Bow and Arrow
So I started late, but here’s my contribution to @scharoux‘s 14 Days of DA Lover’s Prompts. I’ll go back and complete the first two prompts tomorrow.
Check out this story, as well as others over on AO3.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Here’s a little piece for Alistair and my Dalish Warden Telahn. Enjoy. :)
“Wow!” he says. “You’re pretty good with that thing!”
Telahn smiles, though doesn’t speak. She notches another arrow. This one, just like before, hits the bullseye, just centimeters from where the last one struck.
Alistair is quickly learning that that is her way - the quiet. She lets her large, sad eyes do the talking for her. He doesn’t mind so much any more. At first, he took it personally -thought she didn’t want to talk to him. He knows better now.
Telahn nicks one more arrow and lets it fly. It lands in a triangular pattern with the other two, all three equidistant apart. She giggles and offers him the bow.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t!”
She smiles again, a sly smile. She wants him to embarrass himself - he can tell by the flash of mischief in her eyes.
“Oh, alright!”
For her - anything. He takes the bow and notches and arrow. It feels awkward in his hands. He pulls the arrow back and lets it fly.
The arrow sinks into the target with a thud.
“I hit it!” he cries.
Telahn giggles and applauds him, and he bows in jest. Sure, he only hit the farthest most ring, but it was more than he had thought he would do.
Telahn motions for him to notch another arrow, and he obliges. He pulls back, the tension building in the string.
Telahn shakes her head disapprovingly, and Alistair relaxes. “What? How do I do it, then?”
Telahn circles around so that she’s behind him. Her hands guide him to raise the bow, to pull the string. He follows her silent instructions, an obedient pupil if ever there was one. Then she steps closer, right against him, her chest pressed to his back and her breath in his ear. She’s very tall for a woman, especially an Elven woman. Alistair likes that she’s only inches shorter than he is. He likes the way her long, slender fingers cover his, move his fingers into the perfect position. He likes the way her breath tickles his neck. He shivers at its warmth. He likes the way her body is pressed so tightly to his - the way the curve of her breasts feel against him.
Not that he’s thinking of her breasts! Maker, what is he doing? What kind of perve is he to be thinking about such a thing.
Telahn takes a breath, a hand moving to Alistair’s belly, a silent instruction to do the same. He does, takes in as much air as he can manage. He feels her release and he follows.
“Now,” she whispers, her first word in hours.
He lets go of the string, feels the rush of the arrow flying by, the tickle of the feather against his cheek. It sinks into the target with a twang. It’s not so perfect as Telahn’s but it hits the edge of the bullseye.
“Ha ha!” he cries. Telahn releases him and he jumps for joy. “Did you see that! I hit it! Maker, I hit it!” In his joy, he forgets himself. He scoops Telahn up in his arms, his arms folded across her lower back and spins her around. He sets her down again, but doesn’t question what he’s just done. He almost apologizes, but Telahn is giggling. He would do anything in the world to call forth that sound from her lips. He keeps up the antics, and plans to as long as she finds it funny. “That was incredible! I think we should trade. You take my sword, and I’ll take your bow!”
She gives him the stink eye, then laughs. She goes over to the target and retrieves the arrows, then returns, presenting them to Alistair.
“Again?”
She nods.
He bows to her. “As you command my lady.”
She rolls her eyes, then motions for him to take aim again. He does. He’ll do anything she’s asked of him.
