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Shouting roiled out of the darkness, far louder than anything reasonable for the time of night. Alana's eyes popped open, her senses immediately on high alert. She'd always been a light sleeper, a characteristic that was much more valuable now as a Grey Warden. Awake now, she glanced about the camp, taking stock of people and weapons as her body unconsciously sought out her bow beside her.
Alistair's bedroll -- just a smidge too close for propriety and yet far too far away, in her opinion -- was empty. Her heart leapt for a moment before she remembered he had first watch tonight. Her eyes kept moving.
Zevran was asleep next to the fire, his head lolled to one side and his hair askew. He lay spread-eagle, wearing (as far as she could tell) only his Antivan leather boots, but thankfully his blanket was wrapped around his hips. He snored lightly, oblivious to the noise.
Leliana lay nearby, curled in a tight ball. Just the top of her red hair showed above her blankets, but one hand had snuck out, grasping her bow loosely like a safety blanket. She too slept on.
Close to her lay Wynne, whose long nightcap just about obscured her purple earplugs and white hair. Her chest rose and fell gently, her staff within reach should some noise happen to penetrate the barrier and rouse her.
Sten had made camp beyond the three of them, a healthy buffer of earth separating him from the rest of the party. Even in sleep, the huge qunari kept his armor on. His chest seemed to heave up against the weight of his breastplate, and yet his hulking form was silent, one hand wrapped around the pommel of the sword still attached to his hip.
The weather had been warm, which meant they'd made camp without tents and Alana could see all four of them easily. No one else had woken, and no one seemed in danger. But someone was shouting, somewhere, and they didn't sound happy.
Her assessment of the sleeping four had taken less than 20 seconds, but she was up and in the barest of armor already. The rest of the camp around them was quiet, peaceful, no darkspawn or demons to disturb anything. She stood now, pulling on her boots. Her bow looped across her chest, arrows stowed in the quiver on her back. She stretched quickly, pulling her arms above her head, as she heard the shouting grow louder.
Beyond their tight camp, she could see Morrigan's little fire. The witch refused to camp in close quarters with everyone else, citing Leliana's Chantry roots and Zev's assassin tendencies as too nerve-wracking to allow her to sleep. Alistair insisted it was a tactic to ensure she maintained her mysterious, witchy ways. Personally, Alana thought the woman just wanted her privacy -- a need she could relate to.
The embers of Morrigan's campfire had burned down, but Alana still couldn't see the sleeping form of the witch. Boots secured and worry gathering, she started in that direction.
And soon froze in Morrigan's tiny camp: The bedroll was empty.
Pulling her bow from around her body, Alana nocked an arrow and set off toward the shouting, her chest tight now.
---
As she approached, the sound distilled into two distinct voices: Alistair's and Morrigan's. She groaned. What are those two up to now? It was enough to make a Warden suspicious -- especially since all evidence suggested the two loathed each other.
She considered the pros and cons of shooting one -- or both -- of them briefly before dropping the arrow back into her quiver. They might have woken her up, but at least it was only her. Waking Wynne or Zevran was akin to risking death, and preventing that encounter was high on her current priorities.
She stepped through the trees towards them, listening as their argument became coherent. It sounded as ridiculous as she'd suspected.
"You still haven't answered why you were sneaking about!" Alistair's voice rang through the forest, and Morrigan's rose right back.
"I had to pee, you fool! I realize your experience with women is limited --"
"As if you have any more experience with anyone, witch!"
"But surely you know that women relieve themselves, yes?" Her voice took on a mocking tone and Alana sped up her steps, knowing Alistair wouldn’t be able to avoid rising to the bait.
"Of course I do!" He blustered. "I just assumed you witches saved your …stuff… in jars or something for whatever dark ritual you were working on!"
"Would you prefer I transform into a spider first?" She shot back, her voice going shrill. "Perhaps then you could have run in terror instead of attacking me!"
"At least a spider would be an improvement for your face!" Alistair and Morrigan finally came into view in front of her. They were almost chest to chest, arms flying about as they argued. Their weapons had been cast aside. Thank the Maker for small favors.
"Don't you know better than to insult a woman's looks?" Morrigan shouted, one hand shimmering as she pulled on her magic.
"A pretty woman's looks, sure," he shot back, folding his arms over his chest. "You don't have any looks!"
"Even the dog looks better than you!" Morrigan looked, if possible, more furious than Alana had ever seen her. Her hand was sprouting flames now, light dancing in her palm as she raised it toward him.
It was time to intervene. Quickly.
"Hey now!" Alana shouted, pushing between them. "That's not nice, either of you."
They froze.
Clearly neither of them had even realized she was there. Alistair blushed, his face coloring all the way to his ears, and took a guilty step back from the apostate. Morrigan dropped her now-blazing hand and the magic fizzled out, but her yellow eyes still flashed with anger.
"Now," Alana said, placing a hand on Alistair's chest and another on Morrigan's shoulder to push them slightly farther apart. "Why don't you both stop shouting so you don't wake the whole camp with your bickering, and then will someone please tell me what in the Maker's name is going on?" Her voice dropped into a low growl as she spoke.
Morrigan finally had the grace to look guilty. She stepped back a few more feet and looked at the ground. Alistair's blush deepened and he studied his boots thoroughly, memorizing the muddy patterns splashed against the toes. Alana's eyes flew back and forth between the two, waiting.
"She started it," Alistair muttered after a moment of silence.
"What!" The witch shouted, her eyes snapping back up and the flame reappearing in her hand. "I did no such thing!"
"Did too!" His face was back up now too, his jaw set and his mouth twisted.
"You tried to stab me!" Alana struggled to stay between the two as they pushed against her palms, both reaching out to slap at each other like children.
"Because you were sneaking off to do witchy things!"
"To pee, Alistair! Even the mabari could have figured that out!" Morrigan's hand finally made contact with something, but it was Alana's bare forearm instead of Alistair's. She yelped, singed, and yanked her arm back from the witch, who looked at her as if really seeing her there for the first time.
Alistair mistook Morrigan's look as contempt instead of surrender and leapt to Alana's defense.
"As if sneaking off wasn't enough!" He stepped back now, dropping his body down to grab for his discarded sword.
Alana had had it.
"ENOUGH!" She roared, stunning all three of them. Morrigan's flames went out, Alistair dropped his sword back into the mud, and both stared at her, mouths agape.
"You are adults," she hissed at them, cradling her burned forearm. "It is time to behave like them."
"Some of us are more adult than others," Morrigan muttered, folding her arms over her chest. Alistair opened his mouth to retort but Alana beat him to it.
"Morrigan, shut it," she snapped. "Alistair, don't you start." She eyed them both for a moment, waiting for one to give in. When neither did, she spoke again. "This is over. I don't care what happened --" Both tried to protest, but she put up her hands swiftly. "It stops now. You two have to learn to function alongside one another. We are a very small team against a very big threat. Petty squabbles like this one --"
"Not petty," Alistair mumbled into his crossed arms.
"Petty squabbles," she repeated, emphasizing the words. "Cannot divide us." She let that hang in the air for a moment. "This will not happen again. Alistair," she turned to face him, waiting until his eyes lifted to her face before continuing. "You will not lift a finger against Morrigan unless she attacks you first, understood?" His mouth pressed into a thin, hard line, but he nodded after a moment. "And Morrigan," She shifted to look the witch in the eyes. "You will announce your presence so there is no mistaking your intentions or form. Understood?" Morrigan held her jaw high in defiance for a few moments before sighing.
"Yes," she gave in. "As long as Alistair holds up his part."
"He will," Alana insisted, not breaking eye contact. Morrigan nodded.
"Then if you will excuse me," she finally said. "I need to relieve myself." She sauntered off into the darkness beyond them, further away from camp. Alistair watched her go, his brow furrowed and eyes still suspicious.
Alana dropped her face into her hands as soon as the apostate was gone. Her shoulders slumped and she wished for a place to collapse. Alistair didn't notice for a long moment, his attention still focused on Morrigan's retreating back. When he finally glanced at her, he did a double-take and hurried to her side.
"Hey," he said quietly, reaching for her. "It's over. She's gone." His hand froze just before it reached her shoulders, pulling back before she could see.
"I know it's over," Alana forced out between her fingers, her voice muffled. "But it still happened." Alistair studied her for a moment, a range of emotions flitting across his face now that she couldn't see him. His expression finally settled on guilt.
"I'm… sorry, for my part," he murmured. She glanced up from her hands to find him scanning the tiny clearing they were in, looking for something. Evidently he found it, because when he turned back to her, he gestured just behind him. "There's a downed log over here, come sit." He started to move away, but when she remained in place he turned back and gently grasped her elbow. "Sit." This time, the word held a little more force and she moved slowly with him, his hand warm on her skin.
Once seated, she dropped her forehead back into her hands. Her head was starting to pound and the burn on her forearm, already blistered into a lovely hand-shape, stung horribly. Alistair sat awkwardly beside her, his hands shifting between his knees, legs, crossed against his chest, anywhere but around her, where he wanted them to be. He didn't know how to help.
They sat in silence for several long minutes.
"Alana…" He surprised them both by using her name, and she looked up. "I really am sorry. I know Morrigan and I don't get along but… that's no excuse." He glanced back down at his still-fidgeting hands. "I won't let it happen again."
"Thanks, Alistair," she replied, and for just a moment, they smiled at each other. She looked away first, sure he could see her cheeks burning in the darkness. His gaze dropped as well soon after.
"Any nightmares lately?" He asked when the silence became too long again. Leaning back, Alana's gaze shifted up to the night sky, settling on what few stars she could see. It was a loaded question, carrying all the weight of the four months since Ostagar. He'd know if you were getting Warden dreams anyway.
"Nothing that won't keep," she said quietly. "It's too dark to talk about nightmares, though, and my arm hurts. We should head back to camp."
"Your arm…" Alistair's face reddened again when he remembered the smack she'd taken instead of him. "By the Maker, I'm so sorry! That must be awful, let me look at it." He reached over without thinking, grabbing for her arm just as she stood up, and ended up holding her hand. She stared down at him, her eyes widening. The clouds overhead shifted, revealing just a few more stars, and in the added light, she saw his eyes lift to her face.
There was a pause.
"I'm sorry," he said again, standing in a rush. "I just wanted to look at your arm, and you were standing up already so this just happened, I wasn't trying to hold your hand I swear, I just…" He was babbling, but he still hadn't dropped her hand.
"It's okay, Alistair." Her voice was quiet. His jaw closed with a snap as she rolled her hand over in his until their palms were touching and her fingers draped gently over his wrist.
They paused again, looking at one another, and then Alistair's hand tightened and he pulled her gently toward him.
"Are you sure--" He started to ask, but she interrupted.
"Yes." She hardly breathed, looking up into his face, close enough now to see a few tiny freckles scattered across his nose even in the darkness.
"Can I ki--"
"Yes." A slow smile snuck across his face, and he leaned toward her.
His other hand had just brushed her cheek when Morrigan tsked behind them.
"Well, well, what have we here?" The smirk of her voice sliced through the tension between Alistair and Alana, and they leapt apart, Alistair dropping their hands. Morrigan kept walking right up to them, circling carefully behind them in the direction of camp. "My apologies, Alistair," she said finally, having carefully studied their guilty faces as she moved. "If I'd realized you were waiting for someone, I never would have snuck past you." Then she was gone, hips swaying as she stepped back into the darkness.
Alistair's mouth hung open after her, stunned.
Alana dropped her head into her palm again. She'd lost track of the number of times she'd used that gesture since the shouting started. "Come on, let's head back," she muttered eventually, voice thick with frustration. "We should get some sleep. It's Zev's watch soon and we're going to be tired tomorrow." She turned to walk back.
"Wait, Alana…" Turning, she saw that Alistair hadn't moved.
She gestured for him to follow her. "Come on. It was… probably a mistake, anyway." She sighed, and headed toward camp. This time he didn't call her name, and she didn't look back. Instead, he stared at her retreating form as the darkness swallowed her.
"If this is a mistake, then I want to make it," he muttered to no one, and then it was his turn to bury his face in his palm.