She was drunk. Alastair was very aware of this fact. He watched as she stumbled into walls, doors, and anything remotely solid. He sighed, following her through her adventures of embracing lifeless barriers. The empire's forces finally managed to push back the Reinland army after a long and tough battle, and now they were supposed to be celebrating their victory. He wondered if she knew that.
"Stay still!" Alastair groaned, grabbing her and trying to hold her in place.
"I don't want to!" she whined, pushing him off of her. A little harder than she probably needed to, since Alastair was already skin and bones. He fell to the floor.
"Hey! That was uncalled for!".
She giggled. A bubbly and lighthearted sound. She laughed as if she had not just fought in a war. She laughed as if she had never had to go through any hard times in her entire life. She wobbled, legs unsteady. Then, she tripped, landing on top of Alastair, effectively using him as a landing pad.
He chocked back a cry of pain.
The impact knocked her out of her drunken delusion. She blinked, trying to remember what had happened. She looked at him, not seeming to be able to immediately recall who he was.
"Get. Off. Me."
Alastair's words cut into the silence, almost as hard as her elbow was cutting into his rib cage.
"And what if I don't?" she teased, digging her arm into his chest a little further. "What are you going to do about it?"
Alastair could barely form words, body cramping from the pain. "J-just s-stop..."
She quickly moved her arm, after seeing how much agony he was going through. "Sorry."
"It's...fine," he responded, massaging his torso. "What was your name again?"
"I'm Bellatrix," she said, sitting up and stretching out a hand in greeting. "You can call me Bella."
Alastair did not reply. Instead, he scooched himself next to a wall, using it to sit himself upright. He sucked in rough, ragged breaths. His heart pains were flaring up again. If only he had not been born a Sinclair. But in exchange for the powers he had been granted, this was a pain he had to endure.
"Are you alright?" Bella asked, coming over to him. She felt his forehead. "You don't have a fever."
"I'm fine," he replied, flinching away from her touch.
She waited for him to recover, kneeling on the floor next to him. The two of them, alone in the large, open expanse of the hallway. They sat there, in silence, staring at each other. Until Bella decided to speak.
"You're really pretty, you know."
Alastair was surprised. So surprised he coughed, choking on air. He blew his hair out of his face. But she only smiled, watching him get flustered, an amused look creeping onto her face.
"Say what now?" Alastair asked in disbelief.
"You're pretty. I like how you're so kind and caring to all the people around you. I like how your smile can light up my heart no matter how hard the battle is. I like how the wind ruffles your long, black hair. I like how you fuss about all these tiny little things that seem so insignificant to me, while you care about them very much. I like how majestic you looked, standing high on the fortress wall, playing your flute. I like all there is to like about you, and everything else too."
She bit her lip, eyes drifting away from his face.
"Is there anything you don't like about me?" Alastair asked, feeling very much astonished.
"I..." Bella started, seeming to find the ground very interesting. "I hate how your face is so pretty I just want to kiss you whenever I look at you!"
"O-oh..." Alastair stammered, unsure how he should reply to that.
She finally met his gaze, waiting for a response. "Could I...you know...just once? I want to know what it feels like."
Before he could reply, Bella leaned in, brushing his hair back from his forehead. She kissed him there, light and quick. She pulled away from him, hands over her face, realizing what she had just done. Mouthing a simple apology, she stood up and ran off down the hall, leaving Alastair to sit there, thinking about his life.
A moment later, he sighed. His faced burned with a sensation so foreign to him, yet so warm and wonderful. He started laughing. Lying down on the floor, he stared up at the ceiling, still mocking himself for his own foolishness. He tried to get her off his mind, but a single thought kept going through his head. Around and around it went, bouncing off the insides of his skull and driving him insane.
He liked Bellatrix.
And perhaps that was the last thought to go through his head before he died.