'I only suspected. But Zathrian did not like to talk about the bitterness of his past. Though I feared for him, I was powerless to help. Even though I was his First, he was never very receptive to my admonitions.'
'I suppose living for a few centuries because of a self-inflicted curse must make you set in your ways...' He didn't wish to be angry at her, but he couldn't help the scorn in his remark. As far as he was concerned, her blind trust in the Keeper had prolonged undue suffering for both men and elves. Beyond that, however, he knew it was not really her fault. It was simply that the whole thing rankled with his sense of justice.
'You live up to your elvhen name, shemlen. You are quick to judge. Give me the wolf heart. Zathrian instructed me on what to do with it.'
'It's just... So many centuries, and lives wasted. Because of his need for vengeance. I...- Here.' He got out the bundle wrapped in several layers of rough cloth, and she took it off him gingerly. 'I want to understand your people, Lanaya, but your guardedness makes that very difficult.'
Her doe eyes took on an empathetic look. 'I know. I regret that it has to be like this, but we Dalish have lost so much. If constant vigilance helps to keep us safe, then it is a small price to pay. If there could be another way... a way not to be at odds with humans and every outsider, I would gladly try it.
'It will be difficult to... fill Zathrian's shoes, as you might say. He will be sorely missed.' She paused wistfully. 'Ultimately you are right. He has failed in his oath to Mythal, and his duty to protect the clan. But I am Keeper now. I hereby swear to uphold the terms of the ancient contract my people formed with the Grey Wardens. Call, and we shall come, with great speed and purpose, and we shall strike at your foes. This I swear.'
'Thank you, Lanaya.' Alistair fought with himself momentarily over whether to ask what he was dying to ask, or simply to leave it at that.
'Is there something more?'
'If I may? I have a question about something that happened with Zathrian just before he died.'
'Go ahead, although I am not certain if I will even know the answer. There was much that Zathrian did that I may never understand.'
'He... he said something in elven to Lys and then she, she sort of, dropped to her knees... and he said that he very much regretted what he did. But it sounded like he was apologising to her personally, not just for the curse and the werewolves and... well...'
He gauged her reaction, hoping it could tell him something. At first, a brow furrowed in deliberation, and then a definite realisation drained the light from behind her eyes.
'You know something about this, clearly.'
She glanced over at the gathering of her kin at the campfire, and deliberately took a few steps further away from them. Alistair was obviously meant to follow.
She even lowered her voice so there was no doubt that their talk was now private. 'Did what he said sound like, "ar tu Rellan'din"?' She pronounced the elvenwords slowly and unmistakably.
'He definitely said "Rellan" more than once, yes. What does it mean?' An uneasy excitement quickened his heart.
She answered him as if her thoughts were far away, her sombre gaze focused on some distant object, 'I had wondered why Mahariel did not come herself to bring this news, but now I think I see. I know that she trusts you, so I will tell you. Rellan is a name.'
'Ah.' Leliana was right. 'Is it by any chance... a male name?'
'It is.'
'One of your clan?'
She sighed again. 'He was our master craftsman, and a very experienced hunter. Zathrian told us that Rellan had fallen prey to the werewolves. It seems we were deceived in this, too. Rellan was notably very perceptive of his surroundings, very cautious. They wouldn't have been able to catch him. I did not wish to imagine it then, but I can only assume that he had given Zathrian a good reason to silence him.'
'Wait, he murdered one of your people? Because he found out the truth about the curse?'
'The curse, his curse, was vengeance itself. It burned in his blood, blinded him from justice. Elgar'nan have mercy on him.'
He paused as he tried to take it all in, to see the sense behind it. 'But how could this have anything to do with Lys? She came from another clan didn't she?'
The elf woman smiled wryly then, quite unexpectedly from her sweet face. 'So did he.'
There she was. It seemed entirely wrong for her to look so vulnerable. He steeled himself for what was bound to be the awkward conversation to end all other awkward conversations, and walked up to the small form whose back was to him. As he got near, however –
'Come no closer!'
She leapt to her feet and whirled around, but was visibly surprised when she saw Alistair standing there.
'Oh.' The elf sank back down onto the log that had been the seat of her reflection. The man took this as an invitation to join her.
'I wanted to be alone.'
'But I don't want you to be.' Their eyes met briefly in the ensuing pause. In that instant, he thought he saw something there, beyond the pain.
'Alistair, I've wanted to tell you, so many times...'
'Then tell me now.'
'You don't understand. I could not share myself with you, because of other ties I had. You know so little about me, because I've tried to keep you away. I didn't want to be pulled in two directions at once.'
'What exactly are you saying?' He braced himself for what he probably didn't want to hear.
'Zathrian not only betrayed my people with his blind hatred, he murdered the man I loved. That I might yet find him, speak with him again, was a hope I hardly let myself nurture. But it never truly faded away.' Her voice cracked with a sob, and she looked away intently.
Alistair stood up, and allowed this admission of hers to sink in for a moment. So it's true. He became aware of a growing numbness spreading through his gut, and walked around restlessly to stall it.
'I see. I had no idea until... So I have just been fooling myself, then,' he said keenly. 'Maker, what a mess.' His whitened knuckles punctuated the last word by slamming into a tree.
Lys now got up herself. 'No,' she said emphatically, 'Ir m'ar isala.'
Her voice rang out, clear and assertive. It sounded almost like a threat, or a curse, to his ears, and it set him shivering.
She closed the space between them in a few curt steps, and pushed her lips firmly to his. This he was definitely not expecting. Her cheeks were damp from concealed tears, her mouth hot and soft. Her greedy hands roamed over his body, grasping at the splints of armour, pulling his hair, eliciting a groan which could have come from either of their throats. It felt like she was everywhere at once – burning his lips, grabbing at his back, pressing against his chest. He drew out of the kiss at last with a pant, their faces still nearly touching, and spoke:
'Why are you doing this to me? You're driving me crazy!'
'I need you.' Short of breath, eyes wild, she had him enthralled. The moon was callously bright, pouring down between the trees to highlight her exotic, unsmiling features, and there was no way he could tear himself away. 'Is that not enough?'
'You... you're grieving. Lys, please...' She continued to assault him with kiss after desperate kiss, but he made no retreat.
'Not like this,' he breathed, but as his plea fell on deaf ears he tried to grab a hold of her.
She was possessed by passion, and dextrously outmanoeuvred him, ducking down and slipping effortlessly behind him. Before he barely had a chance to react, she was reaching around his waist for his belt buckle. As her full intentions dawned on him, he couldn't help the overwhelming surge of heat that threatened to take him over, but he turned around to stop her before he lost himself in it.
'Listen to me!' This time he successfully grabbed her wrists, pushing her up against a tree trunk, and he heard her whimper in surprise. 'Listen,' he said more tenderly, 'I have wanted this so much, and I want to comfort you, but I will not be used.'
At this, she truly broke down. Those eyes, aflame with raw pain, sealed themselves shut with tears anew, her lovely face screwed up in grief as her forehead sank against his chest. Great gasping sobs wracked her small frame, and he was humbled by what he had done with just a few words. He slowly released her slender wrists, immediately regretting his use of force against her.
'Lys, my love...'
He gathered her into his arms, and after some moments gently guided her to the ground to lie side by side. Theirs were the only sounds to disturb the peaceful night, for a time – Alistair saying her name over and over, and Lys' fitful weeping breaths.
He did not know how long they spent like that, he stroking her golden head, she resting against him, eventually finding a measure of calm once more. The moon was well along on its nightly voyage when he felt her stir. He had been enjoying the simplicity of this more than he would have enjoyed it if she had had her way, here in the forest, or so he imagined presently. His inexperience, from which stemmed an awkwardness that near-paralyzed him in sexual situations, still held him back.
She shifted her head off his chest and looked up at him. His eyes were lightly closed, though she had felt he was awake from his breathing. 'I... must have fallen asleep. But I can remember no dreams.' She sounded soft. Warm. The brusque, hard-edged elf he knew better had not yet returned.
'Do you always dream?' Curious.
She hesitated. 'Yes, for as long as I can remember. Every night. The darkspawn don't always feature in them, but I don't sleep many a night without their making an appearance,' she said, with the air of someone whose mind was partially focused elsewhere. He made a mental note to ask her about it later.
She propped herself up and rubbed her rheumy eyes, and for the first time in as long as he'd known her, she looked ashamed. She seemed to be avoiding looking at him, her eyes downcast. He watched her closely as she scratched a pointed ear embarrassedly and hoisted herself onto her feet. It was endearing – and he could utterly relate to it.
'Before we go back to camp,' he began, 'I just want to say: that was the best not-sex I have ever had.'
He almost got a smile with that. Almost. 'O, Mythal. I'm sorry. I... Well. I don't know what to say, really.' Since she couldn't articulate a proper ending for that sentence, she set about collecting up her weapons and fastening them to her leathers wordlessly.
'I think I should tell you,' he ventured, really hoping she wouldn't take this badly, 'That I already went to Lanaya and secured the treaty with the Dalish. I hope it wasn't bold of me to do so. I thought that they ought to know right away, and you... well, I wanted to do this one thing for you...'
His last couple of words trailed off against the touch of a single finger to his lips. 'It sounds like you're apologising for doing me a favour. You've no idea how relieved I am.'
'I could say the same!'
'How did she take it?'
'Surprisingly well, actually. It occurred to me how foolish it was to walk into a camp of experienced elven hunters bearing bad news but I tried to focus on the whole the-werewolf-curse-is-over part.' He waved his hands in the air for emphasis.
'I'll meet with them tomorrow before we pack up. They will expect no less. Come on,' she said, taking his hand suddenly, 'Let's not give the others too much time to speculate.' He began to blush as he interpreted her words and allowed himself to be lead.
Upon reaching the clearing they saw that it was Sten and Zevran keeping vigil. Before they were in earshot, she stopped to say something.
'Alistair,' she drew out the syllables of his name as if an idea had just occurred to her, 'Would you like to share my tent tonight?' His eyebrows arched upwards in confusion and suspicion. 'Just to sleep,' she hastily added, 'I would appreciate your company.'
'Ah. How could I refuse,' his smile creased his hazel eyes, and they shone with an irresistible warmth. She suddenly looked very sad. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and they walked together up to the campfire.
'Oh ho!' Exclaimed Zevran, before they were close enough for him to see her expression, 'So you return, safe and in much better spirits, I trust?'
'Yes, Zevran, thank you for your concern.' In spite of everything, a shadow of a smirk stole across her face; the two of them returning late at night, hand in hand no less, to a camp guarded by a lewd Antivan and an indifferent Qunari, made a priceless tableau. Zevran was positively grinning. Alistair was simply avoiding all eye contact. 'Good night,' she said.
'Good night, my fair Wardens.'
To Alistair's intense relief, Zevran scarcely batted an eyelid when Lys led the man to her tent, right past him and the Qunari.
However, 'Hah, I knew it! Cristiana owes me five silvers!' were naturally the first words out of Zevran's mouth a moment after they were inside. His next remark was indubitably aimed at Sten, though they could no longer see: 'And from you, no comment at all?'
'No.'
'You, my friend, are no fun.'
And just like that they were alone together again, in a very confined and intimate setting. It was more than he would have dared believe, before today. The light from the campfire flickered mutedly through the hide tent walls, softly illuminating them as they knelt facing each other. On hearing the brief interplay from outside, they shared a coy laugh.
'I think he only showed restraint out of respect for my... situation,' she said softly, barely more than whispering.
'I know, I think we got off extremely lightly, for Zevran.'
'Just wait till tomorrow.'
'Yeeess...'
He tried not to think about that, and as she began stripping down to her linen underclothes, right there in front of him, the troubling thought was pushed out of his mind altogether. Expending great mental effort he spurred himself into undressing as well, rather than gawking like a pubescent Chantry boy. Lys' Dalish armour took considerably less time to remove than his own splintmail, and after she had finished she moved over to him to assist him. He tried to concentrate only on the buckles and straps that were the most easily reachable and not on the mostly exposed elf who was attending the hard to reach places. With everything eventually unfastened and the underlying chainmail pulled off him, she crept under the wolf pelts and unabashedly watched as he took off the cloth padding that made up his arming clothes, her head propped up on one elbow. Once he had shed everything but his undershirt and braies, he joined her under the covers. Lying on his side, he was hesitant to reach out and hold her, fearing to overstep some boundary in their state of undress; yet he lay close enough that the air between them grew warm rather quickly.
'You're always blushing, Alistair,' she touched the apple of his cheek, 'It makes me feel like I cause you great discomfort. Or is it simply the thought of the teasing to come?'
'Always?' He sounded a little scandalised. 'You don't cause me – I mean, it's not a bad thing, really. It's just what happens. Just when I'm around you,' he added, gazing at her wide-set eyes. They were what gave her mostly unremarkable face a mysterious, almost feline quality. He studied her face, wanting to crystallise every detail in his memory. Her nose was straight yet not very defined, with her vallaslin extending from the main pattern on her forehead down the centre of it; her mouth was very narrow and neat, with lips slightly puckered, as if her Creators had deliberately and lovingly placed it just there. To him, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and he felt compelled to tell her so.
'Maker's breath, but you're beautiful. I am a lucky man.'
She scoffed at this. 'You flatter me. There's no need.'
'But I mean it.'
She kissed him, lingering on his lower lip as she pulled away.
'I suppose you are entitled to your own opinion.'
'You're so... unaffected,' he laughed, 'I love that about you. You always say what you truly mean. Would that more people were like you.'
'Most of my people are like me, I think. I find it despicable how dishonest humans can be. Betrayers like Zathrian are a great aberration among the Dalish.' She said all this without spite, just as if it were a matter of fact.
Even so, Alistair was wary of the direction in which this talk was heading and racked his brains for a way to avert it. He wanted to know more about her past with Rellan, but the last thing he wanted was to upset her now by poking at freshly opened wounds. He also didn't think she would commend him for wheedling that piece of information out of Lanaya.
She closed her moss-green eyes. He panicked.
'Hold me.'
That, he could deal with just fine. He slipped his arms around her gratefully, and she drew up against his body, her head bowed into his collarbone. Naturally, he felt self-conscious about this arrangement, especially as all she had to do was shift only a little and she would feel his arousal against her knees; but, as it was, her shins rested against the tops of his thighs in a way that he couldn't deny felt extremely comfortable. Her skin was a marvel to touch, mellifluous and deliciously smooth, though interspersed with the occasional scar. He could feel the edge of one where his hand rested on her shoulder blade.
'I have missed this,' she whispered into his chest, barely audibly. He closed his eyes now too, and wished for a dreamless night for them both. Now that would be perfect.
Lys awoke. The first thing she became aware of was how pleasantly warm and rested she felt. Then she felt someone asleep next to her, and her eyes snapped open. Alistair? Suddenly the explanation flooded into her waking brain, and she lay there simply recalling everything. She had invited him to sleep with her. And then it hit her – Rellan was dead. With this realisation, warmth evaporated from her surroundings, colour drained away. The tent wall above her became an indistinct blankness, a wet blur. Her eyes may as well have been shut for all she saw, and when she tried to close them they stung brutally, so she stopped trying.
Still and silent, she allowed the tears to brim over and escape, insensitive to their sweeping along her cheeks. One ran into her ear, making her whole body shiver. The man in her bed, whose steady breathing was one of the few things that penetrated her envelope of sadness, brought little comfort. Part of her even wished that he was Rellan instead, and she despised herself for it. She wanted to be able pretend that the news of his death was untrue, but it was futile. Her fanciful dream of seeing him again had been crushed, and crushed was exactly how she felt.
Elgar'nan take these damned Keepers. She had seen not seventeen winters when Keeper Marethari had discovered their relationship and sent him away, and she had had no knowledge of the world beyond where the clan travelled. The fact that he had been alive, with that clan, all this time was a bitter revelation. Had she known, she would have left to find him, but instead she carried on with her life, never knowing what had become of him. All Lys had known was that Marethari had talked with him, and then he was gone. She was powerless in the face of her elder's stubborn nature, and no amount of pleading or threatening to leave would sway her to bring him back or even tell Lys where he had gone. Always thinking she knew what was best.
To say that Lys had been very angry would be understating it by a lot. She had trusted the Keeper utterly, looked up to her with more respect, and of course distance, than she did her mother figure, Ashalle. It felt like they shared an unspoken understanding, a comprehension of which Ashalle was not possessed. When it had happened, something in her changed. She was angry and reticent for a very long time afterwards, but in the end she realised that she was only hurting herself. There weren't many elves her age whom she would have truly called friends, but eventually they were all pushed away by her unresponsiveness. Remarkably, the reason for her anger, and the real reason Rellan had been banished, never became common knowledge. Marethari had assured her she would tell no one, and Lys had told no one, yet their combined silence was not enough to prevent the hushed gossiping that was inevitable in so small a community. Honestly, some of them must have worked it out, but the Keeper would tolerate no rumour-mongering, much less deign to confirm any suspicions, and the whole thing eventually became a taboo subject.
In the couple of years leading up to her becoming a Grey Warden, she had healed and matured greatly. She was spending a lot of time with Tamlen again, and she was grateful for his unassuming, undemanding company. They would spend many an afternoon hunting together, when there would be little need to talk, or they would simply relax in wooded glades, enjoying the nature around them. She knew that he loved her, possibly even wanted to bond with her, but the guilt from not returning his feelings was not enough to make her distance herself from him once more. It was well to have a friend, even if he would never understand what had made her change from the carefree girl he had always known.
They used to play together all the time, competing with each other over which of them was more skilled or could run faster, or secretly poking fun at the stuffy elders. When they got older, the dynamic between them shifted from playful to slightly strained. He began to take risks to impress her, like scouting by himself at night and without anyone's prior knowledge, and boasted about it later. Whenever he did something like that she would tell him it was stupid, and he would stop talking to her for days at a time. The other elf girls started teasing her about spending time with him, and this eventually sparked off concerns that he would try to become romantic. The idea was repugnant: he felt like a brother to her – a childish, boisterous younger brother – though he was the elder of them. In many ways, they had been very similar then, though she had not seen it. She was more sensible than him, but just as headstrong.
It was around that age when they began the proper training to become hunters, and they suddenly had less time to themselves. As such, this was when Rellan began to instruct them on a regular basis, and thus he gradually ceased to be the reclusive, unfamiliar adult that she had always disregarded. But those particular memories were too painful to return to right now.
She figured it would be dawn soon, so it was imminent that she would have to bury her grief and put on a brave face. She didn't know who was on last watch, as they had arranged it amongst themselves in her absence, but she considered poking her head outside the tent to see just in case it was Leliana. Lys knew she would have to make some apology to the bard if they were to avoid further unpleasantness, and she would prefer to get it over with before everyone else was up.
As she was wiping the drying tears on the back of her hand, however, her sleeping partner rolled over rather vigorously and his arm hit her in the face. Having collided unexpectedly with something solid, he woke with a start.
'Mmmff—what—Andraste's flaming sword! I'm sorry—' he bumbled through an apology as her own shock turned into a sudden urge to laugh, '—...not used to sleeping with someone – I mean sleeping next to someone,' he managed to stop himself there, but only because he at last saw her face, which, she guessed, showed more of the effects of her crying than her fleeting amusement.
'Are you alright?' He blinked away the sleep to focus on her properly.
'My nose will be fine,' Lys gave him a tentative smile, vainly hoping it would reassure him enough that he wouldn't push the matter.
'And the... you look like...' She bravely fought down the rising tears and tried to stare directly back at him, wanting to show him that she would be strong. 'I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't mention it.'
He drew her into a gentle embrace, and she picked a spot behind him to stare at diligently instead. Her arms lay limp at her sides as his enveloped her. She took a moment to compose herself before responding.
'I... I will talk to you when I'm ready,' she was winning the struggle against her emotions, and she managed to speak more or less steadily, 'Please accept that. I can't think about...'
'I understand. If that's what you want.'
Whispering 'Thank you,' in his ear, she pulled herself out of his arms and sat up, reaching for her armour. He automatically looked away from her half-naked form as she began to get dressed, and deep down it irked her. Are human men supposed to be this painfully modest? It's just my body, and not even all of it. She wondered for a second at his behaviour as she slipped into her leathers. I want him to know me. I allowed him to become close to me, invited him into my tent. Maybe he doesn't understand that I've given him permission to love me.
Alistair pushed back the fur covers and proceeded to give an almighty yawn, stretching his arms out as far as the limited space allowed. The tent certainly seemed a great deal smaller with him in it. It took her another moment to buckle up her leather skirt and boots before helping him, grabbing his chainmail haubergeon from the heap they had left it in the night before.
'Thanks. You don't have to do that, though,' he said, by now wriggling into his chausses, somewhat inefficiently at that.
'Don't be silly. It's far quicker if I help.'
'True.' He gave her a meek lopsided smile, as if to say he would cooperate.
She held the mail up for him.
'So, when are we leaving?' He inquired, before disappearing momentarily under the metal links.
'Today.' Her voice came out rather stiff.
'That is rather soon. Can't we at least make time to wash before travelling again?' Although not unsympathetic to his plea, Lys was not keen on the idea of staying another day, in light of everything that had happened.
'There are many reasons not to tarry here, Alistair.' Finally she lifted the leather and splint cuirass for him to duck into. He hesitated.
'I know. But there's no point rushing away when we could still make use of the resources here. We haven't stocked up on supplies or made repairs since...'
She pulled the armour roughly over him, her mind already elsewhere. His argument did make sense. She mechanically went through the motions of strapping on his spaulders and the rest, all the while fighting an internal battle. She was loath to have to see one more Dalish from this forsaken clan, but practicalities could not be neglected.
'Fine.' She punctuated her admission with his last buckle. 'We'll tell everyone to be ready to leave after midday. People can prioritise their own restocking and washing as they see fit.' With this, she turned on her heel and strode out into the camp, leaving him quite at a loss as he heard her bark out the morning's orders.
