[ There's a pause, a long one, the blank space where entreaties or bargaining or pushing would go if Alistair felt he was owed anything in particular or if he wasn't actually fine with the Zevran not putting himself in harms' way.
He'd just assumed, with the degree of certainty that it's disorienting to suddenly lose. ]
Unfortunately- no. Otherwise I would have asked you as soon as it came to light.
[ He has a hard choice to make and make soon- and Alistair would not help him much in that regard. He's have opinions, to be sure, but not much help. ]
[ He would really like to insist that he can surely do or kill something to assist, but that lesson has been learned. After another pause--this one for struggling against impulse instead of plain old confusion--he says, ] All right. Do you have a minute to, um.
[ Perhaps it is his own fault for making himself so reliable- but that cannot be the problem. He's spoilt Alistair by being available as much as possible in his recovery and before the Crows. Making up for lost time.
Still he cannot go- but he does ask without hesitation. ]
[ He hurriedly weighs his options, limited as they are. Right. He cannot allow Alistair in, he'll notice...everything. He cannot leave Luccio to go down to the valley, but he could meet him halfway. ]
I will be walking her in the garden, later. We could see you there.
[ It's weird—and he thinks through a dozen different scenarios, from the room being converted into a sex dungeon to Mia being a closed-door nudist, without coming anywhere close to the right one—but it will work.
And there's probably some coordination required to get Alistair all the way up the path at the same time Zevran and Doghren are in the gardens, but that's boring and I'm skipping it, all the way to the point where Alistair is holding Doghren like an infant and rubbing her belly himself, and looking at Zevran without any hiding a frown that's concerned and a little hurt. ]
[ Part of him aches to say it now, to explain- but standing here in the face of Alistair's disquiet- knowing that doing nothing would cut him deeply, that he would wish to remain, that he would never forgive Zevran if he knew and Zevran sent the child away?
He swallows back the words. ]
It is a delicate matter. But one that I am working through. It will be settled by the end of the month.
If there is an end of the month, [ Alistair says lightly, though maybe a little pointedly, maybe a little bit meant as a reminder that the world is at stake, if not quite so hyperbolically immediate in its potential demise—but that's all. He gives Zevran's face a quick search, in case there's an answer there, which obviously there is not.
He ducks his head down to nuzzle and snuffle under Doghren's chin, probably annoying even her, and sets her back down in the grass. ]
Do you want me to bring you anything? Sand? Rocks? Darkspawn blood?
[ Tell him, his mind supplies, but the rest of him rebels. He cannot bear the weight of his disapproval should he choose to send the boy somewhere safe.
He takes the half step forward to lean against his shoulder, hoping that this contact, that sagging against him and showing he needs this in some way, helps Alistair with what is likely an ache of abandonment. ]
Yourself, whole and unharmed. Or at least mostly unharmed.
[ The leaning does help; it's nothing he put a name to, abandonment, but he is--they're all at risk of dying, and he can't tell how far he's fallen on Zevran's list of priorities without knowing what's wrong. Not asking again is hard. Draping his arm around Zevran's back is easy, though. ]
And if I can't come back, I'll come visit you when all of this is over. Promise.
[ Alistair smiles a toothless smile, the smile of someone who appreciates the sentiment and doesn't doubt the sincerity but also has zero intention, whatever happens, of doing anything to encourage Zevran to leave a place where he seems to be forging real connections with decent people who won't be taking any one-way trips to the Deep Roads for him to insist on going along for. ]
I'll see you, [ he says agreeably, and pats his chest where his crystal is hanging under his shirt. ] Let me know if you decide you want that sand.
[ Something he can give to Kieran, something that can be fashioned into a figure or toy or brooch. The boy was terribly creative and they are now both fathers after a fashion-
Something he cannot say yet. Something he might not say ever. ]
But, truly- you back alive is sufficient. And remember to mind your flank.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ Will not, in fact. There's an apology in his voice, low and thick. ]
Doghren and I shall await your safe return.
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He'd just assumed, with the degree of certainty that it's disorienting to suddenly lose. ]
Is it anything I can help with?
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[ He has a hard choice to make and make soon- and Alistair would not help him much in that regard. He's have opinions, to be sure, but not much help. ]
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[ Anything. ]
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Still he cannot go- but he does ask without hesitation. ]
What do you need?
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[ It isn't sulky. He really doesn't need anything. The packing sounds resume, one-handed. ]
Scratch her belly for me.
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[ Just. Not the Wardens, not this time.
But he does as requested and scratches Dogrhen's belly, murmuring soft comforts. ]
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To Doghren.
[ Clearly. ]
If Adamant is nice I may move in.
[ It won't be nice, and he won't move in, but if the Wardens are saved he might wind up with orders that don't include a return to Skyhold. ]
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[ He hurriedly weighs his options, limited as they are. Right. He cannot allow Alistair in, he'll notice...everything. He cannot leave Luccio to go down to the valley, but he could meet him halfway. ]
I will be walking her in the garden, later. We could see you there.
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[ It's weird—and he thinks through a dozen different scenarios, from the room being converted into a sex dungeon to Mia being a closed-door nudist, without coming anywhere close to the right one—but it will work.
And there's probably some coordination required to get Alistair all the way up the path at the same time Zevran and Doghren are in the gardens, but that's boring and I'm skipping it, all the way to the point where Alistair is holding Doghren like an infant and rubbing her belly himself, and looking at Zevran without any hiding a frown that's concerned and a little hurt. ]
Are you sure?
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[ Part of him aches to say it now, to explain- but standing here in the face of Alistair's disquiet- knowing that doing nothing would cut him deeply, that he would wish to remain, that he would never forgive Zevran if he knew and Zevran sent the child away?
He swallows back the words. ]
It is a delicate matter. But one that I am working through. It will be settled by the end of the month.
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He ducks his head down to nuzzle and snuffle under Doghren's chin, probably annoying even her, and sets her back down in the grass. ]
Do you want me to bring you anything? Sand? Rocks? Darkspawn blood?
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[ Tell him, his mind supplies, but the rest of him rebels. He cannot bear the weight of his disapproval should he choose to send the boy somewhere safe.
He takes the half step forward to lean against his shoulder, hoping that this contact, that sagging against him and showing he needs this in some way, helps Alistair with what is likely an ache of abandonment. ]
Yourself, whole and unharmed. Or at least mostly unharmed.
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[ The leaning does help; it's nothing he put a name to, abandonment, but he is--they're all at risk of dying, and he can't tell how far he's fallen on Zevran's list of priorities without knowing what's wrong. Not asking again is hard. Draping his arm around Zevran's back is easy, though. ]
And if I can't come back, I'll come visit you when all of this is over. Promise.
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[ Even with the Kestrels. Even with Lucci. ]
We will make it work.
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I'll see you, [ he says agreeably, and pats his chest where his crystal is hanging under his shirt. ] Let me know if you decide you want that sand.
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[ Something he can give to Kieran, something that can be fashioned into a figure or toy or brooch. The boy was terribly creative and they are now both fathers after a fashion-
Something he cannot say yet. Something he might not say ever. ]
But, truly- you back alive is sufficient. And remember to mind your flank.