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!

Comments

[byblow]

"Hello," Alistair says. (Not "hello," it's important to note. Surprised, a little. Amused, absolutely. Lascivious, no.) His gear is still gone, notably, and possibly still wet, back where he left it; the shirt he's in now is borrowed, dry, and significantly cleaner than the one he was tangled and trapped in last time she saw him.

He saw her, too. The crimson-faced fleeing bits. But don't worry. He'll never tell her so, unless they get to be good enough friends that it's funny instead of mortifying.

"I'm sure we're both to blame," he says, "but I have an excuse: I'm not very good at walking."

[spellwisp]

"That can't possibly be true. You're a Grey Warden!" The Grey Warden, practically. She lived at Kinloch Hold. Stories of his heroics alongside the Hero of Ferelden are flung about frequently. "I'm sure all Grey Wardens are good at walking. It seems like it would be a requirement."

It's then that she realizes she still has her hands on his chest. Which is warm and firm and-- "Oh!" Alfsigr suddenly withdraws as if he were suddenly a hot surface. (Well...) "I'm so sorry. Where is my head?" She makes a quick show of feeling her shoulders and her neck, and laughs. "Oh, good! Still attached!" Haaahahahaha.

[byblow]

Alistair's eyebrows go up at the recognition--it makes sense, he was half-wearing his armor when she saw him, but it's also terribly dark out here--and stay up because of everything else. He doesn't say awww, but his face might get that point across.

"Heads are quite important, I've been told," he says. "Those are a requirement for the Grey Wardens. Walking, not so much. We used to have griffons, so I suppose no one thought the ability to walk was worth fussing over, when they were deciding who would be allowed to join."

[spellwisp]

"It's been an awful long time since the griffons disappeared, though," Alfsigr reasons, head tilting to one side as she considers the situation. "A higher priority should be placed on an ability to walk by now, I would think." It's hard to tell if she's being serious or not. Judging from her earlier joke about making sure her head was still attached, she should be kidding. She just seems so earnest, though.

"I'm Alfsigr, by the way. I come from the Circle of Magi in Ferelden. They still tell stories of the heroism of the Wardens in the tower." A frown dampens her enthusiasm, but only a little. "Or they did, before the rebellion."

[byblow]

"That's no excuse," Alistair says. "There's always time for stories of Warden heroism. I don't care if you have to tell them a few words at a time in between spells--you can manage it."

It isn't hard to tell at all that he isn't being serious. He's really more humble than that, too. But he's had enough frowning for one day.

"It's nice to meet you, Alfsigr. I'm Alistair." He doesn't know she knows. "I visited your Circle once, but if you were there, you must have been--" He doesn't guess at ages, but he does hold out a hand, roughly around his hip, to indicate an approximate height.

[spellwisp]

"I was still with my clan then. I didn't come to the Circle until after the Hero ended the Blight. And you, of course." Lest she be seen as not giving credit where it's due. "I understand you played a big role in that, Warden Alistair. We owe you much."

Alfsigr's hands come together in front of her, fidgety. "Being a Warden must be such a thankless job, so... Thank you."

[byblow]

Alistair waves a dismissive hand, in a perfunctory and very manly way. "You'd think that," he says, "but really, between Blights all we do is sit around thanking ourselves for our sacrifice. It more than balances out all the name-calling we get elsewhere."

But, wait.

"Your clan?"

[spellwisp]

The girl laughs quietly, but genuinely. He's quite different from what she imagined a Grey Warden to be. But that's a little unfair, isn't it? It isn't like there's any one type of any faction of person, after all.

Case in point, he seems to be confused when she drops that tidbit of information about herself. She's so used to her life in the Circle, surrounded by people who already know her background, that she'd forgotten that people used to be surprised to hear she'd been raised among the Dalish. "Ah, yes. My mother was Dalish. Still is, I suppose, but I've not seen her since I was very small." That could sound self-pitying, but coming from her it sounds like a light-hearted statement of fact. It just is.