Two wipe-outs in less than an hour--even ones he'd managed to abort somewhat by flopping on his king like a feather pillow--is shameful. Anders mentally composes another message to the powers at be.

Dear Maker, dear Andraste, dear whoever's taking requests at this moment, I really mean it this time. Please don't let someone be watching this. If no one's there to see me being trounced by someone who barely started templar training, it didn't happen.

To show my good faith, I promise to stop saying your names in vain. Really. This time for sure.

In order to keep his word, he bites back the oath he's ready to utter, instead rolling off Alistair with a wordless groan, rising onto his knees. "I can't believe you just tackled me. Actually tackled me." The shame! Oh, the shame! "That was underhanded and unfair and a long list of other words I could use. And did I mention cheating?"

Alistair should feel bad for picking on innocent by-standers. Anders lays it on thick by giving him an aggrieved look.

"You should've warned me snowball fights involved being wrestled to the ground. I would've got out while the getting was good."