faderift | Best Roadtrip Ever

He sighs heavily, adjusting his staff and his pack as he turns to look at Alistair.

"Fine. But when they sing songs of my heroic exploits in saving their village, I'm going to have a nug named after you that gets stepped on by an Ogre. And there won't be any mabari, just cats. An army of cats. Those are the terms of your surrender and walk back."

No jokes at all. They're in 100% serious territory now, Wardening business, and it was time for them to be all serious and Wardenly. Even Purrelden was behaving with a great deal of dignity, cleaning her ears with her paw while resting the crook of Anders' elbow.

"That, and I call dibs on what's left of the dried fruit, since I'll be doing the difficult work."

Through most of that threat, Alistair nods agreeably. He doesn't want any songs about his heroic exploits. He is perfectly fine with fake nugs named after him being stomped on by ogres, and he can agree that cats probably deserve some time in the Fereldan spotlight.

But the last sentence makes his jaw drop in faux outrage.

"You can take my glory, Anders, but you can never take my dried apples." He shifts the bag of provisions slung over his shoulder so it's more firmly held, deliberates for a moment, and starts walking again with his chin at a dignified angle. He doesn't spare a look for Anders as he reaches him, but a gloved hand darts out to pet Purrelden's head like he's mussing a child's hair.

He fights to keep a grin off his face at what finally winds up being the trigger for a reaction. Anders had thought nug or mabari would do it, really, but considering neither of them are really being honest, apples shouldn't be that surprising. At least Alistair isn't looking as Anders loses the fight for keeping a straight face.

"I refuse to promise to never use that against you." Meanwhile Purrelden's pushing her head into the contact like the filthy (okay, very clean) traitor that she is. "You've given me two weaknesses now, you know."

Sap and dried apples. Truly two of the finest weapons known to Thedas.

He resumes walking, staying at a pace that makes it easy for Alistair to keep petting his cat if he so chooses. This is a small nest, which means it's the best opportunity to see how she reacts to Darkspawn without putting her in serious danger. ...Very small, because he still doesn't feel anything. All the better for her and his clothing.

"Ha," Alistair says. "That leaves five hundred and twenty-four weaknesses that you don't know anything about."

Some of them might even be real, instead of intentional self-parodies he can stop playing up when it suits him. But only some. Two hundred at most.

He doesn't continue petting the cat because he still doesn't trust her not to kill and eat his hands if given time to try.

"Speaking of stolen glory," he goes on, "we could use fake names. Detlef and Albert, maybe—it's awfully quiet." Quiet isn't the right word—though it is also quiet, literally—but he doesn't have a better word for not preternaturally sensing something.

He snickers, replacing Alistair's hand with his own on Purrelden's head, but the amusement fades as Alistair continues.

"I used Garrett Hughes on the last venture outward," Anders offers. "With how far the Inquisition's agents have spread since the early parts of this year, I felt the other might be a little too risky." Trying to get a better sense of the area, Anders slows his pace a little.

"They wouldn't have moved on." His voice is hushed. "There are villagers. Easy prey. If the shrieks have gotten more--" An older steps out onto the path in front of him and Anders cuts off with a slightly startled noise.

The man smiles faintly for just a moment as he holds up a hand, looking at the both of them. "Are you the Wardens?" His nose has clearly been broken before, hair gone salt-and-pepper, and there's a watchfulness to his solid frame and blue eyes. "Come to help us?"

Alistair's mouth is already open when the man steps into view, but whatever he was going to say is discarded, and his startled sound is the solid click of his teeth when he snaps his mouth shut and settles into his default faint and friendly smirk to look over their greeter. Quiet walkers are the worst. Like Leliana. Unfair.

"We're some Wardens," he confirms, with a sweeping hand toward the emblem on his breastplate, "but we can only help you if there are darkspawn. Those are the rules."

He isn't serious. Or he is a little serious, about the rules part, but perfectly happy to break those rules and rescue kittens from wells or whatever if necessary.

The partial smile on the man's face fades a little and he glances back in the direction Anders and Alistair have been heading before shaking his head. "There are Darkspawn. Or there were. We haven't sent anyone down after them; maybe they moved off?" He steps forward and offers a hand out, keeping the other noticeably clear of his staff just in case.

"I'm Javion. Javion Davis. Come further in. We have food and hot water if you need to recover from the road." He exhales suddenly, something that could be heard as a laugh if not for how serious his face looks. "We even have it if you don't. But we sent for a healer too, Warden and healer, so can you help us with that even if the Darkspawn left?"

Anders watches Javion. He wants to trust the man for a very simple reason - he's a mage - but that's not always the best indicator of things. All the same, he shakes the man's hand. "I'm Garrett, and this is Albert. I'm the healer, but let's see about the Darkspawn unless someone's in urgent need?"

The question is just as much to Alistair as it is Javion.

"We're here, we might as well help a little, even if they've left the area." Which... isn't common. In fact, he's never heard of a nest picking up and moving before, which means he has to squish down the desire to believe.

Albert makes Alistair'a mouth twitch, because he wasn't—well, he was serious about using a fake name, on the off chance they did something heroic and word filtered back to the Queen and she made a sour face about Alistair openly endearing himself to anyone within Ferelden's borders and her face got stuck that way and the royal servants had to spend the rest of their lives thinking that they'd done something wrong every time she looked at them. But he might not have been serious about Albert.

Not that he minds. It's just a funny name.

Meanwhile, he shakes Javion Davis' hand with the enthusiastic warmth of a man who's perhaps trying a little too hard to act as if nothing is at all worrisome. That's a little bit because of the missing darkspawn. But it's mostly because Alistair doesn't like the little bits of him that still twitch around apostates and occasionally overcompensates.

To Anders he nods. "If no one's already on the edge of death, we ought to make sure nothing's going to put them there anytime soon before we put our feet up. As nice as food sounds. And hot water—" He hears himself and adds, under his breath, "Andraste's sword, I've gone native." He's sure he didn't even know what hot water was before he left Ferelden.*

* Not really.

It's a very funny name, though what gets a snort out of him is the muttering.

"A bath is a good thing to get used to. The more Fereldans that learn that, the better." A moment later he's glancing back at Javion. "No offense meant, if you're Fereldan and not entirely fond of bathing. I simply like when I see Fereldans making progress toward being a little more civilized."

The amused look he shoots toward Alistair he'll pay for later, likely, but it'll be in teasing and he doesn't mind that. Jovian doesn't seem too fazed by what's being said, though he does glance down at his hand with the hearty shake.

"Come right in," is all Jovian says, leading them into the village. It's clear right away that the place hasn't been rebuilt by professionals. They've tried, certainly, but a couple of the buildings have odd rock growths holding them up, another seems to be leaning against support beams, and still others have scorch marks. Add that to the plethora of staves in the area, and Anders is now practically holding his breath. Is this a mage village? Are they functioning? Safe? He's hoping far too soon and he knows it, but he's doing it anyway.

Jovian takes them past more of the rock-supported houses and into a building that looks like an old farmhouse, clearly repurposed into a mess hall. There are four other mages in it, milling about, and Jovian gestures toward the table.

"They'll get you settled in and we'll bring the injured over."

"Great," Alistair says brightly, and it isn't until they've stepped away from him and are headed toward the others that he adds, "This many mages, you'd think they'd have a healer. It seems like every other mage I meet is one."

And he'll just. Not mention the Templar thing. Not that it usually comes up in casual conversation, these days, but it is occasionally tempting to slap a mage on the back and say, Aha! Forced into a life you didn't want by a religion you don't care much about! We have so much in common!

Tempting, but stupid.

"Ho there," he says more loudly as they approach, voice a parody of people who actually talk that way. "We were promised food."

"We've an oddly high concentration around Skyhold," is all he has time to say at the moment before they're there, at the table. It's something he's noticed, but he hasn't really had time to break down or wonder about. Maybe later, or maybe not ever.

Alistair's greeting of the mages gets a faint smirk from Anders; he's rather amused. The mages themselves seem like they don't know what to make of him. A lanky, frowny-looking sort is the first to decide, pushing up off the wall and coming forward, gesturing toward the table.

"Yeah. We heard you pay Grey Wardens in food first. And then during, and then after again. Eat up," he says, starting to grab a few things himself. The other three seem to come out of what stupor they'd been in then, and the older woman nods and gestures.

Anders takes a plate, putting a few things on it while trying to ignore how it feels like they're trying to stare at him and not at the same time.

"So you've... been here for a while? It looks like you've done some structural work. It's exciting to see." A side-glance at Alistair. "That you're, that there's a village."

The older woman studies him before giving them both a tight smile. "Yes. And we're the leadership here. You've met Javion. These are Kian, Aleigh, Vidal, and I'm Ashton. Ashton Hodge."

She says it as if he should recognize it... and he does. Anders blinks, face not masking his surprise at all before he regathers himself. "It's nice to meet you, Ms. Hodge. I'm... Garrett. And this is Albert."

Vidal and Kian share a glance as they start loading up their plates. Ashton's smile is still tight, and Aleigh isn't waiting for anyone before he starts eating.

"Al," Alistair supplies, because no one calls him that (anymore, with nearly every Warden he worked with dead) and he doesn't especially like it when people do, but he'll at least remember to answer to it. He's polite but not shy about the food, waiting until he won't have to elbow anyone but not any longer. "He's the brains, I'm the brawn. Between the two of us we'all handle your darkspawn one way or another."

Their darkspawn that are no longer here. He doesn't mistrust them, not more than he mistrusts everyone, which is slightly. The suspicious dim-witted one, Morrigan called him. But the worst scenario he can imagine is that they had trouble with something other than darkspawn—rogue Templars, maybe—and felt safer asking for Wardens than Inquisition fanatics. Can't blame them for that.

"I hope you didn't call for a healer because someone has the corruption," he goes on, already with a spoon poised in front of his mouth so he can start eating as soon as he's finished talking. "Not even Garrett can help with that."

"I'm most of the beauty, too," Anders adds. He thinks he's funny. The other mages apparently don't, as the only reaction he gets from them is a roll of the eyes from Aleigh. He'll have to do better, clearly.

"We know better than to call for that," Vidal says with a smile that's a little sad. "I'm Fereldan. This isn't too far from where my own village was destroyed when I was little."

"What we didn't know was if a healer would be willing to help a group of mages," Ashton says. She's the last to fill her plate, taking a seat across from Alistair and Anders. Everyone else has dug in. She hasn't. "There's a great deal of division, and no telling who is on what side."

Anders grimaces, trying not to look directly at anyone as he fills his spoon. "I'm on the side of freedom and equality. As everyone should be."

"But many aren't." Aleigh's tone is biting. It would be so easy to get pulled into the conversation here, especially as Ashton is with them. He's exchanged letters with her, knows where she stands, and it looks like there's at least one person who agrees... but that's not why they're here. Thankfully, Javion winds up leading a couple of pairs of people carrying stretchers back, and Anders steps away from his meal to get to work. The wounds are combat-based, stabs and slashes and contusions, but it doesn't look like Darkspawn work. Alistair gets a glance, in case he's looking this way, just to ask if he's seeing what Anders is seeing.

Alistair raises his eyebrows in answer, up and then right back down, like a nod. He's still eating, but with Anders working he begins to feel guilty and puts his spoon down so he can flash Ashton his most charming (but never princely) smile.

"I'm on the side of whoever's feeding me," he says, "and not being arses or murdering anyone and so on. If your darkspawn have already moved on, maybe you can put me to work somewhere else while Garrett works his magic. I'm good at carrying things."

Best Roadtrip Ever

You have a beer fairy now, Alistair. Those take Responsibility

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