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“Did you expect saving the world would be this boring?”
Alistair has made a habit out of throwing random topics of conversation at Tabris, and she’s done nothing but encourage him. She’s sitting on the side of the road, fishing a pebble out of her boot, and she doesn’t even give him a weird look.
“Which kind of boring are you talking about, the political rubbish or the days of endless hiking?” she asks.
Alistair makes a show out of looking around at the endless expanse of trees that line the path.
“For some mysterious reason, I had hiking in mind.”
Tabris snorts and starts pulling her boot back on. “I’ll take the hiking over trying to convince some duchess that the darkspawn killing everyone will, in fact, inconvenience her.”
“Maybe she thinks the Archdemon would make an exciting party guest,” Alistair says, watching Tabris tie her laces. He’s always a little hypnotized by her hands, especially when she’s doing anything dexterous. He could watch her pick locks for hours.
“Exciting, sure, but just wait until he mixes up all those little forks. Then they’ll be sorry.”
“Dead peasants have nothing on a rude dinner guest,” Alistair says.
That gets a full laugh out of Tabris, and she favors him with a grin. “Of course, if they’re deciding between Wardens and darkspawn based on the forks, we’re only going to win because we have Leliana. And she isn’t even a warden.”
“As long as we don’t explain the joining, I bet we can pretend she’s a warden.”
Tabris laughs again and starts to get up; impulsively, Alistair steps forward and offers her a hand. She takes it and pulls herself up.
When she’s back on her feet, she doesn’t immediately step away from him. He’s hyper-aware of her touch-- her hand is smaller than his, and he can feel her calluses.
It’s really only a few seconds, but it still feels sudden and tragic when she lets go, smiling like nothing happened.
“Thanks. So, another thought-- maybe we convince the nobles that Orlais actually hates the wardens, so helping us would really stick it to them.”
Alistair thinks he does a pretty good job keeping up with the conversation after that, given that all he can think about is how easy it would be to reach over and take her hand.
*
“I need a better word than ‘disgusting’ for this. Alistair, what’s worse than ‘disgusting’?”
“Icky?”
“You’re no help.”
Tabris is holding her dagger at arm’s length while they walk, like there’s any hope of keeping the mix of rancid mud and darkspawn viscera off her clothes. Considering that it’s already splattered across her chest and stomach, that ship has sailed.
“The smell is really something else,” Alistair says, wincing.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Tabris says, rolling her eyes. “It is obscenely unfair how much easier this is to get off of platemail.”
“Hey, some of it got on my gambeson,” Alistair protests.
“I’m wearing leather!” Tabris complains.
“Would it improve your mood if I helped you clean it?”
“Actually, yes,” Tabris says. She hesitates a moment before continuing. “Don’t tell them, but I get pretty uneasy when Wynne and Leliana help me clean my clothes.”
“Why? Do they try to talk you into embroidering little flowers onto your tunics?”
“What? No. It’s because they aren’t immune to the taint and all my clothes are covered in darkspawn blood. Why, are they trying to talk you into embroidering little flowers onto your tunics?”
“Are you kidding? I volunteered!”
There it is. Tabris starts laughing, darkspawn goo totally out of mind.
“Oh? Show me, then. Did you get roses or marigolds?”
“Roses, naturally.”
“Good choice. Roses were always my favorite,” Tabris says. “Beautiful, yet pointy.”
Alistair trips over a tree root. All of his idle thoughts about the flower in his bag suddenly seem… less idle.
“Maker, you’re clumsy,” Tabris says, catching Alistair by the elbow.
“That’s me!” Alistair says, laughing awkwardly. “So clumsy.”
“Falling on your face won’t get you out of helping me get this blighted goo off my clothes,” Tabris says, amused. She only now lets go of his arm.
“Curses, you’ve figured out my plans!”
Tabris snorts. “Get better plans, then.”
“I think I’ll leave the plans to you, actually. We’re far less likely to end up drowned in a bog somewhere that way.”
“We already smell like we’ve been drowned in a bog,” Tabris says, making a face. “Not sure you can do much worse.”
“Well, nobody’s died, so I’m still going to call today a win for your leadership.”
Tabris laughs and shakes her head. “Our standards for a win are terrible, you know that, right?”
Alistair shrugs. “We’re Grey Wardens. As long as Ferelden doesn’t explode, we’ve done our jobs.”
“I guess low standards are just part of the territory, then,” Tabris sighs.
“Hey now, they recruited you, didn’t they?”
“Was that an attempt at an insult or a compliment?”
Alistair holds his hands up in surrender. “Compliment!”
“Well, flattery will also not get you out of cleaning my armor.”
“Rats.”
*
Tabris is cooking tonight.
Technically, it’s Oghren’s turn to make dinner, but a unanimous decision to kick him out of the rotation was made after the last disaster. It took three days for Alistair’s insides to learn to trust again.
As usual, ‘Tabris or Alistair is cooking dinner’ really means ‘Tabris and Alistair are cooking dinner’. Alistair never knows what ingredients would taste good together, and Tabris gets impatient and puts whole vegetables in the stew if she doesn’t have a second set of hands to cut them up for her. They work better as a team.
Alistair is a little embarrassed by how much he loves nights like this. He’s much happier as a Grey Warden than he ever was in the Chantry, but there’s something about cutting potatoes next to Tabris while she skins a rabbit that just makes him feel warm and content.
Their knees are touching, and Tabris doesn’t seem to mind.
“This is going to be a potato-heavy dinner,” Tabris sighs. “I’ve seen rats bigger than this rabbit.”
“Have you really?” Alistair asks, mildly alarmed. It’s a sizable rabbit.
“We breed them as livestock in the alienage,” Tabris says, and she keeps her voice level enough that for a second, Alistair actually believes her. Her grin gives her away as soon as he looks at her.
“Well then, the next time we’re in Denerim, I want to see your prized herd.”
Tabris laughs. “How attached are you to your ankles?”
“Hmm… Quite a bit.”
“You might want to rethink your walking tour of the rat pens, then.”
Tabris switches knives at this point. This one is specifically a cooking knife; Tabris has at least four knives on her person at any given time, all with different purposes. Alistair used to think it was a self-defense thing, but Tabris only ever uses her actual combat daggers in fights.
Alistair watches her cutting the meat into smaller pieces curiously.
“You know, I’ve been wondering. Why all the knives? You’re plenty intimidating with just the usual two.”
Tabris snorts and looks up from her cooking for a moment. “I don’t think anyone would appreciate it if I got darkspawn blood on my cooking knives.”
Alistair makes a face. “Urgh. Point taken.”
Tabris puts the last of the meat in the pot and grabs the bucket of water by the fire to rinse her hands. “So. I’m intimidating?”
Sweet Maker, why does that make Alistair blush so hard? He laughs awkwardly; the way she’s grinning makes him nervous.
“Not in a bad way, of course!”
Tabris grins even wider, setting down the bucket and shifting closer to him. She puts a hand on his knee. “Relax, Alistair. I’m teasing you.”
The hand stays on his leg, rubbing gently like she’s trying to soothe him. Alistair doesn’t feel soothed. He feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest.
“O-Oh?”
“I actually kind of like giving that impression,” Tabris says, grinning. “It’s the scar, right?”
That gives Alistair pause. Tabris has a lot of scars, but he knows which one she’s talking about. She has a big one on her face, a poorly-healed gash that cuts into her nose and ends just under her left ear. She’s had it since he met her.
“I was thinking of the daggers, actually,” Alistair says. He hesitates, then says-- “I like the scar.”
Tabris’s hand stops moving on his knee, and her playful grin falters briefly. “You... like it?”
“It moves when you smile,” Alistair admits all in a rush. “I really-- really like your smile.”
The grin fades entirely. Tabris’s face flushes and she just… stares at him.
“Is that a weird thing to say? That was a weird thing to say.”
“Not weird. Thank you,” she says, and, Maker, she sounds almost shy. “You’re sweet.”
Alistair opens his mouth to say something; Tabris cuts him off by getting up on her knees to kiss him on the cheek. His whole body goes tense with nervous delight.
Unfortunately, he is also still holding the potato he was peeling when Tabris asked him about her scar. The peeling knife slips.
Wynne is not impressed.
*
The cut on his hand is still healing when he finally gets up the courage to give Tabris the rose.
It goes well, better than he’d hoped. He feels lightheaded afterwards, and also a little sweaty.
Tabris spends a while just admiring the flower, before settling in for her usual routine. She always sits by the fire to sharpen her daggers, and she does that tonight too. Familiar as it is, there’s one major difference-- she hasn’t stopped smiling all night. It’s sort of breaking Alistair’s brain.
Normally, he’d sit next to her without much thought, but tonight, he’s nervous. She looks up at him when he walks over, and her smile grows impossibly more lovely.
“Hi Alistair,” she says, and, oh, wow, that’s the warmest, sweetest way anyone’s ever said his name. Grinning like an idiot is really the only possible response.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he says, and inwardly cringes at how awkward that sounded. Tabris, as always, doesn’t seem to mind.
“Must be a happy coincidence. Sit with me?”
“If you insist,” Alistair says.
“I absolutely insist,” Tabris says, setting her daggers down as he sits with her. He’s not sure how close to sit, but Tabris answers that question for him by moving over until she can lean against him.
“Oh, um. Hello,” Alistair manages, which makes Tabris laugh.
“I thought you wanted to move past the awkward, embarrassing stage?”
“And you immediately called my bluff,” Alistair says, shaking his head. “I’m always awkward and embarrassing. It’s part of the package.”
“Well, it’s never bothered me,” Tabris says, shuffling a bit so she can link their arms together without removing her head from his shoulder. “I like you the way you are.”
Alistair can’t think of a joke to reply with.
He just feels warm.