Scratches

Isabel sat next to Alistair on a broken log, as she and Wynne unbuckled the straps of his armor. Wynne was calm, her movements patient and precise, unlike Isabel. She wasn't as composed, her shaking hands frantically trying to unbuckle the familiar fastenings on his armor. It shouldn't have been so hard, she'd unbuckled his armor so many times before, but she couldn't get past the blood pouring out of his shoulder where an arrow was sticking out of it. She knew the injury wasn't immediately life threatening, but she couldn't get the thought out of her mind that something would go wrong.

They carefully peeled off all the heavy metal from Alistair's torso, cautiously removing his undershirt without jostling the arrow, leaving him shirtless. Isabel bit her lip as she watched Wynne grab the arrow's shaft, preparing to push it through his shoulder so she could properly get it out.

"Ready?" she asked, and Alistair nodded curtly, bracing himself. He grunted in pain as she pushed the arrow into his shoulder, the arrowhead coming out of his back. Wynne snapped it off and then pulled the rest of the arrow back through from the front, tossing the bloody thing aside. She dabbed at the wound with a clean towel, attempting to staunch the blood flow until she could heal it.

Alistair glanced towards Isabel, his amber eyes meeting hers, a tinge of trepidation in his gaze. Even after months of having Wynne around to heal everyone's injuries, he was still uncomfortable with magic being used on him. Isabel always provided the little bit of extra support he needed to get through it.

She forced herself to smile, taking his hand and lacing her fingers with his. He leaned towards her and she rested her forehead against his, nuzzling his face. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath that tickled her lips when he exhaled.

"Do it," he muttered, and a moment later he was squeezing her hand as Wynne healed the arrow wound. Isabel knew the moment it was over, because he relaxed, sighing and leaning against her. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, and he opened his eyes, smiling at her.

"Wynne, it seems you have missed a spot," came Zevran's voice. Both Wardens turned to the source, finding the assassin sitting in Wynne's vacant seat on the other side of Alistair. Wynne stood next to the log, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"And what is it I have missed?" she asked, coming around to stand behind Alistair.

"He didn't get hurt anywhere else, did he?" Isabel said quickly, sitting back and sweeping her gaze over Alistair's chest and abdomen, then moving so she could see his back. Her eyes landed on what she suspected Zevran was going on about, and once she saw the other man's smirk, she knew she guessed right.

"What? What is it?" Alistair asked, craning his head around to try and see what the three of them were staring at.

"It's nothing, Ali," Isabel began, her fingers lightly tracing over scratch marks she'd accidentally left on his back.

"Someone got a little carried away last night, hmm?" Zevran said, Wynne shaking her head and rolling her eyes.

"Carried away? What do you mean—" Alistair stopped speaking, his eyes wide with the realization of what they were talking about. He swallowed hard, that adorable blush of his creeping onto his cheeks. "Oh, Maker," he groaned, slouching forwards.

Isabel bit back a grin, and Wynne shot her and Zevran a disapproving look. "Would you like me to heal them, Alistair?"

He went to answer her, but Zevran spoke first. "I don't think we should expose the poor man to more magic…"

"And besides, they can be a reminder of last night," Isabel added, unable to contain her grin any longer.

"I don't think any of us will forget last night," Zevran started, smirking. "You two are not as quiet as you think you are, especially you, my good friend Alistair." He groaned again, blushing even more, the tips of his ears turning red. Isabel and Zevran laughed, and he buried his face in his hands, shaking his head.

Wynne sighed at their immature antics, offering her healing services to Alistair should he still want them before she took her leave. Zevran followed her, still snickering as he left the two Wardens alone.

When she regained her breath from laughing, Isabel started to gently rub his back, slowly feeling him relax under her touch.

"I'm sorry, Alistair, I couldn't resist," she murmured. "We can get Wynne to heal the marks if you're embarrassed." He sat up and met her gaze, a light blush still on his cheeks.

"I'm not embarrassed," he said, and she quirked an eyebrow at him. "I mean, I am, but I…" He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked down at the ground. "I liked it." He gazed back at her sheepishly, his brow furrowing when he saw the devious glint in her eye and the way her lips had curled into a mischievous smile. "Izzy, why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're going to drag me back to our tent and have your wicked, wicked way with me."

"Oh, I'm sorry, do you not like it when I have my wicked way with you?" she purred, sliding her hand up his chest before dragging her fingernails back down just a little harder than necessary. His breath hitched, his eyes momentarily fluttering closed before they opened again, his gaze boring right into hers.

"I love it when you have your wicked way with me," he growled, reaching to pull her into his arms. Isabel weaseled out of his grasp and hopped off of the log, batting her eyelashes at him. He flew out of his seat and she squealed when he grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her and tugging her close.

Alistair captured her lips in a heated kiss that slowly simmered down into something more tender. When he pulled back, she grinned at him, teasingly dragging her fingers down his abdomen.

"Let's help everyone finish setting up camp, and after dinner I'll let you drag me back to our tent, and then you can have your wicked way with me," she said, her voice low and seductive. "Who knows, maybe you'll end up with more scratch marks that you can show off tomorrow morning."

Alistair blushed again, and she giggled, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. She took his hand and started to drag him back to the center of camp before he stopped her. He turned her back around to face him, lightly caressing her cheek.

"I love you, Izzy," he breathed, a soft smile gracing his lips.

Isabel grinned and leaned into his touch, her heart warming inside her chest at his words. "I love you, too, Alistair. Always."