bringspeopletogether: ([misc] in another life)
Alistair's latest OOM made me realize that it might be a good idea to expand on a certain content warning that pops up there, and might pop up on future OOMs of his.

The short version )
bringspeopletogether: ([origins] one good thing)
Alistair is a cheesemonger in Denerim.

That's it. That's the AU.

....Okay, in the interest of fleshing things out a bit more: Fiona never told Maric about Alistair's birth. Instead, she left their son on the doorstep of a kindly human family, who took him in as a foundling. Alistair grew up loved, and completely ignorant of his heritage -- both sides of it. He works in the family cheese shop with intent to run it once his mother and father retire.

Nothing bad has ever happened to him ever.
bringspeopletogether: ([origins] oh maker's breath)
It's been a long day, and Alistair's only tried to drag it longer by bringing the evening reports into Milliways. The survey's moving along at a remarkable pace, but what it's finding...isn't good. He's shaded in too much space on the map of Ferelden that marks off the blighted lands. Families are still sick and starving, people are still stranded across the Waking Sea -- and there may be nothing to do but wait until the land heals on its own.

(It's early yet, he tells himself. The Blight's only eight months gone. They will find a way to bring Ferelden back to her full health and bring her people home.)

Fuzzy's dozing at his feet. Alistair's eyelids have begun to droop. Surely it won't hurt if he puts his head down for a moment; time stops here, after all, which is why he brought the reports to the tavern in the first place. A nap may even help him clear his thoughts a bit.

Hopefully he won't snore too much.
bringspeopletogether: ([king] theirin's bastard)

Alistair's awake the earliest of everyone in the party, to the surprise of the stablehands who arrive to begin preparing the horses. Typically, the king isn't quite so early a riser. To see him dressed in full regalia before sunrise, waiting patiently for everyone else to show up, generates only slightly less gossip than you'd get if a high dragon landed on the turrets.

Joke's on them. Alistair didn't sleep at all.

Read more... )
bringspeopletogether: ([origins] one good thing)
"All the preparations for tomorrow are nearly done," Alistair's saying as he pushes open the door, stepping from Milliways to the palace courtyard. It's dusk; a cool breeze circles the grass. Somewhere, a few insects chirp. "Unless all the horses explode overnight, we ought to leave a couple hours after sunrise. I'll take you to the armory for your fancy disguise after this."

This being the very first thing he promised Cullen, even before the visit to South Reach.

(Nearby, not to be outdone by the crickets, some dogs have started barking.)
bringspeopletogether: ([origins] shadowed profile)
Alistair's used to bolting awake from nightmares. There's never much to do about it besides wait for his heartbeat to slow, count his breaths, and maybe go to the kitchens for some tea once he's certain his legs will carry him. The important part, each time: knowing the moment will pass just as the dream did.

It's different tonight. When he wakes, he can't remember anything that transpired in the Fade. All that it's left behind is a crushing dread, like an ogre pushing its fist into his chest. It doesn't pass.

Something's happened. The thought resolves itself, shaped so irrevocably it must be fact: something bad has happened to Cullen.

He doesn't bother lighting a candle; he stumbles out of bed and navigates to the chest by touch, working at the lock for what feels like an eternity before he gets it open. Alistair snatches out the Trollian device and signs on, scanning the chumproll for Cullen's name. Please be all right, please be all right --


quondamGryphon began trolling jackbootJudex

QG: Cullen?
QG: Are you there?

He rests a hand on his head, trying to count his breaths. Please be all right.
bringspeopletogether: ([au] i shall sing with them the chant)
They've gotten most of the bodies out and given them proper funerals. The intact ones, anyway. Alistair's said a lot of prayers over a lot of corpses in the past several weeks; after the first ten or so, he couldn't bring himself to look at their faces. He's pretty sure the stink's never coming off his skin.

Tonight, when he walks into the hastily-assembled barracks on the opposite shore of Lake Calenhad, he finds himself blinking at the bright light of Milliways rather than the torchlight of his quarters. Quietly, he slips inside and makes his way to the bar. First, he strips off enough of his plate so he can move a bit more freely. Then: a candle, a small statue of Andraste, and a bottle of something dark and strong-smelling that promises to knock him flat if he doesn't respect it.

Alistair knows there's a small chapel out in the forest. It's covered in Earth iconography he doesn't understand, but it'll do. More prayers first, and then, if that doesn't work -- he already suspects it won't work -- disrespecting that bottle until it gives him the hangover he deserves.

So there he is ten minutes later, head awkwardly bowed before a makeshift altar to Andraste, running through what feels like the thousandth time he's recited the Canticle of Trials since returning to Ferelden. The bottle, unopened for now, rests at his feet.

"...I shall not fear the legion,
Should they set themselves against me.
In the long hours of the night
When hope has abandoned me,
I will see the stars and know
Your Light remains."


Jul. 14th, 2016 03:43 pm
bringspeopletogether: ([king] theirin's bastard)
The journal starts with the picture of Kieran.

Read more... )


Apr. 10th, 2016 11:14 pm
bringspeopletogether: ([origins] shadowed profile)
The coronation goes about as smoothly as anyone could expect. Alistair doesn't have to do much for the first half: walk between the crowd of gathered nobles with Anora by his side, kneel when he reaches the front, accept the crown, and wave to everybody. Not much to mess up there, even if Anora swats his hand away when he tries to reach for it. So much for attempting to emphasize a unified front, he supposes.

The second half's more difficult, though. Morrigan vanished just after the battle's end, but the rest have stayed: Wynne, Zevran, Oghren, even Shale tucked away in the back. (Every so often, a little shriek erupts from her corner as an attendee, mistaking her for a statue, finds their mistake handily corrected.) And Lyna, of course. Lyna, standing several rows back, her mabari by her side, chin lifted as she casts an impassive eye over the proceedings.

(He sees the way her fingers twitch at her sides. Notices how she keeps her face half-turned away from him, so the darkest half of her vallaslin tattoo shades her eyes.)

Read more... )
bringspeopletogether: ([origins] one good thing)
Okay. So. First night in a tavern at the supposed end of the world and he's about to go running into a blizzard to rescue two men he doesn't know.

This is, by far, the most normal part of Alistair's very bizarre evening.

When he asks for equipment, the enchanted bar heaps up piles of furs, three strange lanterns with little clear orbs where a candle would go, a long length of rope, some sort of canvas backpack with the letters SAR stitched on one side, and what looks like a bright red, misshapen crossbow. He frowns at it as he gets to work shrugging on all the necessary layers.

"Do you know what that is?" he asks Chuck.


bringspeopletogether: (Default)

August 2017

20212223 242526

Style Credit