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.
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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.
no subject
[ 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.