Leliana stared at him, aghast, as if the very thought of someone not caring about the fabrics they draped themselves in or the styles in fashion were the worst infractions to exist. Well, that and sitting out on some of Orlais’ most popular entertainment. He knew Natia might enjoy the play. It certainly sounded interesting and while the Orlesian troupe didn’t come to Ferelden often, the fuss was out of his realm of understanding. Did they truly need entirely new clothing to see a bunch of puffed up Orlesians pretend to be someone else for a few hours?

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear those words leave your mouth.” She managed before lifting up a different square of fabric, this one a deep blue that reminded Alistair of the Amaranthine Ocean. “I believe this is the best choice. The blue will compliment both of your complexions and you’ll stand out amongst the others attending.”

Not something he wanted. In fact, if they could hide in one of the boxes and not make themselves known to the other playgoers, Alistair would be the happiest man alive. Spending time with Natia was always a gift, but he didn’t need to have their date interrupted by admirers of the famous “Hero of Ferelden”.

Zevran tutted, a teal fabric in his hand that was several shades lighter than the silk brocade in Leliana’s. “Ah, but it’s spring time, my dear. Perhaps a brighter color, one reminiscent of flowers in bloom?”

Every word that passed between the assassin and the bard made his head spin.

“I don’t even know her sizing. How would we even-”

Leliana held up a hand, a smile curling her painted lips that he did not like. “All I require of you is your trust.”

When she turned away to approach the dressmaker, Alistair swallowed down his nerves, feeling them settle in the pit of his stomach.

He was in danger.

~~~~

A crowd had already formed before they’d arrived, the throng shuffling close together and making it difficult to see more than an arm’s length ahead. The scent of fried foods came from further away, oily and sweet, and Alistair inhaled deeply, only to be caught in a plume of elfroot smoke. 

Coughing, Alistair swiped a hand through the air, trying to find the source when a giggle reached his ears. Glancing towards the sound, he wasn’t surprised to find Natia watching him with sparkling eyes, a hand covering her mouth as if it could hide the grin on her face. 

She was wearing the gown Leliana and Zevran designed, the sapphire of the silk brocade a striking blue that was gorgeous against her skin, the fit of the draped fabric snug against her curves, a neckline that showed the slightest amount of cleavage, her skin shimmering from a new perfume Leliana had recommended. She smelled of roses and something sweet, a scent created to torture him, and he realized the smoke had dissipated, leaving nothing but the smell of Natia’s perfume swirling in his head.

Maker, Leliana was right about everything.

“Do you find my suffering amusing?” 

She blinked up at him, exuding innocence but nothing about her was innocent. It was one of the very things that’d attracted him to her in the first place. As much as Morrigan always complained about how dumb he was, this was one thing he was good at: reading Natia’s body language, sensing her moods, being with her. Happiness was always secondary in a warden’s life, first was combating the blight, but he couldn’t deny that spending the rest of his life with the fierce dwarven woman beside him brought him an unmeasurable amount of happiness.

Her hand slipped into his, soft despite years of holding a sword, and his heart pounded in his ears, blood rushing through his body as if it was trying to keep up with the frantic beat of his heart.

“Alistair.” Her voice was sweet, too sweet, the top of her shoulder brushing his hip as she shifted closer, the angle of her bosom in perfect view of his eyes. He flushed to the tips of his ears, wise to her manipulations, but every brush of her body against his sent him into a frenzy. “You know I find everything about you…” Her free hand brushed against his chest, flicking the clasps of his shirt suggestively. “Amusing.”

Lifting their entwined hands, Alistair bent at the waist to press a chaste kiss against the inside of her wrist, eyes focused on the blush as it spread across the exposed skin at her throat.

“People are staring.” She nodded in the general direction of said people, and Alistair glanced over to find she was correct, at least a few were watching them curiously. When he returned his focus to Natia, he caught her eying him appreciatively. “If you’re interested, there is a different type of show we could give them.”

He knew better than to provoke her and yet… he still did it, even when he was going to end up embarrassed.

“Oh, I didn’t - erm, I meant-”

With her victory stored away to gloat over later, Natia grinned cheekily, tucking her hand in the crook of Alistair’s arm before tugging him along beside her. “Come on, let’s find our seats.”

After a few minutes and barely any progress maneuvering the crowd, Alistair spied the food vendors lined up along the walkway, each one advertising whatever delicious treats they served: roasted meats, pastries filled with cream, fried sausages, puddings, sugared fruits, cookies with jam. It all looked delicious, smelled delicious, but the lines forming were already twisting around to the point he knew if they waited for any of it, they’d miss the opening of the play.

He intended on walking past, ignoring the strawberries and biscuits covered in cream, the sparkling cherry wine, the sizzling meats covered in herb sauces, when a different scent stopped him in his tracks. Cheese on a stick, covered in batter and deep fried until golden, served with a fruity dipping sauce.

As his footsteps faltered, the couple walking directly behind nearly ran into him. They muttered curses under their breath before sidestepping him and Natia, glaring over their shoulders as they continued on their way. But he cared little for what everyone around him did when Natia dragged him forward towards the food stand, a little hop in her step as they went.

Digging in her coin purse, she presented the funds to purchase the fried cheese, swiping an extra sauce when the vendor wasn’t looking, using her thieving skills to their benefit once again.

Oh, how he loved this woman.

She offered him the little tray of food, the crust on the cheese sizzling still. “Did you want to try it first?”

Alistair grinned, nearly burning his fingertips as he grabbed the wooden stick, taking a bite off of the top without sauce, savoring the crispy breading, the melted cheese inside like molten metal against his tongue. With his mouth open, he attempted to chew the food, the heat scalding the inside of his mouth as he did so. It was worth losing a few taste buds though because the saltiness of the cheese mixed with the lingering fried oil taste made it the best thing Alistair had tasted in years.

The look of pure joy on his face must’ve been infectious because Natia grinned, taking her bite of the food, the ruby sauce dripping onto her chin before she could stop it. Alistair brushed a thumb across her skin, cleaning the sauce off before running his tongue over his finger, surprised to find it tasted of sweet cherries.

Once she finished chewing, Natia swallowed the fried food, smile widening if that was physically possible. “Okie dokie, I’ll give it to ya. I’ll wear whatever dresses you want if you get me more of this.” She held up the cheese stick, the sauce barely clinging on, and with a grin, Alistair leaned forward to bite off a chunk.

“Maybe we can skip the play and eat instead?” He offered, attempting to finish off the fried cheese before she moved it out of reach and devoured it herself. With a pout, he watched as she licked the wooden stick clean. “I wouldn’t mind trying some of those biscuits and cream.”

Natia giggled, a delightful flush on her cheeks as she took his hand, skin soft and warm against his own. “I’d take you up on that if Leliana wouldn’t absolutely murder us for skipping in the first place.”

Reaching into his own purse to purchase another pair of fried cheese, Alistair shrugged, feigning indifference. “I’m not afraid of Leliana.”

That was a lie.

The vendor handed them food for coin and Natia took hers with a grateful smile. The pair headed to their seats, hoping to find the pair of chairs with their assigned numbers attached, only when they arrived at the row, it was to find one of the seats missing. Confused, Alistair rechecked the numbers only to find Natia’s seat had been removed from the row completely.

“Something wrong?” She asked, glancing up at him curiously, and he felt a flash of guilt. This night was supposed to be fun, something to take the pressures of being a warden, 0f being the Warden Commander of all things, off of her shoulders. And yet…

Rubbing the back of his neck, Alistair checked the numbers once more, and with a sinking feeling, knew he wasn’t imagining it. “It appears there has been a mistake. There is supposed to be a chair… here.” He pointed to the empty space beside where his chair rested and Natia glanced at it, expression blank so he couldn’t even guess what she was thinking.

“Oh.”

Putting a finger to her chin, she tapped the dimple there a few times, pretending to think of a solution to their predicament. Which there wasn’t any unless Alistair tried to find someone in the troupe and see if they could provide a new chair. And he didn’t even know where to start with that.

“I’ll, uh, go find someone to help.”

Before he even made a single step, Natia pressed a hand against his chest, stopping him before he went anywhere. Confused, Alistair glanced down at the dwarf, only to find a mischievous smirk aimed at him. 

“What?”

She pushed at his chest, nudging him back until his legs were pressed against the back of his chair. At the slightest pressure, he toppled over into the seat, arms immediately reaching for her as if she’d stop the fall.

And normally, she’d help him to the best of her ability, even if it meant she toppled over with him.

But not this time.

He’d only managed to right himself when she gripped his hands between hers, using them to steady herself as she climbed onto his lap, not caring how insane it looked to polite company. Or how her dress rode up, baring her calves, a delicious sight for Alistair, but a bit of a shock for any onlookers. Once she’d settled in his lap with her back against his chest, she tilted her head back slightly, dark eyes watching him with a playful sparkle, clearly enjoying every moment of his torture.

“I think I like this seat. It’s more comfortable.”

Natia held his gaze as she suddenly shifted her bottom against his groin, studying the blush as it spread across his cheeks and down his throat, disappearing below the collar of his tunic. With a little hmph, she ran her hands across his thighs, fingertips tickling him through his slacks, and he coughed to hide the quiet laugh that escaped his mouth, attempting to control himself in public. 

With a laugh, she returned her attention to the small stage set up in the distance, making sure to rub against him again, leaving him in a perpetual state of tension. The seats around them slowly filled to capacity, people casting them strange glances when they realized what they were witnessing, Alistair glancing around as if he hadn’t noticed them at all. Maybe if he ignored them, they’d ignore him. 

A futile hope, but perhaps the Maker would pity him and grant him a reprieve.

The play began slightly late, which wasn’t preferable at all as anytime Natia shifted, Alistair was reminded of his predicament, knowing that someone was going to either ask them to leave, or he was going to be embarrassed the moment he had to stand and exit. 

Thankfully, the torture was short lived, as they both were absorbed in the story: Leliana wasn’t exaggerating when she’d said it was a wonderful tale of two star crossed lovers, battling against family expectations and outside influence until they found their happily ever after. The main actress was a strong performer, her voice carrying over the crowd even when there was chatter about.

Alistair, in particular, enjoyed how she held herself, straight and proud, eyes on the crowd as if she could read every secret they held, her voice booming as she spoke about heartache and war, about the devastating sorrow that accompanied such things, of the renewed hope that followed. A tragedy told in many parts and he was enraptured by every moment.

“Wow.” He breathed, resting his chin on Natia’s shoulder, the press of her warm skin against his a comfort in the best way. “I didn’t expect this to be so…”

“Orlesian?” His beloved teased, turning her head slightly to press a soft kiss against the bridge of his nose.

He chuckled, placing his own kiss to the curve of her throat. She sighed at the touch, eyes fluttering shut. “Uh, besides that.”

“Cheesy like the stinky stuff you eat at home?”

Burying his face against her shoulder, he tried to hide the laughter but he was positive she felt him shaking against her. Tears pricked at his eyes, and when he lifted his head, he wiped them away, ignoring the stares from the noblewoman beside them. “You’re a menace.”

“And you love me for it.”

There was no denying that.

“As I was saying, before someone so rudely interrupted me,” Natia stuck her tongue at him and he grinned, grateful to his friends that they’d given him such a wonderful evening to think back on during those darker nights. “I wasn’t expecting something so good.”

“You thought Leliana would send us to a bad show?”

“I wouldn’t-”

A flash of deviousness crossed her face, as if she realized she had a prime opportunity to tease him. “What will Leliana say when she learns you don’t trust her?”

As he opened his mouth to tell her exactly what he thought of that, a crash reverberated near the stage, the entire right wall (where a painted image of Antiva City stood) collapsing under the weight of itself. The actors dashed into the crowd, trying to escape the chaos while the audience in the front rows screamed, props and set pieces disappearing beneath the crumbling structure.

Laughing breathlessly, Natia leaped to her feet, ignoring the shouts and panic of those surrounding them, before her hand grabbed his in an ironclad grip, prepared to pull him along if need be. She led him through the crowd, dodging the fleeing patrons, trying not to get crushed underfoot. Hair fell around her face in waves, escaping from where it’d been secured in a bun at the top of her head, and his heart squeezed at the sight, the flush of exhilaration creeping across her cheeks, her lips pulled into a huge grin as they continued on.

Clearing the entrance to the stage was well enough, but they still had too far to the exit, and Alistair was getting worried. The crowd was thick, each bump against another patron nearly jarring him from Natia’s grip, and his tightened his fingers around her hand, trying to keep up as she ducked beneath a stall flap. It was empty, thankfully, and they gained some distance between the worst of the chaos, but they still weren’t in the clear. 

Alistair collapsed to the ground beside Natia, his knees stirring up the dust and leaving them coated. He coughed, swiping a hand through the air to clear it.

Standing on her toes, she glanced into the lard fryer, only to find it empty of food. “Ugh, no fair. I was hoping some of this could be salvaged.”

Alistair brushed a hand gently over her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear, noting how the perfectly coiffed hairstyle was nearly undone. He loved when she wore her hair down. She glanced up at him, a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. 

“I’m sorry. This wasn’t what I had in mind. I thought-”

Alistair didn’t know what he’d thought, to be honest, but he owed her a do over after the mess the entire day had been.

Natia ran her fingers over the curve of his cheek, across his jaw, and scratched at the day’s old scruff against his chin. Her eyes sparkled, face falling into the tenderest of expressions as she gazed upon him. “I thought it was one of the best days out I’ve had in forever.”

Her dress was torn at the side, her tanned leg peaking out from between folds of fabric as she turned, dust coating the hem of the soft blue fabric and yet, she was as beautiful as the day he’d met her.

Alistair was the luckiest man in Thedas.

Somehow, despite everything that went wrong whenever he planned things for her, she always had a smile on her face. A smile that lit up a room like the sun brightened the sky and gave Alistair something to look forward to every morning.

He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, feeling her jaw shift against his lips as her smile widened, and his heart felt lighter. Things might not have been perfect, but for them, it was enough. 

Alistair shrugs out of his armor faster than he ever had before. Taking the blanket Zevran passes to him, diving into his tent. Leliana is humming as she sits by the fire, a blanket around her shoulders as well, hands by the fire. Marek has his eyes closed as he sits, leans against a tree, his staff resting in his hands. She sits very near him, watches as rain runs the maze of the bark. It’s almost like how it was in Dust Town, in the darkest parts. Water would sweat on stone, drip and drop, pool onto the ground. She’d seen more than one beggar sleep in those spots, not having anywhere else to go.

The rain falters with the sun, and it all seems to shine even brighter in the morning light. She rubs sleep from her eyes, having barely slept at all. It came in fitful spurts, seemed to elude her. She wakes before the others, runs a hand over her head. Fingers thread through now dry hair, and she tugs at a strand. It’s all too familiar. Another pang, a memory she struggles with. Kalah would never understand what she had done. Fenny pushes herself up from the bedroll, lets her hands drop to her lap. Finger locks with finger, and she squeezes until knuckles turn white. It isn’t fair.

She will miss the songs Leliana sang as she weaved the smallest, the most delicate, braids. She will miss the way Zevran would pickpocket every clip he could find, stick it in her hair. She will miss so much, but maybe it will hurt less.

She slips from the camp, safely out of everyone’s notice. The snow crunches under her every step and she taps at the hanging icicles. Such a simple touch shakes snow from trees, and drops of water lingers on her finger. She finds the river that runs near to the camp, half frozen with the ice like glass. Kneeling down in the snow, and already her knees are patches of wet, evidence of her actions. Leaning over, and she can see her reflection in that ice. It wavers from the flow of water beneath it, but it’s good enough. It will do. She reaches for the small knife on her belt.

It’s more difficult than she thought it would be. She tugs at each lock the same way Kalah used to, a fistful of hair. The metal flashes in the sunlight, the knife slices through each strand. The cut is cruel, the cut is kind, and wisps of hair float downwards. Cut after cut, strand after strand. It piles beneath her, and she’s biting her bottom lip. It’s control, of herself, a way for others to never take advantage of her again. Hair falls and Kalah’s voice echoes a little less, Dust Town isn’t quite so painful, the stares of the higher class dwarves not so hurtful.

She runs a hand over her head, feels that rough scratching of stubble against her palm. She tucks the knife back into her belt. She reaches out, breaks the ice. Her hair is taken with the current, washed away, never to be seen again. She stands, brushes snow from her clothes. A bluebird sits up in a tree, cocks its head at her. Chirping its song, wings flapping as it flies away. Fenny heads back to camp.

Marek blinks when he sees her. Whatever he’s thinking, he doesn’t say it. He only smiles, rubs his hand on her hair. “You missed a spot,” he says as he puts a hand on her back, “let me help you.” She sits on the ground while he kneels behind her. She closes her eyes and how is it so different from when she did it? The lightest touch, the kindest knife, his hands running over her head again and again, until he deems it complete. He moves to sit beside her, crosses his legs, and rests an elbow on each knee. Looking over at her, and he smiles again. She smiles back.

“You’re alright,” he tells her.

The rest of them are slowly waking, specters of themselves. Lightest chatter, some teasing from Morrigan. Alistair’s hair is stuck upwards like a duck, while Leliana’s is messed about her head. Somehow Zevran’s is still impeccable, while Wynne keeps that neat knot, lets no stray strand escape. Sten might still be asleep even as he stands with his arms crossed, an unmoving statue. Oghren practically rolls out of his tent, already gulping down whatever foul mixture he keeps in his flask.