Eva paced nervously through camp. The sun was fully up now and they should have been on their way long ago, but Alistair still hadn't moved. The panic that filled her chest left little room for air, and she gasped as she struggled to regulate her anxious breathing, her mind racing through any possible option for action and coming up short. She was no mage and could not heal, and she'd already emptied a health potion into his mouth with no noticeable effect. Her strength had always been in the arts of stealth and speed, not sheer physical power, and there was no way she could lift him up to put him on horseback and try to take him to someone who could help. And she could not leave him behind by himself, unconscious and vulnerable. What if raiders attacked the camp while she was gone? Or wolves? What if she was captured herself and was unable to return, leaving him to wither away, or wake up alone and confused?
The only thing that seemed like an option at all was simply to wait. Wait, and hope he woke, or hope that someone stumbled upon them who wouldn't just try to kill them both.
But waiting was agony. It had only been an hour since the sun fully cleared the horizon, but it felt like so much more than that. She'd worn a path in the dirt as she trekked repeatedly from the tent to Zuni, to the campfire and back to the tent. She'd secured the flaps wide open so that fresh air could circulate within, and opened up his tunic to apply the damp cloth to his chest, knowing that the temperature was likely to rise to uncomfortable levels at some point during the day. Sitting beside him and just looking down into his unresponsive face was a torture of its own. She needed to do something, but she was already exhausting what few tools existed in her arsenal. She alternated her pacing with sitting, with talking to him, begging him to wake. At one point she pulled on his tunic, wrenching herself under his shoulders and hoisting him into her arms so she could cradle him as she spoke.
"Alistair, love, you must wake up," she cried. "Please. What is wrong? Why is this happening?"
But he only slept peacefully.
How many times had she sat in a tent and watched him sleep during the blight? She'd often wait to wake him some mornings as the light crept slowly into their tent, unveiling the handsome angles and planes of his face, his neck, his bare shoulders. She could seldom admire him properly when they were out in the daylight, at least not if she didn't want to hear some groan or derisive remark about it from Morrigan. And out there he was mostly hidden under bulky metal armor anyway. But in the privacy of the early morning hours in their tent, she could let her eyes linger freely over his strong neck and that expressive face that she'd adored almost from the moment they had met back in Ostagar. She'd trace the sculpted lines of his chest, the firm roundness of his impossibly strong arms and shoulders. She'd drink in that vast expanse of golden skin that she came to crave with every fiber of her being, the flesh that was so hot and soft as it exhausted her deep into the late night hours, and then wrapped around her like a blanket until morning came.
Just as they'd learned to kiss together, they'd also eventually learned the preferences and mechanics of each other's bodies together, stumbling against each other in the dark, trying to keep their voices hushed despite experiencing new sensations and delights that made them both want to scream to the heavens. Maker, that first night they'd spent fully together, after yet another of his adorable speeches, was emblazoned permanently into her memory for its dizzying variety of emotions. They'd both started out so nervous, so tentative and cautious, and it had been downright awkward at points. But it had blossomed into something sweeter than anything she could have imagined.
Even after all the hours they'd spent kissing, after how much bolder they'd gotten in their affections, coming to press their bodies fully together as they hid among the trees, they still seemed to have no idea where to begin, or what to do when it came to the actual mechanics of making love for the first time. His speech, as sweet and irresistible as it was, had put just enough pressure on them both to turn them back into fumbling strangers. They stood in the tent removing their armor and leathers, stripping shyly down to bare skin without touching, and then just hovering awkwardly for a moment, neither quite knowing their next move. His eyes traveled up and down her body, going black and glassy as they lingered over her curves, and she saw the rising and falling of his chest increase in speed, the same as hers. But whether it was excitement or just nerves wasn't terribly clear at first. She'd seen a naked man before, once when she accidentally came upon a man bathing in a pond. But that man did not have the rather large — and increasingly larger — appendage sticking proudly out of a nest of copper curls such as what she saw on Alistair. That other man just had a patch of soft, dangling flesh that looked nothing at all like this. It made her heart jump into her throat as she looked at it. That giant thing was supposed to go in her?
The nerves that sparked at the thought were joined with something else, a warmth that filled her belly, moistening that aching spot at the apex of her thighs. If there had ever been any doubt that Alistair was no boy, but was fully a man, that doubt was now completely destroyed.
She supposed they should probably kiss. They'd gotten really good at kissing, and when she'd press herself against him it seemed their bodies would take on a mind of their own, urging them to touch, to sigh, to caress without any need for thought or external direction. Eva regularly felt the bulge in his pants as their bodies would grind together in the dark, but neither of them ever spoke about it, and she never reached a hand down to touch it, even when Alistair would moan softly as it pressed into her. Despite her fear, her nerves, her knees that felt like jelly and a mouth as dry as the desert, she too wanted it, wanted him. She had never wanted anything in her life as much as she wanted him.
"Maker's breath but you are beautiful," he sighed, the first words spoken since she'd sheepishly nodded her assent to his proposition. With shaky legs she took a step closer to him, bringing herself in for a kiss. Everything else should follow from there, right? Kissing they could do.
The welcoming softness of his lips, the familiar patterns of his tongue sliding against hers put her at ease quickly, and without meaning to, her hand had brushed up against that protruding appendage, it being at perfect hand level as she inched closer and closer. The suckling and nibbling of his mouth increased in force with the addition of her touch, his breath coming fast and heavy through his nose. She swallowed hard and decided to just go for it, letting her hand do more than just brush against that piece of him, his cock, and she let herself feel it, experiencing the glide of the smooth, velveteen skin, wrapping her hand fully around its twitching girth and testing its firmness. He whined into her mouth as his hips bucked forward into her hand, and soon his hands too were on her, palms dragging hot across her back. They were already familiar with the basic landscape of each other's bodies, but with no clothing in the way everything seemed different, brand new. He groaned quietly, panting and writhing in place as he explored her fully exposed skin for the first time. His calloused hands gently scored across the unexpectedly sensitive skin at her waist, sliding tentatively around to her belly, up her ribs, coming up to cup the soft heft of an exposed breast. When his thumb lightly caressed over the hardening point of her nipple, she physically shuddered at the sensation and let out quiet cry of her own, a desperate sound that only seemed to enhance his own arousal. Her legs had gotten shakier by the minute as a powerful desire radiated outward from between them, pulsing and throbbing. Finally his hand on her waist pulled her forward so that she was flush against him, bare skin blazing hot against bare skin, and their bodies remembered what to do, what they'd done so many nights now up against the trees in the dark.
She'd pulled him down on the bedroll without releasing his mouth, and she could feel his body quiver as he lowered himself gently over her, settling between her legs and squeezing harder at her breasts. She'd heard tales of overeager men, and how they'd clamber to get their cock inside a woman, finish up quickly and then be done with it, but Alistair was acting nothing at all like those tales she'd heard. He seemed too nervous to even know where to start. He was holding his hips away from her, seeming to want some sort of invitation, some sort of sign from Eva that she was ready. And she was. She was a little frightened, scared that it might hurt, scared that it might be too big and wouldn't fit, but she wanted it anyway. She wanted him. So she gave the invitation that he needed, wrapping a leg around his hip and pulling him forward, clutching at his broad back and urging him closer, feeling a little surprised at her own eagerness.
She found his cock with her hand again and squeezed, angling it toward her sex until the head was sliding up and down the slickness collected there, and almost instantly he was moaning, keening in her mouth while the grip of his hands on her flesh grew tighter and his hips pulsed gently toward her, seeking a slow, gentle entrance.
He braced himself against the ground and watched her face with wild, black eyes and she felt herself gloriously stretched and filled, merging completely with him, with this man who it seemed could never be close enough to her to satisfy. Finally he was as close as he could possibly get, and it did hurt, but the pain blended with something else, an exciting stimulation that made her heart and breath quicken, that promised the culmination of a pleasure that their times clutching each other in the dark always hinted at, but never fully delivered.
"Oh, Maker," Alistair whispered rapturously as he pressed on, burying himself to the hilt with a sharp intake of breath. He rested there for a moment, cautious of her jagged breathing, of the little twitches of discomfort that made her yelp quietly, but she kept her hands tight around his hips, holding him into place as she let her inner walls relax and adjust to him.
When she pulled his mouth to hers and they began to rock together, she felt almost like she could cry. But they wouldn't be sad tears. She wasn't even sure they'd be happy tears. Just tears of being so full, so electrified by a sensation that was so new, so perfect, so intense that she wasn't sure how her body was containing it all. It needed to come out somehow, but yet she had to be quiet. She didn't want the other tents to hear them.
It was over quickly. The pain had morphed into something new and mysterious, but there hadn't been the time to follow it all the way to its endpoint, even though the journey was breathtaking. He apologized quietly while asking if she was okay, and she could only pant and nod and keep kissing him. She didn't ever want to stop kissing him, ever want to stop holding him or making love to him. He stayed inside her as he rested, as his breaths slowed and their tongues danced together, darting in and out of the other's mouth, languishing in familiar, warm, ticklish places. She wanted him to keep going, and even as he lay soft inside her, she gyrated her hips around him, still feeling the call to something more, to a greater height of stimulation than what had already almost overwhelmed her.
Eventually, he felt firm between her legs again, and he began thrusting fully once more, starting their journey to the heights of pleasure again. But now her body was warm and loose, now the small bites of pain from deep within were but a memory, and now she let go and fully immersed herself in the blissful, ecstatic experience of him.
If there was anything the other campers heard, it was likely the repeated professions of love that sounded off throughout the night. It was almost a compulsion, tumbling again and again from occupied mouths as the hours wore on and their bodies grew more comfortable. She couldn't stop saying it because she couldn't stop feeling it. "I love you Alistair. Maker's Breath, I love you so much." And there was no question that he was feeling it too.
The next day they were both worthless, their bodies and minds exhausted from that bittersweet combination of a full night's worth of strenuous lovemaking coupled with a complete lack of much needed sleep. And though they'd been on the receiving end of numerous annoyed glances from the rest of the party, it was hard to care. They traded yawns back and forth, grinning giddily to each other as they walked along. And when camp was made again that night, they didn't even bother with the pretense of setting up two separate tents. They'd never used that second tent again, and Alistair had eventually "forgotten" it somewhere outside of Orzammar.
Eva was snapped out of the spell of memory when she thought she heard the rhythmic crunching of footsteps, the whisper of moving leaves and branches. She dropped Alistair's hand and stood, resting one had on a dagger and one hand on the pouch that held her smoke bombs and exited the tent, sprinting silently to hide in a column of shadow made by a large tree. She opened her mind wide and listened, and sure enough the crunching sound grew closer even as it grew quieter; a move that betrayed questionable intentions. People not looking for trouble don't try to sneak up on other people's camps, that was something anyone who traveled these lands knew. It had been inevitable that someone else would come across this site of course, but she had expected to be long gone by then.
Darting from shadow to shadow, she made a wide circle that came around to flank the maker of the noise, and eventually saw a figure crouching behind a bush, peering through branches and leaves at the camp. It was a disheveled looking man, with stringy, greasy hair and the grime blackened leathers that were commonly seen on the vultures of the countryside. But he was not fondling the hilt of his blade like a man contemplating violence. He was doing nothing in that moment other than watching, scoping out the site. Eva stayed stock still as the man eventually stood and began to back away, but she could tell by the smirk on his lips that he was not finished.
Without a sound she trailed him as he made his way through the woods, climbing carefully over tree roots and brush, picking his way back to the road that she knew lay close ahead. When the cleared gravel path that served as a road became visible through the trees he picked up his pace, eschewing all attempts at stealth, as pathetic as they had been, as he joined what looked to be a horse-drawn cart and at least one other ragged looking man. She silently advanced, coming to a stop behind a bush that was the only thing separating her from the road.
"Aye, ain't noone there," said the man to the other.
"A shame, that. Wherever they are they probably has their best loot on them," responded the other. "Probably out huntin' or somethin'."
"Well we'll just wait 'em out. They hafta return sometime."
"Could ye tell how many there is?"
"There's just the one tent, one horse. Not much stuff."
"Eeeeeasy pickin's," one man laughed. "I hope it's a lady. Haven't had any time with a lady in weeks now."
"Aye. Not too smart to be a lady travelin' alone in these parts, but it wouldn't be the first time. Try not to ruin her 'fore it's my turn, eh?"
Eva sighed. A little part of her was hoping that they might be reasonable folk, someone she could just approach and ask for help. Clearly that was not the case. As she eyed the cart, she began to formulate a bit of a plan, something that offered a glimmer of hope for Alistair. Once she was free of these scum…
Her smoke bomb hit its mark with the usual precision, sending up a thick grey cloud that obscured everything within range almost immediately. The first man was still in the middle of uttering his first cry of alarm when her dagger met his throat, dispatching the life from his body with a sickening gurgle. The second man had fallen to the ground as those familiar with smoke bombs tend to do, looking for the shadows of feet cast below the rising cloud. She sighed again as she pulled her leading dagger out of his back, inspecting the tip of the blade for damage from the gravel at the exit point of the new hole in his chest. It was over in a flash, and she tapped her foot as she waited impatiently for the rest of the smoke to clear so she could get a better handle on her new mode of transportation.
She walked around the cart and nodded. The horse was prancing in place, clearly uncomfortable with the flurry of activity that had just occurred. She placed a calming hand on his nose, and spoke softly to him. The poor thing was painfully thin, and tellingly skittish. She murmured soothingly as she stroked his muzzle, until eventually he seemed to stand a bit easier, and then she carefully secured his lead to a nearby tree.
Her heart was racing when she made it back to camp. She was afraid and nervous and relieved: finally, something she could do! She wasn't sure how the plan would work, but it was all she had and she'd execute it to the best of her ability, even if it ended up a complete failure. Looking around their meager belongings, she realized sadly that she was going to have to sacrifice the tent. There was simply no other material in enough quantity to make some sort of sled for Alistair. And since he was already in it, that solved the problem of trying to move his gaunt but still weighty body onto something else. She pulled her dagger out again and began slicing through the upper reaches of the tent, turning the canvas dome into several free floating strips of fabric.
It took some time, and quite a bit of muscle, before she finally had the fabric laid out around him, tucked under his body so that there were several layers between him and the ground, with makeshift straps securing him safely within his new canvas sled. A rope wound around a thick, sturdy branch shored up the front, anchoring the tether that would next be attached to Zuni, whose strength would pull his body toward the road, and up a makeshift ramp to the bed of the wagon. This would work, it would have to work. And if it didn't…. Then she would figure something else out. She simply had to find a way to get help for Alistair.
The sun was high in the sky, the temperature soaring to its zenith as each cloud gasped a dying breath, dissipating under the burning ball of fire high overhead. She was sweating profusely, and she knew that even without the push of physical exertion, he had to be sweating as well. He was finally secured into the back of the cart and she moved quickly to free him of the thick straps of canvas, dousing a cloth with the last few drops of water from her canteen and laying it over his chest and neck. It was deeply disturbing how ashen his skin was, even under the blazing light of the midday sun. Her heart fluttered with the remains of the panic that had overtaken her earlier, having been stamped into dormancy with her new burst of purpose and activity, but now reawakened and threatening to flare up to overwhelming proportions. She tried to swallow it down, to remind herself that she was not helpless any longer, that she was doing something. She would find help. With as many banns and estates peppered this land, it was extremely likely that by the end of that very day, she would be in the company of someone else who might offer them some assistance.
She hurried to secure Zuni to the cart and provide both horses with a needed drink of water, the skinny mount drinking and eating as though he hadn't seen food or water in days. Eva dragged the bodies of the two highwaymen into the cover of the forest, and kicked gravel over the wide stains of blood that marred the road, and then she climbed up to the little bench, and took a deep breath. In the back of her mind was a growing tendril of icy fear. Was this all her fault? If she had never left Alistair, he would not have been thrust into such despair. He would not have mistreated his body so badly, would not have stretched the limits of his health in an attempt to blot out his pain. Whatever it was that was making him sick wouldn't even exist if she had just stayed after she'd found him with Morrigan, if she had heard him out instead of fleeing.
Eva cast a last look back at his unmoved body. He was still so very thin, his eyes and cheeks sunken deeply into the noble frame of his face, his once beautiful golden skin now pallid and clammy. How much this man had endured in the past two years, all because of his love for her. The guilt that swelled up became a gollum, sitting like stone in the base of her gut. This beautiful man had been the first to ever love her, the first to kiss her, to touch her heart. And she wanted him to be the last. He would be the last.
She swallowed down the storm of emotions and hardened her heart. If this was her fault, then she would fix it, at whatever cost. Maker help any person who dared to deny them aid.