Communication across great distances, information reaching others within moments of a decision or order, it would certainly make our jobs easier.
[It's easy to focus on that for a little while. He's not prone to flights of fancy, yet this neutral topic carries far less subtext. Going from fighting for his life- and losing? To finding himself displaced, encountering someone who shouldn't be here, hearing impossible things he accepts because of the source, it's something not even his experiences in the Grey Wardens has prepared him for. The sanguine outward front is his only real buffer between warring reason and emotions. Thankfully for both of them, it's practiced enough to hold without cracking.]
No one? You know as well as I how closely our order guards its secrets. Two Wardens from your future unaware of your plans or activities might not mean as much as it sounds like it does. You know yourself. You're not prone to abandoning duty, not that I've seen. Whatever happens it could just as easily be an opportunity as a tragedy, could it not?
[In that he doesn't have to feign confidence. She had impressed him in their short time together, enough that in sending her with Alistair he had seen it as mutual protection, not as a senior Warden looking out for a recruit he couldn't watch in the thick of battle.
He's not entirely surprised to hear that Alistair shared the secret. As always, there's a complicated twist of emotions when the topic is broached. He had never enjoyed the necessity of lying to the boy about his parentage, a secret wrapped within a secret to protect him from the prejudice he would face if it was known his mother was an elf. A mage. It had killed something in Fiona to give him away. He remained convinced of that as the years passed and she grew more distant. For all of Maric's desire to spare Alistair the intricacies of the court, his haven in Redcliffe wasn't much of a haven at all with a jealous wife of the Arl. Duncan hadn't known how bad it was for years, never able to be there enough to see it for himself.
His silence stretches to make room for regret, and when he breaks it he's carefully neutral.]
Yes, I knew. I made a promise to Maric, and I kept it.
[He still wonders if he did the right thing in subjecting him to the Joining, his last ditch effort to spare the young man the fate he so desperately hoped to avoid.
He sets that aside for another distraction. The place is cleaner inside than he expected, almost sterile in comparison to similar places in Thedas. He draws his poncho over his head and shakes it out just beyond the threshold, sending the water flying to the pavement in countless droplets. Nodding understanding, he gestures her ahead of him. Something warm sounds like a little slice of paradise. He'll take the small comforts and be grateful of them.]
no subject
[It's easy to focus on that for a little while. He's not prone to flights of fancy, yet this neutral topic carries far less subtext. Going from fighting for his life- and losing? To finding himself displaced, encountering someone who shouldn't be here, hearing impossible things he accepts because of the source, it's something not even his experiences in the Grey Wardens has prepared him for. The sanguine outward front is his only real buffer between warring reason and emotions. Thankfully for both of them, it's practiced enough to hold without cracking.]
No one? You know as well as I how closely our order guards its secrets. Two Wardens from your future unaware of your plans or activities might not mean as much as it sounds like it does. You know yourself. You're not prone to abandoning duty, not that I've seen. Whatever happens it could just as easily be an opportunity as a tragedy, could it not?
[In that he doesn't have to feign confidence. She had impressed him in their short time together, enough that in sending her with Alistair he had seen it as mutual protection, not as a senior Warden looking out for a recruit he couldn't watch in the thick of battle.
He's not entirely surprised to hear that Alistair shared the secret. As always, there's a complicated twist of emotions when the topic is broached. He had never enjoyed the necessity of lying to the boy about his parentage, a secret wrapped within a secret to protect him from the prejudice he would face if it was known his mother was an elf. A mage. It had killed something in Fiona to give him away. He remained convinced of that as the years passed and she grew more distant. For all of Maric's desire to spare Alistair the intricacies of the court, his haven in Redcliffe wasn't much of a haven at all with a jealous wife of the Arl. Duncan hadn't known how bad it was for years, never able to be there enough to see it for himself.
His silence stretches to make room for regret, and when he breaks it he's carefully neutral.]
Yes, I knew. I made a promise to Maric, and I kept it.
[He still wonders if he did the right thing in subjecting him to the Joining, his last ditch effort to spare the young man the fate he so desperately hoped to avoid.
He sets that aside for another distraction. The place is cleaner inside than he expected, almost sterile in comparison to similar places in Thedas. He draws his poncho over his head and shakes it out just beyond the threshold, sending the water flying to the pavement in countless droplets. Nodding understanding, he gestures her ahead of him. Something warm sounds like a little slice of paradise. He'll take the small comforts and be grateful of them.]