Dragon Age Little Joys

**Little Joys**

There is no cloud in the sky when they leave the _Crown & Lion_ in the morning. It's the first nice day for weeks. He can still smell the rain on the air as he blinks into the brightly shining sun that warms his skin as soon as he sets foot onto the cobblestone outside the tavern. For a moment, Anders closes his eyes, enjoys the warmth and the scent of the early day. The longer he keeps his eyes closed the more intense the smells get; the strong odor of horses, the pleasant traces of hay and grass mixed with the spicy smells of cinnamon, pepper and herbs from the vendor's stand around the corner. He inhales deeply when the scent of vanilla and almond penetrates his nostrils and makes him acutely aware of the woman standing right next to him.

A soft smile turns the corners of his lips upwards. This is the best scent of them all. Her scent. Unique and sweet and intoxicating. He never thought something could ever smell so good. His eyes open again when she gently nudges him into the ribs, presenting him with a smile of her own. Her hand slips into his effortlessly, as if it is the most natural thing to do. It still amazes him that it makes him feel comfortable, the way she smiles at him, touches him. It should feel awkward. It should feel wrong. No commitment. It's never been different and he was fine with that but with her, everything _is_ different now. He doesn't know what to make of it but he _wants _her to be close, to touch, to care.

He squeezes her fingers and holds onto her tightly. He's very aware of the way her hand perfectly fits into his, the warmth of it, the softness of her skin. It shouldn't matter but it does. Her smile widens and she squeezes back, slightly tugging as she does.

"Come on, lets have some fun," she says as she starts walking down the sunlit street, dragging him after her. He lets her even though he doesn't have a clue what she means by having _some fun_. It certainly is not the kind of fun he used to have whenever he came across a town in the past and he is about to ask her what she has in mind when she turns her head and smiles at him again. Her eyes are alight with joy, cheeks flush from sun and excitement and it takes his breath away, making him forget his question and everything else and so he says nothing and allows her to lead the way to wherever she sees fit.

While they walk, he lets his eyes wander. He tries to see what she sees when she walks the still slightly unfamiliar streets of Amaranthine: laughing kids on the cobblestone, chasing each other; vendors shouting out their prices to the passing crowd; the bright colors of the sun shields over the market stalls, blowing lazily in the warm breeze, competing with the reds and violets and blues of flower pots in front of windows and doors.

He tries to see all that instead of the things his eyes so easily find among the people and the flowers and the stalls: templars patrolling in the streets; escape routes through backyards and over rooftops; places that will hide him from prying eyes if nothing else works.

It's hard but he tries and her hand still in his helps. Her hand and the confidence she radiates with every determined step. He's grateful for it. It makes him remember that he's free now and that there's no need for him to look for escape routes and hiding places anymore. He takes a deep breath and allows himself to relax his guard, if only just a little, concentrating on her again instead of the gloomy thoughts that threaten to invade his mind.

They have come to a stop in front of a stall that has bread and sweet buns for sale and he listens to her haggling with the vendor for two of the buns. When she comes back she offers him one of the still warm pastries and he takes a bite even though he is not really hungry. It's sticky-sweet flavor and doughy consistency sweeps one of the more pleasant memories he has of the circle to the surface: Him sitting in a corner of the kitchen, hidden from too curious eyes and with the same taste in his mouth, just that back then, it had not been her giving him the bun but the nice cook he always tried to keep on good terms with.

"What are you smiling about?" he hears her ask and only then he realizes that he is smiling indeed.

"I was thinking about… a friend who used to make those," he hesitantly replies after a moment. He doesn't want to bring up the circle. Talking about the circle will only result in him remembering the bad things, no matter how good the initial memory might have been in the first place and he really doesn't want to ruin this day that has started out so pleasantly.

She seems to feel his reluctance to elaborate and for once, she does not prod. Instead, she takes his hand again and leads him further down the street and along the rows and rows of stalls. It obviously is what she means when she talks about having fun; strolling over a market place full of noisy, lively people, looking at wares he could not even dream of ever having the coin to purchase and stuffing their bellies with all kinds of sweets. And to his surprise, he enjoys it. He's never had that luxury of just strolling a market before and now that he has, it _is _fun and it seems she knew that all along.

Her sudden overjoyed squeal shakes him out of his contemplations and he feels the pull on his hand getting stronger as she makes a beeline to a stall not too far ahead.

"Oh look at that!" she exclaims and he grins with the childlike glee in her voice although he has no idea what caused that sudden outburst. His eyes follow her outstretched hand to the display of fruits in front of them. He catches the scent of oranges, apples and lemons and a few other fruits he's never seen before. The whole stand smells like some exotic, far away place, reminding him of palm trees, oceans and sand and the impression is only increased by the Antivan merchant behind it, immediately starting to haggle with her in his heavy, pleasant accent.

He stays back and just listens to the back and forth between his lovely but persistent companion and the just as persistent vendor. Her hands move through the air like little birds and there is no doubt that she's enjoying this immensely and he can't help for the grin still on his face to widen. She looks more happy than he's seen her ever since the death of her brother and that makes him happy in return.

After a few minutes, she turns back around, a pale-red, rough looking fruit the size of an apple in her hand and a wide smile on her face. She guides him around the booth to a low stonewall, sitting down and gesturing at him to do the same. Her gray-blue eyes look at him expectantly, as if he should know what exactly it is that has her all giddy in anticipation.

"Pomegranates," she explains when she sees his frown and it dawns on her that he might not have seen this particular fruit before. "My father brought them home sometimes when he's been at the market in Val Royeaux. You have to try it, it tastes just wonderful."

She produces a small knife from somewhere in her pockets and cuts through the rough paring, revealing the blood-red pits on the inside. Peeling some of the capsules out, she places them into his open palm and he watches in mild curiosity how they glisten in the light of the sun like little jewels. It is the strangest fruit he's ever seen and he's a little skeptical. He hears her chuckle with his hesitation and looks up at her.

"They will neither bite you, nor are they poisonous," she states matter-of-factly, popping some of the pits into her mouth. Her face lights up with pure delight and she gives a low, luxurious sigh.

He shudders. If from the sudden breeze that ruffles his hair or that small, entrancing sound of hers he does not know. All he can do is stare, fascinated. At her eyes that flutter shut with the taste of the fruit. At the way her tongue licks at the bright red juice on her lips that makes them shine like rubies.

And it makes him want to kiss her. Badly. He wants his first ever taste of this foreign fruit to come from those ruby lips and without him even noticing, he raises a hand to her neck and runs his fingers over the tender skin there, gently pulling her head closer.

Her eyes fly open again and come to rest on his that stare at her mouth like hypnotized. He hears the shuddering breath she inhales and exhales again before he closes his mouth over hers in a slow, tender kiss. His tongue slides over her lower lip, tasting the sweet, rich aroma of the small, shiny capsules before he moves further in to circle her tongue with his. As he does, the taste gets more intense, sweetness mixing with sourness, her flavor mixing with the flavor of the pomegranate. He feels his head spinning, drunk with her taste, her touch, her scent.

She shivers. Her hand comes up against his chest, grabbing a handful of his shirt and dragging him even closer and he hears that sound again, that sigh, now husky and wanting. He intensifies the kiss, not caring that they sit on a stonewall out in public, not caring about the partly amused, partly indignant looks they get from the people passing by. Every sound, every move except for hers are dulled and unimportant.

"You're right," he breathes when they finally part again. "Tastes wonderful."

He runs his thumb over her still slightly parted lips and smiles when she shivers again, eyes still closed, cheeks delightfully flush. She takes a shuddering breath and opens her eyes. The expression in them makes him swallow. Loving. Caring. Wanting. It is an expression he's not used to and it touches something inside him he thought dead for a long time and it makes him wonder why. Why does she care? Why does she want? Why is it important?

"Told you so," she whispers back. The smallest of smiles creeps into the corners of her mouth and he forgets about the why. When she picks at one of the still untouched pits in his hand and holds it up in between two fingers for him to take he doesn't hesitate. He leans in and plucks it from her hand with his teeth, tongue snaking over her skin as he does. Her gray-blue eyes take on a darker shade, like a thunderstorm in summer and he hears her breath hitching in her throat.

He keeps his eyes on her as he squashes the fruit capsule between his tongue and palate, feeling the sweet juices exploding in his mouth. He wants to remember every last second of this moment. How everything is just perfect. All the little things that _make _it perfect: the way she looks right now, how her skin feels under his lips, how the taste of pomegranates on his tongue will always remind him of her. This moment, right here, gives him something he did not know he was lacking: the new and unexpected realization that life can be good; that, maybe, it is possible even for him to be happy.

Her hand slips into his again, dragging him up from their seat on the stonewall.

"Take me back to the inn," she asks of him in a low voice, leaving no doubt as to what they would do once they're back in the seclusion of their room. He bows his head and places another soft kiss on her lips before he turns to comply with her wish and as they again walk down the sunlit cobblestone street he feels free and happy and content. Life can be good. Even for him.


End file.
