~ Alistair ~

Alistair piled wood shavings and a bit of fibrous plant fluff beneath the teepee he'd built of a few sticks, and struck his flint and steel. Marian watched in silence, her arms crossed over her knees, hugged against her chest.

The moon shone clear and bright overhead, the trees casting splotchy shadows on their small clearing in the woods. It was late enough that the residual heat of the day had burned off in the wake of the darkness. They weren't far from Lothering - just enough that the noises of the town couldn't be heard. All was quiet, the wintry evening as still as calm water. Alistair's breath fogged, evidence of the frigid chill in the air. Maker, but it was cold!

"Are you sure you want to be out here?" he asked, turning to Marian.

"I don't want to be at home right now," she said, sounding certain. "Mother's moaning and groaning about Carver, and... I just can't."

The flames caught, licking at the sticks with ravenous hunger. They'd piled up enough to last a few hours at least, Alistair figured, and so with the fire established he sat back to warm his hands. Across the way, Marian tilted forward, her face reflecting the golden light as she sighed into the heat.

"What were we talking about?" Alistair asked. Marian delved into the basket Bethany had packed for them, coming up with a small pot and a pack of tea leaves.

"I forget," she grinned as she filled the pot with water from a skin. "Something terribly important, no doubt."

Alistair rummaged through the basket for teacups. Bethany had slipped two slices of cake in there as well, along with ham, cheese and bread. She'd been quite amused by Carver's newly found appetite, but when she'd realized Alistair was just as bottomless, she'd insisted on handling their picnic basket. The girl was more than charming, in his opinion - she'd make someone a lovely home someday, without doubt. If Marian hadn't captured his heart from the beginning, he might have found himself attracted to the youngest Hawke sister.

Marian knelt before the campfire, attending to the heating water with single-minded concentration. She wore her belted tunic and jerkin with form-fitting leggings - almost the same outfit she'd worn yesterday. Was there no variety to her wardrobe? Her sturdy boots were as worn as his own, and likely just as comfortable. Bethany wore boots as well, but that was just common sense in Ferelden. There was so much mud, anything more delicate would be ruined in moments. And yet, Bethany's footwear and clothing were more... traditionally feminine, Alistair thought. She wore her hair long, flowing in gentle waves over her shoulders. Marian's was short, almost ragged. But I like it, Alistair thought. The cut of Bethany's tunic showed off a slender waist and curving hips. The dip of her blouse displayed a touch of cleavage. Marian's clothing might have come from army supply, so unisex and understated it was. She doesn't need anything fancier, Alistair thought. Maker, she's gorgeous. But imagine what she'd look like in something that suited her a bit more.

"What will you do in Kirkwall?"

Marian shrugged. "Mother says her parents were nobility. Her brother - my uncle, I guess - lives in the estate she grew up in. I suppose we'll live there." She seemed less than interested in the subject.

"Being nobility doesn't appeal?" Alistair teased. "You could wear dresses, be demanding, have breakfast in bed every day."

Marian chuckled. "You may have just described my biggest nightmare. Except for the breakfast in bed. That I could live with."

"Did you ever have long hair?" Alistair asked, wondering at her comment. Wearing dresses, a nightmare? Didn't girls like that sort of thing?

"Never," she answered. "It gets to my shoulders at the most before I can't stand it."

Well, it only made sense, Alistair supposed. Long hair could certainly be troublesome. Some of his fellow templar trainees chose to wear their hair long, and he'd seen the struggles with tangling. Recruits had been "encouraged" to keep their hair short, though as long as they were presentable for muster it wasn't enforced. Alistair had found it easier to just keep his own locks shorn. He rubbed the back of his head - it was longer now than he liked. Curling strands tickled his neck whenever he turned his head - definitely too long. He'd have to be sure and cut it soon.

"I think you'd be lovely with long hair," Alistair offered, feeling bold. After spending most of the day together, he was about as comfortable as he was likely to get. Why not try a compliment?

She snorted. "We'll never find out, I guarantee it."

Well, that hadn't worked. Marian handed him his tea, and he molded chilled fingers around the cup. She huddled into her cloak, her steaming mug held close to her lips.

Things were silent for a time as they sipped, absorbing what warmth they could. Alistair wished he dared make some sort of gallant gesture, like offering to sit together and combine their body warmth, but Marian looked so closed off he couldn't bring himself to speak the words, much less simply enact the movements. He remained where he was, trying to think of something else to say.

"So," he said at last. "All this time we've spent together-"

"All this time?" she interrupted with a short laugh. "It's been, what, two days?"

"Almost every minute of two days," he pointed out, then hesitated. "Will you miss it, when Carver and I leave?"

"Will I miss you, you mean?" Marian teased, and his heart leapt. Was he really so transparent? But her answer made the question worthwhile. "Of course I will. I've had a lot of fun with you... you make it easy to... just be me. And you have to come back," she said sternly. "You and Carver both."

"You couldn't keep me away if you tried," he promised, hoping she would take his meaning. Maker, but this was hard. So much he wanted to say, so much he couldn't say, either because of nerves or the fact that he just plain couldn't promise anything.

Words escaped them both again, the only sound the fire snapping. Marian asked him then about why their leavetaking had been delayed, and Alistair told her about Cousland and Sister Leliana. Marian seemed surprised, agreeing with Alistair's assessment - Sister Leliana was a Chantry initiate, which made her untouchable. How depraved was the man?

"Actually..." Marian's brow furrowed. "I think... she might just be a lay sister."

"Ah... okay, well, then I guess he has a chance," Alistair grumbled. It still seemed wrong to him.

"Alistair," she said suddenly. "You grew up in the Chantry, right?"

"Right," he replied.

"So, does that mean you've never..." she trailed off, sapphire eyes glittering with fun.

Oh, Maker. How did people always manage to pick up on this? Peter had spent a full week teasing him, threatening to find a camp follower and plant her in Alistair's tent one night when he was least expecting it. Carver didn't know yet, but... for goodness' sake, was it written across his forehead?

"Why does it matter?" he muttered, uncomfortable.

"It's just cute," she giggled. "How old are you?"

"How old do I look?" he countered, feeling somewhat annoyed.

"My age," she replied. "Old enough to have done it, but young enough that maybe it just hasn't happened yet."

He blinked, taken aback. This was the first time someone had told him it was okay to be a virgin. Sex was so casual for some. And no one seemed to take into account that being raised in a chantry afforded one precious few opportunities for libidinous behavior. "I'm not even sure what you're talking about," he deadpanned, taking another sip of tea.

"Yes you do," she grinned. "You're turning beet red."

"Am not. You are."

"Liar."

"I'm not red. I'm sitting by the fire."

"Shut up, you're so cute," Marian said, looking like a cat who'd found a bowl of cream. "I think it's... sweet. Not many men would admit to that." She brought her cup to her lips. "Carver's still a virgin, too."

"Does that mean you're not?"

"Alistair! So direct," she grinned. "Do you ask every woman you meet about her virtue?"

"Oh, so that's what we're talking about..." Alistair said, affecting sudden understanding. "I thought it was either never seen a basilisk, or never licked a lamppost in winter."

"Oh, I've done that," Marian said offhandedly. "Basilisks? They're a dime a dozen."

"And how about the lamppost?" Alistair said, dragging the words over his tongue. "Ever licked a lamppost in winter?" The innuendo was bold, but he was dying to know.

"Have you?" she challenged, eyes sparkling over the rim of her cup.

"I, myself? Never had the... pleasure..." he drawled, finding the conversation far more entertaining than he'd thought it would be.

"There's one in the village," Marian grinned. "We could go do it right now."

"No thanks," Alistair said. "One of the initiates tried it once, and there was laughing, and... oh, the humanity," he groaned, melodramatic. His tea was out, so he poured another cup, refilling Marian's for her as well.

"So, tell me something else," Marian said, leaning forward. "Something... secret. A deep, dark secret... something you've never admitted to another soul."

"You mean, besides the fact that I'm a virgin?" Alistair raised a brow. "That isn't big enough for you?"

"That's not a dark secret," Marian scoffed.

Alistair hesitated. He did have a secret - one that was about as deep and dark as someone could hope for. Marian, I'm the son of King Maric. Surprise! No, definitely not.

"Tell me about your first kiss," Marian ordered him, sipping her tea.

"Ahhh... um."

"You've never even kissed a girl?" Marian squealed.

"I didn't say that!"

"Maker, Alistair, you're precious," she grinned.

"I'm just... waiting for the right girl," he choked out, thankful that it was dark. If he hadn't been beet red before, he most certainly was now. "What about you? Tell me about your first kiss."

Marian sobered almost immediately, turning back into her cup.

"Oh, come on," he prodded. "You're the expert, right? Give me some tips. You know, for when I find someone worth kissing." Or when I get the courage to sit beside you, put my arm around you, draw you in...

She still said nothing, looking far away, somehow having curved herself into an even smaller ball.

"It was terrible, wasn't it?" he said. "Awkward, messy, and he probably drooled all over you."

"Um... no," Marian shook her head slightly, then chuckled. "Deep dark secrets, right?"

"Andraste's sword, now I have to hear this," Alistair chuckled. Taking his courage by the hand, he stood and rounded the fire, settling himself down close beside her. She shifted, making room, smiling at him in that warm, friendly way he loved so much. He tugged his cloak over his shoulders, considering opening one side of it and inviting her in... one step at a time, he thought.

"Well... it was a few years ago. I was out in the woods, and there was this mage."

"A mage in the woods. So an apostate?"

"I... suppose," she said. "He had the templars after him. I helped him climb up a tree with me, and then I distracted the templars with my bow."

Alistair cocked a brow. "You helped a mage escape the templars."

"That isn't the point of the story," she said, exasperated, then shook her head. "You know what? Forget it."

"No, I'm sorry, Marian. Please? Tell me?"

Her eyes flicked sideways, judging how serious he was about listening. He arranged his face in the best, most earnest friend-who-is-listening expression he could manage.

"Tell me one first," she said. "Tell me why you're still a virgin."

He groaned. "As if it wasn't obvious."

"It's not," she countered. "I mean, look at you." One hand waved up and down, indicating his whole being. "You're... well..."

"Exactly," he said. "Not very much of anything." He turned away, discouraged.

"That isn't what I meant," she insisted. "Handsome, sweet, kind - sorta brutish, maybe, but..." she winked. "Funny..."

"Yeah. Ha-ha, I'm hilarious," Alistair sighed.

"You are," Marian agreed. "I like that you make me laugh. So why hasn't some girl snuck into your room at night and had her way with you?"

"Would you sneak into the chantry to defile a templar recruit?" Alistair pointed out.

She pursed her lips, thinking. "Are we talking about any recruit, or one in particular?"

Maker, he thought, swallowing. "Um... your choice of recruit."

She chuckled. "Well, the only one I might want isn't a templar recruit, so this conversation is pointless."

Every nerve in his body ignited. His very skin seemed alive with electricity as he watched her set down her tea, then dig in the basket and retrieve sandwich materials. Why was she making food now? If there was a better lead in for a kiss he couldn't think of it.

"Marian," he began, hoping to find the words. "I've come to... that is, I -"

"What?" she said, her head lifting. "Sorry, real quick - Do you want ham with your cheese? I assume you do want a sandwich?"

"Um... yes." His courage fled. She settled back beside him a moment later, pressing his cheese-and-ham sandwich into his hands.

"So you just never got the chance," she finished.

"Never," he agreed. "But - it isn't just that. A lot of the recruits found ways to - you know, there are - um, there are women who-"

"Brothels. Sure," Marian said, taking a bite of her sandwich. "But you never joined them, hey?"

"I don't want it to happen that way," Alistair said. "I'd rather it be special. With someone I… someone I love." He didn't dare look at her. Couldn't. But then he did, almost afraid of what he might see. Ridicule? Skepticism?

It was understanding that met his eyes, and he fell in love with her a little more.

She nodded. "That's what I want, too. For my first time."

"You're... oh. I thought-"

She chuckled. "I haven't found the right person yet either."

Their eyes locked, Alistair's breath catching as the azure depths enfolded him in a silken caress. Marian looked away after only a moment, seeming embarrassed. She concentrated on her sandwich again, leaving Alistair feeling as though he'd just fallen from a ledge and was gripping with only one hand. It would be too easy to unhinge his fingers, let go and just fall...

It was then that he realized he was fooling himself. He'd already fallen. Plummeted. Dived headfirst, not knowing whether the water was shallow or deep, not caring what might be on the other end.

The silence grew, and he cleared his throat, the intimate moment fading away. "Enough of me. Now you. First kiss. Go."

She chewed and swallowed, then set her sandwich down before stealing a sip of tea, her fingers stroking over the smooth surface as she found the words she sought.

"Do you know that feeling you get when a limb falls asleep?" she asked, her eyes dimming as she drew on the memory.

Alistair dared to steal a bite of his own sandwich, waiting on the edge of her words.

"It was like that," she murmured, her fingers kneading the cup. "My whole body felt like it couldn't stop tingling, and my stomach got this odd warm feeling, like I'd just drunk a whole bottle of wine-"

"That good, hey?" Alistair teased, though her words painted an intricate picture he could easily imagine. Her gaze was so far-off, like she was in another time entirely, her lips curling with the remembered pleasure. He couldn't help but wonder if she'd feel the same way if he kissed her.

"That good," she agreed, a wistful smile touching her face. "I didn't even know his name."

Alistair's eyes flew wide. "How could you kiss someone without even knowing their name?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "I know, it's crazy. I never would have thought it. And maybe I shouldn't have let him... I don't know. I mean, yes, I shouldn't have let him - the blighter stole my purse." She sighed. "I was a mark, nothing more. And I got taken in." She shook her head. "Mother was furious at me that day, too, though I didn't tell her about the kss."

"I'm still surprised you let him get away from the templars," Alistair mused. "Especially when you discovered he was just a thief. You could have pointed them in his direction, or - do you know how to track? You could have tracked him."

"I-" she hesitated, then sighed. "Deep dark secrets... Alistair, I can trust you, right?"

"Of course," he said, brows lowering in concern.

Eyes raking him in speculation, she nodded slightly, as if confirming something in her own mind. "What's your loyalty to the templars?"

Where was this going? "Uh... I'm not one, not now, not anymore," Alistair said. "I mean, I'd love to hand Morrigan to them, but honestly that's more because I just don't like her than because I feel the need to bring her to justice. And she's supposed to help us - or so Flemeth said." He rolled his eyes. "Who knows. I trust that witch about as far as I can throw her. But.. I'm a Warden now, not a templar. Duncan used to say that the Wardens must do anything necessary to stop a blight. So I guess I'll put up with Morrigan, because she might have some role to play, beyond just tormenting me."

Marian chewed her upper lip as she considered, sucking it into her mouth before it slid free once more, scraped by her teeth. Taking a deep breath, she set her teacup down, pulled a dagger from her waist and fingered it. "My father was a mage."

Alistair startled, shockwaves reverberating through him. Tingles echoed over his skin, the absolute unexpectedness of her words freezing him in place. She said no more, just watched him, wary as a rabbit caught by the eye of a fox.

"He was killed by templars," she finished, the blade sliding between her fingers. "I... saw it. All of it."

Still Alistair said nothing, his training rising to the top with his initial shocked reaction. Mages weren't supposed to have families, to have relationships, to sire children. They were too dangerous, unpredictable. The mage gift was rare, with only one in every twenty children or so being born with the ability, but that was with the assumption that both parents were non-magical. Certain families seemed to carry the bloodline, but just as often it popped up out of nowhere. But it was for this reason that the Chantry insisted mages not procreate. From what Alistair had heard, it was almost the opposite when mages had children - half of them were as magical as their parents, half were not. Was Marian...?

He flexed his power, templar senses flaring, and to his shock, she reacted. Sapphire eyes snapped up, a snarl coming to her lips. Alistair barely had time to draw breath before she whipped to her feet, her blade held against his throat.

"You bastard," she growled. "You think I'm a mage?"

"I... you felt that?" he gasped. "I - I'm sorry, Marian, I just -"

"I shouldn't have told you," she hissed. "You're no different. I thought you were something else, Alistair... I thought I could trust you." Every bit of friendliness was gone, her face carved into a hard mask of anger. "If you weren't one of only three Wardens left in Ferelden..." she shook her head, then backed up and slid the blade into her sheath with a sharp snick. "Walk away. Get up, go wherever it is you planned on going when we were finished here and just... stay away from my family."

"How could you feel that?" Alistair was amazed, stumbling over his words as he struggled to his feet. "I was taught that civilians couldn't feel magic-"

"Are you deaf? Leave, Alistair," she snapped. "I gave you a chance and you crushed it. Just once, I'd love to meet someone who didn't destroy my trust the moment I granted it."

"I - please, I didn't-"

"Why are you still here? Just go!" Marian cried. "I'm giving you your life, just... go!" She hugged her arms over her chest, looking for all the world like she was holding herself together so she wouldn't fall apart.

"Marian, no, please," Alistair stammered. "I didn't mean to - even if you were a mage, I'd never... I care about you too much to - you're not-"

"Not what, Alistair? Not evil? Not a threat?" She advanced, the blade drawing from the sheath once more. "I'm not a mage, no. But I could kill you right now if I wanted to. I don't need spells to stop your breath."

Alistair gulped, backing up a pace as she rolled one menacing step forward, the dagger gripped in her fingers. Raising his hands in a careful gesture, he held them away from his body where she could see them. No sudden moves to grab his own weapon. She was so quick, he had no doubt that she could kill him before he'd slid the sword from its sheath.

"I'm not leaving, Marian," he said, his voice low. "I'm not walking away from you. Not like this."

She took another step forward. Small she might be, but the threat was unmistakable.

"I will kill you, don't think I can't do it..." said. "Terrible accident. Darkspawn, a blight wolf - it doesn't matter. Your body will never be found. They'll believe me, and we'll run. We've done it all my life - I can handle it again."

"Kill me, then," Alistair said, planting himself with trepidation. If she called his bluff... "I'll drop my weapon, kneel at your feet. If you really think I'm a threat to your family, you should kill me. I won't stop you."

Marian's face altered just a touch - a flash of uncertainty cutting through the calculated rage marring her beautiful features.

Encouraged, Alistair continued. "I never had a family, and I always wanted one. More than just about anything. Yours made me feel welcomed. Carver's already a brother of mine, and Bethany is one of the sweetest people I think I've ever met. Leandra is everything a mother should be. And you, Marian, I..." he slowed, the words choking his throat. Say it! "I... I care about you, Marian." Tremulous, but there - he'd done it. It was on the table. She could do what she liked with it. Her face gave him no clues, so he rushed on. "I don't think I would care if every one of you were mages. There's no way I'd ever turn you in."

She said nothing, her face closed off, cold as the night. He risked a small step toward her. "Let me make it up to you. This was a really nice evening, and I... I ruined it. Say the word, I'll do anything you want. But don't make me leave. I don't want to end things like this - not with you."

The blade shook in her hand, her fingers shifting over the pommel. They stared at each other, the seconds slipping by one by agonizing one, the faint noise of a log settling on the fire cutting through the crash of Alistair's pounding heart.

"Templars killed my father," she said again, her voice shaky. "It was... I saw it all. I will kill them one day, don't doubt it. They need to die."

Alistair nodded. "I'll help you if I can."

"You..." she blinked. "You'd help me? Kill templars?"

"I'd help you kill anyone who threatened your family," he replied. "And I'm not a templar. Not anymore. Not ever, really - I was trained as one, but Duncan got me out of there before I took any vows." He chanced another step forward. "Please, Marian... you can trust me."

Inscrutable - that was the word for it. Her face was impossible to read. Not that he was very good at it, anyway.

"Say something," he begged, his heart in his throat. "Don't just... Marian, please say something. Anything."

"Bethany's a mage," she whispered.

His breath stilled in his chest. Sweet Bethany Hawke... a mage, hiding in plain sight. He nodded a moment later as his body remembered how to breathe. Little comments, things he'd observed - with her words, it all tumbled into place. Carver asking him to wait outside before inviting him in. Marian saying they'd moved from place to place. Carver cutting himself off when talking about his sisters. Marian's comment about how Bethany had always needed protecting. They'd been on the run all their lives.

It was almost unfathomable - how many mages were there who did this, he wondered? Did other people know, and keep the secret with them? Was the Hawke family only one of many? Stop it, he scolded himself. It doesn't matter. They're good people.

"And she's your sister," Alistair said softly. "She's a sweet girl, a good person. As long as I can, I'll help you keep her safe. I promise you, Marian." Taking the final step, he closed the distance between them at last, itching to graze his fingers over her cheek. She turned her face up to his, the firelight playing over her face, vulnerable once more. "And I'll help you kill the bastards who murdered your father."

"Void take me, but I think you mean that," she murmured, her eyes filling with wonder. "You - a former templar."

"Of course I mean it," he murmured. "I don't say things I don't mean."

She appraised him, then gave a quick nod. "Just don't get in my way."

He dipped his chin once, agreeing. The moment grew, his eyes drawn to hers as a moth to a flame. Maker help me, how I want this woman, Alistair thought. Her breath caught, and something akin to fear lit in her eyes.

"Alistair," she murmured. "I - I don't..."

"You don't have to trust me," he said hurriedly, cutting her off. "Not yet. I mean, I hope you know you can. Your secret is safe, I promise you. The last thing I'd ever want to do is hurt you, or your family."

She nodded, taking a deep breath as her eyes flicked down to their boots. "I appreciate that." She backed away, the dagger sliding back into its place at her side, her hands raking through her hair and knuckling around the roots as she turned from him to stare into the darkness.

"How old were you when it happened?" he questioned. She's so young to have been through all of this.

"Sixteen," she muttered. "Carver and Bethany were only fourteen."

"And now you're..." Alistair said, trying to put the puzzle pieces together in his mind.

"Eighteen," she said, then a touch of humor graced her face. "Well, nineteen, maybe, if it's past midnight."

"You're kidding," Alistair said. "Tomorrow's your birthday?"

She shrugged. "Not a big deal-"

"Of course it's a big deal," he cut her off, grinning like a fool. "You only get one birthday a year!"

She turned to face him again, one side of her mouth quirking upward. "I guess."

"So, what do you usually do? Family party? All night dancing? Coming of age ritual?"

She huffed a slight laugh. "Well, for the past two years I've been spending it drilling and eating camp rations with Cailan's regiment."

"Then you need an entire day of birthday fun," Alistair said firmly. "Starting with breakfast. Tomorrow, you and me, at the tavern." A quick mental count of his money - yes, he should have enough. And he still had a sovereign or two from Cousland - the git could buy them breakfast.

"Alistair, you're very sweet, but-"

"Don't say no, then," he begged, hazel eyes sparkling as he scooped her hands into his own. "Just meet me there tomorrow. Please?"

Her shoulders rose, then slumped as she let out a slow, acquiescing breath. When she gave a slow nod, Alistair felt like flying.