For one night they had taken shelter in an inn, a few leagues from Denerim - with what little coin they had to spend, they had chosen carefully and spent only enough to be considered good customers and not bribes. Their appearance gave enough warning to anyone who might try to steal from them in the middle of the night; that didn't mean they wanted to come off as mercenaries or worse. All the allies had been gathered, as many as they could muster, and now they were headed towards the capital with a mind of deposing the regent and showing all what he really was: nothing more than a tyrant, and one who would drive this country into ruin at the hands of an age old enemy. But for now, after a long day of travel, they took their rest.
Two to a room had been the decision, with Breslin sleeping the night with horses and other animals in the stables adjoined to the tavern side of the inn. Zevran and Sten were to share, much to Sten's chagrin as the chatty elf followed him into their assigned room, grinning ear to ear from the qunari's discomfort; next door would be Leliana and Wynne. The two exchanged no words, instead exhausted enough to simply go straight to bed.
Which left the last room for the commander and Alistair. Elissa had taken some time in the tavern itself, speaking with the barkeep to find out the latest news in the realm. Alistair had reached the room first, and was already stripped of his armor, dressed solely in loose cotton pants and shirt; she found him making sleeping arrangements for the two of them. The room wasn't small - a decent size, it boasted a twin bed, night stand, and a chest of drawers. A single candle offering light showed the late hour and the stinginess of the owner.
"Here, I'll take the floor - but that means I get all the pillows," he muttered under his breath, making a show of stealing them from the bed. He glanced at her to watch her reaction, and when he found not even a cursory eye-roll, he dropped one back onto the slim blanket covering a worn, straw-stuffed mattress as she walked further into the room. Certainly not what Elissa was used to, faintly recalling a goose-down bed back in Highever, but it was far better than rocky ground and a mere blanket. For a moment she simply pressed her hand into the yielding surface, then turned and sat to begin the long process of removing her armor. Alistair, frozen at the idea of what he had gotten himself into, turned to the wall.
"You know I...I just wanted to thank you." Elissa frowned, not stopping in her motions and giving a grunt in reply. The two remained back to back, and Alistair crossed his arms over his chest, then dropped them again. One boot fell to the floor with a small thud, bits of dirt and other unmentionables flaking off in small pieces to make a mess on the floor. She turned her attentions to the other foot.
"I appreciate...what you did. For Eamon, and Isolde. And Connor." When no reply was forthcoming, and a second boot hit the floor, he continued on. She wondered why it had taken him so long - but then again, they had been busy fighting for their lives, saving others, and she had held him at a distance. Especially after the conversation with Leliana, which had awakened old memories and made her feel guilty for the wrong reasons.
She had worked hard to suppress those memories, the ones of a man she had known since childhood, a man who had become a dear friend and then something even closer. His disappearance had created a rift in her heart, one that had grown with the passing of her family. Now she was starting to acknowledge the pain, but she feared that a closer relationship with Alistair would be tainted by her healing process. She heard his voice again, and was drawn away from her thoughts.
"You didn't have to do that, and I just wanted to say...thank you." It was a lame excuse for a conversation, and he had hoped to say it to her rather than facing a wall, but he was very much a man of honor; well, perhaps a man of bashfulness and unease, but never let it be said that the thought hadn't crossed his mind. Silence bathed the room, and he glanced back before turning around to find Elissa already looking at him. She had one hand pressed on the bed, leaning on it to turn around and look over her shoulder; it was a coy and teasing position, but not in a manner that suggested she was using it to that effect. She was simply too tired to turn completely around.
"I didn't do it for you," she said, carefully. "I did it because it was right." No offense given or taken; she was accepting his thanks, but calling them unnecessary. It was her duty to do these things, as it was his, and the fact that the people they helped happened to be the closest thing he had ever had to a family was irrelevant. But it didn't stop him from needing to make his feelings known.
"I know." He moved closer to the bed; suddenly the room felt very small, very, very small. It was large enough for perhaps one more person before it became cramped; but Elissa suddenly became very aware that the bed was the only thing separating them. "And I also wanted to say...that I've been thinking about what you said. In Denerim."
"I've been meaning to apologize-"
"No, you were right." He moved around to the foot of the bed, stopping just as he came within reach of her. Other than turning her head so she was facing him fully, she didn't move a muscle, unsure if she liked where this was going. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it might burst - and yet the feeling of unease was something she could not quell.
"I need to be stronger. Stand up for myself, just as I do for others. And I wanted to thank you for that, as well." His eyes looked down on her, his desire more than apparent. Before any decisions could be made, she stood and put more space between the two of them; putting her hands in the air to ward off the oncoming events. She met his eyes with her own, trying to remain steady.
"Alistair, think about this. You're going to be king, and I..."
"Anora can be ruler - she's doing a decent job of it, isn't she? Why must I ride in and steal that away from her?"
"And Eamon? His suggesting of putting you up as contender for the throne? How were you going to get away from all of that?" His gaze turned hard, something she had never seen in him before. He rolled his shoulders as though to relieve tension, but it was still there in the curve of his jaw, the glint in his eyes. Anger radiated from him, in that others would make these decisions about him and he was just expected to follow - no, that had been when he was a child, and that would not do any longer. Her palms began to sweat, and a ringing began in her ears. Softly, of course, but building.
"Eamon does not speak for me. I can speak for myself. Isn't that what you meant, in Denerim, outside of my sister's house? I don't want to be king, and I won't."
"Do you think she'll let you live?" He was taken aback at this thought. Why in the Maker's name would Anora kill him? "Don't you see the danger that lies in leaving a blood-relative of Calenhad the Great alive? Alistair..." Though confused in her overall feelings, she knew that she didn't want to see his golden head decorating a pike atop the palace gates. Despite the distance she had forced between them, the goofy blond had become dear to her as a friend, with the potential for something more.
All simply because he was related through what he would consider ill-luck to the royal family of Ferelden. She knew enough of politics that Anora would never let him simply gallivant off on his own, to perhaps beget more heirs who might one day return to usurp the throne from her and her family. Elissa knew she would do whatever it took to keep him safe, even if that meant saving him from himself.
The thought of him being hanged, his body drifting in the wind, brought tears to her eyes and her vision blurred. Before she knew it, he had closed the space between them and pulled her into an embrace. She pressed her face into the cotton shirt that had separated flesh from steel, giving some reprieve to his skin from chainmail and armor. Sweat-stained, it reeked of him, of him and of death, of violence. She tried to put those thoughts from her mind, but they were ever present. The contact was comforting as she suppressed the tears that threatened.
"Shh...nothing's going to happen to me. Nothing, I swear it by Andraste's holy words." A pause. His arms tightened around her comfortingly, bringing them closer.
"Well, nothing that you wouldn't warrant," he added, trying to break the tension. She snorted softly at the thought, bringing a smirk to his own face in triumph.
"So...have you ever licked a lamppost in winter?" Alluding to an earlier conversation, his serious tone caused her eyes to roll at the idiotic wording she had used to tease him about his upbringing in the Chantry. A laugh escaped from her as she sniffled against his shirt. She could feel the heat of his body through the thin cotton in the fingertips left exposed by her leather gloves, against her face. She was still dressed in combat gear, leather armor splattered with blood and other unmentionables. Lifting her head, she noted how close they were to one another - her eyes started from his chin, moving upwards, taking in the whole of his face until they met his own. There was that look, again, but this time she wasn't afraid of it.
Her mouth opened to reply, and suddenly she found him kissing her. It was gentle, but insistent; moving in on a moment, the perfect moment, in subtle invitation without force. Caught up, she found herself replying, carefully, slowly, with everything that had been hiding within her mind, everything she had been unsure of giving voice to. After all, she was going to lose him one way or another, wasn't she? To death, or to the crown, and she had no idea which was worse. But for now, now while they were running, while they were fighting for their lives, she had him all to herself. After a moment, he pulled back, loosening his hold on her.
"Was that too soon?" His voice was low and raspy, and a smile born of pride of what she could do to this man stirred her lips. Meeting his eyes with her own, she shook her head.
"No...no, that was...that was fine." He laughed loudly, making her grin.
"I wanted to wait for the perfect time. But there's never going to be one, is there? If we lived in a perfect world, we never would have met." He moved one hand down to the small of her back, a subtle question towards dubious motives pulling her into him. With other boys, she had slapped them for such intentions; had pushed them away and ran into the halls. Now there was nowhere to run to, and for once, she found that she didn't even consider the thought. All that occupied her mind was this man, the bed behind him, and the armor that provided the sole obstacle.
"You know...I haven't..." She started for a moment, then stopped to bite her lip in embarrassment.
"Never what? Licked a lamppost? I thought there were lots of those in Denerim, I almost dared you-" She pressed her lips to his for a moment of blessed silence and the taste of him in her mouth. One hand had crept up to brush the warmth of his cheek, lightly dusted with stubble. He laughed into the kiss, his teasing only inflaming her further. How was it possible for one man to make her feel such a gamut of emotions, all at once? When they broke the kiss, she glowered at him.
"Coyness doesn't become you, Elissa," he continued, taking a step back and pulling her with him. Through his confident words she could feel a slight tremor in his body and knew that he was as nervous as she. They stumbled back another pace, feet nearly stepping on one another as they neared the bed.
"Neither does bravado you, Alistair," she shot back, using the same tactics to hide her own anxiety, moving with him hesitantly. She felt safe in his arms. Another step and suddenly they were falling, landing on the bed with her atop him. Stunned for a moment, suddenly they were laughing. Elissa pressed a hand to her mouth to quell the noise, glancing back at the door. Her attention was pulled away from it as his hands grasped her arms and pulled her into him, showing her that he only had attention for what was directly before him.
A quick kiss, and then she was pulling off her gloves so she could feel her hands on his face, neck. His own hands pressed against the cuirass, searching for skin. She began to pull at one of the buttons, both her left hand and position awkward. Alistair reached up for the right side, and the buttons popped away. She allowed him to help her pull it off, the material sticking close enough to be a second skin.
Slowly her body was visible in the shallow candle light, which played over her slim curves. The only thing still dressing her from the waist up was the cloth tied around her breasts and that necklace with the silver ring, but he never noticed it, having eyes only for her. She left it on, it and its reminder lost for the time being. The leather skirt was next, though even more awkward as she had to roll away from him to be able to slide it off.
Never stopping for a moment to think, no, she couldn't allow that because it would ruin it, ruin the moment, she turned to Alistair and put one hand on his shoulder; he turned, and then he was above her, and they were moving on the bed to lay on it lengthwise, all the while spurts of giggles or laughter appearing at their ridiculous actions.
He pulled his shirt away, the feeling of skin on skin was exotic and suddenly moved things to a new level - the laughter faded as their mouths met again, hands playing over scars that they each knew the stories for. After a moment she felt him fumbling at her upper garment, pulling it away; she helped him, the feeling of skin on skin exciting. Her final undergarment was next, and then both of their sets of hands were fumbling at his pants, enthusiasm and anxiety making the task that much more difficult.
It wasn't the cold that caused the sudden shaking - her anxiety had never been so great. When was the last time that she had approached something she had no experience in? Again she was thankful for him, for his kindness, for his inexperience. Suddenly she realized that, for the first time in her life, she was naked before a man; despite the fact that it was Alistair, she had never exposed herself so before another of the opposite gender, period. She had never felt so self-conscious in her life, and she wasn't sure it was a feeling she enjoyed.
But she was too far gone herself, and before she could make any further realizations, she turned to the side, her shoulder making contact with his chest, and leaned over to blow out the candle - and with the banishment of the light went her thoughts, doubts, and insecurities.
She woke the next morning in his arms - like a dream, it was. But something pulled her from the bed; a trepidation, a warning at what she had done and a fear of its repercussions. She left its warmth and the curve of his body to re-shield herself in her leathers, wrapping them up tightly and again feeling secure.
She took a moment to look at him - reddish-gold hair, sleeping soundly on a straw-stuffed mattress like the farm boy he so was. He didn't look at all the king she knew he would be, the great king he would make. She would lose him, she knew, but whether to death or to the crown she had no idea. This night, though - this night she would have forever.
She left him to wake on his own, in an empty bed, wondering where and why she had gone.
