Continuation of the previous chapter.
I was wondering about the DA equivalent of watching someone for shock or hypothermia, and ended up with... this, whatever this is. I'd say there wouldn't be enough knowledge to follow all the medical guidelines, so any errors are probably (hopefully!) through medieval practicality rather than bad writing.
Vigil
Leliana
Alistair shrugs off her concern as she fusses over him, looking back at Morgana; the woman's still unconscious, and they know that they won't be going anywhere tonight. She looks at him sternly as he glances over his shoulder once again, brow creasing in worry as he watches the woman on the ground.
She says firmly, "I will tend to her - have you not looked at yourself?"
He finally does, and seems to realise that he's still soaked; his hair will probably never be the same again, either. He gives her a sheepish grin, opening his mouth, but she swiftly interrupts him. "She will need to be watched for signs of chill. If you will not allow me to help you, at least be useful by not dripping upon her." She neglects to mention that he probably does as well, but he seems unchanged, and she decides to trust her own judgement.
His smile turns even more sheepish - if such a feat is even possible - and he nods. "I suppose I should." Another anxious glance back at Morgana, a swallow, and then he trudges away to dry off and find a change of clothes.
She wonders how the being of awkward humility before her can be the same man who pulled Morgana from the water without a word, like something out of the old tales - and she knows plenty of those.
She is relieved that she manages to rouse Morgana, ignoring the muttered oath as she does so - her friend is certainly not a glamorous waker - and passes her a change of clothes, pointing to forest further downriver in which to put them on; the woman struggles to her feet, hastily thanking her, and takes her advice, clanking as she goes (she notices in concern that she is shivering slightly; something will have to be done about that).
Morgana is sitting by a magically-produced fire when Alistair returns, and now that the initial panic has worn off, there is an obvious, heavy silence between the two Wardens; he stops abruptly upon seeing her, both looking intently at the ground, Alistair rubbing the back of his neck and trying to find something to say. Their eyes meet, and Morgana blurts, "Thank you. For what you did."
He nods, lips curving into a small smile. "Not a problem."
Morgana stifles a yawn as he sits next to her, and there is a thoughtful silence as they stare into the fire, before she murmurs, "If you hadn't..."
He cuts her off, his voice sharp, swallowing. "Don't. It's just... not worth thinking about, all right?"
Leliana begins to absentmindedly strum Morgana's lute, a hummed tune flowing from her lips, as she remembers his face, the way he had clung to his fellow Warden as if afraid she wasn't quite real.
The combination of the night's events, the song and the warmth of the fire mean that Morgana is soon nodding off (the woman seems to prefer to sleep under the stars most of the time, and in the mud - in theory, romantic, in practice... less so. She wonders about forcing her into a tent in these circumstances, but doubts flimsy canvas will make a temperature difference); Alistair darts a worried glance at the mage, placing a hand on her arm to check the tremors have stopped, and then stands, returning shortly with a couple of blankets and his armour.
She pretends not to watch them, a smile threatening, refusing to allow her fingers to slip on the lute strings.
He drapes them over Morgana, sitting next to her and trying to check over his armour for any more signs of damage; his eyes regularly flicker back to the woman at his side, no matter how much he tries to hide it, and he eventually sighs with a low mutter of, "Well, I said I'd keep an eye on you." He lays aside his armour, eyes returning to Morgana.
Leliana puts down the lute, ducking into her tent with one last look at the pair of them, her smile finally breaking through.
When she steps out the following morning, he is still sitting there, shadowed eyes only straying from the sleeping mage at the sound of her footsteps; he looks up, giving her a weary smile.