[ HOW DARE EVERYONE KEEP GOING WHERE HE DOES NOT WANT THEM TO GO. ]
She gave me away because she couldn't keep me-- [ a pause to rein his own voice back in before it gets loud. He isn't going to shout at a nearly-crying pregnant woman. He is really really not. Morrigan would descend from the heavens to eat him on the spot. ] --but then she decided my father shouldn't see me, either. For my own good. That wasn't her right.
[ Or it was, and Maric could have refused, but when they spoke Fiona was fairly insistent on being the one to blame for that, so here he is, blaming her. ]
If it were the other way around, and Sael--Saer--whatever was up here telling me that he wanted to keep a baby away from you because you're controlling and humorless and you'd ignore it for your research, I'd tell him the same thing.
[She punches him in the arm, which, despite her being surprisingly strong, basically amounts to trying to karate-chop a golem. She shakes out her hand and cradles it against her chest.]
I'm not humorless-- [she can't deny she's controlling] --and I would never, never, you brat--
[and this is the hormones, the squeaky weeping she breaks into. Otherwise, she would take it in stride and either be cold as ice or admit he's right and she needs to face up to this challenge. Anders has basically told her the same thing. But Anders doesn't know what Alistair knows. Anders doesn't know what really terrifies her about being a mother, and Alistair does, though he hasn't put it together, but used it as a weapon. And now she can't stop the squeaky, hoarse sobbing into her hands, though she tries.]
[ He looks at his arm when she punches it, then at her, faint amusement layered on top of his anger in a way that makes it not entirely friendly--though it would be if the circumstances were different.
But then she starts squeaking. ]
Maker, [ he says, staring with exasperation, because it's easier to be annoyed with her for crying than at himself for causing it, but it only takes the span of those two syllables for him to feel bad instead. He repeats it again more quietly-- ] Maker, Pel, don't...
[ And rakes a hand back through his hair. ]
I know you wouldn't. That isn't what I... I just mean that he might not know that you wouldn't, and he shouldn't decide--
[ What people think of her, probably, when they're being unkind. Everyone has some flaws. Pel is brusque and bossy. Alistair is obnoxious and childish and an enormous disappointment to everyone who knows him. ]
It was only an example. Of what he might say. And I'll call him an asshole.
[And now she's crying because Alistair would call Saeris an asshole for saying things about her. Or that's as close as she can figure, anyway. But trying to reason with herself isn't working, she's still crying, and she can't let herself continue to be seen like this. This is no state for her to be in in public.]
I'm so sorry. I have to be alone. [She turns away and starts trotting toward the Herald's Rest, sniffling loudly and ducking her head.]
[ But he doesn't go after her. He stands there for a long stretch of time trying to decide what's worse--going after someone who says they want to be alone, or not going after someone who's crying--and rather than come to a conclusion, eventually realizes it's too late either way. ]
[She's so embarrassed that she doesn't come back to him till the next day, after she has already spoken with Saeris. She approaches him at the Warden camp, carrying a loaf of bread and some fresh halla cheese wrapped in cloth. She offers both to him, barely able to look him in the eye.]
[ He's repairing his armor--a thick needle and heavy thread where the strips of leather between the silver scales is threatening to come apart. It's not delicate work. He can manage.
But he puts it aside, sure, and takes what he's offered without protest. He's not in the position to turn down gifts. Especially food. ]
He was nice, up until I told him, and he pretended not to know me after all. But he's been told.
[She might be a little disappointed that he didn't suddenly morph into a responsible adult and pledge his support, but she's too proud to say it. She wants to be able to handle this. She doesn't want to need anyone.]
That you're pregnant? [ He raises one eyebrow, and there's a hint of a smile around the corners of his eyes. What he means is that there's nothing to apologize for. He doesn't really know what to do with apologies, anyway; he doesn't get many of them. Gives plenty, though, so he's more at ease sitting back a little and saying, ] I'm sorry for being insensitive and implying you were humorless.
[She moves in, as she does, tucking herself against him for a hug.]
Zevran came round after Lucci arrived and asked people to be part of his family. And it made sense, because that was how I grew up. I didn't really have parents, just a clan. Children ought to have clans.
[ Alistair makes a face, or several faces in quick succession, each of them some variation on flattered but unsure, and makes a noise in his throat -- the sound of someone stopping themselves from telling someone else things they already know, like I won't be here long. Not even because of the lifespan thing. When Corypheus is defeated, he'll have things to do elsewhere.
She knows, though. Zevran knew, too, and he still asked. So he shuts himself up before he even starts talking, hugs her with one arm and rubs his mouth with his other wrist, and says, ] All right. Of course.
[She understands, and respects, that Alistair loves his job. She loves hers too. But for now, they are in the same place at the same time, and so they can be clan. She wraps her arms around his waist and gives him a squeeze before breaking away with a quick smile.]
Since you're clan now, you should learn not to leave your ribs exposed.
[Her hands, still on his waist, start tickling his ribs.]
[ That question is answered immediately. He crumples into himself where he's sitting, making a strangled noise that's a near cousin to a laugh, and drops the bread out of the hand he'd put around her onto the ground. ]
[ For a moment Alistair's face goes blank with overwhelmed incomprehension, because he's heard that from one other person in his entire memory (who was clothed and coherent at the time), and only after being that person's most reliable friend for ten years. It's only a fraction of a second--or Pel only gets to see it for a fraction of a second, anyway, because he hugs her again (which involves crushing the bread against her back a bit, poor bread) and if he continues looking like an idiot after that point he does it over the top of her head. ]
Me, too, [ he says, on both counts, and then steps back to hold both of her shoulders and beam. ] Are you one of those girls with a list of baby names already?
[When Pel sees that face, she is reminded that she is very fortunate to have Merrick and Cyril, and even Gavin for the short time she had him. People have said that word to her before, and Alistair looks like someone very unaccustomed to hearing it. She hugs him tightly, as if she can make up for all the people who never said it to him before. She does love him, and it's a terrible thing for love to be unspoken.
Then he says it back, and her eyes slide shut. She doesn't have time to school her face before he's stepping back and looking at her, and he can see the pure elation on her face until he speaks. Then she chokes on a laugh.]
No, I'm not. I mean I've thought of them before, but never decided on anything. Any suggestions?
[ He named his dog Doghren. He knows himself well enough to abstain from this. ]
When you do have ideas, I'll be here to tell you what horrible jokes and nicknames the other children might make of them, so you can avoid the worst ones. I'm an expert.
[ Alistair extends a hand to shake on it, but his smile doesn't last very long. ]
I'm really sorry, [ he says, and hesitates on the edge of the precipice before jumping off— ] I have a child who I don't— [ See? He does now. Acknowledge? Ehhh. Trying to avoid lying, he hesitates and then skips the end of the sentence altogether. ] It's just how things had to be. So I'm a little... [ Oversensitive. He skips that word too. He's doing really well here. ] It's not an excuse. I'm sorry I was mean. And I'm sorry he's a jackass.
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She gave me away because she couldn't keep me-- [ a pause to rein his own voice back in before it gets loud. He isn't going to shout at a nearly-crying pregnant woman. He is really really not. Morrigan would descend from the heavens to eat him on the spot. ] --but then she decided my father shouldn't see me, either. For my own good. That wasn't her right.
[ Or it was, and Maric could have refused, but when they spoke Fiona was fairly insistent on being the one to blame for that, so here he is, blaming her. ]
If it were the other way around, and Sael--Saer--whatever was up here telling me that he wanted to keep a baby away from you because you're controlling and humorless and you'd ignore it for your research, I'd tell him the same thing.
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[She punches him in the arm, which, despite her being surprisingly strong, basically amounts to trying to karate-chop a golem. She shakes out her hand and cradles it against her chest.]
I'm not humorless-- [she can't deny she's controlling] --and I would never, never, you brat--
[and this is the hormones, the squeaky weeping she breaks into. Otherwise, she would take it in stride and either be cold as ice or admit he's right and she needs to face up to this challenge. Anders has basically told her the same thing. But Anders doesn't know what Alistair knows. Anders doesn't know what really terrifies her about being a mother, and Alistair does, though he hasn't put it together, but used it as a weapon. And now she can't stop the squeaky, hoarse sobbing into her hands, though she tries.]
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But then she starts squeaking. ]
Maker, [ he says, staring with exasperation, because it's easier to be annoyed with her for crying than at himself for causing it, but it only takes the span of those two syllables for him to feel bad instead. He repeats it again more quietly-- ] Maker, Pel, don't...
[ And rakes a hand back through his hair. ]
I know you wouldn't. That isn't what I... I just mean that he might not know that you wouldn't, and he shouldn't decide--
[ Blast it. ]
Please don't cry.
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Is that what-- [hiccup] --is that what everyone really thinks of me?
[Because those are things she thinks of herself. And Alistair just said them.]
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[ What people think of her, probably, when they're being unkind. Everyone has some flaws. Pel is brusque and bossy. Alistair is obnoxious and childish and an enormous disappointment to everyone who knows him. ]
It was only an example. Of what he might say. And I'll call him an asshole.
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I'm so sorry. I have to be alone. [She turns away and starts trotting toward the Herald's Rest, sniffling loudly and ducking her head.]
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[ But he doesn't go after her. He stands there for a long stretch of time trying to decide what's worse--going after someone who says they want to be alone, or not going after someone who's crying--and rather than come to a conclusion, eventually realizes it's too late either way. ]
The next day
Here.
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But he puts it aside, sure, and takes what he's offered without protest. He's not in the position to turn down gifts. Especially food. ]
Thank you. [ A beat. ] Are you all right?
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I'm fine. Just. Humiliated. Apparently pregnant women really do cry over nothing. I talked to Saeris.
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[She might be a little disappointed that he didn't suddenly morph into a responsible adult and pledge his support, but she's too proud to say it. She wants to be able to handle this. She doesn't want to need anyone.]
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Zevran came round after Lucci arrived and asked people to be part of his family. And it made sense, because that was how I grew up. I didn't really have parents, just a clan. Children ought to have clans.
[She looks up at him.]
Would you be part of our clan?
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She knows, though. Zevran knew, too, and he still asked. So he shuts himself up before he even starts talking, hugs her with one arm and rubs his mouth with his other wrist, and says, ] All right. Of course.
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Since you're clan now, you should learn not to leave your ribs exposed.
[Her hands, still on his waist, start tickling his ribs.]
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[ That question is answered immediately. He crumples into himself where he's sitting, making a strangled noise that's a near cousin to a laugh, and drops the bread out of the hand he'd put around her onto the ground. ]
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I love you very much, you know, [she says in a manner that leaves no guesswork as to the platonic nature of her love.] I'm glad you're here.
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Me, too, [ he says, on both counts, and then steps back to hold both of her shoulders and beam. ] Are you one of those girls with a list of baby names already?
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Then he says it back, and her eyes slide shut. She doesn't have time to school her face before he's stepping back and looking at her, and he can see the pure elation on her face until he speaks. Then she chokes on a laugh.]
No, I'm not. I mean I've thought of them before, but never decided on anything. Any suggestions?
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[ He named his dog Doghren. He knows himself well enough to abstain from this. ]
When you do have ideas, I'll be here to tell you what horrible jokes and nicknames the other children might make of them, so you can avoid the worst ones. I'm an expert.
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I'm really sorry, [ he says, and hesitates on the edge of the precipice before jumping off— ] I have a child who I don't— [ See? He does now. Acknowledge? Ehhh. Trying to avoid lying, he hesitates and then skips the end of the sentence altogether. ] It's just how things had to be. So I'm a little... [ Oversensitive. He skips that word too. He's doing really well here. ] It's not an excuse. I'm sorry I was mean. And I'm sorry he's a jackass.
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