A continuation of chapter 95, "Teachings".

Dawn

Leliana

She hears the usual sounds of Morgana's awakening: rustling and muttered curses, then a loud yawn. She walks across the camp, waiting for a moment before climbing into the tent.

Morgana, used to this state of affairs, shifts on her bedroll, raising her eyes briefly skywards; Leliana joins her, sitting cross-legged on the bedroll, and smiles.

Morgana is sitting with her head nearly to her knees, eyes half-shut and a hand to her mussed hair. She gives a low groan when Leliana gives her a gentle nudge on the shoulder.

She shakes her head. Honestly, her friend wakes like a man. A very grumpy, very Fereldan man. Most definitely not a morning lark.

"I thought you might like this. For your strength, perhaps?"

The mage looks up, wide-eyed. "Alistair hasn't given you stew, has he?"

She laughs, shaking her head, and passes to her the jerky, noting the look of relief on her friend's face.

She takes a deep breath. Now for the real reason she came here. Her voice is quiet as she says, "Why did you ask me about Marjolaine?"

Morgana looks up abruptly, something shifting behind her eyes, becoming guarded. "She was important to you."

Leliana shakes her head, meeting the woman's eyes. "No. You knew what she was to me. Why now?" And why did she ask her about the relationship rather than the betrayal?

There is a pause - a rather awkward one. Morgana's eyes flutter shut, and her brow furrows. "I... What I told you. That I'd never felt for someone like that. I wanted to know... I wanted to know what it was like." Opening her eyes, the other woman exhales heavily.

Sympathy rises in her again, and she's nearly taken in by it, until she sees the mage swallow, that that clear blue gaze is directed somewhere over her shoulder.

A half-truth, perhaps, but she will let it rest. There is time. She meets her friend's eye, unwavering, and Morgana looks away first. "I see," she says carefully, then resumes her smile. "I shall see you by the fire?"

Morgana nods, and she climbs out of the tent, wondering...

They begin the first leg of the journey, and Morgana asks her if she knows any old stories, listening attentively and nodding in all the right places.

The mage's shoulders never lose their tension, however, and she rarely looks at her.

They make camp, and the sparring begins; she gifts Zevran with a match before the two of them grow bored, sitting and watching the camp instead.

The clash of metal on metal is frequent, as are the dry comments, from the other side of camp, the two Wardens exchanging blows and words.

Alistair laughs. "Come on, you expect to stab me with that stance?"

"You do realise..." Clang. Sweat pours down Morgana's brow as the two cross swords, all in the camp knowing that Alistair will easily outmatch her for strength. "... That that reflects... badly... on your teaching?"

Alistair backs off slightly, searching for another angle, and shakes his head with a faux-outraged cry of, "Underhanded! Not my fault you can't hold a sword." The mage takes him off guard with a blow that would have sliced his side, if he wasn't wearing armour, and he - just - dodges it. He's grinning, however, as he says, "Very nice."

Thok. "Yes, well... good teaching and such."

Clang. He smiles at his student through the mud on his face. "Hmmm. I guess you're right. I'll..." Scrape. Clang. "Ow. Shield arm. I'll have to thank your incredibly..." Clang. "... patient, talented instructor, then. Won't I?"

Leliana rolls her eyes and looks to Zevran. "I expect the darkspawn will not respond well to sarcasm."

He lets out a soft, barely-there laugh, and they exchange smiles.

Clang. Clang. Thud.

They turn to see Morgana on the floor - again - panting, muddy and looking up at Alistair. Standing above the mage, he sighs, then smiles. "Nearly had me there. You're getting better, you know." He offers her a hand.

She returns his smile with a soft, "Thank you", and stretches to take it.

Leliana sees it then: The flush suffusing the woman's cheeks, the way her eyes light up and hold the other Warden's for just a moment too long; the hope in that gentle grasp of his hand.

She sighs, thinking of the blushing, stammering confession of the mage who had never loved before. Oh, Morgana.