#usergwynbleidd

It’s a little embarrassing. He can’t recall the same blood-curdling terror in any of their other recent fights, even when Morrigan decided to reveal she could shapeshift by turning into a giant, monstrous spider and spitting poison at the darkspawn Alistair had locked swords with, the stench of the thing almost enough to make him miss the weird chittering that he’s certain was her laughing. Sure, that had freaked him out, and it’s an experience he would prefer not to repeat, but it was more an irritation than anything.

When Neria had taken the phylactery and freed the spirit, Alistair had smiled at her. It wasn’t a surprise, exactly, she’s been kind to everyone deserving of it they’ve come across, along with quite a few that weren’t. When she’d been suddenly much more comfortable moving in armor, Alistair had been proud, a little reassured that she’d be alright even if someone managed to slip past him to take out the mage keeping them all up. When she’d started wielding a sword, Alistair couldn’t remember feeling much of anything other than his cheeks being so warm even Shale had noticed.

Somehow, he hadn’t connected that to her joining him at the front, leaving Leliana and Zevran to slip through the weak spots in their enemies' forces and attack them from the back. It’s not that she does badly, or anything. Sure, her fighting style’s a lot less “polished” than his, but she manages to take out a few of the bandits who’d somehow taken their motley crew for easy targets, still managing to spare a quick healing spell for Leliana when one of them smacks her with a shield.

All-in-all, the fight takes maybe two, three minutes, and Leliana’s injury is the worst of it. Still, Alistair’s hands are shaking. He can’t stop replaying the image of the one bandit clearly taking her for the easier target and lunging forward, quick enough that Alistair wouldn’t have been able to stop them, only for the blade to get caught on her armor and for Neria to smack him with the hilt of the sword hard enough for the man to crumble to the ground in an undignified heap.

Neria looks a little shaken, too. “Is everyone alright?”

Leliana smiles at them, already retrieving what arrows she can from the bandits. Zevran, ever-showy, spreads his arms and says, “More than! You would think they would run away once they realize they are hopelessly outmatched by us, no?”

Neria smiles back, just a small one, and says, “Alistair? What about you?”

“I’m fine,” he says, though it comes out all wrong, too shaky and wholly unconvincing. “Didn’t get hit or anything.” He holds up his shield and waves it a bit. “You?”

“Fine,” Neria says, just as quickly. “Still, we should make camp soon. We’re a long way from Denerim yet.”

So they do, the process quick after this many nights travelling with each other. As always, Morrigan’s off in the corner doing her best to ignore them all, Zevran's needling Wynne to see if he can get a reaction from her, and Leliana's half-singing, half-humming Orlesian songs as she works. He can’t see Neria anywhere, though.

Alistair walks a little away from the fire, the noise of camp fading a bit to the noises of the forest. He finds her there, lying back on a little hill facing away from camp, looking up at the stars with an expression he can’t quite read on her face.

He feels like he’s intruding, suddenly, but she turns to him before he can leave and smiles at him. “You can stay. I don’t mind.” She shifts so there’s room to lie next to her.

He does. They don’t talk for a bit, just looking up at the stars. He used to do this, back when he was first made a Warden and shaken by how much freedom he had at last, or even before, when he was still in Redcliffe and spent more time with the dogs than with any actual person. It’s peaceful, and he feels a little of the tension from the battle before finally bleed out of his shoulders.

Maker, he’s exhausted.

But Neria’s been a good friend to him--more than, if he’s being honest--and deserves more from him than just falling asleep here, so he says, “So, uh. You sure you’re okay?”

He expects her to say she’s okay and have to joke his way to them talking about it, but she just sighs and says, “Well. Mostly.”

“That’s something, at least!” Alistair says, trying for his usual cheer.

Neria huffs out a laugh before going quiet again. Alistair doesn’t push; this silence feels more companionable than stifling. Sure enough, a minute or so later and she says, “I was worried you’d get hurt. Earlier.”

“Oh,” Alistair says, because that hadn’t been what he was expecting at all. “Uh. I didn’t.”

“No, I know,” Neria says, turning to look at him. “I just don’t ever want to see you hurt.” Her face goes a little pink. “Or, you know. Any of us getting hurt. I want to keep everyone safe.” There’s a moment of silence; Alistair catches himself holding his breath, not quite sure why. “I want to keep you safe.”

“That’s supposed to be my job,” Alistair says, voice a little croaky.

She elbows him. “Hey, don’t pretend I didn’t do well today.”

“You did,” Alistair says. “It, uh, wasn’t the easiest for me, to see you at the front. But you--I mean, you clearly learned a lot from that spirit.”

“And from you,” she says, like it’s nothing.

“Right.” He should give her the rose. He’d been thinking of her when he picked it, weeks back now, but the urge to is almost overwhelming, suddenly. 

“Anyway,” Neria says, after what could be only a moment or hours, for all Alistair’s paying attention. “We should probably get back to camp before the fire burns out. We should be reaching the city tomorrow.”

Alistair nods, though he’s reluctant to leave this little moment of peace they’ve found. Neria must be, too, because she just lies there with him for a few moments. He feels her hand brush his, and he takes it, their fingers interlocking.

Eventually, they stand up and make their way back to camp, Neria distracting Zevran from where he’s irritating Wynne and Alistair helping Leliana with taking account of what they’d collected today. But when he finally heads to his tent to get some sleep, Neria catches his eye and smiles at him, cheeks still a little pink.