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andrastesflamingknickers · 10 months

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Jealousy Is A Bitter Flavor Pt. 2

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Alistair sat on the bed, staring at his reflection in the breastplate in his hands. His breastplate. Cailan’s breastplate. It was still an odd thing to get used to, the armor of the king, of the brother who never knew he existed, and it was his now, too. As was the shield, and their father’s sword. Elio made it happen, he led him and Wynne back to the ruins to settle a score, and brought back weapon and arms from the fallen.

Elio made a lot of things happen.

He saved the circle when they could have just as easily gone through the annulment after all the demons and blood magic—the templars had every justification to go through with the extermination. But Elio made it so no more blood was spilled in that tower.

He saved Eamon, Isolde, and Connor, when just as easily he could have killed the possessed child. Just as easily have sacrificed Isolde. But he pushed through until he found a way to save all three without having to kill an innocent.

They slayed a high dragon because of Elio, they found the Urn of Sacred Ashes, spoke to the guardian, a man who had supposedly served Andraste since before her death.

Alistair had even met his sister because of Elio. He was ready to leave and hide like a coward, but was given the push he needed by the elf, he was able to connect with the only family he had left, and even though Goldanna had not been what he had expected, having that connection meant the world to him.

The elf was a Maker-damned miracle worker. Was it any wonder people fell for him so easily?

Alistair had never thought himself interested in men. There had been plenty of women he would find himself staring at during his years, pretty girls he’d develop little crushes on, or would find himself yearning and wanting for. But never men. It wasn’t as if he thought there was anything wrong with liking another man, he just never found himself interested in the same sex. Not until recently, at least.

Elio made that happen, too.

Everything would have been so much simpler if he hadn’t, if Alistair didn’t have these feelings. He’d be able to look at Elio without feeling such an aching longing in his chest, be able to listen to him and follow orders without feeling like a puppy eager to receive praise for a job well done.

He’d be able to watch Elio and Morrigan interact without feeling such wretched jealousy.

But he wasn’t. His heart was full of longing and want for a man he’d never be able to have. Elio was unreachable, untouchable. Alistair needed to just accept that he’d never be anything more than a friend, a brother-in-arms; but no matter how much his brain told him to accept it, his heart refused.

“Are you okay over there?” Elio asked, breaking him from his thoughts as he looked up. Elio stood before him, hair and skin damp from the bath he had taken, dressed in a pair of loose pants that showed off his narrow hips and the outline of bones, and a damp towel around his shoulders that he used to wipe some beads of water from his cheeks. “You’re staring rather intensely at the breastplate. Don’t tell me you’ve become the sort to be upset if your armor is scratched.”

Alistair couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped him at the thought, slowly placing the piece with the rest of his discarded armor. “I was just staring at my own reflection in it. You know, I think I’ve become more handsome over the months of travel. Must be the rugged charm I’ve gained after so many near-death fights.”

Elio snorted, “You do get knocked on your ass plenty,” he teased as he rummaged through his rucksack before retrieving a shirt to slip on and cover his unbound breasts. They were no strangers to the others naked forms—riverside and lakeside baths left little privacy for the group in that regard, and they had all seen each other in some manner of undress at one point or another. Even so, Elio always maintained some modesty in his sleepwear, which tonight was something Alistair appreciated.

He had honestly not expected for the two of them to be sharing a bed for the night. When they rented out the rooms in the tavern, only two had been available; a single and a double. There was little reason to think he’d be sharing the single with Elio when everything would have suggested Morrigan and Elio would have shared it, while he and Wynne shared the double. Yet, to his surprise and suspicion, Morrigan had insisted they divide it among men and women, sharing a room with Wynne instead.

On one hand he was grateful she pushed for him to share a bed with Elio, in a way only a lovesick fool could be. But on the other, he was suspicious and distrustful, and certain Morrigan had some kind of ulterior motive behind it all. She would not do something out of the kindness of her heart, and she had made it very clear to Leliana and Zevran both that she did not share. Unless she had some kind of spat with Elio between the time they had their kiss outside the tavern to when it came time to divide the rooms, he could not understand why she would push for Elio and him to room together.

It made him more nervous than he already was.

Elio was slowly moving a heavy stone shelf, wedging it in front of the door. Taverns were, ironically, more dangerous a place to rest for the night than out in the wilds in a camp, and so Elio always took precautions when they did find themselves resting in one. Blocking the doors and windows were always one such measure, they prevented people from sneaking in easily to kill or rob them in their sleep.

As he worked, Alistair let his eyes trace over his form, and swallowed hard.

Elio Tabris was a handsome man by any standard. A good few heads shorter than Alistair, his body was lean and slim, his muscles defined—though nothing like Alistair’s own broad form, or Sten who was built like a brick house. Elio was a mixture of lithe and power, and possessed a sort of strength their enemies never expected from looking at him.

He was covered in his fair share of scars, all in various stages of healing. Most were more recent, trophies from their fights against bandits and darkspawn alike, but there were plenty that he had from before being a Warden, marks of the hardships an elf faced in the alienage.

When they had first met, his chestnut-colored hair had been clipped short—Elio had said he had always copied how his cousin kept his hair, modeling it after what he believed was the average man—but it had since grown out some, now hanging past his ears as a wild mess of mussed curls that wouldn’t straighten out no matter how often Wynne mothered him with a comb. He had developed dark shadows under his eyes, too, a mark of sleepless nights brought forth by the nightmares a Warden always had.

Despite the restless nights and the many horrors they faced, there was a fire in his eyes that never lost their intensity.

“We should get some rest,” Elio said once his task was done, punctuating the words with a yawn. “We’ve got to find Bhelen in the morning, and knowing our luck, we’ll be fighting a lot, too. Can’t seem to escape being attacked no matter where we go.”

“No, we can’t,” Alistair agreed with a smile.

It was more than a little awkward for him as they got into the bed. The bed itself was small, proportioned for a single dwarf, not for a human and elf to share. Even with Alistair pressed as far to the edge and to the wall as he could, there was no escaping the fact that they would be pressed together to both fit. Still, he did what he could to keep his limbs to himself, to try and give Elio what little space there was to give. They were still pressed to one another, though.

They had shared tents before, had their bedrolls beside each other before, but they never slept pressed against each other like this, and it was hard for Alistair to clam his mind and blood. Elio, the lucky bastard, fell asleep almost immediately, filling the air with quiet snores.

Difficult as it was, Alistair eventually managed to fall asleep.

Hours later he was awoken to Elio thrashing from nightmares brought forth by a Warden’s connection to the blight. It was only then that Alistair wrapped his arms around the man, truly felt how much smaller he was and how perfectly he fit against him. Alistair held him until the thrashing stopped and the dreams faded, and continued to hold him until he fell back asleep, too.

They said nothing about the sleeping arrangement come morning. For Elio, he suspected there was just nothing to say on the matter, for Alistair, it was the anxious embarrassment worsened only by the knowing smirk Morrigan gave them over breakfast.

By mid-morning, they found Bhelen’s associate, and before Alistair knew it, they were at the proving grounds, watching Elio fight on the dwarf’s behalf to prove they were allies.

He watched with mesmerized awe at the battle. Elio fought like a savage demon, screaming, letting loose all the rage he buried within him, knocking his enemies down with his shield and cutting them open with his sword. Even without the enhancements being a Warden provided, Alistair was certain he would have still been a frightful foe to face.

A part of him wanted to be down there, however, joining in the battle, helping Elio out instead of the dwarves that were called forth as his second. But Alistair knew he couldn’t. Elio alone was representing Bhelen from their group.

As the match ended, Alistair watched as Elio, breathing heavily, removed his helmet and raised his sword to the air, inciting cheers form onlookers. He and his fallen opponent were then escorted back out of the ring to recover while the next pair squared off. Cheers continued to fill the air with the sound of metal clashing and warriors grunting.

Alistair, amidst all the fighting, found his gaze on Morrigan, and his mind spinning with thoughts and wonders.

Such as; what did Elio even see in her? Yes, she was beautiful, but she was cruel and rude, she had no qualms about mocking and insulting those in the group, and more than that, she made no secret of her disdain towards his altruistic nature.

She always had a comment or quip to make when Elio offered help to someone in need, about how detrimental it was to help those they came across when there was a Blight to stop. Alistair found that part of him to be wonderful, a sign that people were still capable of acts of kindness and generosity. Even though they were rewarded for their good deeds, Elio never asked for a reward or set off with the intention of being paid for helping others. Morrigan hated that. Shouldn’t that alone had been reason enough for them to just not click?

Elio was also very much in support of circles and mages going to circles, something Morrigan greatly looked down upon. She saw circle mages as lesser mages, that they chose captivity and chains and prison, and Elio shared the same beliefs as Wynne that it was a safe harbor for mages to live and learn. People killed each other over similar disputing beliefs, why couldn’t they have let that be the hill that kept them apart?

Their relationship couldn’t have been purely based off physical attraction, could it? Elio never came off as the type to prioritize physical beauty over everything else, and even if he had—Leliana surely would have made for a better choice, no? She was beautiful, absolutely lovely, and she was kind. He had watched them interact and Elio always seemed to enjoy their interactions, he’d seen the way the elf was always enthralled when she told stories.

There had also been plenty of women they came across in their travels, beautiful women who had been not so discreet in propositioning him. But Elio had always smiled and refused—so clearly there was more than just Morrigan’s looks that brought him in.

Maybe she was using magic? Maybe—yes! That had to be it. The wretched woman was using some kind of spell to keep Elio infatuated with her—but, no. Wynne would have recognized it immediately. So, no, magic wasn’t at fault.

“Have a care where your eyes linger, Alistair,” Morrigan said without looking at him, her gaze still fixed on the battles before them.

He jolted a little, his face flushed when he saw that amused smirk on her face, and as he realized what it looked like he was doing. Ogling her. Just the thought made him want to puke. “Yes, well, don’t worry,” Alistair said, quickly composing himself as he looked away. “It’s not what you think.”

Morrigan hummed, “I see,” she said in a way that made it clear that she did not believe him. Was she truly so vain that she thought she’d ensnared even him in her web? He would never fall prey to her charms.

“I was looking at your nose,” Alistair lied, glaring at her from the corner of his eyes. It was only over his dead body would he confess to her that he was trying to figure out how she had Elio so wrapped around her fingers, and he certainly wasn’t going to let her think she had him the same way.

“And what is it about my nose that captivates you so?” the maleficar asked, turning from the battle to face him, one hand on her hip, the other against the rails overlooking the fields. She stared at him unbelieving, yet waiting for a response.

The answer came to his head immediately, and Alistair couldn’t help the malicious smirk that formed as he turned to face her directly, narrowing his eyes as he sneered. “I was just thinking that it looks exactly like your mother’s,” he said, knowing that it was a sore spot. Knowing that any comparison to Flemeth would bother her greatly. Knowing that this was a fight he was going to win.

And he was proven right. Morrigan stared at him, her hand moved from her hip and raised to her face, as if to touch her own nose before she stopped herself. Slowly the surprise morphed into fury as she stared up at him. “I hate you so much,” she hissed.

“What was that?” he asked with a laugh, his smirk growing.

She ‘hmphed’ and turned back to the fight. “Never mind,” she growled, gripping the rail so tight her knuckles had turned white.

Chuckling, Alistair turned to watch the fight, cherishing his victory as he saw Elio return to the field, his shield and sword raised as he prepared to face down two opponents at once, knowing his companion would win this easily. He held his victory over her, as petty as it was, close to his chest when all was done, and his friend declared the victory. Held it close as the group reconvened beneath the Proving Grounds, he held his victory like a salve to ease the ache in his chest as Elio went straight to Morrigan and kissed the back of her hand like some knight to a fair lady.

He tried not to show how much it bothered him as the jealousy, and the guilt over being jealous at all, ate him up inside.

#Dragon Age #Dragon Age Origins #Fanfic #alistair theirin #Male Warden #Warden Tabris

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