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peopleofthedas2011-08-23 08:37 pm
jannifer) wrote in peopleofthedas2011-08-23 08:37 pm
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Two Drabbles about Weapons
The following two little pieces are just tidbits which floated up through my consciousness during a couple of my recent playthroughs in DA:O. They're just little drabbles, so enjoy!
“Now this is a weapon!” Oghren hefted the blade in his hand, admiring the edge on the dragonbone blade.
“It’s called Dragonbone Cleaver, for obvious reasons,” Shiara murmured.
“Heh, yeah...dwarven smiths aren’t too keen on names. The balance is perfect and look at that detail! Wasn’t any soddin’ duster who made this blade. Whoever smithed this axe was a genius.” Oghren turned Cleaver in the light, admiring the clean geometry of the patterns in haft and blade. While no dwarf could do magic, he recognized the glyphs for strength and courage carved into each side of the blade where it joined the haft. A few experimental swings had him laughing in glee. “With this axe, I can turn darkspawn into chopped nug livers in no time! Thank you, Warden!”
Shiara grinned at Oghren’s delight as she answered, “You are most welcome.”
“You should take it. You have every right to carry it.” Zahara held Maric’s sword out to Alistair. The mage’s Rivani blood was obvious in her black hair and brown skin, and her dark brown eyes looked steadily at Alistair. Sandal had just finished working his magic on the blade, and it pulsed with the enchantments he laid into it.
“That’s the king’s blade, and I’m not going to be king. It should go back to Denerim with Cailan’s armor.” Alistair stubbornly refused to take the blade Zahara offered. He never even acknowledged me! Why in Thedas does Zahara think I should carry his sword?
“Alistair, it’s your father’s sword. You are his son, just as Cailan was, and it’s yours by right. I agree that we should take Cailan’s armor back to Denerim. That armor can be displayed to honor what he sacrificed....”
“The sacrifice that Loghain forced on him.” Alistair’s bitterness was clear. It seemed his hatred of Loghain hadn’t cooled any. “Besides, my father never even acknowledged me openly. If he truly thought of me as his son, couldn’t he at least have visited me? Checked to see if I were okay?”
“Your father made many mistakes with you, and one of the biggest was trusting you to Eamon when it’s plain to see that his wife leads him around by the beard. But, you are still his blood, and his sword is yours by right. If you don’t want to carry it to honor your father, then carry it for the king who brought the Grey Wardens back to Ferelden.”
Alistair stared at the blade for a moment longer before taking it from Zahara’s hand. Oddly, the grip felt right in his hand, the balance perfect. I must have his hands. Their size and shape.... There was an odd thrumming through the blade, and Alistair’s Templar senses recognized an older magic than the runes Sandal had just added. The sword seemed to...know him. “Zahara, can you feel that? It feels....”
The mage nodded at him. “Yes, it recognizes your blood, your tie to your father. Whether he ever admitted it or not, his sword knows his son.”
Something in Alistair warmed and eased. It was an odd sensation, but the fact that the sword knew him was...comforting in a way. “In honor of the king who brought the Grey Wardens back to Ferelden? The king who was Duncan’s friend? Yes, I can carry it for those reasons.” In this, at least, I can be my father’s son.
“For the Grey Wardens.”
“For the Grey Wardens.” Alistair sheathed the blade and strapped it on.
“Now this is a weapon!” Oghren hefted the blade in his hand, admiring the edge on the dragonbone blade.
“It’s called Dragonbone Cleaver, for obvious reasons,” Shiara murmured.
“Heh, yeah...dwarven smiths aren’t too keen on names. The balance is perfect and look at that detail! Wasn’t any soddin’ duster who made this blade. Whoever smithed this axe was a genius.” Oghren turned Cleaver in the light, admiring the clean geometry of the patterns in haft and blade. While no dwarf could do magic, he recognized the glyphs for strength and courage carved into each side of the blade where it joined the haft. A few experimental swings had him laughing in glee. “With this axe, I can turn darkspawn into chopped nug livers in no time! Thank you, Warden!”
Shiara grinned at Oghren’s delight as she answered, “You are most welcome.”
“You should take it. You have every right to carry it.” Zahara held Maric’s sword out to Alistair. The mage’s Rivani blood was obvious in her black hair and brown skin, and her dark brown eyes looked steadily at Alistair. Sandal had just finished working his magic on the blade, and it pulsed with the enchantments he laid into it.
“That’s the king’s blade, and I’m not going to be king. It should go back to Denerim with Cailan’s armor.” Alistair stubbornly refused to take the blade Zahara offered. He never even acknowledged me! Why in Thedas does Zahara think I should carry his sword?
“Alistair, it’s your father’s sword. You are his son, just as Cailan was, and it’s yours by right. I agree that we should take Cailan’s armor back to Denerim. That armor can be displayed to honor what he sacrificed....”
“The sacrifice that Loghain forced on him.” Alistair’s bitterness was clear. It seemed his hatred of Loghain hadn’t cooled any. “Besides, my father never even acknowledged me openly. If he truly thought of me as his son, couldn’t he at least have visited me? Checked to see if I were okay?”
“Your father made many mistakes with you, and one of the biggest was trusting you to Eamon when it’s plain to see that his wife leads him around by the beard. But, you are still his blood, and his sword is yours by right. If you don’t want to carry it to honor your father, then carry it for the king who brought the Grey Wardens back to Ferelden.”
Alistair stared at the blade for a moment longer before taking it from Zahara’s hand. Oddly, the grip felt right in his hand, the balance perfect. I must have his hands. Their size and shape.... There was an odd thrumming through the blade, and Alistair’s Templar senses recognized an older magic than the runes Sandal had just added. The sword seemed to...know him. “Zahara, can you feel that? It feels....”
The mage nodded at him. “Yes, it recognizes your blood, your tie to your father. Whether he ever admitted it or not, his sword knows his son.”
Something in Alistair warmed and eased. It was an odd sensation, but the fact that the sword knew him was...comforting in a way. “In honor of the king who brought the Grey Wardens back to Ferelden? The king who was Duncan’s friend? Yes, I can carry it for those reasons.” In this, at least, I can be my father’s son.
“For the Grey Wardens.”
“For the Grey Wardens.” Alistair sheathed the blade and strapped it on.