Forget-Me-Nots

lillotte17:

Chapter 2: Wolfs Bane

AO3 // FF.net         <<Previous


But I will hold on hope
And I won’t let you choke
On the noose around your neck
And I’ll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I’ll know my name as it’s called again
So come out of your cave walking on your hands
And see the world hanging upside down
You can understand dependence
When you know the maker’s hand
-Mumford & Sons

She shoved herself away from him so hard that it sent her toppling off the side of the bed and onto the floor in a heap of flailing limbs. She sat there for a few moments, completely flabbergasted, covering her mouth with one hand as she glared up at him with equal parts embarrassment and indignation. He blinked back down at her, his expression groggy and disoriented, and perhaps just a trifle wounded.

“You…y-you…with tongue?!” She finally managed to sputter in protest. “Is this some ancient Elvhen greeting I’ve never heard about?”

“You are…upset. Of course you are,” he said thickly, obviously struggling to collect himself as he went about extricating himself from the sheets still draped across his legs. “I apologize. It was presumptuous of me to assume that you-”

He made a move to stand and ended up promptly collapsing heavily to his knees on the floor beside her instead, just barely managing to catch himself with his hands. He muttered something darkly under his breath that sounded like it was probably a curse, his frustration with his condition bleeding through his otherwise prim demeanor. He pushed himself back up into a sitting position with a groan, burying his face in his hands.

“Forgive me,” he rasped out hoarsely, shaking his head slightly as though to clear it. “I fear I am…not at my best at present.”

“What? Are you going to tell me you usually buy a girl flowers before you start kissing her senseless?” She snapped, her cheeks burning. Her general sense of mortification was really chipping away at the shiny prospect of having discovered a living breathing relic who was apparently capable of at least speaking some form of the trade tongue and therefore a potential goldmine in terms of historical relevance. She should have been over the moon, but all she could focus on was his mouth.

His perfectly gorgeous mouth which was so handsomely situated in the bottom third of his perfectly gorgeous face. The one with the full lips that she knew first hand were plush and passionate and apparently willing to shower her with affection. That mouth right there. The one he had kissed her with.

Andraste’s lacey granny panties, this situation was jumping from weird to pathetic at the speed of light.

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