A funny little bunny that amused its way into a fic. Bioware owns it, I just like to play with him - uh, them. The game. Dragon Age. umm... ;)
Distracted
By: Syntyche
OoOoOoOo
Morrigan watched, oddly transfixed, as perspiration ran in grimy rivulets down Alistair's dirty face, his expression tightened in concentration as he grimly held the ability the templar of old had so grandiosely named holy smite. Clad in the massive black armor of the Legion of the Dead, the Grey Warden was an avenging angel on the attack, a stanchion of hard muscles and sweaty skin, and the silly little pseudo-"crush" the witch had of late been amusing herself with in her bored moments suddenly shifted in intensity, arcing into a sizzling heat that radiated from her core to rush over her warmly but somehow freezing her mid-spell where she stood, the incantation falling silent as her mouth went inexplicably dry.
The little Templar had grown into a man, it seemed, and she couldn't stop staring, couldn't tear her eyes away from the muscular body easily carrying the heavy armor … why hadn't she noticed this before, this captivating battle grace tucked away behind a clumsy and shy façade that couldn't help but annoy her beyond her admittedly limited tolerance?
A massive ogre charged into the fray, uncaring of the scrabbling genlocks it scattered as waded into the fray. Its lumbering headlong charge toward their small group drew the witch's attention but not the others yet from their positions a little farther downhill ringing the downed caravan. The creature was heading for Alistair from behind, cruelly curved horns lowered to bruise and crush on impact; the warden didn't see it yet, so wrapped was he in concentration needed to hold the invocation against the snarling Hurlock emissary long enough for Wynne and Leliana to finish corralling the wounded travelers into the back of Bodhan's wagon to be transported to safety.
She should do something other than stare. He clearly needed assistance. Morrigan readied a spell …
And suddenly, a wash of embarrassment flooded over her - what was she doing? She couldn't afford to be weak over any man, least of all a ridiculous fool like Alistair, and yet look at her, simpering and fawning and rushing to protect him. What would Flemeth say?
Morrigan lowered her staff, watched calmly as the ogre crashed into Alistair, breaking the templar's concentration and sending him stumbling to the ground, surprise and pain etched into every line of his exhausted face.
There. That was better. Morrigan lifted her wooden staff again and murmured the incantation for crushing prison, swiftly trapping the ogre about to crush Alistair under a massive foot as he struggled to rise. Alistair's bloody sword was through the creature before it could draw another breath and he yanked upward, opening the ogre's belly before hauling the weapon out of the crumpling body and swinging to take the head off a genlock who'd thought he'd help the ogre with his kill. Alistair shot the watching witch a look of thanks, a small smile that would have never graced his lips had he known she had could have prevented the damaging collision in the first place.
Morrigan nodded back regally, just a quick glance followed by a look of disdain that clearly let him know she hadn't appreciated having to help him. She was in control of herself again: tall, proud, and never forgetting her true task: a function that ultimately involved possessing, however briefly, the warden she wouldn't permit herself to be weak for, wouldn't allow herself to spend another moment thinking about in inappropriate ways.
She would have to be more careful.
end.
Lol… I love Morrigan/Alistair. If you also love them, please review! :D