sixthiterationlogs | One | Fate Emptied of Hope

WHO: Alistair Theirin
WHERE: Fountain Square/Inn
WHEN: Dec 27, Evening
OPEN TO: One at the fountain (Claimed by Zev), OTA at the Inn, per usual.
WARNINGS: None - will edit if any occur.

'Cross Veil and into the valley of dreams:

"Very funny," came the voice from near the fountain. Dripping wet and cold, Alistair looked challengingly up at the sky, arms held out to either side. "But I don't know how you thought I'd fall for this! This isn't Redcliffe," he called. "And it's definitely not Denerim or Kirkwall or Wycome. It's not any of those tiny towns in Orlais. I've never seen this place before, so it's not my memory, cheater!"

Bending down, he picked up the first thing he saw - oh, a rock, that'll help - and threw it upward, not really noticing where it went. He heard it fall on the ground somewhere, but that was neither here nor there. It was proof he'd thrown it the wrong way, if anything.

"I don't trust you, Nightmare!" More agitated, he started to look for another rock. Another anything. "Or is this some Despair Demon's work? Encroaching on your territory now that you lost the Inquisitor? Well tough luck to you both - I'm not afraid anymore, and there's nothing left for me to Despair over. I might be the Maker's own idiot, but I'm not going to trust this illusion!"

Where had his sword gone. His shield, his armour. Which direction was the damned Nightmare?! He couldn't fight the damned thing if he couldn't see it, and he couldn't see it. Anywhere. Whatever Demon it was fueling this illusion, it was better than any he'd fought through yet, and he didn't want to think about what that meant.

In ignorance stumbling:

There was a good fire burning, and that was nice. Really, the place was nicer than roughly every other inn he'd ever seen, including the Hanged Man -- Well, honestly, it far surpassed the Hanged Man, the Pearl, definitely the Spoiled Princess. Places with names he couldn't remember because all he'd been concerned about was finding the bottom of his mug and then having another.

No such luck here, not that he minded. He'd had years to leave that particular vice behind, not that it had been a kind one while he'd had it. But at least now he was warm, dry, and, though confused, knew a few things for certain: There was food, there was shelter, and there was a chance - at least something of a chance - that this wasn't the Fade.

As he stood by the fire, pleasantly toasting himself, he realised he had a lot to think about. And that thought made his head hurt. Nose wrinkled, Alistair rubbed at his temples, muttering a quiet, "Ow."

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"You remember I was raised among the Crows, yes? There is nothing it could tell me that I have not already heard." They were raised without fear to leave them expendable, and the worst possible thing that could happen, the worst thing he could do? Had already come and gone long before he fell into the company of the Wardens.

He gave Alistair's hair one last smooth stroke, his forehead a soft peck of a kiss before leaning away enough to wipe at Alistair's cheeks. "So. Lies? Lies. Well you are a royal bastard, that much is true, but you'e renounced the throne. Always. You would be a miserable king- not that you would be bad at the job but- it would make you miserable."

It was slow, how he stood - but he did, placed his hands on Zev's shoulders, and then gave him another hug, warm and tight. "Thank you for..."

He'd started it. Now he had to find the words, and the words were... Well.

"...For being kind. It's been a while."

He wiped at his own eyes quickly, casting his gaze about just in case anyone bore witness to the sentiment, the display of affection. As glad as he was for Alistair- the village now held his one vulnerability.

Protecting him would be Zevran's top priority. "Do me a favor and don't mention it. You would ruin my reputation for frivolity if anyone thought me kind."

That was enough to bring a little bit of a smile back to Alistair's face. "Already got your bluff in on them, then. All right, all right, it's a huge imposition, but I'll pretend you're nothing but fluff and nonsense."

He paused.

"In front of people."

"I'm glad we have an understanding." Again, he patted Alistair's cheek, noting the pale cast to his skin, the bruising under his eyes. "Come. You need a proper bath, a good meal, and somewhere to rest for...if you have been hearing the Calling as long as you say? A week."

Or perhaps two.

A low chuckle and Alistair nodded his assent, following along with Zevran wherever it was he'd lead. The blood - accidental though it was - was enough reason for him to believe that the Painted Elf was real. And he'd missed having friends. Reason enough to let Zev do what he wanted. "Sleeping for about a week sounds pretty nice."

"You have more than earned it." He huffed, tucking himself close for the walk. No matter where they were? Alistair would keep him warm at the very least. And Zevran? Would keep him fed and safe as best he was able. Here? It was easier than it might be elsewhere.

Alistair let his arm rest around Zev since he was so close. And it was... It was nice to have contact that didn't involve exchanging money for bread or being pointed which way to go to earn his supper. To just be touched. Treated like a person.

Novel.

Sad that it was novel.

"...Real beds around here, even?" he asked. "I mean, I'm not picky anymore. I'll take a floor and a blanket."

"Real beds. Actual mattresses. The houses have heat and indoor plumbing, baths with heated water." which was a marvelous indulgence he has taken advantage of more than once. It didn't take long for him to decide on a house- somewhere warm, somewhere with room enough for them to secret themselves away, and perhaps start making room for his 'businesses' such as they were. "A kitchen with a wood burning stove and an ice box. Such luxury is unheard of outside of the manors of merchant princes in Antiva."

"...What even is an ice box? Just a box of ice?" What good was that? But he didn't miss a step, still walking at Zevran's side as he tried to puzzle out what use an ice box would be.

Was it a box made of ice?

Maker's breath, this place was strange already.

"A box that keeps food cold- with ice." As they are now in winter there is ice enough to cut from the lake. He grabs what he can when he has a mind to do so, for now? There isn't much cold in the kitchen. He'll have to collect more if he means to feed Alistair.

"Huh. I guess that would make some of it last longer, anyway," he agreed. "They used to keep potatoes in the snowbanks at Redcliffe. Same at the Monastery, so... huh. And here they do that in boxes? ...Keeps the cold in, I'd guess?" There was something behind that he'd have to look at, or at least just... accept.

"Something like that- ah. Here we are." He set down his bags near the front door to open it- no lock to speak of, not truly, and he would have to remedy that later. For now? He led Alistair inside, setting aside his boxes of good and spices in the kitchen, his wine in the same, before waving Alistair through to the bath. "Here. It will help you warm."

A hot soak could cure a number of ills.

"And while you are cleaning up I shall find you dry clothing and something to eat."

"...Should I expect a back scrubbing while I'm at it?" he teased, but he wasn't really protesting. He headed toward the bathroom instead, figuring the setup couldn't be too different from what existed in Orzammar. He could figure it out.

Surely.

...He hoped.

One | Fate Emptied of Hope

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