Fish On Dry Land

Just a silly little piece about shopping and it's dangers for our favorite ex-templar.


Title: Fish On Dry Land
Word Count: 1,225
Pairing: Alistair/ shopping bags


There are approximately 150 different shades of blue. Until this day Alistair was very content to not differentiate between indigo and cerulean. He never had a sleepless night contemplating if midnight blue or sapphire would go well with his hair. And the the only steel blue he knew was the colour of his sword.

How blissfully ignorant my life was!

He somehow knew he should have stayed in camp. Perhaps he could start another attempt to bond with the guys while trying to ignore Morrigan's withering glares from her personal campsite. But he was still recovering from that last experiment and as of now unable to bury the memories.

If there was ever a profound reason to advocate self-induced amnesia, I think this is it.

So he found himself in the middle of the Denerim market district. Currently he was occupied with not dropping one of the myriad of parcels under his arms and simultanously trying to keep up with his triumvirate of leaders. Alistair was under no illusion that they were anything different because he had literally no input in any decision since the group entered the city gates.

That is rich, I have not even got a word in edgewise. And surely not for lack of trying!

The moment Leliana, Wynne and Nefris set foot on the market place with its perfume vendors and cloth merchants he was nothing but a glorified packmule. At one point did he, per chance, find the list with things they originally set out to acquire and he felt like curling into a fetal position and weeping softly to himself.

Sure, they occasionally asked for his opinion on a thing or two, his only problem was that he completely lacked opinions on silk tunics and cashmere shawls or which colours contrasted nicely and which absolutely didn't. He also suspected that most of their questions were from the trick variety, because whatever he said was somehow taken the wrong way.

He tried to joke at first as Leliana was experimenting with Orlesian parfums. Somehow she took “Smells kind of strong, but will surely come in handy on our travels as a darkspawn-repellent,” very personally.
So he tried a more sensitive route. He would not ridicule this whole situation and give his earnest view, in the hope that it would help them pick stuff more quickly. That way he could return to camp fast and nurse the wounds wrought on his masculinity in peace.
He realised the error of his idea the moment that he told Wynne how nice some silk scarf concealed her neck. Her look nearly burned holes in his armour.

Let's hope we do not get ambushed on our way back to camp, because I have a feeling that she will conveniently forget to heal me until the last possible second...

By the time Nefris asked him which tunic would look better on her, he was seriously confused, not to mention afraid to speak. Bracing himself for the worst he considered both of them for a long moment, trying desperately to channel his inner-Zevran.

This way madness lies.

They looked identical to him in colour, fabric, as well as cut. But under no circumstance was he going to admit that.

I like my head just fine where it is, thankyouverymuch.
Think, think!

Finally, after noticing that his hands were getting clammy and his throat started to constrict, did he find a small rose embroidered on one of them.
Triumph lit up in his eyes as he smirked, pointed on it and uttered the fateful words:

“This one will surely accentuate your best features, if you don't mind me saying, your ladyship.”

By the maker, she looks pleased!

Her eyes had lit up and her mouth spread slowly into a shy smile. Alistair was not sure, but for a moment it looked almost as if a blush was slowly spreading over her cheeks. But her back was turned to him before he could affirm this strange new observation. She had spun around to look at herself in the mirror next to the vendors table. He could only see her head from this point of view and how she discarded the other piece without a second glance, to hold the tunic against her form.

Well she does look kind of shocked, but surely she must have seen herself from time to time in a mirror...Oh Maker, why does she suddenly stare daggers. Thisissonotgoood!

Nefris was slowly turning back to him, still clutching on to the tunic and he realised with a bit of fear that her knuckles were looking rather white. Torn between utter confusion and extrem terror he let his gaze wander over her.

There on the right part of her chest was the rose and the treacherous little thing he thought so innocent until now was framing something rather perfectly. One part of him knew that the longer he stared at this place, the harder his punishment would be, but the rest of him was rather tranfixed on it at the moment. It took all his will for self-perseverance and a lot of his courage to look back onto her face and he was quite sure that his cheeks were burning.

Ok, now try to not dig your grave any deeper than it already is.

“I ....”

Her eyebrow was mounting to a dangerous degree.

“I didn't...”

Her eyes were not leaving his face and the second eyebrow joined the first, now both united against him with only one goal: to make him squirm as much as possible.
And this was the exact moment Alistair's brain decided to shut down completely, probably to save him from stuttering himself to death. His eyes wandered down again to the rose, sneaking one last peak at it.

I die either way, might as well make it worth it.

But the next time he chanced to look at Nefris' face, her expression had changed rather significantly. Head slightly angled sideways, her eyes mustered him rather curiously taking in all the signs of embarrassment, much to his chagrin. The corners of her mouth twitching slightly and she turned to the vendor.

“How much?”

Alistair watched the following exchange between them with mounting disbelief, grounded at the spot. He could feel his mouth open and close repeatedly but found himself in no position to do something about it.

A few moments later he saw her walking in his direction, a few silvers lighter and with an unreadable expression. By that time had his mouth thankfully stopped with his fish-on-dry-land imitation and he was only half aware that it did so while late in its opening act.
There was an unknown twinkling in her eyes and she gently lifted his chin with her hand until his lips connected again.

Why did swallowing got a lot harder all of the sudden?

She was now outright grinning at him while draping her new tunic softly over his shoulder. Just as he was sure that the cobbled floor under him was going to open any second now to swallow him whole, did she turn and saunter away from him.

Her eyes were already scanning the crowd for Wynne and Leliana who must have lost them before this whole situation got started and he was extremely grateful for this small mercy.