Prompt: It's good to be the King. (please note I wrote this on zero sleep and nothing to eat but reeses cups for 2 days >.>
Sighing miserably as the final ambassadors from Antiva, Orlais, and Anderfels left the room after a 6 hour trade summit that basically boiled down to "we saved your countries from experiencing the Blight, so pretty please give us reduced price grains, medicines, and farming equipment", Alistair Theirin wondered just what sin he had committed that made the Maker decide to throw him onto the throne via the machinations of his best friend and loyal advisor, Warden Commander Glorfindel Surana. Though only two years had passed since the two Wardens had outmaneuvered both of the Mac Tirs, defeated the Archdemon, and brought a semblance of order to Ferelden, the rebuilding process was still ongoing. Draining the dregs of his water, Alistair heaved himself out of his chair and started walking towards the door, hoping to sneak past Eamon as he looked through the trade agreement with a critical eye..."And just where do you think you're going, Your Majesty?"
Groaning under his breath, he turned to Eamon with a bright smile and said "Oh you know Eamon, I figured that since we just finished 6 hours of talking about food I would go get some." Feeling rather proud of himself that the statement had barely sounded a little bit sarcastic, he went to grab the door handle only to be pulled from his musing about what the cooks had made for dinner by Eamons' tired voice "Your majesty, we still need to review the Orlesian trade agreement, meet with the Antivan representative for dinner, and deal with the most recent complaint about your maleficar advisor from the Revered Mother." Glaring at the old man, Alistair murmured angrily about how being the King has done nothing good for him before pointing dramatically just behind Eamon yelling "Eamon, look out!" and dashing out the door as Eamon spun to face the apparent threat, pausing only to tell the guards outside the Chamber to under no circumstances allow the Chancellor to leave the room until Alistair was well down the hall.
Skidding around the corner of the long hallway, he winced as he heard the annoyed demands Eamon shouted down the hall that he come back and finish his duties before continuing his escape, knowing that he must look ridiculous charging down the hall in his finery like a small child escaping his fathers' wrath. Grinning, he dashed down the final hall towards his rooms only to let out a choked grunt as a hand lashed out from behind the tapestry of Calenhad the Great and pulled him behind it by the collar of his tunic. Spluttering in rage and grabbing for his boot dagger, he froze as he stared up into the smirking face of Glorfindel, the dark supposedly secret passage lit by the crackling ball of flame resting in the elfs hand. "Why hello falon, just where are you running off to in such a hurry?"
Brushing the dust and cobwebs off, Alistiar glared at his friend and advisor before bursting out into quiet laughter. "Why else do I run these days? Escaping Eamon and matters of state. I still dont know why I ever let myself be talked into accepting the throne, this is insanity. There is nothing good about being King!" Chuckling, the robed mage threw an arm around the still grumbling Kings' shoulder and walked him down the hidden passage before pausing and pushing him through a false wall of crates in the larder. "Alistair, you ordered the chefs to stock THIRTY SEVEN types of cheeses in the larder with the demand that you never taste the same cheese twice in a month!"
Grinning bashfully as he used his knife to carve out a hunk of cheese, Alistiar broke the Nevaaran spice cheese into two pieces and tossed one to the smirking mage, "Ok, maybe it *is* good to be the King."
Modifié par Glorfindel709, 09 janvier 2011 - 06:24 .