The next day was unseasonably warm, feeling more like summer then autumn. It made the day's travel considerably less pleasant, especially as they had to pass through an area of swampy lowland between the grasslands and the southern hills. By the time they made a stop for lunch, somewhere in the middle of a particularly boggy stretch, everyone was on edge from the heat and humidity.
Morrigan accepted her share of their lunch – some pan bread left over from breakfast that morning, a wedge of cheese that would have been better if not carried around in someone's backpack on a hot day – and wandered away from the party in search of a little privacy. She eventually settled down in the shade of a wizened tree on a low brush-covered hummock some distance from the road – in ear shot of the others, if they called loudly enough, but well out of sight.
She nibbled on the pan bread, then tried the sweating cheese, wondering if it was supposed to smell like unwashed socks, or if that, too, was from storage in the backpack. She'd finished her bread and was sneering at the unfinished cheese when Mouse came trotting up, tongue hanging out. She smiled, and offered him the cheese on the flat of her hand. He sniffed at it curiously, then wagged his tail and ate it in one bite.
"Bribing my mabari not to give away your location?" Arren asked, amused, as he walked around the cluster of brush.
Morrigan smiled warmly at Arren. "Too late, I see, as he has already led you straight to me," she said, and winked at Mouse. "Good boy."
Mouse wagged his tail, then wandered off to sniff around the edge of a nearby pool of algae-scummed water. Arren sat down beside Morrigan. "Sorry about the abrupt end last night," he said quietly.
Morrigan made a dismissive gesture. "There is no need to apologize. 'Tis not your fault that your hound angered the bard, and he has already apologized to me and been duly scolded. It merely means we will have to try again later."
That won a delightful little crooked grin from the elf. "I look forward to it," he said, voice low, then leaned over to kiss her cheek. She smiled, and he kissed her a second time, on the lips, his hand moving to cup the back of her neck. She made an approving sound, and they continued trading pleasant kisses for some little time.
Mouse suddenly barked and ran back in the direction they'd come from, tail wagging furiously.
"Hey, Mouse – where's Arren?" they heard a familiar voice asking. Alistair. They quickly separated, turning to look in Alistair's direction as he came into view around the clump of brush.
"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to interrupt," he said, blushing slightly, clearly surprised to find the two of them together, then looked to Arren. "Leliana was wondering when we were going to move on – are we stopping long enough for people to nap or go hunting, or are we moving on again shortly?"
Arren frowned and rose to his feet. "Moving on shortly, as I'm certain I'd said before I left the group," he said almost curtly, then turned and offered his hand to Morrigan, helping her back to her feet. "I suppose we might as well get back underway now. The sooner we get moving, the sooner we'll be out of this swamp and into the hills," he pointed out. "Hopefully it'll be cooler there. Or at least less humid."
"If you don't mind, I think I'll do a little hunting while we're still in the swamp – I should be able to get some waterfowl, or perhaps fish, and rejoin you all later," Morrigan said coolly. She had little doubt that the bard had purposefully sent Alistair out after them, and had little desire to spend the remainder of the afternoon in the woman's company. "If you wouldn't mind carrying my pack for a little while?" she asked.
Arren smiled. "No problem," he said. "You're sure you can locate us later?"
"Of course," she said. "Unless you stray widely from the road, or are under particularly thick cover, and even then I should be able to spot the smoke from your fire from on high."
Arren nodded understandingly. Morrigan glanced once at the puzzled-looking Alistair, then abruptly smiled at Arren. "Give me a boost, would you?" she said, and turned into a hawk, delighting in the flabbergasted expression that crossed Alistair's face; it was the first time he'd witnessed her change form, as she'd been quite circumspect in the use of her shape-shifting powers until now. Arren crouched down, holding his arm crooked before her, low to the ground. She hopped onto his forearm, taking care with her grip – her claws were more than sharp and strong enough to pierce through his leather armour, had she wished to – and he rose carefully to his feet.
Alistair had moved closer, still gape-mouthed with surprise – and no little amount of admiration, which she had to admit she quite liked receiving, even from the ex-templar.
"That... was amazing," the man said, in an awed voice. "That's really Morrigan?"
Arren grinned. "Yes. She's quite the huntress, isn't she?" he said, and gently stroked the curve of her wing with the back of one finger. She dipped her head, closing her beak for a moment on his finger – which drew a worried squeak from Alistair, and a delighted grin from Arren as her tongue rasped once against his skin within her beak. Then she released the finger, and mantled her wings, turning her gaze pointedly skywards. Arren drew his arm back slightly, then launched her, both men watching as she climbed overhead, circling around to find a thermal to help lift her higher up, to a good hunting height.
They remained there a couple of minutes, heads tilted back and watching her, doubtless discussing her and her powers, before finally turning and heading back toward the road. She hoped Arren would think to tell the warrior to remain silent about her abilities; it had been foolish of her to show off so, and thereby waste one of her major advantages.
She circled slowly higher, watching from on high as they reached the road, gathered belongings and people, and set off again. Only then did she move away from the area herself, keeping a sharp eye out for game.
It was nearing evening when she rejoined the group, some distance into the hills now, carrying a pair of plump ducks. They had been cleaned, but not yet plucked, a task Alistair volunteered to help do. She was mildly surprised at him doing so, at first, then realized that he was likely still feeling rather awed by her newly revealed talents and wanted to talk about them. She hid an amused smile, and forbore making any of her usual acidic comments.
It wasn't long until Arren chose a place to stop for the night, a small tree-filled valley off to one side of the road, between two hills. A narrow spring-fed stream fell down one hillside, wended its way out of the valley and off in the general direction of the lowlands they'd been in earlier that day. Everyone worked quickly in getting their camp set up, knowing they'd have a chance to bathe once their chores were done. Alistair, as she'd more than half-expected, asked several fascinated questions about her shape-shifting abilities, thankfully in a quiet voice while they worked on cleaning the ducks some small distance downwind from everyone else, not wanting the feathers to end up drifting all over their camp.
Once the cleaned birds had been handed over to Zevran, who was on cooking duty that evening, she set up her own little campsite off to one side, then headed off to the small pool that had designated as the bathing area, accompanied by Leliana and Wynne. She wished she'd had some other choice of bathing companions; Wynne was not so bad, for an interfering old baggage – the circle mage reminded her rather of a pale copy of her mother, if anything, and was therefor easily ignored. Leliana, on the other hand... the woman was beginning to get on her nerves, with the little catty comments she was always making about Morrigan's appearance and apparel. Not to mention the increasingly unsubtle ways she was trying to come between Morrigan and Arren.
Thankfully the pond was large enough that Morrigan could put some space between herself and the other two women, and then purposefully ignore their conversation while she bathed. It was pleasant to be clean again, she found herself thinking, as the three of them returned to camp after, clean and sweet-smelling from head to foot.
She smiled with unusual warmth at Arren and Alistair as they led the group of men off to bathe – all but Zevran who, being on cooking duty, had to forsake the opportunity to bathe in order to mind the pot. At least until after the meal, when he'd either have to risk bathing alone, or talk one of the other men into accompanying him.
Settling down at her own fire, she let down her hair and spent some time combing it out, letting it dry at least partially before putting it back up in it usual rough knot. By then the men were back from their own bath, and it wasn't long afterwards until Arren came over to her fire, carrying two plates of food. They exchanged mutually pleased smiles, and settled down together to eat.
"The assassin is a surprisingly skilled cook," Morrigan observed, looking over her plate; heaped with beans and succulent morsels of duck, richly scented with fresh herbs, as well as the well-cooked leftovers of the last few days; vegetables, hare, and some mutton that had started out tough and stringy but after a couple of days of reheating was now tender enough to be falling apart in shreds.
Arren nodded, as he chewed and swallowed a mouthful before answering. "He is," he agreed, then frowned thoughtfully. "I'm relieved that so far he seems to be proving trustworthy, as well; his martial skills are astonishing. I find myself hoping he's a particularly highly-skilled Crow; the thought that he might just be average is rather disturbing."
That drew a laugh from Morrigan. "Our whole group seems quite surprisingly skilled," she remarked after eating some more of her own dinner. "Wynne is a very able healer, for all her age. There is not a hair's difference in skill between yourself and Sten, even though he is lacking in the advantages of strength and stamina you have as a Grey Warden. Alistair, for all he talks of how unskilled he is, what a poor leader he is, is a formidable warrior in battle and well-suited to being the strong centre of our line. Even the bard is extremely skilled with that bow of hers, and more than passable with daggers as well."
Arren nodded agreement, then looked questioningly at Morrigan. "I note you leave yourself out of your evaluation."
She shrugged. "Anything I said about myself would either sound like bragging, or false modesty. Though I have little doubt that my skills stand up on a par with those of the rest of you." Arren smiled and gave her a half-bow of acknowledgement. They continued talking, mainly about the varied skills of their assorted companions, until their meal was finished.
"Well. I was thinking of taking a walk in the woods after dinner," Morrigan said, with studied casualness. "But I seem to recall that our leader dislikes any of us to be alone in the wilderness, in case of darkspawn. Or bandits. Or angry wildlife. I don't suppose you'd care to accompany me?" she asked sweetly, arching one eyebrow high.
Arren laughed, then grinned and rose smoothly to his feet. "Of course. There might be something dangerous out there. Though not darkspawn – there's none close enough for me to sense, anyway. Still, I wouldn't want to worry about you running into an enraged squirrel or something."
That drew a laugh from Morrigan. She accepted Arren's hand as he helped her to her feet, then the two walked off into the darkness together, heading over to the stream and then following it back away from the road. This time they went well beyond earshot of the camp, neither wishing a repeat of the previous night's interruption. They finally stopped in a small clearing, on the bank of the stream. The hillside was gently sloped, here; the water making pleasant sounds as it ran down through a series of small rock-edged, gravel-bottomed pools, none much larger than a couple feet across or more than ankle-deep. They found a place to sit, where the ground was reasonably level and the grass short-cropped by some browsing animal; rabbits perhaps, or a deer.
Arren kissed her, long and slow and sweet, his hand cupped around the back of her neck, fingertips toying just a little with the fine wisps of hair there. The next kiss was more heated, and it wasn't long before they'd progressed as far as they had the previous night, his fingers caressing the soft skin hidden within her draped bodice. She reached up and unfastened the closure at the nape of her neck, letting the leather slither loose down her front, pooling in her lap, then reached behind her to undo the lacing at the back, removing it entirely.
Arren kissed her again, his hands moving to cup her breasts this time, thumbs teasing at her nipples. She made an appreciative moan, her own hands reaching to find and begin unfastening the buckles holding his leather armour on. She was both disappointed and appreciative when he abandoned caressing her for long enough to help with removing his own more complicated coverings, baring his own torso.
She had seen this much of him before, of course, when she'd come across him bathing. But this was her first chance to examine him at leisure, to not just look but reach out and touch, seeing the different proportions of him compared to what she knew of human men, feeling the subtly different shapes of bone and patterns of muscle in his torso. The deeper chest and the interlacing of the muscles between arms and upper chest made her think of birds; of the extra leverage their breastbones gave to the long muscles that powered their wings. Small wonder, perhaps, that even as slight as he seemed next to a comparably sized human, he could handle his great-sword with such ease.
They spent a while in wordless examination of each other, not just with eyes and hands and finger, but sometimes with lips and tongue as well, exploring the differences in texture and in taste. Eventually more things were removed, Morrigan's long leather skirt spread out beneath them to protect tender skin from the rough grasses and pebbles, other differences examined.
He was much like any man, very much so, again only subtly different from the familiar; less hair, for one. Much less hair, little more than a fine soft down on his intimate parts, smooth everywhere else. And his parts were differently shaped as well; the shaft a little narrower, more oval in cross-section than circular, the glans a little more widely flared, balls tucked up neatly rather than dangling loose like a human male's would. He seemed fascinated with her differences as well, almost startled at first by the dark curls nestling between her legs, before hesitantly touching them; lightly at first, as if testing their texture, then with more assurance.
She let her own hands roam, making similar explorations of his body, her touch more practised; he reacted as she'd have expected any man to, cock rising as she lightly handled him, foreskin withdrawing to expose his flared tip, moisture seeping from it as he hardened. He was flushing with arousal, as she was herself; their breathing deepening, as they continue they exploration, exchanging gentle kisses at intervals.
There came a point where he hesitated, clearly at a loss as to whether to or how to proceed. She made it easy on him, gently guiding him into laying down on his back, kissing him deeply, caressing him soothingly, before she moved to straddle him, then slowly lowered herself down. His breath caught as his tip slip past the first resistance, then slid slowly inside her. She bent down, kissing him again, moaning in aroused pleasure as he slipped one hand behind her head, fingers twining into her hair, his other hand reaching down to brush her breast, then further yet, to explore with slightly-shaking fingers where he disappeared into her.
She pulled out of the kiss, sitting back a little, bringing more of her weight down on where they were so intimately joined, then slowly rolled her hips, drawing a deep gasp from him. His eyes were large and dark as he stared up at her. He reached up, cupping her head between his hands, pulling her down for another kiss as she rolled her hips again. This time his own hips moved as well, pushing up to meet her movement.
She smiled against his lips, drew back just slightly. "Yes, just like that," she told him, voice low and approving, then resumed the kiss. He groaned as she altered her pace, his hands moving to cup her shoulders, stroking down her sides before closing around her hips, just below her waist. She liked that his grip was firm, but not bruising; that even as he abandoned himself to the motions of their bodies, he retained enough control to be gentle with her. A novel experience, compared to most of the men she'd seduced at Flemeth's instigation; so few of those had cared about any pleasure but their own, about any discomfort they might be causing her.
She arched backwards as she felt her climax coming, grinding in short hard thrusts against him now, driving him repeatedly against the places inside that brought her the most pleasure. His pace faltered, then matched hers again, and when she cried out in pleasure, his own orgasm followed moments later, his own deeper outcry like a delayed echo of hers.
She allowed herself to collapse over him, afterwards, pleased by the protective way his arms closed around her, holding her close. Another difference, that she felt comfortable letting him do so, that he did not withdraw and turn away as soon as they were done, ignoring her. She closed her eyes, resting her head in the crook of his neck, feeling his rapid pulse fluttering against her own temple, hearing the rasp of his breathing, feeling the heat of his skin against hers. His hugged her to him, then stroked one hand down her back in a lazy, soothing movement, a petting motion. She liked that, she decided, and sighed in satisfaction, before turning her head slightly to press a kiss against the soft warm skin in the dip above his collarbone.
Arren made a low, pleased sound, and she felt his own lips brush soft and warm against her forehead. "That was..." he began, and trailed off. Hugged her tightly, and kissed her again.
She sighed, after a long moment. "As nice as this is, I fear we will be quite uncomfortable soon, if we don't clean ourselves up," she pointed out, tilting her head back to look at his face.
He smiled warmly at her. "All right," he agreed, and leaned his head down to kiss her again before they carefully disengaged. The nearby stream at least made cleaning themselves off simple, if perhaps a little chilly, after which they silently redressed in their clothes before sitting down again, side by side. Arren took Morrigan's hand in both of his, smiling warmly at her as she leaned companionably against his shoulder.
"What happens now?" he asked after a few minutes. "With us."
Morrigan frowned thoughtfully. "I do not know. Is there an us? Will there be an us? Or was this merely an enjoyable experiment, a casual liaison we both enjoyed but which has no real future."
Arren frowned as well, looking puzzled, then looked questioningly at her. "You sound like you're not sure if you want there to be an us."
"In truth, I am not sure," she said. "I... like you. At least as a friend. And this was very sweet, very enjoyable. But... truly, I do not know. Mother told me that friends, that love, is a weakness, a madness, a foolish delusion that should be avoided."
"Do you want to avoid me?" he asked, sounding surprised and a little distressed.
She sighed, and lowered her head to his shoulder. "No," she admitted after a moment, honestly, voice low and hesitant. "No. I do not."
He didn't ask anything further, but instead put his arm around her shoulders, holding her close. "Good," he said, and kissed the top of her head, just once.
They sat there in silence for a long time, until well after dark. "It grows cold," she finally said, and sighed, shrugging his arm away and sitting up. "We should go back to camp."
He nodded. They rose, and walked back, hands occasionally brushing together but otherwise avoiding touch. They paused once the glow of the campfires came into view, and turned to not-quite-face each other, Arren chewing on his lower lip and looking nervously down at the ground, Morrigan glancing at him only once before looking toward her separate campsite.
"I see I owe someone thanks for keeping my fire fed," Morrigan said, nodding toward where her fire still burned long after it should have been down to coals and ashes. "I am surprised someone thought to do so. Not the mage or the bard, I would think... nor the qunari. Perhaps the assassin."
Arren raised his head and smiled faintly at her. "Or Alistair. He has a kind heart at times."
"He does," she admitted, almost reluctantly. "Well. I suppose this is good-night," she said, before turning away and beginning to walk off toward her own campfire.
"Morrigan," Arren called after her, softly. When she turned to look at him, he looked uncertain again, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in his obvious nervousness, hands clasped behind his back. "Thank you."
It startled a smile out of her. "You are welcome," she said, and took another few steps away, then turned back again. He was still watching her. "Perhaps I might ask you to join me in my tent some night? It does get cold, sometimes..."
He smiled, warmly, just a hint of his crooked grin curving one side of his mouth higher than the other. "If you did, I think I'd be happy to accept. Honoured, even."
She nodded, feeling obscurely pleased, then turned and walked away.