|Five Times Alistair Wasn't Kissed
Author: Jade Sabre PM
Despite being ruggedly handsome, Alistair sometimes has a problem with following through with the ladies. Installments vary from humor to angst and a little bit of everything in between.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Humor/Romance - Alistair - Chapters: 6 - Words: 6,079 - Reviews: 28 - Favs: 29 - Follows: 12 - Updated: 09-25-10 - Published: 08-14-10 - Status: Complete - id: 6238216
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Title: Five Times Alistair Wasn't Kissed
Author: Jade Sabre
Notes: Jakia gave me a drabble prompt and I epically failed at writing drabbles, so here is the first installment. I just recently beat the game and am new to the fandom, so any canon mistakes, etc. that I make are wholly my fault.
Reviews would be awesome!
Disclaimer: Dragon Age: Origins and all of its content belongs to the geniuses at Bioware, of whom I am sadly not one, though maybe I will run away to Canada and try my luck.
Her name was Milly and she was six months his elder and she swept out the kitchens and he could not for the life of him figure out why she was standing in the door of the stable stall twisting her fingers in her apron. He'd specifically chosen this stall because everyone knew Lady's Mercy was the most misnamed horse in Redcliffe and therefore everyone knew that trying to invade Mercy's stall was madness and therefore no one would come and drag him out and make him talk to Eamon or Teagan or the Revered Mother or those Andraste-humping templars who were waiting for him and maybe humping Andraste while they waited. He wasn't really sure what the insult meant but it felt pretty blasphemous, and maybe if he blasphemed enough they wouldn't want him anymore.
Not that they really wanted him. Not that anyone really wanted him. That was the point, wasn't it?
"Alistair?" Milly said, as if she wasn't sure he was there. "It's Milly, from the kitchens."
Alistair crossed his arms and nestled deeper into his hay and went on praying to Andraste that Mercy's bowels were clear.
"I just…heard you were going away," she said, and between the horse's legs he could see her hands tying knots in her apron string. "I wanted to give you something. For luck."
Luck. Like he'd ever had luck in his life. He'd been born fundamentally lacking, and recent events only served to magnify that fact.
"Alistair, are you going to come out?" She waited, and he didn't move a muscle, not even when Mercy lifted her tail like maybe her bowels weren't so clear. Or maybe she just wanted Milly gone as much as he did.
Milly sighed, and said, "Well, here it is," and one of her hands disappeared from sight and he heard a smacking sound, and then she said, "It only counts if you catch it," but he didn't try to catch it and nothing landed near him and so he assumed she was making fun of him, like throwing an invisible bone at a mabari pup. He didn't take the bait.
She stood there a moment more, and finally said, "Well…goodbye," and then she carefully shut Mercy's door—how she'd gotten into the stall was a mystery—how she'd know he was in the stall was a mystery too—and all he could see was the stall door, hay, and a horse, and all he could do was wonder what he'd missed.