[sandbox] out of the abyss

[bringspeopletogether]

It starts as a shimmer out by the lake. Look at the water from the right angle, and the light glinting off it looks a bit...green. Sickly.

(Familiar, if you're from a certain time and place in Thedas.)

Look up some minutes later, and you can pinpoint the source: a thin, glowing ribbon uncoiling in the sky. It emerges slowly, but the more light it casts, the more momentum it gains, until it explodes outward with an enormous crack like lightning splintering the ground.

A much quieter thump follows as something hits the dirt.

Someone.

The glow vanishes; the person doesn't move for a long beat. (Get up, he's telling himself, get up -- ) He manages to drag his hands level with his shoulders, press down to bear himself upward an inch, look up at where he's landed.

Get. Up.

Another shove, and Alistair lurches to his feet, sword hauled from its scabbard and shield at the ready. His breath rattles, harsh against his throat, as he stares wild-eyed around the grounds.

Comments

[freedom_is_grey]

Ysalwen blinks.

"I'm sorry, who?"

And --

"And what? What was anyone doing at Adamant? It's been abandoned for . . . a long time."

[bringspeopletogether]

Oh. Wonderful. This tactic again.

Fine, he'll keep playing along.

Alistair's eyes narrow. "What year is it?"

[freedom_is_grey]

"9:35 Dragon."

Ysalwen's answer has the promptness of someone who doesn't even have to think about it.

"Might I ask the same for you? If -- that's a concern. Time, I mean."

[bringspeopletogether]

...That is a little quicker than he expected. Especially since he's not entirely certain he remembered what year Ysa was from, last he saw her.

Cautiously: "9:41."

Screw it -- he can't hold his sword any longer, even half-resting in the grass like this. Alistair sheathes it, but keeps hold of his shield.

[freedom_is_grey]

"I don't think even Cullen is that far. Yet."

Or is he?

"What happened?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"I -- "

Alistair is suddenly very, very tired, all the way to his bones. It's more than mere physical exhaustion. He digs the heel of his free palm against one eye, then the other.

"You'll know when you get there. Suffice to say it's all shit. There's an Inquisition, that's the big part, I got banished from the Wardens, that's the other personal big part, but that doesn't matter any more because half the Wardens are in thrall to -- to all kinds of things, I can't even keep track anymore. At least the Calling shut up."

A lesser advantage to disposing of Nightmare, he supposes.

"And why are you still acting like you don't know this, for Andraste's sake? Maker."

[freedom_is_grey]

"For the same reason that I had no idea for years that Anders was going to blow up Kirkwall's chantry. Namely. I haven't lived it yet."

A breath.

"Fuck."

[bringspeopletogether]

Sighing heavily, Alistair tips his head back to regard the open sky.

Gradually, his focus sharpens. He doesn't turn his back on Ysa, but he lets her drift to the periphery of his vision as he scans the horizon, briefly consumed by another matter. He's clearly looking for something.

And just as clearly not finding it.

"It's gone."

[freedom_is_grey]

Ysalwen looks up, too, frowning.

"What's gone?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"The Black City," he whispers. "I can't -- "

He risks it, just for a moment: a glance over his shoulder and up, as if the city were lurking behind him.

(It isn't possible. Not that the city's gone; not that he made it out; Maker, what do I do -- )

[freedom_is_grey]

"If you were in the Fade, that would be true. But you're out. Not into Thedas, I'm sorry to say. But I should think we can find you a way back there, even if it's not exactly where you came in."

She still doesn't move forward, body tense and ears ringing just the slightest bit.

"Please. Just."

[bringspeopletogether]

If a demon were powerful enough, could it obscure the Black City?

It doesn't -- he doesn't know. It doesn't seem likely. And Ysa and Liranan are still standing there, fully realized, in a way his memories could only produce if he really did know her as well as the other Alistair. If a desire demon wanted to trick him into believing he'd found a way out, wouldn't it do something easier instead?

Maybe that's why it's doing it. So he'll think exactly what he's thinking right now. But he's so tired, and he just...

Carefully, Alistair lowers his shield to the ground. He means to straighten up after he does it; instead, he finds himself on one knee, palm on the grass, unable to get back up.

[freedom_is_grey]

Ysa checks her first impulse to go toward him, pressing down with her hand against Liranan's shoulder to keep him still, as well.

"Um. I would come over there to help you up and inside -- you probably need water and maybe some waybread, but -- um. I would rather not be stabbed or punched or smashed with a shield. Please."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair shakes his head.

"I won't." Defeated; barely audible.

[freedom_is_grey]

"All right."

She moves toward him slowly, staff slung across her back -- along with her sword.

Liranan paces behind her, hackles still raised.

"Here, do you think you can use my shoulder to help you stand? I know it's not at a convenient height, but -- "

[bringspeopletogether]

He manages a nod: he can try, at least.

As carefully as he can, Alistair clasps Ysa's shoulder. The grip gets a little less gentle once it's time for him to stand up -- it becomes obvious very fast that he can't carry much of his own weight anymore. Now that he's not trying to hack his way through hordes of demons, his body seems to have taken its cue: it's finally time to rest.

But eventually, he's on his feet again, only shaking a little bit from the effort.

[freedom_is_grey]

"All right, here, let's just get inside and to the fireplace -- if that's all right. The couches are comfortable and I'm not sure either of us can manage stairs just now."

The adrenaline rush is over, and Ysa is going to start shaking, herself, soon.

[bringspeopletogether]

"That's fine." Low.

It's a clear directive he can follow. Better than floundering for some idea of what might come next.

He moves slowly, trying not to lean any more weight on her than necessary. After a moment, he thinks to add, no much louder: "I'm sorry. I didn't..."

If she turns out to be a demon after all, Alistair's going to feel like a fool for apologizing to her. Right now, though, he's too exhausted to care.

[freedom_is_grey]

"No," Ysalwen demurs, leading him step by staggering step toward the bar proper. "It's all right. The Fade is -- "

Um.

"Very unpleasant. Or it can be. I remember."

Liranan trots behind them, hackles finally smoothing down. A little. Just try anything, world, and he will be right there to worry you to death!

[bringspeopletogether]

That gets a bark of laughter out of him: quick, sharp, more than a little hysterical. "You could say that."

Alistair looks down at Liranan. "I'm sorry for hurting you, too."

[freedom_is_grey]

Liranan looks up at him, tail wagging very slowly.

Then he licks Alistair's hand.

It is okay! You are not that great at punching! And he would have ripped your throat out if you hurt Ysa! Forgiven!

"I'll get him some healing poultices once we're inside. And -- do you need any, yourself?"

[bringspeopletogether]

Call it the Fereldan reflex: Liranan licks his hand, and Alistair immediately turns his palm over to give the mabari a rub behind the ears. Maybe the nuances of that forgiveness have gotten lost in translation, but tail-wags and a lack of raised hackles go a long way.

"I'm fine." He's not. He's very much not. But a healing poultice isn't going to fix anything.

[freedom_is_grey]

"We both know that's not true."

It's a little obvious.

"But if you don't want healing poultices, I suppose that's all right."

Liranan, meanwhile, basks in the ear rub, because it's normal! Maybe Alistair will be okay!

[bringspeopletogether]

"I don't." It comes out steelier than he intends; more reflex bred from however many Maker-damned months -- years? -- he spent in the Fade. "I don't want anything."

She's not insisting he take the offer, though. That...might be a good sign? Alistair glances up in another brief search for the Black City. Again, only clouds mark his view.

[freedom_is_grey]

Ysa is not touching that 'want' comment with a fifty foot pole.

A desire demon would, and -- no.

"Not even water and food? Bar is still the same as she was, so she'll provide. If -- "

Well.