DISCLAIMER: I don't own Dragon Age or any of its associated characters.
"Your dear uncle will be in here any moment to wonder why you aren't awake yet, you know," Areida commented lazily, staring into Alistair's eyes as they lay nose-to-nose in their bed, the morning light creeping through the window and spilling across the covers.
Alistair smiled and raised a hand to tuck Areida's red hair behind one ear. "Oh, come on, the sun's barely up. And anyway, isn't it you who always says 'no one can tell the king what to do?'" He laughed before leaning forward slightly to kiss his love.
Every kiss they had was always extraordinary. Even small, chaste pecks given in passing sent shivers down her spine. She had never imagined that in her life she would ever love someone as much as she did Alistair—and especially not that someone would love her in return. Being a mage had taken away all her hopes of that, and yet here she was.
As Alistair pulled away, he seemed to notice that Areida's train of thought had left her distracted. "Are you all right, love?" he asked, sitting up some, the blankets only just covering his lower half.
"I'm fine," Areida said, sitting up as well. She was about to say more when there was a knock. Without waiting for an invitation, Eamon came striding in.
"My boy, how can you just lie in bed all morning, you are the king—" Eamon cut himself off with a start as Areida gave a small gasp and pulled up the blankets to cover herself.
"Andraste's tits, Eamon!" Alistair exclaimed, putting his arm in front of Areida in an attempt to help preserve her modesty. "When you knock, you wait to hear a response."
"By the Maker, I am terribly sorry my Lady Amell," Eamon apologized, bowing his head and averting his eyes. "I-I did not know you were even back in Denerim, or I surely would have—I should inform the servants, and they will prepare a place for you at breakfast. And, ah, perhaps some clothes. Goodness, I…so sorry."
"Eamon," Alistair said firmly, pointedly nodding at the door. Eamon gave a quick bow and rushed out the door as though an archdemon were after him.
Alistair groaned, falling back against the multitude of pillows, covering his face with both hands while Areida tried her best not to start giggling at the situation. "Do I not even have any guards?" Alistair wondered out loud, sounding miserable and mortified. "Or do they merely allow Eamon to run rampant in my own castle?"
"It will be fine," Areida insisted with a laugh, running her fingers through her tangled hair and pulling herself out of bed. "Eamon was more embarrassed than you anyway. He'll certainly think twice before entering a room uninvited again." She stretched her arms over her head and yawned, before turning to face Alistair, still lying in bed.
He stared up at her as though she were the most marvelous creation that had ever existed. "You are so beautiful," he murmured, smiling faintly.
"Oh stop it," Areida scolded lightly, putting her hands on her hips. "Come on, you have to get up now. Eamon clearly has things for you to do."
"I'm not ready yet," Alistair insisted, a slight whine in his voice as he shifted to the side of the bed that Areida had just vacated. He reached out to run his hand up her bare side, his fingers just barely tracing over the skin, leaving goose-pimples.
"We'll be late for breakfast," Areida said, her own resolve failing her as Alistair's hand traced up her body. "Get up, now."
Alistair suddenly grabbed her hand and pulled her back to the bed. He grinned as they were face-to-face again, her lying on top of him. "No one can tell the king what to do," he insisted with a wickedly handsome smile, and then muffled her giggles and half-hearted protestations as he rolled over on top of her with another deep, passionate kiss.
Being late for breakfast didn't seem like such a terrible thing.