faderift | (open) for all we know it's just a lie

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(open) for all we know it's just a lie

WHO: Alistair + You
WHAT: Sleep deprivation and a long ride.
WHEN: Both vaguely before and vaguely after today.
WHERE: Skyhold (before today), the road to the Fallow Mire (after after).
NOTES: Vague starterish things because I don't like doing the same thing multiple times! If they're too vague and you want something more specific you can leave me a blank comment or something, it's cool.

I. AN INCOMPLETE LIST OF PLACES ALISTAIR FALLS ASLEEP IN SKYHOLD

1. In the stables with the dogs, usually. He only sleeps for three or four hours at a stretch, lightly and fitfully, but he never wakes up screaming. At worst he wakes up gasping and sweating, with concerned, wet muzzles nudging at his face. More often he times things well enough that he's woken in the still-dark hours of the morning by heavy boots or banging wooden doors, instead, and is already on his feet before anyone can reach him.

2. Draped over a table in the tavern still holding the handle of a tankard. He might look like a drunkard from a distance, but really, it's still three-quarters full.

3. Draped over a table in the kitchens with his arm curled protectively around a bowl of porridge or stew or whatever else the kitchen servants were willing to give him at the given hour.

4. Draped over a table in the dusty, cobwebby cellar library, with his arms folded on top of a book he couldn't force himself to stay awake for for very long even if the fate of the Grey Wardens and/or possibly all of Thedas is hanging in the balance.

5. Standing up and leaning against the back of a horse that doesn't belong to him, brush still in hand, until it steps away to search for something more interesting or edible and he falls right over.

II. AN EVEN LESS COMPLETE LIST OF THINGS HE FINDS ON THE WAY TO THE MIRE

1. Money. That's one good thing about wars and demons: there's more coin on the bodies than when roadside homicides are mostly the work of highway robbers. Alistair is a practiced looter, but a gentle, respectful one, too. If it were possible to close their eyes once they'd gone this stiff, he would.

2. A set of Ferelden figurines, mostly soldiers, half trampled by horses. He doesn't pocket them; he's not a child. But he takes the time to move the ones that aren't broken yet to the side of the road for someone else to find.

3. A temporary Inquisition camp full of travelers headed in the opposite direction. He doesn't consider himself one of them--he's a Warden, he's only visiting--but he hasn't found so much money on corpses that he won't borrow their fire or eat their spare food, if someone offers.

4. A Grey Warden, and not any of the Grey Wardens he was on his way to find. He recognizes the armor at a distance on the road, even in the cloudy half-dark. The sight makes his heart stop in the curious, still, emptied-out way it always does in the seconds before a fight begins. But the moment passes, and he keeps moving forward. Maybe he won't be recognizable, he thinks, now he's traded his griffon-and-blue armor for something simpler from Inquisition stores--

Or maybe it will be someone he's met before. Never mind. He raises a hand instead of his sword. The wave is a little sheepish.

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He had a fairly good idea of where to find Alistair. Stables, dogs. It was a very specific sleeping place, all things considered. So Gavin made his way to the stables in the early morning - well before he, Bruce and Zevran were due to leave for the Mire. He opened the door as quietly at he could, but as soon as he did one of the dogs leapt up and ran to the door, tail wagging fast and hard.

Gavin couldn't help a bemused smile as he leaned down to greet the dog, kneeling before it and letting it smell him before giving it a good rough rub on its back.

"Hey to you, too," He murmured quietly to the dog. "I'm looking for a man called Alistair. You wouldn't know where I could find him, do you?"

While the elf is talking to the dog, Alistair is picking hay out of his hair and idly checking for weapons, out of habit rather than suspicion. Even if they weren't in a heavily-guarded fortress that none of the people who might want to kill Alistair (today) should know how to find yet, the dog likes him. That's a good sign.

But then there's his name. He checks again, less idly, but still not very concerned. His sword is propped against the wall. The horse master is within shouting distance. The elf looks--well. Particularly harmless, around the face, whether he's armed or not.

Still: "Why?" Alistair asks, a little drawn out and teasing--whhyyy?--with his eyebrow arched. Maybe--probably--that's an answer in itself, but he isn't really trying to be sneaky. He's no good at sneaky.

Gavin looked up at the voice, pausing in his petting which apparently the dog didn't appreciate, as it then shoved its muzzle rather forcefully into his stomach, making him grunt and then chuckle. The only weapon he had on him was his knife - meant more for eating than for stabbing. His bow would get far too much in the way, carrying it around.

"Zevran told me I could find him here," He replied, though it was at least pretty obvious that this was the man in question, since he was picking hay out of his hair, and was the only one in the barn. Oh, and the dogs. "I - ah - I brought him some cheese."

Always come with a gift.

It was a Dalish thing.

Andraste bless the Dalish.

The elf had Alistair's trust at Zevran, and now he has his interest as well, beyond the usual sort of interest Alistair bestows on any stranger who seems to be looking for him. They don't all bring him presents.

He comes out further from beyond the half-wall he'd been sleeping behind. The dog nearest the elf still has eyes only for him--or perhaps for his cheese--but there are two more where she came from. Neither is a mabari, at least not full-blooded, but they're massive just the same. Alistair puts a hand on one of their heads.

"Are you here to ask a favor?" he says. "Did he tell you to bribe me with cheese? Because that will absolutely work."

"Sort of," Gavin admitted, giving the dog a good rub down before standing up and brushing the hair off him, and then digging into his pockets. The cheese was, of course, pilfered, but Alistair didn't need to know that. It had an orange wax all the way around it, and was about the size of Gavin's palm. A good hunk of cheese. He held it out.

"It's not really a favour for me, but." He paused, getting a good look at him, and then arching an eyebrow. Of course all of Zevran's friends were good looking. He cleared his throat.

"Ah - I wanted to ask if you could stay in Zevran's room. For a while. Rather than in the stables."

There's good, and Alistair and one of the dogs perk up in near unison. (The other dog is a mite slow, poor thing.) He comes closer to take it before any of the canines can get any ideas, and then--an eyebrow. "What, is he having nightmares?"

Gavin shook his head. "No, not - exactly." How much could he say here that wouldn't completely betray Zevran's confidence?

Okay, this might have been a really stupid idea.

He blushed, embarrassed, and then raised a hand to scrub it through his own hair. "We're not even staying here in the castle, but I uh... I just got the impression that he would be a lot happier, if you stayed there, rather than here in the barns." That was accurate and didn't grossly overstep his bounds, right?

Ugh, he was getting more embarrassed as this went.

"Look, I really don't want to get stabbed, or poisoned--"

"By me? Not after you've given me food."

He's peeling into the cheese now, ignoring the hopeful looks of various dogs, but he glances up to check Gavin's face. Of course not by him. Stabbing and poison are Zevran's things.

"He thinks someone's going to kill me or something," Alistair says, attention sliding off to the closest dog, "but that's what you're for, isn't it? Such a fierce puppy." Her tail wags hopefully. She probably thinks that being spoken to that way means she's going to be allowed to share his cheese. "Anyway, none of the people who want to kill me know I'm here. Tell him to stop worrying."

"Considering how many people are trying to kill him..." He wonders aloud, as if multiple people out for Alistair's head really wasn't that much of a big deal at all. In all truth - it wasn't. If anywhere was going to be safe, it would be here. Unless those people were in the Inquisition, in which case, it really made no difference.

"I'm not sure that's it," He said, frowning. He really didn't want to get stabbed by Zevran, but-- "I think he feels better, too, with you close. He was... he was just very upset. And I thought -- maybe he'd be less upset, if you were to stay there--"

He sighed, feeling ridiculous. "Sorry. I'm butting in where I don't belong, probably, but I just got the impression that he wouldn't tell you how much he wanted you there. So I-- thought I could help."

So, so helpful, Gavin.

After a pause, he added: "Besides, I'm pretty sure your assassins could bribe your dogs away with cheese."

Alistair's grin and eyebrow raise are very I know, right?--many more people are after Zevran than the Wardens, and scarier ones, with scarier tactics. Alistair is proud of him. He worries, too, of course he does, but you can tell a lot about a man's character from who desperately wants him dead.

He gives the dogs a considering look. They are all staring intently at his cheese and don't notice that they're being judged. So--yes, probably. But there are more important things.

"He was upset," Alistair repeats back dubiously. "And he talked to you about it." He sticks a piece of the cheese into his mouth and gets a few chews while he gives Gavin a once-over--not in a sexy way. In an evaluating his chances of survival way. He's polite enough to stuff the cheese into one cheek while he talks, but it's still a little slurred and, also, delighted. "Ooh, he is going to kill you."

Gavin instantly flushed a very deep crimson - almost dark enough to match his hair.

"Just - don't tell him, alright?" Even if Zevran didn't literally kill him, he's pretty sure that he could make sure that Gavin really, really regretted his decision. "If he's going to mope about you not being around and not tell you about it, then I have to take that risk." Well he didn't have to, but he would, because other people's happiness was always far, far above his own.

Plus he was pretty sure he would survive it. Probably. "It's not like I would mention it to anyone but you."

Alistair chews slowly and swallows slowly and keeps his eyebrows up the whole time. "Do I look like the sort of person who could get away with keeping secrets from Zevran's sort of person?"

That just got a pathetic, kicked-puppy look and a long, withering, endless, sigh.

"I am going to die."

"Yes," Alistair agrees, and reaches out to bracingly clap his large human hand against Gavin's narrow elf shoulder. "But nobly! For a good cause. When I talk to him I'll ask him to make it painless."

"Could you at least try not to mention me by name?" He asks, his voice drawing out 'try' like the forlorn cry of a man who knew he was going to the gallows but had very little breath in his lungs left.

"Just to give me a few minutes head start?"

"I'll try," Alistair promises. "If he doesn't ask, we'll probably be all right." Another piece of cheese disappears into his mouth, and he's slightly less polite about talking around it this time. "He wouldn't really kill you." Gavin probably knows that, but Alistair wouldn't want him to leave the stables genuinely afraid for his life. "He might grumble or something, but he's a good sport."

A tiny piece of chewed cheese lands on him while Alistair speaks, and Gavin just flicks it away without really thinking about it.

"I'm going to take that as gospel truth and assume that if I see murder in his eyes I can throw myself behind you to be saved," Gavin said, but the side of his lip was curling up into a lopsided smile.

"He seems to have pretty good taste, though. Other than me. That's good to know."

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(open) for all we know it's just a lie

I. 1. Because that's where he was told he'd be.

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