Absences
She missed him. Maker help her, but she missed Alistair. Elaine looked around the campfire at her remaining companions: Morrigan's dour face, Sten's ever-stoic expression, and Leliana's bright eyes as she recited the story of the First Blight to her unenthusiastic audience. Alistair was always ready with a quip designed to release the tension or a self-deprecating remark that put everyone more at ease. She'd never really thought of him as socially adept, but she now realized that he was more aware of what he was doing than she had thought. She sighed. Had she done the right thing sending him back? Probably not. He was a valuable fighter. They needed him in this quest. But he was injured. And she needed him at full strength when they began to fight the Blight. So, yes, she had done the right thing. If anything happened to her, he had to carry on. Definitely the right thing.
She picked a carrot out of her stew and absent-mindedly threw it toward her feet. Only there was no Dinadan to deftly snatch it out of mid-air and gulp it down. She stared at the carrot lying on the ground. Hopefully Zevran wouldn't murder them both in cold blood. She'd simply evaluated Zevran's skill set and decided he would be the best one for the job; it hadn't occurred to her at the time that sending the assassin along with the two wounded might be risky. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She groaned, placed her bowl aside, and flopped back onto her pallet. It was too late now. She had to trust that Zevran would keep his word and remain loyal to her. She said a quick prayer to the Maker and tried to fall asleep.
Alistair pulled out the tin of salve and reached his hand out to Dinadan. The dog sniffed at Alistair's hands a bit, then laid his head back down and allowed the human to tend his wound. Zevran was taking first watch, but Alistair found no comfort in that thought. What had Elaine been thinking? The elf had been sent here to assassinate the Wardens, for Andraste's sake! Was she trying to get him killed? He turned his attention to his own wound, remembering the feel of Elaine's gentle fingers on his skin. No, she didn't want to hurt him. He was certain of that. And yet she had. But, still, she had been reasonable. It probably was wise to be separated; caution was unquestionably prudent. And yet he couldn't help but feel the sting of rejection. He had thought after he had given her the arrows that things were going well between them. They had a repoire, he thought. She even laughed at his jokes. And then she pulled this. He glanced at Zevran. The elf met his gaze without a flinch. They stared at one another for a long, tense moment until Alistair used the tin of salve as an excuse to look away. He replaced the lid and stuffed it back into his pack before lying down. He hoped Elaine knew what she was doing.