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"You'll be sent to the Anderfels, for sure." The words echoed through his head as Alistair searched frantically for his uniform. He pulled the light breeches up, quickly tying them at the waist as he continued to search through the small room for the rest of his clothes. It didn't take him long to realized that they were gone. Again.
Alistair's jaw set in anger as he heard snickering from outside, but by the time he opened the door there was no one there. This wasn't the first time he'd been the target of pranks from the other recruits. When he was twelve he'd woken up with his hair covered in a thick layer of mud that would take hours to clean. At fifteen his training sword had been replaced with a replica so brittle that it had snapped in half in training and he'd nearly lost an eye. But today? Today the Wardens were coming, and Alistair's clothes were nowhere to be found.
He took a quick look at himself. The breeches he wore were certainly not meant to be worn as formal pants. They were light and loose, intended for lounging in one's quarters. He had no shoes or boots, and no shirt, and even the temperate weather in Ferelden was rather unforgiving. As he saw it, he had two options. Sit in the bath house until someone found him, or leave and try to track down the culprits.
After a moment of indecision, Alistair pushed the door to the bath house open just enough to peek his head out. A few veteran templars patrolled the grounds, but most of the recruits were scarce. Likely getting ready for the tournament, he thought to himself. His lip curled in annoyance. He'd have been doing the same, if he could. Not that Knight-Commander Glavin would so much as consider allowing him to participate.
His timing was perfect. As two of the templars turned their backs, Alistair darted out of the bath house and ran as quickly as he could toward the main hall. It was likely that the thieving recruits had taken his things back to the barracks, on the opposite side of the grounds.
The quickest path to the barracks was through the dining hall. At this time of day, the hall would be barren beyond a few cooks and maybe a recruit or two. Moving as quickly as his bare feet would carry him, Alistair barreled into the dining hall shoulder first. He skidded to a halt as everyone in the hall turned to stare him. It was filled to brim with mages and templars.
"Did you miss the memo, My Lord?" a mocking voice asked from beside him. Alistair turned, eyes wide as saucers, to confront the thieves. His eyes narrowed slightly as they fell on boy before him. Cullen Rutherford. Alistair was confused for a moment. The boy from Honnleath, teased for his overly serious dedication to the order, stood between two of the other recruits. Cullen wore a smug smile, though his posture betrayed some hint of anxiety. Alistair wouldn't have expected him to be part of the theft.
He choked down the expanding lump in his throat. The Warden Commander stood at the front of the dining hall, next to an enraged Knight-Commander Glavin. So much for any small chance he might have had to impress the Wardens.
Alistair had nearly decided to simply die of embarrassment when he heard a sound. It sounded like... was someone clapping? Alistair's head turned toward the noise. One of the recruits, a girl named Tella, bravely stood and clapped her hands together as she gave him a confident smile. He felt a flush in his cheeks as he remembered that he was nearly stark naked, and the feeling grew as more and more of the crowd began to stand and join her in applause. Before long, nearly the entire room had risen to their feet to cheer for the lone, helplessly underdressed recruit. Glavin's head looked as though it might split like an overripe melon.
As Alistair saw the growling faces of the boys beside him, he knew there was only thing he could possibly do. Alistair straightened sharply into a crisp salute, directed squarely at the Knight-Commander. He'd never hear the end of this, he was certain, but he could at least retain some of his pride. Without further delay, he turned and marched right back out of the dining hall, pulling the doors securely shut behind him.
"Well," Alistair muttered to himself, letting out a deep breath, "at least maybe now they can think of something new to call me."
"You really think you can pull this off?" Alistair asked, half to his companion and half into the tankard covering his face.
"Easier than the time I snuck a nug into Cassandra's quarters," Sera snorted, snapping her fingers at one of the barmaids. Alistair pulled his head out of the tankard just in time to see the elf give the barmaid a firm pat on the behind as she departed. He raised an eyebrow, receiving only a slight shrug in response.
"This has got to be perfect," Alistair continued, a wry grin sneaking its way onto his face. "I've been imagining this day for over ten years."
"I told you I can do it," Sera reminded him. "I stole Cassandra's dirty book, remember?"
Alistair couldn't keep the grin from growing larger. "Yes, I remember that quite well."
"Bet it's about as raunchy as listening to the Chant of Light," she groaned sarcastically with a roll of her eyes. "Can't imagine Miss Priss reading anything proper filthy."
"You'd be surprised," Alistair chuckled. "Although I'm certain it's hardly up to your... unique standards."
"Maybe the two of you can giggle over it together the next time you have a slumber party."
"Ha ha. Very funny, Sera," Alistair groused. "Just don't be late."
"Yeah yeah, calm your tits." Sera turned back toward the barmaid. "Oi, love! Bring that arse back 'round and get us another drink, eh?"
It was the stuff of legends. Well, not really, but for moment Alistair was happy to believe it. Six pairs of Commander Cullen's smallclothes hung from the balcony outside Vivienne's quarters, in full view of his office. They were conveniently also in full view of anyone outside the keep, and everyone knew exactly whose they were thanks to the fur-lined cloak that hung in the center, like a battle standard.
Cullen didn't noticed Alistair leaning against the railing when he stepped outside his office, gaping at the display as he stood only half clothed. More clothed than Alistair had been as a child, the Warden noted, but he'd take what he could get. The Commander finally turned to see his adversary.
"Alistair," he said with a defeated sigh. "I suppose this makes us even."
"It'll have to do," the Warden replied with an impish grin. "Although I got a standing ovation." Alistair leaned back slightly to view the crowd. "I think some young ladies down in the courtyard are having having a marvelous giggle at your knickers."
"I never planned to do that to you," Cullen explained with another loud, deep sigh. "The older recruits gave me hell just the same as you, Alistair. They promised to go easy on me if I helped them."
"Blah blah blah, woe is me," Alistair mocked, pretending to be faint. "Such a delicate flower, Commander."
Cullen watched him closely for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. Alistair couldn't take it anymore. He burst into laughter before placing a hand on the Commander's shoulder. "We're even, Cullen."
"If it makes you feel any better, after the Warden Commander ran off with you, I became their new target," Cullen explained. "They started calling me Choir Boy after they caught me singing in the Chantry."
"Life's hard when you've got half a sense of decency about you," Alistair replied with a smile. "What say we go unpin your underclothes and make peace over a pint of the finest Fereldan swill we can scrounge up?"
"Maker, yes," Cullen agreed.
By the time they crossed the walkway connecting to the tower, Vivienne had discovered the barbarous display and had unpinned the entire collection of clothing. The underclothes fluttered to the ground, and it took nearly half an hour to locate each pair. Cullen wouldn't hear the end of the teasing for weeks, and as far as Alistair was concerned, any debt the Commander might have had was now fully repaid. Fully - gloriously - repaid.