Sorry for the (lengthy!) delay since the last update; "Eye of the Storm" pretty much ate my brain (and large chunks of my life) for the last month and a half. Hopefully I can get back to my intention of updating this regularly now that I'm not quite so overwhelmingly obsessed by Eye.
They started back south from the docks the next day, headed for Redcliffe, Alistair having become increasingly worried by the rumours they'd been hearing that Arl Eamon, his guardian in his childhood, was deathly ill.
Arren walked beside Morrigan for a good chunk of the day, the two of them not talking much, but exchanging occasional glances and smiles. Morrigan found herself thinking how nice Arren looked when he smiled that lovely little crooked smile of his, the way it gave him dimples and made the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkle up. She could imagine what scathing things Flemeth would have said about her fascination with the elf, and for once in her life, she didn't care. She liked Arren, and enjoyed his company. She'd heard of 'friendship' before; it, like 'love', was something her mother usually spoke disparagingly of. A snare for the weak, an illusion, a distraction for the weak-minded and soft-hearted and easily used.
And yet... this warm feeling she had when in his company, the little lift inside she felt whenever they exchanged a smiling look about some small detail of the day – surely this couldn't be as wrong as Flemeth made it out to be? It was... just something pleasant. A bonus to sharing the man's company.
Still, consideration of it had her feeling unsettled enough by the end of the day that she was happy to get away from their campsite for a while, and go for a lengthy run as a wolf. She enjoyed the stretch and shift of muscles under furred skin, the immediacy of wolf instincts and wolf-mind, which cared little about tomorrow or yesterday and concentrated instead on now. Her mood, as she picked her way back to camp afterwards, was considerably lifted.
Furred ears pricked and dark muzzle lifted at the sound and smell of flowing water nearby. The run had left her thirsty; she bounded through a patch of bracken fern and pushed through a cluster of thickly-interwoven cedar saplings, coming in sight of the small waterfall splashing down a rock-face into a small pool before realizing that the splashing came from more than just water falling on rocks.
It was with a curious feeling of inevitability that she discovered she'd come across Arren, standing naked and beautiful under the falling water as he bathed. And he'd heard her approach; he was turned to look toward her. He blushed, backing closer to the rocks as if hoping the water would hide him from her view.
She turned away, meaning to leave as quickly as she'd come. His voice stopped her. "Morrigan? That's you, isn't it?"
She hesitated, then returned to her own shape, back kept resolutely to the pool. "Aye, 'tis I," she agreed. "My apologies; I was thirsty, and smelled the water. I did not realize you were here until too late."
"I did not think you'd approached on purpose," he reassured her. "Among other things, had you meant to sneak up on me, I know you could have done it much more quietly," he added, his voice sounding amused. "Hearing something large coming through the bushes startled me; and made me remember how dangerous it was to be out here alone. I should have brought Alistair along for company."
Morrigan laughed. "And had me stumble on both of you? The poor man would still be blushing next week!"
She heard Arren laugh as well. "Well, my other choices would have been the assassin or the qunari. I'm still not entirely sure I trust Zevran, and Sten is... well, he's Sten. Anyway, since you're here already, would you mind staying while I finish bathing? Just in case the next thing to come out of the bushes isn't a member of our party."
"All right," she agreed. "May I sit?"
"Certainly, go ahead. There's, ah... a log. Off to your right. You could sit there."
"Thank you," she said, and looked just far enough that way to bring it into her peripheral vision, before moving over to take a seat. She noticed his clothing was piled up on the other end of the log, and angled herself so that she could see neither him nor the clothing. An uncomfortable silence fell, broken only by the splashing of the waterfall and the faint sounds of Arren moving around under it. Morrigan found herself mentally replaying that brief sight of him, naked under the waterfall, looking up as she emerged from the trees. He was shaped differently than a man would be, but it was a subtle thing; the narrower, deeper chest, the long smooth S-curve from ribs down to thighs, without as much of a dip in or out for waist and hips as a human would have. More intimate detail had been obscured by the foaming water.
"So. You went for a walk as a wolf?" Arren asked after a little while.
"Yes. For a run, actually; 'tis quite enjoyable," she said. "Almost as good as flying."
"The more I hear about the shape-changing you can do, the more jealous of the skill I am, I think," he said gravely. She heard splashing sounds moving nearer; he must be walking over to get his clothing.
She kept her gaze fixed on the forest in front of her. "It is rather a pity that only mages can learn such a skill," she said agreeably.
Another silence fell, as Arren dressed himself. She felt very aware of the nearness of him, the scent of the herbal paste that he used as soap, the sounds of clothes being shaken out, and pulled on over damp skin.
Arren cleared his throat. "I'm decent now," he said.
She turned and looked at him, giving him a teasing smile. "I thought you were quite decent before, as well. Even handsome."
He blushed, deeply enough that even his ears were reddening, but looked both pleased and amused, not offended. He coughed. "Thank you. I think. Well, while we're both here anyway, would you like to bathe as well?"
Her smile widened, and she rose to her feet. "I thank you for the offer. As my alternative would be to bathe with Leliana or Wynne or both along, I do believe I will take you up on it."
Arren smiled shyly at her. "You're welcome to use some of my soap, if you need any," he said, gesturing to the fold of leather that held more of the thick paste of fine-ground herbs.
Morrigan nodded. "My thanks. My own bathing supplies are still back at camp," she said gravely.
They changed places, Arren moving to sit looking off into the forest while Morrigan moved to where he had been standing. She quickly stripped down, piling her own clothing where his had been, and scooped up some of the herbal mixture before wading out to the waterfall. Holding her hand out to one side to keep the mixture from being washed away, she ducked under the water, letting it run down her body. It was pleasantly cool, and smelled clean, without the swampy scent some streams had.
She stepped back out from underneath, smeared the herbs over both hands, and quickly rubbed the mixture over her skin. It didn't lather at all, but still had a slick soapy feeling to it, from some natural oil in the leaves used to make it, she supposed. And the scent was not unpleasant, being mainly a smell of green growing things, like the forest itself. A good soap for a hunter to use; her wolf's nose would not have registered such a scent as being associated with anything to fear. Likely why she had not realized Arren was there, at the pond, until he'd come in sight; no out-of-place scent to give him away, like the assassin's scent of sandalwood-and-musk, or Alistair's harsh lye.
She eyed Arren as she rinsed off under the waterfall. Felt again that earlier warm lift of heart as she examined his turned back. This feeling was a good thing, she decided, no matter what Flemeth might name it.
Her bath finished, she waded over and quickly re-dressed. She'd have to comb out her hair after they got back to camp, and let it dry properly before putting it up again; for now she left it loose, running down to her waist in back.
"I'm dressed again," she told Arren.
He rose and turned, smiling as he looked at her. "I hadn't realized your hair was so long," he observed with surprise. "It's beautiful."
She smiled warmly at him. "I like having long hair, but it tends to get in the way; the wind blows it in one's face, or it tangles on branches. Or picks up burrs! So I usually keep it up out of the way."
Arren nodded. "I can understand that; even at just shoulder-length, my own is long enough to do the same at times."
They walked back to camp together, discussing mishaps with hair, clothing and forest flora that they'd experienced over the years, and were both smiling in shared amusement by the time they reached camp.
Morrigan couldn't help noticing the narrow-eyed look the bard gave her when Arren announced the nearby presence of a pond suitable for bathing; she'd noticed their damp hair and obviously leapt to the conclusion that the two had bathed together. It amused Morrigan. Let the woman imagine whatever she wanted; Morrigan had done nothing wrong. Even if they had actually bathed together, which they had not, it would not have been any of the bard's business.
She was smiling as she moved off to her separate camp area. Though it was not the bard's too-obvious jealousy that had her smiling. No, it was the memory of Arren, standing under the waterfall, and the almost-smile she thought she'd seen on his lips as he first spotted her.