fadewalk | RP: Open

Alistair had found a seat in the great hall, tucked off to the side and slightly hidden by the drapery, and had applied himself to reading the journal that had been gifted to him. Paperwork he might detest, but he had learned the importance of research - not just from reading the endless reports his advisers foisted upon him, but also from Cousland. The man had insisted on reading every book and slip of paper that they had come across in their adventures. Alistair had scoffed at him in the beginning but Cousland had proven how useful it was over time. How the man ever kept it all straight in his head was entirely separate matter of course...

He sighed, and paused for a moment - rubbed his tired eyes and stretched in his chair. The sky outside had not showed any change in lighting, still that ugly, roiling gray, and the buzz of magical energies grated on his teeth. He'd tried to sleep, briefly, but had given it up for lost. Now, though, he was beginning to feel the stress of it.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and leaned back in his chair, his head bumping against the wall. Alistair went over the current situation in his head, trying to straighten it all out.

Two Cullens - one who suffered yet more demon-related trauma (poor man didn't deserve that), and another who's been exceptionally quiet. Three Dorians - whoever that is. Flirtatious man, by his writing. If Zevran were here, he'd would get along with any of them like a house on fire. A slew of people from some strange world without magic and flying ships. An elven woman named Sera, who Leliana seems to known, but isn't ours. Alistair's face took on a sad expression, tinged with frustration. Multiple Champions of Kirkwall and Heroes of Fereldan...but not my Hero of Fereldan. And no one else besides Leliana who would know me.

That was a slightly upsetting thought. There's at least one other me, though I haven't seen or heard from him at all. I can't blame him - I don't know that I would want to be confronted by whatever did or didn't happen to me, simply because Cousland wasn't...well, wasn't. He shook his head, but remained leaning back in his chair, eyes closed.

What a mess.

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"Cousland took that pleasure for himself, selfish bastard." The insult was said with a little bit of fondness, a little bit of grump. A long buried argument - he and Cousland had fought over that decision for days.

"I know that the Orlesian Warden...Riordan, I think?...tried to talk Cousland around to sparing Loghain...recruiting him into the Wardens to try and bolster our ranks for the future." Alistair shook his head, an expression of disgust on his face. "As if that madman deserved a second chance."

((OOC: Off to bed for me - continue with this tomorrow?))

Edited Date: 2015-08-20 06:51 am (UTC)

Alistair massaged his temple with the tips of his fingers.

"I mean, in retrospect, the man probably just wanted more fodder to throw at the archdemon in case things went south, and I can't say I blame him for thatsurvived? The man responsible for wiping out the entire order in Ferelden?" He shook his head vigorously and gritted his teeth. "It makes my blood boil just thinking about it, and it's been ten damn years."

(OOC: Sounds perfect! I really should go to bed myself)

"Well, if it make us that mad even 10 years past, I can only imagine what sort of recklessness it might have driven us to back then."

Alistair stretched in his chair, and then got to his feet. He held out a hand to his other self, a slightly mischievous grin on his face. "I'll bet you a sovereign that we both spend too much time sitting at our desks. Indulge me for a moment? One of things that I have almost never get to do any more in spar with any real enthusiasm." Alistair grimaced. "My guards are too afraid of hurting the King to give me a challenge."

Edited Date: 2015-08-20 03:07 pm (UTC)

There was a brief hesitation as Alistair stared at the other him's hand. It was one thing to meet himself, or a version of himself as he might have been had things turned out differently, and quite another to...touch himself. Which sounded dirty in his head, now he thought. He grimaced, and grasped the other Alistair's hand before he could talk himself out of it further, letting the man pull him to his feet.

A strange tingling sensation shot up his arm, but he wasn't entirely sure if that was a real reaction, or just an imagined reaction to how weird he felt about this. He shook it off, curling his fingers experimentally a few times when he let go of his own hand, and hoped desperately that the small amount of contact wasn't going to have some kind of bizarre backlash in the real world. Assuming they made it back to there at all.

"You want to spar with me?" he asked with some response, failing to keep back a grin in response. "I mean...I'm certainly game, but I don't know how well you'll like it when I kick my own ass. My version of our life hasn't afforded me much time to be idle."

His hazel eyes sparkled mischievously, the challenge evident in them despite his obvious teasing.

Alistair pulled his other self up out of his chair, an easy demonstration of strength undiminished by his time as ruler. As their hands touched, a tiny shock of static like energy ran up his arm. His head rang briefly, a soft mental vibration like a gonging, one he'd come to associate with positive magical energies being used on or around himself. Alistair shook his head to clear it, but was distracted by the implied challenge in his companion's voice.

"Yes, well, we're not exactly know for thinking things through, now are we? If I am truly as rusty as you think, I deserve the thrashing." He returned the grin with one of his own, and gestured towards the courtyard through the doors. "Since I foolishly challenged you, what say you pick our method?"

Alistair quirked a brow at the shake of the other man's head and looked thoughtful, but he didn't comment on it.

"Method? I'm assuming you're still a sword and shield type, or is that different too?" he asked as he headed for the doors. He squinted at Alistair. "Have you picked up some weird kinging method of fighting that I don't know about?" he asked suspiciously.

"Sword and shield is fine. I did once challenge Cousland to wrestle a darkspawn into submission, though I hadn't intended for him to take me seriously. Oh, one moment." Alistair ducked through one of the side doors, and was gone for a few minutes, before reappearing with a pair of wooden practice shields and blunted blades. He hoisted them, and gestures back the way he came. "Cullen appears to have collected anything that could have been used as a weapon, even if it would take someone of Sten's strength to do damage to someone with these."

Alistair shook his head, musing, "That must've been a sight."

He smirked a little at the mention of Cullen. "Yeees, he always was a rather by the books sort, wasn't he? Funny how he keeps showing up wherever there are great heroes of our day being raised up. I can't tell if he has the worst possible luck, or what."

"It was messy. If he hadn't already been a Warden, he would have contracted the Blight sickness for sure, the idiot." Alistair grimaced at the memory. That had been a particularly bad fight, and Cousland's jesting had not made the tension in the air afterwards any better.

"He seemed to have done well for himself in the Inquisition in my time...though it does appear that this specific Cullen has had a rough time of it." Alistair continued out the front doors and down the stairs to the courtyard. He walked several paces away from the stairs, out into the open air, and then held out a shield and sword to the other man, a challenging grin on his face.

Alistair hummed. "My Cullen as well," he agreed, "I spoke with him some on my visit to Skyhold. Though, yes, this one seems much worse off."

He met the other Alistair's grin with one of his own, taking the shield and hefting the sword in his hand. He gave it a few experimental swings.

"Right. So. First contact, best two out of three? Unless you have a better idea."

"No, first contact sounds like a good plan. I'm sure your Lady Warden will try to take my hide if I do any worse than that to you." Alistair squared off against himself, settling in the the familiar stance of a templar-trained shield and sword fighter.

He waited until his companion had settled into position, waiting for a nod of confirmation before he began.

Alistair chuckled. "Well, that could be - that is. Um." His brow furrowed and a sudden blush spread across his face and ears. "Let's just not test that theory," he choked out, deciding it best not to elaborate on that train of thought. Evidently he had been away from Zevran, and really anyone to enjoy his awkward jokes, for too long if the first thing to spring to his mind was beyond dirty. Well. This was just awkward.

To distract himself, he settled into position and nodded quickly at the other man, opting for a cautious circle instead of an immediate charge, to see what the King would do.

Alistair laughed to see himself blush - dear Maker, he really did turn red from his ears down. "Oh really? Sounds like that may be less unpleasant than I first assumed."

He followed the cautious circle, before darting in quickly, bashing his shield into the other man's in a quick, practiced motion. It was an obvious attempt to push the Warden off-balance - a test of the other man's strength.

Alistair pulled a face at himself.

He met the shield bash easily, one foot sliding back a step to brace himself, and then he raised his shield in return and twisted it to disengage. He stepped left and swung his sword at the other man, hoping to catch him with the flat of his blade while he was off balance.

Alisatir's own weapon whipped up and knocked the sword from its intended path. It swung back around, curving to come up under the man's shield, the edge of the blade turned carefully under. He was moving a little slowly, as if feeling out his own skills as well as the Warden's.

Alistair swept his shield down, hard, driving the sword away, and then lunged with his own sword over his shield, his own motions more swift now that he had noticed the King was doing the same sort of slow, feeling moves that he too had begun instinctively.

The realization made him grin faintly.

Alastair backed up, a smooth retreat from the Warden's attack, before pushing forward again, an overhead swing followed by another shield bash to the man's shield arm, the weight behind the shield increasing as he tried to push the Warden back.

His own face was split by a broad grin, a lively look in his eyes. "You had been saying something about beating my ass?"

The shield bash struck Alistair's own shield solidly, the force of it vibrating up his arm. He slid back a step and then twisted, stepped away, ducked, aiming a shield bash of his own this time at the King's ankles, followed by a swift sweep of his sword at the man's chest.

"Had to see how you would react to taunting, didn't I?" he said, cheeky.

Alistair jumped back, skidded in the courtyard grass, and recovered to parry the next attack with a little effort. He whooped, a loud war cry, and charged forward with hacking sweeps of his blade meant to startle and force the Warden on the defensive.

"And here I thought Zevran was the tease!"

Alistair had to admit the wild waving of the King's blade looked a little ridiculous, but then, the man was clearly good on the threat that his sweeping blade indicated, judging by the strength in him. He raised his shield over his head and charged rather than backed away, blade snaking out from behind the cover to whip towards the other man's midriff.

Catching the other man's blade on his shield and attempting to knock it aside, he grinned and did a decent(ish) approximation of waggling eyebrows. "Zevran is a good teacher, no?"

Alistair laughed aloud at the ridiculous impression. "Did he offer to teach you anything else? I know he certainly tried with me!" He caught the other man's sword with a down sweep of his shield, and a complicated twist brought his sword around to slam the Wardens shield back against him.

Alistair grunted, not used to the slam of a shield against him when he wasn't wearing considerably more armor. He took a moment to disentangle himself and then lunged in close, sticking one foot between the King's boots to tangle up his footwork while knocking his shield aside with his own shield and swinging his sword in a wide arc aimed at the King's side.

"Did I mention I am married to a rather fierce elven woman? Yes? She might not have your - our - hide, but she would most certainly have had Zevran's. Not that that - ah - stopped him from trying," he answered as he moved.

"Cousland thought it was hilarious, of course. Thought I was mostly sure Zevran was offering out of...oof!" Down and backwards Alistair went, his foot slipping on the grass as he tried to maneuver away from the Warden's feet. The sword swing aimed at his side just barely brushed his hair as he went down, sprawling in the grass.

After a moment, Alistair laughed, a breathless, happy sound.

Alistair swept his sword back around, lightning-quick, and then stopped it just above the other man's chest, and gave him an impossibly gentle tap right over his heart.

He grinned down at the King, amused.

"You know, you're quite more entertaining to spar than my recruits, other me," he said. He paused a moment, debating, and then impulsively turned and dropped down onto the grass next to him.

"In my experience, Zevran doesn't offer that sort of thing out of pity," he said, after a second to catch his breath, turning to study his face in profile. He did have a particularly impressive nose, didn't he? Hm.

"Entertaining because I'm decent or because I'm so awful. No, don't answer that. I know that I am more than a little out of practice." Alistair remained sprawled in the grass in an untidy heap - he was comfortable and relaxed. He undid the straps of his shield, and pushed it and the sword to where they wouldn't be in the way.

Alistair hummed thoughtfully in response to the Warden's statement, and shook his head. "No, more often he does it to see if he can get a rise out of the person. Everyone I. Our party was wrapped around Cousland's littlest finger...except for Morrigan. She crooked her finger and he went running." Alistair smiled fondly, wistfully at the memory.