Stupid templar.
Though I was rife with hunger, I could barely touch the food on my plate. My mind burned with the image of her in his arms like a cruel joke. The food I had eaten was forced down my throat, and despite how wonderful it was to have a hot meal after so many days eating stale bread and dried meats on the road, I couldn't enjoy it. I was grouchy and irritable and everyone around me knew it.
"Why the sour face, pretty boy?" Oghren grunted at me across the table, mead still dribbling down his beard. I raised my brow and cleared my throat while making a suggested motion with my hand.
"Uh, you got a little-" I tried telling him. He drank another big swig, splashing more onto his face, then followed by a loud belch. I winced and heaved a sigh. "Nevermind," I shook my head.
"Still sore-assed about seeing your lady-friend cozying up to that templar fella?" he chuckled. I turned a bright shade of red and went rigid in my seat. Leliana and the others were within distance of us at the long table to hear every word. I saw a peculiar perk of interest from Morrigan, which amounted to nothing more than a slow raise of her brow and disapproving frown. I knew better.
"Shut it, would you?" I hissed under my breath. "Maker, you don't know what tact means, do you?" I muttered. He topped off his mead, then slapped the empty mug down on the table. The massacred food on his plate jumped from impact.
"And neither do you, nug-humper," he laughed. "I've seen your so-called tact - and it ain't amounted to nothin' more than blunderin' about until you fall on your ass or stick your foot right in your mouth." He let out a hearty laugh at his own insult, stinging me in the process. I frumped in my seat and glared at him.
"I can see now why Orzammar was happy to be rid of you," I snapped. Undeterred, he leaned back in his seat and grunted again with a wide smile.
"There ain't nothin' you can say that gets under my skin, twinkle-toes, since I'm not the one with the lady problems," he drummed his fingers on his stomach, just daring me to try and combat him. He certainly was a cheeky dwarf, wasn't he?
"What's this I hear about problem with women?" a soft, Orlesian voice countered. I felt Leliana warm right next to me in the seat, wrapping delicate fingers around my arm. Morrigan stood over her, hands on hips, and across Sten had followed - though he seemed far less interested in the so-called problems I was dealing with. They pressed in around me, picking and questioning like a bunch of old women fussing over a child.
"Absolutely nothing!" I finally shouted and abruptly stood to my feet. I couldn't stand it anymore. It was hard enough dealing with it without the added pressure of a bunch of cackling hens squawking in my ear. Flustered, humiliated - I stalked out of the mess hall towards the staircase. The sun was setting now, and played dark shadows across the stone walls. Under the veil of the stairs' entrance, I reached down into my satchel and carefully pulled out the item I had so tediously looked after.
A rose, as beautiful as the day I had picked it, still bloomed with velvet-red petals from a rich green stem. I wouldn't have believed it had I not witnessed it myself - but I had found the flower amongst the wreckage of Lothering all those months ago. It had bloomed from the ashes somehow, and like a beacon I'd found it nestled between the debris. It was more than just a flower, it was a symbol of hope, knowing that something so beautiful could still prosper in such a horrible place.
I had wanted to give it to her. I'd beaten myself up for weeks contemplating it, trying to talk myself out of it. The more I thought about it, the more ridiculous a notion it became. Isthalla was as hard as stone, or so I once thought. There were times when I saw her for who she really was - or at least, use to be - hidden beneath the shadow of a terrible history. Just like the rose, she was prickly on the outside, yet somehow underneath that demeanor I knew she was beautiful. That night on the hill, she'd been so open with me. I'd never seen her like that before. I knew then that I had to give her the rose, even if she rejected it. It was for her. It always had been.
Jealousy riled in me as I replayed the image in my mind. My heart had fallen, because in that moment I realized what I could never be. All of the wishful thinking in the world couldn't surpass the smile he so selfishly procured from Isthalla. It sickened my stomach knowing how easily she folded over for him, or how quickly she forgave him. He'd yelled at her, called her a monster, and yet it only took a glance for her to fall over herself just to see him again. I was never granted that forgiveness, and for whatever reason every little mistake I made she reminded me of any chance she got. I was not allowed to forget my mistakes. And he was forgiven regardless.
That damned templar.
My hand crushed over the rose before I could think about it. I squeezed the torn petals into my palm until my nails embedded into my skin. A ragged breath escaped my lips as I released the flower, and let the remains fall on the ground. It lay mangled and distorted across the cold stone steps. Never again. He could have her for all I cared. Why did I even bother to try?
I had lingered far too long over the corpse of my flower. Morrigan had caught up with me before I could think better and escape, and halfway up the stairs she stopped at the bottom and stooped down to pick up the crushed remnants.
"Alistair?" she called. I paused, hands clenched at my side, then continued climbing. My footsteps were gratingly loud. She knew it was me. "Alistair, I can hear you-" she voiced my thoughts quite irritably. I still continued to climb. I heard frantic, hurried footsteps as she followed after me and met at the threshold to the second floor. "Alistair, wait-"
"What do you want?" I turned on her. Obviously I had spoken more harshly than she was accustomed to, for she took a step back and recalculated her approach. I didn't care if I had offended her. I was sick to death of being considered a joke, as being taken for a child, or chastised, or considered less important. Isthalla had toyed and taunted and humiliated me, and now after all this time I had finally thought she was warming up to me - she had crushed my hope. I didn't exactly feel like putting up with another mage whose only goal was to torment me in some way or another.
"I-" she paused, looking down at the flower in her hand, then back to me. "I just.. wanted to speak with you."
"What, so you can tell me what a blundering oaf I am? Or maybe a witless bastard, that was always a good one. I'm not really in the mood, Morrigan," I bit back at her. She truly looked offended now, and for a moment my better judgment caught a hold of me as I thought better of my words. I heaved a sigh and slumped.
"I'm sorry.. I'm just-" I searched for words. Did I honestly want to tell Morrigan about my romantic hardships? She'd probably laugh in my face. A better that I'd kept it a secret for so long. "Nevermind, you wouldn't care anyway," I closed myself off again, turning away to step into the hallway and stride towards whatever direction led me away from her.
I managed to wander my way into an empty hall that appeared to be a training room. Glad to find a vent for my frustrations, I took up one of the chipped, old swords from the rack and began hacking away at the wooden targets lining the wall.
After about twenty minutes I'd exhausted myself to the point of passing out. In the process, I'd removed most of my outer layers of armor. Sweat drenched my tunic and forehead. I tried to blink the salt from my eyes, and with a final heave threw the worn sword at the opposite wall.
"A bit excessive, don't you think?" a wearily familiar voice chided on my ear. I spun around, still trying to catch my breath, to find Morrigan perched on a wooden table pushed against the wall.
"Have you been here this whole time?" I asked in astonishment. She nodded, further producing confusion from my expression. "Wh-?" I tried speaking, but again heaved to catch my breath. I held up an index and buckled over my knees.
"'Twas not difficult. I was only a few paces behind," she shrugged. "You were so intent on your anger that you did not notice my presence."
After I'd managed to get a hold of myself, I straightened back up and stumbled over to the table as well, opting to slump in the seat beside the table. She glanced down at me.
"You reek," she crinkled her nose.
"Yeah, thanks," I breathed while resting the weight of my body over my knees and lowering my head. I smiled nonetheless, now exhausted of my frustration. A comfortable silence stretched out for a moment, of which Morrigan took advantage of by swinging her feet.
"So, you found my flower," I decidedly took the reins of the impending conversation. I'd rather get it over with than have her subtly drag it out for the next half-hour.
"I did," she nodded. I waited. When she added nothing to her statement, I raised my head and looked at her rather strangely. She was happily preoccupied staring ahead, still picking at the thing in her hands. It looked as if she'd tried to actually put it back together. Could mages do that?
"Aren't you going to ask me about it?" I finally asked, squinting one eye up at her. I used a portion of my shirt to try and wipe away the sweat still beaded on my brow, and met wet, smelly fabric. "Augh!" I voiced my disgust, and promptly tore the smelly, soggy tunic over my shoulders before tossing it on the ground.
Morrigan only raised a brow to my strange performance, then turned away again to answer my question. "Only if you want to talk about it," she said quite simply. Now I was confused. Either she had a secret agenda or I was simply missing something. The Morrigan I knew didn't comply so easily to a conversation. She would dig until every little bit of information was unearthed to know, with or without my consent.
"..Really?" I said rather incredulously. I was now squinting in order to keep the sweat from dripping into my eyes, a rather hilarious and odd expression to hold. She caught my expression and tsk'd before abruptly hopping to her feet and strolling across the room. After a quick search, she somehow managed to find whatever it was she sought and returned with a ragged strip of cloth meant to wipe my face. I wordlessly took it from her and rubbed the length of my face and neck. While I busied myself with reprimanding my hygiene, she picked back up the conversation.
"Yes, really. If it eases your conscious, I knew you meant it for Isthalla," she chimed in with an unfamiliar weight to her voice. I stopped wiping the back of my neck and looked up at her.
"Am I that obvious?" I asked quite honestly. I had hoped to be more secretive about it, but if Morrigan noticed then there was a large chance Isthalla had noticed as well. She must have sensed my alarm, because she almost immediately answered my unspoken question.
"Don't worry, I don't think Isthalla realized it," she sighed while resuming her perch on the table. She swung her feet a few times, then fell still and stared up at the ceiling while resting her weight on her palms. "You, however, need to come up with a better approach than getting down on one knee and handing her some flowers," she finally returned to that familiar tone of motherly chastising.
"Well, you won't have to worry about that anymore. I'm not giving her anything," I heaved another sigh and rested my back against the wall and thunked my head against the stone. I looked at her. "And it was one flower - a rose."
"As I noticed," she looked back into her hands, now holding a perfectly formed rose as before.
"How did you-" I sat up, holding my hands out for the precious flower now restored as if I'd never touched it. She relinquished the gift and pulled her legs up, crossing them.
"I have many skills at my disposal, flora repair being the least of them," she commented. I was still perplexed by how perfect the rose lay in my hands, entirely in tact. It suddenly struck me that she had done this before.
"Wait-" I paused while working the idea through my head, then turned to her with a befuddled look. "Have you been doing this the entire time..?" I asked her, still a bit shocked by the idea. I recalled the many times I had feared crushing the flower in my satchel, yet every time I went to rescue it from the leather confines of my equipment it always remained in pristine condition.
"I couldn't let you give a woman a broken flower, now could I?" she said it in a way that made it seem unspeakable to do so. Despite this, I felt nothing but utter surprise that something so insignificant to Morrigan could mean so much to me.
"I can't believe it," I smiled, now inspecting the rose with the adornment of a young child.
"Now do you really expect me to do all that work for nothing, Alistair?" she demanded. I turned back to the curious mage on my right and found her haughty expression and demanding posture rather funny in that moment. It was strange that she would do so much work just for a silly flower, but then again Morrigan often insisted on nothing but the best treatment - even if it meant meddling into my own personal affairs, it seemed.
"If you are going to confess how you feel, then I suggest you stop avoiding the subject like a frightened little girl and do what you intended to do months ago," she chided me. "I mean, honestly, the worst that can happen is she can say no." Even though she had insulted me and reminded me again of impending failure, I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. Seeing the rose restored in my hand had given me hope again, like a light at the end of a dark tunnel.
"Thank you, Morrigan, really-" I could hardly contain myself. She wasn't sure what to do with compliments, and put them to the side with a small wave of her hand.
"Just… don't use the lines you rehearsed. That's my only suggestion," she made a funny face. I felt my own flush with embarrassment that she'd also seen me awkwardly trying to reenact the imaginary situation of presenting the rose to Isthalla. I groaned, suddenly reminded of just how incompetent I could be.
"I don't think I can do this," I faltered back on my well-remembered uncertainty. A hand quickly caught my arm, causing me to tense up and yelp.
"Ow!" I rubbed the spot, though it hadn't hurt. A reflexive noise.
"Oh would you quit that nonsense?" she barked. "You're entirely capable and you know it - if you would stop whining long enough to realize it." I screwed up my face in sudden confusion that she had somehow simultaneously managed to still insult and compliment me at the same time.
"I- thank you, I guess?" I scrunched up my face to her, then shook my head. "I'm sorry, I know I do complain a good bit, don't I?" I added with a humored chuckle while laboring to my feet. She snorted.
"Only a little?" she inquired. I stared her down, expression flattened, and sighed.
"Oh fine, a lot," I rolled my eyes. She seemed pleased by my answer, and waved me off with an airy hand I had learned to ignore, though still obeyed out of some form of twisted respect for the woman. I had never really experienced what it was like to have a mother, but I expected she would be quite similar to Morrigan. Scary thought, really.
Though not a terrible idea.