Yet Broken Still You Breathe

Chapter 31

"PYLADES: I'll take care of you.ORESTES: It's rotten work.PYLADES: Not to me. Not if it's you." - Anne Carson

The crackling campfire sent twisting, flickering shadows across Gwen's pale face as she sat beside Alistair, gazing contemplatively into the flames. Her long white hair fluttered lightly in the evening breeze,

strands intertwining with the wispy smoke rising from the fire. As she absentmindedly brushed aside her hair, the jagged edge of the scar on her wrist poked out from beneath her sleeve.

"Alistair, I wanted to talk to you about something," she began hesitantly, her quiet voice barely rising above the snapping embers. "About, uh, about us."

Alistair tensed slightly, his hands fidgeting in his lap. "Oh. Um, what about us exactly?"

"Anything, really," she huffed, keeping her voice quiet enough that their various party members scattered through camp wouldn't overhear. "I don't know, it sounds so juvenile but we haven't talked about where this is going, what being together even means. That's something people usually do, right? Or is it too soon?"

"I thought you enjoyed my pleurisy, it's part of my boyish charm." Alistair fiddled with the fire-stoking stick, a light pink dusting his cheeks and spreading to his ears. As he shifted his weight and avoided eye contact, his gaze danced around the campfire, dodging the real subject in favour of something lighter.

Gwen sat in silence, her gaze fixated on the crackling fire before her. The golden flames leapt and danced, casting a warm glow across her face and highlighting the shadows under her tired eyes. Maybe she was being foolish, thinking he wanted anything lasting with her. He'd told her he cared for her, that he wanted her, and had been eager to kiss her and hold her over their week of travel south, but never anything else. Did he not find her attractive? He'd been so insistent that she was beautiful, but perhaps he'd changed his mind upon being faced with the reality of what her mangled body looked like. Why would he want a romantic partner with the face of a Darkspawn, more scars than a wild dog, and an at best cold personality?

But Alistair had always had a sixth sense for when her thoughts were headed downhill.

"Gwen? Hello in there," Alistair said softly, giving her shoulder a gentle nudge. When she didn't respond, he leaned forward, trying to catch her downcast eyes with his own. "I apologize, I shouldn't have brushed you off like that when you were trying to be serious. What can I do to get you to forgive my transgression? May I offer a warm hug, or perhaps a big wet kiss should my Lady wish it?" He smacked his lips, wet and loud close to her ear, making her giggle and shove him away.

"Stop that," she admonished, unable to keep the grin off her face.

"As you command," he said, inclining his head in a mock bow. He straightened, his face softening. "You want to know what I want for us?"

A sharp intake of air clenched her lungs and she nodded eagerly, her eyes wide with anticipation. The desperation that had been simmering within her for so long now bubbled to the surface, evident in every twitch of her fingers and every flicker of emotion in her eyes.

Alistair took a deep breath, his gaze lingering on her face before he spoke. "I want you, Gwen. I meant it when I said it last time. I want you in whatever way you will have me, for as long as you want me. Though I hope it is more than friends, I would take anything you wish to give. We may be in the middle of a war now, but when this is all over, I hope to get the chance to court you properly, as you deserve." He reached out and took her hand in his, his touch sending shivers down her spine. "I know we haven't had the easiest time getting to this point, with everything that's happened so far. But I can't imagine going through all of this without you by my side. Who else would willingly heat my chilly fingers on their belly?"