#the shelter clearly closed before the basilisk got in too i think

[syringaledraws]

Do you ever just wake up to see the horrible poison lizard casually sitting in your shelter?

[talesfromthefade]

(havesomedragonage)) Helllllo. I am SO in the mood for some dang shy kisses for DWC, for any character/pairing of your choice!!!

Marina Amell x Alistair Theirin, for @dadrunkwriting  Their first kiss, because these two are adorable and horrible/awkward at the same time about talking around their feelings, turning two totally competent adults into shy, joking, and blushing messes with each other. It was too cute not to write.

It’s a quiet moment. A rare thing amongst such a large collection of followers and with some of the more chatty members of their party. But Marina volunteered to refill their water supplies while the rest of their companions set up camp, and as usual, her fellow Grey Warden had accompanied her. It’s rather pretty here. Untouched by Darkspawn or the Taint, at least for now. A cool and gentle breeze rustling through the reeds and grasses along the bank to tickle at the hem of her robes.

She could wear something else, she supposes. More substantial armor of some sort. If not something like Alistair’s, which is almost certainly far too heavy for her, perhaps leathers like Zevran or Leliana. Except that she fights best from a range, supporting her fellows from a nearby higher-up position, and her rock armor spell is generally more than sufficient enough to fend off blows from any melee attacks during their usual encounters. She’d never actually thought to leave the tower that had been her home for most of her life, but she’s not ashamed of what she is. It seems foolish somehow to start now. So she wears robes that- in the grays and blues of the order’s colors- easily distinguish her as one gifted with magic with a certain level of pride. Alistair, despite his upbringing and training, whatever his initially jokes about being turned into a frog, or his turbulent relationship with their apostate companion, seems to accept this and take it all in stride as much as any other decision she makes.

Alistair’s understanding of magic, like a great many Templars, may be a bit over-simplistic, but he’s not afraid of her or what she can do. He respects and trusts her as an equal, at times even as his better, though Marina’s not altogether certain she deserves that much. And now that Wynne has joined them, it’s clear it’s not simply a matter of choosing to overlook or like her in-spite of her arcane gifts, but rather this is yet another thing to appreciate about her. And however sheltered life in the Circle may have been at times, Marina hasn’t failed to notice Alistair’s appreciation. It’s doubtful any of their companions have, though he’s been respectfully silent and clearly making an effort to be more subtle about it since their trip to the Tower.

Marina knows from speaking with him about his years under the Templar order Alistair never made it to the point in his training of receiving his first draught of Lyrium, but it's difficult to imagine him patrolling the various levels and rooms of the Circle. Of attending Harrowings...

“Alistair?”

“Yesssss,” Alistair replies with a slight grin as he stoppers another skin and places it on the bank beside them, turning his attention and gaze to her. Marina bites the inside of her lip, suddenly unsure about voicing the question that moments before had been on the tip of her tongue. “Sovereign for your thoughts,” he prompts gently with a chuckle.

“A sovereign?” Alistair shrugs, still smiling.

“Wynne said you were a star pupil. Your thoughts have got to be worth more than a couple of Bits.” Marina laughs softly, fighting the urge to blush.

“Wynne was being kind.”

“I don’t think so,” Alistair replies, shaking his head. “Well, I mean, she is. Sometimes. With the right people and when she wants to be. But, not about that. Duncan said as much too, that when he asked about recruits First-Enchanter Irving was sad to see you go, but couldn’t have spoken higher of you. And I’ve seen you. When we’re fighting, or just the little stuff- getting our fires started, the wards around camp… You’re great. I-” Alistair hesitates, scrunching his nose and brow in something between concentration and frustration. “Look, I don’t know much about magic, obviously. Or talking to people- or women… Raised by dogs, you know,” he chuckles softly with a sheepish sort of grin as the tips of his ears are beginning to go pink with embarrassment. “But I think you’re- yeah, I think you’re great. Fantastic.”

“Anybody ever tell you how handsome you are?” It’s not the question Marina had first thought to ask of him, but truthfully his compliments have so disarmed her, she’s loathe to bring up something potentially dark and ruin it all. Moments like this, like the rose still safely kept in a pouch at her waist, are all too fleeting. They none of them know how much time they have left, which day or battle might be their last. She and Alistair haven’t known one another for very long. This thing between them could be nothing, perhaps only the product of close proximity, the enormous amount of pressure and responsibility that has been thrust upon them, or needing someone to lean on, but it doesn’t feel like that. It feels like something more, or that it could be, and Marina has had her time to mourn old loves lost and things that were never meant to be. Perhaps she and Alistair aren’t either, but she’s done pretending she wouldn’t at least like to find out.

“Not unless they were asking me for a favor,” Alistair replies slowly. “Well, there was that one time in Denerim, but those women were… not like you,” the warrior adds, before quirking his head to offer her an appraising look. “Why? Is this your way of telling me you think I’m handsome?”

“And if it is? What then?”

“Oh nothing much,” he says, smile growing a little wider as he speaks. “I just get to grin a bit and look foolish for a while. So… is this the part where I get to say the same?”

“Not unless you don’t think so.”

“Oh, I think so. I’ll just spring it on you when it’s a surprise,” Alistair chuckles.

For a moment, Marina thinks of springing her own surprise on him, eyes lingering a little too long on his mouth as his laughter and the mere fact they can laugh, that they can find moments and happiness like this here and now amidst so much does something in her belly. It would be so easy to bridge the small space between them, to find his lips with hers, but something holds her back, if only for a moment. Uncertainty, not of the rightness of it, but her skill, her experience- or more accurately the lack thereof. Her fellow Warden has been obvious in his admiration, but slow in his pace, and Marina doesn’t want to screw this up.

“Alistair,” she ventures softly, worrying her lip. “If you were raised in the Chantry, have you never…”

“Never…? Never what? Had a good pair of shoes?”

“You know what I mean,” Marina mutters, feeling her cheeks turn red as she suddenly busies herself with avoiding his gaze for a moment to compose herself again.

“I’m not sure I do,” Alistair replies, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “Have I never seen a Basilisk. Ate a jellied ham? Have I never licked a lamppost in winter?”

“Now you’re just making fun of me.”

“Make fun of you, dear lady? Perish the thought. Well, tell me: have you ever licked a lamppost in winter?” There’s a slowness, a kind of teasing emphasis that he puts on the question, drawing out his ‘L’s that sees the blush returning to her cheeks once more following a warm and instinctive clench between her thighs even as he’s clearly once more making jokes to attempt to diffuse any sort of tension. Maker’s breath.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Marina mutters, shaking her head. “Have you ever slept with anyone before?”

“Oh, so that’s what we’re talking about. I admit I’ve never had a woman just… come out and ask me like this, that’s for sure.”

Flames, Marina thinks, blushing still harder, even in her attempts to be cautious she’s making a mess of it all. She’s a competent enough mage, certainly, but there are times now she’s living outside the Circle where it’s clear she’s woefully under-prepared for certain day to day, or means and topics conversations non-mages or Tower residents simply don’t have. “I, myself,” Alistair continues, taking her by surprise in choosing to answer her possibly too intrusive question anyway, “never had the pleasure. Not that I haven’t thought about it, of course, but… you know. Living in the Chantry is not exactly a life for rambunctious boys. They taught me to be a gentleman, especially in the presence of beautiful women such as yourself. That’s not so bad, is it?”

“Found a way to slip that in there sooner than I expected,” Marina smiles softly at the compliment.

“You don’t seem terribly surprised, though,” Alistair points out with a mock pout, earning a laugh. “Well, I don’t suppose you would be. It doesn’t seem possible you wouldn’t know it. You’re ravishing, resourceful, and all those other things you’d probably hurt me for not saying.”

“I would never hurt you, Alistair. Not if it could be helped.” Alistair’s goofy answering smile looks entirely pleased and certain as he nods.

“No, I don’t believe you would. Nor would I.”

“And no, to answer your earlier question,” Marina offers a bit shyly. “I don’t think that’s bad.”

“Good,” Alistair nods. “You’d want a gentleman to court you, wouldn’t you? If… if you were to be courted by someone, that is,” he adds hastily.

“I think I’d like that. With the right gentleman.”

“Ha, that’s good to know. Though, I wouldn’t really know how to go about it in practice,” Alistair admits in an uncharacteristic show of nerves and earnestness.

“Is that what this is,” Marina probes, slowly pushing the waterskins and buckets they’ve collected between them to the side. “Or, what you’d like it to be?”

“Maaaaayybeeee,” he hedges, chewing a little on his bottom lip.

“I’d like that,” Marina nods.

“Yes?”

“Yes,” she nods, smiling softly. Marina doesn’t hesitate any longer to act on the impulse that’s been in the back of her mind since they broke away from camp together, scooting forward until their knees are touching and reaching out to cup his jaw. He leans forward as she does until their lips find one another in a sweet and tender kiss.