As promised, the Alistair-focused chapter is here!
And, keeping with the promise, another party member makes their appearance. Certainly squees are to follow.
Now, for purposes of clarification; Nimue isn't completely oblivious to Alistair's feelings, nor is she trying her best to shut them out without reason. But, in light of everything that's been happening, she isn't being as attentive as she could be (especially with the engagement possibility looming over her head). I suppose she also thinks that Alistair might know about the proposal and when you add to that that he hasn't done anything nearly definite against Zevran's far more obvious overtures towards her…
Yes, she doesn't really view it as anything other than perhaps overly zealous friendship or just a faint déjà vu of the Cullen situation, with less creepy outcomes. Make of that what you will.
Aside from that, I've managed to plan out at least half of this fic, right up to the party's return to Redcliffe and Nimue's answer. The consequences of that will be spread out in a few more chapters, because I truly don't know how this thing will end yet, but I have some ideas. It also depends on the voting thing… which Teagan is winning steadily. Teagan/Nimue seems to have a large shipping community. Wynne, Leliana and Oghren approve. Especially if you throw some roast beef into the deal.
Feel free to vote, because the poll is still open, ladies and gents! And review, of course! Happy New Year to everyone!
o.O.o
Ever After Interrupted
o.O.o
One would think that it would be easier to find a single person in a stone castle the seeker had grown up in and thus knew every crook and crevice of. Especially if the person being sought out was wearing a highly eye-catching gown and shoes that seemed designed to be the bane of any and every rogue to ever try and sneak around while dressed as a woman of rank.
Alistair was discovering that such an assumption would be quite a nasty lie. Apparently, locating someone who was trying to flee Leliana's keen eyes and fine sneaking abilities was a chore. A labor, really. Especially since not a single one of the servants or their companions (those he had managed to locate, anyway) were able to say where she might be and the mabari warhound that seemed able to track her very scent even in the deepest bogs was decidedly unavailable as well.
So much for trying to surprise her pleasantly, the newly-rehabilitated prince thought to himself as he passed what was apparently a clean-up team for the mess Oghren and the aforementioned warhound had left after the latest lunch. Not for the first time, he was highly grateful that they weren't at camp and that tonight wasn't his dishwashing duty. He still didn't fully trust Wynne's assurance that magic couldn't be used for that purpose, because she most decidedly enjoyed watching him squirm.
Especially when it was related to the velvet-clad figure that seemed to be practically fleeing along the corridor a few meters ahead of him.
Alistair couldn't help the small grin upon seeing his target; for the noble-lady-like gown she was wearing, she had the air of someone who had just hacked her way through a swamp about her. And her hair was definitely arranged in a way that suggested more swamp witch than socialite. Or warrior, really.
She was fleeing their Chantry sister, though, so just a hint of desperation was highly appropriate for the situation.
"There you are!" Nimue stopped rather sharply, as if she hadn't even noticed that there was anyone in the corridor before. Thankfully, she didn't bolt just yet, which meant that they had a little time before their roguish lay sister caught up with them. "I saw Leliana looking for you. Trying to evade a bard, eh?" That certainly was something to be impressed by, if she had managed to succeed for this long. "Your stealth skills seem to have improved somewhat."
Maker knew the quick smile he received for that would have been highly detrimental to any sneaking he might be doing. Which, fortunately, he wasn't.
"I hope so." When the elf glanced around, her tousled hair whipped around her face gently. Alistair felt a vague tingling in his fingers, an itching to carefully comb out the tangles and knots in the soft mass, if only to be allowed to touch it. "I should keep moving, though, lest she catches up and gives me hell about my hair."
"I like it the way it is." Thank the Maker that Nimue didn't notice the faint longing in his tone, of her amused but doubting glance was anything to go by. "No, really. You don't think darkspawn are going to be frightened by ribbons, are you? Maybe the pink ones… I know I'd back down if I was threatened by such weapons."
The image of ribbon-adorned darkspawn fleeing from the wrath of a giggling Leliana – or perhaps a gaggle of similarly attired Grey Wardens – was enough to make Nimue forget whatever had been troubling her, at least for a moment or so.
"They'd go well with your dress, I'm certain."
"Huh, you still remember that?" Alistair's senses always muddled slightly when he got to hear the highly rare sound of her laughter, but at such proximity with him being the cause… well, it was reason enough for a small goofy smile of his own.
"It would be difficult not to. I can already imagine the coronation." Arl Eamon likely wouldn't allow it, but Nimue was remembering the proclamations of Carroll the temporary ferryman that he was the queen of Antiva. It made more sense in context, of course, but still, she could just see the tee parties between the two monarchs, despite one being rather lyrium-addled and possibly insane.
Nimue decidedly didn't want to think about the distant kingdom – or people that had come from there – at that present moment.
Fortunately, Alistair didn't remember that particular conversation too well and it wasn't the first thing that came to his mind upon the suggestion. Instead, he remembered that first mission they had been sent on together, which was meant to have ended the Blight and prevented all these needless deaths. Duncan standing over them, sighing with more idle frustration than dejection upon seeing that both new Wardens still had some trace of humor in them, despite the high probability of death for a portion of their current entourage.
Duncan… would he have approved of him being a candidate for the throne once again? Had he known that, in bringing Nimue to the Wardens, he had single-handedly created the means of sabotaging exactly that plan?
Nothing was certain.
"Eh, don't even remind me of that." It would have to be a pretty dress, though, Alistair would insist if pressured. Rather like the one (don't look, don't look) she was wearing now, except perhaps with different ornaments. "I still don't think it's the best idea." Finally, Alistair saw a trace of skin under the hem of her gown as she took a step forward, which explained her strangely soundless movement. "Are you barefoot? Where are your shoes?"
Blinking, Nimue glanced at her own feet, as if this fact surprised even her. "Oh, I was… I was walking around the gardens and I took them off." She said it so matter-of-factly, Alistair couldn't help but grin.
"And they say elves loving nature are merely folk-tales." Of course, he remembered the many instances when their normally unfazed leader would just stop and stare at a tree or a flower for hours, as if she had never seen one before. And then, when he had called her out on it, she confirmed it as truth. That she had seen only pictures of such things. "Well, come on, we can go back and get them."
Utterly against any expectations, he might as well have offered her a poisonous snake, if the way the mage jumped was any indication.
"No! No, that's all right." Fortunately, Alistair couldn't help but be powerless against repeated (and gentler) assurances, especially when backed up with the logic that was her second nature. "I like being able to run in case Leliana comes by. But I'm sorry, you needed something from me?"
That was a dangerously open question; some of the potential answers made Alistair's face color faintly. Partly out of embarrassment over thinking such things, partly out of the supposition what others (read: Zevran) might have answered the query with.
But Nimue was waiting, only slightly wary of the possibility of anyone approaching rather than whatever answer she was going to receive, so Alistair did his best to seek out the already-vanishing train of thought.
"Not necessarily needed… well, yes." Raised eyebrows. Damn, she was onto him. Best to spill the unpleasant part of the beans now, at least. "I wanted to ask if you know where Morrigan wandered off. Not that I miss her or anything and if you finally sent her away I'm willing to start a party, but it's somewhat… unusual… not to see her skulking around and hissing at everything like an angry wildcat."
"She went into the village and to the outskirts as well, I imagine." Nimue explained, carefully continuing down the mercifully bard and assassin-free corridor. "She mentioned the demon acted rather peculiarly and wished to investigate. I had no reason to stop her from doing so."
If there was one thing Alistair most certainly didn't understand, it was how come someone who got along close to fabulously with Wynne (despite their differences in opinion regarding many magic-related things) got along even better with someone like Morrigan. Of all people, the swamp witch, closely followed by the assassin who had very nearly succeeded in his job; these two were apparently among her closest confidantes.
"You know she might have just gone there to take some pointers, right?" And she was mean. And evil. Eee-vil. Never satisfied with anything any of them did, but still interested in sticking around to make this opinion known. "I mean, possessing and controlling people and all that seems like the family business, if what we've seen is true. At any rate, I wouldn't be sorry if it was the last time we saw of her."
"So you've been saying ever since we left Flemeth's hut." And Nimue fully expected this to go on until the very end, which was why she had learned to try her hardest to not get involved with either side of the argument. Keeping to the golden middle path wasn't always easy, of course.
Alistair, for his part, had the good grace to look at least slightly sheepish, if only about the childishness of this repeated claim.
"Yes, well, she got what she wanted, her mother is dead… ish, so I don't really understand why she chooses to remain." It was highly suspicious, especially since she, of all people, had nothing tying her to this quest any longer. But thinking of Morrigan right now would lead only to anger and confusion, which was most decidedly not a sentiment Alistair wished to associate with the sight of her polar opposite walking beside him. The two could simply negate each other. "At any rate, I didn't only want to talk about Morrigan. In fact, let's not talk about her."
This far into the argument, Nimue didn't even bother shrugging.
"As long as we keep moving." For good measure, she glanced once more to both sides to see if hiding behind the templar would be necessary in the near future.
"Right. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the whole king affair. You don't really think it's a good idea, do you?" Alistair asked this slowly, as if that could make her realize what a Really Bad Suggestion this was. Nimue hadn't disagreed with Arl Eamon on that account when the decision had been made, but she didn't seem to endorse it overly either. At last, not to his knowledge. "I wouldn't be able to lead us to lunch, let alone make decisions for a whole country."
There was a vague hint of indulgence in the smile the elf offered, but it didn't change the way it emitted warmth. "If the lunch involved cheese, I wouldn't be so sure."
Stab wounds to the pride first, now those to the taste. Well, Alistair could just bet that the Circle tower simply didn't have quality cheese supplies, if she took the matter of any cuisine it involved so lightly.
"Now that would depend entirely on the kind of cheese. You have to think quality." Alistair, connoisseur of fine cheese extraordinaire, noted with expertise. At least it was met with fainter indulgence than anyone (Wynne including) would have displayed. "Seriously, though, it would take a weight off my chest to hear your actual opinion on this, because I know you wouldn't defy logic and speak up in front of Arl Eamon without an argument to back up. Just… tell me what you really think… please?" Alistair hadn't had the chance to try out his best whining voice on Nimue yet, but it had worked on Wynne…
Unfortunately, Nimue, owner of a highly manipulative mabari warhound, was not at all unused to the notion of whining and puppy-dog glances, which meant that she glossed over the notion as if Alistair hadn't even tried at all. Perhaps she hadn't even noticed; it was difficult to tell.
"I don't really know that much about politics; it isn't encouraged for mages." Not that the idea hadn't crossed her mind, of course, or that she hadn't tried her best to catch up – as it was necessary – given the recent events. "But I think that you have the makings of a good monarch, provided you devote yourself to your country as you have to the Grey Wardens."
That was a yes. Which certainly wasn't a good thing, considering the circumstances. But seeing that she had faith in him (especially given Morrigan's frequent taunts that he'd never be able to understand the complexities of what Nimue considered natural)…
It was an encouraging thought.
"That's easy for you to say. You don't have to try and convince the same high-nosed nobles that sneered at you your whole life that you have the right to take over the show from them." Although it wasn't a stretch to suggest that she would do a much better job than him, given her ability to solve nation-state disputes. "All right, I guess I could manage with loads of studying and help… but what if I had a reason for not wanting to be king?"
The quieter, swifter words blended into a quick babble that Nimue almost didn't manage to discern. It was likely this – the task of telling apart the separate words – that kept the mage from guessing the next part of this apparent confession. As things were, she reached for the other logical conclusion with routine ease.
"You want to stay with the Grey Wardens?" Alistair was both immensely relieved and thoroughly dejected that she hadn't guessed what would have already made Morrigan double-over with laughter. Even now, he could imagine the swamp witch sneering: You think you have a chance? "I don't really think that will be an option here in Ferelden. It would require going either to Orlais or to Weisshaupt and I doubt you'd get the chance to do that."
"Well, that's one of the reasons, I suppose. But not the most important one." He would really have to say it, if the way Nimue frowned was any indication.
"I thought there was just one."
"It's all connected, you see. One thing leads to another and being king would sort of completely smash these things to bits." This analogy was going nowhere, though, because he really didn't know how to finish such a metaphor without looking like an idiot. Even that was a talent, of course, but not terribly helpful for impressing women. "And I really don't want… it's important to me, more than you can perhaps imagine."
"You're not really making any sense here." But perhaps he was, which was what had Nimue a little worried. If Alistair knew about the possibility of her being engaged to Teagan, he was bound to have an opinion on that. And, with this assumption, it was easy to guess that he was likely not too keen about the prospect.
Better to wait and see, of course, but the mage was preparing herself for the possibility.
"I guess not. It's just that…" I don't want to become king because it would mean that the chance of being with you vanishing forever? Oh, and if you haven't guessed, I love you. Yes, that would do exactly the trick. Since when had his inner critic begun to sound like Morrigan, though? "Ah, how do I say this? You'd think that after that debacle with Goldanna, it would be easy to tell you anything, but there's just this nagging feeling that maybe there's a better time and place…"
Before the rambling got worse, Nimue took mercy upon him and temporarily abandoned her carefulness in favor of sympathy. Certainly they had never stood so close than when the mage gripped him by the forearms, doing her best to appear reassuring.
"Slow down, breathe." The first was easy to fulfill, along with the second, though perhaps not the way the elf intended. Instead of deep breaths came shallow intakes of breath and yet stillness. Alistair felt rather as if he were asked to jump into a frozen lake by the mermaid living within; either course of action would be painful. "Look, I know I was a little resentful when you didn't tell me of your heritage before we came here, but you can tell me anything you need. I'm here for you."
"I know." If he hadn't, this would have been enough to assure him. "And I'm very grateful for it. In fact, I'd be exceedingly happy if it remained that way… if not forever, then for as long as humanly – or, eh, elfly, I suppose – possible." he amended, fully aware of his own babbling. At this distance, he was almost able to tell whether her eyes were blue or grey, but not quite. "I really don't want to lose you."
Receiving an almost heartfelt laugh to that could be a very good or a very bad sign. Alistair chose to hope for the former. "I'll do my best to ensure I don't die, but I can't make any promises. If I survive the Blight, there's a chance I might stay at hand, should you need me." It almost seemed that Nimue was studying him for a reaction to something, but Alistair didn't really know what he was supposed to be reacting to.
But the point – the point was that she was considering staying. With him. Which was Most Decidedly a Good Thing. In fact, it was downright marvelous.
It would be better if he knew what criterion she had for choosing between these alternatives and what defined the others. Knowing how to prevent them from becoming reality would be downright awesome.
Right now, though, this sufficed, even though she had let go of his arms (but remained at a close distance).
"I'd hoped that you would." Now, the question was, would she be offended if he held her to that promise and would it be much too bold to ask for mild guarantee in the form of a kiss? "B-but that's beside the point. You should know that I want you to stay because... we haven't known each other for that long – well, no longer than a year, but still - you've become very… important to me."
The confusion lessened a little, but Nimue did her best to remain at least outwardly unmoved by things. "That is entirely mutual. I never really thought… I never would have guessed that I'd be glad to have a templar at my side."
"Ex-templar." Alistair corrected, purely out of habit.
"To some mages, that wouldn't make too much difference." But she was somewhat apologetic as she said this, realizing her own mistake. "I'm very fortunate to be among those who have been taught to see beyond that. I'll always be grateful for having found the exception to the rule."
Months ago, saying as much would have probably cost her much more effort. Nowadays, she admitted so easily. This was more of an achievement than anyone who had never known mages would suppose. Alistair was rightly proud and grinned accordingly.
"Well, milady, you are most welcome." The title sounded no more comforting from one noble's mouth than from another's, but Nimue didn't appear nearly as perturbed by it as she had before. "But I think we've gotten a bit off track here and I need you to know…" Showing his inner Morrigan-voiced ill advisor into a mental oubliette, Alistair rubbed his eyes with the hope that it would also clear his mind. "Ah, this is worse than sparring team tryouts. You're entirely too distracting."
"Distracting?" That was coming from the woman with Andraste's light in her eyes.
"Yes, and frustrating, because you don't let me finish my thought. Then I lose my train of thought and you win every argument." Alistair considered this accusation entirely justified, especially with the way she played up the innocence factor when it suited her. "Oh, there it is. Almost thought I'd lost it. Anyway, the reason why I don't like this king business is because there's something more precious to me than the crown that I could easily lose. What I'm trying to say is…" Alistair finally decided to steady himself and take the plunge. "Nimue…"
But there were footsteps on the corridor before he could take her hand and let his heart speak without allowing his mind to intervene. If it were just one of the servants or one of the Guerrin family, even, Alistair wouldn't have hesitated to reaffirm his affections to the elf mage… but it was Sten, in full armor, marching towards Nimue with unquestionable intent.
Surely enough, the qunari succeeded in stealing Nimue's attention before he even managed to speak. Her entire posture shifted when the Warden firmly lodged in her kaleidoscope of attitudes took over and she stepped back to face the warrior with an attentive expression.
"Kadan, your presence is required." Sten said everything in his deadpan monotone, meaning that he could have been commenting on how cute kittens are or how pleasing it was to kill, for all the variations his voice had. The interesting aspect was this form of address, which the qunari employed only for her. "The witch has returned and apparently intends to speak only to you about her findings."
And this was cause enough for the warrior himself to come? Of course, given the way Morrigan tended to tease him, Alistair wasn't surprised that the qunari would prefer to be rid of her presence, but this went somewhat beyond his usual duties and responsibilities. "Since when has she made you her messenger?"
It was admirable how effectively the tall warrior could look through a person before shifting his attention – and his message – back to the elf, as if Alistair hadn't spoken at all. "She is threatening to disintegrate the dwarf if he does not cease with his pestering. As you consider them both of use, I supposed you would wish to intervene."
Given the kind of suave seductions the dwarf was capable of when intoxicated, it was no surprise that reactions were inevitable. And with Morrigan no doubt being annoyed that Nimue wasn't at hand immediately to listen to her and discuss their magic, she wasn't going to pull any punches.
Not that she ever did, but this would be particularly severe, no doubt.
Frog time possible, Alistair concluded from the grim look that passed through Nimue's face, barely concealing the sigh she didn't release.
"Where are they?"
"In the west wing. Their precise location changes, but can easily be pinpointed through the screams and drunken rambling." Anyone else would have assumed that this was a joke, but with Sten, it was impossible to tell. The likeliest outcome was that this was at least partly fact.
Nimue closed her eyes for a moment, but her months of living and traveling with these people showed; her shoulders didn't sag and resolution returned to her expression.
"I'm on it." Her face softened a little when she glanced at the templar, who had so rudely been interrupted. But the greater catastrophe would be to wait and see how far Morrigan could be pushed; and Nimue was a little curious about what she had found. "We'll finish later, all right, Alistair? Just remind me later on."
"Of course." Alistair was once again torn between disappointment and relief at the sight of her distancing form. He knew all too well that the hours awarded to him now wouldn't help in any way as far as composing a proper confession was concerned, but he tried to muster all determination available.
He had been about to say it. Really.
"Don't you want help?" True, she did move much faster without heels, but Alistair couldn't imagine the running around being comfortable, especially when not all surfaces were covered with heavy carpets. "At least with retrieving your shoes?"
How like a dog, Morrigan would have said. Alistair decided to blame everything on her purely out of principle.
As Nimue didn't really turn around, it was difficult to tell if she was flattered or worried by the notion. "I don't think that's a good idea! I'll get them myself later!"
How much later, she didn't specify, because she had apparently learned to run quite efficiently even with the heavy fabric of her gown in the way. It had to have something to do with the long training she had gone through with the mage robes and the many, many staircases in the Circle tower. If one could handle living in a place that was apparently designed to either contain or kill you, then sprinting in an ankle-length skirt had to be a breeze.
Still…
"Couldn't she have picked a better time to stumble into Oghren?" Alistair sighed, resisting the sudden urge to (gently, he did bruise easily) bang his head against the nearest wall. He had been several words away from at least being rid of the uncertainty that kept nagging at him like a particularly persistent nug. "Of course nothing ever goes as it should! Why would it?" Surprisingly, the templar realized that he wasn't yet alone; the qunari warrior had remained rooted to the spot, something unexpected. "What is it, Sten?"
Moreover, if it was possible for anyone with such a perpetual frown to look surprised (dully, but surprised nonetheless), this was the moment. Alistair wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't there to witness it. The qunari could often stand eerily still, in attention, but his eyes were a little wider and rooted to the spot where Nimue had vanished out of sight.
Peculiar.
"The Warden…" And he was actually choosing to speak! Wonders would never cease. Alistair made a point of listening to this historic announcement. "She was actually dressed like a woman."
The former templar wasn't certain what exactly had tipped Sten off; he never seemed to consider Nimue dressed like a woman when in her robes, yet the sight of a dress was enough to prompt this kind of reaction?
Clearly, this was a matter worth investigating.
"Yes, Lady Isolde seems to think that the best way to become friends with the savior of your child is to laud her with gowns and shoes." Alistair decided to play it nonchalant, at least for the moment. Perhaps the sight of their best fighter being an actual woman had broken the qunari's reasoning, if not his brain? Surely that was too much of a paradox for one of his beliefs. "Leliana approves almost too heartily. Don't tell me this is the first time you've seen Nimue in these past few days."
At the mention of the bard, Sten finally shifted his gaze towards the other man. The surprise had given away to the same coldness he had displayed when he had been testing whether Alistair had any kind of backbone. "So you continue to allow the bard to remain a threat to your intentions towards the Warden."
It was such a mood whiplash, Alistair couldn't help but splutter.
"W-what? Didn't you see the way Nimue was running away?" Not to mention her obvious lack of affection for the shoes she had discarded and the way she had tried her best to be ready for any sight or sound of the lay sister. "Even if Leliana wasn't just looking for a life-sized doll, it wouldn't be a stretch to say the feeling wasn't mutual. I'd sooner say that Zevran-" Here Alistair stopped. It would be stupid to consider that less probable, because probable was right out in that manner.
It was the time to act, and quickly, because each time the assassin laid out another reason why Nimue shouldn't shirk from his idea of a relationship, it was an ostentatious challenge. And Nimue resisted less and less, most likely out of kindness combined with the intent to keep their group together, no matter what.
Sten, of course, had a different point of view on things entirely. And if he knew about the betting poll, he would have needed further contemplation before betting his money (or meals, in this case) on any of the candidates. He would have pinpointed the man in front of him as the least likely to succeed, though.
"Apparently, you do not consider that she might wish to look like a woman for someone other than yourself." the qunari summarized, hitting the jackpot right away, beyond any doubt. Strangely, this hit Alistair only after someone else said it out loud. "If you intend to follow through with the intention of mating the Warden, you should try to at least look a man."
And Alistair was left standing alone, to wonder how he was supposed to exercise power over a country if he couldn't even fight his own wishes and desires. On another note, he mused whether or not he should be offended by this remark – and whether the basis for comparison was the qunari standard of clench-jawed manhood or the dagger-happy perpetual grin of the long-haired elf that wasn't afraid of making his intentions known to Nimue. Even if this meant a perpetual stalemate between the two of them.
The last was the deepest reason to ponder: was a stalemate much better than one step forward, two steps back?
