Aaron had never felt so utterly helpless in his life. She knew… she knew what she did to him, and she teased him mercilessly for it. She did not do so aloud, no, she was too cruel for that. Instead she feigned an innocence that he knew for a fact was as far from the truth as humanly possible. Every move became the most sensual thing he'd ever seen, every spoken word delivered in tones that made him question his capability to hold back.
Lust he understood—he was a man, after all—but this was something else... something primal that made him want to throw himself at anyone who so much as looked at her and fight to the death to keep her safe, which was ridiculous because of everyone in his little group she was probably the one who needed his protection the least. She had proven time and time again that she was more than capable of obliterating anyone and anything that so much as looked at her askance, and somehow that only made him want her more.
He sat, miserable, as he watched her stir her pot at her own little camp away from camp; she was leaning just so and stretching like that to compound his misery tenfold, and she knew it.
Aaron was restless. He had to be up, running, pacing, moving, doing something or he would surely go insane. He jumped to his feet, aware that all eyes had turned to him due to his complete lack of subtlety, and paused. With a growl he snatched his longbow from where he'd rested it against his tent and stalked towards the woods. If the wholesale slaughter of numerous innocent woodland creatures wouldn't take his mind off the witch, nothing would.
The rabbits he caught—killed instantly with a single arrow each—were so small and fragile… so utterly unlike his Morrigan. He froze mid-step. Andraste's great flaming ass; when did he start calling her that? She would horribly murder him if she knew.
Why did that make him quicken his steps and search for something, anything, to distract himself?
He threw himself into the task of preparing the rabbits with a brutal efficiency that he knew unnerved his fellow Grey Warden. It was rather humorous, actually. Alistair could behead a Hurlock without a thought, but the mere sight of Aaron cleaning the rabbits had the man turning an impressive shade of green. Aaron was willing to admit he went about the task with a certain coldness he had lacked before, but damn it he was restless!
The only one who seemed to notice the hard steel in his eyes or the rigidity of his posture was their newest addition: the assassin-turned-lecher who was studying him carefully from across the camp. Zevran had the good sense not to bother him about it, but the fact that he'd noticed was something that had Aaron even more on edge.
When the rabbits were safely in the stew he was making—he didn't trust Alistair's cooking to satisfy a Genlock—he let himself get completely absorbed in it so he wouldn't have to think about what Morrigan might be doing. He didn't have to think about how she would sway when she walked just to tease him, how she would cluck her tongue in that disappointed yet somewhat amused way, how she would…
He raked his fingers through his hair with a ragged sigh. He fixed his eyes on the pot hanging over the fire and absolutely refused to allow himself the distraction that called itself Morrigan. When the distraction herself materialized at his side he had to stop himself from looking at her. It was a battle of wills! His manly pride was at stake. He would not look at her.
She leaned over with her bowl in a smooth, taunting motion and Aaron's great resolve snapped abruptly and he glanced at her. What was he, a drooling teenager? He was a man, the son of a Teyrn, and he was afraid to glance at a woman? Maker save him and damn Flemeth for giving her such revealing clothing.
His mind wandered to unfortunate places as he fought to remain absolutely still while the others ladled stew into their various bowl-shaped objects. Zevran cocked a brow at his motionlessness but had the common sense not to comment.
Aaron was in a bad way. Part of him wanted to throw caution to the wind, tackle Morrigan, and take her right there in the grass. The larger, more logical part of him that valued his life, knew she would freeze him solid if he so much as tried. He closed his eyes and rested his head on his hands, aware of the lilting laugh beside him that signified his misery had not gone completely unnoticed.
"'Twould seem our fearless leader is rather dour this eve."
He looked up miserably at her. She was so close to him. It would take so little effort to pull her closer and show him just how miserable she made him. Through an extreme force of wills, he managed to tear his eyes from her golden orbs and stared at the fire, tense as a bowstring.
"Leave him alone, Morrigan," Alistair grumbled, "How would you like to try leading for once?"
Zevran snickered. "I do not think that is what has our Warden, how do you say, out of sorts. No?"
Alistair, Maker bless him, was so completely oblivious to what Zevran was trying to say that Aaron had to stifle a harsh laugh. Nearby Leliana was hiding her smile with her hand, looking anywhere but at him.
"And you would know?" Alistair demanded cautiously. Zevran just shrugged innocently, fooling no one.
Morrigan hadn't looked away from him this whole conversation. Aaron felt like he was being studied, scrutinized, and he wasn't sure if he would pass inspection. She had been teasing him flirtingly for weeks now, ever since she caught on to his misery, but Aaron knew better than to take anything she gave at face value. She was far more than the Wilds witch she pretended to be.
She set her bowl on the ground and rubbed her arms, watching him with a wide-eyed stare. She addressed him with a very impressive pouty voice. "'Tis chilly in my tent at night."
Aaron dropped the skinning knife he had been holding and all eyes went to him. He never dropped things. He turned to face her and watched her very carefully. She looked innocent enough, but he knew her better than that.
"Oh?" he asked carefully. "Well we can't have that."
"Truly." Her eyes became decidedly wicked and Aaron had to check himself before he launched at her despite their audience. "Perhaps you could think of a few ways to keep me warm?"
He returned her grin and was gratified when she shivered. "I'm sure I could think of something…"
She stood with fluid grace and twirled on her heel as she sauntered back towards her little isolated tent, waving at him with her fingers as she walked. Audience forgotten, he crawled to his feet, dusted himself off, and with a parting nod to those watching, all but jogged after her.