111 réponses à ce sujet

[Sandtigress]

I would think envy in the sense that Cailan hero-worshiped the Wardens and wishes he could be one - I'm almost surprised that he never asked to join himself. Or heck, maybe he did and Duncan turned him down. "You're king" is probably enough reason to say no, never mind the fact that I don't think Duncan would want him in the Wardens anyways.



Honestly, I think Cailan is too naive to have done something as petty as send Alistair to Ishal so he wouldn't have glory on the battlefield. I'm more in the camp that says he did it to preserve the Theirin bloodline in case something should befall him on the battlefield. Theirin men just seem the good sort - their hearts tend to be in the right place and there rarely seems to be pettiness about them. While they are a bit clueless, they're not stupid either. Seeing his half-brother discretely out of harm's way does sound like something he would do.

[Miliat]

I think its funny that it seems so easily part of Cailan's character, to be jealous of his half-brother who has had a crappy life, when he has been given everything. I always see Cailan as being a touch spoiled, and unable to really see out of his own worldview. I still love him though.

[Miliat]

Sandtigress wrote...

I would think envy in the sense that Cailan hero-worshiped the Wardens and wishes he could be one - I'm almost surprised that he never asked to join himself. Or heck, maybe he did and Duncan turned him down. "You're king" is probably enough reason to say no, never mind the fact that I don't think Duncan would want him in the Wardens anyways.

Honestly, I think Cailan is too naive to have done something as petty as send Alistair to Ishal so he wouldn't have glory on the battlefield. I'm more in the camp that says he did it to preserve the Theirin bloodline in case something should befall him on the battlefield. Theirin men just seem the good sort - their hearts tend to be in the right place and there rarely seems to be pettiness about them. While they are a bit clueless, they're not stupid either. Seeing his half-brother discretely out of harm's way does sound like something he would do.

Actually, I don't think Cailan is as naive as he lets on. Sure he comes across as overconfident and definitely seems to hero worship the Wardens, but I really do feel he is a bit of a glory seeker. While I believe that he sent Alistair away as to not get any glory, I also believe that he sent him away to preserve the bloodline in case of something happening. He seems cocky, comes across not exactly smart, but I do believe he was smarter than what people tend to believe about him. He has a public face, and we're not exactly shown much of his private one save for a moment of interaction with Loghain, and the letters found in RtO.

[amethyst_rose2009]

Freckles, as always, I loved it!   I could definitely see Alistair's and Cailan's accidental meeting happening like that with all the tension and awkwardness.  And am I the only one who wanted to smack Cailan for talking down to Alistair like that?  Of course he is the king and can get away with such things, but it just seems he would go out of his way to belittle Alistair.

I agree with both theories about Ishal.  I think that Cailan was trying to protect the Theirin bloodline by keeping Alistair away from the main battle, but also he probably was trying to keep Alistair from sharing in the glory if the battle had gone well.

Modifié par amethyst_rose2009, 27 février 2010 - 04:39 .

[Kahlmulandr]

[MireliA]

Of all Cailan's failings I don't think that pettiness was among them, either. Envy though, that might have been part of it.



Like the pic Kahlmulandr

[amethyst_rose2009]

Yikes, Kahlmulandr!     Ow my eyes.  Now I've got to go gawk at Alistair some more to recover.

[Jules8445]

Another great chapter! I kind of wanted to kick Cailan in the face like some of the other people when he dismissed Alistair so summarily. Still can't wait for more!

[Sandtigress]

Maybe its the optimist in me, but I actually didn't really see it as a Cailan summarily dismissing Alistair, at least not in a cruel or casual sense. What else was he really supposed to say to his bastard half-brother, especially with another Warden who didn't know the truth standing right there? He can't very well slap him on the back and give him a brotherly hug or something. I'm not sure Cailan would have done that anyways, and he didn't respond in the most graceful matter, but he was probably pretty shocked himself. lol But then, this is the person who keeps getting suckered into sparing Loghain - Leliana would rightly call me a softie, I think.

[amethyst_rose2009]

Yeah, I can see your point of view as well.  For a long time I wanted to think that Cailan sent Alistair to the tower of Ishal to protect his brother, not just to protect the bloodline.  I think the resentment toward Cailan just comes from the fact that Alistair was treated so terribly growing up like he was an awful mistake or something, while Cailan got everything he ever wanted.  But it wasn't Cailan's fault that Alistair was treated so badly as a child.  Who knows.....maybe they could have eventuallly become friends if Cailan didn't get .......squished.

[Freckles04]

Destiny Whispers

Sunlight speared Alistair's eyes. He blinked, then wished he hadn't. His room came into view blearily, unfocused, and the oddity of it set his brain to thundering in protest. Why in the Maker's name did it feel like someone was jumping on his head? No, not jumping on it; jumping in it, bouncing off the inside of his skull. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut again. Had there been a battle of some kind? Was he wounded?

Fuzzy memories surfaced. Dinner with the Grey Wardens, a somber affair as everyone felt the loss of Garth and Erik. And then...

"Oh, I didn't." He moaned and shoved his face into his pillow. His thoughts weren't totally clear yet--Maker knew if they ever would be again--but he recalled that plainly.

At some point last evening, after a round or two of ale had already flowed, Alistair had remarked that although Gregor was always drinking, he never got drunk. Bolstered by encouragement from the other Wardens, he'd smirked and suggested that...oh, holy Maker, had he really suggested that Anders must be like cows, with a separate stomach devoted totally to ale drinking?

It was a wonder that he'd woken up at all instead of being bashed to the Maker's side by Gregor's massive warhammer.

Gregor had frowned and roared across the hall that he would drink one pint for every half-pint the rest of the Wardens drank. And the game was on.

Everything got rather muddled after that.

The estate was relatively quiet. No one seemed to have any need for him at the moment, anyway. Thank Andraste for small favors. No point in dragging his aching head out of bed, then. Alistair pulled the blanket up over his face to block the strengthening sun and drifted back to sleep.

#

He stood in the Deep Roads, surrounded by darkspawn, but he wasn't afraid. None of them seemed to notice him. Instinct shouted at him to attack, but he wasn't an idiot, for all that he acted like one sometimes. Starting a fight here, now, would be suicide. He might as well run himself through and save the darkspawn the trouble.

Funny that he knew he was in the ancient dwarven tunnels. He'd never seen them before, but he recognized them instantly. Then again, where else would this be? He was underground, rough stone arching above him, in the midst of a darkspawn swarm--the Deep Roads seemed the most likely candidate for his location.

And still the darkspawn did not heed his presence.

Alistair took a step forward, then another when none of the creatures reacted. They all seemed to be focused on something in front of them, leaning forward like flowers yearning for sunlight. He found himself craning his neck too, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever it was that had enthralled them so.

Something big exploded upwards. Alistair stumbled back a step as his eyes tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Wings, teeth, talons, tail...

Maker. A dragon.

It thudded to the ground in front of him, crushing the darkspawn that stood there. The creatures didn't move, didn't scream; they simply allowed themselves to be stepped upon without protest. Alistair staggered back a handful of steps, and reached for his sword...but his sword and shield weren't there.

The dragon shifted forward, its twisted, veiny aubergine skin pulsing. It brought its head down and angled it so one soulless eye looked upon the ex-templar standing before it. The eye narrowed, almost like...almost like it recognized him.

Alistair's heart and lungs refused to work. His feet wouldn't move. The dragon turned its head again, and roared at him...a horrible, ungodly noise that filled his brain until he couldn't think. It reached forward--

He jolted upright, screaming.

"Alistair! Lad, what is it?"

He scrambled back across the bed, away from the voice, until his back met the wall. His heart pounded against his breastbone; his breaths wouldn't slow. Incoherent prayers fumbled through his mind.

"Alistair! Focus!"

He blinked and the vision of the dragon faded. "Duncan?"

"Yes, lad. Are you all right?" The dark-skinned man's brows drew into a frown.

"I--" Alistair shook his head. It still ached, though from the hangover or the awfulness of the dream, he didn't know. "What are you doing here?"

"When you didn't report for morning sparring, I decided to seek you out. Sleeping in, I see." A grin tugged at one corner of the Commander's mouth. "I thought for a moment that you had...someone...in your room."

"What? No..." Alistair closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands. "Was I the only one, then?"

"The only one still abed? I believe so. Lad, whatever possessed you to challenge Gregor to a drinking game?"

"No, no...not that. Duncan, I--" He scrubbed his hands over his face. "I dreamt of a dragon."

The older man froze. "A dragon," he repeated, his voice flat.

"Maker," Alistair whispered. "It was more than a dragon, I know it was. I was in the Deep Roads, surrounded by darkspawn, and it just erupted out of a crevasse, and...Andraste's ashes, Duncan. It looked at me. Like it knew me." He paused and regarded the Commander, trying to read the other man's expression. "It was an archdemon, wasn't it? I--I 'heard' it."

He expected the Commander to tell him that his dream was just that: a dream that meant nothing. Instead, Duncan closed his eyes and sighed. "Maker have mercy on us."

"Tell me I didn't dream of an archdemon," Alistair said.

"I wish I could, Alistair." Duncan opened his eyes again and took a deep breath. "I'd feared as much when we got close enough to the horde to sense its size, but, I'd hoped...no matter. We must warn the King."

"Based on my dream?" Alistair shook his head. "What if it's just my imagination?"

"We'll know by tomorrow, won't we?"

"By tomorrow..." The ex-templar frowned, then it dawned on him what Duncan meant. "If it's an archdemon, the others will dream tonight, won't they?"

"Just so. I'll ask for an audience with the King tomorrow. Either I'll have news to share about an unusually large darkspawn raid," Duncan said, "or news that a Blight has been unleashed upon Ferelden."

[Sandtigress]

Hey Alistair gets to do something special - he's the first to dream of an archdemon! Wait, that's not a good thing, is it...? Loved the dream, easy to get caught up in it and see it for yourself. Does this mean we get another Alistair and Cailan meeting before you're done? Does it?

[Palentor]

You are doing great implementing the anecdotes Alistair tells during Origins in his personal story and the events leading up to the point when we encounter him in Ostagar.

Fine storytelling indeed.

[Kahlmulandr]

[amethyst_rose2009]

The archdemon dream was very well written, so much so it sent shivers down my spine. *shudders*   I hope Ali gets to see Cailan again before leaving for Ostagar.

[Freckles04]

Comfort

Alistair sat upon his bed, looking out the window, as shouts rumbled through the estate's dark corridors. He hadn't allowed himself to succumb to sleep, and he wasn't too proud to admit it was because the thought of revisiting the archdemon terrified him.

He grimaced at the stars. On the one hand, Alistair supposed the screams from his fellow Wardens  meant he wasn't crazy. On the other...

Maker. A Blight.

He remained motionless throughout the night, absorbed in dark thoughts. When the sky began to lighten, he stirred, dressed, and left the compound.

He was only slightly surprised that his feet led him to the Chantry in the Market District. He paused outside of the squat building for a moment. A few of the lay sisters were already up and active, tending the gardens and offering food to the unfortunate souls who'd sought shelter on the Chantry's grounds for the night. He didn't resist the urge to seek out the comfort of the Chantry for himself.

He wasn't a particularly religious man; he never had been, a fact all of the brothers and sisters of the Redcliffe Chantry knew. More than one had tried to make him see the error of his ways, but he'd held them off with a smart comment or two--or ten--until they threw their hands up in submission and left him alone. But not wanting to devote his life to the Chantry didn't mean he didn't believe in the Maker. He did, absolutely. And right now, he needed some reassurance.

"Blessings of Andraste to you, lad," one of the revered mothers greeted him, her hands clasped in front of her. "What is it that you seek?"

Alistair glanced around the interior of the building, the familiar scents of old books and the easy hum of the Chant of Light washing over him. "I--I'm not sure, your reverence," he admitted sheepishly. "Could I...just sit for a time? Would that be all right?"

"Of course, child." She nodded, a gentle smile playing over her lips. She stayed by his side as he settled himself onto one of the benches arranged before the statue of Andraste with its holy flame, but Alistair didn't mind. It was better than being alone.

"What does the Chant say about darkspawn?" he asked suddenly. "I mean, I studied it, but it's been some time..."

"Darkspawn? Threnodies is the Canticle that speaks of the magisters' steps into the Golden City and the Maker's punishment." The revered mother frowned. Then she closed her eyes and recited:

There in the depths of the earth they dwelled,
Spreading their taint as a plague, growing in number
Until they were a multitude.
And together they searched ever deeper
Until they found their prize,
Their god, their betrayer.

Alistair nodded in recognition of the verse. He'd heard it before, but since joining the Grey Wardens, he'd avoided re-reading the Chant of Light. It had been rather a relief to be able to not study it, and he hadn't realized it might be a good idea to review the sections that dealt with the darkspawn.

"Is that what troubles you, child?" The revered mother sat on the bench beside him, smoothing her skirts with an absent hand. "Some worry about the darkspawn?"

"You could say that." Alistair gave her a crooked grin. "I'm a Grey Warden. New to the order, in fact."

"Ah, I understand." She nodded, her eyes on Andraste's stone image before them. "I can see why thoughts of those tainted creatures would weigh heavily on your mind."

One tainted creature in particular, but Alistair kept that news to himself. Ferelden would know soon enough that a Blight was upon them, and he wouldn't be the one to spread the word.

"Be comforted that you do the Maker's work, child," the revered mother said. "He has cast His gaze upon you, chosen you, for this most terrible of tasks. But He would not have done so if you were not prepared for it."

"I--" Alistair blinked and shook his head. "Thank you, your reverence. That helps. I'm not sure why," he said with a frown, "but it does."

"I will leave you to your ruminations, then. Maker watch over you, child. If you would like to receive His blessing before you leave, please seek me out." She rose and wandered away.

Alistair remained on the bench, lost in thought. After a time, he realized that the revered mother's words truly had helped. The debilitating terror that had gripped him the day before and hung on like a determined mabari had finally released him. He was scared, certainly; anyone with half a brain would be. But he felt...almost ready. More able to handle the challenge looming before him, at any rate.

He hoped.

He stood and proceeded to seek out the revered mother for the promised blessing. In one corner of the Chantry he came across a desk covered with scrolls. He frowned. The Chantry in Redcliffe hadn't had anything like this. He stopped in front of the desk and patiently waited for the sister ensconced behind it to look up.

"Aye, what?" she said after a moment. "Oh. Er, I mean, blessings upon you."

Alistair smiled. "I won't tell on you, don't worry."

She returned his smile. "I'm sorry. I was a little...caught up."

"So I see. What is all of this?" He waved a hand at the papers scattered about.

"The Archives," she said, a hint of pride in her voice. "I work with the Archivist to keep all of the records organized."

"Records of...?" Alistair raised a brow.

"Births, deaths, marriages, mostly," she said. "For all of Ferelden. Isn't it marvellous?"

"Uh, sure. If you say so." He crossed his arms over his chest. "So you'd have a record of my birth, then?"

"Indeed we would, if you were born in Ferelden in the last hundred years. Which, uh...I'm assuming you were," she amended. "Would you like me to look it up?"

Alistair shrugged. "Why not?"

"I'll need your mother's name and the location of your birth," the sister said, rising. "And the year helps, as well, but I can always make a guess."

"I was born at Redcliffe Castle," Alistair said. He trailed after the sister as she stepped into the stacks of scrolls that extended deeper into the Chantry building. "My mother's name was Evelyn Carthy."

"Pretty," the sister commented absently. "Redclifffe, is it? Let's see. Year?"

"Around Ten Dragon Age," Alistair supplied.

"Excellent. Give me a moment..."

Alistair leaned against one of the shelves as the sister searched. Seeing his name in print would be a novelty, but if she took much longer, he'd have to abandon the impulse. The Wardens would be rising soon, if they hadn't already, and would no doubt be wondering where he'd gone to.

"You're sure you were born in Redcliffe?" The sister's head poked around the shelf.

"Positive."

"I don't suppose your name is Goldanna?"

"What?" A startled laugh jerked out of Alistair's throat as he straightened. "No. Why?"

"Well...I found your mother's records. But there's no son listed under her name. It doesn't mean anything," she rushed on. "Sometimes the records get misplaced, or never get sent to us, or something like that. I did find a daughter named Goldanna, though."

"A what?" Alistair leaned a hand on the shelf, steadying himself. "A daughter?"

"It says so right here." The sister handed him the record. At the top was his mother's name. Beneath it was the name "Goldanna", with the location of her birth--Redcliffe--and the year, near the beginning of the Dragon Age.

"Holy Maker," he breathed. "I have a sister."

[Freckles04]

Preparations

Alistair stood behind Duncan as the Commander seated himself before the King's desk. Every muscle in his body seemed to have seized and he held himself rigidly, not meeting his half-brother's gaze. Apparently as the junior member of the Ferelden Wardens, he was obligated to accompany Duncan to meetings as a messenger, if necessary. Lucky him.

"Duncan!" Cailan greeted the older man with a warm smile. "I'm glad to see you made it back in one piece. What news do you bring?"

"Dire news, I'm afraid, your Majesty," Duncan said with a slight nod. "A darkspawn horde gathers in the south, within the Kocari Wilds."

"You jest, surely." Cailan's smile grew and he leaned back in his chair.

"If only, your Majesty. We had two teams scouting at the edges of the Wilds, and there is no doubt that this is indeed a horde. A large one."

"Truly? Like in the tales?" Something glittered in Cailan's eyes, a strange fire. Glory-hunting idiot. Alistair's lips twisted as he kept the thought to himself.

"I suppose, your Majesty. There is a good possibility that this is the start of a Blight."

"Just like the old tales then!" Cailan exclaimed. "Glorious. You saw the archdemon?"

"Not...exactly, your Majesty," Duncan admitted. "But that means little. It could be biding its time, waiting until its forces on the surface are strong enough before it appears."

"That would be the prudent course of action, wouldn't it?" Cailan raised a brow. "What counsel do the Grey Wardens offer, Duncan? I would be glad to hear it."

"Ferelden's armies should be gathered, your Majesty. I would also recommend contacting any international allies that Ferelden might have." Duncan hesitated only briefly before continuing. "If we are to defeat this Blight before it can decimate Ferelden and extend into other nations, we will need help. I will call on our brothers in Orlais for assistance."

Some of the light in Cailan's gaze dimmed. "That will not go over well with Loghain, I'm afraid."

"But it is necessary, your Majesty." Duncan crossed his arms. "If this is a Blight--and I believe with every fiber of my being that it is--it is a threat to the entire world. I cannot emphasize this enough. We must put aside our differences and seek out assistance from whoever can provide it."

Cailan chuckled. "Oh, you don't need to convince me, Duncan! I've read enough history books to understand what a Blight means and what it can do. I will begin preparing our forces immediately. Let me summon Teyrn Loghain, and we can discuss our strategy."

"An excellent plan, your Majesty." Duncan looked over his shoulder. "Alistair, will you tell Lieutenant Cedric to prepare a missive to the Wardens of Orlais?"

Alistair bowed slightly at the waist, his arms crossed over his chest. "Certainly, Duncan."

He left the room, feeling a bit like he'd escaped a jail cell. Hopefully they'd have new members soon, so he'd be able to pass on his messenger duties. That was two too many meetings with his brother.

#

Preparing an army for war takes time. In Ferelden, the King had his own royal army numbering in the thousands, but each of the teyrnirs had their own soldiers, and the bannorn as well. Organizing everyone into a cohesive force was not something that had been done in recent memory. Maric's army that had routed the Orlesians thirty years ago had been little more than a large band of misfits and farmers, with enough actual soldiers peppered through it to make winning less of a long shot. But marshalling actual armies to march to war? It was a new experience for many.

Alistair could tell that the delays in readying the troops wore heavily on Duncan. As a month passed and stretched into two, the Commander sent out regular patrols to help combat the darkspawn raids in the south. The horde itself hadn't acted, but smaller groups of darkspawn were getting increasingly daring, attacking large farmsteads and one or two villages. Each sortie lasted for roughly a fortnight, after which time the team would return and fresh Wardens would depart in their place.

Alistair had yet to serve on one of the patrols, and he was beginning to wonder why. But he kept his mouth closed for once. Duncan had enough to concern himself without adding any childish accusations of protectionism to the list.

Instead, he threw himself into training. Both to distract himself from the coming battle--no one had really talked about it yet, but it loomed over the Wardens' compound like a shadow--and to keep himself from obsessing about his sister.

He could scarcely believe it. A sister. He tried to squash the tiny kernel of hope in his chest, but it refused to die. Maybe...maybe she would be the one to accept him, like his father and brother never had. Maybe he'd finally have the chance to have a real family. Would she be proud of him?

The archivist's assistant at the Chantry had suggested that the Goldanna in the records might be the same one who worked as a washerwoman in the Market District, so he'd done some checking. It appeared that she was. Every time he thought about seeing her, though, he balked. Maker, what could he say? Hi, I'm your secret brother who happens to be a bastard prince; would you mind being my family?

The thought of writing her a letter was just as awkward. He'd started half a dozen times, only to toss the paper into the fire. He crushed the seventh attempt in his hand, and it met the same fate as the others. Maybe he should just give up on the idea. She was living her own life, and he had his now. He already had a family, of a sort; the Wardens certainly understood him far better than anyone else in his life had. They'd welcomed him without reservation, laughing at his jokes instead of chiding him for them, and his skills in battle did seem to be appreciated, even if Duncan hadn't yet assigned him to a patrol. Maybe...maybe it would be best just to leave this Goldanna alone.

"Feeding the fire, I see," Duncan said as he stepped into the library, amusement coloring his voice.

"Er..." Alistair gave him a crooked grin. "I suppose so."

"Penning a ballad, perhaps? Not turning out as you'd like?"

Alistair chuckled. "Nothing so grand. Just...a letter."

"Ah." The Commander nodded and settled into a leather chair near Alistair's desk, his eyes on the fire. "The armies march for the ruins of Ostagar at first light. Teyrn Loghain and the King have decided that is where we will battle the horde."

"Finally," Alistair breathed. He laid the pen on the desk. "We'll be accompanying them, I assume."

"Cedric will lead the Wardens alongside the King's army. I will not be with you."

Alistair's stomach clenched. "Duncan, you're not--"

The Commander shook his head with a smile. "No, lad, it's not my time yet. I'll meet you in Ostagar, but I need to seek out new recruits. We need them desperately. I've heard some news of a rather talented young woman in Highever by the name of Bryn, though I'm not sure her father will acquiesce to her recruitment."

"You allow women in the Wardens?"

"If they have the skill and the mettle to fight the darkspawn, certainly."

"Oh," Alistair said. "It's just...there aren't any right now."

"Not in Ferelden, no. Our numbers are so small, it's not surprising." Duncan shrugged. "If you're curious, there are pictures in the dining hall of some of the Wardens of old. I believe you'll find some women amongst them."

"Fair enough." Alistair leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "So, why are you concerned about gaining her father's permission? Can't you just conscript her?"

"Conscripting the nobility often has dire consequences, my boy," Duncan replied. "She's the youngest child of Teyrn Cousland."
 
Alistair raised his brows. "I can see where that might be problematic. We can't all be bastards that the family would rather ignore, right?"

A laugh jolted past Duncan's lips. "Just so, lad. Just so."

The silence stretched between the two men, not uncomfortably. After a few moments, Alistair spoke, his voice soft. "Duncan, you once asked what I wanted out of life."

"I recall," the Commander said.

Alistair's eyes flicked to the older man's stoic face, then back to the fire. "You were the first person to ever bother to ask me that, and I--I wanted to thank you. And to tell you I've figured it out."

"And what is it that you want out of life, Alistair?" Duncan smiled, his eyes crinkling.

The ex-templar returned the Commander's grin. "To be a Grey Warden, of course."

Duncan rose and clapped a hand to Alistair's back. "You'll do fine, lad. You'll do just fine."

---

Thank you to everyone for reading and commenting on this story. It was a lot of fun to write, taking the bits and pieces we learn about Alistair's short time with the Wardens and stitching it together.

For those of you who haven't read my novella, Repercussions, Bryn is the heroine of that tale and my "canon" character. I thought it would be fun to tie the two stories together.

[amethyst_rose2009]

*Applauds Freckles*  Loved it! 

[Sisimka]

You write Cailan really well! Great story Freckles.

[Treason1]

Very nice, Freckles.

[Palentor]

True Cailan 'Glorious' and 'Like in the tales of old', it so summoned up the entrance scene at Ostagar.

Great story and nice arc leading to your Origin.

And more Duncan. Yay.

[Sandtigress]

Hahaha, "glooooorious"! What a wonderful tale, Freckles, and I loved how you let him find Goldanna. And the fact that there's no son listed under his mother's name. ;-) As it should be!

Thank you so much for the story - can't wait to see what comes to your pen...er typing fingers...next!


ETA:  Did anyone other than me read "Hi, I'm your secret brother who happens to be a bastard prince; would you mind being my family?"  with the same inflection as Mr. Roger's "Would you be my neighbor?"  Or am I just going to feel really old now?

Modifié par Sandtigress, 28 février 2010 - 06:22 .

[Miliat]

*squeees*

[Kahlmulandr]

My thanks to you Freckles for taking the time to supply us with a wonderfully written story.

[Jules8445]

Fantastic, Freckles. I've not read your novella yet, but I'm headed there right this second. My crappy little one-shot pales in comparison. Can I be like you when I grow up?