Double update today! Enjoy.
This is a continuation of "Flirting". Forgive me for my paraphrasing (i.e, butchering) of game dialogue herein (you know what I'm about to write - it's all copyright BioWare, their writers, etc. Not me).
Never?
Morgana
She shifts where she's sitting with a sigh.
No. She can't.
It would be utterly rude. Improper.
Besides, he might spontaneously combust in embarrassment at the question. This is Alistair, after all.
She sneaks a glance at where he's making a vague, half-hearted attempt to read a book in his boredom; his mind is obviously elsewhere, the same as hers. Another sigh, and she finds himself trudging to sit down next down to him. He looks at her in surprise, then quickly back to the fire; it seems his mind is also on their earlier conversation.
"Alistair?" she tries, cautiously; she feels herself edging gingerly into the conversation, a habit she's picked up over years, and grits her teeth in annoyance at herself.
"Mmm?" He's distracted, his voice far away.
"What we spoke about earlier..." It's still embarrassing, but the words come more easily without Morrigan smirking and Leliana giggling behind them (as lovely as the woman is, she really has little sense of subtlety about these things).
He drops the book, scrabbling to close it in embarrassment. "Oh. That." He gives her a false-bright smile, still unable to look her in the eye. "Anything important?"
"If I was wrong about the Chantry, and you were raised there, have you never...?" She clenches her fists in frustration, instantly wishing she'd never asked.
When he looks back at her, his smile is wry, rather than the shock she expected. "Never what? Had a good pair of shoes? Eaten jellied ham? Licked a lamppost in winter?"
"Licked a - ?" Never mind Alistair combusting, he's making this bloody impossible. "You know what I'm talking about."
"Tell me, dear lady... have you ever licked a lamppost in winter?" It's quite clear from his tone what he's talking about.
"I... No, I haven't."
She sees his raised eyebrow. "Good. I... hear it can be quite painful. I myself have never done... it. That. Not that I haven't thought about it, but, you know..."
He really is a...? Well, that was... unexpected. She nods. "Few opportunities, I suppose."
He seems relieved she understands. "Well, the Chantry isn't exactly a place for boisterous boys. Also, I was taught to be a gentleman in the presence of beautiful women such as yourself. That... isn't so bad, is it?"
Beautiful? She looks at him in surprise, something she can't quite place fluttering at the word. He's surely making one of his usual jokes, isn't he? Yet he seems as shocked by his own words as she is.
She falters for a moment before replying. "Not... not bad at all. I understand - it needed to be the right person, and since one of you could die any day from a Harrowing, those at the Tower weren't exactly keen on committed relationships." She thinks for a moment. "Besides, there wasn't exactly anyone I could call attractive..." She supposes she could see why Anders was so popular, but it was more in a wiry way, and he was very much like herself, pale with hands soft, smelling of books and old magic. "No-one like..." She finds her eyes flickering to the warrior at her side, and clamps down on her thought before she can end it. No-one like... him. The thought is at once uncomfortable, unfamiliar (this is Alistair, her fellow Warden, her friend) and makes utter sense in a way that confuses her. Well, she supposes he is handsome, in a theoretical sense - the genetic Theirin nose and strong jaw, warm eyes she has found herself watching in absentminded moments... She remembers Cailan's, ones of a cool blue, and the observation rises from her before she can stop it. "Your eyes... They're your mother's."
He stares at her for a moment in astonished silence, then seems to consider it. "I... guess so. Eamon and Teagan used to say I looked like Maric, but, seeing him next to Cailan... I think Cailan got the genes."
She thinks for a moment. "You have much of your father about you." He frowns, and she elaborates, knowing it's true as she says it, "But you look different from them both, in little ways." She likes it, she realises. "You just look like..." She shrugs. "... Alistair. It suits you."
He smiles at her, and she suddenly realises what she has said, what she has thought, about Alistair, her face falling, and her cheeks beginning to burn. Her friend of easy humour and strength, the one piece of warmth and light she's found in all of this. She finds herself standing, tries to throw him a faltering smile. "I... ah... Firewood. It's probably Leliana's turn." She backs away from the fire, turning to Leliana. "Can we...?"
"Of course," her friend replies, smiling.
As they walk together into the tree line, she looks back to see Alistair with a hand to his forehead, staring at the ground, and frowns.