plate_builder | Alistair/Reeve Dragon Age Continued

"I promise," he called back, "that I know how to use flint and steel. I'll show you the privy after we eat."

But first came the question of food. He had gotten better over the years, but he was still not the best cook. What he prepared, he knew would be bland. Supplies had been short. Still, he'd caught a few rabbits, had some vegetables from the village he'd spoken of, and those, he peeled and dropped into a pot that he edged close to the fire. Not the best, but it would do. He put the rabbits on a spit and started them turning - and before long, the smell of fire-roasting rabbit and stew started to percolate its way up the staircases.

See, how is he supposed to focus on trying to figure out just what materials he has access to here if that smell is coming up from downstairs. It just isn't possible. He pushes to his feet and with the wood for hobbling, he works toward the top of the stairs.

Foolish to do this himself. But he leans his good side against the wall of the stairs, has the makeshift crutch to help him down, and soon he's even manage to get to the bottom without falling. Be proud of this mage for managing it.

"Alistair? It smells good down here. What are you working on?"

Granted he's been getting by on bread and water.

"Wh-- Well." Brows raised high, Alistair stared at Reeve - and then he shook his head with a laugh. "I should've known. Well, I'm glad you could make it down here. It means you won't have to wait for me to get you back and forth to the privy."

But then he was pointing over to the fire, jovial yellow, crackling happily in the hearth, where the rabbits were turning thanks to a little bit of enchantment. "Roast rabbit. Vegetable stew. The only thing we don't have is fresh bread, but I think we have some hard rolls that would soften up in the stew. Hearty food. It'll help you get some of your energy back from your magic and from your wound."

Hey, he's here, let him just smile at his success. It's pretty nice, and he makes his way over to a seat to settle himself down. If nothing else, he can rest here, and he shifts to put his ankle up a bit. Elevation was good.

"Thanks," Reeve smiles as he watches the Warden. "I'm excited to move past the whole bread and water thing. It's nice to have some good food for a change."

He blinked, watching Reeve for a long few moments before asking, "Reeve... are you joking about bread and water?"

He hoped so. Otherwise he was going to have to go back to where they'd just escaped from and wreak a little more havoc. That sort of treatment-- Maybe that was all right temporarily for traitors and the treasonous, but Reeve was far from either of those things.

Meanwhile, he dug into one of the cupboards and found a few cloths that he could fold up and bring over to where Reeve sat, placing them carefully beneath his ankle. More elevation, and more padding.

The look on his face says no, he isn't joking. Of course he isn't joking, why would he ever do something like that? He's not a very funny man, Alistair. It had been a bit better when he'd worked directly for his superior, but that was something else altogether.

"Thank you," Reeve smiles at the gesture with the cloths. The man remains so gentle in a way that he doesn't get. And that he appreciates.

"I told you, Alistair, I was kidnapped. Or so I thought. Did you think they would give me something good?"

"I... don't know what I thought," Alistair answered honestly, looking at his companion - for good or ill, and he hoped good - with regret. "I thought that maybe they'd have some kind of consideration for human life, but I keep getting disappointed on that front. You'd think I'd learn to stop getting my hopes up. But at least you'll have food now. Whatever mage it was that made this place made it solid enough to live in - even enchanted the spit to keep turning. Thought of everything."

But then the thought came and his brows rose. "...Huh. And I just thought. Maybe I should get in touch with Sandal."

True, he wouldn't be a stunning conversationalist for Reeve, but if there was ever an enchanter who could do anything, it'd be him. Which might be a reason to see to it that he was safe. Sandal and Bodahn alike.

An enchanted spit? Well Reeve's eyes light up at that. What? He might just be completely and utterly intrigued by the very idea of this little marvel. Too bad he can't go down to see it. That almost makes him smile more than the idea of real food.

"I'm not sure I know who you mean. But if you feel there is someone you should reach out to, by all means. I will continue studying this space. And again I thank you for food."

Alistair heaved an exhale - "I still can't believe they didn't give you real food. That's so ridiculous. I'm halfway tempted to go back there and smack some more of them with my shield, but." But he shook his head. "Best I not endanger things more than they are already. So, um."

So he glanced around before remembering the rest of what Reeve had said. "Oh, right - I don't know if I can... I mean. I don't know where Bodahn and Sandal are, but if anyone was to know about enchanting anything, it'd be Sandal. I'm not sure how he does it, but he has a way with enchantments."

They're on that still? Reeve just spares the Warden a soft, sad little smile.

"Your consideration, your kindness, moves me deeply, Alistair. But perhaps the best remedy might be that you expose me to the supposed horrors of your cooking and leave me to judge if I'd like to go back to bread and water."

Perhaps the joke will help. Though at last he reaches a hand out to Alistair.

"I have a few contacts left. Perhaps with paper and ink I could write a message to have someone send to your friends."

"I..."

Alistair took a breath, shaking her head. "I doubt they'd call me friend. But if you think having the services of a master enchanter would help, we can see about finding them. It's... I mean, in my opinion, it'd be hard to go wrong with the help of a master enchanter. But you're the expert on these things."

But while he spoke, he went to fetch plates and then started serving up. Meat, vegetables, cold water from a dwarven tap. He placed one plateful in front of Reeve, along with one glass, then sat down with his own across from his new roommate.

As he was sniffing at his plate, though, a thought came to him and he looked up at Reeve with a slight cringe. "Maker's arse, I sound like I've already decided-- Look, you can decide not to do this."

"It couldn't hurt. My work will be a starting point, but there is so much more I don't understand. I'm not Tranquil, I can't work this the same way a Dwarf can. I assure you of that much."

He's trying. He's trying to refine the ways magical spells and even enchanting itself might work. But there's no one like s dwarf for it.

Still, he chuckles at the kindness, looking at his plate and shaking his head. "I've decided to do this."

"I'm glad," Alistair answered. And then, after a bit of thought, he added, "I'm glad you're not Tranquil, too. I always feel so bad for them when I see them. I..."

He took a breath. "I don't know. I'm no mage. I only know how I feel. Probably a hundred times worse for you. So... So let's talk about something happier?"

Maybe a good suggestion. He hoped so, anyway - after all, he'd made enough missteps with Reeve already. Including the incident around the fire and--

And he caught himself looking at Reeve. Remembering that little chuckle. And how both of them had apparently been affected the night before. That was likely well and gone, and... He wasn't sure how he felt about that. But then, it was him. His track record with intimacy was... horrible.

To say they had been affected would most definitely be an understatement. Reeve was, quite pointedly, trying not to remember how they had been. How Alistair had looked, and how badly Reeve had wanted him. It wasn’t appropriate. And after the tension of Reeve wondering if he should just act like a kept mage, a tool, and piece of equipment to be used, he had grown certain that there was no chance the almost flirtatious atmosphere of the night before would ever be welcomed again from the Warden.

Making a fool of himself in that particular way once more was something he wouldn’t dare allow himself. Not by a long shot. Even if he did so like the way that Alistair looked, and considered the idea of ‘Warden stamina’ something to... see as a challenge to overcome.

Not to mention he still didn’t know how he’d upset Alistair the night before. Somehow he didn’t see the Qunari thing as a bad comparison. His experiences were, after all, so very very different. That was why they kept butting heads, wasn’t it?

“And what, pray tell, is happier? With the world as it is, in the time that it is, with the project that you’ve set me, I cannot imagine happiness being easy to come by. Not in word or deed. I’ve no great stories to tell of my experiences for they are so limited. And I doubt a man of the Chant would care much to have me tell stories of a heathen god, which are the few good tales I know with happy endings.”

"Man of the Chant?" Alistair echoed, blinking at Reeve in confusion. "Me? I.

"...Okay, I'll grant that I believe, but. But you really think a lot more of that Templar training soaked in than actually did," he said. "Seriously, you're-- There's no way I'm going to start preaching at you. For one thing, I'm not one of the weird dragon-worshippers at Haven. For another, I've been smacked by enough Revered Mothers' rulers to see most of the Chant as a reason for people to try to have charge over other people for no other reason than 'see, this little sentence right here lets me.'"

But then he exhaled and... And there was food there. Decent food. Or at least edible food, so he took a bite instead of letting himself go on. He chewed thoughtfully, and remembered Haven. Haven had been...

......strange. But when he'd gotten past the trials set by the spirit, gone through the Gauntlet, he'd seen, even held, the Ashes of Andrate. It was real. They'd cured Eamon. But... But the Chant, the way Andraste had heard it, the way it was first written, the way it spoke of the Maker. That was different from the way it was practiced now, and he knew it. So what should somebody really believe?

"But. Anyway. I'm... I'm no 'man of the Chant.' Not like that."

"You believe in it, do you not?" Reeve counters. The Maker and Andraste and all of that. "Faith moves people to do terrible things. Was it not the words of the chant that caused mages to be handled?"

But then, he doesn't bother saying that it's true of other places as well. Instead he waves off his own question. This is not helping the mood.

"Will it... be a problem that I do not believe in the Chant?"

Alistair shrugged. "No. Honestly, I only believe because I saw, and touched, the Ashes of Andraste. I know for myself what they did. Before then, I..."

Another shrug.

"Well, like I said. I believe in Andraste. I believe in the Maker. Or at least I believe that there was some powerful magic in those ashes that I've not seen anywhere sense. What you believe, though, is up to you. So long as it works with your heart and mind and all, it doesn't make a difference to me."

He also believed in bread and meat and vegetables, which is why he took another forkful.

“You... keep surprising me, Warden Alistair. I appreciate that.”

Because the more the man surprises him, the less he is ‘former-Templer’ Alistair. The man he feared. If they were to work together, fearing him seems a bad choice.”

"Well, I..."

How to answer that. Because he was glad that Reeve seemed to be more at ease with him, and he was glad that they could talk without all of that 'blah, threatening Templar' stuff rearing its head. But he still knew they weren't quite on even ground.

It wouldn't matter, except that they did need to trust each other. Alistair needed to trust that Reeve wouldn't fireball him in his sleep, and Reeve needed to trust that Alistair wouldn't silence or stab him. That meant more talking, he was sure, and that was well and good - he'd talk to him, work things out, but he wasn't the most intelligent. He was well acquainted to that, too.

Yet... Yet, he wanted this to go right. He wanted them to succeed. He wanted to save the world, because he was one of the idiots that lived in it.

"I... guess I hope to keep surprising you in good ways," he managed at last, looking up and across the table at him, offering a small smile.

“Yes, that would be preferable. I...”

He can’t handle when Alistair is upset with him. The fear still twinges at him. He still doesn’t know what to do. How to make it better again.

“Save the world, yes. I can agree to that. I just need to know... what happens to me if I fail? Or if I succeed? What am I then?”

He blinked. They were reasonable questions. They just weren't questions he'd expected. A moment and he said, "Well, if we fail, I guess we die. I mean. If we don't save the world... what choice do we have? I intend to go down fighting, but what you do at that point is up to you. If we succeed..." Alistair shrugged, sitting back a little in his seat. "I--

"Oh."

That was it. That was when it hit him what Reeve was really asking. What would happen to his freedom? Or was he even free now? Alistair tended to consider everyone free, but his background... Well. There was a reason why people called him shortsighted. This was part of it.

"I... If you succeed, you'd be a hero, I'd think. I'd offer to try to make you a Warden, but I don't think that's the greatest idea anymore. Maybe you should go to Ferelden. They did free their mages down there, even if the Chantry didn't like it. They helped so much during the Blight that that was what Anora decided."

After she'd exiled Alistair. But that wasn't pertinent.

Well, they were more or less in Ferelden, but Reeve hadn't found it that welcoming. The people that employed him as a free mage had been using him for evil it turned out. And he frowns at the idea of being a hero. No one would ever accept a mage as a hero.

But he sighs and nods along.

"That seems a pipe dream."

"Right now, a lot of things do," Alistair agreed, exhaling a sigh. "I...

"I don't know what to tell you." It was the truth. Or at least as close to the truth as even he, himself, could figure out. "I want to be able to say you'll be hailed and praised and celebrated, but we both know that mages tend to be looked at sideways as if someone let out a massive fart, no matter how ridiculous that is. I've... I've seen even perfectly sane blood mages, honestly." His mind went to Kirkwall. Yes, there were plenty there who were gone past blood magic and straight into Abomination, but there were also the ones who only used their own blood and were careful to keep their sanity close. "But I've also seen the opposite. It's not an excuse to doubt everyone, but it's... It's why I wish I could tell you people wouldn't be so..."

So.

So what? Prejudiced? Bigoted?

"So... ass-ish."

Reeve chuckles and shakes his head. It's so beautiful to hear that word in Alistair's accent. It sounds... strangely formal.

"That will never happen," Reeve smiles, but he offers it softly to Alistair, like a gift. "Thank you. I'm grateful to you. For giving me this chance. I will work diligently and leave you alone otherwise."

Alistair/Reeve Dragon Age Continued

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