Archive of Our Own ^beta

The camp is quiet, the hour late, or perhaps, early.

He doesn't know, doesn't particularly care as he makes another round, circling the edges of their temporary settlement, peering into the darkness of trees, listening for noises that might indicate a threat.

There's nothing, unless you're frightened by the hooting of owls. He chuckles at the thought, noting that Shale has moved as far from the tree line as possible without actually leaving the area. Still, the amusement is a minor distraction and he quickly finds his attention wandering again, away from his sentry duty. There's no tingle to indicate darkspawn nearby, no rustle of trees to signal bandits or wild animals.

Just the soft snores and mutterings of the tents' sleeping inhabitants and the quiet clank of his armour as he patrols.

Convinced there's no threat, Alistair returns to sit by the dying fire, prodding it back into life before throwing another log onto it. It would be needed for a few more hours yet, despite the mild weather the night had brought. It made his armour stiflingly hot though and, after another quick glance about the camp to confirm no immediate danger, he began shedding his heavy armour.

Plate after plate was dumped into a pile on the floor, gauntlets and pauldrons, greaves and mail until he was finally able to tug the straps of his gambeson, loosening it before shrugging out of it. He sighed as cooler air rushed to meet his heated skin, hidden now only by the thin roughspun shirt he wore beneath. A moments hesitation and he shed that too, dropping the sweat dampened garment to the side, plopping down on a nearby log to rest.

He grumbled under his breath, tired and sore after the day's march. He hadn't wanted to take the watch tonight, and had been on the verge of trying to trade his shift with Zevran. It was only Elizabeth's gentle encouragement that had swayed him, the other warden reminding him that if she let him do so, it would look like favouritism.

Not like they didn't all know that he was her favourite anyway. Their 'budding romance' as Wynne liked to call it, was the latest hot topic of their little group, though Leiliana and Morrigan's bitching matches were proving to be a close second. Still, he had agreed, begrudgingly, and taken the watch. Now he was left wondering if he should have broken out the puppy eyes.

His back ached, his shoulders tense and sore, his neck far worse. Bruises were spattered across his upper arms and chest from their latest encounter with bandits and all in all he felt rather sorry for himself. Combined with his growing hunger and tiredness, it was making the duty seem to last that much longer.

Head hanging low between his shoulders, he glared into the fire, trying to resist the urge to let his eyes close, pushing sleep back until someone came to relieve him. It didn't work and try as he might, he found his eyes drifting closed, his breathing deepening as he slumped on his makeshift seat.

A soft sigh from behind was the only thing to alert him that he, suddenly, wasn't alone, and his ears his pricked up slightly, his torso turning to face the presence behind him.

'I really should have let you trade with Zevran, shouldn't I?' Elizabeth mused, looking down at him through sleep clouded eyes.

'Did I wake you?' he asked softly, his own words slurred by drowsiness.

She smiled softly, settling down beside him.

'Yes, but it's fine. I probably deserve it for making you do this.'

He shook his head quickly.

'No, no. It was my turn, you were right to make me do it. I'm just...'

'Exhausted?'

'Well, I think exhausted is a little strong but...yes.'

She smiled again, her slender arm curling around his waist, head leaning on his bare shoulder.

'How about I make it up to you?' she looked up to him, dark blue eyes coy.

'Uhh...make...it up to me? Uh...how?'

'Oh I have my ways. Wait here. I need to get something from my tent.'

She stood up quickly, hurrying back to her tent on near silent feet, before returning a moment later, a small bottle clutched in her hand. She settled down next to him and he eyed the object suspiciously.

'What...is that, exactly?'

She gave a soft laugh at his reaction, resting her hand lightly on his bare arm before displaying the vial to him.

'It's oil, Alistair.'

'Ah- hah and, what are you planning to do with it?'

'What one normally does with oil. Give you a massage.'

'A, m...massage?'

'Yes. A massage. It'll help, trust me.'

He flushed at the suggestion, cheeks reddening in the firelight's glow. Oh the idea of her small, delicate hands moving over his skin was wonderful, and he couldn't deny how much he longed to feel her touch. But still...this was so new to him, he wasn't sure that he wouldn't burst into flame if she did.

'Alistair,' she called softly, pulling his attention back to her, 'It'll be fine. Can you trust me? I know I've been plotting to get your shirt off for weeks, but that's not what this is about.'

He flushed again, redder this time, if possible, noting how her gaze darkened as it dropped to his chest.

'I...'

'Just your back, I promise. Please Alistair,' she urged, 'I only want to make you more comfortable.'

Sighing lightly and wondering just what he was getting himself into, he nodded.

'Fine, fine.'

'Just fine?'

'Uh... I mean, thank you, I uh, I don't want to seem ungrateful it's just you know, wooless chantry boy and all, I'm not... I'm not used to...'

'Alistair,' she soothed, her voice dropping into a gentle tone, 'I won't go anywhere you don't want me to. It's just your back and shoulders, yes?'

He nodded again.

'Yes, thank you.'

She smiled at him, pleased, before motioning for him to settle on the ground in front of the log. He did so, feeling her settle behind him, her legs on either side of him.

He took a breath, anxious, unsure how to react to the situation, though more of him proved eager at the thought of her lavishing so much attention on him. He didn't feel worthy of it, if he was honest and....oh.

Oh.

Her hands were on his shoulders, small but strong, her long fingers spreading a light layer of oil over his skin, all the way down to the dimples just above his backside. She hummed as she worked to spread the fluid, ensuring that all of his skin was coated before she moved back to his shoulders.

He stifled a moan as she began, the surprising strength in her hands rubbing firmly at the knots in his shoulders, her thumbs pressing into the sensitive spots on either side of his neck, kneading away the tension he felt there.

His head lolled, eyes drifting shut, and he became vaguely aware that he was letting out soft groans at the motions of her hands. He knew he should feel embarrassed, knew his face should be flushing red at his reactions, but he found himself unable to care, lost in the rhythmic roll and stroke of her fingers as she moved further down his back. She pressed the heel of her hands between his shoulder blades, quiet cracks following as the tension around his spine released. Slowly, knot by knot, she worked her way down, easing the aches, leaving him feeling boneless.

Tension eased, aches soothed, she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her chest to the warm, slick expanse of his back. He lifted his head briefly, eyelids heavy with sleep as he turned and nuzzled into her, pressing his lips to her cheek before settling against her, tired but content.

She nuzzled back softly, her hand finding its way into his hair, cradling his head as his weight rested against her.

'Do you want to go back to my tent?' she murmured into his ear.

No response.

'Alistair?'

A soft snuffle of his nose, followed by a heavy snore, already deeply asleep. She smiled softly, cradling the young man against her more firmly, trying to fight the urge to sleep that tugged at her own eyelids once more.

'Another time then.' She whispered, before letting sleep claim her once again.