A quick note: If anyone's interested, I've started a parallel project to this one, Dreams & Books, telling the story of young Morgana in the Circle; it can be read along with Armour and make sense.
Anyway, enough fic-plugging - onwards with that little thing called the story. This chapter mildly references chapter 58, "The Smell Of Freedom".
Woodsmoke
Morgana
Heavy silence hangs between them as they trudge to the Dalish camp, turning the air grey and drawing worried glances from Leliana. She opens her mouth as if to say something a few times, then seems to think better of it.
Morgana frowns at the ground, stubbornly refusing to look at him. He has a point - why is she so bothered, anyway?
It comes to her as she ducks yet another branch. She imagines all of this without him at her side, his shield and steady presence reminding her that she's not alone, and feels hollow, the image seeming wrong in her head.
She remembers his words in the Korcari Wilds, after Ostagar, when they finally realised what was on their shoulders; him, without the closest thing to family he'd ever known, begging her not to back out on him, saying he couldn't do it alone, seeming so... broken.
At the time, she'd barely known him, had been too busy telling herself he was an ignorant templar to give in to the twinge of pity somewhere inside her. Now, the memory is physically painful, and she realises that she's the same. She can't do this alone.
She finally looks at him, catches him in the middle of throwing her a cautious glance; there's an awkward silence, and they both speak at the same time, their words stumbling. "I'm sorry... "
He lets out a small, nervous laugh, and they stop, just looking at each other. She fights the sudden urge to reach out and touch him, reassure him in some way, her throat dry, their eyes locked. She steps closer to him before her feet can obey her mind, reaching out a hand formally. "I was too short with you, and it all spiralled a little out of control..." She sighs. "Friends?" she tries hopefully.
A sigh. "I was... being stupid. As usual, I suppse." Then he grins at her, and she hadn't known how much she missed it. "Friends." He shakes her hand, then, catching her off-guard, pulls her into a cautious hug. She inhales at the sudden, unexpected touch, heat coming off him in waves; the smell of polish and lye soap fill her nose, and something else... Her eyes widen. She raises a hand to his arm, fingers tentatively holding the plate, taking a deep breath of his scent, and murmurs in a small, dazed epiphany, "Woodsmoke."
The scent of freedom is the smell of earth and grass after rain, the smell of woodsmoke. She remembers wondering where the thought had come from; she hadn't meant the fire. No - she'd meant him. The man whose arms she's found herself in.
"Hmm?" he asks.
She looks up at him, still recovering from her shock, and swiftly takes back her hand, stepping away, her thoughts suddenly clunky and unclear in her mind. "Nothing... Nothing important," she says hastily, giving him what she sincerely hopes is a reassuring smile and walking onwards with slightly unsteady legs, her mouth dry and her mind refusing to co-operate with her.