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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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?"

"Who indeed?" Alistair chuckled, opening his eyes and fixing his companion with a look. "I've heard a rumor that Neria thinks she's close to finding a cure? Cousland hasn't been very good about keeping the rest of us updated on his progress."

Alistair hummed and nodded.

"We haven't had the chance to sit down and talk about all the specifics of what she's found, but it does sound very promising. And Dagna has some good ideas as well, I hear."

"That's excellent news. The Wardens have had enough trouble with the world...indeed, we could even say that the world has had enough trouble with us! If it succeeds, it will change the way Thedas looks at us." Alistair looked thoughtful, but pleased.

"Neria mentioned that she would be willing to share what she had found. I only wish I had some help to offer her."

"I would say we've had enough of changing the way the world looks at us for recent history, but if it means I get to die in a bed next to Neria instead of at the end of a darkspawn's blade, I'm all for it."

Alistair folded his hands on his stomach and got a dreamy expression on his face.

Alistair gave his other self an amused look, and then gently prodded him in the side. "It looks as if someone has missed his wife more than emotionally, if you're thinking about being in bed with her."

"Ha!" Alistair chortled, though he blushed brilliantly.

"That was...not what I meant...though I can see why you got that idea. Er. Well. Anyways. You would too if she was your wife, believe me."

He blushed more at the admission and had to look away, lips curling up at the edges.

Alistair chuckled. Had he ever blushed this easily? Did he still turn that brilliant shade of embarrassed red? It was such an education, seeing himself from the outside.

"I imagine that I would, considering I have more than enough evidence of that in front of me." Alistair's grin was fond. "I am glad that she makes you happy. In all sorts of ways, even." It was his turn to do a ridiculous impression of Zevran's outrageous leer and eyebrow wiggle.

Alistair's laugh quickly turned into a loud moan at the leering and he covered his face with a hand and groaned.

"Maker's breath, that was terrible. Did my face look like that too? Blessed Andraste. We should never do that again."

Alistair laughed. "Well, we learn knew things every day. I wasn't aware how bloody red I turn while blushing, you didn't know how ridiculous we look imitating Zevran."

"Hmm, yes." Alistair wrinkled his nose.

"This has been a very insightful experience, I'm sure." He gave a lopsided grin.

"Insightful, embarrassing, educational...I'm sure we could come up with a host of words to describe it." Alistair hummed thoughtfully, and then grinned at the Warden. "So, are you going to introduce me to the woman who swept you off your feet?"

Alistair squinted at his other self, his ears going red. Again. Maker, embarrassing was definitely the right word for this situation.

"Well," he said quickly, to cover his awkwardness, "I suppose that seems only fair."

Alistair smiled disarmingly at his other self. "You look like you expect me to be up to something nefarious." He shook his head, chuckling. "I assure you, I'm not. I would just like to know what to look for if I ever get the chance to find my own happiness."

Alistair made a face and looked vaguely guilty.

"When you put it like that, there's no resisting you," he said, then paused to examine to smile his other self was wearing.

"Is that what they mean when they say I have puppy eyes?" he wondered aloud. "Because if so...that's...that's...hm." He wrinkled his nose and admitted, "Probably accurate."

Alistair laughed. "Really? Pushing past the age of thirty and we're still being accused of using puppy eyes to get what we want?"

Alistair's eyes roamed his companion's face, and sighed. "Though now I understand why I've been told so many times that I shouldn't play cards. You wear your emotions right there on your face." He paused, and sighed. "Which of course means I do as well. Something to work on, I guess."

Alistair waved a hand. "You...you do that, Mr. Kingliness. I'm sure your job requires more subterfuge than mine. For me, that just sounds exhausting."

He sat up, running a hand back through his hair.

"It is exhausting. But necessary. Can't have the Duke of Such-and-Such knowing that you think his doublet is an awful color and his nasally whine obnoxious." Alistair stretched, luxuriating in the soreness that had already developed form his bout with the Warden.

"Though if I remember, Warden politics are a little less ridiculous than Orlesian ones. So maybe you won't need that particular skill."

Alistair arched a brow and smirked. "Oh, are we really so snooty now that we are going around judging the color choices of people and their doublets? I never thought I'd see the day. Though I suppose, to be fair, there were some truly atrocious Orlesian fashions making their way insidiously into Ferelden when last I was at court." He shuddered.

"I don't think I would call them as ridiculous, no. But a bit absurd? More overt and less 'ooh let me smile in your face while I send someone to spill all your family secrets, incite your ruin, and drive you to suicide,' certainly. But they are still far too...hrm, well, political, for my taste, with the First Warden practically angling for the throne of the Anderfel. Or so everyone says, and I really haven't seen much to say otherwise. Still, I'd rather grimace in his face and be upfront about my dislike than not. Seems dishonest."