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Elio grimaced as he removed the last bit of armor, setting it neatly beside his pack. They’d been unlucky enough to have crossed paths with a party of soldiers who were rather extreme in their support of Loghain and their… opposition of Wardens, to put it kindly. Since words never seemed enough to settle any dispute these days, Elio and his companions had to resolve their disagreements the old-fashioned way.
Which, of course, meant a hearty use of violence.
The nameless soldiers and radicals had gotten more than a few good hits on him, and while Elio was hardly on the cusp of death when all was done, he did have to down a few elfroot potions before he could get back on his feet.
So… he was more than a little sore when they found a safe place to set up camp.
There was still an hour or so of sunlight, time spent preparing camp. His companions had scattered about, gathering and hunting as needed.
For his part, Elio was sitting on the dirt, a map of the kingdom spread out in front of him, several smaller, local maps surrounding it. He needed to figure out where they’d go in the morning. They needed to find the Dalish, but their being a nomadic group made that task somewhat difficult. As far as anyone knew, they should be in the Brecilian Forest. The key word being should.
His gaze flickered to the local forest maps. There were a few pockets of villages around the forest. With luck, one of the settlements may have traded with the Dalish or had seen signs of them recently enough to give Elio a direction to go in so they wouldn’t have to wander the forest blind.
Despite his best efforts, Elio couldn’t help but feel… uneasy about meeting the Dalish.
Sure, he was an elf, and they were elves. In theory, they should all be able to get along swimmingly! Except theories rarely panned out, and the alienage back home painted a mixed picture when it came to them. Alarith said they’d saved him when he was a child, so Elio hoped things would go okay. But Valendrian never seemed too impressed by the clans.
Elio squeezed his eyes shut as he thought back to the alienage. In the months of travel, his home still felt like a fresh wound, gaping and bleeding. He missed his family and his friends, and he still grieved the life he was forced to give up. He hoped Shianni was doing okay and his father was caring for her. He hoped that Soris’ marriage to Valora had been happy and that Nesiara was doing okay. Maybe she’d found herself a better groom and was happily engaged to someone better than him.
Now, he felt even worse. Great.
Shaking his head, Elio rolled the maps back up and tucked them safely into his pack before looking around. Most of the party was still out doing their tasks. Sten was over by his freshly erected tent, kneeling on the dirt in what looked like meditation, and Garahel was happily sleeping in the dirt.
He spotted Morrigan off to the side, and his gaze focused on the flashes of magic around her.
Curious—and when was Elio ever not curious when it came to her? Curious, invested, enthralled, there was a whole vocabulary list that could be used—he pushed himself back to his feet with a pained grunt and made his way over to her, a limp in his step as his wounds were jostled.
Seeing his approach, Morrigan paused in whatever arcane act she had been working on to watch him close the distance. A small smile was on her lips, a smile different from the one she had when mocking and taunting the other companions; this one was reserved only for him.
“Ah, the Grey Warden himself; how kind of you to check up on me,” Morrigan teased, hands on her hip as she looked down at him. Elio couldn’t help but grin back at her, feeling his heart flutter.
He wasn’t sure what they were. It wasn’t something they discussed. They were more than friends; he knew that much; after all, friends didn’t regularly kiss each other or roll around the bed sheets together. What he did know was that he always felt inexplicably delighted when he was with their residential witch.
“You know me, have to make sure everyone’s content and not planning to kill our wayward prince,” Elio quipped back lightly, breaking off into a slight hiss of pain when he twisted the wrong way, agitating a gash on his side.
For a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of concern in Morrigan’s eyes, and maybe it was just wishful thinking, as she was just as quick to look slightly irritable. Then again, irritable was her default expression. "Are your wounds from our last little fight causing you trouble?”
“Nothing more than I can handle.”
Morrigan’s gaze was a skeptical one. “So you say,” she countered, looking him over with a raised eyebrow. “Try not to drink all our potions in the meantime, hm? The road ahead is long, and who knows when we’ll have the chance to restock with so many villages razed by the Blight or overtaken by Loghain’s Warden-hating forces.”
She had a point—she always did. And so Elio did what he did best: He smiled and laughed slightly awkwardly before responding, “You’re right. I’ll have to ask Wynne when she gets back if she could patch me up.”
It was easy to miss for most, but Elio caught her scoff. “I’m no spirit healer, but no self-respecting mage would go on their merry way without knowing a healing spell or two,” she said, holding him in her steely gaze before holding out a hand with all the tenderness of a porcupine. “This will, at the least, ease the pain.”
There was a moment of pause, a silent asking for permission, and Elio gave her a slight nod. Moments later, he felt the rush of magic—a sensation that he was becoming increasingly familiar with—flow through him, and with it, his pain faded.
“Feeling better?” Morrigan asked as she pulled her hand back.
“Much.”
The witch nodded. “Marvelous. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve work to return to,” she said as she retrieved her staff again. Catching Elio’s gaze and his silent question, she exaggerated her sigh. “If you must know, I was doing the same as I do every time we settle down for the night in the wilderness. I’m in the process of casting wards.”
That was a curious thing. He’d never seen her casting wards before, and Wynne had never commented on it, so clearly, it wasn’t harmful. But… well, Elio didn’t know enough about magic to understand, and he’d never pass up a chance to provoke Morrigan into talking more about her craft.
“Care to elaborate on these wards?”
Humming, he saw Morrigan silently debate her answer; he could see the urge to respond with something sarcastic in her gaze. “Deterrents, of a sort. To keep dangers from the camp.” His surprise must have been more evident than he thought if her disapproving look was anything to go by. “Did you truly believe the wandering darkspawn, bandits, and beast chose to avoid us on a whim?”
“Well…” He never thought much about why nothing ever came to bother them at night, no matter how deep in the wilderness they got. Apparently, he should have.
Morrigan, at least, took it in stride with an amused huff. “T’was no coincidence we’ve remained undisturbed since we began our journey. Should I fear for your common sense if you were unaware?” she asked mockingly.
He held his hands up in surrender. “It’s not as if I just assume we’ll be fine, and I do make sure we have someone keeping watch while the rest of our group sleeps,” Elio defended. Sure, most of the time, the one keeping watch was him; the nightmares made it hard to sleep, so he figured he’d get some use out of it. But the point still stood.
But he couldn’t be expected to understand or know every little magic-related thing Morrigan or Wynne did. He’d never had any contact with mages before the Blight, and magic was still new to him.
She watched him a few seconds longer before shaking her head, “I suppose you are correct. And you are not entirely hopeless; your delegation skills, at least, have been impressive.” She said it with a much more approving tone, which relaxed him. “We arrive here at camp, and within minutes, you had Sten setting the tents, Wynne collecting herbs and berries for our supplies, Leliana hunting game, and even that miserable oaf off to collect wood for the fire. It’s remarkable how they are all so quick and ready to rally behind you, and you are most adept at using their individual skills.”
Morrigan leaned slightly on her staff as she looked at him, her sudden slouch bringing her closer to his height. “That leadership quality will take you far in life, when utilized correctly, of course.”
Unable to help himself, Elio grinned and pushed himself onto his toes to be higher, and closer to Morrigan. “Aww, if you’re trying to butter me up with flattery, it’s working.”
Morrigan snorted back a laugh and gently shoved him back. “Oh, you are insufferable. You know t’was not meant to be flattery.”
“I don’t know. All I’m hearing is that the group would have fallen apart without me,” Elio said, still as playful as he shrugged. “Alistair doesn’t like to lead, and the others are unqualified or would have never been recruited to our little group. And you certainly are not leader material.” Not that he really thought anyone in their group was.
Still, he was rewarded with a light smack to his shoulder.
“I’ll have you know I possess excellent leadership qualities, should the situation require,” Morrigan said crossly. “But you are the Gray Warden, and thus, I shall follow your lead when it comes to the issue of darkspawn,” and then her irritated expression shifted into a taunting one. “Unless you would rather I gather my own Blight-conquering troupe and saunter off, leaving you alone and unprotected in spider-infested wilds?”
It was a joke. He knew she was only teasing, and she wouldn’t actually leave them, but the thought made him pause, the unease showing, however brief it was.
Satisfied at his discomfort, Morrigan crossed her arms and smirked. “I thought not. You may kneel and beg for forgiveness now.”
He relaxed as the topic eased back into familiar territory, and not one to let an opportunity such as this slip by, Elio dropped to his knees, prostrating himself in a most exaggerated way. “Oh, please do forgive me, my dear Morrigan, for I know not what I say,” Elio begged, fighting hard to hold back his laughter as he brought his face as close to the ground as he could. “Of course, you are by far a superior leader, and I am humbled that you would allow me to guide this group in your stead. I am not but an idiot to dare question your abilities.”
Morrigan had a more challenging time containing her laughter than him as hers came bubbling out. “Enough, enough. Oh, stand up, you adorable fool,” she laughed, tugging at his shoulders to drag him back to his feet. “Cease this scene at once!”
They continued laughing for a short time, long enough for Garahel to perk up and for Sten to look their way. They recovered soon enough, too.
Moments like that felt far and few between, given how haggard and dismal their days often were. Elio couldn’t help but cherish the moments when he made her laugh like that.
Catching her breath, Morrigan stepped back and took a moment to collect herself before speaking again. “Anyway. Allow me a minute to concentrate, and I shall finish these barriers so we can sleep properly.”
Taking his cue, Elio stepped back to give her space to work, watching curiously all the same.
Morrigan caught his eye as she raised her staff to the air. “Now then… a smoke-dispelling spell to start with. We can’t have everyone seeing our fires from miles away, now can we?” she asked him, and seconds later, a soft flood of magic filled the area as she cast her spell. Elio watched the magic, picking out fading particles of stardust in the air before turning his gaze back to the mage, who looked far more focused as she prepared for her next spell. “Another little one so our allies won’t be left stumbling blindly through the woods all night seeking us out.”
There was another gentle flash as her magic worked its way through the air. Morrigan cast an illusionary spell to hide them from the senses and another, subtler one she called it, to dissuade people from getting too close to their camp. Elio watched her cast each one with as much wonder as a child watching his first sunrise.
He was sure he was supposed to feel something different about her magic, that he was supposed to feel uneasy at seeing her work. After all, the Chantry claimed magic was an evil power if wielded by those outside the circles. But for Elio, he just felt a buzzing warmth beneath his skin, and for as sharp as she may come off as, he had a hard time believing Morrigan was any shade of evil.
She must have finished with the last of the protective wards as she lowered her staff back against her pack, looking satisfied with her work.
The others hadn’t returned yet, but the sun hadn’t finished its descent either. Morrigan glanced to the setting sun and then to their still near-empty camp before giving a hum. “Now that I’ve finished and we’ve some time still to ourselves, I would like to take a look at your Gray Warden treaties once more?” she asked and gave a slow, languid shrug. “Had I known of their importance before, I undoubtedly would have paid them closer attention. But, alas, my mother has many more books and tomes that interested me more than mere politics.”
He could understand that. Had he not been thrust into the role he now held, Elio would certainly have never had any interest or drive to read through treaties or other political papers. To be fair, he could hardly make sense of them, either. The alienages did not offer much in terms of education; humans often felt oddly threatened by the idea of an educated elf, and he had only ever learned enough of the written language to get by. His companions—excluding Sten and Morrigan, of course—had been so helpful in helping him to improve.
“Of course,” Elio said, returning to his tent with Morrigan in tow. “You’re always welcome to look over these documents whenever you wish. We wouldn’t have had them if not for you and your mother, after all. Mind if I ask what’s piqued your interest in them so suddenly?”
Reaching his corner of the camp, Elio knelt to rummage through his bag, seeking out the old papers. Garahel barked in greeting, panting happily, but made no move to get up, far too comfortable where he was already lying.
“I fear the wording of these treaties may not be as binding as we may need to convince our targets of the necessity of their assistance,” Morrigan explained as she stood over him. “These are ancient agreements, possibly lost or forgotten by the very people we seek to approach. I wonder, what sway does a tattered parchment signed by a distant ancestor still hold over the people we seek?”
“Hopefully, enough sway to have them send aid. The Blight will affect them too; after all, it's better to unite against it than die in our own secluded corners,” Elio offered as he found the pages in question and handed them off. “Is there a specific one you’re nervous about?” She gave him a sharp look, so Elio quickly amended, “I mean, you’re skeptical of?”
Morrigan hummed as she sat beside him in the shade of his tent. “I am particularly interested in the Dalish we’re already in pursuit of,” she conceded as she began leafing through the documents. “It’ll be enlightening to see if they’ve maintained the knowledge of shapeshifting magic. I’ve yet to encounter another who knows it beyond my Mother.”
Ellio nodded along. He could imagine it wasn’t a kind of magic the circles were keen to teach. “Might just be because it’s you, but it seems so fascinating,” He was rewarded with another light swat from her. His flirting was unappreciated.
“It is more than just ‘fascinating,’” Morrigan responded. “Even if you put aside the fighting utilities you often see, it can be a blessing when you wish to be alone.”
“How so?”
She hummed, her eye briefly skimming over the documents before looking back at him. “Imagine; if I desire some time to think, some space from others, I can simply become one of the forest creatures and slink off into the night,” Morrigan explained, smiling ever so softly yet again. “To run with the wolves or to soar through the night sky like an owl, there is nothing quite like it to unburden one’s mind.”
He tried to imagine it and found himself smiling along with her. “It sounds nice. Freeing, in a way.”
Morrigan watched him for a moment, her expression still that rare bit of warmth, before breaking away with a sigh as she leaned against him ever so slightly in their seated positions. He’d never grow tired of the heat of her body against his own. “Such a shame the Chantry ruled such magics forbidden,” she lamented. “They do so enjoy forbidding any magic that they do not understand.”
Alistair was the first to return to their camp. Under one arm, he carried a bundle of small sticks for kindling and handfuls of what looked like cotton for tinder. The basket on his back was filled with heaver sticks and chopped branches. All in all, it looked like he’d gathered enough wood to keep their fire burning through the night.
As his fellow Warden made his way through camp, Elio caught his eye and raised his hand in greeting with a smile. Immediately, Alistair smiled, looking like he was about to say something. Still, that expression soured when he saw Morrigan beside him, who had pressed herself closer to Elio in response. As expected, his friend made an obscene gesture to their mage, and Morrigan mirrored it right back at him.
Face flushed, Alistair stalked off with a grumble, finding a spot in the center of the camp to get the fire going rather than letting himself get pulled into some argument or verbal fight.
“Such a jealous man,” Morrigan murmured as she rested her head tauntingly on Elio’s shoulder when Alistair glanced their way again and smirked as she continued. “Perhaps later, you should throw him a bone.”
Elio didn’t really get what she was talking about or what Alistair had to be jealous about, so he hummed in response. He had no problem finding Alistair later; he would have regardless of Morrigan’s suggestion. That was his best friend, after all.
“Anyway,” Morrigan said, changing subjects quickly and pushing herself away from him again now that Alistair’s attention was no longer on them. “Tis come to my attention that I’ve spoken far too much of myself. It is only fair you share something of yourself in exchange—don’t look at me like that; I do not actually care about your life; it is simply a matter of principle. You dig out secrets from your companions and give nothing in return about yourself; I intend to change that.”
She shoved him slightly when Elio didn’t wipe his bemused expression off his face, and he laughed in response.
“Okay, okay… something about myself,” Elio grinned, tapping his chin as he considered it. It wasn’t as if he had anything especially fascinating about himself, nothing like his companions. He was just a poor elf living in the slums of Denerim. The most exciting thing that’s ever happened to him before he became a Warden was the wedding day disaster, and that wasn’t a story he really wanted to share with them.
A few seconds went by as he sifted through possible things to share. “Well… I worked as a carpenter's assistant before, well, everything,” Elio offered and rolled his eyes when he saw Morrigan’s expression. “Don’t get any weird ideas in your head. The shem I worked for didn’t let me work on any projects. Most of what I did was run around as a fancy errand boy for them.”
“But you did pick up some carpentry skills, I presume?”
“A few,” Ellio nodded as he scratched at the ground. “I know how to repair a roof and can make and install a door, too. That was one of my favorite things—not the installation, but the making. I got to leave the alienage with little harassment when I went to the shop, and sometimes they let me make and carve things.”
Morrigan stifled a laugh, “I suppose should we ever find ourselves in need of crafting a hut, you will be best suited for it. It’s a wonder your insistent need to help every downtrodden person we come across hasn’t sent you to rooftops to patch up holes.”
He grinned at her, “Don’t tempt fate; I might just start looking for people who need roof repairs in the next village!” he teased and bumped his shoulder into hers. “Should you need a home built, I’d be happy to help, and for free, too.”
“Implying you’d have charged us otherwise?”
“Of course,” Elio chirped back, trying to hide his laughter. “Friends of Elio’s Carpentry get their work done, free of charge.”
She shook her head and looked at him fondly, making him feel all light inside. “I suppose once the Blight is over and you grow tired of being a Grey Warden, you’ve your next career all planned out,” she said, and her gaze flickered away to where Wynne and Leliana were, breaking free from the forest edge with their stock. “Ah, I see they have returned, and Leliana has even brought us our dinner. I suppose we’ll have to continue this conversation for another time.”
As reluctant as Elio was about it, Morrigan was right. Their time for a chat was done; he had to return to his work—it was his turn to cook, after all—and surely she would like to have time to give the treaties her undivided attention while she read. Something she wouldn’t be able to do if Elio hung around bothering her.
He shook his head and rose to his feet, feeling his joints and back pop as he did so. “All right then. You have fun with those; I’ll go get our food cooking.”
Morrigan nodded, looking up at him. He was about to say something when Elio leaned down to steal a quick, chaste kiss. He was then off, jogging towards the other women with a bubbling laughter before she could shove him away. Rejuvenated by his time with Morrigan, his earlier exhaustion was a distant memory.
Elio grinned as he glanced back at Morrigan and saw the faint blush of her cheeks in the setting sunlight.