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[Maria13]

@ Addai Yes, I was happy with Zev, basically he wrote himself... Great. I could do with more of that...

@tgail I almost agree with you on the baby bit and hubby would agree with you on the butt bit...

Modifié par Maria13, 12 octobre 2010 - 09:37 .

[Addai]

Lilacs wrote...

I have to thank Addai for this. I saw she commented on this thread and I came here. I am blown away. This is truly a delicious read. Kudos and keep it up.

A convert.    I adore Maria13's stuff.  Also her stories on ffnet.  Original, intelligent and so fun to read.

[Maria13]

@Addai, Lilacs, now my converts are making converts... Awesome!



@tgail Yes, I wanted to make the comparison clear. Female elf GW mages are never going to have an easy time making choices and it's one of those things that every choice they make has its pros and its cons... Hopefully, eventually Alistair will understand, if not entirely forgive... I'm glad you liked the character, she'll be back no doubt...

[Maria13]

Chapter 33

Dragon 9:34

Umbralis/Firstfall                                                                 Orzammar                                                    [Present]

It had been an hour short of midnight when they reached the little market place just at the gateway to Orzammar. All the stalls were closed with the canvas tarps pulled over them.

"Pity we're running a bit late," said Alistair who seemed strangely invigorated after their visit to the tower. "This is quite lively during the day… an interesting place too, a crossroads of sort…"

He was walking very briskly with his habitual long strides and Oswyn was having not a little difficulty keeping up. "I'm so sorry," Alistair said suddenly realising and standing in the middle of the round plaza. "Sometimes I just forget…"

"Don't worry," said Oswyn, "I am highly accustomed to such thoughtlessness from my monarch…"

"And bugger you too…" said Alistair grinning.

Oswyn grumbled and approached him.

"I'm just a bit excited… I don't know why but Orz always does that for me… " His hand went to the pendant around his neck. "You know," he said, "I'm beginning to think it may be a Grey Warden thing… Proximity of Darkspawn and all that…"

They walked together more sedately towards the large gateway.

"And who might you be?" Enquired the hoary dwarven guard whose helmet fell so low over his face that only his dark beard was visible.

"Ali… The King of Ferelden…"

Two black eyes beetled up towards Alistair's face from amidst a mess of tangled hair.

"I see…" said the guard making a visible effort to appear unimpressed. "Well…" he cleared his throat, "Your Majesty… Only two of your armed men can accompany you…"

"And my friend here" said Alistair gesturing towards Oswyn, "obviously."

"Obviously." Echoed the guard.

"Now, said Alistair turning to the five guards, which two of you want the adventure of a lifetime?" Only one, somewhat gingerly, put up his hand. "Bloody hell, not very daring you lot are you… OK the volunteer and you, yes, you, the stout one at the back there. I've got a feeling the dwarva will like you…"

He nodded to the guard dwarf. "Thank you, friend," said Alistair as the gate opened. "Well," He added slinging one side of his cape over his shoulder, "Here we go."

                                                                                                   ~~...~~


"The Hall of Paragons," said Alistair quietly, "The dwarva have no religion as we would understand it, no belief in a divine entity, in an afterlife or a soul, perhaps you need to see the sky and stars to believe such things. Instead they celebrate the feats of the living, the paragons, each of them representing a particular quality or even skill that they find admirable and which contributes to the well-being of their people…"

"I don't know…," said Oswyn doubtfully looking around him and seeing rank upon rank of the solid granite statues flanking them on both sides. The odd sacred fire or devotional candle placed in front of the images cast some strange flickering shadows within the hall, "Frankly, this seems pretty creepy…"

"I wondered myself why they would put the Hall of Paragons right here, at the gates of Orzammar, but perhaps it's just for that, for protection and to inspire awe and respect in any of us Topsiders before we enter Orzammar proper… Anyway, they're just made of stone; it's not as if they are going to come alive or anything…" He paused and then said in a low, spooky voice, "Did I ever tell you about Shale and the other golems, by the way?"

"Evil, sometimes you are just evil, Alistair…"

"Oh well, it's late, let's get on to the Diamond Quarter…"

                                                                                             ~~...~~

When they emerged into the Commons area Oswyn felt a little relief, just a little. This was more like a city in that there were dwellings and market stalls although there were not that many dwarves milling around.

"Orzammar now keeps general Ferelden time, so it's around midnight here too," Alistair informed him, "It's good for trade with the outside. More traditional dwarva say it's the beginning of the end for the dwarven kingdoms, mind… Can't say they're not wrong…"

"Why?"

"Well, you're a sun bereft civilization, with the disadvantages and the advantages that that might entail, and suddenly you start adopting sun time? THE END, I say."

"But isn't that good for us? That they're adapting to our trading patterns?"

Alistair shook his head, "Good for us in the short term, bad for them in the short term. In the long term might well be bad for them and bad for us… I mean, no Orzammar? If it didn't exist someone would have to invent it…"

"I doubt it will come to that…"

"Well, let's hope not. Perhaps I'm exaggerating, but you should see some of those abandoned Thaigs… This way."

Despite Alistair's relaxed approach Oswyn found himself hating Orzammar. The place seemed hot and stuffy. When Alistair gestured towards the proving ground and he stood on the edge of the promenade to get a better look. Then he unfortunately looked down and saw huge rivers of lava flowing unchecked far below. He made a second mistake and immediately looked upwards, towards the massive weight of Ferelden's crust bearing down upon the city. He felt trapped, breathless and dizzy, crushed from above burned/scalded/suffocated from below… He made an involuntary gagging sound.

Alistair put his arm around his shoulder, "C'mon, you're just feeling a little tired. A good night's sleep and you'll love this place in the morning…"

                                                                                            ~~...~~

"So this is the dwarven Royal Palace?"

"Yep, chez Harrowmont, our embassy is here and the ambassador will be putting us up for tonight…"

"And tomorrow?" Asked Oswyn dubiously.

"Tomorrow will look after itself, I'm sure."

Oswyn felt much better in the building. Not only because the palace was of itself fascinating, beautiful and exotic, the sort of magic cave he used to dream of as a child, but because, apart from the decorative multi-coloured stalactites and stalagmites, fossils and crystals embedded into the walls, with a constructed roof over his head he found it much easier to forget about the miles of oppressive raw rock hovering just above them.

Ambassador Loseley seemed amiable, if tired. Alistair, who apologised for their lateness, was shown into the embassy's 'royal' bedroom although he very generously offered it to Oswyn before retiring, "It's like a bloody girl's room," he whispered.

Oswyn had a very beautiful room just off his which was quite to his liking, so by no means felt hard done by and the guardsmen were quartered in the barracks where apparently it was customary for all night card games to take place abundantly regaled with ale.

                                                                                                   ~~...~~


Oswyn should have suspected that his trials would not end there, however, and he was woken next morning by Alistair, fully dressed in glossy copper-finished chain mail with violet overtones covered by a scarlet surcoat, bathed and shaved, hair neatly arranged, standing at the foot of his bed saying something about a breakfast meeting with Harrowmont.

"Did I forget to tell you? Really sorry. You should come along; I need to show you these ropes… Etiquette demands chain mail, by the way," He said fingering his own and then letting it drop, "dwarves won't mind, they'll expect it, it's what they wear as per norm. When in Orzammar… and don't forget to arm yourself, discreetly mind, you never know in this place…"

Great. Nothing like a healthy does of paranoia to start the day. When Oswyn emerged from the bathroom feeling barely half alive, Ambassador Looseley fluttered up to him apparently in a bit of a tizzy and told him Alistair had already left for the meeting.

Oswyn sighed inside… The ambassador ushered him to the door of wing and gave him general directions how to get to Harrowmont's private audience room before slamming it rather rudely, Oswyn thought, behind him.

                                                                                            ~~...~~

Oswyn began limping down the corridors thankful at least that the floor was more or less level so it was a little easier on him than outside terrain. There were plenty of dwarves around this morning and as Alistair had told him, most were wearing chain mail, if not armour and were bristling with weapons, male and female alike curiously enough, even here, in the Royal Palace, he noted. He soon began to notice something else. He was being scrutinized and he was pretty certain it wasn't only because he was a surfacer. Groups would fall silent and look at him quietly as he hobbled by and he was sure he heard more than one nervous titter.

Eventually he came to the audience room only to discover that really in Orzammar there was no such thing as a private audience. Alistair was sitting on something resembling a low divan at the back of the room on an elevated dais and opposite him sat a dwarf on another divan with a stern nose, grey eyes and iron tinted hair in braids wearing silverite armour with black detail. Between them lay a small table, but all around them throughout the salon were knots of dwarves in animated conversation.

No sooner had he taken a few steps through the door everyone fell silent. Alistair caught his eye and Oswyn saw him suppress a twitch, Alistair then broke the silence by saying very loudly, "Ah, there's my advisor…" at the same time as he glanced at Oswyn. Oswyn took the hint, straightened himself up and walked across the floor as best he could; Alistair made a place for him on his left on the divan.

However, before he took the offered seat Oswyn stood even straighter and bowed his head to Harrowmont.

"Your Majesty."

"Lord Harrowmont… Allow me to present you, my new adviser, Oswyn of Dragon's Peak, though young, he has much experience of the world…"

Harrowmont frowned and nodded briefly in acknowledgement, a slightly younger red-headed/bearded dwarf seated to Harrowmont's left asked cheerfully, "Hunting accident?"

Oswyn consciously relaxed and smiled self-deprecatingly, "Blight accident more like…"

"I am Councillor Dulin," said the dwarf bobbing his head.

"Oswyn…"

"Now we're all cosy and introduced," Said Alistair, "Lord Harrowmont, here was telling me there's to be a proving in honour of my visit tomorrow afternoon…"

"Wonderful…" said Oswyn. Suddenly, what must have been a serving wench put a bowl of green mushy stuff with a crude wooden spoon in it in front of him.

"Moss porridge" muttered Alistair.

Oswyn noticed that everyone else had a bowl of the porridge in front of them, Alistair's was hardly touched, even Harrowmont's and Dulin's were only half empty, my day just gets better and better…, he thought and began attacking the stuff with visible, if false, enthusiasm. It tasted like… Well, better not to specify, really.

"So three past midday, then, we'll both be there… Now Lord Harrowmont, is there anything this humble colleague can help you with?"

Harrowmont's reply was largely blather, much as Alistair's would be if he were to respond to the same question, Oswyn assumed. The point being, to talk up any strengths and try to conceal any weaknesses from your fellow monarch. And this, while attempting, at certain key junctures, to push your agenda and subtly hint at where you could benefit from some, just a teeny-weeny little dab of, assistance, while largely trying to disguise even that as something your counterpart actually needed more than you did. In other words, your basic mine's bigger than yours discussion but with no show to match the tell.

Keeping half an ear open to see if the conversation ever departed from this predictable course, he continued to dig and chomp at the moss porridge while Dulin, who also seemed somewhat disengaged, scrutinized him thoughtfully and leaning over whispered:

"Do you really like that?"

"What do you think?" Asked Oswyn in a mild tone.

"I think you're trying to impress us…"

"Have I achieved that yet?"

"Almost…"

"Well I better finish it then…"

"As you will." Dulin paused, "By the way, they do say that that stuff is extraordinarily good for a man's… performance."

"What was that?" Interrupted Alistair.

"Your Majesty, I was just informing your adviser, Oswyn, here that moss porridge has a reputation for being good for some kinds of, um, performance. Although I was going to add that I was not entirely sure whether it would work for…"

"Surfacers… You mean," completed Alistair.

"Humans, Your Majesty."

"Well I don't think Oswyn has any issues there… He must be eating it either because he likes it or… No, it wouldn't be that." He eyed Oswyn who just finished the bowl and set it empty down before him.

"I must say, I'm quite impressed," said Dulin.

"Anyway Lord Harrowmont, " said Alistair, "I'll certainly think over what you've said and get back to you on it before I depart. I also look forward to the provings tomorrow afternoon, but please, as I am sure Looseley must have informed you, my visit here is not worth any dwarven lives. I am sure we are going to see some very lively and engaging combat without that…"

"Of course," Harrowmont replied gruffly.

Alistair rose, nodded to Harrowmont and Oswyn rose stiffly and did likewise.

Alistair held out his arm to Oswyn and Oswyn after a little hesitation took it.

As they made their way out of the room, Oswyn muttered.

"Alistair you are a bastard…"

Alistair smiled tightly. "That I am. Everyone knows it here and in Ferelden too, and they all smile to my face now…"

"You know what I mean…"

"I know what you mean." After a few steps more, he added, "Dwarves despise what they perceive to be weakness, much as Fereldans despise bastards. What we both lack should not define us. Good on you for eating that green slop, by the way…"

"Oh, after Howe… "

"Exactly... Bloody proving…"

"I thought you said you would really enjoy it. Not that I took you at your word or anything, mind."

"I like provings, we even took part in one during our campaign because all Harrow's fighters had bottled out, but… but I don't want to be made a fuss of… I'd like to be here discreetly, as discreetly as any Topsider ever can be, anyway… OK, one of your next jobs then, no more provings in my honour, no more hassle when I come here. Happy to meet Harrow anytime and chew the fat but, discreetly… Put that over to them."

Oswyn sighed, "I still don't understand why we are here…"

"Patience, you'll find out this evening… Now I buy you a drink…"

"To make up?"

"Well, at least to get that horrid taste out of your mouth."

                                                                                  ~~...~~

"So what did it taste like again?"

"Like grass… that had been weed on… by a dog… a dog with scabies… which was then eaten by a cat… a cat that later barfed it all up…"

Alistair laughed. Oswyn found it impossible not to like him when he laughed, and at least he seemed intent on giving him something to do, even if he was chucking him in at the deep end (note to self: I am a strong swimmer…), it was a challenge but it was interesting and perhaps something he needed… Something to do. They were sitting at the back of Tapsters Tavern trying one of the many types of ale from their carte.

"So has this stuff had any effect on you?"

"Not that I've noticed, as Dulin said, it probably doesn't work for Topsiders anyway…"

"While we're on the subject… Never made any secret of it… I like elves the best. But that's just my personal preference. Human women can be and are lovely… but dwarves… that's all sorts of goodness, just in a smaller package… And, whoa! They are feisty…"

"I guess that piece of knowledge comes from experience…"

"Not direct experience of that kind, combat experience… Two of our toughest opponents here, Jarvia and Branka, were female. Fortunately most of their sisters are more amiable…"

"Something you haven't done, then."

"I was here with Neriya before and last time I was here… she'd just left me so… I threw myself into work in preference to one of those lava rivers. Anyway, we need to move on…"

                                                                                   ~~...~~                      

The Shaperate gave Oswyn a strange feeling of déjà vu until he remembered that the place it most resembled was what he had seen of the Tower of Mages library… Alistair was deep in conversation with the head librarian or Shaper Czibor, asking for a copy of his will to be entered into the memories. It seemed to be going well, it was clear to Oswyn that in their passage through Orzammar the companions had earned a fair amount of good will and respect, which now Alistair, quite rightly, was using.

Oswyn spoke to one of the assistants, Milldrate, who explained that the Shapers although primarily scholars, were also expected to lead active lives, especially when young, and participate in expeditions into the deep roads and sometimes even battles with Darkspawn or provings in order to infuse their scholarship with first-hand experience and practical knowledge.

Milldrate put it thus, "For us there is really no distinction between experience and wisdom, experience not only comes from living but acquiring knowledge of what has gone before… Wisdom is the experience one acquires towards the end of a life well lived, an active and full life in every sense, both physical and intellectual…"

Oswyn was very impressed with this, not least because the dwarves' matter-of-fact approach, which seemed to mesh with the way he was coming to think.

He asked Milldrate the question he had been dying to ask most of the dwarves he had met, what was his view of Alistair? Milldrate cast an eye towards the young King who seemed deep in conversation with Czibor.

"His achievements are most remarkable, for a Surfacer." said Milldrate, "To be entered into the memories at such a young age as he and the Lady Neriya were and then to follow that with ending a Blight… As they did together with their companions, including, Oghren of House Kondrat… Of course, we down here have no concept of a Blight since our fight against the Darkspawn has been constant ever since their mysterious emergence, however, we recognise Blights are rare and grave events for Topsiders… And now he is King, having beheaded his rival on the floor of the Ferelden assembly…" Here a special tone of admiration entered the Shaper's voice, "that was… Extraordinary, almost dwarven…"

Oswyn found it extremely interesting that one of the deeds Alistair was less comfortable with, although he tended to talk about and revisit it a lot, should be the most admired in Orzammar.

Once Alistair had finished speaking to Czibor, they walked around the Shaperate, admiring the artefacts, carvings and manuscripts, "Even should Orzammar disappear, if the Shaperate remains it will always live… Why do the dwarves have this foresight but not us?" Asked Alistair.

"Like you said of the elves, they're older than us… As a human, I think I'm beginning to feel very small or very young…" said Oswyn. "Perhaps we need something like this in Ferelden… Yes, some of the Chantry scholars keep records and they are very good but that is always from the Chantry's perspective ultimately, and perhaps for the Chantry's use…"

"Anora says every now and then that she wants to found a university…," said Alistair.

"That might be an idea, mightn't it?"

"I think so. I think it's a good one, but other things need to be done; otherwise, it will simply be the privileged that benefit… Dwarven society may suffer from the same problem but worse. The caste system is too closed."

They came upon what appeared to be a list of dwarven monarchs etched in stone, of course, in runic with a Fereldan translation next to the names of the last six or so Kings.

"Harrow's rival was one Bhelen, he was an heir to Aeducan family," Said Alistair pointing out Endrin's name "the monarchs before Harrow and one of the oldest families in Orz, but Bhelen was… Tricksy, sly, a murderer… He nearly deceived Neriya and us and I don't think we ever forgave him for that… When the deshyrs finally voted for Harrow, he picked a fight in the assembly and was killed. That was the type of dwarf he was: Do or die. I would have hated to have to deal with a King Bhelen. HATED it. However, in the long run Bhelen may have been better for Orzammar than Harrow, he was a reformist, see, an innovator. And no hypocrite, it wasn't window dressing; he challenged the stultifying caste system by taking a duster mistress, that is a mistress from the lowest class. As I said, he would have been extremely difficult to handle, intelligent and ruthless as he was, but in the end, he may, may have been better for Orzammar in that he would have given it the flexibility to survive, and may even have been better for Ferelden…"

"But we have to work with what we've got…"

"Exactly, Harrow and his proving…" He paused, "I need some lunch because somehow breakfast just didn't do it for me."

                                                                                                    ~~...~~

They ate a late lunch of stuffed nug in one of the places they found in the Diamond district and Oswyn was happy to discover that it was much better and much tastier than the moss porridge.

After lunch, they visited the headquarters the Grey Wardens had been allocated in Orzammar.

A visible change came over Alistair as he entered the building. Whereas before he had seemed over-excited and on-edge, in the company of the other wardens he unexpectedly relaxed. In turn, the other wardens, three dwarves and a human, all male, seemed wary of him at first, but they were soon sitting around a mess table, slapping each other on the back and re-counting Darkspawn fighting stories as if they had known each other all their lives.

Alistair, in high spirits, decided to take them all out for a drink and Oswyn who really didn't want to be a spare, returned to the embassy to take a nap. Alistair turned up there a some hours later a little the worse for wear.

                                                                                           ~~...~~

At around midnight Alistair and Oswyn set off for the Commons. They stopped outside a place that looked like a shop in one of the back streets.

Alistair knocked and the door was opened by a tall man with two-day stubble, dark blond hair untidily gathered into a ponytail and a rangy build. He had sharp narrow blue eyes and a twitchy, quirky smile. Alistair embraced him briefly then introduced him to Oswyn as Dean.

The place obviously had once been a shop but had been emptied of all goods, there were a few human-sized rickety chairs thereabouts and Alistair dropped himself into one, propped up his legs on what had once been the counter and steepling his hands addressing Dean, said, "Explain to him…"

Dean motioned to Oswyn to follow him to what had been the back of the shop. Once they were out of earshot, he turned to Oswyn and said, "He feels bad about this… Someone should get it through to him that you should never feel bad for doing what is right… Perhaps you?"

Oswyn opened his hands to express his puzzlement. Dean sighed and said, "Come on, I'll show you…"

He opened a door to their left, which gave on to what was originally a storeroom. There were no sconces within in the room but from the light available from the dusty passageway Oswyn could make out that it was stacked to the high stone ceiling with crates. Crates containing glass flasks from which emanated a thin, azure, opalescent gleam.

"There are four more rooms as full as this and an additional room about half full…" Said Dean quietly.

Oswyn took it in for a while and then took a small step back. "Is that what I think it is?" He eventually asked Dean.

"Yup," said Dean.

"You mean it's…"

"Yup," repeated Dean squinting into the room, "It's Lyrium."

[Addai]

Ooh! *grabs 2nd cup of coffee and sits down to read*

Edit:  Great chapter!   I like Oswyn perspec!  He's a sweet guy.

LOL @ the porridge

Well done on all the cultural and political commentary.

Would love to see Alistair in that burnished chainmail... 

Modifié par Addai67, 22 octobre 2010 - 04:20 .

[Lynn01]

Just read up here, and I love this story! Well done, I'm sure to be lurking around here

[Maria13]

@ Addai  Glad you like Ozzie, I have plans for him. 

Moss porridge exists! It's seaweed that they collect on some caribbean islands supposedly it is good for... Uhum...www.ilovelaborie.com/lab/index.php

Yes, I would like to see Ali in that chainmail too, pity I have no drawing skills whatsoever...

@Lynn, happy you enjoyed.

Hope to be posting next installment before halloween, I've been busy doing naughty stuff for both kink memes....

[Maria13]

Chapter 34

Dragon 9:34

Umbralis/Firstfall                                                     Orzammar                                           [Present]

"Lyrium," repeated Oswyn again, slightly dazed, "but isn't that very expensive?"

"Generally speaking, yes," replied Dean.

"Five and a half rooms full… How much is that exactly?"

"Difficult to know, exactly, obviously a lot… But there are different presentations, different strengths, some of it may not even be lyrium at all but just blue tinted water…"

"I guess the first thing then would be to work out how much there is…"

"That seems a good place to start…"

"How did you… He…" Oswyn paused and gathered himself "We, come by this?"

"He didn't tell you…"

"He did not, no."

"Bit of a long story, really…" Dean sighed. "Come…"

He ushered Oswyn into another storeroom that appeared to have been converted into a small living quarters, table, chairs, and an undersized stove. They took two chairs facing each, other, Dean repaired to a barrel in the corner of the room and poured himself something into a tankard and offered one to Oswyn who accepted.

"Not moss beer, I hope?" asked Oswyn attempting to be jovial.

"Maker, no, this is my own supply of Surfacer ale, wouldn't touch any of the dwarven stuff with a barge pole…" They drank.

"About a year and a half ago, as I understand it, our good Lord King, out there hit upon the idea of disrupting the smuggling of lyrium which was going on between Orzammar, the tower and other places. I believe his intentions were altruistic; any lyrium confiscated would be exchanged with Orlais for grain because Ferelden was facing a famine following the destruction caused by the Blight and the treasury was quickly running out of money with which to purchase food from abroad.

Well, no one had attempted anything like that before, and if you ask me, it was clear, Orz, the Chantry and the Circle were happy to turn a blind eye to any smuggling so long as all their needs were met. Goes without saying that beyond their own narrow interests none of them gave a flying f*** about Ferelden and especially those likely to die of hunger.

My view? It was a bloody brilliant idea… It was just my bad luck that I was one of the first people to be rounded up… Oh yeah, look…"

Dean pulled the sleeve of his rough linen smock right up and flashed Oswyn his biceps revealing the eight-armed deosil sunburst symbol of the Templars.

"It was quite fashionable a few years ago, some of the Dalish used to make a living out of scribing tats, four or five of us had this done the same evening. Anyway, that's me, best time of my life… Of course, by the time I was captured, I had been officially AWOL for a fair few years but was still using my connections… I was also well hitched by then to the blue-eyed beauty…" Oswyn looked confused.

"I mean addicted to lyrium. All I saw of Smarty-pants out there when I first met him was a pair of good leather boots, a very nice pair of leather boots, in fact, I'd say hand-tooled, because I was squatted shivering against the wall of that tiny lockup in Redcliffe.

Smarty-pants said something like, 'What do we have here, then?'

You know in that condescending tone of voice he sometimes has? The one that makes you clench your fists every time you hear it?"

Oswyn nodded he knew exactly the tone Dean meant although it did not have that precise effect on him.

"I said to him in a pretty tiny voice, 'I'm not a "what", I'm a who…'

'You could've fooled me…' he said, and then he hunkered down to get a good look at me, probably caught a fair whiff too, he shook his head 'No, you still look like a what… A "what" with a problem, in fact…'"

Dean pulled a face and took a deep swallow from his tankard. "Bastard… He was right, of course…

Then he said 'Question is, is it the stocks or is there something there I can use?'

I was still getting annoyed especially since even I'd heard he was an almost Templar himself, perhaps he had some sort of grudge against us? But I was relieved to hear that because I thought basically it would be the noose…

He stood up, 'Tell you what, what, I'll let you cool your heels in here for a few days and then I'll make a decision. You seem to have a cold or something and it wouldn't be fair on you to decide today.'

Then he talked to the jailer, the snub-nosed one who seems to have the constant crotch itch, but not today, nooo, and he seemed to be giving him some coins, I can't hear what he's saying so I yell.

'I'm not a "what", my name is Dean, bloody DEAN, D-E-A-N, geddit?'

He sauntered back over to me, looked down and said, 'OK, Dean, Dean it is. You need to calm down. You're going to be here a few days and I know it's going to be tough. I don't want to see it; I've pretty much seen it all before, anyway. I'll come back when you're better and we'll have a serious talk. Good luck.'

And then he buggered off, happy as could be."

Dean looked into the middle distance and then smiled and drank. "Never expected to see the blighter again… I thought I'd die in there over the next few days, I got the shakes and the visions and the throwing up…Crotch Itch was like a mother to me, though…You know, the kind of mother that cracks her child's head against the nearest wall and kicks him in the balls to get him up in the morning?" Dean laughed.

Actually, when he thought about it, that was a pretty good joke so Oswyn smiled.

"So about two weeks later he came back with this rogue all clad in black leather and asked Crotch Itch,

'Is he better?'

Crotch Itch grunted in response, 'Like you said, Sire, he had the best care…'

I was napping but that roused me and I shouted 'You f***ing bastard lying hound Crotch Itch!'

Smarty-pants came over to me and said 'Are you saying this honourable public servant is telling me, his King, an untruth?'

'Of course I bloody am… Crotch Itch wouldn't recognise the truth if he came home and found it bonking his old dam!'

He looked me up and looked me down and said 'Hmmm, you do seem the worse for wear…',

I said, 'I might be, but I'm clean now, so let me out like you said you would…'

'I didn't say I would release you, did I?'

'Not exactly,' I replied, 'but it was worth a try…' He thought that was funny.

Then he got all serious, 'Can you fight?'

'Yeah, I can bloody fight…' I said.

'What are you Dean, two-hander?'

I really appreciated that he'd actually remembered my name but I'm determined not to show it, 'Yes, Sire'

'Ooooooo, "Sire" have I just gone up a notch in your estimation, Dean?' He said leaning on the bars right in front of me.

'Just get me a bloody sword…'

'You heard the man, Cro…, I mean Burns, find us a two handed sword.'

'Yes, Sire' Crotch Itch says and trotted out.

'Does no-one here know it's "Your Majesty"?' He said to the rogue who cracked this humungous grin right in his face

'Apparently not, Alistair'

'Huh.' he said."

Dean got up and refilled from the barrel. Oswyn shook his head turning down another drink, he had had quite enough to drink today and he felt the need to be able to think clearly.

"Could you possibly get me some water?"

Dean stared at him as if he were mad, then seemed to relent. "Hang on, I'll see if I can find some."

After some ten minutes, he came back.

Oswyn looked into the tankard.

"It's all right, you know. You should have gathered by now that poison is not my style… I'm more of an upfront kind of guy…" Said Dean with no maliciousness whatsoever, "There are fresh water streams down here, I'll show you later… So eventually Crotch Itch comes back with a sword and hands it to Smarty-pants, he has a look at it, makes sure it's straight and such and then hands it to me:

'Not perfect but I think it will do'

I had a look at the thing, it's obviously ancient, ancient tat, but hell, imprisoned Templars cannot be choosers.

'It'll do.' I confirmed.

'OK so now I want to see you fight Lawler, here.' Meaning the rogue.

Crotch Itch opened the cell and out we go. It was a nice day I noticed, I don't think I'd noticed what the weather was doing for a few years, a bit cold mind, but I guessed I'd soon warm up. We went to the back of the village, behind the Chantry, there's a little clearing there. Smarty-pants leant against a tree and crossed his arms over his chest. The rogue gave me a roguish leer and I started limbering up, squatting, stretching, jumping up and down and such.

'C'mon get on with it already' said Smarty-pants.

'We are not tarts in a brothel performing for His Majesty's pleasure.' I told him.

He grinned as if he were picturing that in his head, 'If you were I'd be a darn sight more interested…' He said.

Eventually I picked up my sword and made a motion to the rogue to indicate I'm ready. Maker! Now I had to wield the bloody thing I realised it weighed a ton, I appreciate the jail and the lyrium had really done for me. This was a terrible mistake and I glanced at Smarty-pants suddenly meeting his eyes, he nodded as if he could read exactly what I was thinking. Lawler was already circling me like a jackal and didn't delay in making a quick sally, it's probably a feint but I felt obliged to respond. The only advantage this weapon gave me is reach so I used it to make a large arcing sweep in the rogue's direction… Well the whole fight was a mess, I was a mess. I ended up on the ground with the rogue's sword at my throat and him saying 'yield'.

In the end Smarty-pants called him off, came over and offered me a hand to get to my feet. Once I'm up he even began to brush me down…

'That… I am not at my best, Sire or Your Majesty, or…'

'I know.' He replied. 'I was just wondering how long it would take you to become aware of what a pointless exercise this was, you realised almost straightaway but you saw it through. Power to you, I guess… And that jailer…' He added standing upright, 'Did not spend the money I gave him on feeding you up. I should have known better… Anyway… Lunch?'

We had lunch in that tavern on the hill overlooking the village. The one owned by a girl. It was a good lunch and I was ravenous, Smarty-pants, or Alistair as he was now letting me call him seemed to enjoy watching me eat. He bought me several beers too, I became aware that my sense of taste had been stunted for months, years perhaps, but had now returned. The local people seemed to know him well and, whilst deferential, kept their distance and did not make too much of a fuss over him.

'You enjoyed that…' He said once I'd finished, 'Nothing like good tasty food, is there? Or very little, anyway… Now, we're going to go over to the Chantry, there's a novice who is going to take down everything I want you to tell me…'

Smarty-pants was very thorough in his request for information, on the walk over to the Chantry he started counting out on his fingers exactly what he wanted to know, contacts, names, dates, quantities, etc I was aware that I was being used, but frankly how could I resist? I'd had a hard life and the times I had been flattered or buttered up weren't very numerous… And what the heck, I was clean, life was looking good. Help the guy my instincts told me, so I agreed.

If I was hoping for a female novice I was to be disappointed but I guess it made sense, the novice was actually a rather large guy who looked as though he could handle himself and he'd been thoroughly briefed, he had list of points to which he referred every now and then. It took us ages, about five hours, I asked for a beer at one point and it was brought to me no problem. Another meal, plainer than the last but again, no problem. Once we'd finished it was evening and the novice suggested I should spend the night in the male novices dormitory in the Chantry while my statement was reviewed. I agreed.

I attended the dawn chant with the novices, it had been ages since I had last attended the chant, I almost found myself crying, almost…" Dean took a swig from his tankard.

Oswyn was looking at him rather bemusedly,

"Nearly there now," Dean reassured him, "I know it's getting late and milord must be tired."

"No, I'm quite interested in your story; it is giving me a lot of background to this whole business…"

"Well anyways, when we left the chapel I was gently steered by that novice towards the same room we were sitting in the day before. There was Alistair carefully going through my statement, he thanked the novice and the door closed behind me. He congratulated me on attending the chant. He asked me several more questions, questions about certain people's private habits, their families, if they had any weaknesses and such and he made the notes on the statement himself. Another hour and a half or so… Amazing how long these things take… Once I'd signed it and we'd finished, he stretched looked me in the eyes and said,

'Thank you, Dean, thanks a lot, you've been incredibly helpful, I mean it… Now, you're free to go… But I don't want to see you around here ever again…"

I slumped on the table opposite him and said, 'I can't…'

'Why not?' He asks starting to make some additional notes in the statement's margins…

'I can't' I said again.

'I heard what you said the first time, Dean and my question is, why not?' He looked over at me.

'I… I…'

'Well?' he said crossing his arms over his chest.

'I have a daughter…'

'Good for you…'

'Wait,' I interrupted, 'she can't leave this area… So I can't…'

'Where is she? Why-' He asked.

'Don't you get it yet, Your Majesty?'

He shook his head. I pointed in what I assumed is the right direction. 'Over there, sitting in the middle of Lake Calenhad…'

'Ah…' he said." Dean bent his head back and took a long swallow from the tankard.

"I see." Said Oswyn.

"Cut a long story short. I've been helping with this stuff for over a year now both here and sometimes on the ground. It's actually been fun, working the other way around. The operation has been successful, too successful, perhaps. He made his trades for grain and it went very well at the beginning but there's only so much trade you can do one-way if you've good supplies before the prices start slipping, that's why we have this surplus… I guess you're here to help us decide what happens next. Also, he made me a promise, he didn't have to but he did, and I intend to keep him to it…"

Things began to come together a little more for Oswyn. He shrugged, "Seems you know Alistair for longer than I do, he doesn't appear to be the type not to keep a promise…"

"I know, I know, it's just I get antsy every time I think about Helena in that place… I know what Templars are like; I am one for the love of Andraste, still, in my soul at least… How some of them talk about mages, especially the females, heck, sometimes even… Shouldn't go there, should I?"

"You should not. It's unnecessary…"

                                                                                       ~~...~~

Neriya was peering at him with those dark eyes of hers. For some reason they both seemed to be standing on a narrow ledge, somewhere in the deep roads overlooking a chasm full of gloom.

"You have to be careful, Alistair, very careful…" she was saying to him.

"Of course," he heard himself reply, his words full of a confidence that he really did not feel, "of course… but it would be helpful if…"

"Because you are looking after our child, Alistair, because she needs you and…" Neriya continued as if she hadn't heard his reply, "Ah…"

Alistair looked over at her quickly was she slipping? No, an arrow appeared to have struck her left flank and she was struggling to dislodge it… She was wearing a pale robe and as he watched, he saw half of it begin to turn dark red. Where had the arrow come from? Was there something moving in the chasm down below them?

Alistair made a motion to move along the ledge to get to her, but suddenly he was holding… Their child and she was crying. For a moment, he looked down at her flushed, tiny face in awe. He wanted to clasp her to him to console her but he realised he was in full armour so he could only hold her gently against his hard breastplate taking care not to crush her and not to loose his balance as he inched back towards his lover. Meanwhile Neriya was moaning and thrashing, looking around her desperately, obviously in a lot of pain.

Suddenly another arrow arched out of the shadows followed by another and another, Alistair squatted holding his body over their child's, he heard an arrow buzz a few inches from his ear and broke out in goose bumps feeling a cold sweat trickle down his back, wishing he had a helmet.

Neriya lay slumped back against the rock face moaning softly when lights began to appear down below. Alistair remained on his haunches clasping Niamh who seemed to have fallen silent. In the light Neriya looked pale and drained, her face had gone a greyish waxy colour, her robe was now almost completely red and stuck to her skin, He could make out the precise shape of her small breasts under it, she was shivering convulsively, hands gripping the arrow. If only he could touch her, he extended an arm… but she was just beyond his reach…

As the lights began to spread he saw the chasm below them was filled with hundreds of Darkspawn thousands of them, wriggling and writhing like maggots in a carcass, and then he heard the humming sound that soon become an irritating droning like the noise a mosquito makes just before it bites. He pulled his daughter tighter to him. They would never get her; he would… before they got her.

"Do you hear that?" he asked Neriya, "do you hear that?"

"Ye-es" Neriya hissed in reply, her teeth were chattering.

"I think…" he said, "I think, if we keep quiet, if we…" He shook his head to try and get rid of the incessant hum that seemed to have bored its way inside his skull and was stopping him thinking straight but it was useless… "If we…"

And suddenly there was an ear piercing scream a shout a wail that went on and on… The child… he thought.

                                                                                    ~~...~~

Someone was shaking him and for a moment, he thought he would fall, "Alistair…" said a deep voice, he realised that there was nowhere to fall, that… "Alistair… By the Maker, I thought I had finished with all this when I left the Templars…"

Dean was squatting down in front of him his head tilted to one side. "Oswyn has gone to fetch you some water… For some reason he thinks that will do you good… Me, I think you're hopeless, what has a mere cub like you got to squall about at night-time?"

Alistair covered his eyes because even the dim light coming from Dean's oil lamp was at the moment too much for him. He realised they were in the dormitory they had set up in Jarvia's former hideout. He also realised the sheets around him were sopping. He hated the night sweats almost as much as the nightmares they came with. He felt shivery and humiliated.

Nevertheless, Dean deserved some sort of reply, "Oh I only killed a ****ing arch demon… Guess real Templars do that everyday before breakfast, ha?" he said weakly.

"You don't want to know what I do before breakfast, lad…"

"Probably not." He agreed.

Behind Dean, he saw Oswyn, "Alistair are you all right? You were screaming as if you were in pain… I… brought you some water…"

Alistair rubbed his eyes and took the cup Oswyn proffered. The last thing he wanted to do was upset Oswyn with this freaky stuff, "It's just this Grey Warden thing," He explained lamely and drank, the water felt fresh and did do him some good after all the alcohol, "It's probably because I'm nearer here to any Darkspawn than I usually am…"

"We all have our nightmares." Said Oswyn philosophically.

"Tell me what your nightmares are and I'll tell you who you are… That's what my old dam used to say, anyway…" Added Dean.

Modifié par Maria13, 30 octobre 2010 - 01:12 .

[Addai]

Enjoyed this chapter. The templars are such a melancholy bunch.

Alistair's dream is also sad. I kind of want him to run after Neriya, but he can't do that with the baby, it's true.

Modifié par Addai67, 31 octobre 2010 - 05:59 .

[Maria13]

Thanks as always. I found myself writing Alistair's nightmare the day before Halloween which I thought was rather appropriate. It's true he has more things than he can reasonably handle...

[Maria13]

Chapter 35

Dragon 9:34

Umbralis/Firstfall                                          Orzammar                                     [Present]

They woke up relatively late which was probably unsurprising given the disturbed night they had had. Alistair had managed to get back to sleep but was still looking the worse for wear, as was usual after a Darkspawn dream, or were they dreams at all? Perhaps they were just a form of involuntary knowledge sharing dressed in the raiment of a dream so his human mind could comprehend them? In which case such tiredness would make sense, his mind rather than resting was being exploited and used against his will…

When he had the time, he needed to explore all this a little deeper, the Grey Wardens must have wise men in their ranks after all, people who could attempt an explanation of this phenomena.

Dean made Topsider porridge for breakfast in the makeshift kitchen he had a sack of oats in one of the storerooms for that purpose and they ate it with a spoonful of honey, another luxury in Orzammar.

Alistair apologised to them both for waking them up and Dean and Oswyn just shook their heads. Each of them had suffered nightmares of their own in the recent past; Alistair wondered what that said about Ferelden and how long such scars would take to heal… His generation's natural lifetime at least, he assumed, some thirty to forty years. A sad thought.

After breakfast Alistair and Oswyn set about washing the bowls spoons and tankards while Dean brewed them some herbal tea based on a mixture of common herbs that he said had been passed down to him from his mother and which he swore was good for purifying the blood and warding off any germs. Dean was turning out to be a bit of a mother hen but Alistair recognised in him the resourcefulness of the trooper who was used to making do and living off the land as indeed he and the companions had done for almost two years.

Once they were again sitting around the table, Alistair turned to Oswyn and said quietly:

"Tell Dean about Helena."

Oswyn evinced no surprise at this request and laying his hands flat on the table in front of him began to recite from memory, "She was born in 9:20 which makes her 14 her mother was a mage living in the tower, father unknown," Oswyn glanced at Dean, "her mother, Matilda, never disclosed who he was, apparently this is not uncommon. Her mother died in childbirth. Helena is predominantly a healer and very docile unlike many of the young mages she has never misbehaved or attempted to rebel. She passed the Harrowing about four months ago—"

"Oh thank the Maker, thank the Maker and sweet Andraste… I was so worried…" and then unexpectedly Dean lowered his face into his arms and his shoulders started heaving. Oswyn and Alistair exchanged an uncomfortable look and then Alistair patted him on the back, Dean continued sobbing for a fair few minutes. Then he sat up his face red and swollen he wiped his nose and eyes on his sleeve. "I'm sorry," He said, looking at Oswyn, "Please continue…"

"There is not that much left to tell…" Said Oswyn softly, "Now she is a fully-fledged mage and has been allocated her own chamber on the mages floor… There is a suggestion in her records that she would make a good tutor for the younger mages… Umm, that's it."

"So whatever happens, she's safe…" Added Alistair, "Nothing can touch her now."

"I still want her out of there…," said Dean, "But this deserves some kind of celebration. I know it's a bit early in the day but…" he dashed out of the room. He returned a few minutes later with a dark green bottle containing a murky liquid. "One of my brothers used to make the basic alcoholic decoction whereas I would add an herbal brew to it similar to the tea, I still have three bottles left, and it keeps for ages, if well sealed…" He got them some cups and poured three shots. "For Helena…"

Alistair and Oswyn both toasted Helena. The liquor was unexpectedly good, Alistair thought, whereas the first flavour was almost overbearing sweetness, in a second wave the subtle combination of the herbs kicked in, and lastly it left a hot tang in the mouth and throat like all good alcohol should, but it was a bit early in the day, even by his standards.

"I have to go," he said, "I need to visit the other Grey Wardens, Oswyn, you have the morning off… I'll see you at the proving at half three, Dean… We have to talk later."

"And there he goes…" Said Dean once Alistair had left. "One moment he's Mr Smooth, the next he's screaming in his dreams, and then you hear all these rumours about him and women…"

"Most of which are not true," remarked Oswyn.

"But isn't he a bit of a dog?" Asked Dean.

"Well, I would say you both share an inordinate affection for mages…"

Oswyn shook his head refusing a second shot so Dean just poured himself one and tossed it back alone. "To mages, the sweetest and most difficult females in existence…"

                                                                                           ~~...~~

Since he had the morning off Oswyn was sorely tempted to go topside and visit the market at the gates of Orzammar but, though this option was enticing, thinking it over he judged that doing so might interfere with his acclimatization to the dwarven realm and so he decided instead that he would re-visit what he had found to be the most interesting place in Orzammar so far: The Shaperate, where he asked Milldrate to bring him all the tomes they had on lyrium in the Fereldan tongue.

He was surprised there were so many.

                                                                                             ~~...~~

Three o'clock found Oswyn on the promenade having spruced himself up at the embassy walking towards the proving arena. As soon as he entered the public area he became aware that any penchant the Fereldan aristocracy might show towards gambling and wagers was as nothing compared to the taste the dwarva showed for such activities, the air of excitement in the arena was palpable and it was clear that the tradition was to dress up for the occasion with an abundance of fancy multi-coloured armour and weaponry on display.

He had gotten pretty used to the staring now and he had observed that if he ignored it, it led to him being that much more quickly ignored in turn.

Again, he noticed how freely males and females mixed in what in Ferelden would be a predominantly male environment. Interesting. He also observed that the females in the arena tended to prefer a more feminine dress style with silks, taffetas and velvet being popular all complimented by the most exquisite and elaborate jewellery such as richly gemmed rings, collars, pendants and earrings, although some continued to stick resolutely to armour.

He had been approached by no less than four bookmakers offering him odds on that afternoon's tourney before he got to the Proving Master who was dressed in an elaborate scarlet and silverite splint mail, to ask him for directions to the royal box.

                                                                                         ~~...~~

When he reached it, he found Harrowmont seated gravely in the place of honour pondering a document and Alistair, again clad in the same copper chain mail but this time with a purple velvet surcoat, which really complimented his burnished gold hair, flushed with excitement and looking much better than he had first thing that morning. On seeing Oswyn, he immediately took him to one side,

"Can you put this on Lady Adal Helmi?" He asked handing him a pouch full of coin, "It would be somewhat tasteless, I think, for me to place a wager openly in a proving held in my honour but… She's the only female team captain taking part and I, well… There's twenty-five gold in there."

Oswyn frowned, "It is a mug's game, betting…"

Alistair looked surprised, "I didn't know you were so puritanical about this Oswyn… I used to make wagers all the time with Neriya, it's a soldier's habit, I think, it made things more interesting, even more interesting, I should say… Of course it was just small change then and the best bets weren't even in coin, but, nevertheless…"

"Oh, it's just a personal rather strongly held opinion, house always wins and all that, but I have no objections, so long as you are not betting the entire contents of the treasury… Do you want to wager on a straight win or something more complicated?"

"I'm a simple man, straight win."

"Will do."

Oswyn returned a little later, "Best odds I could find were 2.5:1 she's not the outright favourite but not the underdog either."

"That's fine. Dulin's been explaining to me that the format this proving is going to take. Apparently, they call it a 'lessening', and it's considered the most exciting arrangement for a minor proving of this kind. Four teams of four people start, only the two teams winning their round then go to the next round, so two are eliminated entirely almost at the outset. The next round the two remaining teams are allowed to field three members. Then follows a round where there are only two members for each team and lastly there is a final where the team captains face off.

Three points are allocated for victory in the single combat, two for the paired combat and one for the three-member team bout. If the result is a draw on points then there is a finale where the two complete four-combatant teams square off against each other, the winner taking all. I have the right of it, don't I Dulin?" Said Alistair turning to the dwarven councillor.

"Indeed, Your Majesty," replied Dulin.

Alistair took the seat to Harrowmont's right with Dulin who had obviously been charged with explaining to him the fine points of the proving to his left. At Harrow's foot there sat a youngish unbearded blonde dwarf (his amanuensis, a trainee from the Shaperate explained Dulin). Oswyn was quite content to sit a row below Harrow, Alistair and Dulin.

Harrowmont seemed to have brought along a month's worth of paperwork and discretely started going through it once he had greeted Alistair and Oswyn.

The first round was between the teams of Ovor Dorsten and Alon Medra. Apparently, as Dulin explained, the Dorstens were relative newcomers to the warrior caste, tracing their ascent to it from the smith caste back a mere few centuries. The Medras', on the other hand, had been traditionally affiliated to House Aeducan and even boasted that they could track their ancestry back to Kiotshett, reputed to be the founder of the caste, although House Medras had taken a bloody nose of late as it had sided with Bhelen Aeducan and had therefore fallen out of favour with ascent of House Harrowmont. Alon was, in fact, the second scion of House Medras, his elder brother Dargan having lost his life in the struggle between Bhelen and Harrowmont some years earlier.

From what Alistair could determine the Dorstens were rather traditional dwarven fighters with a hammer, a mace and two swordsmen, the most novel of whom had some assassin training and therefore occasionally used stealth.

On the other hand, the Medras' were innovative and their files included a rather elderly Elven mage. Alistair would have thought that this would put them at a disadvantage given the reputed resistance of the dwarva to all kinds of magic, however, the elf was a fast caster, if somewhat basic, relying mostly on elementary spells, but the sheer novelty of dealing with a spell weaver caused havoc in the Dorsten ranks. Alon himself was an imposing figure with a coal black beard, wild braids knotted with gold skeins and shiny brown enamelled armour who wielded his serrated war axe with singular ferocity and had taken the wise step of assigning his second, a lithe, for a dwarf, speedy swordsman to protecting the mage.

For Alistair the outcome of this bout was a foregone conclusion within five minutes of its start. It was to the Dorsten's side's credit; however, that it took Alon and his warriors over twenty minutes to overcome them.

When the Proving Master announced Team Medras' victory, Alistair saw Harrow look up from his paperwork and frown.

                                                                                      ~~...~~

Alistair had far more interest in the next round between Lady Helmi's side and that of one Erent Morgyth. The Morgyths were an old warrior caste family if not quite as ancient as the Medras', and, unlike them, their glory days were well behind them although they had always managed to cling on to a respectable middling position. Young Erent brandished a lethal looking crossbow.

The Helmis on the other hand, although one of the strongest Noble Houses in Orzammar, were nothing short of radicals by most accounts, because they had dared to name one of their daughters their warrior captain whilst her elder brother and the family's deshyr, Denek, politicked in the taverns advocating the end of the caste system.

"I think I met her last time I was here," said Alistair, "I certainly know the brother, he stood us a few pints when we were virtually penniless. I'm overdue returning the favour."

"Oh you can find him in the same place as usual," Replied Dulin nonchalantly, "Holding forth on the same preposterous ideas to the same riff-raff… I much prefer milady, now there's a true dwarven battle maiden."

Alistair nodded diplomatically. Adal Helmi was wearing a very simple bronze toned armour and wielding two rather strange looking daggers. Her companions included another female brandishing a maul, a Silent Sister, Dulin explained, Alistair had some familiarity with the order because Neriya had fought one of the sisters when the companions had visited Orzammar, a rogue sword fighter and an archer.

The Morgyths fielded a human Ash Warrior with a Mabari, this fascinated Alistair because he had spoken to some of those tribesmen before Ostagar and they had explained that their fighting style derived from the teachings of one Luthias Dwarfson, a human/dwarven halfling who had been schooled, in turn, by a dwarven princess. The fighting style was now returning to its source. He made an observation to this effect to Dulin.

"Yes," said Dulin, "One of the reasons the Morgyths were chosen to take part was that we believed the human warrior and his Mabari would be of interest to you…"

This thoughtfulness impressed Alistair; perhaps there was hope for Harrow after all? He stole a glance at the dwarven king who was deep in discussion with his secretary.

Unfortunately, the Morgyths were no match for Adal's very disciplined side although Alistair was somewhat relieved that the Mabari ended the round virtually unscathed. Adal had an ear-splitting battle cry that cancelled out any effect wrought by the hound. For the first time Alistair was able to appreciate just how well designed, the arena was to disseminate sound. Erent was too jumpy to handle the crossbow effectively and all those quarrels he managed to loosen missed. Finishing off, the silent sister dealt him a rather bruising hit on the side of his head with her maul and the whole crowd, including Alistair, winced.

                                                                                             ~~...~~
 
There was a quarter of an hour break before the next round; Alistair hoped Helmi's side were using it to catch their breath. He went and sat next to Oswyn who remarked he rather admired the way he had handled Dean.

"Oh, that," Alistair said, "I recalled this old Trevinter story I was told when I was a child about the sun and the wind duelling to see who could get a traveller to remove is cloak first? The wind used its force and exhausted itself but it only managed to get the traveller to wrap his cloak around himself even tighter, whereas the sun just shone, the traveller got hot and took the cloak off… Dean's still a Templar on the inside even if he deserted, there was some untapped loyalty and pride there… Yes, I know we were pretty brutal with Bann Walford but we were in a hurry… If you have more time available, you can arrange things another way…"

"But this promise…"

"Yes, that could be tricky; I probably got carried away… Too sun like…"

                                                                                                 ~~...~~

From the centre of the arena, the Proving Master announced the next bout.

Adal had decided tactically to concentrate on melee, as the combatant she had let go was the archer. Alon, on the other hand had retained the mage. Adal, the silent sister and the rogue swordsman began circling Alon the mage and the lithe dwarf swordsman. Alon and his second took it more or less in turns to launch various sallies and feints and break the encirclement.

"Tell me," asked Alistair, "Does the team captain have to fight in all the bouts? I'm fairly certain they would have to, but…"

"Yes" replied Dulin, anticipating his next question, he continued, "But if the captain is injured and some of the team are still able to fight then, they will be allowed to continue, should the captain die however…"

"Team loses."

"Yes."

"But no-one is dying today… We hope."

Just then from down below there was a flurry of movement.

The silent sister got just a little too close to Alon and he went for her with a blistering axe attack. This allowed Adal, who up until then had not shown herself to be particularly fast, to dodge the lithe dwarf and assault the mage putting him out of action, Alistair jumped to his feet, his cheeks flushed and rosy, as did most of the crowd: "Go!" he yelled.

Oswyn noticed that those sitting close to the box once they had recovered from their own excitement seemed amused by the young human king's. Meanwhile the Helmi's rogue swordsman went to the sister's assistance and attempted to fend off Alon. The sister walking backwards under Alon's assault tripped, but then Adal and her rogue swordsman, as if in agreement, leaving the sister to Alon, attacked the lithe dwarf.

It was a rather brutal decision but perhaps a necessary one, the sister defended herself as best she could from the ground but was eventually taken out. However, Alon turned around only to find himself faced by Adal and the rogue determined to press home their advantage and was obliged to quickly surrender. One point to House Helmi.

A twenty-minute break. Traditionally, the breaks got five minutes longer the longer the tourney progressed to allow the contenders some additional recovery time, but not too much, Dulin explained.

                                                                                                          ~~...~~

Despite his reservations about the fact that the tourney was depriving his visit to Orz of the discretion he had hoped for, Alistair found himself enjoying it thoroughly. The participants were varied and gutsy but also the logistics involved in fielding an ever-diminishing side added an intellectual dimension to it. It was as important for the contenders to be able to anticipate whom their adversary would select for the next round, as it was to put spirit into the skirmishing.

"Three gold," Alistair said to Dulin, "that Alon will bring back the mage."

"Done." Said Dulin.

Alon brought back the mage and Dulin, with a good-humoured chuckle paid up. Adal in turn, brought back the bowman, obviously the sister was unable to perform, but she would have done better to bring back the rogue, thought Alistair, and engage in melee fighting again, which seemed to be her strong point.

There ensued a rather tedious thirty minutes of 'combat' in which Adal rather than confronting Alon directly seemed intent in giving him the run around. Finally the additional weight given to Alon's side by the mage who proved himself to be quite resourceful at the end of the day, took its toll on Lady Helmi and her unsophisticated archer.

House Medras, announced the Proving Master, now stood at two points to House Helmi's one. There was a twenty-five minute break.

                                                                                      ~~...~~

"You put money on House Helmi?" Asked Dulin.

"I did, indeed."

"Good for you, I did too. You know something?" Alistair shook his head, "Alon Medras really loves that shiny armour of his and his gigantic axe but together they weigh an awful lot. I think Adal might have been playing to that. It's just the sort of thing she would do…"

"Let's hope…" Said Alistair.

When Lady Adal Helmi and Alon Medras came out it seemed that Alistair, Dulin and perhaps even Harrow were going to be disappointed. Everything about Adal's posture said she was exhausted.

"Typical woman" Alistair heard one of the nearby spectators mutter gruffly, "No stamina."

On closer observation, however, Alistair was not so sure, she seemed to be playing up, she was a bit of an actress, he thought. Adal and Alon bowed to the audience and then squared off and… Adal started running. Well, not actually running but moving very fast so Alon was compelled to follow her lugging the war axe.

Next to him, Dulin allowed himself a low chortle. "Here we go. She has a lovely pair of heels that one and she always travels light…"

They were at that for some twenty minutes after which Alon, who had not scored a single hit began to curse and swear at Adal most grievously. In response she just laughed, a surprisingly light laugh considering the strength of her battle cry.

"I apologise" Dulin said to Alistair, "this is pretty tedious…"

Alistair smiled, "It's good to see different techniques in play, but Milady certainly prefers the long game, though…"

After some time someone yelled from the opposite side of the proving ground "Get on with it!" little by little, the cry was picked up all over the arena until it became a din.

Alistair sat back, "Let's see what they do now…"

Lady Adal's response was clear; she put her right arm up and thrust her middle finger into the air turning around leisurely to ensure everybody got a good view. Meanwhile Alon, bit by bit, started to creep up on her. When she turned towards the royal box, Alistair rose to his feet and began to slow clap her. He could have sworn she yelled something that sounded suspiciously like "bugger you" in response but it was muffled by her helm.

Suddenly Alon rushed her, almost as if she had seen him coming she stepped aside and as he brushed past her turning quickly and dealing him two blows with her knives on his back. Alon screamed with rage and frustration and did a rapid about turn but was not quite quick enough, this time Adal had him on the side. Alon's axe buried itself in the sand of the arena and he growled impotently, all the combativeness seemed to drain away from him, he made one last attempt to life the axe and managed to raise it above his head but Adal with one of her screams charged and crashed into him causing him to overbalance and tumble to the ground. It was over.

                                                                                      ~~...~~

Sixty-five gold and fifty silver, not bad for one day's earnings thought Alistair.

In person, Alon Medras was far more tractable, humorous even, than he appeared to be in the arena. The lithe dwarf was respectfully standing behind him holding his massive war axe and upon Alistair's congratulations Alon simply opened his arms shrugged his shoulders and in a deep voice rumbled, "What can I say, Your Majesty, women! Can't live with them, can't live without them!"

His armour was quite a work of art although somewhat chipped and dented by the recent combat and when Alistair complemented him on it, "Pretty armours will be my downfall… Your chain mail isn't half-bad either… For being Surfacer made, that is… If you really want some good stuff, though, you should get it here. Nothing better. Now we shouldn't keep the Lady waiting…" He remarked glancing warily behind him.

Lady Adal Helmi pulled off her helmet, revealing a perky oval face with a wide mouth and deep dimples that seemed made for mischievous expressions. Perhaps, reflected Alistair, a sense of humour was the greatest unacknowledged asset of all dwarven fighters. Her brown hair was styled very simply in a ponytail and her face framed by a straight fringe.

"I apologise," she said blinking, "for having bored Your Majesty."

"Never apologise for a winning strategy," Alistair replied laughing, "Impatience has probably lost far more battles than cowardice…"

"I agree," she replied, "I tend to do things my own way. Today, it paid off."

He handed her the official prize of a specially inscribed sword and she stood for a few moments grinning and waving it over her head acknowledging the cheers from the crowd, who seemed to have come around to her after all. Her glee was contagious.

Then he produced the chunky ring with the large emerald he had brought that morning from one of the stalls in the commons. She blushed, of all things, and extended her left hand.

A wide hand, he thought as he took it, strong and hard, stubby fingers, he noted, nothing like Neriya's, a melee fighter's hands. He slid the ring onto her index, thankfully, it fit, he held her hand a little longer than he should have done and she looked up at him a thoughtful expression suddenly flitting over her face. "I am sorry," he muttered releasing it and she smiled broadly flexing her fingers. Somehow, it seemed to be a very sensual gesture.

"Perhaps…" she said softly. "You should drop by later to help me celebrate my victory… Or, you might wish to help me out of my armour in a few moments downstairs…"

Alistair almost choked, he was well aware that dwarves were frank and forward but he was not expecting a proposition of this kind in such an open forum, "I don't know." He mumbled.

Lady Helmi cocked her head insouciantly, "Oh I can assure you I am not half as boring in private as I am in the arena…"

Modifié par Maria13, 04 novembre 2010 - 12:55 .

[Addai]

LOL @ Lady Helmi. Good for her. She knows good stock when she sees it!



I love your tourney chapters. You write that sort of thing very well. Nice engagement with the lore, as always- your stuff often makes me think.

[Maria13]

Thanks, well dwarves are portrayed in game as being very upfront probably more so even than mages. No I have a dilemma to consummate or not?



Hummmmmmmmmm

[Maria13]

Chapter 36

Dragon 9:34

Umbralis/Firstfall                                                             Orzammar                            [Present]

Dolgan Harrak, duster and Grey Warden seemed to be taking in the view from the Diamond Quarter. "I've never stopped being chuffed by the fact that a brand such as me can now live here…"

Alistair thought he had never seen so much tattooed skin on a living being. Unlike the Dalish who seemed to confine their skin markings to certain body areas, the dwarf appeared to covered in obscure symbols from head to toe, mostly runic and geometric but some specifically dwarven pictograms were also present, flagons and such. He must be quiet a sight naked, Alistair mused and then quashed that thought.

If Alistair had ever entertained the belief that tats were a sign of immaturity, what he had observed of Dolgan's personality so far would have disabused him of that notion. The dwarf seemed controlled and thoughtful; perhaps even wise, good qualities in a captain… Alistair knew that he was the immature one in comparison.

"So," said Dolgan stretching and yawning, Maker, there even appeared to be an arrowhead tattooed on his tongue, "There's to be a proving in your honour this afternoon…"

"That's right," said Alistair quietly, "Not that I requested it…"

"Oh, Harrowmont's just being courteous, sucking up to you and such… Don't hold it against him; it's what dwarven nobles do…"

"I don't."

"Unlike me…" Said Dolgan quirking a very bristly eyebrow at him. "As a brand, I have no inclination to suck up to you whatsoever, young Surfacer…"

"Fair enough."

"So why do you want to crash my war party, again?"

"I…"

"Getting lonely, huh? Rattled by last night's dreams? Need some Grey Warden companionship, have an itch to cut a few Darkspawn heads off, do we?"

"Pretty much." Replied Alistair flexing his hands, Dolgan caught the gesture and smiled knowingly.

"Well the first thing's your own fault, isn't it? I mean you've restricted the Grey Warden presence in Ferelden since coming to the throne… Then I hear Neriya flounced off and left you, that's a reduction in numbers of what, one out of three? Your own fault…" He repeated. "Entirely."

Alistair stiffened, "I had my reasons… I'm sure Neriya had hers."

"Oh aye, I'm sure you both did… As to that thing… You wouldn't be aware of it, course, but there are basically two schools of thought on it within the order…"

"Do illuminate me…"

"Now you're being downright cheeky… Anyway. There's those that give a **** and those that don't. The second group, that includes me, vastly outnumber the first…"

"Huh."

"You do realise that as a 'blight queller' in the normal course of things I would be expected to defer to you?"

"I… No… Don't give a ****? As far as I'm concerned you're in charge here…"

"Right. Good, we can agree on that at least."

"Well, that's why I'm asking you in the first place, isn't it? Do you want to see me beg?"

Dolgan grinned, "A pretty Surfacer like you, why not?"

Alistair sighed, clasped his hands in front of him and bowed his head. "I beg you, oh gracious Warden Dolgan, allow me to come along on your expedition and serve under your command…"

"Nice, very nicely done…" Dolgan clapped.

Alistair rolled his eyes. "One question…" Said Dolgan, "What would you do should I order you to do something that might well cost you your life?"

Alistair hesitated, "I would think about it, maybe argue, but I would probably obey… Probably…"

"Not a bad reply." Dolgan said gruffly, "I don't like heroes or blind obedience and I like even less those who claim it… Liars, most of them. You're fit, aren't you?" He said eyeing Alistair up and down.

"Yes. I've kept up, train almost everyday."

"Good, good because should I loose you, my rep will suffer. And it makes no difference to me if I'm dead, too, 'cause even if I started life as a brand, my name's been entered into the memories and I don't want it dirtied…" He paused, "So you'll be my deputy, then."

Alistair balked, "I didn't ask for that…"

"I know you didn't but, see here, you have to be… If you're just one of the men, the others will think I dislike you and I'm dissing you and that could lead to… Well, you know. If I make you my second, on the other hand, they'll see the respect and hopefully they'll think the better of me for showing it to you, and of you for not insisting on the leadership…"

"I'll try my best to be a good second…"

"Well you were for Neriya, hopefully that's not changed… What are you bringing along?"

"Full armour, sword, shield, crossbow, quarrels, few changes of clothes… poultices, wound kits and health potions that I'm more than willing to share."

"Yeah, we could do with those; we don't have a healer… Sort of going for it with it all hanging out, like. But the Legion needs us…" Dolgan waxed a bit serious for a while, looking down at the lava flow. Alistair did not think it appropriate to disturb his musing. Eventually rousing himself and squinting at Alistair he asked, "No crown?"

"You mock me… Never had one, musses the hair, even more so than a helmet… Could bring a few concubines, though…"

"Ah, now that would be welcome, good for both morale and fitness… Sure, we could get 'em to fit on the bronto…" and Dolgan clapped him on the back and started laughing. Alistair began to laugh with him.

                                                                                      ~~...~~

That evening after the Proving Oswyn was not laughing. "You're doing what? Where?" They were in Tapsters again; Alistair knew his news would not be well received by Oswyn so he had plied him early on with some of his favourite ales.

"Brief expedition with the other Grey Wardens help the Legion of the Dead retake a few crucial through fares…" He said quickly, as if saying it quickly would help.

"Alistair… You… You're a king, for the love of Andraste… and a father… You can't just run off…" Oswyn looked genuinely alarmed. Alistair thought he detected that Oswyn's panic was more for himself and the thought of being stranded in Orzammar alone.

"I was a Grey Warden before I became either of those things. Anyway, I'm not 'running off' it will only be for two weeks… I need this…"

"Don't be such an irritating child; you don't 'need' such a thing…"

"You're wrong, Oswyn. Being a Grey Warden is not something like an inconvenient thorn that I can just pull out of my flesh. It is in me, inside me, part of me."

Oswyn shook his head impatiently but Alistair persisted, "However, much I would wish it, I cannot undo what was done to me in the Joining, in the same way as you cannot undo what was done to you… In any event," He said conclusively, "I am doing this… and, as I said to the arbiter, I shall try very hard not to get killed."

Oswyn sighed "Very well but, Anora will kill me…"

Alistair laughed, "Anora need never find out… Anyway, it will do you good; I'll be leaving you to your own devices. Remember, no more provings and I am counting on you to come up with a profitable way of disposing of that stuff. See, I told you I had the resources, now I have you to work out how to handle them…"

"About that…" said Oswyn who suddenly had become all business, "What did you have in mind for the resulting funds…?"

"Projects…"

"Projects, but of what kind?" He asked sharply.

"The kind that will change Ferelden, education, reform, free the circle…" Alistair shrugged, "make suggestions if you wish…"

"And why did you choose to stow it here and not above ground?"

"Deniability I guess, if it's not in Ferelden I can say I know nothing of it, it's not an issue… Although that place where it is kept is leased to Crabbe and by extension to me. Ironically, as I said, it's part of Jarvia's original hideout. As with any dwarven carta most of her income would come from lyrium smuggling, I imagine. Harrow wanted to gift it to me when I expressed an interest… I refused. Harrow has no idea what I'm keeping there… I don't think… Loosely doesn't know either, or Anora. We should keep it like that."

Oswyn sighed again.

"Poor you." Said Alistair, putting a hand on his arm, "Think how much more fun this is rather than staying at home at Dragons Peak or being the typical noble wallflower in Denerim… I believe I may have found you an assistant, anyhow, someone who knows their way around Orz, and there's Dean of course, he's pretty resourceful… Anyway, you have your orders, so to speak, so perk up…"

                                                                                        ~~...~~

He could not sleep perhaps he was excited by what had happened today, perhaps worried about what would happen tomorrow, perhaps afraid of having another nightmare, although he knew that was unlikely so soon on the footsteps of the first.

Therefore, at some unholy hour of the night he decided to get up, get dressed, and venture out. Soon as he suspected would be the case, he found himself pacing the streets of the Diamond Quarter. Some guards stopped him momentarily and then, shrugging, allowed him to wander on. He stopped in front of what he seemed to recall was the Helmis' mansion and knocked. He was very surprised when the door was opened by a young chamberlain, who taking stock of him promptly ushered him inside.

"Milady may be asleep but I shall ask if she wishes to see you," He said escorting Alistair to an anteroom without Alistair so much as opening his mouth.

After some ten minutes the young dwarf returned, "She will see Your Majesty"

He was taken to a door and shown inside. It was obviously Lady Helmi's bedchamber.

"So you did not wish to assist me getting out of my armour?" She was barefoot; wearing a rather beautiful blue pale silk gown and her brown hair was loose and shiny and hung below her shoulders. She looked completely different as to how she had appeared at the proving, softer, gentler, all those feminine things... She was still wearing the emerald ring he had given her for winning. For a moment, he imagined her going to bed and looking at it with pride before she fell asleep and then clasping it close to her…

"Lady Helmi, I can barely get out of my own without assistance. Large clumsy fingers see…"

He held out his hands. A mistake. She approached him, caught them gently, and ran her own fingers over his palms. "I see what you mean, but they are good hands for a man… So big. Exciting really" and she took one and placed it on her cheek.

Alistair cleared his throat; the skin of her face was silky to the touch, "Lady Helmi… I… You do know I'm married, right?" He said removing his hand from her face.

Lady Helmi tut-tutted "Adal, call me Adal. You should know better that to try to use that excuse in Orzammar. I too, am married… to a distant cousin… Please sit." She said gesturing towards something like a divan, "but he prefers to spend his time attempting to impregnate his favourite concubine who happens to be fertile, unlike myself…" Lady Helmi looked away, and then she asked, "Do you have children?"

Alistair sat down very gingerly, he was afraid the seat would give way under his weight but it was good dwarven craftsmanship after all and far more robust that it appeared at first sight. Lady Helmi sat next to him.

"I am sorry, that must be hard…" He hesitated, "The Grey Warden thing," he said, "doesn't precisely promote fertility…"

"My marriage was never a love match, at any rate… But what of Lady Neriya?"

"I was wanting to ask, why do so many here refer to her as Lady Neriya?"

"Well, I think it was clear she was destined for great things, I think we all assume…"

"I see." He noted that the dwarva seemed wholly unaware of the prejudice that elves had to suffer on the surface. He was not going to flag it up to them either, in case it gave them ideas…

"Anyway…"

"Orlais."

"But…"

"She did not wish to stay with me in Denerim…"

"Surfacers… There is no understanding them. So you would have preferred her to your wife in any event…"

"I can't really deny it."

"Do you miss her?"

He paused and lowered his eyes to his hands. "Very much."

"Alistair, can I call you that?"

He nodded.

"What are you doing here?"

"I…" He faltered, "Wanted to check that I had not offended you… Adal."

"Really? At this time of night?"

Now he thought about it, Alistair was not sure he even believed his own excuse. It was a disadvantage.

"You did not offend me," she said. "You are going with Dolgan and the other Grey Wardens tomorrow, are you not?" she smiled, and the dimples showed up in her cheeks.

"Yes… How—"

"Orzammar is a small place, news travels quickly… That's very brave of you… I have only been a few times down the Deep Roads myself… I find them… Disturbing. Aren't you afraid? I was so afraid before the tourney…" And as if remembering it, recreated it, he saw a shadow of apprehension flit over her features.

"Yes of course I am afraid; I would be a fool if I wasn't…" He muttered.

"And so you came here, Alistair. How can I help you, I wonder?" She said tilting her head to one side. He looked down at her beguiling, earnest, doll-like face and her dark lively eyes and something stirred.

"Adal, this was a mistake; I'd better go before things get complicated…" He said making to move.

"Complicated: My husband is with his concubine. Your wife is in Denerim. Neriya is in Orlais… You and I are here, in my bedchamber. That does not seem complicated to me, it seems… Opportune."

He opened his arms, "Well…"

"Are all Topsiders so charmingly indecisive?"

"I don't know precisely what I am doing here… I couldn't sleep. I am a pig and a hound, I thought about your proposition, you're quite attractive and… I have never… Not a dwarf and… Anyway, tomorrow…"

"A 'pig'" Repeated Lady Helmi, "I think we would say a nug here…" She said, fixing her gaze on him as she lowered the gown so he could see the top of her firm, pale breasts "and nugs are very tasty…" she put out an arm and wrenched his face towards them.

There was no helping it, he growled…

                                                                                   ~~...~~

When he woke up his whole body ached, in the nicest possible way, of course especially his stones, as Lady Helmi had called them. He realised he really quite liked the heat of Orzammar the way you did not have to wear many clothes if you wanted to feel comfortable.

He looked over and saw that Lady Helmi, or Adal, still couldn't quite get used to that name, somehow, was curled up in a little ball. Her face wrinkled in sleep, almost resting on her pretty breasts, her hands wrapped over it, the chunky ring still on her left, the only thing she was wearing, legs drawn up to her tummy and between them… Better not go there… As he watched she sighed and yawned without waking and bundled herself up even tighter. Aggh… Cute, very cute.

It had been playful and, then, surprisingly, a bit rough… When towards the beginning he'd said something about that, Adal had replied, "but I like this… We're both fighters, aren't we?", and had continued to tug at his clothing and at him, he had never been with a fighter, somebody he could mock wrestle and who would not necessarily loose, somebody with a really fit body and…

He loved Neriya and she had spirit and willpower, but he saw her as physically so fragile, he put a lot of effort in trying to avoid hurting her, not that he necessarily would but… And it had been a strain, sometimes, holding back. It seemed Adal had used the encounter to let out a lot of tension, as had he…

Come to think of it, his neck was a bit sore… He touched it briefly. Oh dear, a bite mark…

                                                                                         ~~...~~

Adal had grinned when she saw the mark and had gently wrapped a scarf round his neck before he left. Conveniently, of course, the Grey Warden HQ was just a short walk around the corner. Alistair was surprised and then amused to find that he was not the only one who had spent all night out. In fact, Dolgan, blissfully stretched out over his cot was the only one who had spent the night in.

The others, including the only other human, a rogue named Marcus, all returned in dribs and drabs looking the worse for wear and exchanging knowing grins. Well, at least he had got some good quality sleep in the end, if not for very long.

Then it was the usual male barracks confusion of cleaning, shaving, packing, dressing, arming up. He had missed it, he realised, and it had been almost five years… Moreover, he'd never felt so at ease in that environment before. He was ribbed for the bite mark, of course, but gave as good as he got, doing down the others because they didn't have bite marks. He was shown a few interesting blemishes along the way, but generally remained unconvinced.

                                                                                                  ~~...~~

The third best suit of armour, the dark one, dragonbone, the lucky one.

Orzammar, Ferelden, wherever. It would be the same. If you were going to battle and not in a hurry, you tried to look your best. Therefore, although they were a very motley mismatched band of two humans and three dwarves, but all Grey Wardens, they did put on a bit of a show.

And Lady Hel… Adal was there, which was nice, standing right next to Oswyn who was frowning with his arms crossed over his chest. Oh, Oswyn, you'll soon understand… Even Dean, who rushed forward and embraced him…, Hell, that was nice too…

PS Sorry Tgail

Modifié par Maria13, 11 novembre 2010 - 01:12 .

[Addai]

I kind of like the dwarf tumble. LOL I especially like that Alistair gets to go do some Wardening!

[soignee]

Adal? Ah man, always liked her. Go Alistair, I say.

[Maria13]

@ tgail, tell me how I can make this up to you... I am open to reasonable requests. I was going to have them just talk and then Adal sort of imposed herself...



@ Addai glad you liked, I have some ideas for the "wardening"



@Soignee, yeah well Alistair went or came... Enjoyed too...