WHO: Adalia, Alistair, Freddie, Herian, Loghain, Medicine Seller, Melys, Nathaniel, Notas, Teren. WHAT: Rescuing a king, maybe. WHEN: Early Wintermarch WHERE: An island off Seheron, the Fade NOTES: Violence, disturbing imagery.
Nathaniel appeared a split second after Alistair and he's squinting ahead, deciding Alistair is embarrassed enough for the both of them, so he doesn't bother being embarrassed. Being something of a military history buff, he finds he can actually sort of get behind this ship.
"This is Alistair," he intones gravely, because fuck this, Alistair deserves to at least be recognized by his absentee father. "Your other son," he adds helpfully. He hasn't seen King Maric since he was a boy, dragged to court by his father in a fit of I guess I have to train my son for his job. To his dismay, he has the same internal fanboy squee he had back then, even now that he's old enough that he's supposed to have some dignity.
Though no longer in rags, Teren appears rather as she did when she first joined the Wardens, thin and haggard and frightened as she walks out of nothing to stand behind Nate. She looks around like a nervous hare, aware that this is the Fade, wondering what new horrors it's about to throw at them, and hating every helpless minute of it.
Following the sound of Alistair's voice, she moves to stand by him, caught between the warring impulses to either protect him or hide behind him. Only now does she see what greets them, but, naturally, doesn't recognize the man with Loghain.
The transition from private, intimate moment alone with Maric to having this moment suddenly laid bare before other eyes--before Alistair's, Maker help him--is abrupt, and leaves Loghain feeling as though he's been struck by something. He stands where Maric leaves him against the stone wall, his eyes still vague, but only for a moment longer.
It's painfully apt that Teren's appearance is what jogs him back into the moment; the stab of guilt, of shame that follows can't be dealt with now. They don't have the time.
"Maric," he says again, his voice a little hoarse but with growing confidence, because he remembers now and can feel the fingers of the Fade slowly loosening their hold on his mind. He remembers. "We've come to Seheron. For you."
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"This is Alistair," he intones gravely, because fuck this, Alistair deserves to at least be recognized by his absentee father. "Your other son," he adds helpfully. He hasn't seen King Maric since he was a boy, dragged to court by his father in a fit of I guess I have to train my son for his job. To his dismay, he has the same internal fanboy squee he had back then, even now that he's old enough that he's supposed to have some dignity.
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Following the sound of Alistair's voice, she moves to stand by him, caught between the warring impulses to either protect him or hide behind him. Only now does she see what greets them, but, naturally, doesn't recognize the man with Loghain.
no subject
It's painfully apt that Teren's appearance is what jogs him back into the moment; the stab of guilt, of shame that follows can't be dealt with now. They don't have the time.
"Maric," he says again, his voice a little hoarse but with growing confidence, because he remembers now and can feel the fingers of the Fade slowly loosening their hold on his mind. He remembers. "We've come to Seheron. For you."