Work Text:
It started with Alistair’s hands.
For all intents and purposes, to Violetta, Alistair is an oaf. He was a thorn turned splinter lodged to her side, because unfortunately nothing can be fixed without him. He was the only Grey Warden left in the entire country.
So ignoring him became the best solution to Violetta. So long as she blocked out words he spoke, there’s a lesser chance of her being tempted to send a searing hot fireball his way.
The ignoring worked, despite Wynne’s frustration at being the messenger. Well, everyone’s frustration, because everything took twice as long to do. But at least the explosive fights were no longer a thing.
Good.
But then, his hands.
Violetta had just begun getting used to daylight waking her up. But in the Brecilian Forest the trees grew tall enough to form a canopy over the sky with their thick leaves. Not to mention, trees meant pollen. Pollen was an attack to her badly-built immune system. There was nothing good in that forest, as far as she were concerned.
After a suspiciously good night’s sleep, the darkness outside convinced Violetta she'e slept through the whole day. She quickly raced out of her tent, ready to ask why no one had bothered to slap her awake.
Then she realized it was still morning. The overcast sky and leafy canopy created the illusion of the opposite.
In fact it was earlier than usual. The camp was quiet and still, except for someone sitting by the newly lit fire.
Alistair.
Now was the best time to continue the genius plan of ignoring. She knew well that opening her mouth, even if it were to ask him for a water skin would end in a new Blight. And perhaps she should follow Wynne's advice: "If you've nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all."
She never had anything nice to say to Alistair. Yet somehow her eyes still drifted there, lured by the only commotion in movement amidst the still camp.
He was sharpening his sword.
His one hand was tightened around the grip and it wasn’t until then that…
Alistair’s got big hands.
Something about the veins on the back of his hand made it feel like something had been stuck in Violetta’s throat.
“You got something to say Amell?”
The menace in his voice startled her, but did not surprise her in the slightest. He knew well enough now to be ready with a retort when it came to her.
She snapped out of her fixation with his hands to retort “You’re making too much noise, you woke me up, clotpole.”
Alistair rolled his eyes.
“Fine, I guess I’ll let you die because my sword’s too dull to stab anything.”
Violetta smirked and returned inside her tent before calling out “As if you know how to use it!”
She was sure Alistair replied, but she was long under her bedroll by then.
She should have an hour’s sleep left.
Maybe by that time she’d have forgotten about his hands.