So... You Live Here?

Maker’s breath, this all hurt.  He’d been through some rough times before, but this was different! It was like his entire body was one giant bruise with smaller bruises on top of it that were his arms and legs, his head, and they hurt too!  Alastair turned his head away from the light seeping in from around the window shade… he could try going back to sleep, but he didn’t want to.  The dreams… well, let’s just say that they weren’t pleasant and of the tainted kind.  He finally pushed himself up, shuffling about as he got his legs out in front of him.  Sitting up… well, that hurt too.

Absently, his hand went up and rubbed at his neck, his throat.  A calloused line that was softening with time.  Eventually, it’d disappear, but he swore he still remembered the feel of that heavy collar there.

Fingers curled in and his hands clenched before he could stop himself.  He shook himself, then forced himself up and over to the wash basin.  He dipped his hands into the water and rubbed them together, scraping beneath his nails and even going so far as to do the same around his cuticles.  Then, he washed his face, making sure that the clean rag next to the basin scrubbed behind his ears and neck too.  He’d have to go to the river to bathe, but that wasn’t a problem.

Patting himself dry, he turned at the sound of someone… oh.  The very tops of his ears went pink.  Daciana, he actually managed not to stammer out, I was just getting ready for a bath.  Is there something I can help you with before that?  He didn’t sound too hopeful, did he?  No, he didn’t.  But it was only polite to ask, since she’d saved his life and all.  Just that.  No other reason.

Daciana was not known for her kindness, but for her ability to live among wolves, and to make decisions to protect the people of her settlement. But... sometimes the best decision was kindness; and that was what she'd decided when the wolves had led her to Alistair.

He'd been absolutely filthy, starved, injured. She'd determined he had something... something that felt familiar to her. Or perhaps it was simply the way the wolf spirits had rallied around the injured man. She was certain he believed he'd been hallucinating.

He wasn't a bad houseguest, albeit he needed more care than expected. She didn't know his full story, she didn't care to ask after it. It didn't matter to her if he was an escaped slave, she didn't believe in slavery. It didn't matter to her anything of his past; only of his present.

She'd just finished feeding the wolves the raw meat scraps from todays hunt. There was a stew simmering in a large cauldron, and there was time yet until dinner would be ready. So she went to check on her houseguest, pausing just inside the door to study him.

He stammered her name and flushed, and she frowned at him. Do you have a fever again? Daciana moved across the room, attempting to rest her hand against his forehead. It'll be too cold outside. I'll help bring water in, and we can heat it up over the fire. A separate fire was set up in one corner of the home, to heat bathwater.

Wide eyed, he… just watched as her hand got closer. And closer. He balked a little as it disappeared from view and bit down on his tongue to keep from blabbering out something. Maker’s Breath, she was really close. She was really really close.

Maybe I do! he stammered out quickly, it’s hot in here. Is it hot in here? I mean, I’m hot in here but you don’t have to be. It’s probably okay for you and yes! Water sounds great! He could stick his face into it and that would help with the fever.

Alastair really didn’t believe he had a fever again but he was more than happy to let he think that. Maybe it was a sin, a really little one, but he was okay with that. It was better than… no, no he wasn’t going to think about that. Daciana would probably feed him to her wolves. Spirit wolves. That was a morose thought. At least he’d make a pretty good meal now, not like when he’d been dolled up in chains and pretty rags.

Good times. But the actual opposite.

He eased back as quickly as he could. Then, he busied himself with mopping up nonexistent drops of water from… anything he could reach. Just mopping with the rag. It was okay. It was fine. I’m ready to get some water when you are! He forced a smile that felt not at all awkward and strode over towards the door, rag still clutched in his hand. So… good hunt??

Daciana chuckled quietly. You gotta calm down, you're going to give yourself a stroke. She scolded him, though her tone was not too harsh. He was easily flustered, she was learning. And she wasn't quite sure what caused him to startle so easily.

C'mon. Let's put your hands to work. She agreed, as he anxiously informed her that he was ready to bring in water. He asked abotu the hunt after, nodding as she followed him.

Was good. Ferelden's are interfering with the hunts, though. Found this posted. She claimed a piece of parchment off of a nearby counter, holding it up. It was a 'no hunting without license' sign, indicating how to get a sign from the Ferelden Crown, and the species affected by this.

They forget, this is not Ferelden. She murmured, as she pulled on a cloak. Simpler than the full furred ones she typically wore; the ones that gave her the appearance of one of her wolves.

What he was supposed to say? No, I’m NOT going to give myself a stroke? That’d just make him sound childish and argumentative… so Alastair did the next best thing and smiled a little. Oh, and shook his head too. There, that should get his point across.

Wait, Fereldans… out here? That’s not like them to venture this far out— Hastily, he cleared his throat and glanced around. Or so I’ve heard. It’s been a while since I’ve been back. Maybe it’s all different now. And that was something he didn’t really want to be thinking about and so… he stopped thinking about it!

He frowned though, scratching absently at his beard as Daciana held up the parchment. Huh. Okay so maybe there were Fereldans tromping about in the wilds. But she was right… and wrong. Technically, it was still Ferelden, because borders and land masses and all of that fun geography know how. But in terms of actual settlements and towns and the like, well, the Crown’s influence and power didn’t really extend that far. Which actually kind of surprised him. He was damn well sure that Anora would’ve managed to seat herself back into power and do all the things like bringing the whole of the Landsmeet to heel.

Because she’d have definitely called a Landsmeet.

Maker, he groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face.

Do the Fereldans have a queen or a king? Do you know? He needed to do something so he went out towards where the water was and hoped that with enough buckets, he’d be too tired to think. He hated thinking.

Daciana grinned at the man, Y'know lots of Fereldens? She was amused, she'd pegged him as Ferelden, he just had that look about him. But he could've been from another nation for all she truly knew. It didn't matter, though.

Dunno 'bout a queen. But they've got a king. Doesn't matter much, out in the Wilds we listen to the spirits. Not man. And certainly not a man that believed he held power over a land that was not truly his.

She fumed, quietly, before she reached to claim a bucket for herself. Carrying the water slowly, she called over her shoulder, You into politics?

Uhhhhh… he wasn’t sure if now was the time to out himself as one of those Fereldens, but the way Daci was grinning at him… Sure I know lots of Fereldens. I’m Ferelden. Annnnnd that was that. Well. Shit. Not for the first time he swore he heard Morrigan’s squawking at him for being so dense… among other things and Alastair swatted irritable at the invisible voice, making a face at it. It wasn’t like he’d thought about it. Which was exactly what the voice was screeching at him for not doing.

He sighed.

There really was a reason why Elanna had always been the front and center one.

He just wasn’t any good at this!

Me? Into politics? He chuckled then, shifting his grip on the buckets of water he was suddenly carrying. That seemed a better choice than remaining empty handed while the other woman was doing her part. He didn’t want to get thumped and he knew she wasn’t above doing said thumping. No. Maker, no. I’m about as political as a slug, and that’s an insult to the poor slug. But it hadn’t stopped the Landsmeet from forcing the issue, or Arl Eamon and Arl Teagan from trying to teach him.

Really, they should’ve made that harpy Anora queen. She’d have done plenty better.

I had some folks try and teach me… try and make me… but that didn’t turn out so well. He smiled, gesturing up towards his head. Thick skull, good for taking hits and keeping out unwanted information. He raised his brows at her. I know you don’t really care for politics, but you any good at them?

You don't seem very Ferelden. She commented, bumping him with one of her buckets of water as she slowed to let him catch up with her. You're very honest. That's refreshing.

Light eyes studied the man next to her, and she shrugged. Convenin' with spirits is the most political us Chasind get. I'm the Saar-ab of Dosov, the closest town to us. She clicked her tongue, as she stepped into the hut once more. And I oversee the villages between Dosov and the other big town.

She poured the water into the tub, and then the second bucket. I've kept villages from war more times than I care to count. And I work with the spirits to keep Ferelden away. That was enough of an answer, she thought.

So, did you flunk out of politics?

Oh. Oh! She wasn’t griping at him like this was bad. Or like that mean Morrigan. Daciana was… serious. That was nice. She was nice. Well, sometimes. I guess I’ve just never found a use for politics when, from what I’ve seen, it’s a fancier way for people to play games. They don’t necessarily suffer… unless you were Orlesian. Or Antivan. Or… oh. Elanna’s family. I was going to say that the nobility doesn’t usually suffer but that’s not true either. Anyway, ‘politics’ in Ferelden or Orlais, or Antiva… even in the Free Marches, to me, is another word for people like to throw around when all they’re really doing is toying with lives that don’t belong to them.

He wasn’t even going to touch Kirkwall.

Alastair smiled a little over at her. You say refreshing like it’s a good thing. Most people would say it’s not, that I’m too slow or just flat out bad at politics. He shrugged, the water in the buckets sloshing a bit at the sudden movement. It felt good to be doing something, even as he moved slower than he’d liked. He still hurt in… too many places, but at least he could walk. That was good. And believe me, I’m so Ferelden it hurts. Isn’t that what most people think of when they think of Ferelden anyway? Someone not that great with politics or quick, savvy thinking?

Here he shrugged again. He just didn’t see a point to it. Oh, the irony. The Maker had to have a good reason for that one.

If being political was communing with spirits, I think I could get politically savvy then. At least spirits are straightforward in what they are. People… people aren’t. He snorted, lumbering after her, already out of breath by the time they made it to the front door. Did I flunk out of politics. Yeah. Yeah, you could say that. He’d been King. And now… now he didn’t know what he was, except alive. It wasn’t so bad, really, except for still caring about what happened to Ferelden. And the Grey Wardens…

Could she sense the Taint? Do you sense anything that feels different about me? he asked as casually as he could.

Daciana tilted her head, studying him. When I think Ferelden... I think about death. Watching creatures driven mad by a song, and people driven to insanity by threats. Her voice is careful, thoughtful. And when that's not happening, these people are hunting mine. Like sport. Brown eyes fix on his.

Chasind childern used to fear the Great Mother, Flemeth. Now... strangers. She murmured, letting her gaze drift aside from Alistair. But I suppose people can change. And learn. But not the nobles. They're living their lives where they, what did you say, toy with other people's lives? She raised her eyebrows at him.

The shaman shrugged, First night you got here, you smelled like death. But that's fading, day after day. Except it wouldn't entirely fade; but she wasn't aware of that just yet. And you're kinda dense.

Oh. This was going somewhere that made his feet twitch and his insides feel a bit like he’d drunk icy water too quickly. Alastair hadn’t really expected Daci to answer him so honestly, though in hindsight, he wasn’t sure how else he’d thought this would go. She clearly didn’t think highly of Ferelden and sadly… for him, there were sore spots that rubbed and chafed so it wasn’t like he could disagree with her a whole lot.

But the song… creatures being driven mad… the Taint. Oh that he knew. And he shook his head. The song, as you say, isn’t a joking matter. Hopefully there won’t be another Blight so soon in Ferelden. Empty words. Empty. He was a Grey Warden. He’d heard the stories. Who’d have thought mean swoopy Morrigan’s wards and magic would be keeping Orlais from being completely overrun?

Not him, that’s for sure!

The nobles would learn more, change more, if they actually came out to see and experience how the world actually works. That’s what I think. He said that mildly, not quite cowering at the way Daci raised her eyebrows at him. Scary!

Heeeey! I’m not completely dense though! He set down the bucket of water and waved his hands in front of him. I’m just bad at politics because I say what I mean and mean what I say. I guess… I expect everyone else to do the same. Which they don’t. Most are sneaky. He shrugged, running a hand through his hair, leaving it all mussed and spiked up without seemingly realizing it. Maybe that’s why I like you. You mean what you say and say what you mean. You’re not sneaky like that. No double meanings with your words.

Subject change!

Do you need me to get more water?

As he spiked and mussed his hair, her lips pulled into a playful grin, and she reached out to run her fingers through his hair without thought. The Blights rot the Wilds just like the cities, y'know. Well, some areas are safe... we've got our wards, Great Mother Flemeth had protected a lot, and sometimes the children she'd stolen and trained did the same.

She laughed, and shook her head at him. You think those nobles are gonna experience the real world, Al? They've got their heads so far up their asses, they'd not know the real world if it slapped 'em in the face. She mumbled, studying the tub full of water they'd prepared.

I like you too. She stated, smiling down at the tub, before she pushed away from it. I like you better when you're clean. She added, flicking water from her hands at his face as she passed him. Being bad at politics ain't the worst thing in the world, Al.

It meant he wasn't a snake, a viper she'd need to ply with words and wiles.

@Alistair Theirin