Early
Leliana
She is up unusually early.
She enjoys this time of peace, quiet, in the morning, the others all asleep except for Alistair. The two of them are quite comfortably ignoring each other, both knowing the other is busy.
She recites the prayers that he chooses to neglect as she watches the sun rise, lips silently moving. She begins the first preparations; the snow has waned behind them, and they're now on pleasantly grassy slopes. She had noticed the apple trees earlier in their travels, and now she picks the fruit slowly, leisurely, the Chant still in her head and moving through her lips.
When she returns to the fire with nearly a sackful of apples, he's already there, yawning. "Morning."
"And to you," she replies brightly, quartering the apples and dropping them into the pot.
He has laid aside his sword, is lacing his boots, and there's a silence; she hums softly as she works, turns at hearing a sigh behind her. He's idly watching the birds, a smile playing round the corners of his mouth.
"You seem in good spirits," she observes, and he looks at her, startled.
"Huh? Oh. Right." He clears his throat, seeming embarrassed, then takes something out of his pocket, a rumpled piece of parchment that she recognises well, and begins to read silently, brow occasionally furrowing. "I think we still have a trek before we reach Orzammar." A pause as he measures the scale. "Seems like it'll be something like a month, at this rate." He exhales, folds it, looks at his knees. The question is quiet, and a surprise to her. "All these things, these... etiquette and flirting rules, and... whatever it is in Orlais..." He waves a hand dismissively. "Did they ever talk about being... well... yourself?"
She laughs. "Oh yes. We were told it was most definitely a bad idea." At his lack of reply, she adds, "We had many, many social rules in Orlais. It did not mean we followed them."
He gives a small laugh of his own, and looks away as they hear a yawn and the sound of stretching. Zevran saunters out of his tent a moment later, half-dressed and giving them both a wide grin, then begins the journey to the nearest water source.
The peace is broken. They will all be along shortly. She raises her eyes briefly heavenwards, but smiles. She likes this time, when they are all simply... themselves, not warriors or Wardens.
A thump. A curse. She and Alistair exchange small smiles and eye-rolls (never mind that he is just as bad himself in the mornings).
Morgana half-falls out of her tent, a yawn still ending as she does, but hastily straightens as she sees them. Her eyes briefly flit to Alistair, as always, and Leliana only just stops herself shaking her head. Honestly, how he can stay so blind...
He gives his fellow Warden a small half-smile; she returns it, sinking to the ground next to him with a thud. She attempts to finger-comb her hair before giving up and looking around, bleary-eyed. "Have I missed something?"
They both seem to realize at the same time that they've been staring at her. Alistair swiftly averts his gaze, rubbing his neck awkwardly, and Leliana just says, "Only the sunrise. And Zevran. Both were pleasant sights."
Morgana coughs, colour blooming in her cheeks; she shares a glance with her fellow Warden, seems to realize that they are both in the same state, and grins widely at him. The quiet stretches, and something changes in the air. Then it's gone, their eyes moving sheepishly back to her, and Morgana says loudly, "So. Breakfast. Then..."
"Sparring?" he suggests. "Think I'm up to it now."
"If you're sure..." The mage trails off, then looks at him. "Why not?"
Leliana's lips twitch, and, recalling what was and is so obviously between them, she wonders when they will finally discover it.
Soon, she thinks.