A/N: I stumbled across a random Dragon Age prompt. Couldn't resist it. I tried to get a grasp of the timeline, and I'm almost postive I failed...Sorry.
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age.
Characters: Alistair/Maric
Prompt: At the bottom of the ocean
...
The sand, rocks, and bits of seashells crunched under his heavily booted feet. The wind was blowing, bringing with it the smell of salt, and rotting fish. The ocean crashed against the rocky outcrop he was perched on, and the water splashed up to hit his face. His clothes felt gritty, and his cheeks stung where the cold air touched. As far as his gaze could reach, vast ocean spread out before him for miles and miles.
Alistair sucked in the lungful of the air, and let it out slowly. He felt his heart constrict in his chest, and his fists clenched and unclenched as blood pumped through his veins.
Tainted blood...He reminds himself. He'd been a Grey Warden for seven months now. Duncan and his fellow Wardens were off inside, talking stragedy with Loghain for the impending battle at Ostagar they were to fight soon. For now, they had something or other to do in Gwaren. Alistair wasn't too sure on the details as Duncan was quite vague on the matter.
He let out another breath, and glared out toward the dark, swirling water. He hated the sea. Hated it with every fiber of his being, and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why he was even here. Why he had insisted leaving the discussion for a few minutes to take a walk?
The ocean loomed before him, the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks below, and a rage bubbled up inside of him. He shuddered, gritting his teeth, and swooped down to pick up a rock. With every strength he could muster, he swung his arm back and chucked the rock into the water below. The rage didn't subside as the splash was barely a pinprick compared to the heavy collision of waves against stone.
He dropped down again, picked up a bigger rock, and threw it. It still didn't help. Frustrated, he kept going. Minutes passed by, more rage and pain surfaced, his arm sore, and his hand was scratched, and bloody from blindly reaching for whatever rocks he could find.
The sound of sobs reached his ears, and it took several moments to realize they were coming from him. His hand went to his cheek, and he felt tears making trails down his face.
"I hate you!" He shouted, speaking to vastness before him as he kicked at the shells and rocks in front of him. He chucked another stone. "Maybe I wouldn't be here, you know?"
He continued his raging, thrashing about, and screaming at the sea.
"Did you even care? Did you?" His only answers were that of the smashing of water against the rocks.
He didn't know how much time had passed, but eventually he felt a hand clamp down on his sore shoulder, and he looked up to see Duncan's stern gaze. The rock in his bleeding hand fell, and clattered against the ground. He shook his head, taking deep, heavy breaths, and whipped the tears away with the sleeve of his shirt. Duncan remained quiet.
"I-I'm sorry. I don't...know what came over me." Alistair mumbled. Duncan removed his hand, but stood behind him, waiting for him to calm down.
He clenched his jaw, taking steady breaths in and out, as his heart slowly returned to it's normal rhythm. His arm throbbed, and his hand stung as his adrenaline, and rage subsided. A few moments later, he let out a breath, and turned away. Duncan looked like he wanted to say something, but remained silent. They walked up the trail back toward the town of Gwaren, and Alistair craddled his hand to his chest, and gritted his teeth when his shoulder and arm protested the movement.
Let my hatred rot at the bottom of the ocean with you, He thought as he let Duncan lead him back toward the tavern they were staying in, I have the family I've always wanted with the Wardens. With Duncan, who was more of a father than you ever were, or ever will be.
Alistair met up with the rest of Grey Wardens. Duncan excused himself, retiring to his room.
"What happen to your hand?" One of the newer recruits asked.
"Got in a scuffle with some rocks. I think they won the fight." He mumbled back, shrugging, and took the offered bandages from one of his fellow comrades. He ignored the doubtful look from the recruit, and focused on bandaging his hand.
"If you say so," The recruit replied, and he pushed a pint over to Alistair, "Have a drink. Tonight's our last night here, and then it's off to Ostagar. At least for us. Duncan said something about finding another recruit."
Alistair pulled the drink over, and took a long swallow. He tried not to let his relief show on his face about leaving, as he listened to the men laugh and joke about what sort of females they may encounter at the brothel. He declined an invitation to join them, and returned to his room.
He took off his armor, and stripped down to his small clothes before crawling into his bed. As the darkness crept in, he wondered what life would have been like if he hadn't been recruited by Duncan. Would he have been a Templar? Would he have managed to get kicked out, and gone and worked for the guard? Or become a mercenary? He didn't know. Before his eyes drifted close, and he succombed to the Fade, his last thought was what his life would have been like if he had been raised by his father.
...
Short, depressing, and not exactly how I wanted it to come across...but there you go. Review please?