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[Sandtigress]

SurelyForth wrote...

 The Earring
Bumping for a new short, and to get Sandi excited over the possibility that I've done another Ron story.

lol Wait, waht????  How did I just see this now?  Spill spill spill spill.....

[SurelyForth]

Yankee23 wrote...

That made me smile, very good!

Thanks!

@Sabreene I don't think I could write that kind of Anders/Alistair story at the moment, tbh. Not to say that I haven't come close (or would be opposed to it in the future once my head is cleared of angst...)

@Sandtigress

[Sandtigress]

SurelyForth wrote...
@Sandtigress

:?:crying::crying:

[SurelyForth]

Desperate Times...

Inspired jointly by Chasind Robes Anders and the Anders thread reaching page 100:

"You have one hundred freckles," his Commander squinted her eyes and examined the area at the top of his left cheekbone. "Yep. One hundred."

Anders withdrew, eyebrow raised in some mingling of confusion and amusement.

"That explains why your lips were moving while I dressed your shoulder," he frowned. "One hundred? That seems like a lot."

"Thirteen on your left cheek, seventeen on your right and sixty-eight on your chest. And two right there," her fingertip poked against his sternum, in the dead center of a brass ring that anchored his robes. "Technically your chest, but more fun to count separately since they're sequestered."

"Freckles...it's all this tramping about in this sun. I had no idea that Wardens would spend so much time...tramping about in the sun. Don't get me wrong, it's better than the alternative, but I've been hidden away in a tower for the past several years, sun isn't really a thing there. And these robes aren't really doing much to help matters."

These robes, flattering as they were, had been the bane of his existence since she'd tossed them in his direction, his own robes ruined by gallons of darkspawn blood. They stank, they itched, and they felt forever on the verge of disintegrating right off of his body.

Which would, admittedly, be a neat trick in some situations, but was not something he cared to have happen in the middle of a darkspawn attack. Genlocks and their grabby hands.

"You should have seen Oghren the day after we left Orzammar," she laughed and looked over to where to dwarf was propped up against a nearby tree, engaged in lively conversation with his flask."His skin was indistinguishable from his hair. Wynne had to slather him in ointments and I ended up buying him a silk balaclava to wear until his face healed."

"It was lavender," Oghren smiled toothily. "I let Felsi wear it once when we tumbled...I think it might be how the nuglet happened."

"See? It could be worse. Freckles are," she shrugged."And they give me something to do when I have to hold still and let you poke at me."

And how he wanted to say something letchy in response to that, because the invitation was there. But he refrained because all he needed was for Oghren to join in and go too far, like he did, and then the Commander would be glowering and might even stop opening herself up for such banter. Which would be a shame.

"One hundred and one..." she pointed to a speck on his right pectoral that was barely any darker than the skin around it. "I bet we could get to one-fifty just standing here."

"Ugh, let's not," Anders was feeling suddenly self-concscious. Although he didn't mind being ogled, he'd rather it be for something a little less silly. "And we will be finding me some new robes in Amaranthine."

"You know, a king wore those," she looked vaguely offended on the robes' behalf. "And we will if we have the gold."

"You know what that means, don't you Sparky?" Oghren pulled away from the tree. "No more slacking while the Commander loots. You have to get dirty if you want nice things around here."

He looked down at his robes again, dingy brown and oh, they smelled like death. But looting? Pawing on corpses was not his idea of fun.

"One hundred and...six!" That was Oghren.

Looting it would be, then.

Modifié par SurelyForth, 14 septembre 2010 - 03:43 .

[Addai]

That was cute! Hurrah for the Chasind robes.

[SurelyForth]

Advice for the King

"So you're telling me that the King of Ferelden is a…" Anders searched the ceiling for a word that was just not coming to mind so ridiculous was the situation. "He's a virgin? Is he five?"

"I am right here, you know," Alistair scowled at the mage. "Ron, did you really have to invite him to this? Oghren was bad enough. Well, before he passed out."

Anders lolled his head to look at his commander and was profoundly unsurprised to see that he wore his usual expression of bemused detachment.

"I couldn't invite everyone but him," Ron shrugged and tugged thoughtfully at a loose strand of black hair. "And, to be fair to Anders, you're the one who keeps asking for advice on how to handle...things."

Alistair sank back against the plush settee, his scowl intensifying and his cheeks turning a most delightful shade of pink. Anders couldn't help but smile at his king's misfortune, because it was the sort of misfortune that wasn't misfortune at all.

"Oh, listen you! 'I'm a king and my beautiful betrothed wants to do all sorts of depraved things to me'," Anders stretched languidly and sat up, one arm flopping across Alistair's shoulders. He ignored the pointed look that clearly said what do you mean, with the touching? "This is what you need to do: take her to a semi-secluded location, get naked, mostly naked, or at least exposed, find something to grab onto and just go for it. And by it I mean..."

"Anders," Ron had one eyebrow raised in as close to disapproval as the elf came. "You are about to give Alistair a coronary."

Alistair did seem to have gone a bit pale at the mention of naked and exposed.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Anders pulled his arm away like he might catch something. "You're really that repressed? I thought being a king was all busty courtesans and naughty maids and orgies after tea."

"I was raised in the Chantry," Alistair was back to furious blushing. "I was going to be a templar...they think it unwise to teach us how to...woo a woman only to take away the option the moment we take our vows."

"And after you left you never once thought to, you know, go for it? I can think of about ten ways you could get it with no effort, and I'm incredibly drunk. Actually, being drunk might account for five of those..."

"I just want it to be better than..." Alistair's hands went out and he was making the most awkward grabby gestures with his fingers.

Anders didn't even know...his eyes met Ron's and he was glad to see this had gotten a concerned reaction, at least.

"I'm blaming you for his continued inexperience," Anders tilted his head, wondering why he should blame anyone at all. "Or maybe Lady Cousland should blame you for the fact that she's marrying a man who thinks he should approach her chest like it's a giant abacus."

"Ron's first time wasn't until the Blight," Alistair took a moment away from staring at his hands in horror to point this out. "Although I always imagined it went something like 'Shut up, elf, and get in my tent' followed by 10 minutes of black."

"So I told you?" Ron was smiling when said this. "And, actually, she told me that her tent was cold."

"Really? And you fell for that?" Alistair shuddered. "You are lucky to be alive."

From what Anders had heard of his commander's former lover, Ron was just lucky.

"That's your problem, your majesty," it took Anders a moment to find the edge of the settee so he could command a little more attention. "You're supposed to fall for it. When you're eating dinner and Lady Cousland grabs your knee..."

"Thigh. Upper thigh. Actually, I don't think the part of the leg she was going for qualifies as leg anymore. But continue."

"You're supposed to acknowledge it, and encourage it. Stop thinking about what Sister Coldfish told you about touching when you were eleven, and think about the hand and where it's going and where it wants to go."

"And...let it?" The king's voice was a squeak, his knees discreetly shifting.

"You mean let her grope you right there at the table?" Anders snorted. "I think that beardy man who is always buzzing around you might find it inappropriate, but you are the king. So sure! But really, you just need to stop worrying about your hands, and being bad at it, because that will make you bad at it. And outside of poking her eye out or setting her hair on fire, it's all very foolproof."

"And if she's half as into you as she seems to be, chances are she'll forgive you if you're a little awkward...or slobbery."

"I hadn't thought about slobber," Alistair sank even further onto the settee. "Maybe I should just resign myself to the fact that my wife is going to have a constant stream of lovers because I drooled on her."

"Or maybe you can stop being self-defeating and ask Anders about his first time," Ron smirked triumphantly, happy to be able to deflect things back onto the mage. Anders glared at him. "Hey, you're the one who mentioned setting someone on fire."

"Not someone," Anders leaned back, mimicking Alistair's formerly forlorn posture. Of course, now the king was looking positively gleeful. "It was just her hair. Not...anything else. What? I was still an apprentice, she was already a mage and had a whole bag of tricks I'd never even dreamt of. Very intense things happened and my fingertips may have caught on fire. A lot. While all tangled up in her hair."

"See, Alistair? Drool can just be wiped away, at least there's no chance for permanent damage," Ron looked at Anders, the expression in his grey eyes one of gratitude because Alistair appeared immensely relieved. "And I can't see your future wife holding out on you for...how long was it before you could convince another woman in the tower to let you touch them?"

Anders seriously disliked his commander sometimes. Him and his stupid memory.

"I refuse to answer that," Anders glowered and tried not to think about those four years when he got more when he escaped than he did in the tower. "And I expect a handsome gift from our future queen if you do ever manage to seal the deal."

"Oh, of course. With a note that reads 'And I especially appreciate that he lit candles to set the mood, and not me'," Alistair and Ron both chuckled over this for far too long.

Anders flung himself back on the settee and decided then that, king and commander or no, he felt perfectly justified in hating them both.

[Yankee23]

"Or maybe Lady Cousland should blame you for the fact that she's marrying a man who thinks he should approach her chest like it's a giant abacus."



This was great!

[SurelyForth]

Thanks! I find Virgin King Alistair to be an endlessly delightful concept.

[Sandtigress]

Ron!  :wub::wub:

Wait, were there other people in that story?  No?  Okay.  *goes back to squeeing over Ron*

[Lady Jess]

ROFL!

[rak72]

Awww! I like that he still found his Lady Cousland.

[SurelyForth]

rak72 wrote...

Awww! I like that he still found his Lady Cousland.

And she's a total handful!

[SurelyForth]

Aw, it was bound to happen. Anders gets his revenge on Alistair for invading his prompt fill territory: Bold.

[SurelyForth]

A fill for Andraste's Knicker-weasels, the Anders lj community:



Looking- NSFW

[SurelyForth]

A fill for the Anders thread!



The Zombie Chicken and Other Assorted Indignities

[SurelyForth]

Another fill for the Anders thread!



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