Was it any wonder she hated him? All the templar did was order her to kill her friends, called her people abominations to her face. Alistair had crushed her heart in his fist twice. Maker, she deserved better.
"Is it too much to ask that I'll turn around, head out of the river, and it's the year 9:30 all over again?" he shouted to the crisp night. Remembering he hadn't been alone, Alistair twisted up to where Cullen sat but he was gone. What kind of mess did he get himself into where the blight was happier times? Bathing in freezing cold rivers, eating something that approximated lamb stew if you didn't ask too many questions, facing death every minute of every day, falling head over heels in love with the woman at his side, feeling his stomach flip over his tongue whenever she laughed. Maker, he'd give anything to hear that laugh of hers again - loud, brash, and with a snort if you got lucky. People thought the grey warden Solona Amell was too stoic to laugh, joke around, or ever prank someone. They had no idea.
9:31 Denerim
Alistair slipped lower into the clawed tub built deep enough it could water a dozen horses if they all packed into the small side room. He'd forgotten to compensate for his own weight before leaping in and the stone floor circling it sparkled in the firelight. Despite not wanting a thing to do with the crown, nobility, and suffering a rash the moment anyone bowed to him, he did enjoy the perks that came with this potential kinghood. At least it meant he didn't have to bathe half frozen in a river while the assassin pretended to not watch.
Bobbing along the surface was the full bar of soap the servants entrusted him with before beating a hasty retreat. No one seemed to know what to make of the man who might be a king but probably shouldn't be. Even though he'd been to Eamon's estate as a child and knew where things were kept, the servants insisted they fetch everything for him. They'd at least been wise enough to leave a mountain of towels behind.
Alistair smacked down on the soap watching it bounce off the bottom of the porcelain tub only to rise up from its depths. "Nothing shall sink the royal Bubblecake! Not even giants from the north. Oh no, what's this?" With the scrubbing brush, or maybe some lady's hairbrush -- he wasn't certain -- Alistair hovered above the unaware sailors upon the Bubblecake. The poor men and women serving aboard had no idea they were about to be set upon by the bristles of doom. His hand slammed down, the brush smacking into the soap and splashing more water over the edge.
Cackling from the unbreakable spirit of the soap once again returning to him, Alistair paused as he heard a sound. The unmistakable noise of a hand lifting the latch to the door outside his room. "Um, this is occupied!" he shouted. Whoever was on the other side must not have heard him as the certain sounds of his door opening, closing, then the lock slotting into place filled the air. Maker's breath, why didn't he think to lock it before ripping his pants off?
"I, I'm here. A person is inside the bathroom," Alistair cried, sinking deeper down as if he could vanish through the translucent water, "in the bath. Naked!"
He was so deep only the top of his nose and eyes skimmed the surface, darting to the door of the side room. As that latch lifted, Alistair ran out of coherent words and yelped. Leaping out of the water, he reached for a towel, exposing himself to the cold air from the waist up, when in walked the intruder.
"I know, I heard you the first time." Lanny smiled that wicked grin of hers that meant she had mischief on her mind. His fingers froze in place and his face twisted up in excited relief. Thank the Maker, it's just her.
Oh shit, it's her!
"You, uh, you could have said something," Alistair stuttered as he twisted back down into the tub. What did she want? To talk? That had to be it. Anything more in Eamon's estate could, well, it would be... Fun. A lot of fun. They hadn't since, and never here under the Arl's nose because that'd be... How many canticles would he have to recite for that one?
"And then I would have missed the panic upon your face," Lanny grinned, both of her dimples in evidence as she stared deep into the tub and his pale body refracted through the water.
"True, though you could have gotten the same effect if you'd stood outside and shouted 'Archdemon spotted and it's shitting out ogres!'" Alistair said rolling around on his legs to try and shift away the burn that had nothing to do with the piping hot prince stew he sat in.
Her fingers... Maker, he loved those fingers. Loved watching them fold in and out of pages, to grip tight to her staff exposing the taut tendons below as she froze their enemies solid. Especially loved them...uh, suddenly unknotting the belt to her mage robes. Andraste's tears, what was she doing? Lanny shrugged her robe off without a care, the fabric hitting the wet floor, his spilled water seeping into it. "I shall remember that next time," she joked while unhooking that binding tight bit she wore around her midsection. Alistair tried to untie it once and somehow got his own splintmail knotted up in the laces. After that she only came to him after having removed it on her own, or with a spare dagger in her boot.
"What are you...?" The words thudded from his brain as the corset plopped on top of the robe. Dressed in only her shift he could see the shape of her breasts prodding through the thin fabric. Her gorgeous dark nipples crested just below the surface, both drawn out for attention. Or from attention, he wasn't entirely certain how it worked.
"Hm..." Lanny prompted, her voice sweetly naive but that grin - her 'I'm about to suggest we don't need a tent to take off the armor' smile - warned him that she was playing.
"Doing," Alistair stuttered out by turning away and glaring at the ceiling. "What are you doing?" He twisted his head around, now curious about the reliefs etched above him. They almost looked like a pair of people engaged in combat and...no, that was not combat. Maker's breath, how did he not notice that as a child?
Lanny yanked her shift over her head leaving her standing in only that thin strip of fabric along her hips that passed for her smallclothes. "I'd think it's rather evident what I'm doing." Her voice pulled him right back into her seductive trap and all sense of self vanished from Alistair's brain as she leaned over to slip off the last bit of her clothing. Breasts were something the templar initiates had very specific ideas upon -- insisting what was the proper size, proper perkiness, proper nipple shade and placement. This, of course, was laid out in certainty years before they'd ever seen a real pair beyond a few terrible drawings scratched into the back of hymnals. As far as Alistair was concerned, if he was allowed to see them they were perfect. If he got to touch them, he'd probably already died and was on the pyre.
Before he had time to process his thoughts beyond naked woman, beautiful naked woman, Lanny already slipped into the opposite side of the tub. Her addition displaced more water out of the tub, thoroughly soaking her robes beyond measure. Those bountiful bosoms drifted just below the surface of the water. As Lanny waved her hands back and forth over the surface of the water, she pressed her cleavage tighter together drawing him like a moth to a flame.
"This thing is huge," she remarked in surprise.
"Why thank you," Alistair grinned. "Oh wait, you meant the tub." Chuckling from his joke, Lanny swatted at the water splashing him in the face. "So that's how you wish to play it," Alistair brought both of his hands together and whipped them towards the surface, drenching Lanny's hair. "Have at ye!"
"You're dead," Lanny swore and the battle ensued. It would never be spoken of in mead halls or by poets who unfortunately owned lutes, but it cost the unfortunate lives of all aboard the ship the Bubblecake as well as soaking the entire floor in water. It was when Lanny rushed forward and pinned his biceps back to the tub wall with her hands that Alistair called uncle. Not because he couldn't break away, but his brain shut down at the view. Her nose butted up against his as she held him tight. With flushed cheeks, her eyes sparkling in mischief, and water glistening off that toned and smooth skin it took every ounce of control inside of him to not leap upon her. To hold down her wrists as she writhed in pleasure while he...that was not helping. Eamon's estate, he repeated a few times. It'd be like doin
g that in his parents, well not his parents. He didn't have any. Her parents? Except she's a mage, so...
While Alistair's brain tripped around to figure out why he couldn't stop panicking at the idea of a naked woman sharing his bath, Lanny leaned down. Pressing that perfect pair of naked breasts against his chest, she caught his lips in a kiss. Every single excuse he thought of obliterated from her machinations. As her hands slid up from his biceps to his shoulders, Lanny adjusted her stance. Her knees pressed into his thighs so she could straddle him as far as the tub would allow. It should hurt, bone digging into flesh and all, but he was far too love addled to feel the pain. There was an unclothed, naked, gorgeous, funny, and did he mention naked? woman pressing into him. Pain was worth it for that.
One finger curled around his jaw, pausing at the edge of his scruff that was maybe a beard if you were forgiving. She broke from the kiss and twisted her head to the side. Maker, he could wake every day to those comforting eyes - brown and warm like a beef broth. Which would be the absolute worst way to describe it to her, but it was how he thought of them. Lanny was comfort to him, balm for his soul the way a meaty broth cured any ailment. Which again, was not going to hit the top of any poet lists when describing a woman's eyes.
That contagious smile broke from her lips to his and she sighed, "You know you can play with them. You don't always have to ask."
"I like to give them a chance to say hello, maybe get them a drink before..." Alistair stumbled, still thrown off by her. By the very fact she was willing to be near him, to talk to him, much less to strip naked and climb into the bathtub with him. He had to mentally pinch himself whenever Lanny touched him to remember that she actually cared for him. Loved him. Secure in her permission, his palms rose from the briny depths to cup both of her breasts. While he died right on the spot, Lanny's forehead mashed into his and her eyes slipped closed. A soft moan brimmed through the back of her throat as his fingers brushed up against those taunting nipples. Sometimes he wasn't certain who liked it more. No, it was him. By a hair.
How the Maker saw fit to create something so soft but firm, comforting while also terrifying, perfect and, yeah perfect, was beyond him. Probably beyond any chantry clerics he'd ask the question of - when they were finished praying for his soul for wondering. His body was fine for what it needed to do, generally. It tended to not fall down stairs, or smash into walls. The feet remained upon the ground in a proper stance and he'd gotten all the other bodily functions down pat. But Lanny's was like holding onto pure power, a dragon's roar in woman form, and also the softest, cuddliest stuffed animal at the same time. He couldn't explain it, certainly not in anything approaching words or it'd be the broth thing all over again, but he thanked the Maker every moment he could enjoy it.
"I seem to remember the last time we tried this in water there was a lot of screaming, crying, and a wet elf," Alistair said, unable to stop caressing her breasts, probably until he died.
"Zevran's not here," Lanny whispered in his ear. Hunger coated every syllable, somehow stirring him even more erect.
"Oh, you say that now," he joked even while sliding his hands around her waist to palm her hips. She moaned harder as he massaged his fingers against the cushioned skin, gently knocking into those curved bones that could drive him to distraction.
"Maker," Lanny stuttered. Her eyes opened and she pushed more of her weight upon his thighs. This was almost enough to catch Alistair in pain, but as her freed hand drifted down his stomach until the fingers rolled around his cock every bit of his brain shredded apart in pleasure.
A knock broke against the door and the absolute last person he ever wanted to think about or hear from at that moment spoke up in her prissy voice. "Alistair, I think we should speak about current matters facing the contested crown," Anora called crisply from the door.
His fingers froze against Lanny's backside, but he didn't push her away, nor did she begin to rise. In fact, sensing a golden opportunity to get him back for the apple incident, she continued to coax her fingers up and down his shaft. "This isn't helping," he groaned in her ear.
"Feels as if it is," Lanny shot back, her traitorous palm gliding across the head, her thumb knocking against the edge that pushed him near it.
"Alistair. I assume you are inside seeing as the door is locked," Anora continued, her highness not used to being forced to wait.
He curled his toes tight and bit down on his tongue to drag his voice out of an unmanly squeak. "It's not a good time!" Then he tacked on a "Your Majesty" in the hopes it'd be enough.
But Anora was not easily dismissed. "You are aware that all of Ferelden hangs in the balance, yes? That we need to solve this conundrum before more blood is spilled. Or would you prefer to pass every ounce of requirement to your betters? If so, then Eamon's plans are even more ludicrous than I'd previously surmised."
"Andraste's ass," Alistair moaned in Lanny's ear. "She doesn't give up."
"Actually, that's my ass you're holding," Lanny answered back, but her fingers stopped their torturous dance. She seemed as aware as him of the queen's iron will now.
"You're not helping," he mouthed back. "Give me something, anything to get rid of her."
"I don't know, tell her the truth."
"That I'm naked in the bathtub with my fellow grey warden because we were about to mimic whatever's carved on the ceiling above us?" Alistair hissed, his voice growing more erratic as he spoke the truth of it. How had his life ever come to this?
Lanny twisted her head around to see the relief. Her finger traced through the air, trying to figure out where leg met leg and which was the arm. As realization dawned upon her, she smiled, "That works fine, but snip out the fellow warden part."
"Right," he nodded, then lifted his voice to a shout, "It's not a good time because I'm currently as naked as the day my bastard ass was born in the bathtub, so unless you feel the need to compare the Therin crown jewels, I think I'd prefer to pass." Lanny choked on a laugh and a growl from his crown jewels joke, but he only shrugged. He'd been working on it for awhile.
"You are an infuriating and idiotic man. Barely a man," Anora fumed from outside his door. "The sight of you naked...if dressing yourself is beyond you then I can send for a handmaid to solve it for you. Perhaps one of them could also teach you how to tie your laces and comb your hair while at it."
Alistair touched his hair and grimaced from her barb, but Lanny fluffed it back up from her splash attack earlier. At least she seemed to like it, and that was all that mattered. "Would it truly kill her highness to wait an hour or so until I've properly bathed and dressed, or will all of Ferelden crack in half from your father in that time?"
"By all the...yes, yes it will kill me. So, fish your wrinkled skin out of the water and open the door. Now!" Anora shrieked, her fist rattling the lock as if she could open it by pure rage.
"If she was a mage, I'd be afraid of her burning the door down," Lanny sighed.
"I'm expecting her to stomp off to a locksmith, or worse, tell Eamon," Alistair sighed. And then Eamon would ask why he didn't just let her in, which would lead to the full of Alistair's extra curricular activities with Lanny, and then it's all hair shirts and whipping himself while walking the streets of Denerim. No longer playing, Alistair pushed Lanny up off him.
"What are you doing?" she shook her head.
"Like the crowned pain in the ass said, answering the door naked and forcing her to talk to me. Which will be even more fun with...oh Maker," he banged the back of his head against the tub and did his best to think of the old prune-skinned brothers in the chantry sucking on candies with their toothless mouths. That usually worked, but having Lanny in the same room tended to wake him up. Her naked, inches away from him, and heaving in a suppressed rage had him more erect than Fort Drakon. Mercifully, she let him unearth himself from the tub, even more water splashing onto the floor as Alistair grabbed a towel off the pile and wrapped it around his waist. It helped but didn't fully hide his throbbing shame, so he tried
a couple more.
"What am I supposed to do?" Lanny asked. For the first time her eyes drifted across her soaking wet robes. "If I slip out the window in those I'll freeze to death, or slide off the roof and break something."
Alistair shrugged, "Enjoy the tub, give yourself a good splashy clean." Lanny's eye narrowed further from his nonchalant response. "Maybe even giggle a few times from all the fun you're having."
Now she grinned at what he wanted, "You are good. You're very good."
If Anora wanted to make his life hell, he didn't see any reason to not give it back. Lanny twisted around and settled back into the tub, her head resting upon the rim. Alistair enjoyed one more kiss with her, his eyes sliding down her body, while he assured himself they'd all come together again later. Gently slipping the side room's door closed but not shut, he crossed through the main room leaving wet footprints in his wake. Unlocking the door, he faced down the Queen's wrath when Lanny began to sing.
Chapter Seventeen
Lyrium
9:30 The Bannorn
Dangling just beyond her fingertips nestled a bundle of apples greener than the leaves of the tree. Lanny stretched further, lifting one leg up from her boost to reach. She just grazed the smooth skin, knocking against the trio but not sending any cascading to the ground.
"Careful there," her stepping stool said. Alistair's hands curled around her knees keeping her upright inside the branched of the tree. She stood upon those broad shoulders, normally in armor, but for the warm day he'd thrown it all aside. Curling her bare toes into his naked skin, she struggled to keep her balance.
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