laurentremes:
Honestly, Laurent’s chest swells with pride when his brother goes to celebrate him. He’s tried so hard, and for so long, just to be good, just to be recognized, that he enjoys it too much to play coy about it. It fills him with a renewed energy, and really works to revitalize him. They’d been in this bar for some time now, and after hearing Alistair go off on his tales he’d honestly started to fall asleep. “I tried to find you,” he admits. But he’d gotten sidetracked protecting their youngest brother, in getting their queen to safety. To have fought by Alistair’s side like they did in the war, he would give anything for that once more. “How many did you manage to get, brother?” he asks, the competitive streak re-emerging as it always did. “Yes I was about to beat you. As thoroughly injured as he was, that left shoulder being a massive problem for him during the tourney, he’d planned to continue to let it take the brunt of the impacts so he could afford himself a greater angle with his lance. Laurent reaches for his drink, finishing it in its entirety before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “No such thing would have occurred,” he quips back, standing now to look his brother in the eye. “I had that fight, that entire tourney in the bag. Even if I were to face uncle Asher, I would have won it all.”
Despite all of their teasing and friendly competitions Alistair truly loved Laurent. He was easily the brother he considered his closest friend and a confidante at times. "I apologize if I worried you any. After the manticores stormed into the arena I lost track of you, too." Alistair had been worried sick for a fleeting second. He knew Laurent would never allow himself to be killed by a measly beast. "I managed to get rid of two of them before the rest of the witchers showed up." Alistair explained, "They're tough bastards, I'll give them that. Now it's a matter of finding out who unleashed them upon the city. I don't believe it was a random chance that a herd of them were wandering around." It might have been the alcohol talking but Alistair had his suspicions. Alistair leaned back on the counter, enjoying the comfort of safety both of the princes had contributed toward. "We could have beaten Asher easily. He's getting soft in his old age." That was his competitive streak speaking. He respected his uncle and considered him an experienced warrior. Compared to himself and Laurent, however? He could hardly hold a candle.















