heaven, a gateway, a hope

[byblow]

WHO: Grey Wardens & You
WHAT: A daring and not at all ragtag group of Grey Wardens has walked all the way across Orlais to inform the Inquisition--just in case it hadn't already realized on its own--that everything is terrible.
WHEN: Harvestmere 22
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: This post has: (1) A single group "we just got here, we're freezing, who is in charge, what do you mean you haven't decided yet" starter that we'd like to keep to one chronological thread. (2) Open starters for individual Wardens set later in the day/week.

OOC Note: Regarding the first starter--threadjack away! Anyone is welcome to wander onto the scene to see what's going on and wander back out at their leisure, to fall silent for a while, etc. No tagging order. But let slower taggers get a word in edgewise!

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Guess what time it is? Stannis' opinion | battlements

[theonly]

He had come to stand on the battlements -- watching the people in the courtyard as they retire, looking out to the scenery beyond the stone walls and wondering what it would be to see an army appear. But he pauses in his watching at the humming. His mouth curved into more of a frown as he turned to look at the one walking by.

For his credit, his eyebrows only rose rather than his voice. But he wondered how long that would last. Stannis had never met Alistair, but knew of him, of his looks. His parents supported the claim Maricopa had to the throne for what little good it did as they died before they saw him take it.

A breath in before he addressed the man. "Your Grace." Yes, he knew who was king and that he had disappeared. That left the throne to the duty of the Grey Warden before him.

[byblow]

Your Grace at first rolls off Alistair's shoulders, as easily as if he'd been called Alfred or Gruwp or any other assortment of syllables that do not actually apply to him. His instinct is to let people call him whatever they like, if they forget his name or don't know it, and not to embarrass anyone who mistakes him for someone else.

So he says, "All quiet out--"

And then realizes.

"Oh, Maker," he says, more quietly, already exasperated. "Don't do that. It's probably treason."

[theonly]

"You are the rightful heir to the throne." The amount of people who bled to ensure that Prince Maric became king -- Stannis need not get into that old story. He takes a breath in first. There is no silver that he speaks, but he should not start out so harsh with his king. "As such, it is not treason."

No one knows where Warden Cousland is and with him missing for more than six months, something must be done. "Our queen is doing well and I believe in her, but she needs support against what she must carry alone." He cannot know where the Warden has gone and uncertain if the absence will do anything to help with their current plight. Prayer has never been a friend to him and while he may live in hope, he would rather there be something real to hold onto.

"So, Your Grace, I believe we must turn to you."

[byblow]

There are a lot of things to argue about, in what Stannis has just said. A whole list of things. Alistair is making one in his head right now, while he stands here with his arms crossed, squinting at the man through the dark with the wind blowing directly into his face and turning his kingly nose an unkingly red.

But first: "Right. Okay. Can I order you to stop calling me that? Isn't that how this works?" he says. "How it works in your head, I mean, Ser--?" Ser What.

[theonly]

"Knight-Commander Stannis Baratheon."

For good or ill, he shall hold onto his title even as the Order has fallen. He refuses to admit that it has dissolved, that it has faded to nothing. Do they need the permission of others to exist? Those that have made the Templar wish to unmake with a word? Those that are part that would become nothing but deserters and renegades? They never were of the Order and he refuses to acknowledge them as anything but heads soon to be upon pikes. But he keeps himself from saying all of that, he instead returns to the matter at hand rather than the matter surrounding the Order.

"You can order me to do anything when you are willing to admit yourself the rightful heir and King of Ferelden." A beat. "That is how it works in my head as it should work in yours."

[byblow]

Oh, Knight-Commander, Alistair does not say, because at thirty-one he's very, very slightly too mature for that sort of thing, but he does think it, and his already-skeptical face settles that much deeper into skepticism. The good news is that there's no room left for it to get even more skeptical as Baratheon continues talking. He's at maximum skepticism levels.

He holds up a finger. One. "There's no actual proof that anyone in particular was my father. Prince Cousland looked." Another finger; two. "I abdicated, unconditionally, in front of a lot of witnesses." Three. "If you keep on, Queen Anora will come eat me as a light appetizer before moving on to you. And rightly so. She's done a wonderful job."

[theonly]

"She is doing a wonderful job, but she could use some more support." His arms open to make a gesture toward the Inquisition, but they cannot show full favoritism to her, can they? "There is concern about the disappearance of Prince Cousland. He has been gone with no word for too long a time." He stares at Alistair as he allows some silence to follow, like he expects the man to give up some information that no one else has.

"Abdicated or not, there are those of the realm still see you as the rightful heir." His shoulders shrug as he looks out towards the courtyard. "I have not had one word to say against our present king. Because he is the law and he has done right by the people. He's not doing right by them now. He cannot act as a Warden and disappear... hope and faith carries a person so far."

Stannis sneers at the word 'faith', feeling like it taste wrong in his mouth, but he continues. "They need a face beyond that of Queen Anora's to show that things are unified and in control. While she is capable, while she is doing all she can and succeeding in what she can, his absence cannot be ignored. And that, Your Grace, is where you must do your duty for the realm and people."

[byblow]

"Look," Alistair says. "Knight-Commander." There's only a little rebellious distaste toward the title there. A very little. Italics might even be overstating it--but there is distaste, if one is listening closely enough. "I don't know anything about politics, I'll give you that. That's why I'm here doing Warden things, and Anora is in Denerim doing Queen things."

Cousland, he imagines, is somewhere doing asshole things.

"But even if you're right." He's not. "If Anora wouldn't lock me in a tower or cut off my head if I showed up at the Palace to 'help' her." She would. "If I wouldn't wind up spilling soup on the Empress' toes and starting a war with Orlais first chance I got." He would. "It doesn't matter, because I'm probably dying soon."

It can't be called a secret anymore--not here in Skyhold, anyway. They haven't announced the details of the Calling and the taint and the Wardens' planned suicide march from ramparts, yet, but enough people know that Alistair suspects some patchy, exaggerated version of the truth will have made the full rounds by lunchtime tomorrow.

"So." He leans his shoulder against the nearest marlon. "Forget orders. What if it's the wish of a dying man that you stop calling me your Grace?" Is he fixating? Maybe, a little. But this is very important. He doesn't want to have to start a rumor that Knight-Commander Baratheon is lyrium-addled or high on blood lotus, if it's avoidable. "Does that change anything?"

[theonly]

He, at least, listens to what Alistair has to say patiently upon hearing his title spoken. There is an obvious tightening of his jaw as the area just underneath one of his eyes twitches to barely conceal his anger. He sucks on his teeth -- not loud enough to cover up the words, but enough to show his annoyance for them. And so when one says he listened patiently, it is more that he did not immediately interrupt the man from carrying on.

Stannis only stops at the comment of 'death.' His head -- which had started to drop down like he may lunge forward to strangle the man and drag him to Denerium to sit upon the throne -- lifts. He blinks a few times at the very idea that Alistair may be "dying soon." Eyebrows come together, the annoyance slips away to something of confusion which may have been almost comical at how quickly the expression shifts. "That can't be. I know little of the Wardens, but ... even with my limited knowledge, that's too soon."

There is a brief look he gives Alistair like he believes the man to be lying to get out of being king, but he observes the other's face for a second more. Stannis lets out a sigh. "If it is the wish of a dying man, I would have to honor it for the service that you've done for Thedas and ignore your lack of character for being unable to sit upon the throne like you should." If that is all that he is being asked to do, he supposes that Alistair can avoid being king to order him not to call him Your Grace. "How long do you have?"

[byblow]

Alistair is incredibly grateful to not be lunged at by any Knight-Commanders for any purpose, and equally grateful that Stannis agrees to stop with the Your Grace thing. He has never been so grateful for anything in his life. (That's a lie.) And that gratitude is enough for him to ignore the lack of character jab--not that he would have argued. He would have agreed, at length, with examples. But agreeing seems like the sort of thing that might get him lunged at and strangled.

"Hard to say," he says instead. "Strange times we're living in. You noticed the darkspawn Magister at Haven, right? There was a darkspawn Magister? That's what I heard."

While he's babbling, he considers Stannis. Being excused from the crown and fancy titles, however grudgingly, makes him--not endeared, but slightly open to the possibility. Being insulted has always been the second-quickest way to his heart, after food.

"You didn't know Maric, did you?"

[theonly]

"I was not at Haven, but I have heard the same tale. I wasn't certain of the truth of it." The very idea of a darkspawn Magister is all but -- he closes his eyes as he feels the wrinkles on his forehead deepening. It is as though people would combine two words to make some monster. But he has heard the tale enough to believe its words, and from those that he can trust. "But there is also an Archdemon, apparently. Let us not skip of the details of the horrors that await us."

Stannis allows himself to give a tired look to Alistair at the question if he knew Maric. Does he look like he is so aged? But somehow, he holds his tongue this time as he shakes his head. "I've never met him, but my parents supported his claim." His head drops to answer any further question about what has happened to them. "I continue to honor their wishes to ask a Theirin to sit upon the throne, but we've already discussed why that may be impossible."

A beat. "We cannot all look so healthy and unweathered by the Fifth Blight."

[byblow]

"What, do you want to trade?" Alistair says, as if he'd give up being a Warden for anything. He wouldn't. Even now.

And he doesn't think Stannis that old, really. Someone wouldn't have to be much older than Alistair to have known Maric. Alistair could have known Maric, if Maric had deigned in their fifteen years of overlapping life (that Alistair knows of) to ever stop by and say hello, introduce himself, maybe even pat Alistair on his emotionally needy head.

"It's good of your parents to have told you what they wanted," he says, on that note, "or to have, you know. Spoken to you. Ever." Once the words leave his mouth he can hear how childish they are. He looks out at the dark mountains instead of at the Knight-Commander. "But if you wanted a Theirin on the throne, you should take your complaints up with Loghain Mac Tir. I could send him a letter for you."

[theonly]

"No. I don't trust you to be able to do what needs to be done to fix the Templar Order." Because there is much that needs to be done in order to repair the damage the few have done to the many. The reason for their existence has been forgotten in the wake of the rebellion, in the wake of Kirkwall.

"They only parted a few words with me. It was enough to know what my duty was to my household." Like the marriage with an Orlesian woman. He lets out a sigh as he realizes what a poor king that Alistair would make even though he is the rightful heir. The wounds they have toward their parents scarred them differently, and there is no reason to pick at them now. "I would rather that his head be sent to those that he left to die. To rot in the square of the city that he was supposed to protect."

Perhaps, that is not a gift that anyone would want. He continues, "But my complaints will be taken up when the Darkspawn in the Deep Roads and I can live with that." It is a fitting end but he would have killed Loghain rather than let the man live. Stannis frowns all the more as he feels Prince Cousland to be far too merciful at times. "And, I feel you, too, would make the sort of king that would pardon too many fools who are undeserving."