faderift | MOD PLOT: NOT ALONE DO WE STAND, PART 1

MOD PLOT: NOT ALONE DO WE STAND, PART 1

WHO: Anyone who wants to attend
WHAT: THE GRAND TOURNEY
WHEN: Bloomingtide 20-27
WHERE: Wycome
NOTES: We'll be rolling one or two events per day, in the order listed, and posting the results here! That's also where you can find your diplomacy or espionage assignments and their results. There will be a second log post in about five days regarding the end of the tournament, to give people a place to RP about the competitions' results once they know them and to react to some other surprise developments, so leave some room for dessert.

The Grand Tourney is one of Thedas's greatest spectacles--all the nations of the world and plenty of others besides turned out to compete in this edition of the famous test of arms. The Duke of Wycome has granted the use of a broad plain outside the city, a vast open span of grass bounded on both sides by minor forks of the Minanter making their way to the sea, and split down the center by another. Scores of the duke's men have been hard at work since the announcement, constructing stands and arenas, the rough wooden rails and benches of the commons and luxurious boxes for the more exalted spectators, lifted above the masses and shaded by awnings, draped with bunting in Wycome's brilliant purple and gold.

Between and among the competition grounds are stalls and roving vendors selling anything and everything, most popular the vast open-sided tents filled with trestle tables and benches and neverending barrels of ale and wine as tall as a qunari. Stages of various sizes dot the grounds, hosting musicians, dancers, tumblers, performers of all kinds. Others wander through the crowds, putting on impromptu shows wherever it looks like there are enough people with free coin about.

A half-dozen new wooden bridges span the central river--more like a large stream, really--and connect the competition grounds to the camping grounds. Tents in all colors and styles are arrayed in rough groups, marked out with the banners of knights, houses, mercenary companies, kingdoms. The Inquisition has sprung for new tents for its delegation to make sure they look the part, dramatic black as a backdrop to the Inquisition banners that fly atop each of them, housing two to four people each. Nearest are some Orlesians with an array of brightly-colored silk structures, and on the opposite side, a mercenary company called the the Grizzly Legion, a particularly rowdy outfit, with banners market by a giant red bear, and bonfires and revelry late into the night every night.

INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS

The general atmosphere of the tourney is raucous and celebratory, but the rivalries inherent in the occasion seem less good-natured than they might have in past years. Nevarra seems divided into two camps rather than one, with a (not-yet-literal) line down the middle of their encampment and their crowds that's bridged only by the brave and slightly awkward few who still haven't chosen between the Pentaghasts and Van Markhams. And the Orlesians, despite rumors that the Empire is still struggling in the wake of its own civil war, seem particularly delighted to see their rivals teetering on the brink—some are even taking odds on how soon they'll be able to get Perendale back. But, of course, no one can rival Tevinter for smugness. If there was a fancy sword awarded for that, they would win it every year, and there's no sitting near their delegation without "overhearing" an unnecessarily loud conversation about the sorry state of the rest of Thedas.

Of course, not everyone is caught up in the affairs of surfacer empires: there are delegations from both Orzammar and Kal-Sharok, each apparently pretending the other does not exist, and the odd Avvar and Chasind who seems to think everyone else is being a bit ridiculous about everything. The most isolated attendees are those from the Anderfels, who stick close together and rarely speak to anyone else—not that anyone else seems much inclined even if they did want to. At the other end of the spectrum are the Free Marchers; this is the one occasion every-few-years when they look to one another as brothers, rather than distinct and often competitive nations.

FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT

The Grand Tourney's official competitions are scheduled to take place over five days, culminating with the prestigious Grand Melee and awarding of the Celebrant. Before then, the tournament progresses day by day through unarmed combat, archery, armed combat, and jousting competitions, each heavily attended by delighted spectators cheering for their countrymen and any foreigner who strikes them as particularly charming, plus the odd equal-opportunity heckler. A few extra fights break out here and there when tempers flare, between both competitors and observers, and when the alcohol flows more liberally at night the chance of trouble rises. But for the most part, the competitions are fair and the mood around them is celebratory.

Away from the main grounds, a few additional staging areas have been provided for events focused on magic—these are more sparsely attended, due to their unofficial nature and the fears of much of the populace that they might catch a fireball to the face if they wander too close, but enough people's curiosity trumps fear to form a thinner, quieter crowd. The two events open to mages, combat against fade-touched creatures and a version of the melee with teams that allow mages, take place in the early mornings, when they won't be competing with the official events for attention, and are most heavily attended by Tevinter mages who are very, very certain that they can't be beat.

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It must be Nathaniel's abilities, then, and between the wine and the kiss, he feels assured. So he turns, breathes, aims, tosses...and the ring clatters over the peg like it's coming home.

The line behind them applauds nonetheless. Nathaniel takes Anders' hand and bows low over it.

"Serah," he murmurs, "where would you like to have dinner?"

The person behind them in line, instead of immediately taking his place, pauses to see what will happen.

Despite how he knows the reality, that they'll have time together in the tent later, and soon enough they'll be back in the Worst City In Thedas where at least they don't have to hide things between them, Anders holds his breath as the ring flies through the air. When it lands on the peg he can feel his heart start to beat again and there's the slightest hint of extra moisture in his eyes after Nate's taken his hand.

"I passed by a tent serving Antivan food earlier, all bright colors and so many lanterns it even shines in daylight. It smelled fantastic. You can take me there, Serah." It's like a story, the handsome archer winning a date with the fair mai--ge, they may as well go somewhere that's equally story-like in appearance. Plus Anders adores the spice of Antivan food and knows Nate does too.

The man in line nods his approval and Anders has to smile at him too. This is nice, being another face in the crowd to everyone except Nathaniel.

"And you may call me Theo. You needn't bother with serah when we're on a date." It's a better name to be called than Detlef, at least.

All he needed, really, was sufficient motivation to make the ring toss. Motivation to play this role, and to not have to pay for dinner for everyone behind him.

He moves out of the way of the person in line behind him, still holding Anders' hand.

"Theo," he repeats. "My name is Nathaniel. Show me to the tent, and I will make good on our bet."

His hand belongs in Nate's. There may be no country that wants him, no location he can call home anymore, but he doesn't need that when he has this. Anders gives Nate's hand a subtle squeeze as he leads the way through the crowds toward the tent.

"I hope you like flavor, because this is where you'll find a great deal of it." No jokes about Fereldan food follow; they're not suitable for a first date. Probably. "If you'd chosen the food, Nathaniel, what would you have gone for? What... tastes do you have?"

That's also probably not suitable for most first dates, but it's absolutely how he feels theirs should go. He's always been a flirt.

"In food?" Nathaniel has to step back and think how he would have answered this if this was the first time he met someone. And he smiles. "Well, I'm Fereldan, so I have a weakness for good meat, good fat, and crispy crust. But I also love foreign spice. Foreign excitement. If I could blend hearty tradition with spicy excitement, I would."

Okay that's not just food.

Considering how much of his life he's spent in Ferelden, Anders isn't sure he counts as foreign anymore. But he's absolutely going to take 'foreign spicy excitement' and pair it with Nate's hearty tradition and steadfastness.

"There must be a way to do that." They're guided to a table with a beautiful scarlet and blue table runner and several candles. There isn't a shadow to be seen.

"A good herb bread, hot, fresh, there's nothing that can beat that for aroma or flavor. Pair that with a spicy sausage dish from the Anderfels, with a good gravy, and you've an excellent blend right there."

It takes great work to keep his expression simply warm and not all-out mischievous. They're just talking about food here. The server, as if on cue, brings a basket of breadsticks to their table and Anders takes one casually.

"But that's not to disparage what they serve here, look." A server is bringing dishes to a nearby table and Anders can see exactly what he wants, pasta in a sauce with peppers and shrimp. "See anything you like?"

Nathaniel breaks open a breadstick and watches the steam roll upward from its chasm. Noodles look, and sound, incredible right now. Noodles and gravy and meat. He sees someone else eating something like it and decides.

"That dish." He points. "With the gravy and cream. I want to put pepper all over it and dip bread in it."

And that is all it would really take, in this fresh, exciting roleplay of theirs. It occurs to him that this is a fascinating way for them to learn new things about each other, and share things they never previously considered sharing.

Pepper all over it and dip bread in it. He's fairly certain that's about the actual food itself, and not innuendo. It's something about Nate's tastes he'd not known before.

They'd skipped a few steps in the getting-to-know-you process, he realizes on reflection. Most Wardens did - you kept your distance until after the Joining in case they didn't make it, and then you were fighting Darkspawn.

The server takes their order and Anders turns his attention back to Nate, head slightly tilted as he takes in the man across from him. How does a date go when you're not already sleeping with the person you're spending time with? "If you'd the option of doing anything, no obligations, no ties, what would you be doing, Nathaniel?"

Honor and duty are huge in Nate's life, and Anders too. But what if Nate wasn't focused on those three?

That...is a question Nathaniel has never considered. He looks away, rubbing his hands together absently, and tries to speak his thoughts aloud.

"I grew up hearing war stories from my father," he says softly. "I always knew I'd be a warrior like him. I wanted to be just like him. Rather ill-advised of me, back then, but I never considered anything else all my life. And as the eldest, I knew I would be an arl. Of course I never became that, because of politics, but if I had to pick a trade?"

He trails off. Now it's going to bother him. He has told Anders he wants a home and a family, but how exactly was he going to provide for that family and home? He can shoot well, his squireship focused on fighting, but what about a trade that could support a family without risking his involvement with them? What has his plan been, all this time, for some distant eventuality where he can retire as a Grey Warden? All these dreams he and Anders have muttered to each other for an ideal future, and now that it's starting to look vaguely plausible, does he have any ability to make it happen?

The silence has gone on too long. Nathaniel's brow furrows.

Nate... doesn't have a dream. Anders studies Nate's face with growing sadness. The Templars had taken so much from him, but he still had his dream of a fire, a partner, cats, and his lightning. Nate doesn't have that.

In Kirkwall he'd already have Nate wrapped in a hug. But this is Theo and Nathaniel, not Anders and Nate. Slowly he reaches out, resting his fingertips on Nate's hand.

"It's time to make your own dreams, if you'll take my advice. Not simply a trade. What you want. The future of Thedas is changing and there may be so many more possibilities than anyone could have dreamed of a few years back. You're not a warrior, you're an archer skilled enough to compete here, and maybe it's time you think to your strengths rather than what you are not."

He loves the man in front of him so much. He wishes the man in front of him loved himself the same way.

Nathaniel meets his husband's eyes, turns his hand up to capture the one touching his, and realizes war is not enough of a trade. If he is going to want this dream Anders has spun for him, of adopting an orphan and having some little house in the country, he is going to have to do better than dreams.

"My brother-in-law is a grocer," he says. "I could get a job with him. Or perhaps I could pull a few strings, get myself a title of Bann, build some properties on my land and collect taxes."

Barely he refrains from saying 'oh, love,' just barely.

"That's practical, Nathaniel. Grocer, taxes..." He holds Nate's hand back, giving it a little squeeze. "There's always those considerations, no one is free of them, I'll likely be making and selling potions and healing until all my hair's fallen out, but that will fund my dream. It isn't the whole of it."

Maybe he's pushing too much. Nate's always been the practical optimist, with Anders writing and talking about a better future.

"Do you enjoy building? Is building out land something you'd like?" He doesn't have to settle. Nate shouldn't either. They can have their future and a child and freedom and everything, because Nate deserves it and Anders selfishly wants it.

Nathaniel shakes his head softly. And as Anders speaks, he comes to the realization.

"My dream is people. Theo. People to love. I don't care how I get there."

And it's true. He will farm, he will build, he will...groce? Whatever it is, he will do it to have his husband, his children, whatever it takes. He squeezes that slender hand and smiles.

"Really. The work I do to make it possible could be anything. I don't care what it is. I've worked hard for this long. Going forward, I only care about a family."

About you.

Edited 2018-06-01 00:08 (UTC)

His expression breaks into a smile, soft and so very pleased. A family. Them. He is Nate's dream, and a child too by the sounds of it, and he's too happy for words for several moments.

"Your dream is beautiful," Anders finally says in a volume that's little more than a whisper. "You're beautiful. Those who wind up being your family will be the luckiest people in Thedas."

Nate is the best thing to ever happen to him. So much had gone wrong in his life, but this right here is good and amazing and right.

"It's something I want too, on my little list of things I want. I've always wanted a family." Maybe not consciously, but loneliness had been a constant, agonizing ache that sleeping around hadn't eased for more than a moment. Now that he's lost so much he knows the value of it, knows how much he needs it. "I'd call you perfect except I'm fairly certain that's skipping over a lot of steps in a date and I want to walk up the steps instead of fade-stepping them." Again.

Nathaniel supposes fade-stepping is some mage trick that makes regular walking very fast. It doesn't matter. He knows exactly what Anders means--this is a good exercise for them, talking about basic things they felt too close to talk about. He smiles.

"You seem like you're worth making those little steps for twice over." He runs his thumb over Anders' knuckles. "What about you? What is your dream?"

He meets Nathaniel's gaze and holds it. You, he thinks but cannot say.

"A family, loving partner, at least one child. Freedom. Somewhere warm, be it a warm climate or somewhere that has a good fireplace. At least one cat. The right to fling lightning or fire at those who would take any of those away from me. That's what I want. A life that can't be taken away by Chantry or Circle or Templars. I thought all of that impossible for so long, but in the last two years I've started to believe there might be a chance."

His smile turns wry as he looks at their joined hands. "Hope was never my strength. I've been a pessimist for so long, so much has gone wrong." There are times he's still scared, times he wakes up in terror in the middle of the night before the weight of Nate's arms around him sink in. "The little steps scared me for just as long as I thought maybe I didn't have the time for them. But now maybe I do."

Nathaniel has the feeling that this is just as important a step in their marriage as the one they took when they decided to marry. He squeezes Anders' hand, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Let's make those steps, then. Make them as if we have all the time in the world. It's worth doing this slowly and thoroughly. Learning each other completely."

A beat.

"That sounded really dirty, didn't it?"

He snickers, mischief sparkling in his eyes. His voice drops down to a whisper as he leans in.

"It did. We could make it dirty. We've already made a mess of the order, we could mix the dirty thorough with the clean. Trade stories we've not shared, secrets, things we haven't talked about before, between... rounds."

It's absolutely Anders speaking and not Theo, not the identity he'd tried so hard to make a real thing. Spying and sneaking is not his skill set.

Nathaniel is forty-two years old and over a year married and his husband is still referring to rounds with him. He thinks that's a good sign. His thumb runs across Anders' knuckles again and he beams.

"Later. I like this. I like just...talking in public. Invisible in a crowd. Two ordinary men with all the time in the world."

He has loved this journey with Anders, but it has gone fast. They've had to seize moments as they've come. This fantasy of the luxury of time is one that can't be rushed.

Ordinary and taking things slow. Anders nods, smile getting a little shy. Going at things full speed has been the story of his life because there hadn't been any time. Not in the Circle, not on the run, not in Kirkwall. Now they have a little. He's glad Nate's keeping them from squandering this moment.

"I like Howe you think, Nathaniel," he says in a very self-satisfied voice. Nate can't return the pun right now; it's all Anders' to use as he wills it.

The waiter returns with their ordered food and Anders thanks him and starts unrolling his silverware one-handed. There's no way he's about to let go of Nate's hand. This is nice and there's been precious little in his life when he's had something nice.

That moment, that brief window where Anders' smile turns a little shy, it's precious and new to Nathaniel. He hasn't ever seen that look on him, and it's adorable. During that moment, Anders gets to see a flash of an unguarded, smitten look on Nathaniel's face before things turn a little more familiar and Nathaniel smiles. There are some surprises they have left after all.

As they start to eat, Nathaniel tries to think of first-date questions. He has never done this dance, having been so opposed to relationships in his own life, for fear of becoming his parents. Now, there is no need to sabotage himself. He gets a fresh start, a chance to court Anders properly.

"What's your favorite food?" It's a little lame, but he's actually curious. They've skipped so many steps.

Nothing matches that look on Nate's face that's there and gone, a declaration of love as clearly as if his husband had shouted it from the rooftops. It sends a warm thrill through him as he squeezes Nate's hand and ponders the questions.

"I... Um. I'm still trying a lot of things." This is where he'd normally joke about all the 'things' he's tried, but Anders holds back that instinct. "Heat reminds me of home, a little, I think. Or maybe I just enjoy it and tell myself that's why. Mm." He shrugs. "Blueberries, maybe, as I can't pick a particular pepper. Fresh blueberries."

He's satisfied with that answer, more or less. "Would you prefer to be too hot or too cold?" This is the time for the little things, the filling-in-the-blanks that he maybe should otherwise know.

Nathaniel appears to waffle a bit, because it is a bit hard to compare, in his mind.

"If it's a dry heat, too hot. If it's humid, too cold. So long as I can keep spare dry socks in my pocket." He twirls noodles around his fork. "If you had the time and money, what hobbies would you keep?"

"I'd foster." It's not really a hobby, but there's no hesitation to his answer. "Mage children, unwanted by their families, I'd take them in and teach them and make sure they'd somewhere safe. They deserve a chance to be loved for all that they are and to know a family. ...But I'd also have a set of rooms for research. I think there's so much more that we can do with magic, with ailments, injuries, and the like, but there's always been limits on how much the Circles would let someone research. Now the path's open to more."

He speaks with a passion that matches how he speaks about freedom and equality - magic has so much potential to better the world. Letting mages have lives has risks, but it also has so many potential benefits.

"I'd... also not mind having a few other animals. A pair of cows for milk, chickens for eggs, things like that. When I was younger I resented having to take care of the cows, but I'll tell you something I've told no one else: I miss tending to them. A little. Have you ever had animals? Other than the requisite dogs mabari whatnot, everything about you says Fereldan."

Edited 2018-06-13 22:30 (UTC)

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MOD PLOT: NOT ALONE DO WE STAND, PART 1

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