[Dragon Age] still untitled, second part
Nov. 21st, 2009 11:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
joiedecombatNext bit. First draft. Because I found it somehow appropriate to salvage the Highever shield during the noble origin and then equip Alistair with it since I was playing a dual-wielder who didn't have the necessary strength requirement anyhow. As before, spoilers for the human noble origin and all of Ostagar.
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He couldn't even retrieve the body.
He should have at least tried, Alistair thought. He should have at least gone to look. Duncan deserved that much, didn't he? But the old witch had told him in no uncertain terms that Ostagar was crawling with darkspawn and that all he'd accomplish by going back would be to add his corpse to the pile, and if he wanted to die that badly she could certainly oblige him but he might spare a thought for his surviving comrade if nothing else.
He'd thought it better not to bring it up again after that.
Thank the Maker Clare had come around. The last thing Alistair could really remember from the tower had been the sight of her falling, pierced by what had looked like half a dozen darkspawn arrows, and for a little while there he'd been horribly sure that, whatever the witch said, he was the only one left. But she'd come out of Flemeth's hut looking pale but whole, had asked questions and made conclusions in her calm, steady manner, and unfair though it was of him, Alistair found himself pathetically grateful to follow her lead. At least one of them was holding it together.
He readied himself for the road without really thinking about it, securing his pack and settling his sword into place against his back as much on force of habit as volition. If he kept his mind on how his ribs still hurt where the ogre's grip had nearly crushed him, he could almost ignore the empty, aching feeling inside.
Maybe the darkspawn had ripped something out of him...
"Wait." Clare's quiet voice stopped him in the act of hefting his shield into place, and he realized abruptly that she was standing close beside him.
Uncomfortable silence ensued for a moment before it occurred to Alistair that she was waiting for him to say something. "...what is it?"
"I--" she began, and then stopped herself, and offered a shield out to him with both hands, and he only just managed to catch himself from telling her that he already had one - you know, the one he was holding right now? - as he recognized it as the shield she'd been carrying with her since her arrival in Ostagar, and which he couldn't recall ever seeing her use. "--I couldn't just leave it," she said. "It's too heavy for me, but if you can get some use out of it..."
...oh. Slowly, Alistair set his old templar shield down to take the one she held out to him, feeling the heavier weight of it in his hands, dimly recognizing the laurel garland insignia adorning it as the Cousland family crest. He'd meant to have his own shield redone with the white griffin of the Grey Wardens--
--like Duncan's, it hurt to remember--
--but with the Blight and its battles to prepare for, there hadn't been time.
He supposed it didn't much matter now.
In any case, it was a good shield. Better than his old one, for whatever good that small difference would do against a legion of darkspawn. They could neither of them afford to be anything but practical. "All right," he said.
And then, as he realized how dully it had come out and that just those words weren't nearly enough, "--Thank you."
She bowed her head and turned away to finish her own preparations in silence.
----
----
He couldn't even retrieve the body.
He should have at least tried, Alistair thought. He should have at least gone to look. Duncan deserved that much, didn't he? But the old witch had told him in no uncertain terms that Ostagar was crawling with darkspawn and that all he'd accomplish by going back would be to add his corpse to the pile, and if he wanted to die that badly she could certainly oblige him but he might spare a thought for his surviving comrade if nothing else.
He'd thought it better not to bring it up again after that.
Thank the Maker Clare had come around. The last thing Alistair could really remember from the tower had been the sight of her falling, pierced by what had looked like half a dozen darkspawn arrows, and for a little while there he'd been horribly sure that, whatever the witch said, he was the only one left. But she'd come out of Flemeth's hut looking pale but whole, had asked questions and made conclusions in her calm, steady manner, and unfair though it was of him, Alistair found himself pathetically grateful to follow her lead. At least one of them was holding it together.
He readied himself for the road without really thinking about it, securing his pack and settling his sword into place against his back as much on force of habit as volition. If he kept his mind on how his ribs still hurt where the ogre's grip had nearly crushed him, he could almost ignore the empty, aching feeling inside.
Maybe the darkspawn had ripped something out of him...
"Wait." Clare's quiet voice stopped him in the act of hefting his shield into place, and he realized abruptly that she was standing close beside him.
Uncomfortable silence ensued for a moment before it occurred to Alistair that she was waiting for him to say something. "...what is it?"
"I--" she began, and then stopped herself, and offered a shield out to him with both hands, and he only just managed to catch himself from telling her that he already had one - you know, the one he was holding right now? - as he recognized it as the shield she'd been carrying with her since her arrival in Ostagar, and which he couldn't recall ever seeing her use. "--I couldn't just leave it," she said. "It's too heavy for me, but if you can get some use out of it..."
...oh. Slowly, Alistair set his old templar shield down to take the one she held out to him, feeling the heavier weight of it in his hands, dimly recognizing the laurel garland insignia adorning it as the Cousland family crest. He'd meant to have his own shield redone with the white griffin of the Grey Wardens--
--like Duncan's, it hurt to remember--
--but with the Blight and its battles to prepare for, there hadn't been time.
He supposed it didn't much matter now.
In any case, it was a good shield. Better than his old one, for whatever good that small difference would do against a legion of darkspawn. They could neither of them afford to be anything but practical. "All right," he said.
And then, as he realized how dully it had come out and that just those words weren't nearly enough, "--Thank you."
She bowed her head and turned away to finish her own preparations in silence.
----
