. It didn't really surprise me about Alistairs reaction to the shortened lifespan. That would be yet another thing to beat himself up about after Ostagar. Good dream/nightmare sequence too.
Becoming (complete short story; contains spoilers)
Débuté par
Freckles04
, févr. 25 2010 08:51
#51
Posté 26 février 2010 - 06:35
MireliA
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Damn you have been busy! . It didn't really surprise me about Alistairs reaction to the shortened lifespan. That would be yet another thing to beat himself up about after Ostagar.
Good dream/nightmare sequence too.
. It didn't really surprise me about Alistairs reaction to the shortened lifespan. That would be yet another thing to beat himself up about after Ostagar. Good dream/nightmare sequence too.
Retour en haut
#52
Posté 26 février 2010 - 06:40
Sialater
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Sandtigress wrote...
Freckles04 wrote...
Sisimka wrote...
He mentions being pick pocketed at the market too, but that could have happened on this trip, right?
Heh. Just wait.
Haha, oh, looking forward to this.
Me, too. A certain rogue named Daveth, perhaps?
#53
Posté 26 février 2010 - 06:56
amethyst_rose2009
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Sialater wrote...
Me, too. A certain rogue named Daveth, perhaps?
Ooooh, that would be so funny if it was Daveth. Alistair does mention when you first meet him that he doesn't understand why Duncan chose Daveth to be a new recruit. So that would be hilarious if there was an actual reason Alistair didn't really trust the guy.
Modifié par amethyst_rose2009, 26 février 2010 - 06:57 .
#54
Posté 26 février 2010 - 09:31
Freckles04
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Distractions
The early summer sun beat down on Alistair's bare back as he sparred with the straw dummy in the training ring. His armor had been shed as the heat increased and lay in a pile in the dirt. Maker, did no breeze ever reach this far into the city? Sweat poured off him, stinging his eyes and making the grip on the hilt of his sword uncertain, but his mood begged for some kind of diversion. Anything to keep him from thinking of...that. What Duncan had told him.
Sparring with the dummy wasn't working, in that regard. His body moved in the repetitive, comfortable actions automatically, leaving his mind to wander, and think, and surmise, and fume.
With a grunt, he ran the dummy through, and straightened. It also didn't help that he'd heard that Cailan had returned from whatever diplomatic voyage he'd been on. He couldn't walk around a corner without wondering if he'd bump into his half-brother. Rationally, he knew it wasn't bloody likely that the King would be traipsing about the Grey Warden compound, but Alistair held no illusions about being the most rational of men.
What he needed was just to get out. Away. Not far, and not for long; he had a duty, and he understood duty all too well. But a break would be welcome.
The water in the barrel at the edge of the training ring was warm from the heat of the day, less than refreshing, but it washed away some of the sweat and grime. He shrugged into his undershirt and armor, and strapped his sword and shield to his back. Then he headed to the dining room. He'd discovered that there were always one or two Grey Wardens eating at any given hour of the day. He'd wondered at that, until the hunger pangs gripped him in the middle of the night on his second day after the Joining. By Andraste, he'd never felt so famished in his life, even during the growth spurts of his adolescent years. He'd rushed into the larder, grabbed whatever food he could find, and began stuffing his face indiscriminately. He didn't look up until someone cleared their throat, and just about died from embarrassment to see a handful of Wardens staring at him.
Then they'd laughed and clapped him on the back, and that was one more thing that made him one of them.
Gregor, the Anders with the massive beard, and Jon, a slim twig of a man, waved him over as he entered the dining room. Unsurprisingly, a tankard of ale sat in front of Gregor, half-empty. The man's constitution was legendary. One day, they'd get him drunk. One day.
"Hey, Alistair," Jon greeted him, smiling. "You look like something crawled up your arse."
Alistair smirked and shook his head. "You have quite the way with words, Jon."
"That he does," Gregor rumbled. "But he speaks the truth. What's the problem, lad?"
"I need to get out for a bit."
"A mite stir-crazy, yes?" Jon's smile grew. "You have coin?"
"A bit," Alistair admitted. "Fifty silvers or so."
"Excellent." The skinny man's eyes twinkled.
"Jon," Gregor started, but the smaller man held up a hand to silence him.
"Try the Pearl, lad. South of the Market District. There's a right amount of fun to be had there, I tell you."
"It's a tavern? With entertainment and whatnot?" That could be good, he decided.
"Oh, aye, lots of entertainment." Jon chuckled.
"All right, then." Alistair grinned. "Thanks."
Gregor groaned. "Just...don't ask for a surprise, boy."
Alistair's brows drew down, puzzled. "Okay. No surprises. Got it."
"Have fun!" Jon called as Alistair left the dining room.
#
The gates district of Denerim had nothing on the Market District. He froze at the entrance, half-tempted to seek refuge in the Chantry next to him. So many people. So much noise. It was so different, and yet...fascinating. He thought he might have been here once before--he vaguely recalled a trip to Arl Eamon's Denerim estate when he was very young--but everything seemed new to his eyes. He took a step forward, and another, and let the experience wash over him. People brushed past on all sides. After a moment, the cacophony began to separate into distinct sounds: merchants attempting to entice passersby; customers' voices raised in righteous indignation over prices; children's laughter as they raced about the common area; and the low hum of the Chant emanating from the squat Chantry behind him.
Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.
He wandered around the market for awhile, pausing at stalls that captured his attention. There was the jeweller's, with rings and pendants and necklaces that made him think of his mother's amulet, the one he'd thrown at the wall in a fury when Eamon had announced he was to be sent to the Chantry. The only thing he had of his mother's, and he'd shattered it in a fit of childish rage. Idiot.
He moved on. A weaponsmith's stall caught his eye next, a rack of swords that glittered in the midday sun. With a smile, the smith gave him permission to heft one of the blades. Well-balanced, much better than the hand-me-down weapon he'd used for years--but too far out of his price range. With an apologetic shake of his head, Alistair returned the sword back to its place and decided it was time to find the tavern Jon had mentioned.
He headed south, out of the Market District. He could feel eyes on him as he made his way through the various alleys and back paths, but he saw no one threatening. Perhaps the watchers decided his sword and shield meant he would be more trouble than he was worth.
The Pearl was a well-kept establishment, at least from the outside. It looked clean, at any rate, the paint on its walls fresh, the shutters on its windows straight and prim. It even had a pair of flower pots on either side of the front door. Not bad. Not bad at all.
Alistair stepped inside, wondering if the entertainment Jon had spoken of would be a band of minstrels, or perhaps a troupe of dancers. That would be fun.
His feet froze on the other side of the threshold.
Breasts. Everywhere he looked, breasts. Dear Maker above. What was this place?
One of the owners of breasts sauntered up to him. She wore robes of some kind, dipping low enough in the front to leave little to the imagination. Dark, curly hair cascaded over one shoulder, moulding suggestively to her ample curves. A fingertip swept along his arm and she smiled, a welcoming, sultry smile of which he'd never seen the like.
Could one's head explode from a smile?
"Hello, handsome," she purred. "I've not seen you here before. New in town?"
"I, uh." Alistair swallowed. His brain stuck out its tongue at him and meandered off, while other...parts...began to pay attention. "I'm new, yes. To Denerim. Not to Ferelden, because I've, uh, lived here my entire life. Not here here, of course, because I'm new, but..."
"Aren't you a sweetheart?" Her smile was a little warmer now, reaching her eyes. "And what brings you to Denerim?"
"Grey Wardens." He cleared his throat. "That is, I'm a Grey Warden."
"Oh." The sound was drawn out on a low sigh. "I've heard...things...about the Wardens."
"Really?" Alistair closed his eyes as his voice squeaked. Maker. "What kinds of things?"
"That your...stamina...is legendary," she said, leaning in. Her breath seared his cheek. "That you can go all night. That one woman is never, ever enough."
He was going to die. Right now, here. He was going to be struck down by the Maker for his sins. Okay, so, he hadn't done anything yet, but the Maker knew His children's minds, and there was no doubt where Alistair's was. At any moment, lightning was going to arc from the heavens.
"Ruby, who's this handsome lad you're fawning over?" A second woman, blonde, blue-eyed, swayed over to them. Her robes were just as revealing as Ruby's, showcasing porcelain skin with a smattering of freckles that dipped between...
"This, my lovely Opal, is a Grey Warden come to the Pearl for a bit of fun. Shall we see if the tales are true?"
"Oh, my. The ones about their appetites? Yes..." Opal's summer-sky eyes swept up and down. A perfectly pink tongue darted out to wet her lips. "Let's."
Yes. Dead. If the Maker didn't kill him, his heart would soon stop. No doubt.
"Girls, girls." A third woman approached, this one dressed a bit more demurely than the two currently hanging off Alistair's arms. She grinned crookedly, one eyebrow arched. "I appreciate your eagerness, but I do have a business to run. Welcome to the Pearl, lad, Denerim's finest house of...adventures. Can I interest you in either of these fine ladies? Or, perhaps..." Her smile grew. "Both?"
"I, uh." You're a gentleman. This is not what good Chantry boys do--
Yes, but he wasn't in the Chantry anymore, was he? And this would definitely be a distraction.
"How much?" Maker forgive me.
"For you, lad, because I'm just as interested to see if the tales of Grey Wardens are true..." The proprietor winked. "Thirty silver for one, fifty for the two."
Thank the Maker he hadn't tried to haggle for that sword. He reached for his coin purse...
It wasn't there.
"What the..." He patted his armor, but no, he wouldn't have stashed it elsewhere. "I was pickpocketed!"
"Blast it," Ruby said, pushing away from him.
"Next time, lad." The proprietor shook her head and walked away.
Opal leaned in and brushed her lips to his cheek. "Too bad," she whispered. "Come back, though, and look me up."
Alistair watched the two women sashay away in search of other patrons. He turned, sighing, and left the Pearl. Outside, he looked up at the clouds wafting across the clear blue sky.
"I get it, I get it," he muttered. "Thank you for holding off on the lightning."
The early summer sun beat down on Alistair's bare back as he sparred with the straw dummy in the training ring. His armor had been shed as the heat increased and lay in a pile in the dirt. Maker, did no breeze ever reach this far into the city? Sweat poured off him, stinging his eyes and making the grip on the hilt of his sword uncertain, but his mood begged for some kind of diversion. Anything to keep him from thinking of...that. What Duncan had told him.
Sparring with the dummy wasn't working, in that regard. His body moved in the repetitive, comfortable actions automatically, leaving his mind to wander, and think, and surmise, and fume.
With a grunt, he ran the dummy through, and straightened. It also didn't help that he'd heard that Cailan had returned from whatever diplomatic voyage he'd been on. He couldn't walk around a corner without wondering if he'd bump into his half-brother. Rationally, he knew it wasn't bloody likely that the King would be traipsing about the Grey Warden compound, but Alistair held no illusions about being the most rational of men.
What he needed was just to get out. Away. Not far, and not for long; he had a duty, and he understood duty all too well. But a break would be welcome.
The water in the barrel at the edge of the training ring was warm from the heat of the day, less than refreshing, but it washed away some of the sweat and grime. He shrugged into his undershirt and armor, and strapped his sword and shield to his back. Then he headed to the dining room. He'd discovered that there were always one or two Grey Wardens eating at any given hour of the day. He'd wondered at that, until the hunger pangs gripped him in the middle of the night on his second day after the Joining. By Andraste, he'd never felt so famished in his life, even during the growth spurts of his adolescent years. He'd rushed into the larder, grabbed whatever food he could find, and began stuffing his face indiscriminately. He didn't look up until someone cleared their throat, and just about died from embarrassment to see a handful of Wardens staring at him.
Then they'd laughed and clapped him on the back, and that was one more thing that made him one of them.
Gregor, the Anders with the massive beard, and Jon, a slim twig of a man, waved him over as he entered the dining room. Unsurprisingly, a tankard of ale sat in front of Gregor, half-empty. The man's constitution was legendary. One day, they'd get him drunk. One day.
"Hey, Alistair," Jon greeted him, smiling. "You look like something crawled up your arse."
Alistair smirked and shook his head. "You have quite the way with words, Jon."
"That he does," Gregor rumbled. "But he speaks the truth. What's the problem, lad?"
"I need to get out for a bit."
"A mite stir-crazy, yes?" Jon's smile grew. "You have coin?"
"A bit," Alistair admitted. "Fifty silvers or so."
"Excellent." The skinny man's eyes twinkled.
"Jon," Gregor started, but the smaller man held up a hand to silence him.
"Try the Pearl, lad. South of the Market District. There's a right amount of fun to be had there, I tell you."
"It's a tavern? With entertainment and whatnot?" That could be good, he decided.
"Oh, aye, lots of entertainment." Jon chuckled.
"All right, then." Alistair grinned. "Thanks."
Gregor groaned. "Just...don't ask for a surprise, boy."
Alistair's brows drew down, puzzled. "Okay. No surprises. Got it."
"Have fun!" Jon called as Alistair left the dining room.
#
The gates district of Denerim had nothing on the Market District. He froze at the entrance, half-tempted to seek refuge in the Chantry next to him. So many people. So much noise. It was so different, and yet...fascinating. He thought he might have been here once before--he vaguely recalled a trip to Arl Eamon's Denerim estate when he was very young--but everything seemed new to his eyes. He took a step forward, and another, and let the experience wash over him. People brushed past on all sides. After a moment, the cacophony began to separate into distinct sounds: merchants attempting to entice passersby; customers' voices raised in righteous indignation over prices; children's laughter as they raced about the common area; and the low hum of the Chant emanating from the squat Chantry behind him.
Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.
He wandered around the market for awhile, pausing at stalls that captured his attention. There was the jeweller's, with rings and pendants and necklaces that made him think of his mother's amulet, the one he'd thrown at the wall in a fury when Eamon had announced he was to be sent to the Chantry. The only thing he had of his mother's, and he'd shattered it in a fit of childish rage. Idiot.
He moved on. A weaponsmith's stall caught his eye next, a rack of swords that glittered in the midday sun. With a smile, the smith gave him permission to heft one of the blades. Well-balanced, much better than the hand-me-down weapon he'd used for years--but too far out of his price range. With an apologetic shake of his head, Alistair returned the sword back to its place and decided it was time to find the tavern Jon had mentioned.
He headed south, out of the Market District. He could feel eyes on him as he made his way through the various alleys and back paths, but he saw no one threatening. Perhaps the watchers decided his sword and shield meant he would be more trouble than he was worth.
The Pearl was a well-kept establishment, at least from the outside. It looked clean, at any rate, the paint on its walls fresh, the shutters on its windows straight and prim. It even had a pair of flower pots on either side of the front door. Not bad. Not bad at all.
Alistair stepped inside, wondering if the entertainment Jon had spoken of would be a band of minstrels, or perhaps a troupe of dancers. That would be fun.
His feet froze on the other side of the threshold.
Breasts. Everywhere he looked, breasts. Dear Maker above. What was this place?
One of the owners of breasts sauntered up to him. She wore robes of some kind, dipping low enough in the front to leave little to the imagination. Dark, curly hair cascaded over one shoulder, moulding suggestively to her ample curves. A fingertip swept along his arm and she smiled, a welcoming, sultry smile of which he'd never seen the like.
Could one's head explode from a smile?
"Hello, handsome," she purred. "I've not seen you here before. New in town?"
"I, uh." Alistair swallowed. His brain stuck out its tongue at him and meandered off, while other...parts...began to pay attention. "I'm new, yes. To Denerim. Not to Ferelden, because I've, uh, lived here my entire life. Not here here, of course, because I'm new, but..."
"Aren't you a sweetheart?" Her smile was a little warmer now, reaching her eyes. "And what brings you to Denerim?"
"Grey Wardens." He cleared his throat. "That is, I'm a Grey Warden."
"Oh." The sound was drawn out on a low sigh. "I've heard...things...about the Wardens."
"Really?" Alistair closed his eyes as his voice squeaked. Maker. "What kinds of things?"
"That your...stamina...is legendary," she said, leaning in. Her breath seared his cheek. "That you can go all night. That one woman is never, ever enough."
He was going to die. Right now, here. He was going to be struck down by the Maker for his sins. Okay, so, he hadn't done anything yet, but the Maker knew His children's minds, and there was no doubt where Alistair's was. At any moment, lightning was going to arc from the heavens.
"Ruby, who's this handsome lad you're fawning over?" A second woman, blonde, blue-eyed, swayed over to them. Her robes were just as revealing as Ruby's, showcasing porcelain skin with a smattering of freckles that dipped between...
"This, my lovely Opal, is a Grey Warden come to the Pearl for a bit of fun. Shall we see if the tales are true?"
"Oh, my. The ones about their appetites? Yes..." Opal's summer-sky eyes swept up and down. A perfectly pink tongue darted out to wet her lips. "Let's."
Yes. Dead. If the Maker didn't kill him, his heart would soon stop. No doubt.
"Girls, girls." A third woman approached, this one dressed a bit more demurely than the two currently hanging off Alistair's arms. She grinned crookedly, one eyebrow arched. "I appreciate your eagerness, but I do have a business to run. Welcome to the Pearl, lad, Denerim's finest house of...adventures. Can I interest you in either of these fine ladies? Or, perhaps..." Her smile grew. "Both?"
"I, uh." You're a gentleman. This is not what good Chantry boys do--
Yes, but he wasn't in the Chantry anymore, was he? And this would definitely be a distraction.
"How much?" Maker forgive me.
"For you, lad, because I'm just as interested to see if the tales of Grey Wardens are true..." The proprietor winked. "Thirty silver for one, fifty for the two."
Thank the Maker he hadn't tried to haggle for that sword. He reached for his coin purse...
It wasn't there.
"What the..." He patted his armor, but no, he wouldn't have stashed it elsewhere. "I was pickpocketed!"
"Blast it," Ruby said, pushing away from him.
"Next time, lad." The proprietor shook her head and walked away.
Opal leaned in and brushed her lips to his cheek. "Too bad," she whispered. "Come back, though, and look me up."
Alistair watched the two women sashay away in search of other patrons. He turned, sighing, and left the Pearl. Outside, he looked up at the clouds wafting across the clear blue sky.
"I get it, I get it," he muttered. "Thank you for holding off on the lightning."
#55
Posté 26 février 2010 - 09:38
Sisimka
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Breasts. Everywhere he looked, breasts. Dear Maker above. What was this place?
Best line ever!!
Best line ever!!
#57
Posté 26 février 2010 - 09:56
Jules8445
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Really, really nice chapters Freckles. I love getting some backstory on Alistair. I think that's the real beauty of FanFiction...so far I'm putting your version of things into my head as my cannon. 
#58
Posté 26 février 2010 - 09:58
Sialater
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Nah, I like this one:
His brain stuck out its tongue at him and meandered off, while other...parts...began to pay attention.
#59
Posté 26 février 2010 - 10:00
Sisimka
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Sialater wrote...
Nah, I like this one:His brain stuck out its tongue at him and meandered off, while other...parts...began to pay attention.
Nope, Breasts, everywhere he looked, Breasts. It might be the beer (I'm snowed in up here) but I just heard it in my head like 'taint, taint, taint....' Hehe.
#60
Posté 26 février 2010 - 10:07
Freckles04
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I'm glad you guys liked that chapter. I laughed pretty hard writing it. Poor Al. It kind of explains his reluctance later on, doesn't it. if he figures the Maker Himself intervened...?
#61
Posté 26 février 2010 - 10:11
Jules8445
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Okay...this isn't a double post in the traditional sense of the phrase. I hadn't read the most recent chapter when I posted my last comment.
That trip to the pearl was the most amazing thing in the history of amazing. I was wondering how he was going to get out of there with his v-card intact to turn into to my Fem!Cousland down the road.
Lovely as always.
That trip to the pearl was the most amazing thing in the history of amazing. I was wondering how he was going to get out of there with his v-card intact to turn into to my Fem!Cousland down the road.
Lovely as always.
#63
Posté 26 février 2010 - 10:22
amethyst_rose2009
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Freckles04 wrote...
The Maker is a pickpocket! lol
LOL, the things the reverand mother must have told poor gullible Alistair. Makes the banter between him and Wynne when Wynne explains where babies come from even funnier.
#64
Posté 26 février 2010 - 10:32
Palentor
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I just came upon your story, and Maker, I devoured it like the glutton for good stories I am.
And while all you ladies have lots of Allistair goodness, it's reading about Duncan and Riordan for me. While depicting Al in all his Al-ness, you caught Duncan just right. Reminded me about what I wanted to answer Sten on his 'there are legends about the Grey Wardens' line. 'Yes, Sten it's called Duncan.'
Really like your storytelliing.
And while all you ladies have lots of Allistair goodness, it's reading about Duncan and Riordan for me. While depicting Al in all his Al-ness, you caught Duncan just right. Reminded me about what I wanted to answer Sten on his 'there are legends about the Grey Wardens' line. 'Yes, Sten it's called Duncan.'
Really like your storytelliing.
#65
Posté 26 février 2010 - 10:37
Sisimka
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Palentor wrote...
Reminded me about what I wanted to answer Sten on his 'there are legends about the Grey Wardens' line. 'Yes, Sten it's called Duncan.'
Really like your storytelliing.
Nice line! Really should be added to the game.
#66
Posté 26 février 2010 - 10:58
Kahlmulandr
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Very nice fanfic just found it after your last post and can't wait to read more
#68
Posté 26 février 2010 - 11:42
Absolvingme
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Reading this in class is a bad idea! I am seriously cracking up!
#69
Posté 27 février 2010 - 12:09
Sandtigress
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Mwahahahaha, that was perfect, Freckles, just perfect. Thank the Maker indeed - Alistair escaped unscathed! 
#70
Posté 27 février 2010 - 02:37
Sandtigress
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Okay, now it makes me giggle to bring Alistair along to the Pearl whenever I go....
#71
Posté 27 février 2010 - 02:54
Freckles04
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Differently
The next day, Duncan summoned the order into the grand hall at mid-morning. Riordan stood at the head of the room beside Ferelden's Commander as the two dozen Wardens arranged themselves in lines before the two senior members.
"I've spent the last few days looking over bits and pieces of news we've received from the south," Duncan began. "We've reports of darkspawn attacks from human farmholds, and the Chasind and Dalish have spread word of increased activity as well. As Alistair and I travelled from Redcliffe, past Lothering, I was able to sense a large group of darkspawn far to the south, possibly as far as the Kocari Wilds. Something is afoot."
"Surely...not a Blight?" Jon queried with a slight shake of his head.
"No, my friend," Riordan said. "We will all know should a Blight be upon us. We would hear the archdemon."
Alistair's shoulders tensed. Hearing the archdemon didn't seem like a good thing. Seeing darkspawn in his dreams was bad enough. But a giant, evil dragon? No, thank you.
"Riordan will travel back to Orlais with what little news we have," Duncan said.
The Orlesian Warden nodded. "We will begin preparations to help Ferelden, should it be required."
"Meanwhile, we will discover what is happening in the Wilds. Jon, you will take Erik, Taramel, Lucas, and Declan in one team," Duncan instructed. "I will take Gregor, Tate, Stephen, Felix, and Garth in the other. We leave in an hour. Dismissed."
Alistair pushed through the retreating Wardens to reach the front of the room. "Duncan," he said through a gritted jaw, "might I have a word?"
"Certainly. Safe journeys, Riordan," the Commander said, clapping the Orlesian on the shoulder.
"Maker watch over you, my friend. Farewell."
Alistair gave the senior Warden a distracted smile and slight bow before turning to Duncan. "You're taking Garth? Not me?"
"I've seen what you can do, Alistair. Garth was brought here by Riordan, and I have yet to see him in action. I have no doubt that Riordan chose well, but I like to observe our new members in battle when I can."
Alistair frowned. "And that's it? That's the reason?"
"Should there be another?" Duncan arched a brow.
The younger man rubbed a hand through his short hair. "I just thought...you were keeping me out of the fighting on purpose, that's all. Treating me differently."
The accusation hung in the air for a moment before Duncan spoke again. "No, lad. That's not it."
"Good." Alistair took a breath and let some of the tension fall away. "Good."
The Commander laid a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, lad. Your time will come." He squeezed Alistair's shoulder briefly, then started for the door.
"Right. Duncan..." Alistair shook his head as the words he wanted to say, needed to say, wouldn't come. "About what I said, before...the other night...I'm sorry. I was angry, and I--"
"No harm done. We've all been through it, Alistair."
"Yes, I know. It can't be easy, having to share that news with new members," he said, softly. "For what it's worth, this is still far, far better than the Chantry."
Duncan's serious face cracked into a grin and he chuckled. "I'm relieved to hear it."
Alistair returned his smile. "Maker watch over you, Duncan."
The Commander inclined his head. "Maker watch over us all."
#
He'd thought that running into Cailan could be awkward? Awkward didn't begin to describe it.
The King stood on the estate's steps. Alistair remained, frozen, just inside the door, his companion--Kirk, another Warden about his age--at his side. Of all the things he could have expected to see as he pulled the door open, on his way to purchase that sword he'd seen in the Market, his half-brother wasn't one of them. He'd nearly convinced himself that he would never meet up with the King, accidentally or otherwise.
Oh, the Maker was surely laughing at him now. Or maybe this was punishment for his ill-advised trip to the Pearl.
Cailan was the first to recover, forcing the shock out of his expression and pasting on something of a placid smile. "You're one of the new Wardens, then?"
Alistair snapped his gaping mouth shut. Kirk smiled and dipped his head, stepping forward when it was obvious Alistair wasn't going to answer. "Yes, your Majesty," he said smoothly, casting a look at Alistair. Probably thought the new Warden was star-struck or some nonsense, Alistair thought, but he couldn't speak regardless. "This is--"
"Alistair. Yes, I know. I'd...heard." His smile widened. "What an honor for you, being one of the fabled Grey Wardens! I'm pleased to hear your order is growing. Tell me: is Duncan about?"
And...dismissed. This time in favor of a person rather than a room full of swords, not that it mattered. Disappointment shuddered through Alistair, but he kept it from appearing on his face.
Again, Kirk answered. "No, your Majesty. He left this morning. Should I take you to the Lieutenant?"
"No, no, there's no need. I'm sure he's busy enough taking care of things in Duncan's absence without worrying about humouring me." Cailan chuckled. "Though perhaps you could ask him to see me when he has a moment?"
"Certainly. Good day to you, your Majesty." Kirk crossed his arms over his chest and bent slightly at the waist. Alistair mimicked the movement, his limbs stiff.
"What in Andraste's name is wrong with you?" Kirk hissed as the King strode away, his guards falling into place behind him. "The King pays us a visit, and knows your name, and you stand there like an idiot?"
Alistair schooled his expression to show nothing, and shrugged. "I've never seen a King before," he said.
"Maker's breath, but you are an ass. Come on, then." Kirk grabbed Alistair's arm and shoved him out the door. "Let's go get that bloody sword before the Empress of Orlais shows up."
#
More than a month passed before the scouting parties returned. Alistair kept himself busy--sparring in the ring with the other Wardens who'd been left behind, or studying in the library, or resuming the daily meditations that had marked his time in the Chantry. Not that he wanted the reminder, but the time alone with his thoughts was necessary to maintain the mental discipline required to use his templar talents. Surprisingly enough, the darkspawn dreams he'd suffered nearly every night since his Joining faded almost immediately once he revisited the familiar routine. A welcome bonus to the one activity from the Chantry that he'd actually enjoyed.
It was during one of his meditations in the compound's courtyard that he heard the shouts of welcome. He returned to awareness slowly, then rose and stretched. He made his way to the estate's front entrance, a smile blooming on his lips. Maker, it would be good to see Duncan again. The Commander wasn't a friend, not really; Alistair knew far too little of the man to consider him such. But he respected the older Warden, and, beyond that, the compound just didn't feel the same without him there.
The happy greeting he'd been prepared to voice as he walked into the front hall died in his throat. It took only a few glances at the Wardens gathered there to know that something was up. Something bad.
"What, let me guess." Alistair crossed his arms over his chest. "You found two archdemons instead of one."
"Shut your trap, boy," Jon snapped, his eyes sparking.
Duncan laid a hand on Jon's arm, holding him back. "Enough. Both of you." He turned disappointed eyes on Alistair. "We lost Garth and Erik."
Andraste's ass. "Duncan, I--"
The Commander held up a hand. "I think we could all use some free moments, followed by a pint or two. Or five."
There were grunts and mumbles of agreement as the travel-worn Wardens moved further into the estate. Alistair watched them go, his fingers digging into his biceps. When would he ever learn to keep his fool mouth closed? He rolled his eyes skyward, then trailed after Duncan.
He found the Commander in his office. Duncan's dark skin seemed less robust, his eyes duller than they'd been a short month ago. He looked...old, Alistair realized with a start. He tapped the doorframe and waited to enter until the Commander's eyes met his.
"I apologize for my comments earlier, Duncan," he said, stopping in front of the desk. "They were...inappropriate."
"It's fine, Alistair." The Commander waved a hand. "You couldn't have known. It was just you...being you."
"Um, thanks." Alistair frowned. "I think."
"Tell me: has your sleep improved?"
"Immensely. Apparently templar training is good for something other than smiting mages. Who knew?"
Duncan smiled, but the expression didn't quite reach his eyes. "I've--" He broke off, then shook his head. "I've started having the dreams again."
Alistair's breath caught in his throat. "But...doesn't that mean--"
"My Calling grows near." His smile grew rueful. "I thought I'd have a few years yet, but I suppose the Maker has other plans for me."
It felt like someone had punched him in the gut. He couldn't quite take a deep breath. "Maker, Duncan...I'm so sorry."
"Don't be, lad. I'm not heading off to the Deep Roads tomorrow. There will come a time that I will...need...to go, but now is not it." He leaned back in his chair. "If you don't mind, I'd like a few moments before we gather in the dining hall."
"O-of course," Alistair stammered. "I'll see you there." He stepped back, and headed for the door.
"Alistair."
The ex-templar paused in his retreat. "Yes, Duncan?"
"Like you, I would prefer not to be treated differently."
Alistair nodded. "Understood."
The next day, Duncan summoned the order into the grand hall at mid-morning. Riordan stood at the head of the room beside Ferelden's Commander as the two dozen Wardens arranged themselves in lines before the two senior members.
"I've spent the last few days looking over bits and pieces of news we've received from the south," Duncan began. "We've reports of darkspawn attacks from human farmholds, and the Chasind and Dalish have spread word of increased activity as well. As Alistair and I travelled from Redcliffe, past Lothering, I was able to sense a large group of darkspawn far to the south, possibly as far as the Kocari Wilds. Something is afoot."
"Surely...not a Blight?" Jon queried with a slight shake of his head.
"No, my friend," Riordan said. "We will all know should a Blight be upon us. We would hear the archdemon."
Alistair's shoulders tensed. Hearing the archdemon didn't seem like a good thing. Seeing darkspawn in his dreams was bad enough. But a giant, evil dragon? No, thank you.
"Riordan will travel back to Orlais with what little news we have," Duncan said.
The Orlesian Warden nodded. "We will begin preparations to help Ferelden, should it be required."
"Meanwhile, we will discover what is happening in the Wilds. Jon, you will take Erik, Taramel, Lucas, and Declan in one team," Duncan instructed. "I will take Gregor, Tate, Stephen, Felix, and Garth in the other. We leave in an hour. Dismissed."
Alistair pushed through the retreating Wardens to reach the front of the room. "Duncan," he said through a gritted jaw, "might I have a word?"
"Certainly. Safe journeys, Riordan," the Commander said, clapping the Orlesian on the shoulder.
"Maker watch over you, my friend. Farewell."
Alistair gave the senior Warden a distracted smile and slight bow before turning to Duncan. "You're taking Garth? Not me?"
"I've seen what you can do, Alistair. Garth was brought here by Riordan, and I have yet to see him in action. I have no doubt that Riordan chose well, but I like to observe our new members in battle when I can."
Alistair frowned. "And that's it? That's the reason?"
"Should there be another?" Duncan arched a brow.
The younger man rubbed a hand through his short hair. "I just thought...you were keeping me out of the fighting on purpose, that's all. Treating me differently."
The accusation hung in the air for a moment before Duncan spoke again. "No, lad. That's not it."
"Good." Alistair took a breath and let some of the tension fall away. "Good."
The Commander laid a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, lad. Your time will come." He squeezed Alistair's shoulder briefly, then started for the door.
"Right. Duncan..." Alistair shook his head as the words he wanted to say, needed to say, wouldn't come. "About what I said, before...the other night...I'm sorry. I was angry, and I--"
"No harm done. We've all been through it, Alistair."
"Yes, I know. It can't be easy, having to share that news with new members," he said, softly. "For what it's worth, this is still far, far better than the Chantry."
Duncan's serious face cracked into a grin and he chuckled. "I'm relieved to hear it."
Alistair returned his smile. "Maker watch over you, Duncan."
The Commander inclined his head. "Maker watch over us all."
#
He'd thought that running into Cailan could be awkward? Awkward didn't begin to describe it.
The King stood on the estate's steps. Alistair remained, frozen, just inside the door, his companion--Kirk, another Warden about his age--at his side. Of all the things he could have expected to see as he pulled the door open, on his way to purchase that sword he'd seen in the Market, his half-brother wasn't one of them. He'd nearly convinced himself that he would never meet up with the King, accidentally or otherwise.
Oh, the Maker was surely laughing at him now. Or maybe this was punishment for his ill-advised trip to the Pearl.
Cailan was the first to recover, forcing the shock out of his expression and pasting on something of a placid smile. "You're one of the new Wardens, then?"
Alistair snapped his gaping mouth shut. Kirk smiled and dipped his head, stepping forward when it was obvious Alistair wasn't going to answer. "Yes, your Majesty," he said smoothly, casting a look at Alistair. Probably thought the new Warden was star-struck or some nonsense, Alistair thought, but he couldn't speak regardless. "This is--"
"Alistair. Yes, I know. I'd...heard." His smile widened. "What an honor for you, being one of the fabled Grey Wardens! I'm pleased to hear your order is growing. Tell me: is Duncan about?"
And...dismissed. This time in favor of a person rather than a room full of swords, not that it mattered. Disappointment shuddered through Alistair, but he kept it from appearing on his face.
Again, Kirk answered. "No, your Majesty. He left this morning. Should I take you to the Lieutenant?"
"No, no, there's no need. I'm sure he's busy enough taking care of things in Duncan's absence without worrying about humouring me." Cailan chuckled. "Though perhaps you could ask him to see me when he has a moment?"
"Certainly. Good day to you, your Majesty." Kirk crossed his arms over his chest and bent slightly at the waist. Alistair mimicked the movement, his limbs stiff.
"What in Andraste's name is wrong with you?" Kirk hissed as the King strode away, his guards falling into place behind him. "The King pays us a visit, and knows your name, and you stand there like an idiot?"
Alistair schooled his expression to show nothing, and shrugged. "I've never seen a King before," he said.
"Maker's breath, but you are an ass. Come on, then." Kirk grabbed Alistair's arm and shoved him out the door. "Let's go get that bloody sword before the Empress of Orlais shows up."
#
More than a month passed before the scouting parties returned. Alistair kept himself busy--sparring in the ring with the other Wardens who'd been left behind, or studying in the library, or resuming the daily meditations that had marked his time in the Chantry. Not that he wanted the reminder, but the time alone with his thoughts was necessary to maintain the mental discipline required to use his templar talents. Surprisingly enough, the darkspawn dreams he'd suffered nearly every night since his Joining faded almost immediately once he revisited the familiar routine. A welcome bonus to the one activity from the Chantry that he'd actually enjoyed.
It was during one of his meditations in the compound's courtyard that he heard the shouts of welcome. He returned to awareness slowly, then rose and stretched. He made his way to the estate's front entrance, a smile blooming on his lips. Maker, it would be good to see Duncan again. The Commander wasn't a friend, not really; Alistair knew far too little of the man to consider him such. But he respected the older Warden, and, beyond that, the compound just didn't feel the same without him there.
The happy greeting he'd been prepared to voice as he walked into the front hall died in his throat. It took only a few glances at the Wardens gathered there to know that something was up. Something bad.
"What, let me guess." Alistair crossed his arms over his chest. "You found two archdemons instead of one."
"Shut your trap, boy," Jon snapped, his eyes sparking.
Duncan laid a hand on Jon's arm, holding him back. "Enough. Both of you." He turned disappointed eyes on Alistair. "We lost Garth and Erik."
Andraste's ass. "Duncan, I--"
The Commander held up a hand. "I think we could all use some free moments, followed by a pint or two. Or five."
There were grunts and mumbles of agreement as the travel-worn Wardens moved further into the estate. Alistair watched them go, his fingers digging into his biceps. When would he ever learn to keep his fool mouth closed? He rolled his eyes skyward, then trailed after Duncan.
He found the Commander in his office. Duncan's dark skin seemed less robust, his eyes duller than they'd been a short month ago. He looked...old, Alistair realized with a start. He tapped the doorframe and waited to enter until the Commander's eyes met his.
"I apologize for my comments earlier, Duncan," he said, stopping in front of the desk. "They were...inappropriate."
"It's fine, Alistair." The Commander waved a hand. "You couldn't have known. It was just you...being you."
"Um, thanks." Alistair frowned. "I think."
"Tell me: has your sleep improved?"
"Immensely. Apparently templar training is good for something other than smiting mages. Who knew?"
Duncan smiled, but the expression didn't quite reach his eyes. "I've--" He broke off, then shook his head. "I've started having the dreams again."
Alistair's breath caught in his throat. "But...doesn't that mean--"
"My Calling grows near." His smile grew rueful. "I thought I'd have a few years yet, but I suppose the Maker has other plans for me."
It felt like someone had punched him in the gut. He couldn't quite take a deep breath. "Maker, Duncan...I'm so sorry."
"Don't be, lad. I'm not heading off to the Deep Roads tomorrow. There will come a time that I will...need...to go, but now is not it." He leaned back in his chair. "If you don't mind, I'd like a few moments before we gather in the dining hall."
"O-of course," Alistair stammered. "I'll see you there." He stepped back, and headed for the door.
"Alistair."
The ex-templar paused in his retreat. "Yes, Duncan?"
"Like you, I would prefer not to be treated differently."
Alistair nodded. "Understood."
#73
Posté 27 février 2010 - 03:04
Sandtigress
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- Members
- 3 967 messages
A Cailan speech, and not one "glorious" in it? :-P What is the world coming to? Poor Alistair, always "Open mouth, insert foot" He needs to give Duncan some templar training - Duncan, give Alistair a gift so your influence will be high enough for him to agree to it!
I liked the ending - if there's one person who would understand not wanting to be treated as different, its definitely Alistair. Looking forward to more!
I liked the ending - if there's one person who would understand not wanting to be treated as different, its definitely Alistair. Looking forward to more!
#74
Posté 27 février 2010 - 03:28
Miliat
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GUH! *hero worships Freckles*
Is it bad I wanted to yell "YOU JERKFACE" when I read what I italicized. It just seemed so degrading and petty. Maybe it was just me though >.>
"Alistair. Yes, I know. I'd...heard." His smile widened. "What an honor for you, being one of the fabled Grey Wardens! I'm pleased to hear your order is growing. Tell me: is Duncan about?"
Is it bad I wanted to yell "YOU JERKFACE" when I read what I italicized. It just seemed so degrading and petty. Maybe it was just me though >.>
#75
Posté 27 février 2010 - 04:02
Freckles04
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Miliat wrote...
GUH! *hero worships Freckles*"Alistair. Yes, I know. I'd...heard." His smile widened. "What an honor for you, being one of the fabled Grey Wardens! I'm pleased to hear your order is growing. Tell me: is Duncan about?"
Is it bad I wanted to yell "YOU JERKFACE" when I read what I italicized. It just seemed so degrading and petty. Maybe it was just me though >.>
Hehe...no, no, that was intentional. Seriously...how happy do you think Cailan is to know he has a half-brother running about who is a Grey Warden? I'm not necessarily on the bandwagon that says Cailan sent Alistair to the Tower of Ishal to steal his glory, but I imagine there's some envy there.
