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peopleofthedas2011-05-22 06:58 pm
bamftastik) wrote in peopleofthedas2011-05-22 06:58 pm
No More Heroes, Chapter 16
(Really just setting up the next chapter, but Oghren dialogue is oodles of fun. Oodles, I say!)
Title: No More Heroes, Chapter 16
Characters: Oghren, Alistair, Morrigan
Rating: T
Words: 1,650
Summary: Oghren teaches Alistair a thing or two about how to be a proper drunk. Morrigan does something surprisingly heroic, though no one stops to wonder how.
Previous Chapters
Splintered boards groaned beneath his feet as he made his way into the barn. The place had been ruined before they got here, the north wall half collapsed and blackened by some bloody unnatural flame. It still stood, though, and the rear of the building was sturdy enough. Their own men had scavenged anything that wasn't nailed down, breaking up the animal stalls to use the planks for fires or barricades, sweeping the rushes from the floor to build sleeping pallets in the tunnels below. They'd seen no reason to come back since.
The ladder half-hidden in the gloom was bolted securely to the floor and too old and rotted to be of much use to anyone. It was splintered, some of the rungs missing altogether. The second from the bottom was broken clean through – that was new. Raising his face to the loft above, he took a deep sniff. Heh. No mistaking a smell like that.
Oghren snorted a laugh. "You gonna come down, or do I have to climb up there after ya?"
There was a shuffle and a thump. A moment later a pair of bleary eyes peeked over the loft's edge beneath a tangle of disheveled hair. "Go away."
"That any way to speak to one of yer fellow Grey Wardens?"
Alistair groaned. "You're not a Warden. Not yet."
"Aye, but I can still come up there and kick you over the edge, bum leg or not." He chuckled. "I've tried to sleep off my fair share of bad ideas. Better if you just get up and get on with it. Trust me."
Alistair blinked down at him. With a sigh, he pushed himself up, his steps ringing heavy as he found his way back to the ladder. He seemed to remember then, pausing a moment to scoop up his bottles. "If I throw these down, will you catch them?"
"Can't promise nothin'."
The first was just beyond his reach, but Oghren caught it with a lunge. The second sent him stumbling in the other direction, cursing his leg and the third he missed altogether, wincing as it shattered. There was no excuse for wasting good ale.
But Alistair was making his way down the ladder now. He lost his footing near the bottom, stumbling the rest of the way. Oghren cradled the bottles in one arm and caught the Warden with the other.
"This some test of Grey Warden dexterity?"
Alistair slid to his knees, letting Oghren lower him to the floor. "Maker's breath, but I'm useless."
"Yer drunk."
"And I can't even manage that. You..." He waggled an accusing finger in Oghren's face. "You made it look easy."
"Heh." Curling his leg stiffly beneath him, Oghren sat beside Alistair and studied one of the bottles. "I was damn good at it, wasn't I?"
"And at the belching. And the not-bathing. And the pissing in strange places."
"Those were the days." He tilted his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "Yer Warden – she could hold her own too. Not drinkin' my brew, but no one can. You remember the time she tried it? That night at camp?"
Alistair almost smiled with him, though he tried his best to hide it. "Yes."
"Fell right back on her arse, she did. And bowed before my prowess right and proper when she woke." He trailed off, looking toward the shadowed walls. "Figured if she could survive that, she could survive anything."
Alistair hung his head. "Is that why you stopped? Gave up drinking?"
"Hah! Not soddin' likely!" But it sounded hollow, even to him. "I stopped 'cause there was nothing to drink. Even I'd run out. And then when we found a few crates here… but I guess I was just used to it by then." He rubbed at his leg, felt the deep ache rush up to meet his fingers.
"Used to what?"
Oghren raised his eyes to his. "The pain. Felt I deserved it, I guess. For survivin'. Heh. Sounds silly to say it out loud, don't it?"
"Not really." With a sympathetic nod, Alistair made as if to take the bottle from his hands.
Oghren swatted him away. He turned the thing round, chuckling to himself. After a long moment, he smiled, throwing back his head to take a long pull.
"What are you doing?"
Wiping a hand through his beard, Oghren smacked his lips. "Not bad. Not bad. Seems to me, we all have our parts to play. Only it's gotten confused."
"Meaning...?" Alistair reached across him for the second bottle, but Oghren shifted to block his way.
"Meanin', you're right. You're a shit drunk." He belched, breaking into a grin. "Whereas I've got a natural talent. And a party only needs one great, soddin' embarrassment."
"What about me?"
"You be the hero, like you were meant to."
"That wasn't me." Alistair slumped, curling his knees to his chest. "It was never supposed to be me."
"Then what are we all doin' here? Might as well just line up and wait for the archdemon to swallow us, huh?"
He snorted. "Fine. But there's no rule that says the hero can't have a drink." Again, he lunged but Oghren cradled both bottles to his chest, taking a sip from each. Alistair pouted. "You can't drink all of it."
"Wanna bet? An' maybe it's not the most noble contribution, but I'll drink up every drop in this camp, if only so you can't." He roared with laughter at that.
Strangely enough, Alistair smiled. He looked almost relieved as he settled back beside him. "How did you know where I was, anyway?"
"The elf said he saw you headin' this way."
"Nosy bastard."
"Hah! Among other things."
A crash echoed like the shot of a great bolt, rattling the walls around them. Alistair was on his feet, darting for the door, but he came back when Oghren didn't follow. His leg had gone stiff, but the heat was in his veins again and it felt better, all things considered. He waved him away, pushing himself awkwardly to his feet.
"Go, go, I'm comin'!" He stuffed the bottles into his pouch and followed.
The morning sun was glaring when he ducked back through the fallen wall, one hand moving to shield his eyes as he cursed. Something had slammed hard into the barn's roof and it lay now in the field, a long trail of grass flattened where it had skidded. Alistair had almost reached the thing, but he spun away as if burned.
"What is it?" Oghren puffed, closing the distance. But it was to Alistair that he looked, standing facing away with his eyes pinched shut. When he saw what was on the ground behind him, Oghren gaped. "Stone, boy! She could be hurt!"
Morrigan lay in a tangled heap, not a stitch on her. But Oghren barely had time to register her nakedness before the witch pushed up on an elbow with a shuddering sigh. "I am fine enough."
"Oh, you're fine. Fine! Naked and bloody and up on the roof doing Maker knows what!" Alistair glanced over his shoulder, but turned away again with a hiss.
"I was not on the roof. I simply... misjudged."
"So you were – what? – flying around on your broomstick? Doing some other dark ritual?"
Morrigan was on her feet now. She moved to stand in front of Alistair, but he kept his eyes firmly on the ground.
Ripping the tattered cloak from his back, he pushed it into her arms. "Here... just... here." As she settled it around her shoulders, he raised his eyes. "Maker's breath, what happened to you?"
Her lip was bloodied, hair matted and tangled, her arms covered with long scratches, but still she stood proud and glaring. "It is no business of yours."
A flush was creeping into his cheeks. "Is this because I... because I wouldn't...?"
"Such a high opinion of yourself." Morrigan sneered, wrinkling her nose as she studied him. "Any woman spurned by such a prize would surely weep and rush headlong to her death in her despair."
"It certainly looks like you tried."
She scoffed, opening her palm to reveal something that Oghren couldn't see. But the look that passed between the two was enough. "Wait... you tried to bed him?"
"Be silent, dwarf."
"And you. You turned her down?" He doubled over with laughter.
"That's not... it's not what you think." Cheeks flaring, Alistair snatched the thing from Morrigan's palm, holding it up to the light. It was a small vial, the contents sloshing slow and black. "Maker..."
Morrigan watched him through narrowed eyes. "And what do you think, Warden?"
"Is this...? How did you...? You're mad, absolutely mad!"
"Lemme see." Oghren reached up and plucked it from between his fingers.
"Be careful, dwarf. You hold your doom."
"Eh?"
Morrigan folded her arms, hugging the cloak tighter around her, but it was to Alistair that she looked. "You may have your Joining."
His lips worked soundless as he shook his head in disbelief. "The blood of an archdemon? Where did you get it?"
She sighed exasperated, rolling her eyes toward the city.
"So you just walked up to it, is that it? Asked if we could borrow some of its blood?"
" Are you truly so thick? Do you practice at it? A scratch was all it took. I was there and gone before I could be noticed."
"But it did notice, didn't it?" Oghren poked a finger at her arm and she winced.
"And then you fell out of the sky." Alistair took back the vial, but he held it at arm's length, as though afraid to touch it. "I said I didn't need your help."
"That is one opinion."
"And now the archdemon knows we're coming."
Morrigan turned away, striding back toward the farmhouse, proud as a queen despite the bruises and borrowed cloak. "Then you had best be quick about it."
Title: No More Heroes, Chapter 16
Characters: Oghren, Alistair, Morrigan
Rating: T
Words: 1,650
Summary: Oghren teaches Alistair a thing or two about how to be a proper drunk. Morrigan does something surprisingly heroic, though no one stops to wonder how.
Previous Chapters
Splintered boards groaned beneath his feet as he made his way into the barn. The place had been ruined before they got here, the north wall half collapsed and blackened by some bloody unnatural flame. It still stood, though, and the rear of the building was sturdy enough. Their own men had scavenged anything that wasn't nailed down, breaking up the animal stalls to use the planks for fires or barricades, sweeping the rushes from the floor to build sleeping pallets in the tunnels below. They'd seen no reason to come back since.
The ladder half-hidden in the gloom was bolted securely to the floor and too old and rotted to be of much use to anyone. It was splintered, some of the rungs missing altogether. The second from the bottom was broken clean through – that was new. Raising his face to the loft above, he took a deep sniff. Heh. No mistaking a smell like that.
Oghren snorted a laugh. "You gonna come down, or do I have to climb up there after ya?"
There was a shuffle and a thump. A moment later a pair of bleary eyes peeked over the loft's edge beneath a tangle of disheveled hair. "Go away."
"That any way to speak to one of yer fellow Grey Wardens?"
Alistair groaned. "You're not a Warden. Not yet."
"Aye, but I can still come up there and kick you over the edge, bum leg or not." He chuckled. "I've tried to sleep off my fair share of bad ideas. Better if you just get up and get on with it. Trust me."
Alistair blinked down at him. With a sigh, he pushed himself up, his steps ringing heavy as he found his way back to the ladder. He seemed to remember then, pausing a moment to scoop up his bottles. "If I throw these down, will you catch them?"
"Can't promise nothin'."
The first was just beyond his reach, but Oghren caught it with a lunge. The second sent him stumbling in the other direction, cursing his leg and the third he missed altogether, wincing as it shattered. There was no excuse for wasting good ale.
But Alistair was making his way down the ladder now. He lost his footing near the bottom, stumbling the rest of the way. Oghren cradled the bottles in one arm and caught the Warden with the other.
"This some test of Grey Warden dexterity?"
Alistair slid to his knees, letting Oghren lower him to the floor. "Maker's breath, but I'm useless."
"Yer drunk."
"And I can't even manage that. You..." He waggled an accusing finger in Oghren's face. "You made it look easy."
"Heh." Curling his leg stiffly beneath him, Oghren sat beside Alistair and studied one of the bottles. "I was damn good at it, wasn't I?"
"And at the belching. And the not-bathing. And the pissing in strange places."
"Those were the days." He tilted his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "Yer Warden – she could hold her own too. Not drinkin' my brew, but no one can. You remember the time she tried it? That night at camp?"
Alistair almost smiled with him, though he tried his best to hide it. "Yes."
"Fell right back on her arse, she did. And bowed before my prowess right and proper when she woke." He trailed off, looking toward the shadowed walls. "Figured if she could survive that, she could survive anything."
Alistair hung his head. "Is that why you stopped? Gave up drinking?"
"Hah! Not soddin' likely!" But it sounded hollow, even to him. "I stopped 'cause there was nothing to drink. Even I'd run out. And then when we found a few crates here… but I guess I was just used to it by then." He rubbed at his leg, felt the deep ache rush up to meet his fingers.
"Used to what?"
Oghren raised his eyes to his. "The pain. Felt I deserved it, I guess. For survivin'. Heh. Sounds silly to say it out loud, don't it?"
"Not really." With a sympathetic nod, Alistair made as if to take the bottle from his hands.
Oghren swatted him away. He turned the thing round, chuckling to himself. After a long moment, he smiled, throwing back his head to take a long pull.
"What are you doing?"
Wiping a hand through his beard, Oghren smacked his lips. "Not bad. Not bad. Seems to me, we all have our parts to play. Only it's gotten confused."
"Meaning...?" Alistair reached across him for the second bottle, but Oghren shifted to block his way.
"Meanin', you're right. You're a shit drunk." He belched, breaking into a grin. "Whereas I've got a natural talent. And a party only needs one great, soddin' embarrassment."
"What about me?"
"You be the hero, like you were meant to."
"That wasn't me." Alistair slumped, curling his knees to his chest. "It was never supposed to be me."
"Then what are we all doin' here? Might as well just line up and wait for the archdemon to swallow us, huh?"
He snorted. "Fine. But there's no rule that says the hero can't have a drink." Again, he lunged but Oghren cradled both bottles to his chest, taking a sip from each. Alistair pouted. "You can't drink all of it."
"Wanna bet? An' maybe it's not the most noble contribution, but I'll drink up every drop in this camp, if only so you can't." He roared with laughter at that.
Strangely enough, Alistair smiled. He looked almost relieved as he settled back beside him. "How did you know where I was, anyway?"
"The elf said he saw you headin' this way."
"Nosy bastard."
"Hah! Among other things."
A crash echoed like the shot of a great bolt, rattling the walls around them. Alistair was on his feet, darting for the door, but he came back when Oghren didn't follow. His leg had gone stiff, but the heat was in his veins again and it felt better, all things considered. He waved him away, pushing himself awkwardly to his feet.
"Go, go, I'm comin'!" He stuffed the bottles into his pouch and followed.
The morning sun was glaring when he ducked back through the fallen wall, one hand moving to shield his eyes as he cursed. Something had slammed hard into the barn's roof and it lay now in the field, a long trail of grass flattened where it had skidded. Alistair had almost reached the thing, but he spun away as if burned.
"What is it?" Oghren puffed, closing the distance. But it was to Alistair that he looked, standing facing away with his eyes pinched shut. When he saw what was on the ground behind him, Oghren gaped. "Stone, boy! She could be hurt!"
Morrigan lay in a tangled heap, not a stitch on her. But Oghren barely had time to register her nakedness before the witch pushed up on an elbow with a shuddering sigh. "I am fine enough."
"Oh, you're fine. Fine! Naked and bloody and up on the roof doing Maker knows what!" Alistair glanced over his shoulder, but turned away again with a hiss.
"I was not on the roof. I simply... misjudged."
"So you were – what? – flying around on your broomstick? Doing some other dark ritual?"
Morrigan was on her feet now. She moved to stand in front of Alistair, but he kept his eyes firmly on the ground.
Ripping the tattered cloak from his back, he pushed it into her arms. "Here... just... here." As she settled it around her shoulders, he raised his eyes. "Maker's breath, what happened to you?"
Her lip was bloodied, hair matted and tangled, her arms covered with long scratches, but still she stood proud and glaring. "It is no business of yours."
A flush was creeping into his cheeks. "Is this because I... because I wouldn't...?"
"Such a high opinion of yourself." Morrigan sneered, wrinkling her nose as she studied him. "Any woman spurned by such a prize would surely weep and rush headlong to her death in her despair."
"It certainly looks like you tried."
She scoffed, opening her palm to reveal something that Oghren couldn't see. But the look that passed between the two was enough. "Wait... you tried to bed him?"
"Be silent, dwarf."
"And you. You turned her down?" He doubled over with laughter.
"That's not... it's not what you think." Cheeks flaring, Alistair snatched the thing from Morrigan's palm, holding it up to the light. It was a small vial, the contents sloshing slow and black. "Maker..."
Morrigan watched him through narrowed eyes. "And what do you think, Warden?"
"Is this...? How did you...? You're mad, absolutely mad!"
"Lemme see." Oghren reached up and plucked it from between his fingers.
"Be careful, dwarf. You hold your doom."
"Eh?"
Morrigan folded her arms, hugging the cloak tighter around her, but it was to Alistair that she looked. "You may have your Joining."
His lips worked soundless as he shook his head in disbelief. "The blood of an archdemon? Where did you get it?"
She sighed exasperated, rolling her eyes toward the city.
"So you just walked up to it, is that it? Asked if we could borrow some of its blood?"
" Are you truly so thick? Do you practice at it? A scratch was all it took. I was there and gone before I could be noticed."
"But it did notice, didn't it?" Oghren poked a finger at her arm and she winced.
"And then you fell out of the sky." Alistair took back the vial, but he held it at arm's length, as though afraid to touch it. "I said I didn't need your help."
"That is one opinion."
"And now the archdemon knows we're coming."
Morrigan turned away, striding back toward the farmhouse, proud as a queen despite the bruises and borrowed cloak. "Then you had best be quick about it."