Guarded Love (COMPLETED)

Scaling the Summit

"I can't feel my teeth." A hand grabbed onto his, another in a sea of never ending limbs snatching it up and giving it a good pump before vanishing back into the fold. "Yes, hello to you too, whoever you are," Alistair mumbled the latter part to himself as he watched a person with a tall hat wander off. It was either someone in the chantry, a diplomat from across the waking sea, or a thief that got his hands on a long loaf of bread.

"Sire," the woman of iron commanded him to stand up straight and act even more pleasant than usual. After two hours of greeting everyone who strolled into town for the summit, it took all his control to not flop onto the ground for a nap. Though, knowing Karelle, she'd haul him up and kick his feet under him until he stood and resumed smiling calmly and shaking hands.

"My entire face is numb," he whined to her. She tutted at that, crossing off the names as they whispered them before wandering off to do whatever everyone was up to in the grand ballroom behind. Alistair's itinerary that he should have been the one to set was scattered between Karelle, Eamon, Cade for a few hours, and then back to Karelle. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being treated like the near three year old passed from instructor to instructor whose best hope would be to get her to stop stuffing dirt down her pants.

"And so glad you could make it, your irrelevance," Alistair greeted a woman who wasn't listening to him. She was too busy making certain Karelle had her name spelled correctly on the list. He leaned over to watch the chamberlain lift up the vellum coated in crossed out names. Hoping that was a sign they were about to be freed, he couldn't hide the groan as she revealed another even longer list of names below. "If I die on this spot, just prop my hand up and wait for rigor mortis to set in. I doubt anyone here will notice," he grumbled, trying to snap himself awake.

"As you say, Sire," Karelle didn't rise to his bait. She never did. Most who worked in the castle for over a year either learned to adjust to the King's particular style, or went mad and fled from his employ as soon as the tide came in. It was a wonder he wasn't trapped in the palace alone pretending from abject loneliness that the lamps and tea pots could talk.

Lifting his exhausted head, Alistair glanced over the heads of the guests standing in line. He had a good view from his little dais to see down all the expanding bald spots, before landing upon Reiss running her hands over a man's midsection to check for weapons. Pausing a moment, her fingers returned to something tucked into the small of his back where she unearthed a long sausage stick. Upon realizing it wasn't about to maim the King beyond mild heartburn, an adorable blush burned across her cheeks.

The King's own goofy grin at her stumbling dredged up last night's dream, as well as a few from before, involving his bodyguard giving his own body a very thorough pat down. Maker's breath, he felt like a giddy teenager again, having to glance away quickly so the pretty girl wouldn't notice that he was staring. More than staring, if his dreams had any say in it. Not really the appropriate response there, Alistair. Okay, maybe you can look a little longer. He shifted on his toes while watching the woman snatch up a tendril of her errant blonde hair and stuff it up into her bun. There was nothing erotic about it, the woman all business, but the intimate moment drew his full attention as he wondered what those fingers would feel like ruffling through his hair.

Andraste's knickers, everyone was right. It had been too long.

"Sire," one of Karelle's underlings poked his head out through the ballroom door. "They are ready to receive you in the conference room."

"Too bad, there's still a good dozen people waiting to be greeted first," Karelle interrupted, glaring at her toady. She operated a swath of vassals under her, each young, watery eyed, and prone to yipping at any loud noise.