Soulmates AU for Alistair

[plate_builder]

There isn't much to be said for the life of a tower mage. Reeve had long since passed his Harrowing, and that meant he was one of the mages that could be lent out for other purposes. And as a scholar, focused almost more heavily upon managing books and knowledge, had been selected for an uncommon task. Taken from the tower under guard, he had been taken to a nearby monastery, and settled down in front of some old texts found in an abandoned villa. His days were consumed with reading as he noted the contents, what was mundane and what was magical, and what needed sent to a tower. Since not all of it was written in a language most Fereldins could read, he had been selected.

And in the evenings he was guided back to his room, expected to read from the Chant of Light or some other text. His book tonight turned out to be a book on local birds. It was something. It made him happy, to think about all the birds here. He only ever saw sea birds from the towers. And didn't like them too much.

At least when he closed his eyes he could imagine colorful birds.

Comments

[nobroth]

Alistair was running.

This wasn't the sort of conditioning running that was done to get him used to moving in the heavy Templar armour. This was the kind of running that came from having substituted paste for starch in the Revered Mother's cassock. Or maybe it was because of the boot black incident. Or just because he was near the edge of his tolerance again.

So much silence. So many rules. So many strictures. He couldn't breathe sometimes for all the stillness, for all the lack of... of life. Yes, he had shouted into the silence, just hoping for an answer and...

And now he ran, footsteps following behind him at enough of a distance that when he swung around the corner and into the first door his hand landed upon, he wasn't seen. At least, not by the people chasing him.

There was someone in the room, but he had to hope that they wouldn't give him away as he sought something, somewhere, a corner-- There. A corner with a bedcurtain in the way of the door. He darted for it, took shelter behind it, in all of its billows. Yes, he'd get in trouble for not going back to the dormitory, but... He'd deal with that when the time came. If he could sneak back, maybe he could play it off as not having been him.

Fat chance, but still.

"If they come in," he whispered from behind the damask, "please don't tell them."

[plate_builder]

Interesting. The door had snapped open and Reeve had been about ready to cower. Had actually dropped his book. The only ones that came to his door were Templars and the Sisters. The sisters brought food and frowned at him. The Templars... Reeve doesn't want to see a Templar. He was raised in a Tower. He knew Templars as unfair. Their trainees had been proving to be the same as well. He'd been struck more than a few times since arriving.

And to be caught reading frivolously? Reeve flinches and almost drops the book. And is definitely uncomfortable. Fearful even. Until...

Until the young man asks to be hidden. Interesting. Does he obey?

Perhaps the young man, who he had barely gotten the look of, didn't realize whose room he had entered.

He's barely making up his mind when the door opens and he does cringe away.

"You, mage, have you seen a young trainee?" a woman snaps. And Reeve shakes his head. Too nervous to speak for himself.

[nobroth]

Alistair stood still and silent, regulating his own breathing so no one heard the weird panting behind the curtain, and so he stayed even after he heard the curt grunt of understanding and the solid closing of the door behind the (other) intruder. He stayed there for a bit longer, listening for the footsteps to gain some distance before he even thought of letting his shoulders relax.

Damnation. That was close. And all the--

Wait, had she said mage?

Oh. Damn. This had almost been disastrous. He could've gotten this poor man in trouble, and he'd not even thought about it. Biting his lips, Alistair nudged the bedcurtain aside. "Thank you," he began, "and I'm really, really sorry, I didn't realise anybody was in here until I was in here, and I--"

His hair was very black, this mage. And his posture spoke of startlement and worry and... And the impulse to comfort him was very clear. Undeniably clear. And he obeyed part of it without thinking, saying, "Look, I won't tell anyone I hid in here. You won't get in trouble because of me, I swear."

[plate_builder]

A young trainee, offering to do something to protect him? The mage, a good bit Alistair's senior, can't help the frown of disbelief. But neither does he meet the young man's eyes. Not yet. He doesn't dare.

"There was a candle lit. Most do not leave one so when a room is unoccupied."

Too much of a fire hazard.

[nobroth]

Okay. That was a fair point but--

"I wasn't exactly looking as much as running," he admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I mean... I know there's usually nobody in this room."

But when nothing else came, no other explanations, all Alistair could say was, "Sorry."

[plate_builder]

Well, some would argue there was nobody of value here now. A snark that Reeve resists to instead look up at the young man.

"You owe me no apology, sir."

Deference, it was the best way to treat even trainees.

[nobroth]

A blink and Alistair shook his head, stepping forward. "I mean. I do. I scared you. I ran in here and made you make excuses for me. That's... I'm sorry for all of that. So I'm gonna apologise for it."

Why wouldn't he... Why wouldn't he accept the apolo-- Well, no, that wasn't the question. This man didn't have to accept his apologies. But the apologies still needed to be said.

[plate_builder]

Mage. Had the young man not heard the word? He knows his place. Which means not meeting the young man's eyes.

"As you will, sir. Are you... certain that they will not look again?"

[nobroth]

What was this...

Him? Sir? It sat badly with him and... He wasn't sure. What should he say. What should he do? Except--

"Not here," he said. "You'll... You'll be left alone for the rest of the night, at least, I'm sure. I just..."

It was sinking in. Slowly. It was just like everything, everyone, else. Eamon had sent him away. Isolde had wanted him gone. He never fit in with the rest of the trainees, the rest of the Templars. He was a perfectly wrong fit everywhere. And that even included when he was trying to do the right thing.

Alistair's shoulders slumped. "I won't be bothering you again either," he said, a faint spark of petulance almost entirely drowned by resignation. He couldn't even apologise right. "Thank you for... For not ratting me out. But I'll leave you alone now."

[plate_builder]

Reeve takes a big breath and finally looks fully on the young man's face, ready to say that he would not dream of it. Except... Except his eyes meet those of the young man and he feels it. The meeting of their eyes makes Reeve draw a sharp breath. He feels it, the magic beyond something any man or elf could weave encirling his wrist, burning with that cold sting of healing magic. But that is not nearly so overwhelming as the sudden twofold awareness.

Part of him yearns toward the young man. There rest of him recoils. A Templar trainee? And a boy at that. A child. Bad enough that he already knew the Chantry imprisoned him for being a mage. It would be worse if the Chantry knew of the depravity of his desires. But to be soulbonded to a youth? No, he was not that disgusting a man.

Immediately he tries to push away at that bond, shivering in fear. Fear that he didn't know would echo through the new magic to the other.

[nobroth]

"Wh--"

A fraction of a word. It was so strange, it was--

He didn't think that what he felt was magic in the traditional sense of the word. He didn't think the mage before him had suddenly frozen time - he was almost sure that wasn't really possible. But there was the strange sense of everything being still and silent for an extended amount of time. As if minutes passed instead of less than a second as the world changed around him. He had the time to ask himself questions and answer them (What's going on? Oh, this is that soulmate thing. Is it real? Apparently; my wrist feels like it's real anyway. With him? Well, why not. The Maker apparently knows these things. I'm thinking the word 'apparently' a lot. His eyes are really pretty--) before he felt the strangest wave of fear come over him and saw the expression on the mage's face.

"...Oh."

Oh. Of every reaction he could have had, the one that came was 'oh.' A flat, neutral 'oh' as things slotted into place. He'd found his soulmate. And with the realisation of the bond had come the secondary realisation that, just like everyone else he'd met, his soulmate didn't want him either.

It was strange how that left him feeling so... blank. The mage's fear and disgust was obvious, and he knew he should have some reaction to that. He knew he should be angry or sad, but... But why? Why, when it was one thing on top of a hundred other things. Why be upset or surprised when it was just... how his life was going to be?

He'd looked forward to finding his soulmate. He'd hoped that maybe...

No. No more of that.

He took a step back instead, looking at his-- At the mage. He swallowed, and he said quietly, "Don't worry. You don't have to... to anything," his voice touched with resignation and defeat.

[plate_builder]

Frankly it is hard to figure which is worse. Is it that it is a Templar to be, or that he is clearly not much more than a boy? This was not what Reeve would have aspired to. Then again he had never dared hope. Mages, as he was often told, were not worthy of such connections. And with how they were isolated, connections on such a level were rare.

Unable to meet those eyes again he looked away, scooping up his book.

“Your really are only a trainee. Templars rarely ever suggest that things are left to a mage’s will. I am sure you will grow out of that mindset. All of your kind do.”

[nobroth]

All of your kind.

Was he used to hearing that, as a mage? Did it sting him as much as it stung Alistair?

He swallowed yet again, pushing down on that heartsore feeling that had grown all too familiar, and watched the man for another few moments. The man wasn't even looking at him.

He felt no surprise. Only that old hurt that he quickly pushed back with a practiced thought.

"You probably won't find out," Alistair said, voice a little more hoarse than he wanted it to be, but then he turned and reached for the door handle. He didn't even care if every Revered Mother in the monastery was waiting outside. He just stepped out and closed it behind him.

So this was what it meant for the king's bastard to have a soulmate.

...He didn't even know the man's name.

[plate_builder]

Reeve himself did his best to ignore the flare of grief that he felt from the other. A young man he did not and likely would not hear the name of. And once the boy was gone he laid down on the bed, curling around his pillow. This was horrid. No doubt someone would notice the mark, and Reeve would be dismisses from his work, sent back to the tower to keep him away from whatever soulbonded he had found here. Back to the not so gilded cage.

It was an awareness that ate at him in the worst way, old concerns gnawing at his mind.

What he needed, more than anything, was a way to hide the mark, lest someone try to punish him for it. It was not like he could control these things. But to profane the ‘Maker’s Holy Touch’ by daring to have one would be unacceptable.

No doubt he’d never be let from the tower again.

“Damn it all,” he whispered into the room. “Even being bonded to that old nag Wynne would be better than this.”

[nobroth]

It was... It was confusing. He was used to his own bruised feelings that seemed to refuse to heal. What he wasn't used to was this strange feeling of... worry? No, that wasn't quite right.

...Dread?

Dread. Somehow, he was so sure it was dread. But it didn't make any sense. What would he be dreading? It wasn't like anything had changed except for that band around his wrist that he felt more than he saw. He'd just have to make sure his sleeve stayed pulled down and that he took his baths slightly offset from the others.

Or just fulfill what they all figured and not bother bathing. Why not? It's not like he had anything left to prove.

He went back to the dormitory, somehow slipping by the older boys who had the privilege of watching the hallways, and managed to skip any sort of punishment for his escapade the night before. And so it went, and so it kept going, until one day he felt the strangest pang that he couldn't even come up with a name for, and heard afterward that the mage had been sent back to the tower.

It hurt, in its way. Even more proof that nothing was going to come of it, but the separation just made it hurt more. Why, he wondered. Why did it hurt so much now? But he knew when he thought about it. It was all about hope, and what happens when there is no more hope.

His lack of bathing made him more of an outcast than he'd been before, and that suited him fine. It meant that people's expectations for him stayed consistently low, and those, at least, he could live up to. It went on that way for years until he finally reached his majority, until it was getting to be time for him to make his pledge to the Templars. And that was when he dared to hope for just a moment. That maybe one thing might happen, one thing might go right.

And then he lost.

And then, for reasons he didn't understand, Duncan chose him anyway. Out of all of the possible recruits, out of all of the young Templars who hadn't lost -- Duncan chose him. And the feeling that went through him - the hope, the happiness, the sheer joy that maybe this was what he'd been intended for... It didn't ebb, even when the Joining added a jolt of fear and the world went black.

Even when he heard of the Blight in the Korcari Wilds.

Even when he had to face another mage.

Even when he saw Duncan's new recruit from Orzammar.

But it was when the army was overrun. When he saw Duncan die. That was when that old despair welled up again, and he found himself walking lonely roads in wartime, taunted by an apostate, the weight of the world on his shoulders.

[plate_builder]

No one comes for him the first night. Not the second. Not even the third. It was nearly six days after his encounter with the youth that Reece’s attempts to hide the mark failed. He had merely been reaching for a book and a Revered Mother saw the twisting brand at his wrist. She had been quick to put it all together and not three hours later he had been packed, bundles onto a horse and set a guard, and shipped off. And oh how it ached, like the last light in the world had been torn away from him, the last flicker of hope put out as he road off.

Never had he learned the name of the young trainee. Probably for the best.

At least in the tower there were those that pitied him. I’m the sort of circumstances in which they lived, all knew such things, and gossip was quick. He had left unmarked and returned early and with the soulbond on his skin. Some taunted and teased. Others asked after it like lovesick fools. The few who understood just offered condolences and advice on how to shut oneself in and find what peace they could.

Strangely he found it possible to cope, and over time the distant echoes of emotions that were not his seemed to fade away. The pain was gone, replaced by a constant coldness in his body that he could not explain but others said was ‘normal’. And even the mark almost seemed to fade just the slightest in pity. And with time, Reeve moved on.

Until one night where the pain had been intense. Like a darkness threatening to overwhelm him, a screaming in his head that tore at him and left Reeve sick and nearly sobbing. It was bad. Very bad. And minutes later it was nothing but a memory of agony. Of course from there all anyone had was fear. Dark spawn, they said. Another possible Blight. Mages to be called on to serve. Some Templars even seemed to wish to go, even kinder ones like that Cullen chap.

Reeve, so recently sick, had been dismissed out of hand. Stay, be a teacher they said. So good here while the better mages are out.

So he stayed. And survived. Until that day where everything went wrong. The tower overrun by abominations, made against Templar, mage against mage, demons against them all. There was little to be done but to swallow back the terror and certainty of death, and try and protect the children. They deserved a chance to live. Though he didn’t think anyone was going to make it out of the tower alive.

[nobroth]

The weight of Templar armour sat on his shoulders with a sort of familiarity that he didn't like - and yet, he had to admit that, against what they'd faced so far in this fight, it was better than what he'd worn back at Ostagar. And as much as he hated his Templar abilities, so far they'd worked well against Darkspawn emissaries, blood mages, and demons. He'd followed Sereda Aeducan and had done ask asked, because of everyone in this she seemed to have the clearest idea of what goals they should follow.

After all, Arl Eamon lay dying, and they needed these mages. That there was peril in the tower... Well, he wasn't surprised. Somehow, he'd felt for a while now that something was very seriously wrong.

They walked, now, with an old woman named Wynne, an Orlesian who claimed to be Fereldan (whose accent drove him to distraction, and the two of them. The last two Grey Wardens in Ferelden. He'd skewered horrible Abominations on his sword, had killed corrupted Templars. All of it, he'd faced with a sort of grim determination, only to be taken aback when Sereda broke down a door and he saw someone there he'd tried not to think about every night for the last few years.

Sereda lifted her sword, not striking just yet but making it clear she was ready. "Time to guess once more," she said. "Blood mage, or abomination waiting to happen."

Oh, he truly was the butt of the Maker's every joke.

[plate_builder]

Protecting the children mattered, and the second that he hear the door breaking, Reeve had whirled on it, hands moving as he went quickly through a spell and forced up a barrier spell to try and keep whatever was coming for them out. It snapped into place as the Dwarven woman spoke, sword lifted. And at first he doesn't notice Alistair.

Just the angry little woman who didn't belong here.

"Neither. Just me and children," Reeve counters, and there is... Wynne? He offers some relief. "Wynne, please. The children. They need to be s-"

His eyes, casting over the group, froze on the third form. Older, clad as a fully realized Templar, and achingly beautiful. He'd grown into the looks his youth had promised. And Reeve's breath caught as his eyes met Alistair's and he felt the bond snap right back into place, despite years of trying to push it away.

"You're still alive. I thought... I thought I felt you die."

[nobroth]

"Not yet," Alistair answered, "for all the Darkspawn and the Abominations in here are giving it their best shot." The wryness, the dry sarcasm - he hadn't had those before, and he knew it. For a split second, he was almost ashamed of himself, but then that second passed and he shook his head.

"You know him?" Sereda demanded and Alistair--

Alistair knew he should be honest, but the best he could give was, "Yes and no. We met. A few years ago. Didn't really even meet, just..." How to say it without saying it...

"We... ran into each other, sort of. At the monastery."

It was getting a little hard to think past what he was suddenly feeling. The constant undercurrent of fear, of worry, of concern. The readiness to attack, to defend. The disbelief...

Knowing now what he hadn't then, he wondered just how much this man was feeling from him. The confusion, certainly. His own measure of disbelief. The grief, the exhaustion. And he couldn't help any of it. Not anymore.

[plate_builder]

Oh yes, there was definitely fear from the older man. Worry for the children. Concern for his own life. And there were spells that ached under his fingers, but before a Templar... what was the point? As for hope... why should he hold it out here and now?

But what gets Reeve is the grief, the exhaustion. Part of him wants to reach out to offer comfort. It would not be appropriate, not with the sword pointed at him. At the children. Not with the threat there.

"Ah, so he's the one," Wynne observes quietly. Reeve somehow manages not to blush. "Warden Sereda, I do not believe this man is corrupted. Merely attempting to defend the innocent. Surely this man can take the children to safety."

Wynne, after all, was not a fan of the slaughter here.

"The children have done nothing but hide since whatever happened during the... Well, I believe it was a Harrowing gone wrong, but I do not know."

[nobroth]

"No," Alistair said quietly, his eyes still on the mage whose name he still didn't know. "It was... one of the mages who went to Ostagar. Who came back. He... became possessed after seeing Ostagar overrun. Fear demon, probably. Brought the rest in with him."

Sereda glared at him, and it was a glare he knew. He was giving away too much information, but he didn't care. He only cared when she raised her sword again. "It's a bit suspicious that he's here, untouched, while all this has been going on outside. I don't trust this."

"Sereda--" Alistair half-turned toward her, only to be interrupted.

"Don't 'Sereda' me," she hissed. "This place is full of demons and the possessed and the corrupted and mages that have turned to blood magic, making them no better than the other abominations. Better to kill this one and be sure."

[plate_builder]

"Ah, I see," Reeve says, voice soft and pitying. Poor fool. But he had brought destruction upon them all. But he doesn't have the chance to say more before the Dwarven woman keeps going. A Warden? Violent little thing, was she not?

And Wynne was staying quiet enough to upset Reeve. But he still didn't lower his barrier. No, for that to come down he'd either have to pass out from fatigue, or the Templar would have to bring it down around him.

"Do you not see that, by treating me as no different from them, you would give me every reason to resort to blood magic to protect my life and those of innocents? You people who are afraid of us, you make us out to be the darkness, and we are not. It is the demons that plague us that are. And given reason, we stand strong against them. I am no blood mage, but to protect these children, I will do what is necessary, no matter what Templar you bring before me."

He would fight for these children. Give himself to the demons? No. But he would fight for them. So instead his attention turns to Alistair again.

"Please. Surely... surely you must know I am untainted."

[nobroth]

He took a step toward the mage, not even realising he'd done it until he was there. And while Sereda watched him in disbelief and offense, Alistair sheathed his sword, slung his shield on his back (notably not a Templar shield)and came to stand between the two of them, the Warden and the Mage.

And with his voice quiet, if a little shaky, he said, "He isn't corrupted, or possessed, or an abomination, Sereda. He isn't a blood mage. What he is is determined and clever, and that makes him the kind of person we need on our side. We're Wardens. We're supposed to be fighting the Blight, not killing people on unfounded inklings of suspicion."

Both Sereda and Leliana looked at him with narrowed eyes, but Leliana's softened sooner as she put together puzzle pieces that Sereda wasn't. "Alistair is right," she said, lowering her bow. "And if he says this man isn't corrupted, I believe him."

"Now all of you are turning on me," Sereda bit. It took a moment, but her sword began to lower. "Fine. But if he turns, on your heads be it. I'll let him kill you first."

[plate_builder]

"I could never harm him," Reeve says quickly, his voice sharp and angry.

Alistair. His soulmate had a name. It was a strange thing, in this dark time, to get giddy over. Especially given logic said that of course he had a name. Still he found the knowledge overwhelming before he let the barrier spell fall, though his hand still twitched to reach for his magic. The Dwarf was a threat, he was certain of that. And he wanted as much space between that sword and himself as possible. Possibly even more than possible, but he had to stand between that thing and the children.

"I am Reeve, and if Alistair will vouch for you, then I will trust you. But only at his word."

Trust, so rare a thing for a mage to offer a Templar. And yet further underlining that there was something different here. At least someone other than Alistair was in his corner. His free hand ached to reach for his wrist, but instead he was dealing with the hand of a young elven girl gripping firmly at his now that the barrier was gone and she was scared.

With a sigh he goes to one knee, turning to offer comforting words as he stroked her hair.

"Now now, little one. That's a Gray Warden. You've heard tales. Great heroes astride griffons. They save people. They will save us."

Of course mage children were always wise beyond their years. And it was clear he wasn't believed.

[nobroth]

Reeve.

That meant Tuesti was his family name.

Reeve Tuesti. Oh it was a lovely name. Just as striking as his eyes. It fit, and it was...

Oh, wait, he'd been-- He needed to answer. "Reeve," he said quietly, "this is Sereda Aeducan, Princess of Orzammar and Grey Warden." His eyes shifted to Sereda. "We're all a little on edge right now thanks to everything that's been happening, but we're all on the same side. Her cause is to save us all, but we need to remember that not everyone is against us."

Sereda's eyes narrowed. This mage was a risk. Alistair might be on his side, but that just made her all the more doubtful. Still, she left her sword sheathed. "I'll take your word for it."