Oh dear. Had awful, awful writer's block for a while there, and some original work that needed tending to. Then FF. net went down. Yes, my past three days just got better and better. Finally managed to get this chapter done - block relented when I started typing - and post it.
(Though I love the update date, it really is just a coincidence.)
Unexpected
Morgana
The stars are out when she sits next to him a few hours later, with a small sigh.
He's nursing a cup of one of Morrigan's herbal teas, his pack resting at his feet, and looks up, giving her a smile.
He still looks drained, she thinks. "How's the back?" she asks, trying to phrase it lightly, but there's concern in her voice.
He shrugs, looking back into the fire. "It's... all right. Still aches a little. It'll fade."
"You'll be knocking me into the mud in no time," she tries, giving him a half-smile, but he looks away from her, eyes clouded and distracted. "Something wrong?"
A pause. He raises his eyes to the sky for a moment, sighing, then, placing his mug aside, looks at her - properly, this time. "I've been thinking... I wasn't going to, but then you did that..." He waves his fingers in an awkward gesture, and she realizes that he means the healing. then he slaps a palm to his forehead. "Dear Maker, I'm bad at this. Look..."
He reaches for his pack, cradles something in his hands as he leans back again, and she can do nothing but stare when he asks her.
Yes, she knows exactly what it is. She has read enough to grasp at least a little of the meaning behind a red rose.
She had thought... she had thought it was just her. She looks at him in wonder, this brave man who can barely tell her how he feels, and something in her softens, the last wall finally falling.
He rolls the stem gently, nervously between his fingers as he speaks, and she can see the confidence fading from his voice, his face, as he likens the bloom in his hand to her. A rare and wonderful thing in all this darkness.
That's how he thinks of her? She's startled, but, watching the man in front of her stumble over his words, thinks she understands that very well.
He calls her beautiful, and she looks up at him in surprise; she had started to think that little slip of the tongue was her imagination, but here he is, doing it again, and she remembers the word in his voice.
That... that was in the Brecilian Forest. Exactly how long has he felt like this?
She opens her mouth as if to say something, then wonders what she can say, thoughts fighting in her head for dominance. "I..."
He's a prince, all that's left of the Theirin bloodline. He could have the throne, for Maker's sake, and what would she do then?
He's tainted, as she is. They are both Wardens; their lives are short, their nights haunted, and either of them could die any day.
He's Alistair, and he cares for her, and how long has she wanted this?
He looks away, already dismissing the idea. "I know," he mutters. "It was silly, really, but I just thought..."
She finally acts, cautiously reaching out a hand and taking the flower. She smiles at his surprise when her fingers brush his wrist, the touch gentle but significant. "No. No, it's not. It's lovely. And I think... I think I've found something bright in all this as well. I've been thinking it for a while." She gives him a meaningful glance, and his pleased surprise is so very him that she can't help it...
There's a moment of frozen surprise as her mouth meets his, and she briefly worries that she's done something wrong; then he responds, his fingers coming up to tangle in her hair. She relaxes into him, wondering why she'd never noticed how warm he was before, and feels the beginnings of magic stir in her. It coils out from her hands before she can stop it, healing, pleasant, and doesn't even seem to give him pause. She sighs his name against his lips involuntarily, feels him smile and give a soft laugh. Then he slips an arm round her waist, pulls her closer, and makes her ask herself why she didn't do this weeks ago.
It's unexpected. It's inexperienced. It's wonderful.