The Painted Ceiling Part 1
For Erynnar who asked for more and called me a Minx this website. Be Good.
"Your Majesty, I need to talk to you…" shouted Casildea from the edge of the courtyard.
"Don't distract me," said Alistair, "I'm winning here…"
"No you're not Your Majesty, Lawler always beats you and, besides, you're already on your knees."
Alistair held up his left hand to get Lawler to cease his attack but Lawler either didn't see, or didn't care to see, and hit him in the small of the back, knocking him face down.
"Hey!" said Alistair
"You see," said Casildea, "you've lost again."
"Only because you distracted me…" whinged Alistair.
"Yield," said Lawler, holding one of his wooden swords to the back of Alistair's neck.
"Oh by the Maker, cut it out Lawler! That was not a clean takedown, she distracted me…" Alistair remonstrated.
"You're not meant to allow yourself to be distracted when you're fighting, Alistair," Lawler said dryly, "You've told me so plenty of times yourself, so bloody yield."
"Alright, alright, I yield, it's just as if the both of you were working together…"
"We're not", they said in unison. Lawler and Casildea looked at each other and for a brief moment their eyes locked. Then Lawler glanced to the left and Casildea turned her attention to the ground.
"Obviously," said Alistair sarcastically pushing himself up and getting to his feet.
"You lose everyday anyway, Your Majesty," said Casildea
"And how would you know that?" asked Alistair turning towards her slinging the wooden sword over his shoulder.
"I watch…"
"Everyday? That's interesting…"
"Well you do spar just outside my windows and it's not as if the pair of you are quiet, is it? You bellowing," she said looking at Alistair, "and Lawler," she lowered her voice, 'Yield, yield,' it's very distracting."
"I don't bellow," said Alistair, "and, at any rate, shouldn't you be working instead of eying me up?"
"I'm not… Anyway, you pay me by the piece…"
"And you work late." added Alistair, "I've heard that before," he said placing the sword in a rack. "What did you want? And while you're about it, help me unbuckle some of this padding, will you?"
"I think I'll leave you two to it," remarked Lawler placing his swords on the rack, "looks like it's going to be one of those afternoons…"
"Do it yourself." Casildea replied to Alistair, following Lawler briefly with her eyes and then turning back to him, "you do it yourself every time you train, Your bloody Majesty, anyway…"
"Gosh, stroppy today aren't we?"
Casildea made a point of closing her eyes, placing her hand on her chest and inhaling deeply, "Neriya," she asked eventually, "do you like Neriya?"
Alistair met her eyes, "I like her very much indeed. You did a great job, Casildea, she's beautiful…"
"She's gone…?"
Alistair's face went rather still and for a moment he concentrated on unbuckling. "I don't want to talk about it," he said eventually.
"I'm sorry…" said Casildea, "where is she?"
"What, Neriya the person or the picture?" he said pulling off the padding and setting it aside.
"Both"
"Orlais, my bedroom. I wish it were the other way round, nice though your picture is…"
"Can I see her?"
"Now? Look, I'm a bit rank and…" he paused. Below the padding he was just wearing a loose chemise with the top four buttons undone and light breeches, "I guess it's not every day you ask to be taken up to my bedroom…"
"I'm not asking to… I just want to see where the picture is…"
"So you say." He held out his hand, "come on then."
Casildea placed hers behind her back.
"You go on ahead."
"Very well." Following him Casildea noticed that he walked with a slight swagger as if he had a scabbard with a sword in it at his side, even when he didn't. She found that quite attractive.
"So," he said as they walked up a few floors, "what was it like being a painter in Antiva?"
"It depends on the patrons…"
"But in general…"
"Alright, I guess. At least I was doing something I liked, it's a bit difficult to make a decent living though."
"Top floor," he said sauntering down the corridor just ahead of her. He opened a double door and suddenly there was some frantic barking and yelping. Alistair crouched down, "come to daddy, come to daddy," he said and two large Marbari's started jumping madly around him. Casildea took a careful step back but they ignored her completely.
Alistair looked up at her. One of the dogs was attempting to nip his ear while the other was nuzzling his hand, "not a doggie person, I guess."
"Not really, they scare me a bit."
"Scared? You look petrified." He laughed. "Meet Mince and Meat. I know the names are appalling, sometimes I can't help myself…" he got up, "They won't hurt you, seriously. Come on Casildea, come, come…" he gestured towards her and she walked timidly up to him. He put a hand lightly on her shoulder and ushered her into the room.
It was quite large but not excessively so. There was a wide window on to the courtyard with pale curtains. Against the window there was a plain, slightly messy desk. The floor was pale grey tile with red and black detail on the borders. In front of a rather large fireplace there was a simple rush mat. There were several smaller ones throughout the room. To the right there was a sizeable four-poster bed with curtains matching those at the window.
He bent down by the fireplace opened a small crate and dropped some dog biscuits into two metal plates. "They'll leave us alone now." He said.
"Do they live here?"
"For the time being," he said, "Neriya moved out and I moved them in."
"Do they… help?" Casildea asked.
"A bit. They're affectionate and they need affection. Mind you, Neriya smelled much better than these boys…" he grinned. "Well there we are," he waved towards the pictures over the fireplace, "handsome couple, good looking, pity they couldn't stay together forever…"
She stood a few steps back and could not but agree. Alistair was dressed in dark grey and Neriya in the red silk dress that moulded itself so beautifully to her curves.
"I like the white rose bud," he said. Casildea and Neriya had decided she should hold it discreetly in her right hand after all, "it sort of echoes the whiteness of her, well, you know…" he gestured towards her décolletage. "We both look a bit sad, though…"
"But that's how you both are," said Casildea.
"I know," he said, "sad, melancholy people."
"About that…" said Casildea.
"Not a subject I am going to discuss," replied Alistair.
"You are going to have to move the paintings, though."
"Why?"
"You can't have them over a fireplace the soot will dirty and darken them and the heat might distort them too."
"Okay, at the foot of the bed then," e said, "actually that might facilitate…" he said tailing off, more to himself than her.
"Yes that would be better."
"This room wasn't like this when I first moved in about two years ago," he added chattily, "It was full of pointless clutter, some horrible tapestries, a worn, reeky carpet… I cleared everything out and had it all repainted in white. It looks quite airy now."
Casildea began pacing around the room with her hands behind her back looking at the window, the plainly tiled floor, but especially the whitewashed ceiling. Alistair's eyes followed her around, she had a lovely behind…
"What are you thinking?" he asked to distract himself.
Casildea went over to the large canopied double bed, removed her shoes and lay back on it with her hands on her stomach. She patted the place next to her "come lay here," she said.
He gave her a quizzical look, "are you playing with me?"
"No." She said.
"Hang on a moment," Alistair went over to the marbaris, petted them some more and ushered them out of the room. "They'll go straight down to the kitchen," he said. "The cooks spoil them, they're getting fat…"
He went over to the opposite side of the bed, pulled off his boots and lay down next to her.
"This is what I can do for you…" Casildea said, "imagine the canopy wasn't there, I could paint some pretty scenes on this ceiling… So when you are making love just here and she is on top of you," she made a curved shape in the air over her own thighs with both her hands, "you can look at several beautiful things at the same time. If, on the other hand, she's the one underneath, then instead of just lying back and thinking of Ferelden…"
Alistair interrupted her, "you know, your confidence in my amorous accomplishments is… Overwhelming."
"I'm just teasing, silly."
"Well, that's a relief, because if for a moment I thought you were serious, I would be suing the Chanty for re-admittance as a Templar… Not that the Grand Cleric would have me back, mind, she'd probably consider me too far gone…"
He put his hands behind his head and continued staring pensively up at the canopy.
"Were some of your previous patrons not too nice to you?" he asked out of the blue.
"Why do you ask? Did Neriya…"
"Well…"
"Most were fine, but sometimes in Antiva… You get into trouble for doing it and sometimes for not doing it…"
"Oh," he said, "was I one of those?"
"No. You I did just for laughs and the grandchildren thing."
"Right," Alistair said, "that's good to know."
"And at least you asked my permission before putting your hands up my skirt" she paused, "so what do you want me to paint up there then? Something figurative, I presume. Antiva has some nice stories as does Orlais…"
"This is Ferelden."
"Agreed."
He seemed to be thinking things over for a few minutes, Casildea let him, the bed was extremely comfortable.
"How about Andraste?"
"Andraste?"
"She was from Ferelden, and, well her earlier life may have some scope for, well…"
Casildea propped herself up on one arm. "Alistair, think about this for a moment… Suppose the Chantry were to get wind that the King of Ferelden has certain… risqué paintings of the Maker's holy wife on his bedroom ceiling…"
"Hmm… You seem to know something about that kind of trouble…"
She frowned, "one of my friends back in Antiva was sentenced by the Chantry to ten public lashes for a painting he did. Which they also destroyed, of course."
"So what did he draw?" asked Alistair
Casildea opened her mouth to respond.
"No, whisper it in my ear," he said, "it will sound even naughtier like that…"
Casildea turned towards him and murmured in his ear.
"Well…" Alistair said, and cleared his throat, there was a light flush in his cheeks, "that was certainly more than naughty, that…"
"But he didn't deserve to be whipped in front of a crowd by some Templar!" exclaimed Casildea indignantly.
"Well of course he didn't but…"
"Urgh! Sometimes I hate you!" she said punching his arm.
"Ha, you are so unfair… Typical woman. First you make me lose my fight with Lawler, then you invite yourself into my bedroom and then you beat me up…"
Casildea let herself drop back down on the bed again, making a 'hurrump' kind of noise.
"Anyway, is that partner of yours still around?" Alistair asked.
"Of course he is, idiot…"
"So, humour me, what's he got that I haven't got?"
"He's cute…"
"Cute? I'm cute. I've got plenty of cute. Loads of women have told me I'm cute, hundreds even…"
"I don't believe you." she said grumpily.
"Which part don't you believe?" asked Alistair, "the part about me being cute of the part about the hundreds of women?"
"The hundreds of women part."
"So you would agree then that I'm cute…"
"Why are you doing this?" Casildea said almost whining.
"Because," Alistair said, propping himself up on his side and turning towards her, "I want to hear you say I'm cute. Because I'd like to be with you again, and feel your little hands pressing on my backside while I'm moving inside you… Because, failing that, I want to annoy you, because when you look annoyed… Hey, yes, just like that…" he said touching the knot of her frown between her brows with his index finger, "you look cute…"
"Ah!" said Casildea covering her eyes with one hand, "I can't cope with this anymore…"
"For the record," said Alistair, "I like your idea, I like your idea a lot and I will get back to you as to the subject. Further, as a small token of my boundless generosity I will let you depart my bedroom virtually unscathed, save for this..." and he turned to her and kissed her quickly on the forehead, "if you are out of here by the count of ten… Should you linger, Casildea, I will not be held responsible for my subsequent actions… So: One…"
Casildea jumped off the bed, quickly pulled on her shoes, held up her flounced skirt and made a dash for the door which she flung open. Halfway down the corridor she stopped to get her breath back, leaned against the wall and started laughing.
Three days later, her came into her studio and dropped a very thick, aged, leather-bound tome with a thud on the chaise longue in front of her easel and then sat next to it, legs akimbo.
"Slightly disappointed you ran away," he said, "anyway I've thought of something, the story of Calenhad, the Silver Knight, my ancestor… Here you have it," he lay his hand on the cracked leather cover, "unabridged, in Old Fereldan…"
"I have some difficulties reading modern Fereldan, let alone old," said Casildea sniffily.
"I'll write you a summary, then," he said, "my own interpretation. Most of the stuff in here is bollocks, anyway. Orlesian do you? I understand it's quite similar to Antivan…"
"I can do Orlesian, you know," she said.
"Okay, then, my Orlesian tutor keeps on scolding me for my poor composition and my consistent failure to do my devoirs, so I'll give the old bat something to sink her teeth into at the same time"
TBC