Alistair (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bringspeopletogether) wrote2016-06-24 05:18 pm
bringspeopletogether) wrote2016-06-24 05:18 pm
Entry tags:
[sandbox] out of the abyss
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.
(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.
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"So the basic particle of material existence is an atom. It, in turn, is made of up tinier particles called protons, neurons, and electrons. No, wait -- neutrons, that's it. And those, or in among those, are other, smaller particles, and they're held together by forces. It's sort of the same way that planets and moons orbit due to gravity, but also not like that at all. You can't even use the same math to describe it, which is interesting in and of itself. Remind me to show you some of the modeling I've played with, some day."
Anyway.
"Now, the way in which worlds with science understand fire is that it requires three things. Material to burn, such as wood or oil or anything made of carbon, an energy source for ignition, such as an already extant fire or a spark of some kind, and oxygen. In the absence of one of these things they cannot make fire. Now, if I were to cast a fire spell, I need actually none of those things. I did some experiments once and I can cast fire in a vacuum -- that's a place with no air -- no oxygen. Theoretically impossible, but because of how magic works in Thedas, possible for me."
A soft exhale.
"So while mathematically it's impossible to figure out how to interrupt the forces holding atoms together -- using the right magic in the right way at the right time -- "
Dreaming it often enough that a person who knew it was there could reach into the Fade and bring the dream of dissolution into the waking world --
" -- I can do it. Potentially."
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But not all of it. That's the important part. Gradually, the rapid flutter of his heartbeat eases back; the weight on his chest lifts. He makes himself draw a deep breath as the unfamiliar words settle into his mind.
His eyes have started to burn.
Another breath, shakier, and he looks up at Ysa. "You're real. Aren't you."
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Her smile is tiny and crooked and a little bit rueful.
"Sorry to disappoint."
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"I'm -- " His voice cracks.
I'm alive.
"I'm out."
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Um. Well.
"Do you -- we could hug, if you wanted? And then no one could see you cry."
And, well.
"And you know I would burn anything that tried to touch you to a cinder. So."
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(Ysa gives good hugs. He remembers. And -- he's starved in other ways, inside the Fade. No touch that wasn't a battle blow for Maker knows how long. Like the thirst, the mere suggestion makes him realize how badly he needs that sort of comfort.)
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Her voice is quiet, now, even as she settles next to him and tugs his head down to her shoulder.
Hugging time.
She can keep this up for an hour. At least.
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Wrapping both arms around Ysa, he buries his face against her shoulder, trying in vain not to get her shirt too damp. His own shoulders shake -- even he's not sure, at first, whether it's relieved laughter or sobs he can't manage to contain.
Around each one, more words emerge.
"I'm alive. I'm alive."
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Ysa's voice is quiet.
"I am, too. And Liranan. If there was ever any doubt."
Liranan rumbles quietly, stretching himself out along the floor.
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For a while, that's all he can manage: the whispered litany -- I'm alive. I'm out. -- and his hold on Ysa. Nothing's coming for him; at least, not right now. If he can't relax entirely, at least he can let himself feel the flood of relief, no matter how close it comes to sweeping him away altogether.
Alistair loses track of how long he holds onto her. Eventually, though, his shoulders stop shaking. It feels safe enough, then, to pull back and scrub a hand over his eyes.
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She stays silent.
And when Alistair pulls back, she hands him a square of soft cloth.
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Alistair manages to get the next noise twisted into a choked laugh. He accepts the cloth. Rubs at his eyes as he mumbles, "Thank you."
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This is so very, very awkward.
And terrible.
The future --
Well.
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The cloth comes back with a few dark smudges on it. Alistair blinks at them, then, tentatively, scrubs at his forehead a few times before glancing at the cloth again.
"...Maker, I need a bath, don't I," he mutters.
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