Chapter 20: Embers
The night had left them completely now and Alistair didn't like it. The camp was dipped into morning light and the darkness receded into the forest, deeper and deeper. Usually light would bring some sort of relief – would ease the heart with the danger of the deep, dark night gone.
It didn't now, though. Thinking about it, it hadn't for a long time. Only now was worse, because he was wide awake and sitting in the middle of a camp, staring at a dying fire, and he was sober. Completely freaking sober. No sleep to escape to.
There was nothing between him and reality and it made one thing absolutely clear: He had had a reason to drink. It did make things easier. So much easier. For one, he could actually live with himself – or at least he didn't think too much and that was in some way equally acceptable.
Alistair took a deep breath, closed his eyes and fought down the mild feeling of panic.
He would guess that now would be the time to run, his last chance to escape before being drawn into something he was not ready to be a part of. However, there was nowhere to run and he was painfully, achingly aware of that. No place and no person. Not a single one.
He was a drunken bastard, exiled and forgotten. Probably served him right. Didn't it?
"She hadn't planned on it," Nelaros suddenly murmured and Alistair almost jumped out of his skin, taken completely by surprise. The elf had been quiet for a while now, massaging his own hands and shoulders as best as he could. Reluctantly Alistair threw him a side glance.
"To get you involved, I mean. Originally we just needed another person to actually have a good chance against the slavers and after that we would not have bothered you again. She didn't want to recruit you, even after we knew you're a skilled warrior and that you'd be great help. She didn't want to get you into danger. None of us wants that. I'm sorry it turned out like this for you."
Alistair bit back a dry laugh that was forcing its way to the surface from somewhere deep within, his eyes sliding back to the dying fire. It was holding onto the last logs of wood, desperately gnawing on them to survive just a little longer.
"I'll not lie, though. I'll not say that I'm sorry that we met you." Nelaros also turned to face the fire, the red shine painting patterns on his still too pale skin. The dark circles under his eyes seemed to have grown in intensity throughout the last hours.
Alistair looked at him out of the corner of his eyes. He savoured the feeling of bitter anger rising in his chest, relished it. It was so much easier to do that than to try and figure out what that other feeling was. Much easier.
"I think you helped us save those children," the elf continued quietly. "And I think you helped save our lives. For that, I'm grateful." He turned to look at the warrior, his vivid green eyes intense as he spoke.
Alistair took a shaky breath and squared his shoulders, turned away just a tiny bit more. He tried to let the words slide off, but found that he couldn't. They were tearing at the bubble of anger and it was… scary, for a lack of better word.
"I'm grateful you were there and I'm grateful that you will be with us a while longer. I know it isn't fair to you and it isn't what you had planned and for that, I want to say that I'd wish you a better fate. I still cannot see it as a bad thing, though. You being here means we'll be stronger, safer."
The elf didn't realize that he didn't need any thanks, what he needed was to be alone. What he needed was – something. Anything. He didn't know. Not this, though, definitely not this.
A bottle of wine. Yes. That. His hands were trembling.
"I'm sorry, I realize it's really selfish to say all this. There's little good to come out of this for you and you have little reason to join us." The elf fell quiet for a moment and then crouched down, hand on the ground to stabilize himself. He took a deep breath and let it out again in a shudder. "I'm not sure how much any of what we told you means to you and perhaps it doesn't concern you at all and that'd be okay – it's not your people, I know that, and you've probably seen many bad things back in Ferelden… It's just that this is important. Those lives are important. They are family, friends. They are…" Nelaros paused and blinked, lost for words.
Then, suddenly, he turned to face Alistair and their gazes met.
"They are what we've been fighting for all along. Freedom, safety, justice."
It sounded familiar. Romantic, idealistic.
It sounded ridiculous.
"I'd be ready to give my life if it meant getting them all back and keeping everybody safe. But that might not be enough and that scares me. "
The warrior turned his head fully, looked at the elf who was crouching there like a statue, unmoving. His bright green eyes were directed towards the fire and yet somehow where looking at something much further away.
A thousand things came to mind and yet there was nothing to be said. Alistair knew the feeling all too well, the urge to keep your friends as safe as possible, because they were the single most precious thing you had and because you could not possibly live without them. Except that eventually, it turned out that you could. He was still alive after all, wasn't he?
"So, for that, I'm grateful that you're with us now," Nelaros said and Alistair looked away again, wetting his dry lips.
This hadn't been the idea, not at all. He wasn't part of anything. He wasn't with anybody. He was just… he wasn't sure what he was. Running away yet again. Floating in the wind like a leaf. Accepting fate? He braced his hands on his knees, ready to push himself upright. Ready to flee.
"For what it's worth, I'll have your back, Alistair," the damned elf said then had the nerve to smile.
Alistair's breath caught and he stilled, his fingers digging into his thighs. He hadn't been prepared for this. Blindly he grabbed the waterskin sitting next to him, and opened it quickly, taking big gulps. The water was completely tasteless. It saved him from answering right away, though.
Finally, after a long silence that Nelaros didn't seem to mind overly much, he took a deep breath. His eyes were fixed on the fire yet again. "Just try to not do that bit with the self-sacrifice. I've heard saving the world is remarkably more difficult once you're dead. Plus, if you're too close to Orlais they might dress you in one of those ridiculous suits for the funeral. Very unstylish."
Nelaros uttered a quiet chuckle and got up slowly, clapping a hand on Alistair's shoulder. The touch felt warm.
"I'll try," he promised with a smile. "I'll try to sleep for a bit now, but please wake me when you grow tired. I can take over watch then."
"Don't worry about that," Alistair murmured, watching the elf nod and retreat to his tent. There was only one tent, barely enough to fit two people – it had been with the horses, with few other things that indicated that they had been travelling lightly and fast. To Alistair's big surprise, Aífe had agreed when he had asked to take first watch and had left to wash up soon after they had had breakfast all together. Either she was way too tired by now to be worried about his intentions or… she kind of trusted him.
Or, as was his primary suspicion, she was just plain crazy.
Whichever it was, it was fine with him. He didn't think he'd be able to sleep now. Talking to Nelaros had only made it worse, his head was spinning – and aching. Probably not used to so much thinking.
As he sat there, his gaze fell on the pack sitting next to him. It contained the few belongings he had left, the ones Aífe had picked up at his old room. He still wondered if he should have left them behind in Kirkwall. His gaze drifted back to the waterskin and he lifted it to his lips, emptying it with big gulps, but his mouth still felt dry. Slowly he reached out and buried his hand in the pack and after a few moments his fingers touched the rough surface of the small wooden box. His heart sank.
Suddenly he heard movements from between the trees – rustling leaves and the breaking of small branches. His hand closed around his sword's hilt, easily within reach lying next to him. Before he had a chance to stand up or worry about who could be approaching, he heard Aífe's voice before he saw her.
"No worries," she said, "Two approaching camp."
Remaining on his haunches he could see Grimm appear from behind a thick oak, nose to the ground as he was tracking a particularly interesting scent. Close behind came Aífe, a pack of clothes under her arm. She looked somehow different, he thought, and allowed his gaze to linger just a moment longer. Her hair was wet and falling down over the shoulders, the water soaking into the tunic she was wearing. That wasn't it, though. Frowning, his eyes skimmed over her and the next instant he hastily averted his eyes, focusing on the campfire again.
She was suddenly… curvier. That was it. It was logical, of course, she had probably worn breast bindings before and with the additional effect of the armour it had looked as though - well. Now, after washing up… she hadn't put either of them back on. Which explained the change in silhouette and the way the tunic looked a bit tight around her general chest area. Which was nothing to think about in this much detail. In all actuality, putting so much thought into it was rather creepy. Which was why he'd have to stop now. Or, alternatively, bang his head against a stone until that made him stop.
Alistair lifted the waterskin to his lips and opened his mouth, but only a few droplets fell onto his tongue. Riiiight. Empty.
"The water is nice. If you have changed your mind about taking a bath, I could lend you my soap," Aífe spoke to him as she passed by towards her pack, where she dropped the clothes. Grimm huffed at the words and then made a sound that sounded like a sneeze.
"Hush. You have not even tried going in, so your opinion does not count. I say it was refreshing." The hound's mistress looked up quickly, shooting her dog a glare, before she returned her attention to her pack into which she indiscriminately stuffed fabric and utensils alike. Only the parts of her armour she put aside with more care.
Alistair was pretty sure no matter if Grimm had tried the water or not, they probably shared one opinion. It was too early for a bath. Both in the day and in the year. It was probably freezing – there was no way he'd so much as dip a toe in it. He shook his head in a negative when her eyes landed on him and thankfully, she didn't pursue the topic.
Instead she stretched and walked over to the two horses they had picked up in a little village roughly two hours from their current camp. By now, Alistair had gotten used to them to some extent, but it didn't make him wonder any less.
They probably fit her well enough. If he asked, he was sure she'd have some sort of twisted logic to explain it all. He hadn't asked, though, and he wouldn't. Fingers still closed around the waterskin he watched her out of the corner of his eyes.
She approached the horse she and Nelaros had ridden – what had she called it earlier? Plougher? Something such. Which was absolutely fitting, because the horse was a giant. The gelding was big in all dimensions, his shoulders reached almost to the top of Aífe's head and he had a wide chest and strong feet. It was obviously a horse bred for hard work. His dark fur showed some old wounds here and there – marks on his back or hindquarters where a whip might have nicked the skin too deep. Despite this the gelding had the disposition of a lamb. He had waited patiently while both Nelaros and then Aífe had climbed onto his back and had trotted along at an ambient pace as if nothing could dampen his spirits.
As she gently stroked his white nose, she stayed clear of the other horse – a white mare that looked much smaller than she actually was next to Plougher. She had long legs and big dark eyes, which were now fixed on Aífe. The mare's ears went flat against her head as she lowered her head and bared her teeth not unlike a dog.
Weird thing was – she had been the sweetest little thing while Alistair had been riding her, even to the point of enduring the long period in which he had tried to somehow adjust his weight and position to actually get comfortable. A quest, by the way, that was impossible to achieve. He had ridden a horse only a handful of times and on all of them he had left the saddle involuntarily. At least today he had done so of his own free will, although not in an overly elegant manner. Not in all that time and not even when his foot had gotten caught in the stirrup had the mare shown any aggression. Now, though, she looked ready to snap at Aífe any moment.
Alistair hesitated for a moment, turning his head to watch them. He almost shouted out a warning, but then Aífe put more distance between them, quietly saying something in a sharp voice, and Grimm joined his mistress, casting the mare a rather nasty look. The horse snorted and pawed at the ground with one hoof, but eventually averted her eyes.
When Alistair saw Aífe glancing up, he quickly returned his attention to the fire and braced his head on his free hand. Another thing he didn't quite get – the horse thing. One work horse and one of quite decent descent from the looks of her. He wouldn't ask, though, and that was fine. It was none of his business. As long as the mare didn't try to chew his head off and no heads were chewed off in general, he should be fine with it, right? His thoughts wandered back to the first time he had ridden a horse – he'd been a small boy back then and he had probably only been allowed to finally get him to stop asking questions over questions. Plus, back then there had been ample opportunity. He had spent most of his days back in the stables. He could still remember the feeling. It had been thrilling, exhilarating. Sitting on a tall horse, a knight's horse, and feeling… great.
The two legs suddenly moving into his line of vision startled him. He tried to keep his attention on the flickering flames a little longer, but there was little point in doing so. The legs pretty much obscured his view of them. On purpose.
Reluctantly and very slowly he leaned back, bracing himself on his arms as he looked up. He hadn't needed to catch sight of a face to know all along whose legs they were. Even if they hadn't been in the middle of the forest, reducing the chances of random legs appearing in front of him, he would have known it. He didn't know many people that had the ability to slide into position almost soundlessly with a precision of movement that left you wondering if you had been caught too deep in your thoughts or if they had indeed appeared out of nowhere. He knew even less people that had the ability to make their legs look demanding. Adding to that the fact that the person belonging to the legs waited very patiently and strangely quietly for him to take the time and actually acknowledge her presence, it left only one possibility.
Of course the legs belonged to no other than Aífe. Her hair was still falling loosely around her shoulders, framing her face. Now that they had dried a bit, they looked lighter again, a dark blond that wasn't particularly noticeable. She looked a bit softer out here than she had back in Kirkwall – not by much, mind you, but the curl of her lips was more genuine and her shoulders less stiff. Perhaps it was just the lack of armour that made her look more approachable?
"May I sit with you?" Aífe asked once their eyes met. Alistair shrugged noncommittal and moved the fraction of an inch to the side.
She settled down next to him, ignoring his rudeness completely. Instead, she unwrapped the little pack of cloth she had brought and revealed a piece of cake. She had brought some together with the other provisions she had purchased when picking up the horses and they had eaten it earlier. Even while he was still wondering what she intended to do next, she offered it to him, hand outstretched.
"I brought you cake", she said and held up a spoon in the other hand.
"I already had some cake, thank you." It had taken him a moment to answer, having not seen that offer coming. He averted his eyes and returned his attention to the flames. They were dangerously low by now and for the most part only embers were left. He should probably add some wood to make sure the fire would at least keep burning for a little while longer. Perhaps he even had to look for firewood somewhere away from camp. Far away. A mile sounded good enough.
She made a sound in the back of her throat and stretched out her legs. He resisted the unbidden urge to stand up and stalk away. She vexed him and he had no idea way. No, that wasn't right. He knew partly why. Because she invaded his personal space, his personal life, his personal everything.
"I am not sure you quite understand", Aífe finally declared and he threw her a side-glance. She didn't give him the chance to say something, which was probably better anyway. "I did not bring you a cake. I brought you my cake."
Alistair blinked, looking from the cake to her face. It was true, now that he thought about it, he had not seen her eat any. Why she had kept it for him, though, was beyond him. Quirking an eyebrow at her, he shook his head slightly and returned his attention to the fire.
"No, thanks," he said. He didn't feel like cake and especially not like talking. He felt like flight. Wasn't that a particularly nice looking log over there?
She didn't budge, which didn't surprise him much anyhow. He hadn't expected her to.
"Mm," she hummed, her eyes on him. He could practically feel her gaze on his skin and found it hard not to turn around to counter her stare. She'd go away eventually if he kept ignoring her. Wasn't that what you did when there was no escape? Play dead? That supposedly helped with bears. Maybe it helped with her, too.
"You are mad at me," Aífe said and it wasn't a question.
Against his better judgement he turned to look at her and opened his lips to answer, but then closed them again, unsure what to say. She was watching him, shoulders straight and her gaze unwavering. A strand of hair had gotten caught in one of the small creoles that pierced her right ear, distracting him momentarily.
Eventually he shrugged. "I'm not mad at you."
He wasn't sure whether he was indeed or not. He wasn't sure of anything anymore, except that he felt like a leaf in the wind: Absolutely powerless, being steered this way and that by the powers that were. It was maddening, exhausting. He felt like a little boy again, absolutely powerless to decide his own fate. Talking to her wasn't helping.
"You are not mad at me?" she asked and cocked her head to the side. "Or you are not mad at me? Or, you are not mad at me?"
Alistair watched her wordlessly for a moment, regretting that he had not kept to the original plan of silence and subterfuge. It seemed so much easier to just roll over and let his tongue loll out, until she went away. The chance to do exactly that seemed to have gone by, though, and he had no idea what she was talking about. People were right. Hindsight was a nice thing to have but sadly unhelpful.
"That's an awful lot of intonation-variations," he said with a sigh.
"It is an awfully important topic," Aífe countered and tapped her fingers against the cloth holding the cake in thought, before she spoke again. "Should you be mad at me, I would understand you completely. I am mad at me too. We could be mad at me together."
The woman was slaying him. Logic had probably crawled under a stone to cry by now.
"Doesn't that defy the purpose?" he asked. He could feel a smile twitch around his lips and gave up fighting it down.
"Not if I have cake." For illustration, she produced the spoon again, holding it out to him. When he didn't take it right away, she wobbled it between her fingers.
"Where exactly does that piece of wisdom come from?" he wanted to know and she bit her lower lip, her gaze briefly lifting up to the sky as she was thinking.
"I think it might have started with my Nan. When she had spoken too harshly and felt bad about it – and it did not often happen that she was even aware of it, mind you – then she would sit me down and give me a piece of cake. A peace offering. A tasty peace offering. She would not say a thing when doing so. It always worked," she explained finally and her look drifted back to Alistair. "I guess I am easy."
Which was the lie of the century. Whatever she was – and Alistair had by now started a small collection of words that could easily be put in context with one Aífe Cousland -, easy was not it.
"You are in this position through my fault and mine alone. I want you to know that if there was anything that would get you out of all this, I would do it." She put down the cake in front of him and stood up. "I was giving much thought to it in the last hours and considered all the connections that I have." She was pacing in front of him now, gesticulating as she walked. "I still think that the very best chance we have is to clear your name from the very core of the Crows, only this will ensure that you are indeed safe and can go on with your life without the constant threat of looming danger." Step, step, turn, step, step, turn. "Once we have cleared your name, I will arrange for you to go wherever you want to go or give you the coin for it, if you prefer. It will be as if nothing has ever happened."
She stopped abruptly and Alistair watched her carefully as she pressed the tips of her fingers together and turned towards him.
"I misjudged the situation. I brought you into danger, serious danger. I… made a mistake," she said and her voice sounded pressed. Alistair had no idea what to say to any of it. He opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it shut again when he didn't know what to actually say. Was he mad at her for this? For – as she said it – bringing him into danger?
"I apologize for that. It was my fault." Her voice was quiet now, but her grey eyes bore into his. He wanted to look away but somehow couldn't. Was he mad at her?
He swallowed. He wasn't upset about the Crows or being in danger. It wasn't something unfamiliar and truth be told, he wasn't overly afraid. There wasn't much left to lose. What he was upset about was-
Well. What he was upset about was to be pushed along a path that he hadn't chosen once again. There was no choice – no real choice at least. That was the point.
"If there is anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable with all this, please name it. I also want you to know that from here on out, I will make sure that you are safe and you do not need to do anything you do not want to do. You can just be our guest until we resolve the problem without getting into any additional danger. I know there is nothing good in all this for you – and trust me when I say that I spent much time trying to find at least one positive aspect about all of this and failed miserably. Anyhow, my point is, I will make sure that this will not cause you any more trouble, I will…," Aífe continued. She was still pacing in front of him, fingers pressed together, eyes looking at him every so often.
"It's not like I had to come back to you," he said and surprised himself with it. Eyes downcast and fixed on the waterskin he shrugged. He didn't want to meet her gaze. "When they were waiting for me and asked where to find you, I could've told them. I could've even invented something and sent them on their way and gone to the pub. I didn't, though."
She had stopped walking and stopped in front of him. Her legs were in his field of vision.
"Instead, I didn't answer at all. I fought them and after that, I searched for you to warn you." In a way that meant that perhaps he had made a sort of decision. Not one that he knew would lead to all this, but an active decision. He could have gone to drink and forget all about it. He hadn't, though, it hadn't even crossed his mind. "That means, you don't need to apologize. I came to you in the end."
Which – and that was the weird part – made it slightly more bearable. He had made a decision back then and he hadn't left and that felt better than being pulled along like a stubborn mule. It didn't mean he was okay with all this or even liked it, but it meant something.
Aífe was standing in front of him, fingers slowly unwinding, and then she went to sit down next to him again quietly. She remained like that for a moment and then leaned back with a sigh. "Thank you for everything."
He nodded slowly and set down the waterskin, lifting his eyes to look over the flames at Grimm, who had sat down not far from them and was watching them with great interest. The flames were mirrored in the dog's dark eyes. "Sure. Just try not to stumble into a blood mage convention along the way. I think we're all full up on deadly enemies."
"And here I was, wanting to apply for an honorary membership and all," Aífe answered and her lips twitched into a smile. He felt one pull at his lips as well. Even out of the corner of his eyes he could see her suppress a yawn forcefully and he remembered that during their ride she had almost fallen asleep on top of the horse and slipped off. Only Plougher's broad back and a bark from Grimm had saved her from that fate.
"Perhaps you should consider a Tevinter magister meeting for that purpose, I hear they are slightly more diplomatic. First, however, you should sleep," he suggested and saw the muscles in her jaw twitch as she once again fought down a yawn. She looked more tired by the minute.
"You have had a very long night and still need to recover. I can take first watch, you should sleep," she answered and he couldn't help it, he turned to face her, one eyebrow raised at her.
"Last time you slept properly?" he wanted to know.
She looked thoughtful, her gaze once again wandering upwards. "Define properly."
Smartass. He should have seen that one coming. "More than four hours in a bed without being sick, poisoned or stitched up."
At that she hummed and cocked her head to the side as if she had a hard time remembering. Which was probably not an act. Judging from how she looked, it had been a while ago. To win some time she picked up the few remaining tiny branches and fed them to the fire.
"I am fine," she finally said as a way of answer and he looked from her at Grimm, who yawned without trying to hide it at all.
"Sleep. I'm not overly tired, I'll take first watch. I'll wake you when I get tired," Alistair promised and nodded towards her bedroll on the other side of the fire. She looked at it longingly, but still didn't move.
"There is still peace cake," she finally said and it sounded like a pretty weak argument.
"We can eat it later, when we're all awake. Go and sleep," he repeated. She needed it and they both knew it.
"I do not usually do this, tell you that I want you to be comfortable and then make you stay up and take first watch when you should rest," she murmured and rubbed her eyes with a sigh. "I really do not like doing this, but my bedroll over there looks so tempting and you keep looking at me pitifully and my toes are all cold, so if you are really, honestly sure that you would not mind it and you promise to wake me the very second you feel too tired-"
"Sleep!" Alistair interjected and nodded towards her bed roll once again.
She stood up hesitantly, eyes still on him, and fidgeted for a moment. He was almost sure she'd sit down again and continue arguing, but then she took a step away and then another one.
"Just wake me, yes? I am a light sleeper, I will be up and ready in no time!" she promised and only after he had assured her again that yes, he would wake her when he felt sleepy, she crawled between her blankets. He almost thought she had fallen asleep, when she spoke again.
"Hah!" she said triumphantly and sat up again.
"Hah?" Alistair inquired hesitantly. Grimm yawned and huffed loudly. He had settled down right next to her and curled around her. Now he lifted one paw and put it on his mistress' leg as if to beg her to go to sleep finally.
"I just realized there is one positive aspect about all of this for you!" She grinned and looked at him expectantly.
"Which is…?" he finally asked when she didn't say anything else.
"We're not in Orlais." She looked way too proud. In fact, she looked like she had just made a discovery worth at least a statue in the middle of a town to commemorate her.
He couldn't help it, he chuckled quietly and shook his head. Resisting the temptation to answer her, he watched her settle down again with the grin still on her lips. Judging from how soon she stopped shifting around and how quickly her breathing evened out, she was asleep in a matter of moments. The hound wasn't sleeping completely, his ears constantly turning and adjusting to catch even the quietest sounds around them.
Alistair remained like this for most of the day. He did feel tired, yes, but the taint made it easier to push that feeling aside and the previous night he had slept quite a while, which helped too. Only when the sun was again starting to set and neither Nelaros nor Aífe had woken by themselves did he decide to wake Aífe up.
He did so cautiously, very much so. Quietly he had moved more towards her and then, finally, he called her name.
He expected her to grab the dagger and slip out of the bedroll, ready to fight. He even expected her to have it as his throat snake-quick, conditioned by years of fear and paranoia. Over the years he had seen many people like this – old soldiers, veterans, sometimes even relatively young recruits. They slept with their knife under their pillow and reacted to the faintest sound, so much so, that you had to be genuinely careful when waking them.
Aífe Cousland did sleep with a dagger next to her hand, her fingers curled half-way around the hilt. She did, however, not shoot out of her bedroll and assault him. She also didn't grip her dagger fast and immediately move into a fighting position.
Instead, she breathed a heavy sigh, her lips parting slightly, and stretched one arm above her head as she shifted. For a brief moment her eyelids fluttered, then she nuzzled her arm and that was pretty much it.
Alistair, who had stepped back in anticipation of what was to come, looked at her in puzzlement. The fading sunlight painted patterns on her cheek and made her eyelashes cast long shadows. Through her shifting about, she had managed to fight the blanket down to her waist. A few toes were poking out at the other end of the blanket.
"Aífe?" he asked again, not as quiet anymore.
When it didn't net him any reaction, he carefully crouched down and stretched out a hand, softly touching her shoulder and shaking her ever so lightly. Then he immediately took a step back again to avoid being too close when she woke up.
Her eyelids fluttered again and opened this time, but Alistair noticed within a moment that her gaze looked completely vacant. Strands of hair were falling into her face and she shifted her eyes until she finally caught sight of him.
"Mm," she uttered and what little tension had kept her body upright basically evaporated. She dropped back onto the bedroll, eyelids lowering. She curled her toes tightly as she pulled her knees towards herself and somehow managed to have the biggest part of her body poke out from underneath the blanket despite that.
"You said I should wake you," he told her very quietly so as not to disturb Nelaros, even though the elf was probably sleeping deeply. His gaze drifted towards Grimm, who had gotten up and was now standing a few steps away, watching him intently. Alistair shifted his weight uncomfortably.
"Huh," Aífe said this time, eyes already closed. "'m not hungry." She buried her head in the rolled up blanket that function as pillow and her breathing evened again, her toes slowly uncurling.
Alistair crouched down a few steps away from her and studied her nonplussed. When she sighed quietly and yet again stretched one arm over her head, before she completely settled down, he shook his head. Light sleeper, she'd said. Just wake me up, she'd said.
After a few moments, he started to chuckle, eventually leaning back and looking up at the sky as quiet laughter took over. He'd never met a person with such a collection of little noises – or such condensed disarray.
It took him a while before he had calmed down and when he did, he looked at her again, watching the rhythmic fall and rise of her chest. She probably hadn't slept properly in days – not since the night he had met her and perhaps not even before. As things were, exhaustion had probably taken over and completely knocked her out, now that she considered them all to be in a safe place. Which ultimately meant, she considered him safe.
Raking a hand through his hair, he came to the realization that he had a problem. Sitting here, looking at her… he really couldn't find it in himself to be mad at her. Or at her. Or at her. Whichever.
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Author's Comment:
So, this is later than expected - buuuut, at least it is quite long-ish and I hope it actually brings some development and has a few bits and pieces that you will like. =) I actually like how this turned out, both with the symbols (at least those I kinda kept in mind while writing) and the themes I had in mind.
I want to thank my awesome reviewers very, very much: alyssacousland, EkoCentric, Pollyanna24, reality deviant, Melysande and all of you who are following and favouring this. :) It means A LOT to me, really, and it motivates me whenever I read your reviews. A big thanks also to alyssacousland for beta-reading and to both you and Eynla for giving me your opinion about this!
I hope that the Christmas holidays will finally allow me to look through all the chapters again and correct the mistakes I found and that some of you were nice enough to point out to me - thanks for that, too! :)
The next chapter haaaas - a little surprise. Hopefully. ;) And nudity. Heh. Just not the one you'll have in mind.