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Date & Time: Not too long after Martin's kaffeeklatsch with Delphine
Characters:

Anders, and

Nathaniel Howe
Summary: Anders is made of tact
Warnings: ~~None? I dunno~~ eta: Gross stories about blood magic

Anders still isn't sure what to make of Delphine's sassy comeback to his very tactful questions. All he knows is that this woman is somehow after his mage bro. It can't be anything good she has in mind, her hatchet face suggests very strongly.

One time, a woman was following Anders all over the place, and the woman was actually a Templar (Ser Rylock, if anyone's keeping track), and she just kept on dragging him back to the Circle, and Anders just kept on escaping, until finally it all ended in tears. And blood, lots of blood. And awkwardness between the Wardens and the Chantry.

Right, so Anders has reason to be suspicious of humorless women in dogged pursuit of mages. That's setting aside his original Oghren-esque hypothesis, mind.

Whatever it is, he figures he'd better have a chat with Martin and let him know that this woman's looking for him, and also that he, Anders, has not ratted him out. Also, he's curious as to what really is going on.

He makes some more cereal squares just to sweeten Martin's disposition a bit before prying into the man's personal life. As Martin crunches into the marshmallowy, wheaty goodness of frosted-flake treats, Anders broaches a delicate subject.

"How long's the average lifespan in Tamriel?"

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Having chomped down half a cereal square in one bite, Anders is poised to finish off the other half when Martin stops talking. "Right. I talked to her a bit. Didn't let on I knew you, but she wouldn't tell me much of use anyway. She did accuse me of having potatoes in my ears. Nice woman." Anders studies Martin's downcast face, what he can see of it past the shaggy fringe. "Er, as a friend, I felt concerned for you, that all. She's only fifty. That's a bit young for you, yes? And she's awfully determined to hunt you down."

Divines bless Anders' unwavering loyalty and ability to miss the obvious. Unable to stop himself, he starts chuckling, deeply amused. "I'm not in a relationship with her, Anders." Certainly nothing to warrant being hunted so zealous, aside from the obvious. "She's hunting me down because my surname is hard to miss, being the emperor's and all."

Anders only gives him a Look. "Yes, well, it would be funnier if she didn't look so very serious. Did you skive off being emperor?"

Edited 2012-03-26 00:49 (UTC)

This entire conversation is so entirely Anders that Martin's sides are hurting. The subject matter might be a grim reminder of a past he'd rather ignore for a bit, yet Anders' carefree attitude towards all of this makes divulging his past a lot easier. "Anders, I've never seen her in my life until now." A pause to grab and nip at another cereal square. As cheery as the mood is now, Martin can't help but lower his tone into something more serious, factual. "I've been dead two-hundred years in Tamriel." Ah, yes, the number is suddenly familiar! "Before I found myself in this realm, I died in a war."

A long silence.

Finally, Anders says: "She did say you were dead. I thought it had to be a figure of speech."

"I'm afraid not," says Martin, quirking a side of his lip. "There's...a lot that happened before I came here." He looks down once more, smiling sadly. "I've been so sure I'd end up in Aetherius, the realm of spirits and magic. That I would see my father, the rest of the family I never knew I was a part of."

The mage's brow furrows. "You know, I've vanquished a lot of reanimated corpses and arcane horrors. I can tell you're not one. It seems to me you should be one." Not for a moment does he entertain the idea that Martin might be lying. He knows the other mage too well for that — which is part of why all this comes as such a shock.

"I've fought enough zombies and skeletons to know I'm not one," he adds, not sure if he's being complimented, or... "But I'm glad I'm not! Besides, I didn't leave much of a body to return to," unless a gigantic dragon statue counts, "so perhaps this is my afterlife."

Anders reaches across the table and pokes him in the arm. Yes, solid. No, not rotting.

For a number of reasons, Anders knows they're not in the Fade. Most of those reasons have to do with Justice. He contemplates the abyss of metaphysical questions that suddenly yawns before him, and swiftly decides: that way lies madness.

"Who can say? Perhaps you never really died at all. However, if that woman thinks you're dead, what in the Void can she want from you?"

Martin just stares, so comfortable around Anders that the poking doesn't faze him.

"No, I died. I turned into..." This will sound insane. "...a dragon wreathed in flames, which consumed my body. What she wants to know if I'm the real Martin Septim." as opposed to what? Anders wouldn't know why his name is so damned famous. "I...died protecting my realm against the daedric prince of destruction, Mehrunes Dagon. I fought him as the Avatar of Akatosh, and I won."

Sometimes Anders turns into a blue fiery version of himself. He can't find fault with others' unlikely transformations.

The story is your standard hero-sacrifices-self-to-save-the-world. It does not necessarily call for skepticism. The same kind of thing happened in Ferelden within Anders' lifetime, not so long ago at that, the Hero of Ferelden sacrificing herself to defeat the Archdemon and end the Fifth Blight. Only in that case, the dragon hadn't been the hero, it had been the villain.

What do you say to someone after he's saved the world at the cost of his life? My deepest condolences?

"What would she do if you weren't the real Martin Septim? Give you a good scolding?"

Anders' passive acceptance of his strange destiny baffles and pleases Martin. Baffling, because even in his world the last Septim's Pyrrhic victory is hard to swallow, and pleasing because it means no arse-kissing. "Being a Blade, she'd probably become very upset I'm usurping the name of such a great legend." Make a big deal out of his disrespect for the last dragonborn emperor, certainly. Denounce him through the network, scream 'phony' whenever he passed by. The possibilities are endless.

Anders frowns and takes another cereal square. "But she's probably the only person here who even knows what that legend is, let alone cares."

"You're right. But now that she knows who I am, I doubt it'll be as simple as telling her to leave me alone." No, their chat won't be the end of it. She's a Blade, which means (if she so chooses, likely, very much so) she'll guard him with all her life. "If anything, it's likely I just gained a guard."

"Hm." Anders is chewing. He needs a moment to conclude the chewing process. "If that's all it is ... that doesn't sound so bad. Any mage can use a warrior or two about, and you wouldn't be worse off with someone to look after you."

He sees nothing wrong with grandma stalking Martin as long as her motives are pure!

Admirable, how unfazed his mage roommate acts despite being told he shares a flat with a dragon-possessed, technically dead emperor. "There are no assassins seeking the glory of ending a dynasty anywhere in this realm. She's wasting her time. Besides," a bit insulted, "I'm thirty-three. I can take care of myself."

Edited 2012-03-26 03:46 (UTC)

Given the things he's seen happen in Thedas, Anders really shouldn't hyperventilate over one dragon-possessed, technically dead emperor. Now, show him a blood mage, and he'll flip the fuck out, but that's just on principle.

"We don't know what this realm has got. I doubt the Masked are the last nasty surprise we'll be getting." Anders shakes his head. He's not even going to touch the last sentence Martin uttered.

"I doubt it too." As of now, Martin isn't thinking of the Masked, or the nasty surprises in store for them in this war.

Can't even die properly. Isn't sure whether to laugh, or cry. "I should be thankful for this second chance at life, yet...I was looking forward to a nice, long rest. And meeting my father."

Nathaniel hadn't meant to spy on his flatmates, really. The voices from the kitchen had been evident (but somewhat muffled) as soon as he'd walked into the flat, as had the smells of cooking. He'd been on the verge of opening the door to the kitchen when Martin's words were finally understandable: I died...

At first Nathaniel was too surprised to interrupt Martin's tale, and then he'd been worried that walking in right in the middle of his speech might cause him to falter. He felt uncomfortable about eavesdropping, especially since he wasn't sure if this was anything Martin wanted him to know, but curiosity about his friend's past won out.

Guilt finally creeps in, though, and he pushes the door open and steps into the kitchen. He's tempted to pretend as if he hadn't overheard anything, but he isn't one for dishonesty.

"You don't look like an undead to me." It's a feeble attempt at humor, he knows, but he's not sure what else to say.

As if sensing the dour mood of the room, Ser Pounce (-a-Lot, not that Martin ever uses his full name) jumps onto Martin's lap, kneading his claws into the thick fabric of his new cassock.

"I don't feel undead," he responds, an automatic response, as he scratches Ser Pounce behind his ears. Whoever hears, hears. There are worse people than Nathaniel who could know his tale. Martin trusts him. "I'm not partially decomposed, and I'm in full possession of my mind. If I'm being necromanced, it's a damned good conjurer."

Anders pulls out a chair for Nathaniel, dragging it closer to his own as he does so. He's relieved that Nathaniel's here; it saves Anders the trouble of figuring out how much can be repeated and how much (likely all of it) can't.

And it saves him from making the judgment call as to how much Warden business can be shared. Some of it might be relevant, what with the darkspawn taint being a slow-creeping, time-delayed variant of Blight sickness. Anders isn't the Warden-Commander, isn't even really an active Warden. Much better if he's not the one to make the determination.

"Yes, well, how would you know if you were feeling undead?" He poses the question lightly, as though it's hypothetical.

Nathaniel grabs a cereal square before taking the proffered seat. The mixture of ingredients that Anders said go into the dessert seems strange to him, but the things were oddly addictive.

"From my experience, the undead aren't as intelligent as Martin obviously is." It's as much a statement of fact as it is a compliment. "The only undead I've ever met that spoke was Kristoff." He looks at Martin. "Kristoff was the body that Justice inhabited before he joined with Anders," he explains.

"You wouldn't think at all." Which is why Martin can't be an undead, since he's thinking about not thinking. Martin merely nods at Nathaniel's judgment, drawing from his own battles against necromanced corpses as part of the Mages Guild's tests. "So, Justice inhabited a corpse before he merged with Anders?" A pause, looking down in thought. "In Tamriel, spirits tend to possess corpses. It's easier, just an empty vessel. No mind to battle against." Wait, that sounds...all wrong. "Ah, forgive me. I didn't mean to insult you, Anders."

Anders has known for some time that Nathaniel already explained Justice to Martin, insofar as explanation is possible. Far from upset, he welcomed this; it's always been difficult to explain Justice to anyone, and harder still to broach the subject when someone's already seen Justice in control of Anders. Indeed, Nathaniel may have been the best person to explain it, as he's one of the very few people anywhere to have known Justice and Anders as separate and discrete beings.

"No offense taken," he says to Martin, and gives Nathaniel a reassuring pat on the knee under the table. "What you're saying holds true in Thedas as well, more or less. The distinction between spirits and demons is a contested one, but a spirit of virtue wouldn't want to possess a living being, no. A demon would very much wish to possess a living being, to cross the Veil into the world. A possessed mage becomes an abomination, whereas a person with no magical talent would simply be, well, possessed, that's all. Demons will take what they can get, though — living or dead. In Thedas, if you were already dead and a demon came along to possess you, since you're a mage you'd become an arcane horror." Anders has actually battled a fair few arcane horrors, but all he knows of their nature is what he recalls from his lecture notes in Circle classes.

It's cheerful talk, this, to have over a communal snack. Anders is thinking more deeply about the whole living-vs-dead-host issue now. "Justice never had to deal with Warden nightmares when he was hanging about in Kristoff's body. He never had to sleep. Lucky bastard."

Edited 2012-03-27 03:04 (UTC)

Nathaniel places his hand on top of Anders', resting it there lightly as he takes a bite of his cereal bar. He still blames himself somewhat for planting in Justice's head the idea of merging with a living host, moreso since he saw a bit of the darker aspect of their merging after the Masked broke into the flat and attacked them.

"I wouldn't exactly say Justice was lucky to inhabit Kristoff's body, he hadn't even planned on doing it. I still wonder what would have happened to him once Kristoff's body rotted away completely."