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The fact of the matter is, you're beautiful.

Summary:

"But of course you're beautiful, and you know it." He says it like it's a universal truth, like he read it in a history book when he was a boy and never thought to forget it.

A short one-shot about nothing in particular, just a love that permeates through everything, even the nothing-in-particulars.

Notes:

it has been well over 10 years and i am never not thinking about alistair theirin.

Work Text:

"But of course you're beautiful, and you know it."

He says it like it's a universal truth, like he read it in a history book when he was a boy and never thought to forget it.

He says it like she doesn't have blood caked under her fingernails or dried behind her ear, like the soles of her boots aren't lined with rubble.

She recalls knobbly knees and freckled shoulders, sitting in her underclothes in the heat of summer while her mother brushed her hair. She remembers the cicadas screeching somewhere outside the open window and her reflection staring back at her, frowning.

It seems several lifetimes have passed since then and yet in windowed reflections she only ever sees the same little girl, too-pale skin framing dark, dark eyes, frowning back at her.

He has seen her choke on blood that is not hers and yet he is here, standing here and telling her she is beautiful like it is a certainty, as sure as the world is ending, as sure as the sun sets behind the evergreens in the west.

She doesn't have a chance to respond because he is rambling on as he does, as she loves, and she catches the word 'ravishing' and something about him hurting himself or possibly her hurting him, she isn't quite sure.

She knows she can be quite sure of the blush in her ears however, and that Alistair is looking at her now somewhat expectantly and possibly a little uneasy, as though he's said something he isn't sure was alright to say aloud.

"You're not really going to hurt me, are you? Because I can go on, if that will satisfy you! I said ravishing, didn't I? Did I also mention elegant? Before I get carried away I must warn you, I'm afraid I'm hardly -- er, what's the word? *Verbose*? Not exactly the most qualified to find the right words that capture your *you-ness*."

He deflates a little, eyes skirting, but then brightens when he sees that she is laughing. It is a lovely sound, he thinks. He decided some time ago that it might just be the loveliest *ever*.

She is laughing, and Alistair grins. It is perhaps rather dramatic and more than a little ridiculous and yet he feels it all the same -- a feeling like light parting the clouds, when she laughs because of him.