"Maric Theirin," Alistair repeats slowly—not my father, it's almost never my father, unless the fact is relevant. Right now it isn't. "Alive. Tevinter."
Slow enough? Small enough pieces of information?
An explanation might help, Alistair thinks, half unaware of and half just plain unsympathetic to the way Loghain's paled and frozen. He doesn't want to discuss anyone's feelings. And when things are awkward, he's always believed, just talk more and hope no one notices. It hasn't gotten him killed yet.
"Anders and I ran into trouble with some mages last winter, and I overheard—they wanted to send me there. Some cultist has a Theirin king imprisoned, something about weird blood, something about him getting old." He doesn't sound bored by this information, exactly. He sounds more like someone who's attempting to sound disinterested. But the distinction is subtle. "Fairly normal culty blood magic plot from the sound of it. And as much fun as it would be to dash in with swords drawn and cause a political crisis, I've been trying to narrow down where to look first."
no subject
Slow enough? Small enough pieces of information?
An explanation might help, Alistair thinks, half unaware of and half just plain unsympathetic to the way Loghain's paled and frozen. He doesn't want to discuss anyone's feelings. And when things are awkward, he's always believed, just talk more and hope no one notices. It hasn't gotten him killed yet.
"Anders and I ran into trouble with some mages last winter, and I overheard—they wanted to send me there. Some cultist has a Theirin king imprisoned, something about weird blood, something about him getting old." He doesn't sound bored by this information, exactly. He sounds more like someone who's attempting to sound disinterested. But the distinction is subtle. "Fairly normal culty blood magic plot from the sound of it. And as much fun as it would be to dash in with swords drawn and cause a political crisis, I've been trying to narrow down where to look first."