let your instincts break the rules

[wildness]

[It is an excellent thing, sometimes, that their group is always so busy. When night falls and they have struck their tents, too many of them are exhausted enough to tarry long around the fire. There is the occasional night when Leliana strikes up a story or one of the others insists on discussion, the Warden often chiming in to discuss strategies, their path, and the morning's journey. Morrigan most often keeps to herself at her end of camp, making what she wills and reading from the tomes they often pick up on their journey.

Tonight is no different: most of the others retire to their tents early - all save Sten - and she offers to take first watch. The Qunari is more than willing to give her a wide berth and so she is granted more privacy than she needs, lucky her. There is enough for her to dwell on in the wake of the possession of the Arl's son, the battle at Redcliffe, and their early morning's march that will take them to their next destination.

The castle had been quaint and full of memories of Alistair, many of which he provided for them. In the wake of such horrors, she supposes he cannot be blamed for withdrawing. It does not give her much reason to continue to contemplate the situation nor on him. It is a weakness, she tells herself, because these are not feelings. There is a purpose to all of this. One day, she will have to implore the Warden to make a choice and Alistair will be part of it. He is a piece of the whole - a small piece, she reminds herself - and that is it.

It is a shame. For all that he infuriates her, he has his good qualities. It's that mouth she hates most of all. With a sigh, she goes back to her book, stoking the fire at her side the wave of a hand.]

Comments

[wildness]

[Truth be told, she's surprised he hasn't protested against using his tent...and yet, thinking on it, she's grateful they're in hers. She shoots him a look from over her shoulder, one that's more amused than anything else.]

And somehow that does not surprise me. You often complain of losing your socks.

[Morrigan takes a few moments to survey her living arrangements to best decide where they would be more comfortable. She goes to her pack and pulls out a cloak she has packed away and spreads it down beside the bedroll and furs beside it, hoping to at least give the semblance of something usable, if only to let him be at ease. She goes to sit and beckons him down with a hand.]

[woahwoahawkward]

[While he might pretend to be more comfortable in his own tent, the fact is that it really is sort of messy and he'd probably be more worried about accidentally stepping on some sort of rabid animal concealed under a smallcloth.

He gives her a sort of lopsided smile and dropped down next to her.]

And here I was expecting you to want to bind me up by now.

[Or bind his mouth shut, at least. That might still have to happen.]

[wildness]

Well, if that's what you'd like...

[But that might frighten him a bit too much. Gagging, of course, is still an option. Morrigan smirks in his direction and takes him by the chin for another brief kiss.]

But you can divulge your fantasies to me later, hm?