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Emma sat by the window, watching the Tower of Kinloch Hold rise from the lake. Their crossing had been mercifully brief.
Alistair returned from the bar with two mugs and a plate of something allegedly edible. He set them down carefully.
“They claim it’s rabbit stew,” he said. “I have my doubts.”
Emma wrapped her hands around the mug.
“I noticed, while we were sailing,” he sat, not quite meeting her eyes, “You turned approximately the color of this alleged stew.”
“Yes. The waves make me nauseous,” she eyed the soup warily.
He remembered how she had leaned forward next to him. Small. Braced. He had wanted to do something. He still didn’t know what.
“Are you alright?”
“I will be, soon.”
Alistair accepted that, because that was what he had learned to do lately.
Across the room, Leliana was smiling at the innkeeper in a way that usually preceded secrets changing hands. Morrigan was nowhere to be seen. The tower’s silhouette pressed against the window, dark and patient.
“I miss you,” Emma said.
Alistair looked up, startled. “I’m here.”
“Not really.” She met his eyes.
“I thought,” he said carefully, “after… everything… maybe it was better if I didn’t say the wrong thing.”
“So you said nothing.”
“Yes.” He winced. “Which appears to be worse.”
She watched the surface of her drink settle.
“You used to talk to me,” she said. “You’d just… talk. About templars stealing lyrium. About setting evidence on fire.”
“That was an accident.”
“I know.” A pause. “That’s why it was funny.”
He smiled automatically, then stopped when he realized she wasn’t.
“I didn’t mean to pull away,” he said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “After Leliana, I just—started thinking maybe this was a sign. That I was out of my depth. I’m a rube who grew up in a hayloft and you’re…”
“What?” Emma said, lost.
He didn’t finish. She didn’t push. She looked back into the mug instead, annoyed.
“What if I can’t—” He cut himself off. “I care about you. I just can’t treat something like this casually.”
He went quiet.
“But why…” Emma sighed. She felt serious. It wasn’t helping. “What do you think I’m asking for?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “I don’t know how to do this without turning it into something stiff and wrong.”
She leaned back, letting the chair creak.
“But it wasn’t like that. I don’t want this to turn into you measuring every word. Or me having to be careful with you.”
“So… what are you saying?”
“So we can stop. You’re uncomfortable with this.”
“So this is a rejection.” His voice had gone carefully neutral. “With excellent manners.”
“No.” She said it flatly. “I liked you the way you were. Now you’re acting like every word has to pass strict inspection.”
“You think I’m… performing?” he said slowly.
“I think you got scared. I-” she hesitated. “I don’t want to scare you.”
Emma saw it hit—his shoulders eased like he’d been bracing for a blow that never came.
“If I say I can’t—if I’m too tangled up—you’d just… go back to how things were?”
“It’s a truce.”
“I’ll take it,” he said immediately, then softened. “If that’s what you want. Very romantic, by the way.”
“I’m not good at romance,” she said. She picked up her mug. It was cold, now. “You should learn this.”
“That’s tragic.”
“For both of us.”
Silence, again. Less difficult, this one.
“Can I ask you something?” he said. “Another something.”
She nodded.
“Leliana. When you—when you let her down. Was that because of me?”
“Yes.”
He swallowed. “So you chose this.”
“I did.”
“I didn’t know you felt that way,” he said. His voice was careful. “I should tell you… I don’t know if I’m ready for anything else. Not yet.”
Emma frowned, trying to follow the logic. Jealous, but retreating. It was contradictory. She let it go.
“I’m not worried about doing that,” she said. That much was true.
He looked down. Something tightened in his shoulders.
“I don’t know where this goes,” he said.
“So?” She raised an eyebrow. “The truce.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. Nervous. Relieved. Both.
She stood, pushing her chair back. “Morrigan’s back. She’s doing the ‘you’re being tedious’ look.”
He glanced over. Morrigan was, in fact, radiating pointed boredom in their direction.
“How can you tell?” he asked. “That’s just her face.”
“I just know.”