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( open ) they'll name a city after us

Who: Robyn Cousland and YOU
Where: Tenth floor, room 030 (the chapel) & the forest clearing. You can also catch her traveling to and from those locations!
When: April 27th
Rating: PG/PG-13 for mild language and talk of death
Summary: Not long after being told that she's going to die in her own world, the Warden was bitten by one of the Infected and then died to prevent turning. A week after she returns, she has to face that truth in a much more concrete way than before.
The Story:

[ Those who were said to find peace in their dying moments and in death were lucky. They were not Robyn, dead once now, dead twice at the least when everything is said and done. It had been bloody and cold and cruel from beginning to end, when their would-be safe house was overrun by people who were said to be still living, but transformed by a parasite. It had been too similar to the darkspawn, the blight, and the taint, and when she'd been bitten, she'd half-expected the poison already in her blood to overcome the new. Maybe they did battle for control: it certainly felt that way, how her veins burned and her wound worsened more quickly than she could have imagined. She would have become one of them, but she would never let that happen, just as the Grey Wardens kept from becoming ghouls by opting for deaths of their own choosing. She had meant to do it herself, but in the end, she hadn't even been able to manage that. If Leliana hadn't found her... would she have let herself turn?

Robyn keeps to her room until she can't stand it, climbing the walls and positively manic with the angst of it all. In a restless haze, she tears through the mansion's halls, making eye contact with no one, barely aware of her legs carrying her out and away. The Warden stalks through the grass of the grounds, mabari at her heels (whining softly in confusion and compassion) until she arrives at a clearing that another Warden had pointed out to her weeks and weeks ago. She withdraws her dagger and flings it at one of the training dummies, but her hands are shaking and it misses her mark, lodging itself in the lower half of the thing. She drops the crossbow from her back, holding it in her hands and raised toward the dummy, but she changes her mind and lets the weapon fall, dropping down with it. The crossbow lands with a soft thump in the grass and the Warden herself lies on her back, staring up at the canopy of trees, hair fanned out against the grass. She doesn't cry: all noises are caught up in the lump in her throat. Oren lays down at her side, curling against her, occasionally licking her hand.

Later, after hours have passed, she leaves. Slowly, mechanically, she gathers up her dagger and her crossbow and leaves the clearing, moving back to the mansion when the sun is still high in the sky. Doors and halls and people are just as much the blurs that they'd been in the morning, and eventually she makes it up to the top of the mansion, just below the roof. Gently, she sets down all of her weapons at the entrance of the chapel that she'd helped to create for purposes like these, and she lays a hand on the back pew, staring hard at the not-so-distant wall. Eventually, Robyn moves to the front, kneeling and then sitting back, eyes shut tight and hands clasped right in front of her face. ]

"... The fear of death is in your eyes; its hand is upon your throat. Raise your voices to the heavens! Remember: not alone do we stand on the field of battle..."

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[It's a difficult position they're all in, not knowing each other or expecting different things of the people they do know. Anything that can make it easier is a good thing. Just as anything he can do to distract Robyn from her worries is good. Though part of him thinks he should ask her about it, about dying, see if she needs to talk about it. But a louder part insists that they're just managing to get away from the doom and gloom and he doesn't want to be the reason she stops smiling.]

And I am? [Serious enough to be Warden-Commander, him? She had made the suggestion before and it strikes him as unlikely now as it did then. No one from the future has ever called him a Warden-Commander so that's one title that doesn't seem likely to come his way. And even if Robyn isn't eager to claim it she is a good candidate. Duncan would have - had - approved of her. She refuses to sit out the battle against the archdemon even knowing she had died in some version of it. She could do it.

And as far as her argument against it goes-] I don't think you need to be serious all the time to lead. Just look at the Inquisitor. And the king mes. Unless you think they wouldn't do something like this?

[With that he abruptly shifts, kneeling up and grabbing for her, attempting to get her over his shoulder before she can escape. The grin on his face as he does so should be warning enough that he's planning something, if somehow the actions aren't.

She had been expressing her distaste of excessive seriousness. He's helping.]

I think you can be serious when you want to. [ She doesn't remind him how serious things were when they first met... in Wonderland, that is. ] And even if you couldn't, you've got other things the Wardens need in their leaders. Bravery, loyalty. [ Robyn nudges him a little again, adding: ] Humor.

[ He can't deny that he makes people laugh, at the very least. There are a dozen other good qualities she'd be happy to label him as if he gave her the chance, but for now she just listens, head tilted slightly to the side, considering. ]

Well, the Inquisitor is... light-hearted, it's true, and I think King Alistair might--

[ But she's cut off with a yelp from her own mouth as he moves swiftly, starling her our of sheer reaction, and then throws her over his shoulder. At first, she's so shell-shocked by the suddenness and the absurdity that she's very still, but it isn't long before the Warden regains her wits and struggles tooth and nail against her captor, small frame not exactly well-leveraged against his much larger (and taller) form. ]

Alistair, what're you-- put me down! [ Robyn shrieks, trying to sound more demanding than amused, unsure of how to fend him off without actually hurting him. If it were an enemy, it'd be easier, but it isn't as if she wants to go and stab the man to escape from his nefarious clutches. ]

I was just-- [ Oof. ] --trying to sing your praises, and you're-- What are you doing with me?

[ Unfortunately, with everything that's happened, she's long since forgotten about her having told him about the mud... ]

[They can both be serious when they need to be. The last event had made that clear if it wasn't before. And Robyn possesses all the qualities she attributes to him and more, along with the fact she's already been leading the efforts to stop the Blight. The fact that she can say all that about him and also deny her own ability is- He can't say absurd because he finds it difficult to believe that he could actually make a good king no matter what he's been told. So. Maybe they have even more in common than he'd thought. Something it might be worth pointing out when they're next discussing her future as Warden-Commander of Ferelden. But for now it's time to see if her appreciation for his sense of humour lasts when she's covered in mud because of it.]

I'm taking you for a walk.

[He holds Robyn tightly once he has her over his shoulder, both to keep her from getting loose and so she can't fall and get hurt. It's not easy to keep a grip on her when she's struggling but he has brute strength on his side and she's not seriously fighting like she would if he were an enemy so it's doable. A little more difficult to lurch to standing from where he was kneeling, grunting with effort as he finds his feet, but it's no worse than getting upright in full plate.

Bouncing her lightly on his shoulder, Alistair calls to Oren-] Come on boy! [And starts off through the trees, towards the nearby babble of a small stream with wide, muddy banks. As he walks he cheerfully reassures her-] I'll put you down soon, don't worry! I promise you won't get hurt.

[She might not enjoy what's coming as much as he will but she won't get hurt.]

[ It's so incredibly confusing that he's just tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and is 'taking her for a walk' that she can't really do much besides try instinctively to free herself. She also smacks him on the back a lot, though he's got her around the legs, keeping her from kicking him in the face. ]

This isn't-- very-- Grey Warden-like of you! [ She huffs. Finally, something occurs to her, and, since she knows where he's at least a little ticklish, she needles him in the sides with her fingers in her continued attempt to get loose. ]

Why aren't you helping? Your master is in mortal peril! [ Robyn demands of the dog, who follows alongside them, looking pleased, likely expecting a reward. He's too smart for his own good, she thinks, since the mabari clearly knows she's in no real danger. ]

I'll lick you if I have to, don't think that I won't! [ Or bite, even! Never mind that she can't exactly reach anywhere to do so that would matter, since licking at his clothes would... accomplish nothing and likely not taste so great. ] Alistair "Remigold" Theirin, if you don't let me go right now, you're really going to get it!

[ One way or another!! ]

And you're not being very heroic! [And he's definitely not being kingly and neither of them are being commanderly or, and this is the important bit, thinking about dying.

Alistair hums cheerfully as he walks, the hammering on his back not even phasing him. When Robyn starts digging at his sides that gets more of a reaction as he yelps and tries unsuccessfully to squirm away from her, bouncing her on his shoulder again when that fails.]

He's a good boy and knows I'm just trying to help. [He coos down at the hound, happily keeping them company. He's going to have to remember to start carrying dog treats with him all the time. He wasn't expecting to see Robyn or Oren when he came out here so he forgot. But even without a treat the mabari should get just as much enjoyment from the next bit as Alistair himself.]

Remi- [Oh, right. Of course. His counter-part has the same sense of humour. And also knows he looks quite dashing in a dress and can dance well. That's something. But two can play that game!] Since you put it like that your Heroicness-

[He starts to run, jostling Robyn even more than before as he does. Lucky for her it's only a short dash then he's skidding to halt again and lifting her off his shoulder. And dumping her right down in the mud.]

There, I put you down.

[Just like she asked. Don't mind the triumphant grin he's sporting, he was just doing as he was told.]

[ He bounces her on his shoulder and it's nearly nauseating, considering that he's... not exactly being gentle and is hurrying along to destinations unknown. Robyn is about to make good on her threat by trying to bite the back of his arm... except, Alistair is suddenly running, destination apparently in sight, and it's so surprising that she cries out in alarm. ]

Alistair! [ Seriously!! But, then it (unfortunately) all becomes clear as the other Warden lifts her again and deposits her into the muddy bank of the stream with an unpleasant squelch. Robyn's mouth falls open as she splutters, shocked, half-covered in mud and as utterly blown away as she's ever been at this turn of events.

There is a long, stunned silence.

Eventually, though, she slowly turns to look up at him, expression unchanged. Then, the Warden whistles sharply in a short pattern and her mabari will try, at least, to headbutt Alistair behind the knees to get him to fall. Robyn herself snaps an arm out to grab his hand and try and tug him down into the muck with her. She'll be damned if he gets out of all this clean and she has to make a confusing walk of shame back to her room. ]

You-- aren't-- getting-- away! [ She grunts, tugging with all her strength. ]

[He struggles. Valiantly and against greater numbers he struggles.

But he's already laughing himself stupid at the first, mostly ineffectual tug. On the slippery ground Robyn has no leverage and against his greater strength she really doesn't have a chance of pulling him off his feet. Once he manages to to stop laughing he can easily pull free and run back to the mansion before she starts throwing mud at him instead.

Until Oren joins in and, still snickering madly, Alistair goes down like a felled ogre. He twists as he falls and hits the muddy ground beside Robyn, still laughing gleefully and struggling to speak.]

You- Your face! Maker, I-

[Rolling over, already well on his way to being a uniform brown smear he finally manages to catch his breath. And smirks.

Lunging for her, Alistair attempts to grab her arm and keep her from making a break for it. If he can get her even more covered in muck at the same time all the better. Neither of them is walking out of here till they're completely covered if he has anything to say about it.

This would be about a good time for Bann Teagan to show up. A visiting noble to surprise and a fond reminder of the last time he saw his sort-of uncle before being sent to the Chantry.]

[ If he had broken free and run, she would have chased him. She hasn't tested it against "this" Alistair, but she's fast and would be spurred on by muddy fury. Fortunately, though, her dog manages his sacred duty and pummels Alistair's legs into submission, sending him into the muck, himself.

Unfortunately, he doesn't seem to be done acting mischievously. Robyn yelps as he dives for her, scrambling to get away, but he gets a grip and he's stronger and she tries to fight him off, curling her fingers around his arm to try and pry it off of herself. ]

What in the name of Andraste are you doing? [ She demands, flailing, both trying to escape and free herself and soak him in mud all at the same time. ] That's the last time I confide in you with something serious!

[ No, she doesn't mean it, but this is all... still very confusing. ]

I share a personal story from my history and you use it against me! How will I ever trust you again?

[ Because that had been where she'd gotten the idea, hadn't it? She reflects on this in the midst of the chaos, nose wrinkled intently, and then-- screw it. Robyn tries to make good on her threat and begins her attempt to sink her teeth into his arm.

The mabari, meanwhile, lies down in the grass to watch. ]

[Now he has mud all over his face as well as just about everywhere else. His only recourse is to make sure Robyn is just as filthy by the time they're done. Something he's sure he can manage before she breaks free.

Grinning happily he tries to scrub a handful of mud into her hair, getting more mud spattered over him as he does.]

Mwahaha, you should know better than to let me know your dirty secrets!

['Dirty secrets'? Get it?

...Oh, come on that was funny! And she had to know this was coming after sharing that story. What else was he supposed to do, just forget about it? She doesn't mean it. Or so he thinks, though given what she does next maybe she does.

Alistair yelps and flails backwards - and, yes, it's soaked all the way through his trousers now - as Robyn bites him. Attempting to snatch his arm back and examine the wounded area he pouts at her.]

Owww! Were you raised by dogs? That's just going too far!

Not my hair! [ She shouts, still struggling, trying valiantly to stuff mud down the front of his shirt and to leave piles of it atop his head. ] I'll never tell you anything about myself again, we'll go back to being uncomfortable strangers, I'll-- [ And the Warden splutters unhappily as he succeeds in getting the mud into her hair. ] What did I do to deserve such torment?

[ Robyn offers him an enormous sad pout, like a muddy puppy kicked by its owner. ]

By dog lords, Warden Alistair. [ The pout is quickly replaced with a happy grin as she shows her toothy weapons. ] Nothing is too far when your enemy seems to have the advantage. I have to use everything I have to try and gain the upper hand!

[ Maybe not everything. Isabela might suggest her trying to distract him with a kiss (knowing what she does of Isabela and their past conversations), but she isn't about to make things awkward. ]

So, will you yield, or do I need to do it again? [ She warns, showing the teeth again in a faux snarl. ]

[What was that? It sounded like 'please put it all in my hair Alistair' and he aims to please. The fact that he has it sliding uncomfortably down his chest under his shirt and matting his hair and getting in his eyes only dims his smile a little. Then a little more as he tries to scrub his eyes clear with - ow! - equally muddy hands.]

I'm helping you relax. [And cheering her up but the whole point was not to think about unpleasant subjects so he's not going to say that.] And keeping you on your toes.

[There was no telling when she might find herself battling a larger, stronger opponent in some slippery, muddy battlefield. Looking at it that way, he was doing her a favour. She should be thanking him. Not chewing on him.

Sitting back on his heels, Alistair raises his hands defensively and cringes back in defeat.] I yield! Your fangs are too sharp for me. Please don't hurt me.

I'm not relaxed--! [ She says hotly, but she can't deny that this isn't keeping her on her toes, at least at the moment. Though... of course, not literally. The two of them are still thrashing and flailing like children, much more messy than the dog lying happily nearby, flinging mud at each other and positively coating themselves in it in an attempt to outdo the other. ]

You'd better not go back on your word! [ Robyn says sternly, ready to spring into action if he tries anything again. ] I've got very strong teeth. You'll have a bruise and that way you'll never forget to not toss me into the mud!

[ ... Of course, even though he'd "yielded," the damage is done. Both Wardens are absolutely filthy and panting and a sight to see, covered from head to toe. Robyn dabs at her face to try and get it off, but it just smears a little into her eyes and she winces, looking momentarily unhappy. ]

Ow. [ Unhappy at the sting, though, is not as bad as the pain of having died, since he's successfully gotten that out of her mind. She eyes him through it, nose wrinkled. ] You wound me, ser. Literally.

[Well he's having fun. Or was. Until she started biting. Spoilsport. And he's just as filthy as she is so clearly it's just Robyn failing to appreciate the humour of the situation.]

I'd never! I'm a man of my word, how dare you insult me so! [He's definitely not going back on his word when he risks getting chewed on if he does. There's been more than enough of that lately- Not that he's thinking about that. He's achieved his goal of getting Robyn absolutely filthy and distracted and ensuring she'll need to walk past at least some of their fellows like that to get cleaned up. Less than he will though.... Blast.

Still. He'd do it again - possibly even will do it again, given a chance - bruises and stinging eyes and all.]

Who wounded whom? I'm the one you decided to use as a chew toy! I thought Oren would be the one most likely to bite me. [Turning to the hound he adds-] Traitor. See if I ever bring you treats again.

[Pushing him in the mud too and when he thought he'd bribed his way into favour. He's the real wounded party here.

Getting to his feet with only minor slipping about, he grins and offers Robyn a hand up.] A truce then, my dog lady.

I would say we're at least even. [ The Warden says coolly, forever trying to suppress the pleased grin. ] You have tarnished my... um, respectable image, and now you've got the marks to prove it. Even.

[ Or something like that. Though she's stinking and soaked and dirty, she's smiling, the conversation of earlier nearly forgotten. Mud is a nice exchange for blood, it's true, and despite his not having known her for long, Alistair managed to find a way to boost her spirits remarkably well.

Oren is less pleased and whines, making a signature puppy dog face up at Alistair at the accusations. ]

You'll hurt his feelings. [ Robyn coos softly, looking over at her mabari. ] He was only following my orders. Blame me, then, and not him.

[ She isn't sure he'd leave the other Warden alone, anyway. Not after the treats.

Though their hands are both slick and the ground slicker, she nods briefly and accepts the hand. There's a moment where she almost does slip and clutches out at both his upper arms to steady herself, but she manages not to fall, or to topple them both over again. ]

A truce, mud lord. [ She agrees, smiling, admitting a laugh, even. ] For now, at least, until such a time as you assault me again.

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( open ) they'll name a city after us

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