Alistair Theirin
King of Ferelden
Canon Character
Noble
Grey Warden
Post DAI Timeline
DAO/DA2 Timeline
- Posts
- 123
He hadn't really expected her to laugh at his admission, but he hadn't been entirely sure that she would believe him, either. Twenty-eight years old, king for nearly four years and still a virgin? It sounded ludicrous to him, and he knew it was true.
He was still glad that she didn't laugh, but more than a bit unnerved by the steady way that she regarded him as he spoke. When he finished, she said nothing for a moment, but something in her eyes softened, her hand gently squeezed his again, and her other hand came up to touch his cheek.
“That cannot have been easy for you,” she observed.
“Easier some days than others,” he replied with a shrug and a wry smile. He'd been only too glad to escape the company of some of the women that the bride-hunting effort had matched him with. He had parted from others with real regret; they had been gentle and shy, and he'd suspected he could have loved them, given time, but gentle and shy was not what Ferelden needed in a queen. Still others had left him a mess of conflicting impulses: his body on fire with wanting, his mind shocked at their brazenness, common sense pointing out that such a queen would be every bit as great a disaster as a timid one. “Cold baths do wonders,” he added, not entirely joking, though he hadn't had to resort to them all that often.
"Have you ever kissed a woman," she asked, blue eyes shifting to his mouth briefly, a faint smile touching her own lips as she met his gaze again, "..or a man?"
She was teasing him, as she sometimes did, not maliciously, but there was something else there, too, hovering between seduction and propriety, jolting his nerves in a not unpleasant way.
“Women, yes,” he admitted readily. Once the chaperons had – quite deliberately, he was sure – left the room, he'd been shocked at first at how quickly some of the well-bred young women had abandoned their demure manners. It was a fine line to walk: simply shoving them away would be rude (and, truth be told, some of them he hadn't wanted to shove away), but letting things progress too far might be taken as encouragement or – Maker forbid – a proposal. He'd actually become rather adept at balancing such encounters, stopping things on a good note without saying or doing anything that might bind him to more. And he'd been told he was a good kisser – though he didn't expect they'd have told him he was lousy at it, even if he was.
“No men, though,” he added. “Can't say I've ever had the urge, and the bride-hunt never presented me with one, so...” He trailed off, shrugged again, the smile a bit more whimsical. Maker knew, it would have made the issue of companionship much less problematic, since offspring would never be a concern, but he'd never encountered any man that had interested him in that way. “Had a couple of offers, during the Blight. Not Aedan,” he went on. “Another traveling companion.” Zevran had, he was sure, just been trying to make him blush, not a difficult task in those days. “Never took him up on it.”
He'd been joking, Alistair was positive. Almost positive.
He was still glad that she didn't laugh, but more than a bit unnerved by the steady way that she regarded him as he spoke. When he finished, she said nothing for a moment, but something in her eyes softened, her hand gently squeezed his again, and her other hand came up to touch his cheek.
“That cannot have been easy for you,” she observed.
“Easier some days than others,” he replied with a shrug and a wry smile. He'd been only too glad to escape the company of some of the women that the bride-hunting effort had matched him with. He had parted from others with real regret; they had been gentle and shy, and he'd suspected he could have loved them, given time, but gentle and shy was not what Ferelden needed in a queen. Still others had left him a mess of conflicting impulses: his body on fire with wanting, his mind shocked at their brazenness, common sense pointing out that such a queen would be every bit as great a disaster as a timid one. “Cold baths do wonders,” he added, not entirely joking, though he hadn't had to resort to them all that often.
"Have you ever kissed a woman," she asked, blue eyes shifting to his mouth briefly, a faint smile touching her own lips as she met his gaze again, "..or a man?"
She was teasing him, as she sometimes did, not maliciously, but there was something else there, too, hovering between seduction and propriety, jolting his nerves in a not unpleasant way.
“Women, yes,” he admitted readily. Once the chaperons had – quite deliberately, he was sure – left the room, he'd been shocked at first at how quickly some of the well-bred young women had abandoned their demure manners. It was a fine line to walk: simply shoving them away would be rude (and, truth be told, some of them he hadn't wanted to shove away), but letting things progress too far might be taken as encouragement or – Maker forbid – a proposal. He'd actually become rather adept at balancing such encounters, stopping things on a good note without saying or doing anything that might bind him to more. And he'd been told he was a good kisser – though he didn't expect they'd have told him he was lousy at it, even if he was.
“No men, though,” he added. “Can't say I've ever had the urge, and the bride-hunt never presented me with one, so...” He trailed off, shrugged again, the smile a bit more whimsical. Maker knew, it would have made the issue of companionship much less problematic, since offspring would never be a concern, but he'd never encountered any man that had interested him in that way. “Had a couple of offers, during the Blight. Not Aedan,” he went on. “Another traveling companion.” Zevran had, he was sure, just been trying to make him blush, not a difficult task in those days. “Never took him up on it.”
He'd been joking, Alistair was positive. Almost positive.