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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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.

"Morrigan...curious. She and Neria got to be pretty good friends by the end, but no finger-wrapping there. She did teach her how to shape-shift, though." He let his own shield drop to the side and set his sword down beside it. "Sometimes I wonder...after meeting the boy..." his voice dropped lower, became more serious, and then he shook his head. "Well. Pointless, that."

"So you never...I mean, there was no one?" The change of topic was a natural one, even if also very clearly orchestrated to distract from his previous line of thought. "I suppose I didn't really think about it before Neria. Certainly wasn't looking for love. It just sort of...happened. I have a hard time imagining anything else, to be honest."

Alistair raised an eyebrow at the obvious change of subject, but played along. He smiled, lopsidedly, and answered, "No one. Even Anora wanted nothing to do with me after what happened with her father, though I think Cousland might have briefly tried talking with her. There wasn't any time during the Blight, and there certainly wasn't any more time while trying to rebuild Fereldan..."

Alistair sighed. "And once the country was up and running, everyone in our little merry band went their separate ways. And who could I possibly place that much trust in, after everything we'd experienced. It seemed...wrong to put that sort of expectation on someone new."

((OOC: Alas, I am falling asleep. Shall we pick back up tomorrow?))

Edited Date: 2015-08-21 06:42 am (UTC)

"Anora. Pssh. I can't imagine marrying that woman. She's mildly terrifying, you know? She made her disgust for me very clear, all that muttering about how much I looked like Cailan. And, I mean, he didn't sound like the best husband, so I can't entirely blame her, but still. She has called me an idiot to my face on more than one occasion. Which I am. But I do prefer my friends to be the ones to call me that, not the widow of my half-brother and the woman who probably would have wanted my head to ensure her own reign had I not made it very clear I wanted nothing to do with her throne."

He twisted his head to look over at the King again. "You might have liked some of the new Wardens Neria has recruited. Well, I suppose your Cousland has recruited them in your world. It's a similar sort of bond as to what we went through during the Blight, if...a bit less intense. All that...king-ing," he wiggled his fingers, "getting in the way of the more important things in life." He tsked, the noise teasing, but the expression on his face rather sad, all things considered.

(OOC: Same here, lol. Sounds perfect! See you tomorrow)

"Then let us be glad that we both dodged that particular cannon ball!" Alistair chuckled. "If truly, all times and stories are possible, then somewhere out there, one of us has been stuck with the awful future."

"Cousland did pick-up a few new tag-a-longs after he was made Arl of Amarithine...I never had the opportunity to meet them in more than passing. The youngest Howe son redeemed himself, though. I heard about that from some Bard passing through - they made it seem all very dramatic and intense. His 'surly eyes flashing' and his 'righteous anger driving him forwards' and all that rot."

Alistair shuddered. "Yes, quite."

The King's description of Nathaniel had him curling in on his stomach and almost shouting with laughter.

"Ohhh, he would not like that," he wiped at his eyes, chortling. "Nathaniel is...hrm...surly is a good word for it, yes, though he's loosened up over the years. A bit. I came back from some Warden business to find Neria had recruited him and I can assure you, I was not keen on the idea at the time. But he's very little like his father, actually. Well, aside from the penchant for turning up his nose at marshes and being very fastidious about his boots. Nobles, you know."

"Maker spare us from nobles who don't remember that shoes are meant to get dirty." Alistair grinned at the Warden. "Not that I can blame him for the marshes - I remember well enough the stink and the sweltering heat."

He hummed thoughtfully, and then turned an eye towards his companion. "What was it like, falling in love with your Lady Warden?"

"What was it like?" Alistair fairly squeaked. "It - ah - well..."

He blushed, and it took him a moment to gather himself before he answered, "It was...like...all right. I picked this rose, okay? In Lothering. The only flower I'd seen anywhere in all of that blighted mess. We were the last two Wardens in all of Ferelden, I had just lost the man who had been better than a father to me, and everything I thought my life was going to be had just been turned upside down. And then there was Morrigan, and oh, it seemed like the witch basically hated me then. I didn't...I didn't have anything left to me, anything at all, except her. And she was like that rose, this beautiful light in the midst of all that darkness and taint. Do you know she hadn't been outside in the rain in years? The first time it rained after Ostagar, she just stood there, closed her eyes, and turned her face to the sky with the most perfect expression of bliss on her face I had ever seen. Because it was raining. It was - she - she never once mocked me for my grief over Duncan and she laughed at my jokes and she - she - Maker, just so many things about her have always been amazing."

He turned his face to the sky. "Loving her was as easy as breathing, like waking up and realizing everything that happened in the night was just a nightmare, and you were warm, and safe, and home."

Alistair listened to himself babble with an indulgent smile on his face, his eyes closed as he tried to picture what it had been like. Tried to remember what it had felt like to be in that same place, and to replace those poor, desperate memories with the better ones the Warden described.

"She sounds incredible, Alistair. I remember that rose - I picked it, wanting to save it from the darkspawn horde that I knew was following us. ...I never found someone to give it to. I saved it, though - Wynne helped me dry and preserve it." He thought about that single dried rose, sitting in a vase on the desk in his official office. A quiet reminder that beauty shows up in the oddest of places.

"Yes, well. I gave it to her. When I finally got up the courage to tell her how I felt. It took longer than I would have liked."

Alistair glanced over at the King and frowned. "It doesn't seem fair," he said quietly, perhaps more to himself than...his other self. He remembered what his life had been like before Neria. It had been cold, and dark, and unbearably lonely, and he'd never realized just how much until the first time he'd held her in his arms. To think of a life of his without her - not just tied to a throne, but alone? It was terrible.

"Zevran once told me that life isn't fair, and that whenever someone tells you otherwise, that they have to be selling you something." Alistair's tone was joking, but tinged with resignation. "It is nice to know that at least one time, life was somewhat kind to us, though."

The worst of it was Alistair's own powerlessness to do anything at all for this other self, he thought. He sighed.

"And then we went and decided it was a good idea to spend three bloody years apart on different Warden business," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "Who thought that was a good idea, I ask you?"