Elodie’s going to wake up the rest of the camp at this rate.
Alistair has a hand on her shoulder and hastily shushes her in an effort to get her to stop laughing, but she doesn’t - she can’t, he thinks, as she reaches up to plant her hands over her face, giggling so loud that he’s sure it’s going to draw darkspawn towards them from all over Ferelden. He doesn’t deny that he doesn’t feel flustered at the sound of her laughter, especially when it’s because of one of his stupid jokes, but he doesn’t want to get in trouble with Morrigan just because he delighted Elodie too much.
Actually, he might not mind that.
But, for his own sake, he keeps trying. Darkspawn aren’t the only threat here in the woods - there’s wolves, and bandits, and while he does enjoy listening to her, he probably wouldn’t enjoy an arrow through the chest quite as much. “El, really,” he says, trying not to break out into laughter himself as he starts shaking her shoulder and plants his other hand on her knee to shake that, too. “It wasn’t that funny.”
Just as it seems things are about to quiet down, she breaks out in another bout of laughter, and he finally sighs, giving up as a pleased grin begrudgingly spreads across his face.
He decides to let her calm herself down while he lies back on the blanket, staring up at the cloudy sky. It’s become a regular routine for them, this - sitting with each other after everyone else has retired for the night, shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip. She reaches out to steady herself, grabbing his leg as she doubles over, and he begins chuckling himself, flattening a hand against her back to help steady her, too. It’s the least he can do.
“It wasn’t that funny,” he repeats as she straightens up, wiping her cheeks dry with her thumb.
“It was,” she breathes happily as she flops down beside him. “I have a good sense of humour, so I would know.”
“Ah,” he replies, nodding. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. Make sure you read the famed joke at my burial when bandits come out from those bushes over there and kill us because they heard you laughing.”
“Oh, it’s worth it,” she wheezes, and he can’t help but agree.
Occasionally, to his dismay, she starts giggling again before he playfully shushes her, and eventually, things grow quiet. The fire crackles nearby; wind blows through the treetops, rustling the leaves on their branches. He’s tired, he realizes, but as he looks over at Elodie to see her staring up at the sky with half-lidded eyes, he would be damned if he retired for the night right now.
“Can I ask you something?” she says suddenly and he jumps, assuming she’s caught him staring, but she still looks up at the stars, and he still looks at her as he answers.
“Be my guest,” he replies.
She clears her throat and adjusts her position on the blanket until she presumably makes herself more comfortable, a little closer to him than she was before. “If you were raised by the Chantry,” she begins, “have you never…?”
He waits a couple seconds for her to finish her sentence, but she doesn’t. Frowning, he pushes himself up on his elbow and looks down at her. “Never what?” he asks. “Had a good pair of shoes?”
She gives him a look. “You know what I mean,” Elodie says.
“I’m not sure I do,” Alistair replies. “Have I never… seen a basilisk? Ate jellied ham? Have I never licked a lamppost in winter?”
Her bottom lip sticks out in a pout and he just laughs. “Now you’re making fun of me,” she mutters.
“Make fun of you, dear lady?” he says, leaning close to her so he can see his teasing smile. “Perish the thought. Tell me… have you ever licked a lamppost in winter?”
She finally looks over at him, and he can practically see her thinking over the question in her head, wondering how she’s going to answer, wondering exactly what she’s going to say and whether or not she wants to play along or be honest. “No,” she says, “I’ve never… ugh… licked a lamppost in winter.”
“Good,” he replies. “I hear it’s quite painful.” He lies back down again, flipping onto his side so he can see her. “I remember one of the initiates did it on a dare, once, and there was pointing and laughing… oh, the humanity.”
Elodie laughs humorlessly, her happy expression replaced with something smaller, more sad. Alistair inches closer until he can start to count the freckles on her face, even in the dark, even when the campfire is a few feet away. “I, myself, have also never done it,” he says under his breath, like he’s sharing a secret with her. He is, really, now that he thinks about it, and he’s embarrassed to admit it considering he’s sure they both know what she was really asking in the first place, and what they’re still talking about now. “That. Not that I haven’t thought about it, of course, but… you know.”
“You’ve never had the opportunity?” she asks.
“Well, living in the Chantry is…” He sighs. “Not exactly a life for rambunctious boys. They taught me to be a gentlemen, especially in the presence of beautiful women such as yourself. That’s not so bad, is it?”
It’s a small comfort to him that she’s a virgin, too, and yet he still lies awkwardly beside her, trying to guess what could be going through her head right now to no avail. He considers Elodie to be his best friend, and yet he still sometimes feels like he has barely got her figured out.
She clears her throat, eyes suddenly flickering away from the sky, away from him. “You think I’m beautiful?” she breathes. It comes out so quietly he can barely hear it, like she’s afraid to say it too loud, and he tilts his head at her.
“Of course you are, El, and you know it,” he says. “You’re ravishing, resourceful, and all those other things you’d probably hurt me for not saying.”
“I would never hurt you.”
He watches her, his heartbeat suddenly loud in his ears.
“Nor I you,” he murmurs, and finally she turns to face him.
She is beautiful. He wasn’t lying, though he thinks that she might think he was. She has the softest hair and skin, and the prettiest freckles, and the nicest, loudest laugh that makes everywhere they go feel happy and light and full even when there’s a trail of Darkspawn corpses behind them and their fingernails are caked with blood.
She is so beautiful, and she doesn’t even know.
“Let’s stop talking about this,” he says suddenly as he realizes that his eyes were lingering on her lips too long, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “Your risque talk is going to make my ears blush.”
He can feel her tap the tip of his ear with her finger as she sits up, too. “They already are,” she teases.
“That’s… It’s the cold!” he protests haughtily. “It’s cold outside, El.”
“I know,” she replies, giggling again, and despite the cold he can feel his heart grow warm like a fire in his chest is using his ribs as kindling. “Do you want to go inside?”
“No,” he answers quickly, clearing his throat nervously before he speaks again. “It might help if you sat a little closer, though.”
She does, to his surprise, inching across the blanket towards him until they’re side-by-side like they were before, like they always are, and if that wasn’t enough, she gently leans her head on his shoulder, her light brown flyaway hairs tickling his neck and his nose.
“Is this okay?” she says, sliding her arm between his and his body and hugging it close to her side.
“Yeah,” he whispers, his breath caught in the back of his throat, caged in behind teeth, behind his tongue that suddenly feels big and useless and dumb in his mouth as he thinks of something better to say that never really comes. “Yeah, this is… Yeah.”
He doesn’t try to say anything further after that. The last thing he wants right now is for anyone else in camp to wake up.
