fadewalk | RP: Logan Hawke, Anders (serhealsalot)

The hallways were quiet. The kitchens were quiet. Everything had just been strangely quiet for a while now. Alistair was in socked feet, loose linen pants and a soft unlaced shirt, standing over a small pot of porridge he was cooking... for himself? It was more porridge than even he could eat comfortably, especially considering it was porridge he was making, which no one could eat comfortably.

He rubbed at his forhead. Why did he feel like he was missing something? Well a bigger more something than usual anyway.

He'd have to ask... someone. When he saw... them? Zevran, his brain whispered. How many days has he been gone? He frowned, and looked out the small window slits that ventilated the room, and the question was gone already as he wondered for the thousandth time whether it was morning or night.

It was whatever time it was, but he'd woken up alone in his bed, with a headache from too much wine and his shoes on, feeling despondent. Lonely. Which was fairly usual, all things considered. He stirred again, frowning into the whitish-brownish-greyish paste. "Probably more water," he muttered.

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Logan thought they'd probably eaten something since they'd been here, but he honestly couldn't remember. Had they not? He was starving, regardless.

"Marian said it was this way," he told Anders, leading him again through the corridors, their fingers interlaced. "Do you remember what she said about the rations system? I think I stopped listening about then." He was wearing the black trousers and blue shirt they'd picked out the night before, and they looked really out of place with his sneakers.

"Um..." He looked down the slightly more open room with several pillars they'd come to before noticing a door on the far end. "On, here." He tugged Anders to it, giving him a small grin over his shoulder, and opened the heavy door.

Waking up in a tangle with Logan had been amazing, a dream come true, and the snuggling and making out had eventually been interrupted by the growling of their stomachs. So Anders had obligingly poured himself into those leggings and actually done up the toggles of the tunic, and was trailing after Logan with bemused pleasure in his eyes.

"She said there was one?" Anders supplied with laugh. "I figured they'd check on us again before we starved to death, but I'm thinking we were forgotten."

He returned the grin as Logan looked over his shoulder and they entered the kitchen together, to find a man in what appeared to be his pajamas stirring a large pot over the hearth and frowning with a bleary sort of intensity at the surface of whatever it was he was cooking. "Huh. Um, hello?" Something about his profile looked oddly familiar.

Alistair didn't even notice the door open, and when he heard the voice over his shoulder he startled and stood and cracked the back of his head on the edge of the heavy wooden mantle in his haste. Hard enough to make him sit right back down again in the rushes in front of the hearth.

"Owww." He clapped a hand over his, not even caring at the whine in his voice. That had really hurt. And his head was spinning with the force of it.

Logan laughed, squeezing Anders' hand. "Yeah, I kinda thought they would have too." He shrugged and jokeis, "Maybe we drove them off with our touchy feelyness and all the bedroom eyes?"

Then the other man in the kitchen banged his head hard and sat down. "Jesus," Logan said, flinching sympathetically. He let go of Anders' hand and moved towards the stranger. "You okay?"

Anders cocked his head at the lilt at the end of the stranger's whine. There was something really familiar... he stepped close behind Logan, drawing even with him.

Magic was already rising in his fingers, called instinctively at the thought someone was hurt. "Let me look at it." He moved closer to the stranger, dropping to a crouch at his side, faintly glowing fingers rising to the back of his head.

Alistair's vision was still doubled, but he was pretty sure there were only two people speaking to him. He blinked blearily at the first one who spoke, and then the other who was suddenly closer and blurrier with fingers on the rising bump on the back of his head cool and soothing.

That was magic, unfamiliar, unannounced. And that made Alistair twitch instinctively toward a silence, a reflex rattled loose by the knock on the head. It was a small one, only large enough to hit Anders, though Logan would feel the margin. Any mage of experience would have had a strong chance to resist it, especially if they had experience fighting Templars.

Anders didn't though, and it was a sink into which his mana drained in a sudden whump, and Alistair watched, gaping, vision already clearing from the interrupted magical cold compress, as the mage who'd been helping him pitched forward like a puppet with its strings cut.

Logan froze, everything happening too fast for him to quite realize what was going on, feeling the weird pull at his side that felt like some of his magic was going out of him, into a void that seemed to be mostly surrounding Anders, and then Anders was pitching forward, and Logan caught him reflexively, arms around his middle. "Anders?!" His voice was panicked, and he pulled Anders back against his chest, smoothed his hair back from his face. He was out cold, and Logan was at a loss for what had just happened. He shouldn't have overextended himself with such a simple healing spell; Logan knew he'd used more magic than that already, so...

That weird siphoning of magic that he'd felt...could that have come from the other guy? The one sitting here bleary eyed in his fucking pajamas that Anders had tried to help? Logan stood slowly, cradling Anders in his arms, and shifted him to one side so that Logan's body was between him and this other man. "WHAT. THE FUCK. DID YOU DO?" He snarled, face twisting ugly with rage.

(OOC: Anders can just be an unconscious prop for a while ;))

Alistair's hands had raised to catch the skinny mage who was falling at him, but the other man, as broad Alistair, and as tall, was there instantly. The panicked worry in his voice made Alistair's gut twist. He straightened from his crouch, head mostly centered instead of spinning. Whatever the mage had done it had fixed the bump before the swelling had even got going, and it barely even hurt, which was just perfect since he'd managed to drain the mana of the man straight to unconsciousness.

Of course, wouldn't you know it, the lover was terrifying. Alistair lifted his hands, palms out. "No. Look, now, maybe you could calm down? He'll be fine. He'll be fine! It was absolutely an accident, even if apostates shouldn't go sneaking up on people with their fingers glowing willy-nilly, it's just rude, you don't know who trained as a Templar, and WHAM! Silenced."

He winced slightly. Probably not the best order to explain what had just happened. "He'll be fine?" he tried once more at the end.

Logan growled, absolutely not placated by the conciliatory gesture or the reassurances that Anders would be fine, because he was fucking unconcscious from whatever this guy had done. "For all you know we might not even be apostates," he snarled, "and he sure as hell wasn't sneaking up on you. My god, he was right in front of you! Excuse the fucking healer for a little bit of damned human decency, jesus christ."

Then he said the word Templar and Logan swore violently under his breath and shifted back a couple of steps, his arm wrapped securely around Anders. "Fucking templars," he muttered, glaring furiously at the man in front of him, blue eyes cold and sharp as ice. Damn their stomachs, and damn Marian and the other Anders for not showing back up already. They should have gone to the weapons cache before they'd gone anywhere when they woke up - Logan knew he could have found the way, and apparently it wasn't just Meredith and Cullen wandering around, but also this guy, who was - who was this one anyways?

Logan was too caught up in death-glaring at the templar to realize his free hand, clenched in a fist at his side, was sparking with little tendrils of blue lightning.

Alistair spread his fingers wider as Logan continued to growl and snarl and he was honestly a little worried the man might be a rage abomination for a moment. "I had a head wound!" he said hotly. "He didn't say, 'hello magic delivery for your cracked skull!'. I count that as sneaky. Sneaky witch-healers!"

Then Logan turned cold and violent, because there was a line between explosively angry and ready to fight and apparently that line was a fist full of lightning bolts. "Not an actual templar. Was traaaained by Templars. Not an actual Grey Warden either, if you have a secret grudge against hem too."

He took another step back, trying to decide if there was anything in here he could use as a weapon if this mage attacked him. He wasn't going to go popping off any more Silences or Cleanses, but this was looking serious and Alistair wasn't sure who Zevran would assassinate harder if Alistair got electrocuted in his pajamas: him, or the mage who did the shocking.

"Look, whoever you are, it was an accident and I'm sorry I did it, and I promise there's no lasting damage. I don't love Templars, and I rather enjoy mages when they're not shooting lightning up my nose, so maybe you could not? Shoot lightning up my nose?" Alistair nodded significantly at the lightning-laced fist in question.

Edited Date: 2015-10-14 06:40 am (UTC)

Logan growled again at the 'sneaky witch-healer' comment, offended on Anders' behalf (of course), but something about the way this templar said 'sneaky' seemed familiar. Or, not templar. Honestly, if he trained with the templars and went around wielding silences at strangers how the fuck was he supposed to be better than a templar? But the Warden comment brought Logan up short too.

"He's...not used to it," Logan muttered, trying to fill the silence while he caught up with whatever his brain was trying to tell him about why this not-templar, not-Warden guy was so familiar. "Look, if you'd have given him half a second I'm sure he would have asked you about it; he's not the type to go around forcing assholes who clearly don't want to be helped, but the magic shit is weird, all right."

He looked down at his fist when Alistair nodded and started. "Shit. Fuck." Unclenching his fingers, he shook the magic from them with a look of concentration, frowning blackly, and then shot a glare back at the other man. "Listen, buddy, I'm not going to light you up, because first of all that's a terrible way to go and while I'd really like to break your nose right now, I don't really want to kill you, so." He shifted, drawing Anders closer again when he started to slip in his grasp and when he looked back it hit him abruptly who the other man was. "...wait, Alistair?"

He wasn't sure that was any better because this guy was clearly an ass, but Alistair wasn't supposed to be as bad as the rest of the templars. Then again, he also was supposed to be a king, and this one certainly didn't look anything like any king Logan had ever imagined.

The idea that somehow both of these mages didn't actually know what in the void they were doing with their magic did not make Alistair feel better. He folded his arms, frowning as Logan continued to mutter and bluster. If he was untrained, Alistair might not have much to worry about from his magic. He looked like he could throw a punch though.

"What?" His eyes narrowed when Logan used his name and he blinked several times before his expression darkened. "Oh, wonderful, are you from a world where I'm the Archon? Or maybe the Arishok? Did I marry you and you became my queen? Hmmm?" He ran his hands through his hair, causing it to stick up wildly. "Whoever I am to you, it isn't me, alright? I'm not his majesty or the Hero's favorite person or even a Warden anymore. So, whatever you're thinking, just don't."

His eyes darted to Anders as he started to stir, a string of muttered nonsense coming from his lips. Alistair's eyes were dark with real concern, not just wariness at retribution.

Logan's lip curled into a sneer. "Yeah, well join the club," he muttered. "We'll call it 'I'm Not Actually a Hero, so Just Don't'."

He was still pissed, but Alistair had always been one of his favorite npcs. Despite his disliking templars on principle - perhaps because he disliked templars on principle and Alistair had in effect chosen blatantly against all that Chantry brainwashing. "No, I'm from a world where you're just a pixel character on a screen and don't actually exist in real life, so whoever the fuck you are here, that's probably better."

When Anders started to stir, Logan shot one last warning glare at Alistair and moved to sit Anders up on the table in the middle of the room. He cupped his cheeks in his big hands, standing between Anders and Alistair again, but at enough of an angle that he could still keep an eye on Alistair from his peripherals. "Anders? Shh, love, it's all right. I've got you."

The Silence had been a cold all into black and nothing and when Anders came back to consciousness it was with a jerk and a gasp, eyes staring wildly around until they focused on Logan's face, his hands on his cheeks, his voice, strong and low, soothing.

"What? Did I do something?" Anders grabbed at Logan's wrists, squeezing tightly, trying to turn his head. "Did I hurt somebody?" His voice was ragged with panic. He remembered the injured man, the magic rising unbidden in his hands as he tried to see if he'd cracked his skull in truth, and then.. nothing. More accidental magic was not good. He was working up to be a terrible, terrible mage.

Alistair grunted when Logan said Anders. That was a name he'd learned since arriving in Skyhold, and it didn't seem to be one spoken with positive connotations all the time. Sort of mixed feelings for this one, apparently. He could see the wary, protective set of Logan's shoulders and he stayed in his field of vision even as he stepped closer when Anders started to rouse.

"Ah." The fear that he'd hurt somebody made Alistair's cheeks flush in shame when he heard Anders speak, because of course he'd Silenced a naive apostate healer who just wanted to help and was afraid of hurting someone. At least he hadn't hit him with a Holy Smite. He didn't think there'd be much left un-electrocuted if he'd actually hurt him. "Sorry about the... er, Silence? Old reflex out of nowhere. At least it wasn't a smite, hmm?"

No, Alistair, that wasn't necessary to say out loud. He rubbed his forehead. Inside thoughts should stay inside.

Logan dropped a hand to Anders' shoulder and squeezed. "No, love, you didn't hurt anyone," he said, quick to reassure, darting a glance at Alistair and feeling his heart ache, just a bit, that that was Anders' first fear. "You just startled him, is all, and he pulled out some templar stuff, hmm?" He brushed the back of his hand against Anders' forehead, the fingers still cupping his cheek brushing along his cheekbone soothingly. "You blacked out from the - the Silence, just for a couple of minutes. How do you feel?"

The relief that he hadn't hurt anyone was the only thing Anders could feel for a moment and he shifted his grip to grab at Logan's shirt and bury his face in a shoulder with a shudder. "Head hurts." It felt woolly and empty and over-large like a balloon, and it also felt like a band was squeezing his temples. He turned his head just far enough to see the stranger that had... Silenced him?

"What, did you say Templar? Is he a Templar?" He winced at how loud his own voice got and wound up burying his face against Logan again, shutting his eyes against the light.

"No! Not a Templar! Andraste's knickers, no one listens." Alistair folded his arms, eyes a touch too narrow to be pouting. Sulking was probably a better word for it. "I'm Alistair, and I'm decidedly not a Templar. Nor a Warden. Nor a prince or anybody. At all. I was almost a Templar, and I am definitely sorry that it was as near a thing as it was."

He unfolded his arms and stepped closer, looking disheveled and earnest and handsome for a moment instead of defensive and sharp. "I'm really, really sorry I Silenced you. Thank you. For trying to help me. Unfortunately no one has yet succeeded in saving me from my own clumsy idiot oafishness."

Logan shifted closer to Anders, running a hand gently over the back of his head and frowning. He really needed to get ahold of his own healing abilities; what if he just...

The thought was interrupted by the templar discussion. "He says he's not," he told Anders, after Alistair spoke. "He seems to be some sort of version of the Alistair npc, except he's not King?" He looked back at Alistair once more and the earnest puppy look on the man's face made Logan soften, just a bit. "I think he's probably all right." This came out low, as if meant just for Anders, and a touch gruff.

Pressing his lips to Anders' brow, he shifted a hand away from Anders and himself and held it out. "Let me just..." His mana felt a bit funny after he'd lost some of it to Alistair's Silence, but mostly all right, and it didn't take him long to feel it out and draw some down his arm. This time Logan focused intently on the feel of the healing magic Anders had used on him before, the gentle soothe of it, and he focused also on what he wanted to do, which was largely the equivalent of a magical Advil. It took longer than usual to get anything to coalesce in his palm - some pale blue light shimmered there, for a moment, and then vanished again, three different times before he finally managed to make it stay. "There. Here, love." He brought his hand to Anders' temple but didn't cover it, just let some of the tendrils of soft blue magic flow from his fingers' to Anders' skin, and then he pulled back quickly, losing the tentative grip on the magic as he did so. He grunted with displeasure, but looked back at Anders' intently. "Does that help at all?"

Anders listened to both voices, startling when he realized Logan was right, and that's why the voice sounded so familiar. Alistair. He cracked an eye to glare at him as Logan worked on summoning his wisps of healing magic.

Yes, that is who he looked like, though it was strange to see how the game wasn't quite right. Logan's hand settled onto his temple and the cooling, soothing magic eased through his head. It did help, quite a bit, with the pain anyway. The woolly sensation didn't leave, and his head still felt slightly over-inflated, but it was better.

"Thank you. That's actually a lot better, pain-wise." Anders lifted his head to brush a soft kiss of thanks to Logan's cheek. "Still a little... off though."

Alistair had no idea what an NPC was, but he pretty sure he wasn't one. He looked a little worried when Logan started casting even though it was obvious he didn't really have any kind of handle on the type of spell he was reaching for.

However, when Alistair recognized the cool light and gentle hum of a healing spell on Logan's hand, he relaxed a little. What was the worst that could happen with a healing spell? Well, unless he could make someone grow another... nose or something. That wouldn't be fantastic. Still, there weren't any lightning bolts in the offing, and that was good.

"Oh, that's from the mana drain. If we had lyrium we could clear that up, but it will come back in a few... oh hours probably. Then you'll be surprise-healing all sorts of lucky people." He shot Logan a wary glance. "Which I am all still very grateful and sorry for. In reverse order."

Logan wrinkled his nose, all ready to apologize and perhaps try again, since it seemed probable he hadn't quite gotten the healing magic just right, when Alistair spoke. "Oh." He tilted his head and looked back at Anders. "I guess we wait, then?" He lifted one shoulder in a shrug, a little baffled and more than a little put off. The idea of randomly getting magical powers was cool until it happened to you and then you were suddenly threatening strangers with lightning and passing out from sudden lack of it. Like either of them needed another weird bodily need to keep track of - Logan could barely convince Anders to eat and sleep, half the time.

He moved around so he was standing slightly behind Anders' and could pull him against his chest with an arm around his waist. "Yes. Well." He eyed Alistair testily over Anders' shoulder and offered, after a moment, "I'm sorry I snapped at you; I really wouldn't have set you on fire or electrocuted you, or anything."

Anders was still glaring half-heartedly at Alistair, but it was hard with the pretty puppy eyes routine. Still... "I would have. Absolutely. If you'd done that to Logan. Totally incinerated." He shrugged, leaning into Logan's arm. "I don't really get lightning."

He'd always had a soft spot for Alistair as well, the unwanted, neglected orphan backstory a bit of a sure thing. So listening to him ramble and backtrack and snark in the familiar voice was odd. "You know, I keep expecting him to send us on a quest for darkspawn blood or something." His voice was a low aside to Logan, and he snorted softly.

Alistair nodded at Logan, shrugging off the apology, but he shook his head at Anders, trying to decide if he should laugh or not, arms folded and lips twitching in a suspicious quirk that was somehow still amused. "Right. Crispy black cinders here I come."

The reference to the preparation for the Joining made Alistair's face narrow with wariness, eyes flicking between them. They were not Wardens, which was weird, because he was pretty sure Anders was a Warden. He turned away to stir the porridge, the hairs on his neck prickling as he remembered something Logan said. Just a character in a game they play..? That was... creepy.

Logan preened a little at the idea of Anders defending him, a foolish half-grin on his face despite himself. He bit his lip. "Now, love," he admonished, voice round with humor, "let's not upset the nice templar-trained man any further."

He watched Alistair stir the porridge with a hum of agreement, nuzzling his nose in behind Anders' ear, loathe to actually step away from him and rummage around for food as they'd initially intended after that scare. "I know, right," he murmured. "And I thought it was weird meeting ourselves."