[ I guess that means this ends soon. One way or another.
Did you not wonder why Flemeth saved your life? Why she aided you? This is why.
The door closes with a snap and she presses her back to it, heart pounding like the drums of the battle to come in her ears. Alistair had always said that there was a reason for Flemeth to send her daughter along on their journey. Robyn had always brushed it delicately aside for reasons that she hadn't been completely able to understand. The Witch of the Wilds had saved their lives, true, but if there was a reason for her to place Morrigan in their midst-... well. She could never have guessed that it might have been this, not in a hundred years.
I have been very, very naive.
For a moment, as she lets her eyes close and shuts them tight, she can imagine that she isn't in Redcliffe at all, but back in Highever, before any and everything happened. Tears sting at her eyes with the sense of how simple it all was, how good, how easy. Nothing had been that way since, but they'd made the best of it, hadn't they? Despite the odds stacked to the sky against them, their strange band had managed to do what no one thought possible. Each in their party had their own weights to bear, but they'd proven noble allies and steadfast friends, in the end. It's true that the feeling of betrayal stirs within her, biting hot at her insides at the thought of the conversation she'd just had with Morrigan... but, if it's true? If it's true (and she does believe it, forgiving to a fault), then this way be their way to actually outlive the Fifth Blight. More importantly, it might be a way to keep Alistair from noble, self-sacrificial action.
When she opens her eyes, she realizes her hands are shaking and she clenches them into fists that whiten her skin. Riordan has said he'll take that last blow; he's a seasoned warrior, we've nothing to fear. And yet, the tiniest voice inside her doesn't second this hope, retains that until the move is made, they can't know for certain what will happen. Who will live or die.
Swallowing hard, Robyn pushes from the door and moves down the hall, still dressed in the armor of the day, feeling its weight with every step. She'd told Morrigan that she would speak with Alistair, but every step solidifies how she feels about the entire thing, just drives home all her reservations that had shouted, demanding to be heard, when she'd first been told what this ritual would entail. Even so, and no matter what the apostate had said, this isn't her own decision.
Her skin is crawling when she enters the room. It's his room, technically, as they'd been given their own, but neither had ever had any intention of being alone tonight. On the last night. So, she closes another door, trying not to let the enormity of Morrigan's words shine through like a complete beacon. ]
Oh, are these your chambers? [ She questions lightly, with every effort to appear perfectly unconcerned, though they'd both been informed of more cheery news about the fates of the Wardens (and more). ] Well, my mistake. I really thought I had the right door...
[ somewhere along the way, his legs started falling asleep. it makes it hard to lean against the four-poster bed--pins and needles tingle in his calves as he smiles at robyn. it's a terrible smile. completely fake and as easy to see through as hers is. but he puts it on, nonetheless, a familiar mask to hide his unease. ]
Oh, dear. You can't be seen walking out of here, Warden Cousland. It's just not proper. Whatever shall we do? [ his voice cracks a little on the last word and it's everything he can do not to let the facade drop.
after riordan told them the truth, he'd come into his room and paused. stared right at the floor and couldn't even take his armor off like he probably should have. instead, he stood stock still until robyn came in, his mind racing a mile a minute.
alistair wants to have faith in riordan. he really, truly does. but he can't help but think of ostagar and the complete slaughter that happened there. they lost so many wardens, and that wasn't even the whole horde. their senior says he'll take the final blow, make the sacrifice so they can live, but there's no guarantee his plan will work. if anything, it's more likely it won't. and that--well. that terrifies alistair. makes him cold right down to his core.
he doesn't want to die. but more than that, he doesn't want to face a life without robyn. she's been the brightest spot in his life for a while now and he--maker, it sound pathetic, but he's not sure what he'd do without her. he's really not.
the smile on his face falters as he swallows hard. but she's playing at ease, at light-heartedness, so he does his best to go along with it. ]
I don't suppose you'd like to help me into something more comfortable?
[ They are two very young people with a lot more on their shoulders than just about anyone else in Thedas, and certainly in Ferelden. The circumstances that have brought them to this moment, and together, are a tangled that's become impossible to follow and harder to believe. How is it that the bastard son of the king and the daughter of a teryn had come to be in this room, lying through their smiles, about to enter into the likely last fight of their lives?
And that's all besides what's most pressing at her mind, which won't stay down for long, though which she wishes she could set aside and never tell him. Robyn knows that she can't make that decision, though, not when he has every right to (possibly) save his own life. If he wants to go through with the ritual, she can't begrudge him for it, much as the very idea might tug at her heart. ]
Suppose away. [ She replies lightly, stepping in. They're both armed and armored, but with the information she's just received, she barely notices. It drags her down as if she's weary heavy mail and she's more than obviously distracted, unable to muster the usual amount of bright optimism, though she wants nothing more than to see him smile. ... And not the one he's chosen, which is strained and deeply upset.
Robyn thumbs at his jaw, briefly, then moves to the clasps of his breastplate. The deft hands of a rogue slip the buckles off and away without too much trouble, working at each piece in turn. Gingerly, she takes the gloves, nudges him backward to sit on the bed and kneels to remove his boots. He can do much of it himself, but busying herself with a simple task, and one that helps him in even the smallest capacity, distracts from the... everything else.
Andraste, give me strength. Maker, keep him safe. ]
More comfortable now that you've shed all the weight of that metal? [ She smiles thinly, rising. They're both here, physically, but seemingly somewhere else in mind. ] It's a wonder you can keep that on your back all day long.
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Did you not wonder why Flemeth saved your life? Why she aided you? This is why.
The door closes with a snap and she presses her back to it, heart pounding like the drums of the battle to come in her ears. Alistair had always said that there was a reason for Flemeth to send her daughter along on their journey. Robyn had always brushed it delicately aside for reasons that she hadn't been completely able to understand. The Witch of the Wilds had saved their lives, true, but if there was a reason for her to place Morrigan in their midst-... well. She could never have guessed that it might have been this, not in a hundred years.
I have been very, very naive.
For a moment, as she lets her eyes close and shuts them tight, she can imagine that she isn't in Redcliffe at all, but back in Highever, before any and everything happened. Tears sting at her eyes with the sense of how simple it all was, how good, how easy. Nothing had been that way since, but they'd made the best of it, hadn't they? Despite the odds stacked to the sky against them, their strange band had managed to do what no one thought possible. Each in their party had their own weights to bear, but they'd proven noble allies and steadfast friends, in the end. It's true that the feeling of betrayal stirs within her, biting hot at her insides at the thought of the conversation she'd just had with Morrigan... but, if it's true? If it's true (and she does believe it, forgiving to a fault), then this way be their way to actually outlive the Fifth Blight. More importantly, it might be a way to keep Alistair from noble, self-sacrificial action.
When she opens her eyes, she realizes her hands are shaking and she clenches them into fists that whiten her skin. Riordan has said he'll take that last blow; he's a seasoned warrior, we've nothing to fear. And yet, the tiniest voice inside her doesn't second this hope, retains that until the move is made, they can't know for certain what will happen. Who will live or die.
Swallowing hard, Robyn pushes from the door and moves down the hall, still dressed in the armor of the day, feeling its weight with every step. She'd told Morrigan that she would speak with Alistair, but every step solidifies how she feels about the entire thing, just drives home all her reservations that had shouted, demanding to be heard, when she'd first been told what this ritual would entail. Even so, and no matter what the apostate had said, this isn't her own decision.
Her skin is crawling when she enters the room. It's his room, technically, as they'd been given their own, but neither had ever had any intention of being alone tonight. On the last night. So, she closes another door, trying not to let the enormity of Morrigan's words shine through like a complete beacon. ]
Oh, are these your chambers? [ She questions lightly, with every effort to appear perfectly unconcerned, though they'd both been informed of more cheery news about the fates of the Wardens (and more). ] Well, my mistake. I really thought I had the right door...
no subject
Oh, dear. You can't be seen walking out of here, Warden Cousland. It's just not proper. Whatever shall we do? [ his voice cracks a little on the last word and it's everything he can do not to let the facade drop.
after riordan told them the truth, he'd come into his room and paused. stared right at the floor and couldn't even take his armor off like he probably should have. instead, he stood stock still until robyn came in, his mind racing a mile a minute.
alistair wants to have faith in riordan. he really, truly does. but he can't help but think of ostagar and the complete slaughter that happened there. they lost so many wardens, and that wasn't even the whole horde. their senior says he'll take the final blow, make the sacrifice so they can live, but there's no guarantee his plan will work. if anything, it's more likely it won't. and that--well. that terrifies alistair. makes him cold right down to his core.
he doesn't want to die. but more than that, he doesn't want to face a life without robyn. she's been the brightest spot in his life for a while now and he--maker, it sound pathetic, but he's not sure what he'd do without her. he's really not.
the smile on his face falters as he swallows hard. but she's playing at ease, at light-heartedness, so he does his best to go along with it. ]
I don't suppose you'd like to help me into something more comfortable?
no subject
And that's all besides what's most pressing at her mind, which won't stay down for long, though which she wishes she could set aside and never tell him. Robyn knows that she can't make that decision, though, not when he has every right to (possibly) save his own life. If he wants to go through with the ritual, she can't begrudge him for it, much as the very idea might tug at her heart. ]
Suppose away. [ She replies lightly, stepping in. They're both armed and armored, but with the information she's just received, she barely notices. It drags her down as if she's weary heavy mail and she's more than obviously distracted, unable to muster the usual amount of bright optimism, though she wants nothing more than to see him smile. ... And not the one he's chosen, which is strained and deeply upset.
Robyn thumbs at his jaw, briefly, then moves to the clasps of his breastplate. The deft hands of a rogue slip the buckles off and away without too much trouble, working at each piece in turn. Gingerly, she takes the gloves, nudges him backward to sit on the bed and kneels to remove his boots. He can do much of it himself, but busying herself with a simple task, and one that helps him in even the smallest capacity, distracts from the... everything else.
Andraste, give me strength. Maker, keep him safe. ]
More comfortable now that you've shed all the weight of that metal? [ She smiles thinly, rising. They're both here, physically, but seemingly somewhere else in mind. ] It's a wonder you can keep that on your back all day long.