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 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."

Anders considered for a moment: which was weirder, his older revolutionary possessed self or a completely fictional character with a real face and a real personality and a really big pot of what looked like oatmeal over the fire? Honestly, he didn't know. Both were decidedly strange.

"He's a good likeness." He cocked his head to the side, peering at Alistair pretty intently. "He's a little scruffier than in the game."

"Please stop talking about me like I'm not real." Alistair's voice was comically grumpy, but underneath that a real thread of discomfort. "I don't even know who either of you are and you're staring at me like I'm the bad portrait of your mother's second cousin or something."

He stirred his porridge again and knocked the spoon against the rim, peering at it for a long moment. Why had he stolen and made such a large portion? "Well, this is going to be both gummy and undercooked. Brilliant."

"Oh. Sorry." Logan had totally forgotten to introduce himself. Or Anders, for that matter. "I'm Hawke. Well...a Hawke, I guess." He shook his head slightly, shaking off the lingering sense of discomfort that there were apparently several people running around using his name. "And he's Anders."

He felt like he should say something else here, but had no clue what that might be. Some explanation for why they were ogling this Alistair like he was some character from a fable come to life? Another apology for the ogling? Good lord, something. Instead he exhaled and tightened his arm around Anders, still tense, even jittery from how angry he'd just been. All his usual tact failed him.

Anders smoothed his hands over Logan's arm, trying to reassure him. He was a little unsettled by the whole situation as well, mostly the weird... echo-y quality of the inside of his head where the warm glow of his mana should be. He felt fatigued and achy and he hoped that when they went home this wasn't going to be how they felt all the time. Assuming the magic didn't just keep happening. Which could be awkward.

"And you're Alistair, the hot not-templar." He wasn't above needling the man who'd Silenced him. Though upon reflection calling him hot wasn't maybe the best plan. It wasn't Anders' fault that he'd always had a bit of a crush on the NPC Warden-turned-King.

Alistair looked from Hawke to Anders and back, then blinked, blushing right into his ears at what Anders said. He narrowed his eyes a little and shook his head, turning back to the terrible pot of terrible porridge.

"Well the name and the not-templar part is correct." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are the two of you hungry? I assume you're in the kitchens for a reason and not just to make my life difficult. I have far too much boiled groats for one sane man to try to eat, and while there's almost nothing to go with it, it is food. Technically." He sniffed it and wrinkled his nose. "I think."

Logan relaxed slightly under the touch of Anders' hands. He laughed, a startled, clear sound, when Anders called Alistair hot and hummed appreciatively, eyes flicking over this Alistair. Then he coughed. "Um. Well. Not just me, then. Good." He and his weakness for sexy voices. Yep. That was a thing.

His lips twisted downwards and he shot Alistair an apologetic look. It was one thing to make jokes about the sexy Warden when he was just a character and quite another to tease a living version of him to his face. "Ah, sorry. Yeah, we did come to find food. You sure there's enough to share? I'm sure we can find something else."

Anders snorted softly, amused at Logan's admission to also thinking Alistair was hot, and turned his face to press a kiss to Logan's cheek. "Adorable," he whispered, and then turned his attention back to Alistair.

"I can't tell if that was a generous offer a threat of poison." He shook his head and added, "But if it's warm and vaguely digestible, I don't think I'd complain."

All this ogling was making Alistair feel flushed and a little confused, wondering where Zevran had gone off to, but only in an idle, slippery way his brain couldn't hold onto. He shrugged his shoulders, only slightly mollified by Logan's chagrined glance. "Well, yes. I mean, I'm sure there's more than any of us will want. And! It is helpfully warm and possibly digestible."

He nodded toward a shelf across the room. "There's bowls there, and spoons in the basket just beneath."

Logan felt his cheeks go warm when Anders kissed his cheek and called him adorable. He shot him a sideways glance, trying to be subtle and failing for the giddy little smile on his face. Looking down at his hands, he gave a happy hum and then pressed a quick kiss to Anders' temple as stepped away, towards the utensils Alistair had pointed out.

"Only possibly digestible?" He teased over his shoulder, clicking his tongue. "However shall we cope?"

Anders pushed off the table when Logan walked away, intending on following him and helping. The fact he'd be within arms reach at all times, well it wasn't weird. This place was dangerous and there were too many things that could go wrong. However, his head spun a little when he tried to stand and he ended up just leaning back against the table, hands gripping the edge. "Bloody templars," he muttered very far under his breath.

Once his head had settled he watched Logan look for the bowls and spoons.