joiedecombat (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
joiedecombat) wrote2009-12-11 08:00 pm
joiedecombat) wrote2009-12-11 08:00 pm
Entry tags:
[Dragon Age] in which Alistair does not manage to say a single complete sentence
I said Redcliffe was next, didn't I? Well - I lied.
And then I did about 2000 words of post-Orzammar that is still not done. :C
And after Orzammar there's a bit from the Gauntlet that I have planned that I have not even started on.
But this bit is pre-Landsmeet Denerim, right after the party arrives but before they get down to business. That means spoilers for potentially everything through the cutscene that ensues upon arrival, but mostly for the human noble origin. It is way on along the timeline but I'm getting it down now while it's on my mind, since I'm still working on all of the abovementioned.
As usual, this is a draft and will probably see some editing. It's a bit squishy.
----
That... could have gone better, Alistair thought.
'Bracing,' Eamon had called it, which to Alistair's way of thinking was not nearly the right word. They'd been at the Denerim estate all of maybe an hour before Loghain had turned up, and while Alistair hadn't recognized the dust-colored, pinch-faced man who'd trailed in his shadow alongside Ser Cauthrien, he'd seen Clare go white and tense as a drawn bowstring where she stood near the arl. When Loghain had introduced Rendon Howe as the arl of Amaranthine and the teyrn of Highever, he'd understood why.
He wondered if Howe had recognized at all, in Clare's low and tightly-controlled voice when she'd told him to enjoy his moment, how near he'd been to having Eamon's entrance hall painted with his blood.
Alistair turned to ask Clare something inane only to realize that she was no longer there. Looking up, he found her already yards away, striding for the doors to the courtyard with such vicious energy he was a little surprised her heels weren't taking chips out of the floor. "Clare! Hey!"
She didn't so much as pause. He hurried to catch up, grabbing for her elbow when he reached her; she whipped around in an instant, eyes hot and teeth bared. She's going after Howe, he realized.
Rather than give either of them time to think about it, Alistair simply hauled her off with him through the nearest door, into what he hoped was an unoccupied room, and pushed her up against the wall by the doorway with a scraping of armor against stone. "Clare," he said. And then, more mildly, "--please don't gut me."
For a moment, it seemed like he'd just done something very stupid. Then the tension went out of her, and she leaned her head back against the wall, looking up not so much at him as through him with eyes that didn't seem to be seeing anything.
"...there's something that I've been thinking about for a while," she said, voice low and without inflection, and instinctively Alistair got the feeling that this was going to hurt.
A lot.
"My father would never have stood for what Loghain's doing," Clare said, in that soft and toneless voice. "He'd have opposed him, like arl Eamon. He could have rallied the nobles, if--"
Her voice hitched, then steadied. "I keep asking myself why," she said. "If Howe was just looking for an opportunity, there had to have been chances before... Why now? He could take Highever, but he couldn't keep his men there to hold it, not with the king calling for troops... Did he really think nobody would move against him? What kind of story did he think he could tell that the king would believe?"
"You don't have to--" Alistair began, but she just talked over him, quiet but insistent.
"We'd never betray the king. Who'd believe we were traitors, with Fergus and our soldiers already dispatched to Ostagar? If he was going to claim it was darkspawn, or bandits, then why didn't they attack anywhere but the castle? He had to know." Her hands lifted, closing blindly on nothing, until her fists came to rest against his breastplate. "He had to know the king wouldn't stand for it. It doesn't make any sense, unless--"
"...unless someone was backing him," Alistair finished for her, with a sick, heavy feeling settling into his gut.
"He knew," she whispered, with a horrible, hopeless little smile. "He knew he wouldn't have to explain himself to the king. He knew."
And now Howe was recognized as arl of Amaranthine, teyrn of Highever, and arl of Denerim besides - the regent's right hand man. "Loghain," Alistair said darkly. It all came back to him.
Clare's head bowed. "There's no way to prove it."
He gathered her up in his arms as much as the armor they both wore would allow, pressed up against the wall. Her hands uncurled from their fists, reaching up to grip his shoulders, her face turning toward him until he could feel the warmth of her breath against the side of his neck. "They'll pay," he promised, tucking his head against hers to murmur it close to her ear. For Duncan, for the Grey Wardens, for the Couslands, for everything-- "They will pay."
The breath went out of her in a soft, shuddering sigh.
"Honestly, the two of you." Wynne's exasperated voice close by had Alistair jolting upright in startlement; belatedly he realized that the room he'd pulled Clare into was the library.
He took a hasty half-step back, feeling the back of his neck growing warm underneath the mage's stern look. "Wait, it isn't--"
"Sorry." Clare's voice sounded so cheerfully sheepish that he broke off his own fumbling attempt at explanation to look at her in surprise. She was smiling, looking bright-eyed and vaguely embarrassed, hands lifted as though in surrender. Maybe it was a trick of the light but he could have sworn she'd even managed a bit of a blush. "My fault. We should really be off, though - the arl wants us to check on some things."
Before anyone could say anything, she was slipping away from the wall and through the doorway, pulling Alistair along with her. He followed along dumbly as she headed out into the courtyard towards the Market District, wondering uncomfortably what in the Maker's name had just happened.
----
And then I did about 2000 words of post-Orzammar that is still not done. :C
And after Orzammar there's a bit from the Gauntlet that I have planned that I have not even started on.
But this bit is pre-Landsmeet Denerim, right after the party arrives but before they get down to business. That means spoilers for potentially everything through the cutscene that ensues upon arrival, but mostly for the human noble origin. It is way on along the timeline but I'm getting it down now while it's on my mind, since I'm still working on all of the abovementioned.
As usual, this is a draft and will probably see some editing. It's a bit squishy.
----
That... could have gone better, Alistair thought.
'Bracing,' Eamon had called it, which to Alistair's way of thinking was not nearly the right word. They'd been at the Denerim estate all of maybe an hour before Loghain had turned up, and while Alistair hadn't recognized the dust-colored, pinch-faced man who'd trailed in his shadow alongside Ser Cauthrien, he'd seen Clare go white and tense as a drawn bowstring where she stood near the arl. When Loghain had introduced Rendon Howe as the arl of Amaranthine and the teyrn of Highever, he'd understood why.
He wondered if Howe had recognized at all, in Clare's low and tightly-controlled voice when she'd told him to enjoy his moment, how near he'd been to having Eamon's entrance hall painted with his blood.
Alistair turned to ask Clare something inane only to realize that she was no longer there. Looking up, he found her already yards away, striding for the doors to the courtyard with such vicious energy he was a little surprised her heels weren't taking chips out of the floor. "Clare! Hey!"
She didn't so much as pause. He hurried to catch up, grabbing for her elbow when he reached her; she whipped around in an instant, eyes hot and teeth bared. She's going after Howe, he realized.
Rather than give either of them time to think about it, Alistair simply hauled her off with him through the nearest door, into what he hoped was an unoccupied room, and pushed her up against the wall by the doorway with a scraping of armor against stone. "Clare," he said. And then, more mildly, "--please don't gut me."
For a moment, it seemed like he'd just done something very stupid. Then the tension went out of her, and she leaned her head back against the wall, looking up not so much at him as through him with eyes that didn't seem to be seeing anything.
"...there's something that I've been thinking about for a while," she said, voice low and without inflection, and instinctively Alistair got the feeling that this was going to hurt.
A lot.
"My father would never have stood for what Loghain's doing," Clare said, in that soft and toneless voice. "He'd have opposed him, like arl Eamon. He could have rallied the nobles, if--"
Her voice hitched, then steadied. "I keep asking myself why," she said. "If Howe was just looking for an opportunity, there had to have been chances before... Why now? He could take Highever, but he couldn't keep his men there to hold it, not with the king calling for troops... Did he really think nobody would move against him? What kind of story did he think he could tell that the king would believe?"
"You don't have to--" Alistair began, but she just talked over him, quiet but insistent.
"We'd never betray the king. Who'd believe we were traitors, with Fergus and our soldiers already dispatched to Ostagar? If he was going to claim it was darkspawn, or bandits, then why didn't they attack anywhere but the castle? He had to know." Her hands lifted, closing blindly on nothing, until her fists came to rest against his breastplate. "He had to know the king wouldn't stand for it. It doesn't make any sense, unless--"
"...unless someone was backing him," Alistair finished for her, with a sick, heavy feeling settling into his gut.
"He knew," she whispered, with a horrible, hopeless little smile. "He knew he wouldn't have to explain himself to the king. He knew."
And now Howe was recognized as arl of Amaranthine, teyrn of Highever, and arl of Denerim besides - the regent's right hand man. "Loghain," Alistair said darkly. It all came back to him.
Clare's head bowed. "There's no way to prove it."
He gathered her up in his arms as much as the armor they both wore would allow, pressed up against the wall. Her hands uncurled from their fists, reaching up to grip his shoulders, her face turning toward him until he could feel the warmth of her breath against the side of his neck. "They'll pay," he promised, tucking his head against hers to murmur it close to her ear. For Duncan, for the Grey Wardens, for the Couslands, for everything-- "They will pay."
The breath went out of her in a soft, shuddering sigh.
"Honestly, the two of you." Wynne's exasperated voice close by had Alistair jolting upright in startlement; belatedly he realized that the room he'd pulled Clare into was the library.
He took a hasty half-step back, feeling the back of his neck growing warm underneath the mage's stern look. "Wait, it isn't--"
"Sorry." Clare's voice sounded so cheerfully sheepish that he broke off his own fumbling attempt at explanation to look at her in surprise. She was smiling, looking bright-eyed and vaguely embarrassed, hands lifted as though in surrender. Maybe it was a trick of the light but he could have sworn she'd even managed a bit of a blush. "My fault. We should really be off, though - the arl wants us to check on some things."
Before anyone could say anything, she was slipping away from the wall and through the doorway, pulling Alistair along with her. He followed along dumbly as she headed out into the courtyard towards the Market District, wondering uncomfortably what in the Maker's name had just happened.
----