@Gala I'm glad! I was afraid you'd find it creepy, but I am seriously in love with them. We've decided that they're kind of like Calvin and Hobbes, which makes it even better.
Aaaaaand, prompt fill. It's too long and a deliberately soapy (but not too much so). It has no title because I'm freaking exhausted.
Credit to Miri for setting me up for some of Alistair and Anders' dialogue at the end.
----
"
I don't know why Ron keeps sending me," Anders gave a careless shrug and threw himself down on the couch in King Alistair's office. "I guess, since he plans on staying in Denerim for a few months after the wedding, he wants to get as much taken care of at the Vigil as he can."
The wedding. It wasn't supposed to be
on anymore. According to Ron, he was getting letters every day from his friend the fretful king and every day it was something
else.
"Do you remember me telling you about that pirate that I met in the Pearl? Apparently Lady Cousland knows her, too. It's off." "Eamon refuses to uninvite 300 guests, some of whom are already on their way from the Free Marches and Orlais. It's back on." "Oh, it's off again. He tried to kiss her and he missed her mouth. There's more to it than that, but it's pretty much the most heartbreaking thing I've ever read." "I don't know, Anders. Last I heard it was on? I still need you to take these papers to him and there's a package at the Wonders of Thedas. It's a special order item that you'll have to pick up. You might as well pack enough to last through the wedding. Assuming there is
a wedding and we don't end up having to chase a runaway groom across the Amaranthine Ocean. I can't imagine Eamon would be pleased with that." "The wedding," Alistair buried his face in his hands, cheeks turning pink. Anders knew the man didn't care much for him, and he knew that he had
every reason to not care for him. Things must be
excruciating if Alistair was willing to let himself open up to
the mage. "It almost makes me wish I'd taken my vows after all."
"That sounds like a pleasant situation," Anders rolled his eyes at the
dramatics. "I know I'd like a monarch with a debilitating addiction and a crippling amount of religious fervor."
"I don't know about the
fervor, but I've become pretty attached to this cheese that some prince in Antiva sent me a few weeks ago. I can't promise that I won't turn ugly once
that runs out," he looked up, and his forehead bore markings transferred from his stained fingertips.
"Have you even
tried to follow my advice?" Anders felt a funny drop in his stomach, the same drop that happened every time it was
wedding on, but he was compelled by his nature to sell this the best he could. "And if not my advice, how hard can it be? Do...things not
work or something?"
"Maker help me," Alistair buried his face into the pile of papers in front of him. "Everything works," this was muffled. "
Too well, sometimes."
Anders laughed, as much at the king's discomfort as what he was saying.
"Again,
this is where you're wrong. There is no such thing as
that working
too well," he swung his feet back onto the floor and put his elbows on his knees. "Have you never read a book? Or fantasized about a woman before? Have you ever touched yourself and..."
"
Whoa," Alistair's head came up and he was so flushed that even his
hair seemed more red. "Listen, I've done...
that.
Plenty of times."
He drew a deep breath and stood to walk around his desk, perching himself on the corner the way Ron was fond of doing, only
his feet touched the wool rug below.
"It's just...I heard things before I met her, things that made me think
Wow, this could actually be awesome! but then," he couldn't look Anders in the eye. "Then she walked into the Landsmeet chamber and every other man in the room was staring at her right along with me. But the difference between those men and me is that
they all know what to do with a woman like her. I don't. I don't know the first
thing. You say to grab her and just go for it, but I don't want to
be another guy who grabbed her and
just went for it. But I don't know what else to do with a woman like that."
"You keep saying
a woman like that," Anders frowned. "Like what? Willing to be grabbed?"
"
Yes. From what I've heard, she's been grabbed a
lot," Alistair's brow knitted in frustration. "I know you think it's ridiculous, but this is
important to me. I want my relationship with my wife to be special. And I don't know what I can offer a woman that takes intimacy so lightly, never mind the
other implications."
Anders had kept his face neutral for most of this, the cadence of
he's the king he's the king he's a templar
he's the king echoing in his head making it slightly easier to control his tongue, which wanted to get him into all sorts of trouble with a lengthy tirade of why
exactly Alistair's being a judgmental bastard was the
real problem. Instead he cleared his throat, raised an eyebrow, and said:
"So it's not that you're afraid of her, or that you feel inadequate...you don't want to be with her because you don't think she's
special enough for you to be with," Anders abandoned tact. "I bet she hasn't picked up on that
at all."
I don't need true love or anything, but I don't want to be amisery
for the rest of my life. "You're a judgmental bastard," Anders thought about beautiful green eyes, a bright smile and a
tongue that had more personality than most
people he knew. "Sex isn't
sacred. Sex is fun and
not always meant to be taken seriously. And just because she's not particular about who grabbed her in the past doesn't mean she can't commit herself to one set of hands."
For a few seconds Alistair looked as if Anders had treated him to an open palm across his face. Then he appeared vaguely guilty. Then...
something.
"You have stupid hair."
"
What?"
Did he just insult my hair
? Alistair's entire face frowned.
"Your hair...what do you think you are? A
pirate? And you and I
both know that you must use some sort of magic process to keep it so
smooth."
"Are you talking about that one day?" Anders stood up. "It was
humid. Everyone's hair does that when it's humid."
Snorting, Alistair also got to his feet.
"Yes,
everyone's. Face it,
you have
secretly floofy hair."
"Is this because I called you out for being bit of a jackass? Fine. Your hair is also stupid. How much time do you waste every morning getting it to be so painstakingly upright yet tousled in the front?"
"No more than ten minutes. Unless I go to bed with it wet...then it might take fifteen, " one hand went up protectively. "Why?"
"Oh, I'm not going to set it on fire or anything. I'm just going to stand here thinking that you look
ridiculous. I've seen Orlesian women with more stylistic restraint than you."
"Then can we talk about your
perfect scruff?" Alistair ran his fingers over the scraps of beard that darkened just below his lip but nowhere else. "I've traveled with you and have seen you at almost every hour of the day, and yet it is always
that."
"Maybe it's fake?" The voice startled them both as they whipped around to confront the woman in the doorway. She stepped forward, her green eyes searching Anders' face and he had to fight to keep himself from gathering her up and taking her to the nearest room with even the slightest amount of privacy. "My brother stole hair from our barber once and pasted to his face. Maybe your friend does the same thing? It hardly seems fair to call him out on it."
Alistair smirked slightly.
"Anders, this is Lady Cousland, my betrothed" he gestured towards her but seemed incapable of looking at her for longer than two seconds at a time, almost as if he was terrified that prolonged exposure would blind him or make him a depraved, sex-crazed maniac. "Brandelyn, this is Anders. He's one of our Grey Wardens. And, for
some reason, Ron keeps sending him here."
"Anders?" She extended a strong, pale hand and Anders took her fingers in his as gently as he could, trying to be courtly and
not like he'd had them in his mouth a little over a month ago. "Excellent name."
"I wish I could say the same for
Brandelyn," his lips curved up at the corner and he was glad to see her eyes brighten in response to the joke.
"Call me Brand," she withdrew her hand and regarded Alistair for a few moments. "So are you guys going to keep going on about each other's hair? It sounded like you were having a good time."
Alistair shook his head.
"I have documents to review, and Anders is supposed to be checking references for his Commander," he glared at the mage, although he seemed to be more nervous than angry. "We should probably get back to business."
"Then I'll excuse myself," she bit her lip as if to hold back words that wanted to fall out of her mouth but shouldn't. "It was a pleasure to meet you, ser mage."
She left and Anders stared after her.
"Yes, I can see why the thought of touching
her makes you ill."
"
Floofy."
Anders stalked out at that and was more than happy to be pulled into a small storage closet halfway between Alistair's office and the library, his mouth finding hers in the darkness and his fingers curling into the silken cool hair at the base of her neck.
"Hey, Anders?"
He loved the way she said his name, even only having heard her say it twice.
"Have you ever noticed that Alistair's hair looks sort of like a crown on its own?"
He smiled against her lips and then
laughed a few minutes later when she paused her progress down his stomach just long enough to amend her previous observation:
"Actually, it looks more like a
tiara. With some wilty bits."
Not special enough his floofy-haired ass.
Modifié par SurelyForth, 08 octobre 2010 - 01:46 .
. But floofy hair FTW!
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