❤️ 🧚 Romancing the Hero (Improved) 🧚 ❤️ (F4A) (Sexy Mage Seduces You) (You're the Hero, I'm Your Companion)

Transcript

For the last time, Atreus, I'm not interested. I don't care how many maidens you've had in your bed, I don't. ..

Oh. Hello, darling. No, I thought you were someone very annoying.

Come in. Of course, you're always welcome. Because you are not a lecherous old lecher, trying to get their grubby paws on me.

Hmph. I mean, I don't mind paws on me, but they have to be grubby. Honestly, personal hygiene is a must.

I don't mind a rough man, but he has to be at least clean. Good hygiene is very alluring. But I would have thought you knew that.

How finely you keep yourself. Darling, I'd never tease. Unless I meant it.

And I do, you keep yourself in remarkable form. It's very attractive. Speaking of attractive, I hear through the grapevine that you have done many an attracting lately.

Should you about nothing, I think not. I think someone is a secret heartbreaker. And you didn't even have the good form to tell me.

I am impressed. Of course. I always thought you were so quiet and meek and, oh, humble.

But now I see you just work in the shadows. Seducing and whispering and luring young hearts to your tent overnight. And you still have the audacity to blush.

Is that how you get them? Both the seductive and the seduced. It's a very good play.

No, of course not, darling. Of course it's not a play. How could I even suggest such a thing? You are clearly a human of integrity.

How dare I suggest elsewise. Do try to forgive me. It's been a long day with many meetings and far too little libation.

By the way, could you sort that out for me? We have a shortage of good wine. Ah, emphasis on the good.

Darling, you can't expect me to swallow that swill. I am a lady. And ladies have standards.

Next you'll be wanting me to eat potatoes. Such bulky, dirty things. Where's the steak? Where's the venison? Where's the lamprey pie with asparagus? Darling, I come from a lineage 500 years old.

I don't eat root vegetables. Sacrifices, yes. But to make me suffer humiliations? You wouldn't.

Surely you care for me too much by now. Well then, simply for the fact I'm very, very pretty. Thank you, my dear.

Now, what were we talking about? I'm aware we're on a quest, and a very gruesome, grim one indeed. No good wine, barely any meat? Are you trying to starve me or just bore me to death? No, thank you.

I have more than enough work, thanks to someone. If you haven't got me teamed up with some lout, I'm in a council meeting or having to brew more potions. It's exhausting.

Being so valuable is hard work on the mind and the body. You could at least provide me with some libation. A seducer, a seducee, and a heart of stone, it seems.

Well, you would allow one of your finest counselors to starve to death. No fine wine or meat, and no good conversation? What shall I do? How will I be able to advise you if I starve to death? Oh, will you now? You will find me some good wine? And some good meat? And good conversation, my? Are we obliging all of a sudden? And what must I do in return? Because nothing is for free.

And why should it be? We should all barter and bargain and trade, it's the only way to survive. Well, it's the only fun way.

Fine, I accept your terms. Name your price. I'm waiting.

Now why would I laugh at our glorious leader? I'm all yes. And hips and curves and bumps and lumps.

I may have had to stifle my boredom with the not-so-good wine, so do forgive me if my lips and my hips are a little looser than usual. So I don't hear you complaining. Speak, oh wise one.

I beg your good pardon. You wish to talk with me? You are our commander, our leader, our brave hope for the perilous journey we no doubt are going to die on.

And in exchange for giving me what I want, you wish to talk with me? Are you hiring me to be your conversational hooker? Not at all? I'm rather fond of hookers.

Their pragmatism knows no bounds. An admirable trait, don't you think? I love a survivor.

Hence why I'm fond of you, chosen one. Against all odds, born on a farm, raised with no sense of magic or nobility or even a sword. And yet here you are, leading us all, giving us hope, supplying us with good wine.

You're enjoyable. And I accept. I will be your conversational wench.

Well, I want my wine, I love my meat, and. .. You're very easy to talk to.

Though I must say your competition's not very fierce. A blacksmith, a religious zealot, and an old, lecherous man. And you chose me out of all of them? Well, really, any other choice would be insulting, so.

.. I'll try not to be too giddy about it. However.

.. If I am to be honest, which I always. ..

teeter towards. .. I would say I'm flattered.

I find you visually. .. stimulating.

Your image. .. it's quite lovely.

So, are we to begin? Shall I seduce you with enthralling tales of scandal, seduction, schemes, and sense? Are you sure? Being one of the principal mages at the palace, I know many a sordid tale.

Or. .. shall I ask you how you are? How are you? I can imagine.

The stress of being the chosen one. I don't envy you. Well, maybe you have.

Well, it is very thick. You're right to be scared. I'd be scared too.

All those faces. All hoping for me to save them. Sounds exhausting.

Is that why you wish to speak with me? Or was it really speaking you were after? You can tell me, you know.

I won't judge. You think I haven't seen you? The slight glances, the slow scanning of your eyes around certain parts of me? And why do you ask for forgiveness when there's nothing to forgive? I told you.

I enjoy you. The sight of you, the smell of you. Even the words that come slipping out on occasion.

Have I shocked you? Have I repulsed you? Then you will think it over, yes? My counter-proposal.

Well, you see, talking's all well and good. But why stop at talking, when there's so much else we could do? You do taste like salt.

And skin. And ash. And sweat.

And sweat.