peopleofthedas | Blood Wound

Title: There's a distinct lack of humour in that place...
Words: 1545
Characters: Alim, Alistair
Summary: Bros havin' a chat by the fire.

Alim would have avoided the question if he could, but this was Alistair. And not the Alistair from three years ago, who would have stuttered and looked down, told him not to bother answering, but the Alistair he had spent time trying to bring to the surface from the moment outside Redcliffe he’d told him he was Maric’s son. This Alistair knew how to read people - knew how to read Alim better than anyone in the world save Zev.

“He didn’t meet me,” Alim said, finally, heaving a sigh. “We were meant to meet up on the road - in Kirkwall, but he wrote to me in the Anderfels, told me he’d been delayed and to meet him in Antiva instead. When I got to Antiva…”

“No Zev?”

“No Zev.”

His friend fixed him with a sympathetic eye. “Do you know…”

“If he’s alive?” Alim felt the hitch in his voice at the words and he swallowed, looking into the fire. “I don’t. I found no sign of him at all. And I didn’t have the time to search properly… not and fulfill my duty here…”

“Alim, why didn’t you stay? We could have covered for you here.. asked for an Orlesian to take the position, at least until you returned….”

“If I hadn’t come back tonight, Alistair, there’s a very good chance no one would have survived at all.”

“True, but you couldn’t have known this would happen…”

Alim looked at his hands. “Weisshaupt is a hard place, Alistair,” he said. “It’s cold. And lonely. The wardens there aren’t like Duncan - or you and me for that matter. There’s… a distinct lack of humour in that place.” Almost none, in fact. “It’s snowed in half the year, but the darkspawn worry at it like a mabari with a bone. Somehow, they know that Weisshaupt is the seat of the wardens. I fought more darkspawn in one week there than we did anywhere else except the Deep Roads and Denerim in the heart of the horde.” He remembered the bells signaling darkspawn attacks - ringing out every few days, once in the middle of a blizzard when he could barely see his hands in front of his face. Remembered trying desperately to heal a new warden - crushed by an ogre. Like the dwarves in Orzammar, Weisshaupt had no trouble keeping belief in the darkspawn threat alive. “They have records there as well, going back centuries. I spent a very interesting month there. And I learned… I learned there are more important things than me and Zev in this world. Fighting the darkspawn, that’s one of them.”

Alistair was silent, dark eyes taking in his words. He laced his fingers over his chest and heaved a breath. “I should have gone with you,” he said finally.

Alim shook his head. “No, Alistair. You have your duty here. The first warden wasn’t particularly pleased you refused his request, but he understood, in the end. To him, being the King of Ferelden just… isn’t important.”

“Did he say anything… about that I mean?” Alistair asked. “I mean… technically I shouldn’t be allowed…”

Alim smiled. “Well, again… not the definition of happiness. But a stable Ferelden with a King who is sympathetic to the Warden cause isn’t something to scoff at, even for the First Warden. He came around eventually.”

“Good.”

There was a knock at the door and a servant entered, bearing a tray piled high with food as well as a flagon of wine. “The King’s quarters are ready, ser,” the servant said as he set the tray on the table. “They’re the chamber next to this one. Should I take your things…?”

Alistair nodded and waved a hand “Please do,” he said, in a tone that made Alim chuckle, despite his melancholy. “What?” Alistair said.

“Look at you. All… kingly.”

Alistair blushed. “It rubs off on you after a while, truly. And Miranda’s been giving me lessons…”

“How is she?”

Alistair stared into the fire. “She’s well. Very well. There have been a few times she’s… but since Eleanor was born that hasn’t…”

“You know what, Alistair? That’s the least amount of information from the most number of words I’ve ever gotten from you.”

Alistair sighed. “It’s great, really,” he said. “But she’s chafing at being confined for so long. And neither of us is getting much in the way of sleep, either.”

“I suppose being holed up in the palace isn’t fun for her.”

“No. She’s still not a fan of being indoors. But…”

“You can’t blame her,” Alim finished, grimly. “Truly.”

They stayed up for some time, talking and drinking. Alim felt the tension of the past few weeks draining away in the presence of his old friend. No matter what else Alistair was, now, he had always been his brother warden, and he found he was deeply regretting that he could only stay the one night.

The following morning, he stood at the gates to farewell the ruling monarch. “Take care, Alistair,” he said as he shook his hand. “And give my love to Eleanor and Miranda. I hope I’ll be able to visit soon.”

“Miranda has instructed me to tell you if you’re not in Denerim in the next three months she’ll send someone to fetch you herself,” Alistair replied, smiling. Alim watched the contingent go, breathing in cold morning air for a moment before he turned back towards the Keep to find Varel waiting for him.

“Before we do anything else, Commander, there’s an urgent matter we must take care of,”

Alim nodded. “I can guess.”

“Yes. Right now, I know of only one living Warden assigned to all of Ferelden. That should be rectified.”

“Absolutely,” Alim said. “Call the others to the audience chamber. I’ll need to prepare the Joining ritual myself, first. It’ll take me about an hour. Varel, I’ll have to ask you not be present during the ritual….”

“I understand, Commander,” Varel said.

Alim made his way back to his quarters and retrieved the necessary materials from his pack. He had had the remaining archdemon blood that he didn’t give to Weisshaupt shipped to Amaranthine - it would have arrived when the Orlesian wardens were in residence, and Varel said it had been stored securely in a vault near the audience chamber, but he carried his own supply - given the Blight he certainly didn’t want to be in a position where it was impossible to recruit more wardens again. Getting out his herbalism equipment provoked a pang of nostalgia - he really hadn’t had occasion to mix poultices since being on the road and he didn’t imagine he’d get a lot of time to do it from now on in - Anders was accomplished enough in that regard, if he survived the joining he would no doubt ask the blond mage to be their herbalist in residence, at least until they managed to recruit more circle mages.

As he mixed and measured, his mind wandered, thinking of all the things he would have to do, starting with this joining. He was in command again - something he’d never been used to, something he didn’t think he was particularly good at, despite everyone else assuring him to the contrary. He couldn’t help but smile to himself, thinking of all the times he’d been looked at askance - a mage, and an elf, and a warden - what help could he possibly be?

He finished the potion then dressed, carefully, in his new warden commander robes. Weisshaupt were far more sensible when it came to clothing for mages than the Circle were. The skirt was actually short enough for him to run and the robes were heavier, with leather panels to turn aside a dagger as well as enchantments to protect from magic-draining abilities. He sheathed Spellweaver on his back and slung Wintersbreath next to it; it would do to look the part completely for the ritual, someone dangerous and imposing. A quick look in the mirror - a slight, elven man, dressed for battle. He couldn’t help but think he looked like a child playing dress ups - save for the dark circles under his eyes and lines around his mouth that hadn’t been there a year ago. He felt his gloved hand move, almost of its own accord, up towards the earring in his right ear… but he pulled the hand back, turning resolutely towards the door.

Anders, Mhairi and Oghren were waiting, as he had asked. The dwarf and the mage seemed to have hit off a friendship of sorts; they were casually exchanging insults with each other, Oghren sitting on the floor, polishing his axe, while Anders leaned against a pillar, cleaning his fingernails. Only Mhairi paced the hall nervously, her dark head tipped to the floor. He could see her bottom lip was caught between her teeth and he wondered, suddenly, if one of the Orlesian wardens had let slip to her exactly how much danger she was now in.

They all looked up as he entered. Oghren gave a low whistle and Anders nodded, eyebrow raised in interest. Mhairi smiled at him, an open smile full of hope and Alim felt his heart clench.

“We speak only a few words before the joining…” he began, lifting the cup.

Maker help you all.

Blood Wound - Chapter 4

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