Work Text:
Alistair and Morrigan wouldn't have been alone on the road in a desolate part of the Hinterlands if the Warden had the good sense to return from Ostagar within a reasonable time-frame. They certainly wouldn't have been ambushed by Shrieks in the middle of a bridge if they hadn't decided to seek her out on their own despite Sten's and everyone else's protestations.
The darkspawn swarmed over them, their claws clattering against Alistair's armor as they lunged at him. He felt a body bump into him from behind, Morrigan's back and shoulders settling against his own as the spawn surrounded them. They were hopelessly outnumbered. Morrigan threw a worried look over her shoulder at him, a question in her eyes. Alistair didn't quite understand it but nodded anyway.
Then a flash of light enveloped them and the world went black around him.
***
Alistair came to with a splitting headache and the taste of ash in his mouth. He groaned with a frown and lifted his head just enough to spit to the side, dragging himself up to his knees. He looked around, squinting at the bright orange light of the setting sun, and tried to take in the corpses around him. Morrigan must have worked some spell that took out the Shrieks but—
His head whipped around, eyes darting from one corpse to the next until he spotted a pale arm in the blighted mass. Heart hammering in his chest, Alistair scrambled closer, shoving at the Darkspawn corpse lying on top of Morrigan. The dead weight of the body was almost immovable but he tried one more time, pushing it off of her with his shoulder.
He stared at her for a moment, his lips parted on a stifled gasp. She looked so ashen and... dead. Her chest, collarbones and neck were smeared with blood that was starting to turn rusty black. He reached out to touch her, only to yank his hand back when she moved and let out a sound of complaint.
Alistair stopped himself from asking if she was alright as she attempted to sit up, secretly checking her for telltale signs of having contacted the Taint. He saw nothing, either because she didn't or because it was too early to tell.
They slowly collected their dropped weapons and packs, leaving the spawn behind in a bloody heap. Morrigan looked shaky so Alistair let her walk ahead of him to dictate their pace. The sun was sinking below the faraway mountains, painting everything golden for a few minutes before the colors changed to a hazy gray. It was quiet around them, no sign of other darkspawn that Alistair could sense, and yet he knew they were somewhere beyond the horizon.
"We should make camp," Morrigan said next to him. "We shall not reach the Warden any sooner by stumbling in the dark."
Night was descending on them fast, the stars appearing one by one on the sky.
"Right," he said as he looked around, searching for a suitable camp site. "I can't sense any more darkspawn nearby so we might as well stay here."
"I suggest those ruins," Morrigan said and pointed to a dark mass that lay beyond the serpentine stream they had just crossed.
Alistair couldn't tell in the dusk if they were the ruins of a lone guard tower or a windmill but it loomed over them even in its dilapidated state, making for an easily defensible camp site. Two of its walls were missing but it was protected from one side by a yawning chasm. Alistair could see no stairs but they could potentially scale the rubble to reach the higher floors.
As they neared the tower, Alistair heard water sloshing behind him and looked back, his hand pausing halfway to his sword. Morrigan was wading into the shallows of the stream, her eyes trained on some weeds swaying in the wind just above the water's surface. She bent down to pluck at them, her nimble fingers making quick work of each plant. He took account of her wounds, his eyes settling on her lips for a moment before he snatched his gaze away.
"You can take the witch out of the swamp, but you can't take the swamp out of the..." he muttered to himself but he trailed off when Morrigan aimed a pointed look at him.
"Care to explain how you expect me to heal our wounds without herbs?"
"Right, forget I said anything. I'll go set up camp."
Alistair hopped onto the ruined wall, doing his best impression of a mountain goat as he climbed its length up to the second floor. The stones held firmly under his armored weight so he set about laying out their bedrolls and unpacking their dinner. He didn't bother with their tents; the stone floor would have made it impossible to pitch them anyway.
He started taking off his armor, his eyes mapping what little he could still see of the grassy hills surrounding them, looking for approaching bandits among the trees. He paused with the strap of his chest plate halfway-untied in his hands. Morrigan was washing off the dried blood from her skin by the stream, the water she splashed out gathering on the moss carpet in silvery drops. Alistair averted his gaze and forced his attention back to his armor.
Morrigan eventually joined him, a fresh bouquet of herbs dangling from her belt as she climbed up the narrow wall. She cast a glance at the camp and their cold food, then conjured up a small flame on the palm of her hand.
"Wait," Alistair said and reached out a hand, futilely trying to extinguish it. "We're too close to blighted land. Lighting a fire might draw ghouls and darkspawn here."
Morrigan paused, her lips twisting in a displeased grimace before she snuffed out the flame.
"Very well," she acquiesced reluctantly and crouched down next to him to tend to his wounds.
Her touch was deft but she seemed annoyed, muttering about his foolishness as she ground the freshly collected herbs with her fingers. When she touched a cut on his cheek, the only thing Alistair could think about was the green scent on her skin.
"You are too foolhardy in battle," Morrigan said quietly, pulling Alistair out of his thoughts.
He swallowed, prying the bandages out of her hands so he could tend to her wounds.
"You're one to talk."
She didn't reply, an irate look on her face as she reluctantly let him bandage her upper arm.
They ate quietly after that, then settled in for the night. Alistair stared up at the starry sky beyond the missing ceiling. Neither of them could sleep, he could tell. It was too bloody cold for the shivers to subside, especially whenever the wind changed and whistled through the ruins.
"Don't you have a warming spell or something?" he muttered into the darkness.
"Don't you think I would have used it by now if I did?" she said. "But if you would prefer to be the target of a fireball spell..."
"I'll pass." He tolerated the silence that stretched between them for a few moments before he spoke up again. "Aren't you cold in that thing?"
Something rustled next to him.
"I have lived in the Wilds all my life. I am used to it," she muttered back. "Although..."
Alistair frowned when she trailed off, sudden worry gnawing at him. He turned and leaned up on his elbow, searching her face in the dim moonlight.
"What is it?"
"'Tis terribly cold tonight, isn't it?" she asked on a calculating tone. "Two bedrolls would certainly be warmer than one."
Alistair glanced down at his blanket, clutching it tighter to his chest.
"If you try to steal it, I'll... do something you won't like."
"'Tis a question of survival," she said gravely, though Alistair suspected she wasn't entirely genuine.
Despite the biting cold making its way under his clothes, they weren't in any real danger of freezing to death, Alistair thought, suspicion lingering at the edge of his mind. The chills running up and down his body weren't letting him get any rest, though, and willingly battling darkspawn sleep-deprived was borderline suicidal. Morrigan may have been after his blanket but it was worth the risk.
"Alright but I'm keeping my eyes on you," he said.
"Yes, I am well aware of that habit of yours," she said on an amused tone as she scooted closer.
Alistair tried his best to ignore the blush warming his ears as she wormed her way under his blanket... and then she yanked it away.
"I knew it!" Alistair growled and lunged after her, all of his scrapes and bruises crying out at once at the sudden movement. He wound his arms tight around Morrigan, a sense of triumph filling him at the surprised look on her face. "You sneaky magpie of a woman."
"I simply desired to be warm," Morrigan said, badly faining innocence.
"Yeah, I totally believe you," he said, sarcasm dripping from every word. "If you want to be warm, play nice."
That intolerably pleased smile was finally (thankfully) back on her face.
"I see you are so very desperate to share a bedroll with me," she said haughtily, those yellow eyes boring into his own.
"Witch," he muttered but didn't argue.
Morrigan smiled, pleased that she was getting what she wanted. She pulled the blankets over them and settled in with her body molded against his. Alistair stiffened before letting his arm rest around her waist. He couldn't tell if the sudden warmth he felt was her body, the bedroll or the blush heating his face. He stubbornly resisted pulling away from her, though, lest she try to steal his blanket again.
"Speak of this to no one," Morrigan muttered against his throat and seemed to go to sleep.
He buried his nose in her hair, slowly relaxing as her breathing evened out. He couldn't recall ever sleeping with someone else's body so close to his own, their calming breath in his ears. She may have been an evil witch but her heart was beating steadily against his own and that was enough.