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Teren is my second-favorite Warden. Or maybe my third. I've yet to decide. And now I'm dying to hear what your answer was.
And yet you just said you intended to throw up if I said Nate was my favorite Warden.
[A beat, and then, with a smirk in his voice:]
Nathaniel is my first favorite. I'm so sorry to break it to you.
[A beat, and then, with a smirk in his voice:]
Nathaniel is my first favorite. I'm so sorry to break it to you.
[He waits, patiently at first, eye-rolling at the end. Jonas really did go for the odd ones.]
You offered your time and your help. It's only right to thank you, and it wasn't your fault it didn't work. Or at least I'm fairly sure of it, unless you brought something to the ritual meant to disrupt it. Then I'll take the apology.
[Except he knows Alistair didn't.]
You offered your time and your help. It's only right to thank you, and it wasn't your fault it didn't work. Or at least I'm fairly sure of it, unless you brought something to the ritual meant to disrupt it. Then I'll take the apology.
[Except he knows Alistair didn't.]
[He knows how that feels, which means Alistair gets a snort.]
My history suggests things won't work, but at least I'm not worrying.
[He is. A lot. It's a wonder his leggings aren't on fire.]
My history suggests things won't work, but at least I'm not worrying.
[He is. A lot. It's a wonder his leggings aren't on fire.]
I...[yes, Fiona doesn't quite know what to say here]...I'm not sure what the grace period is for processing emotions.
[Was that too formal? Not formal enough?] I...maybe that didn't come out right.
[Or it could be that this conversation wasn't going the way she wanted it and she'd barely begun it.]
How are you?
[Was that too formal? Not formal enough?] I...maybe that didn't come out right.
[Or it could be that this conversation wasn't going the way she wanted it and she'd barely begun it.]
How are you?
Hungry.
[ A stock response to a stock question. He's always hungry. She probably remembers. ]
I'm not sure there is a set time. I just wait for people to tell me it's time to get over things, and then I ignore them for a few more years. [ At least he's honest? And however discouraging the words might be, his tone isn't sharp, only self-deprecating. In case she's worried, he says, ] I'm all right. I'm not angry with you or anything.
How are you?
[ A stock response to a stock question. He's always hungry. She probably remembers. ]
I'm not sure there is a set time. I just wait for people to tell me it's time to get over things, and then I ignore them for a few more years. [ At least he's honest? And however discouraging the words might be, his tone isn't sharp, only self-deprecating. In case she's worried, he says, ] I'm all right. I'm not angry with you or anything.
How are you?
[And it made her laugh softly, of course she remembered, not that she was much for cooking. A problem she couldn't help with, sadly.]
I wouldn't ask you to get over something if you're not ready to...but I would be lying if I were to say I'm not glad. [A little uncertain, but she was certainly glad that he wasn't angry.]
I'm okay...I met Zevran's boy and I wanted to ask you something.
I wouldn't ask you to get over something if you're not ready to...but I would be lying if I were to say I'm not glad. [A little uncertain, but she was certainly glad that he wasn't angry.]
I'm okay...I met Zevran's boy and I wanted to ask you something.
Right...meat and potatoes. So, the child might be staying with me occasionally and I have some of your things from when you were an infant. [Maybe it was a silly question, but she figured Alistair should get first crack at anything that was once his if he wanted it...and that maybe she should at least...ask?] Would you mind terribly if he borrowed those things?
[Did she need to ask? It felt like the thing to do, if she was entirely certain of what that was.]
[Did she need to ask? It felt like the thing to do, if she was entirely certain of what that was.]
Alright.
[She had to ask, of course, though it is sad, but understandable to know that children would not be in Alistair's future. Grey Wardens generally had challenges in that department with Fiona being the exception.
Still, there were other things he might like to see or want to have.]
I've kept and collected many of your things over the years, if you ever want to go through it all you are welcome to.
[She kept more Alistair related objects than any of her things, but only because she had very few things that were of any real value.]
[She had to ask, of course, though it is sad, but understandable to know that children would not be in Alistair's future. Grey Wardens generally had challenges in that department with Fiona being the exception.
Still, there were other things he might like to see or want to have.]
I've kept and collected many of your things over the years, if you ever want to go through it all you are welcome to.
[She kept more Alistair related objects than any of her things, but only because she had very few things that were of any real value.]
[ A light rain patters against canvas, creating a comfortably merry din under which to read and review scrolls of maps. Yellow-stained, softer where they crease, almost indecipherable unless you have any literacy with regard to map reading. Certainly, for a Warden and their necessary travels, Alistair must be.
Sabine, less so.
She has slithered undetected (at least, as far as she knows) into the Warden camp, ducking into where she last saw Alistair step out. Briefly, perhaps, or for the night, although the candles left burning indicate to her she will probably get caught in a moment. This isn't her concern, by the looks of things, nudging aside one of the paper weights to better see the scope of the map papering the table. A sturdy woolen cloak is glittering with beads of water, the hood now pulled back to set free a mostly dry halo of red curls.
Careful not to drip on anything or smudge age-faded ink, but only to a certain point, she rolls out another map with curious hands. ]
Sabine, less so.
She has slithered undetected (at least, as far as she knows) into the Warden camp, ducking into where she last saw Alistair step out. Briefly, perhaps, or for the night, although the candles left burning indicate to her she will probably get caught in a moment. This isn't her concern, by the looks of things, nudging aside one of the paper weights to better see the scope of the map papering the table. A sturdy woolen cloak is glittering with beads of water, the hood now pulled back to set free a mostly dry halo of red curls.
Careful not to drip on anything or smudge age-faded ink, but only to a certain point, she rolls out another map with curious hands. ]
You are welcome any time, my door is always open.
[That was what parent's did for their children, yes? If anyone was welcome to see her at any time it was her son.
True, this was still an awkward situation, one that would take time and perhaps they would form a bond.]
[That was what parent's did for their children, yes? If anyone was welcome to see her at any time it was her son.
True, this was still an awkward situation, one that would take time and perhaps they would form a bond.]
Do you know what Wardens do to snoops?
[ That's a go for caught in a moment, with Alistair not so unsurprised or blasé about her presence that he can both ask a nonchalant question and remember to come in out of the rain at the same time. He stands at the entrance instead, flap in one hand and cloth-wrapped bundle (it's food, it's always food) in the other, and it rains on his head. His hair is beginning to rebel against its backward slick.
He's too tired to be angry. Too frustrated with Warden secrecy on the whole. And it helps that it's her.
He doesn't actually make her answer the question. ]
We recruit them, [ he says, and belatedly steps inside. The bundle in his arms—bread, dark and rough-grained, slightly damp beneath the cloth—he sets next to the candle. ] I hope you like blue.
[ That's a go for caught in a moment, with Alistair not so unsurprised or blasé about her presence that he can both ask a nonchalant question and remember to come in out of the rain at the same time. He stands at the entrance instead, flap in one hand and cloth-wrapped bundle (it's food, it's always food) in the other, and it rains on his head. His hair is beginning to rebel against its backward slick.
He's too tired to be angry. Too frustrated with Warden secrecy on the whole. And it helps that it's her.
He doesn't actually make her answer the question. ]
We recruit them, [ he says, and belatedly steps inside. The bundle in his arms—bread, dark and rough-grained, slightly damp beneath the cloth—he sets next to the candle. ] I hope you like blue.
[ At the first sound of the tent flap opening, Sabine flicks a look that way without actually raising her head, still and poised, and then relaxing just a little when it works out to be Alistair. It'd probably have been more trouble than it was worth if it had been someone else. She staightens up a little as he steps inside, but doesn't concede the prime spot at the table just yet.
Her fingers fan out, the tips at the edges of faded parchment. The food gets a sideways glance. ]
I like blue, [ she says, ] but I would make a shit Warden. Marching orders. Camping. [ She gestures at the scrolls in front of her. ] Reading maps.
Her fingers fan out, the tips at the edges of faded parchment. The food gets a sideways glance. ]
I like blue, [ she says, ] but I would make a shit Warden. Marching orders. Camping. [ She gestures at the scrolls in front of her. ] Reading maps.
Teachable skills, [ he assures her. As if in demonstration for the life she'll now be leading as a Warden-Recruit, he reaches over her arm to tap his ring finger against a line on the map in front of her. (He's still wearing her beady thing. She is welcome not to care.) ] It's Orlais. It doesn't look like anything familiar because it's the Deep Roads. That dark part is the Abyssal Rift. Adamant Fortress would be about... here. Griffon Wing Keep somewhere up there.
[ He transitions from vague and dismissive finger-flicking in a northwesterly direction to more tapping, this time where the map is blank save a symbol. ]
Terrible Warden secrets here.
[ He transitions from vague and dismissive finger-flicking in a northwesterly direction to more tapping, this time where the map is blank save a symbol. ]
Terrible Warden secrets here.
[ Hazel eyes roll as he persists, but focus and narrow as he begins to make sense of the maps anyway. Settling on the location of terrible Warden secrets, save for one minor flicking glance. (She notices, anyway -- jury is out on whether that constitutes caring.) ]
Ah, is there where you keep them.
[ She tries to orient these lines and markers with what she remembers Orlais maps to look like, head tipping. ]
Let me guess. The end of the world?
Ah, is there where you keep them.
[ She tries to orient these lines and markers with what she remembers Orlais maps to look like, head tipping. ]
Let me guess. The end of the world?
[ He grins at her unruffled comment, quick and briefly boyish and utterly wasted, what with her attention being on the map. His joins it. ]
Not if we do our jobs. [ He pauses to consider his options—and her skill level. ] That's where they thought they would take their demon army. One of the old gods is imprisoned there. And now I really have to recruit you.
Not if we do our jobs. [ He pauses to consider his options—and her skill level. ] That's where they thought they would take their demon army. One of the old gods is imprisoned there. And now I really have to recruit you.
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