Reeve Tuesti (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
plate_builder) wrote2019-01-24 02:27 pm
plate_builder) wrote2019-01-24 02:27 pm
Alistair/Reeve Dragon Age Continued
"I can start a fire if you need it. And if there is a tub, I should be able to whip up a bath as well."
A simple matter with the formulas he's been working on. Pull moisture from this damp place and the air, add some heat with a bit of fire magic, simple. Of course he couldn't exactly join Alistair in heading downstairs, not yet.
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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.
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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.”
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"...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."
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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?"
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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.
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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.”
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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.
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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?”
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"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.
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But he sighs and nods along.
"That seems a pipe dream."
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"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."
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"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."