Alistair paused for a moment, struck by the thought of how it might feel to finally be on the other side of that gentle hand, touched so softly and sweetly. Now that they had finally broached the topic of their growing feelings for each other, it was difficult to think of anything else.

Remembering himself, and aware he was standing in the woods staring like some sort of cretin, Alistair continued his approach. The rustle of leaves as he did so caught the attention of the Mabari at Eirlys’s heels. Thistle’s large square head popped up from the underbrush, ears erect, her lips pulled back in preparation to bark before she registered the familiar face. Only then did the hound relax, though she did let out a half-bark of warning for good measure.

Eirlys turned then, and Alistair watched with wonder as she smiled at him, for him. His heart fluttered at the sight. For all the wickedness the Chantry sisters had accused him of, could he really have done something to earn this?

Of course, with a single smile, she had flushed away the poetry that had been filling his mind, leaving only emptiness. That was how Alistair found himself waving awkwardly. “Hello, there,” he greeted as if she were passing him in the market. Heat crawled down his spine as he tried not to cringe.

Eirlys bit her lower lip as though to repress a giggle and, in spite of any embarrassment, Alistair instantly wished she wouldn’t hold it back. Her laughter would surely be another gift.

“Hello,” she greeted sweetly, brushing her hands on the front of her robe as she turned. “I wasn’t expecting you.” She looked past him towards the direction of camp. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes!” He answered too quickly, “Yes it is— we are— I am. Entirely right.” Alastair cleared his throat through the stumble, “Though better now. Of course.”

He subsequently tried to step into the small clearing that his fellow warden occupied, but Thistle seemed either unwitting or uncaring of how much space she was compromising. Eirlys looked down and realized the same. “Vhenas,” she commanded softly in her elven tongue. Thistle responded immediately by crashing through the brush heading back to camp.

“You know,” Alistair leaned in slightly as he stepped closer, both of them watching the dog depart, “I don’t think it has once occurred to that Mabari that she doesn’t need to be with you every moment of every day.”

Eirlys laughed quietly. “Oh, I don't mind. She makes me feel safe.”

Safe. Of course. Because Eirlys had come from a Circle in which safety was a luxury and not a guarantee. She had grown up in a place with all the politicking and backstabbing of a city condensed into the square footage of a tower. Half of the people she saw in any given day were templars who could gut a mage just for giving the wrong look, all the while swearing they were there for protection. Even now, they were dealing with darkspawn eternally at their heels, not to mention fun surprises like Zevran’s Antivan Crows. He had been foolish to forget how rare safety was for her.

“I’m— sure,” Alistair capitulated easily, eyes darting for an easy change of subject. “What are you doing out here, anyway?”

She followed his fleeting glance. “Oh, um…there is a good amount of Elfroot in this area and I wanted to collect some while we had the chance. We were running low on healing salve when last I checked.”

Alistair nodded, though he naturally had not been aware of that. “Me? I just love traipsing through a tangled thicket,” he explained as he watched the elven woman press her lips together to repress a smile. “Nothing like a late evening frolick to really get the spirits up.”

Her head turned away as she giggled. Eirlys tended to do that, he had previously noticed. Not just with laughter but any strong emotion; when it could no longer be repressed, she would look away, as if it might vanish into the ether if no one caught it.

Her emotions, too, had not been safe.

But, this time, when she turned back, her eyes were bright. “That’s the only reason?” She asked, purposefully prodding.

Alistair found himself grinning in turn. “Yes, just the frolick, thanks.” She waited with skeptic patience until he rolled his head to one side. “Though, now that you mention it…we, ah…we never finished our conversation. From…earlier.”

Her own head tilted in such a way as to mirror him. “Oh…and…remind me how that conversation went?”

“Well, um, if I remember correctly…” Alistair could already feel an overwhelming heat spreading across his face, “It, ahh…it started with...” Looking into her eyes was a mistake. They were such a crystalline blue, breathtaking, and it was as if his throat closed around anything else he might say.

Still, Eirlys did not aid him, instead dipping her chin slightly. “Yes?”

He cleared his throat but it did nothing. He tried to cough. Honestly, he ought to look away just to gather his thoughts, but it was impossible to turn from her. Alistair was caught in a thrall that had nothing to do with magic.

“I care about you,” he blurted out as if jumping awake. “I…think that’s what I said.”

She looked desperately pleased as she stepped in closer. “Oh yes, I remember…” Eirlys hummed, “And…I think I said I felt the same.”

“Did you?” He let out a breathy laugh, “I believe I had blacked out at that point.”

She giggled, just a little, as she looked up at him sweetly. Alistair hadn’t seen her move, but he suddenly felt her touch against his hand. Her delicate fingers brushed the side of his palm before softly, carefully interlacing with his. Alistair froze, like a man trying not to startle a deer, afraid to break the moment. Eirlys glanced down at their joined hands before looking back up, her lips twisting to one side as she wrestled with a thought. “You know, you and Thistle have something in common.”

“I swear, if you start comparing me to the dog, I will walk into the nearest lake…”

“No, no,” and she giggled, as soft as the jingle of bells, “I just meant to say that you…you also make me feel safe.” A bright pink flush crossed her cheeks before she looked away, once more hiding her face behind her curtain of white hair. “I…wanted you to know that.”

And Alistair said nothing because how could he? How could one respond to something that flung the doors of their heart so far open that they could scarcely breathe?

Yet, at the same time, he was also shockingly calm. There was no panic because, by the Maker, this was a gift. To tell him such a thing was greater than any compliment he could have received. It made him dizzy.

Before he even registered his own movement, Alistair reached out a hand and turned her face back to him. At the same time, his neck bent and he met her turn with a kiss.

There was a short pull of caught breath as their lips met. The forest went quiet, drowned out by the loud beat of Alistair’s heart as he kissed Eirlys. Actually kissed her, not just thought and dreamed and stewed. And it was so much better than all that musing could have predicted, because it was real, and her kiss tasted like floral tea and a warm hearth and a home he had never had.

It only lasted a too brief moment before his senses returned and Alistair suddenly pulled back. “I—I’m sorry,” he gasped, breathing as if he’d just sprinted, “I thought— and after you said— I should have asked, I should have—”

His words vanished when Eirlys flung her arms around his neck and lifted herself to kiss him again.

He caught her, first in surprise, and then clutching her back to hold her to him. Her general shyness was no longer on display; Eirlys kissed him hard with an abandon he had never witnessed before. That in itself was almost as thrilling as the softness of her lips and her distinct taste on his tongue.

It could have gone on forever if Alistair hadn’t entirely forgotten how to breathe.

He was forced fo break away then, his breath loud in his throat as he set Eirlys back to the earth. She was similarly breathless, and her pupils had blown so wide that it made her light blue eyes look black. In the last of the daylight, he could see the shine of his own saliva on her lower lip. For some reason, it was that detail that made him feel like he might go mad if he didn’t kiss her again, and only a thin tether of restraint kept him from doing so.

After a moment of staring, panting, like two beasts in the woods, all Alistair managed to say was, “…Alright, then.”

And she burst out laughing. A real laugh, not hidden or demured or dampened in the least. Eirlys laughed in a moment of freedom, of safety, before clapping her hand to her mouth.

Reflexively, Alistair started to laugh, too. “What? Is that not what people say when they finally kiss?” He prodded, her laughter still echoing behind the cup of her palm. He had to keep going, to lean into it, make her keep laughing. It was too precious to give away just yet. “I’m just saying that I think we tidied that matter up rather nicely.”

“Maker—”

“All that passion, and I get laughed at!” His voice had no venom, no sting. “What a burden to be both kissable and ridiculous!”

Her free hand slapped his chest. “Stop!” She demanded with no urgency. Alistair held the wounded spot with a hand, but allowed Eirlys to regain her steady breathing, only occasionally punctuated by a hiccup of giggles.

Once she had calmed, she lowered her hand, her eyes bright. “You’re awfully silly.”

Alistair grinned. “What does that say for the lady that kisses me, then?”

“That I am fortunate, I think.” Once more, her hand slipped into his, warm and gentle and perfect. Alistair gave it a small squeeze.

“Maker forbid we turn into giggling school children every time, though.”

“Well,” there was a catch of slyness in her soft voice as Eirlys said, “we shall have to practice, then.”