a distant echo

An AU Duncan roleplay blog affiliated with City of Chains.

[donotswoop]

A Choice - [Duncan & Alistair]

[donotswoop]

Alistair returned Duncan’s smile. “History is actually one thing I like learning about.” It was true, he liked learning about things of the past. The history of people, places, and things had been a wonder and mystery to him as a child—he’d even broken an arm exploring one of Redcliffe’s ruins—and the interest stayed with him as he grew up. He wondered if it had anything to with the fact that he did not have much of a history of his own. Sure, he knew his father had plenty of history attached to him, having been the king and all, but he felt somehow separate from it. And he didn’t know a thing about his mother, save for that she was a servant in his castle.

So Alistair listened to the Warden-Commander as he gave a brief history of Wardens and their duties. “Well, it sounds like a worthy life, being a Warden. Or at least an interesting one.” A lot more worthy or interesting than the one that awaits me here, anyway.

Alistair fell silent for a moment, thinking, a hand on the table idly picking at discolored spot on the table. The Right of Conscription would get him out of being a Templar and away from the Chantry entirely, but being a Grey Warden was also for life. Once he chose it, if he chose it, he wouldn’t be able to go back.

“Okay, so, suppose for a moment that I’m interested. How would I go about joining? Are there tests or classes or anything like there are here?” He was sure that if Duncan asked the Revered Mother, she would tell him an ear full of how awful a student he was. She knew he was doing it on purpose, but she might tell him in an effort to keep Alistair there.

[fereldan-commander]

"Warden hopefuls must display their merit in battle and wit. There are a few standard questions and battle exercises I often use to weed those who wish to be Grey Wardens from those who are destined for it. But...the majority of individuals who actually don the blue and grey are hand-picked in advance." Duncan's lips twitched and his cheeks lifted, gently. "I've heard of your talents with a sword, Alistair. There are one or two others here in whom I am mildly curious, but I must come clean. It is you I intended to approach today, if you did not seek me first."

Earthen eyes bore calmly into the blues of the dimpled, fresh-faced youth across from him. Maric's features were all too visible.

His mother's...somewhat less-so. But Duncan knew them well enough to pick them out from the royal line's domineering genes.

"Your Revered Mother is reluctant to let you go. She must be very fond of you. Are you equally fond of your place here in the Order?"

[faithinbonesffn]

Michael Grant Terry / Eugene Byrd / Pej Vahdat

[faithinbonesffn]

[fereldan-commander]

Plying the Trade :: [ for Bryce ]

[heartwood-and-sacrifice]

Oh, I expect there are a great many places I could take you, given opportunity. Bryce thought, though he said nothing aloud. Clearing his throat he shook off the sight of the younger man adjusting his trousers around the curve of his behind and extended his paces to lead the way toward the glen where he was certain they would find their quarry. 

At the edge of the glen, the woodsman dropped down, first to knee, then to belly, peering through the leaves of the undergrowth that edged the clearing. 

"There." He whispered, his gaze indicating the buck that indeed had stopped to drink from a brook only a few meters away. 

Arching his back and rolling lightly to the left Bryce untethered his weapon, shifting back to his stomach once he had to brace it against a fallen log. One long leg pulled up at the knee to help with stability as he cocked the rifle, the small sound drew the stag’s head up from the water, it’s near luminescent gaze piercing through the brush as though it could sense death waiting among the leaves.

A few whispered words in a foreign tongue and the shot was fired, tearing through the great stag’s chest as dropping it to the ground. 

Bryce stood a moment later, shouldering his weapon and dusting off his pants and chest, though the forest seemed to cling to him in spite of his efforts. A few paces brought him to the fallen stag’s side where he knelt and spoke once more: “Go raibh maith agat, mo chara, le do íobairt. An chuid eile anois. Lá amháin beidh mé bheith leat sa garrán.”

[fereldan-commander]

Unannounced, the enormous lord had flattened himself to the earth at Duncan's feet. The sight, strangely enough, nearly stirre a laugh from the warden's chest, but out of respect for the task of hand he managed both to swallow it and to fold himself first onto his knees, then onto the ground at Bryce's side.

An esteemed member of Ferelden's senate lay beside him, elbows-down in the leaves and dirt with bugs, chipmunks, a former thief from Val Royeaux and other such pests. Espresso eyes followed the other man's rolling and shifting, watching the way his hips lifted with that adjusted knee.

There, Bryce had whispered.

Yes, thought Duncan.  'There' is just fine.

Laughter no longer threatened to pass his lips. Instead, Duncan swallowed a different scale of sounds.

The sharp clap of riflefire spreading out through the woods brought his attention from Bryce's hips, though, and he flicked his eyes up just in time to see the buck fall. By the time he looked back, the older man had spryly returned to his feet and was swiping his hands over himself--

The warden focused his gaze on a twig on the ground in front of himself and pushed first to his hands and knees, and then to his feet, swatting at the bits of Heartwood that wished to carry itself with him as well, following Bryce to the deer while wholeheartedly refusing to look at the man.

An annoyingly difficult imposition, given how much space the fellow took up.

"Is it a good one?" he asked, feeling a little stupid for his question but holding his posture squarely as though he didn't. "The deer, I mean. Or will dinner require another?"

[yamnahar-deactivated20150227]

[elissaromildecousland]

Old Ghosts - [Elissa and Duncan]

[elissaromildecousland]

"Of course." Elissa smiled, trying to force the instinctual nervous reaction from her body at the idea of having the two of them meet.

"Fergus hasn’t met him yet either." She continued, anxiously picking at the label of her beer bottle. "And as along with Garrett and Morrigan, the two of you are the most important people in my life, it’s only appropriate you should meet."

She nodded several times, staring into the mouth of the bottle as though it held some sort of wisdom she’d yet to make sense of, her lips moving almost without thought. “He’s Garrett’s uncle, and I’m sure he and Morrigan met in a bar sometime long before I gave him the time of day. Not that it would have left her with a very favorable impression of him…”

What are you doing, Elissa? Stop talking.

Her eyes flicked back up to him, mildly horrified. “Duncan, I know what you’re going to do when I give you his name. You’re going to do what Father would have done, what any well-connected, protective, parent would do if their daughter suddenly relayed her intentions of marrying someone who they did not know.”

Emerald eyes searched deeply into chocolate brown, pleading with him to understand. “But I want you to remember, while you’re doing that, that what you find isn’t the whole story. There’s more to him than that. Much more. Can you do that?”

[fereldan-commander]

Of course she knew his intentions.

Duncan's expression outwardly did not validate her assumptions entirely, but he did give her a wry, understanding smile before saying, obviously, "I have no idea what you are alluding to."

He squeezed her hand and returned the seriousness of her gaze with his own. "But you may rest assured that I do not judge people by the records of others. Printed histories of deeds and crimes can be misleading. Such things may provide a frame, but only the words of those closest to them and observed behaviour can fill what is between those boarders."

A calloused right hand patted the back of her left.

"Your accounts of him, and the happiness I see in you, speak volumes beyond what literal volumes can."

[butterflycaps]

[elissaromildecousland]

The Gem of Keroshek - [Elissa and Duncan]

[elissaromildecousland]

“The only person who thinks that you’re usefulness has been limited by your injuries is you, Duncan.” Elissa assured him, standing to retrieve and place their empty whiskey glasses on the decanter tray to be dealt with later. When the glasses were settled, she walked back over and offered the former commander her hands. “There’s an empty lot we can park in not too far from the old factory, and though there was no set meeting time given in the note, I’m fairly certain whomever it is that sent it will have someone watching to see when or if Gamlen shows up.”

Half an hour later they’d arrived at the abandoned building referenced in the note. Elissa released her daggers and eased inside, a light smile on her lips that belied the potential gravity of the situation. Being back in these clothes, in this routine… there was something comforting about it in spite of the circumstance.

She was just about to open her mouth and question whether she’d interpreted the map correctly when a voice rang out from the second floor landing. “Yer not Gamlen Amell.”

“Perhaps I am. Plastic surgeons can work miracles these days.” Elissa replied, eyes scanning the half-shadows of the stairway down which she could now hear the man descending.

“No.” The man shook his head as he descended, a gun clearly visible in his right hand. “Yer that assassin he took up with. Only you ain’t protected by the Coterie anymore. Convenient for me. Not so convenient for you.”

The former assassin laughed and shook her head. “If you know that much about me then you must have heard rumor how I got out. The Coterie just wrote me off. Sent me a letter saying my contract had been dissolved. What does that tell you?”

“Tells me ya got some pretty big strings ta pull.” The man continued as he stepped off the bottom of the stairs and into the main factory floor. His hair was the palest blonde Elissa had ever seen aside from albinos, and his facial hair had been trimmed into a ridiculous mutton chop that stuck off to the sides like an unruly badger’s jowel. “Maybe that old man ya brought along. Don’t much matter ta me.” He raised his pistol, aiming it at Elissa’s head. “See, I was hired ta send that note an take care’a Amell when he showed. But I got ta thinkin’. That gem could bring in a lotta coin.”

Elissa’s brow furrowed in confusion. “So… let me be sure I follow this. You were hired to lure a man here who never found the gem by stating that you had said trinket —which you didn’t— and now you somehow expect that he’s had it all along.” She snorted out a laugh. “I honestly don’t know what’s more ludicrous here. That you must sincerely believe all of that or that you are delusional enough to think for even a second that if Gamlen did have the gem, I would take you to it. For all you know about me… you really didn’t think that one through.”

As she spoke, Elissa was constantly in motion. Subtle adjustments to her position eventually dropped both herself —and Duncan who adjusted his own as she moved— out of the line of sight of any rooms in the second floor where the senator was certain this thug had planted a set of snipers. She rolled the grips to her blades restlessly in her fingers, muscles tensing and ready to respond as necessary. “I’m going to need to know who it was that hired you to kill my fiance.”

The man snorted, the hand not holding a gun coming up to trace the line of his jaw beneath the muttonchop. “An I’m goin’ ta need ta know yer no longer’a problem before I contact him again.”

The gun tipped to the side as the hired thug popped off a shot, but Elissa started diving the moment he finished speaking, certain her question would prompt this response. The bullet grazed the back of her jacket, prompting a disapproving hiss from between her teeth as she skidded across the dusty tile.

[fereldan-commander]

Shoot at her, shithead. I dare you.

The heirloom silverite dagger in Duncan’s hand was in the air the moment the gunshot rang, and lodged itself in Mutton Chops’s left thigh. No sooner had he thrown the dagger had Duncan drawn his sidearm, aimed it up at one of the snipers on the second floor and squeezed an easy body shot off, hitting the man square in the chest. He’d expected to stagger him, but apparently snipers in Darktown were unaccustomed to bothering with kevlar and the bullet blew clean threw.

Fortunately, the effect was still the same. His body folded forward off the second floor and down on top of the man they’d gone to meet, whose thigh injury caused him to crumble beneath the weight of a larger man’s body atop him trapping him there.

Duncan then allowed his own bad leg to fold beneath him, bringing himself to the floor easily and rolling to the side behind a structural pillar, glancing over toward Elissa, trying to see if she was all right.

[donotswoop]

A Choice - [Duncan & Alistair]

[donotswoop]

Alistair had to smile at Duncan’s response. He was pretty sure the man was joking, a hunch that was confirmed when the Warden’s serious expression broke and the smile replaced it. It was a nice response to his ridiculous question. Usually he just got scowls from his teachers when he dared ask them an something idiotic.

“I can’t say that I have.” Alistair took the pamphlet, flipping it open and glancing through it. It was true, though. He hadn’t given Wardenhood a single thought as to an alternative to his situation. He’d dreamed of so many unlikely scenarios to get himself away from this place, but becoming a Grey Warden had never come to mind. Thinking about it now, though, it might actually be the only legitimate way to get out of being a Templar. However… “I also can’t say I know too much about the Grey Wardens at all, really, other than the fact that they fight darkspawn and they’re not as big in Ferelden as they used to be.”

Alistair pulled out the plastic chair tucked under the front of Duncan’s table, plopped himself down on to it, and looked the man in the eyes. “Care to enlighten me?”

[fereldan-commander]

A low chuckle broke free from the back of the Warden-Commander's throat. "There are some who might say you've just sealed your own fate--for a nap, at least, asking me to regale you with Warden history." His smile was warm and welcoming however as he leaned forward in his seat and knit the black leather of his gloved fingers together upon the table in front of him. "It is the duty of the Grey Wardens to protect all of Thedas from darkspawn and the Blights they cause. Our order, once regarded very highly, has admittedly dwindled in popularity over the last few centuries as we have yet to see another Blight. Many believe we won't have another."

Leanly muscled shoulders lifted and fell. "For the here and now, the tainted are still an issue, and as we accept funds from all nations and organizations, we are able to research the Taint and its effects in search of a cure, and develop anti-Darkspawn gear and weapons to help deal with raids and outbreaks as they appear.

"As for the popularity of the Wardens in Ferelden, it is actually the opposite of what you understand. The Grey Wardens were exiled from our fair homeland between the Fourth and Fifth blights due to a political coup and subsequent war between Dishonored Warden-Commander Sophia Dryden and the royal army of King Arland. But two ages later, I traveled from Val Royeaux under Orlesian Warden-Commander Genevieve Frederic in an investigation, and...I won't bore you with the details of such endeavors now, but the aftermath saw King Maric's gratitude to the Wardens and his invitation that we return, with myself instated first as Warden-Lieutenant, and then shortly thereafter as the new Warden-Commander."

He smiled patiently at Alistair, not at all certain of the young man had soaked the information in or nodded off midway through. He was Maric's son, after all, which likely meant that his mind tended to latch onto some things with great enthusiasm while leaving others unprocessed unintentionally.

[elissaromildecousland]

Old Ghosts - [Elissa and Duncan]

[elissaromildecousland]

Her face shifted delicately as the man she’d chosen as father assured her, again, that the man who’d been father by blood had truly had pride in her. “I appreciate the efforts, Duncan, and I will…” she cleared her throat, attempting to force away the tears that welled at the edges of her eyes, threatening to fall, “I will try to take your word for it in spite of my own memories in that regard.”

The sorrow passed like a shadow when he said he intended to stay, the expression replaced with a smile around the mouth of her bottle as she considered him. “Good. That’s… good. Though I suppose that means there are people you should meet. The Hawkes have become family to me. Especially Garrett. He’s made certain to poke fun at me in Fergus’s absence.” 

She laughed, the comparison coming much easier now that she knew her sibling was alive again. “And there’s… Duncan, I’ve been seeing someone for over a year now and he’s… It’s serious. I intend to marry him, if he ever asks me. And even if he doesn’t, I’m committed.”

Emerald eyes flicked up to brown for a moment, searching for some sort of reaction to the news as she was certain there would be one.

[fereldan-commander]

The residual ache that had been hanging to Duncan's heart like dust settled in the fibers of a wool coat aired for use after far too long stuffed out of sight shook loose into the air, dispersing at the last of Elissa's words.

Suddenly the pain she felt at the thought of Bryce mattered little, for the moment. Because there, plain as the rolling laws that led to the Wood, was happiness.

She looked almost sheepish for it. Nervous. But it was there and it was strong and undeniable.

The old Warden's lips twitched forward, then drew back in a slow, warm smile broad enough to show teeth before his lips pressed together again though as they did he only beamed more.

Life where there was so much death.  Gain where there had been crippling losses.  Resilience and recovery and reunion.

The Heartwood will endure.

Duncan swallowed and blinked once to mitigate the friendly burn that was quietly overwhelming his throat and eyes.

"I cannot imagine why anyone would not wish to marry you, Missy, but. He took her hand again and clasped it in both of his own. "Congratulations. I am...very happy to see you so. I would love to meet him some time, if I could? Or is it someone I know?"

[fereldan-commander]

Y E P

elissaromildecousland replied to your audio post

(O U C H)

[fereldan-commander]

[fereldan-commander]

Plying the Trade :: [ for Bryce ]

[heartwood-and-sacrifice]

The woodsman heard it when his companion slipped on the fallen leaves, as well as the shift in the pacing of his breathing as the man put what Bryce could only assume was some level of direct focus on controlling it, though he suppressed any visible or audible response to what he’d observed. 

One blonde eyebrow arched at the sound of his given name, the shift in decorum very abrupt when taken in line with the morning’s previous conversation. When the dark-haired warden produced the senator’s own knife from his sleeve, Bryce’s eyes traveled down to the sheath on his left thigh to find it indeed was empty.

His smile stretched wider and he reached forward to take the hilt of the blade as it was offered, his long, thick fingers brushing against the other man’s in the process. “Then I thank you for returning it, as do all the… /woodsy/ things that might need doing.”

The sea of his eyes followed along as Duncan paced forward, tracing imperceptibly along the other’s frame as he re-sheathed the knife that had been taken. “The hunting grounds start in that glen.” He explained, stepping forward to bring himself even. “I’ve been tracking a buck for the past mile or so. Should be easy enough to find if you’re still given to hunting today.”

[fereldan-commander]

"I don't know that the woodsy things would thank me." The retort was formed by smirking lips. "If the woodsy things include the stag whose life we have set out to take, I can hardly imagine it grateful that you have an extra means by which to dispatch it." When Cousland drew even with him again, the warden smirked, and began to tread forward toward the indicated glen, his hands briefly sliding to his own hips and the small of his back to adjust his belt and trousers, pulling the jacket of his uniform up enough to do so before allowing it all to settle in its intended manner.

A difficult balance--comfortably high enough that his belt did not dig into his hips, and yet low enough that his sore backside was not agitated by the pressing confines of his trousers.

"In case you hadn't guessed, the answer is yes. I am still given to hunting if you would still take me there, my lord."

[fereldan-commander]

Hold me closer one more time.

Say that you love me in your last goodbye.

Please forgive me for my sins.

Yes, I swam dirty waters,

But you pushed me in.

I've seen your face under every sky,

Over every border and on every line.

You know my heart more than I do.

We were the greatest, me and you.

[sandintheireyes]

Where All Roads Lead || [Feynriel & Duncan]

[sandintheireyes]

Feynriel didn’t know what to do.

So many dreams, he had masterfully shifted, redirected from nightmare to peaceful sojourn.  It had been his first true magical skill, and the one he treasured most.  Physical healing had become another favorite, when he had learned, but giving peace was something that few mages could do directly.

The clergy would have it that they could do so, through their Maker, but he had never found that to be true.

But here he stood in a dream that absolutely resonated with pain, and there was no clear foothold from which to reshape it.  He would change the image of the man before them to look healthy rather than wasted, but if he made a wrong guess and the result was dissonant with the dreamer’s memories, that could potentially be even worse than simply allowing the scene to play out.

If he wanted to have any hope at all of success, he would have to somehow link this representation of the man the dreamer had called Bryce to the dreamer’s better memories.  For now, though, he did the only direct thing that he dared: He willed the man to rise to his full height and smoothed away the fear from his features, if not the wan, wasted appearance, directing the figment to simply stand and wait as the dreamer approached.

[fereldan-commander]

Duncan lingered at the edge of the firelight. Though Bryce was no longer telling him to go away, he still looked...unwell. Wolfe hoped--desperately wished--that it was an unflattering, cruel play of shadow on his features, but then, Bryce would be sixty now, wouldn't he? And if he'd been living in the deep roads, tainting and maddening himself on the flesh of Darkspawn....

The Warden quickly turned away, ignoring the strange, foreign ache in his leg and staring at the various items on a shelf nearby, obviously collected over time and with no true sense save for that many of them appeared to be shiny or intresting in shape or texture.

What was worse? Death? Or this?

Wolfe tasted the burn of the bile he felt in the back of his throat as he turned to face the ghost of his greatest regret again, and with a shuddering breath stepped toward him.

It couldn't be Bryce. It wasn't. And so he need not be afraid. It was impossible to imagine the woodsman not only there and living but so gaunt and withered. The word "healthy" may well have been Bryce's given name, for he had inherited the immune system of a bull shark rather that of the mere stag that was the Cousland sigil.

One limping step nearer, however, and the truth of Bryce's visage became all the more undeniable. Duncan swallowed a sob, refusing to allow the man to hear it.

Shelve your emotions and take your chance. Do not fail him again.

Duncan drew a chestful of sharp, acrid air through his nose as though it were an elixir of strength, stepped forward stony-faced despite his own wet eyes until he was near enough to touch the man, and began to examine him. "Have you eaten the Darkspawn?"

[faithinbonesffn]

[elissaromildecousland]

The Gem of Keroshek - [Elissa and Duncan]

[elissaromildecousland]

“Duncan…” Elissa released a long, sharp sigh at his reaction, her fingers coming up to press at her temples. “Don’t take this personally. I didn’t hide it from you out of spite or lack of trust, I simply hadn’t told you yet because there isn’t much to tell and I knew it would only make you worry. And frankly I’ve got enough of that being done on my behalf as it is.”

When he asked whether Fergus knew she emptied the remainder of her glass and stood, intending to make her way over to the decanter on the side cabinet to refill it. “I haven’t told Fergus about it yet. Not directly. I inquire regularly as to whether or not he’s experienced anything similar, and for now he seems untargeted. Whether this is because he’s the Warden-Commander or because this person is only after me, I do not know.”

Glass refilled, she turned, her lower back pressing against the edge of the cabinet. “If I’m right, and this lure is connected, it’s possible I could get to the bottom of who’s behind the massacre once and for all. But I know better than to go into this alone, and I don’t trust anyone else to keep this a secret should it somehow actually all tie back to Gamlen and the gem after all.”

Her lips curled up into a half smile against the edge of the glass as her green eyes flicked over toward him. “What say you, Warden? Up for an adventure?”

[fereldan-commander]

“Yes, it would make me worry...but I could also help you investigate it. It isn’t as though I’m useless,” he replied, a soft frown forming behind his whiskey glass as he took another sip.

By every rung in the golden gates, she had become her father.

Duncan remained silent at the news that Fergus had not yet been attacked. It was unsurprising. Were he to hazard a guess as to why, it would be a combination of both of what Elissa had posited--that he was Warden-Commander, thus making what would have only been a passing target more inconvenient than he was worth.

If the pursuer was who the former Commander suspected, then yes. He wanted Elissa.

And it was Duncan’s job to ensure that he did not get her.

A game smirk took his lips at that and he lifted his glass toward her. “I am. Hopefully I will not prove too much of a burden in our endeavors.” He demonstratively tapped his cane on the floor.