Prompt entry.
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While Alistair never considered himself a great cook, he never thought he was
that bad. Unfortunately, the grimaces twisting the recruits' faces begged to differ, and after sampling his own creation, he had to agree. He doubted even the mabari hounds would touch such a grease-laden, tasteless gray mash of what was once wolf meat and swamp grasses; even looking at it made him wonder what twisted current in his mind thought such a union would be a great idea.
Finally, one of the recruits--Adrian?--shoved her bowl aside in disgust. "I'd sooner chew a darkspawn's arm off than eat this slop," she grumbled, wiping her mouth.
"This--this is not a joking matter," Ser Jory chided, looking around nervously.
"Oh--I don't know," Daveth drawled as he swallowed another helping, stifling a shudder. "It's just as likely the darkspawn will eat
you first. Plus, it's better than eating raw swamp slop, don't you agree?"
Adrian shuddered. "Ugh."
"Making fun of my cooking? I'm hurt." Alistair dipped his eyebrows and widened his eyes, trying to muster a convincingly wounded expression. "And here I am, trying to give you all a wonderful tour of the Korcari Wilds with darkspawn breathing down our necks, wolves nibbling my perfect ankles, and the limitless culinary opportunities, and you all go and shoot me down. I'm so hurt, I'm bleeding."
Daveth snorted in an attempt not to chuckle openly, and Adrian rolled her eyes in contempt. "Are you always this--this"--she waved her hands, trying to frame the proper word for the occasion--"this
stupid?"
Alistair grinned. "Always."
"If we intend to head to the Docks from Redcliffe, we'd have to go around the northern highway." Adrian's finger traced the corresponding route, and she shook her head. "Honestly, I don't know why we're even bothering. It'll take a couple of weeks, and I'm not about to put Redcliffe's future on how long the Bann Teagan and Lady
Isolde"--she stretched out the word distastefully--"can keep that little demon-possessed boy distracted."
Alistair glared at the young woman. "We've been through this before, Adrian. We're not going to kill that child if we can help it. We could've asked the blood mage, but you chose to free him, so there we are."
"A wise decision," Morrigan interjected, staring coolly at Alistair. "I doubt he would receive as warm a welcome amongst the bann and the lady, as he did play a part in their problems."
"No looking back, now." Alistair sighed and glowered at Morrigan before turning back towards the map. He frowned at the route Adrian pointed out and scratched his chin. "Wouldn't it be faster if we go around the south, past Lothering?" His finger traced the route. "The journey from here to there would be down to over a week, at most."
"You seem to be forgetting the very obvious Blight that just torched Lothering, if the rumours are true," was Adrian's acerbic reply. "We'll get there faster, indeed, but it's because of things like, oh, entire legions of darkspawn chewing our ankles, if they didn't drag us down first."
Alistair flushed, and Morrigan lifted an eyebrow. "So...did you always have to put up with his foolishness?"
"Hey!"
"
Always."
As soon as Alistair opened his mouth, Adrian recoiled, nearly falling over in her attempt to get away. She waved a hand to her nose, coughing.
"What have you been
eating?" She gagged.
Alistair grinned as he held out his hand to show several crumbly yellowish-orange cubes. "I knew I shouldn't have eaten it so soon. Well, can't be helped. It's a brand of Orlesian cheddar that I found while we were shopping around in Denerim. The livestock's fed on special grains, the curd aged for at least two years--often more--then they cut it into small cubes and sell it for an arm and a leg." He popped a cube into his mouth. "Great taste, better aroma, and something you don't want to miss. You want one?"
The way Adrian looked at the cheese was reminiscent to a mongoose eyeing a cobra. She held out her hands in refusal. "If I want to have my breath smelling like a dead sewer rat, I'll eat one. A dead sewer rat, that is."
"Oh, that's cold."
"That's what you get for enjoying a food that stinks so much." She frowned. "So...was all you said about this cheese is true, or are you just pulling my leg?"
Alistair crossed his free hand in a mock salute. "Swear it on the cheese I'm holding, it's true."
"Are you always this much of a cheese fan?"
"Always."
"I take it you and the arl of Denerim had a long and colourful history together."
Adrian smiled grimly as she held up her blade, checking for flaws. "That's one way of putting it."
"You know, if you had told me beforehand..."
"You'll what? Hold me back? Try to reason with that
man?" She spat out the last word, and all but slammed the blade back into its scabbard. "Face it, Alistair. This is one of those things where only one of us is coming out alive, and nothing you'll say or do will stop me from taking my family's death out on his hide. I don't care if the Maker Himself comes down and tells me not to do it on pain of eternal damnation. I'll still kill him."
Alistair held up his hands. "No, no, no! What I meant is that I'll be happy to back you up. I know what it feels like to...to lose family." His expression sobered and grew distant. "And...well, it helps us get closer to beating Loghain, so that's a plus."
"Ah, Loghain. Almost forgot about him." Her face twisted in a grimace. "You know, after this is all over, I think I'll be taking a sabbatical for a while. I don't care if I have to stab darkspawn or rabid wolves in the face. Better them than lying, backstabbing, murdering nobles and their stupid apple tree politics."
"You might want to restate that, since you're a noble yourself." Alistair chuckled. "Don't worry. If you get in trouble, I've got your back." He rested his hand on hers, nearly dwarfing it, and her eyes widened in surprise. "Always."
Everything seemed so unreal, and the utter silence falling upon the mourners even added a dreamlike quality. Alistair's own voice echoed throughout the gathering, speaking words that rang in his ears with hollow conviction, yet afterwards he would never remember a single thing he said. It seemed to have an effect on the people, though; or, at least, there were no riots for accidentally speaking out of line.
Amidst the sheer surreality of his situation, Adrian's body lying on the bier seemed almost painfully stark in contrast. Someone had cleaned the blood from her matted hair, but had to remove her hairbands. As a result, her hair stuck out in ungainly clumps that would have caused her no end of grief if she were still alive, and perhaps shaved a few years off the lives of those who had to dress her up for the funeral. A pang shot through Alistair, and he quickly looked away from Adrian's face, so still in repose it looked as if she were sleeping, something that continued to fool him even though he was the one who had carried her lifeless, blood-soaked body down the steps of Fort Drakon, and had uttered the dreaded words to her former companions. Death had erased some of the lines from Adrian's features, lines that he knew all too well when she sobbed into his chest, seeking reassurance and comfort in the arms of a friend. How tragic, he thought, that she would find the solution to her wrinkles in her sacrifice.
The only thing that told him he had finished his speech was the mourners slowly filing away, some of which stopped by to touch her arm or leg in silent respect before moving on. A few stopped before him to make conversation, clearly impressed with being around the Hero of Ferelden...but he was no hero. He glanced at Adrian.
She was the true Hero of Ferelden, and he just watched her back, as he promised he would. If only he had been strong enough to watch her back to the very end...
Eventually, the last of the mourners left, leaving Alistair alone with her. In a day or so, she would be escorted with honours to Weisshaupt, where she would be buried alongside other recognised Grey Wardens. Years would pass, and Adrian the person would be forgotten, or expanded into Adrian the Grey Warden, a ten-foot-tall myth breathing fire and wielding a sword of light, hewing darkspawn like ripened wheat.
Alistair's fingers ran along her unkempt hair, trying vainly to smooth the clumps down, and his other hand parted her fingers to slip a rose between them. Its brilliant red hue almost hid the fact that it had just begun wilting, but for some reason, he thought it appropriate.
"I will miss you."
His voice was so choked with grief that it was barely above a whisper, but a little part of him hoped so very much that somewhere, somehow, she
heard, and maybe understood.
"Always."
Modifié par Lugwy, 16 avril 2011 - 12:49 .
Will add the links to the group later...as well for the other prompt. All three...lol.
Retour en haut
Hope this doesn't repeat now. Try to go from the story to the latest chapter perhaps, that *might* work....someday. Gaaah. I will leave it now online and hope it unlocks itself with time. <_<
