Work Text:
Somewhere beyond Lothering...
Rythlen stirred when she a the poke on her foot. She propped herself up with an arm and blinked her bleary eyes at the general direction of her foot. Who in the world would—
Oh. Alistair.
It must be her turn to go on watch.
“Did you just... grumble?” Alistair asked, crouched by the opening of her tent, an arm holding up a flap.
“Thank you, I’ll be right there,” Rythlen said, but remained lying down, sliding her arm over to cover her eyes.
“You know, I could stay up for a couple more hours,” Alistair said. “Let you get some more rest.”
“No, it’s fi—,” Just then, her stomach grumbled. Traitor.
“I’ll be right outside then,” Alistair chuckled. Some rustling of the tent flaps and she was alone again. Fyr barked outside, clipped, followed by a huff. Alistair probably teased him again.
Groaning softly, Rythlen rolled over and sat up. She wanted to do her part, of course, but sleep was just so alluring, not to mention much needed. They had traveled as much as they could with as little sleep as possible, since the darkspawn didn’t need sleep. Rythlen hoped she and her companions could rest in Lothering. She sighed and put on her gambeson and boots. Her sword she grabbed on the way out.
Alistair was crouched by the fire stirring whatever was in the pot that hung over the flames. Fyr sat next to him, sniffing. Rythlen walked over and lowered herself to sit next to her fellow Warden. She rubbed her eyes as he scooped some of whatever he had cooked into a bowl.
“Thanks,” she said as he passed the bowl to her, the spoon’s handle swaying in the movement. Her stomach grumbled again as she took hold of the handle and brought the spoon to her mouth.
It burned. That woke her up. She spat what was in her mouth back out onto her spoon. Sorry, Mum.
"I know, I know, my cooking is the epitome of Fereldan cooking,” Alistair said, as he handed her a canteen of water.
Rythlen managed a small smile in thanks as she took the canteen and drank from it. The lukewarm water was soothing.
“Thank you,” she said, voice even more hoarse now. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Are you alright? That was... honestly amusing to watch.”
“I’m glad I could entertain you this,” she paused to look around. “Cold, dreary morning.”
“A noble spitting their food is always entertaining.”
That made Rythlen laugh. “True, but even more entertaining are the looks they get from everyone else.”
Alistair looked at Rythlen up and down like she had done the most offensive thing possible. She laughed, so much so her cheeks hurt in the end, a sensation she had not felt in a while. Or at least, it felt like a long time.
“Thanks, I needed that.”
“That’s what I’m here for: to cook tongue-burning grey goop and do impressions of offended nobles.”
