“No, the ‘Hero of Ferelden’ beat you,” Alistair makes a face at such a cliche title. “I was merely standing there. If it was just me, my cause of death would have probably been blushing and stuttering. It would have made the whole situation far easier, wouldn’t it?”
He looks over at his arm. It really is just a small gash and he’s gotten far worse from just sparring, but for some reason it makes his chest feel tight. He rubs his free hand against his clavicle. “If the knife was poisoned, I’d be dead already, right? What if it happens again? I mean, it has to happen again, doesn’t it? That’s what people do to rulers, they kill them.” The whole of his family, save maybe his mother were murdered, now that he idiotically reflects on it.
Heavy the head that wears the crown, or some shit like that.
He wants to get up and pace, he wants to scream, he wants to hit something. He wants, he wants…
“Zev? Can I ask you a question?” Alistair pauses, regretting the inquiry he’s going to make before it’s even out of his mouth. “And if you don’t want to answer it—don’t. Just tell me to mind my own sodding business. But, how did your mother die?”
As Alistair continues, Zevran lightly works his hand free. Flexes his fingers to work out the ache from having them squeezed in such a way. ❝ Yes, Alistair. You would be dead already. No one is going to kill you today, at least. ❞ & then, the elf potters around the room for some bandages, something to wipe the wound down with. Years of living alone, place to place, mean you pick up some first aid skills. Nobody likes an ---
& then comes the question. His hands hover over his target for a while, jarred. Infection. How strange. ❝ My mother? ❞ He confirms, features wrinkling for a moment before spreading to something of a nervous smile. Noticing he’s hovering now, he sits again, busying himself with starting to dab at the gash with the gauze he had found.
A sigh huffs from him. Like honesty is an effort. ❝ No one ever told me exactly. ❞ He admits. ❝ But, she died a day or so after I was born .. so.. ❞ & he doesn’t finish. Doesn’t really have to. The implication for him was that his mother had passed from infection after childbirth. Ironic, to him, that he was born a killer, but the topic sits heavy in his throat.
❝ Why .. ?? Are we swapping tragic backstories?? What fun. I should have brought my handkerchief. ❞