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[wardenings]

 Who| Alistair Theirin & you !
What| Alistair's musing over waking up in the Capitol ; he's recently learned that a few familiar names are alive. He's on edge, and would appreciate a bit of explanation.
Where| Training Center Roof
When| A few days after the week six death announcements
Warnings/Notes| Talk of death, coarse language, possible DA:O spoilers, possibe purple prose ( i saw someone else tag this? so there u go. )

' Maker, preserve us -- '.

Neck pops and battle-born hands clasp in each other, a stressed sweat pouring down his jawline. All of this was so strange, so distant from the world he called home. He stands, pulling himself from the crouched position on the top of the roof. His back tenses, heart racing; it's then, in that moment that he realizes he hadn't been this nervous since his battles with the Wardens, causing a sense of nostalgia to rush over him. He swallows, shaking his head as he looks out onto this strange city; why had they taken him? 

Frustration sets in, and he grips at his hair. Why had they taken him? Confiscated Duncan's blade and shield from him? None of it made sense -- and to know, there are familiar faces dying in that Arena right now? That thought alone drove him up the wall. Wringing hands and watching the mechanical city shift from afternoon to evening, Alistair began to pace. There were more Wardens now, yes, but he was in hiding, a person of interest. Their Warden-Commander was missing as well; trapped in that Arena of theirs... would they be missed? Would an investigation be launched to find them?

Doubtful.

A sound pulls the man's attention over his shoulder, not relaxing. Never relaxing. With his arms visibly tensed, the vein on his neck protruding normal skin, the bastard son's hazel eyes burrowed into those of the person who joined him on the roof.

' Friend, or foe? '

Comments

[needlebearer]

"Have you been to the training centre downstairs yet? I spend a lot of time hitting the dummies there with the practice sword. It helps." Not a lot, but at least she can let some of her frustration out.

[wardenings]

"I have not. Do they have a variety of swords down there? One would think so, but... in this world, everything looks the same." Alistair shakes his head, yawning for a moment. "Perhaps I'll examine it a little tomorrow."

[needlebearer]

Arya nods enthusiastically. "They even have water dancing swords." Which she hadn't expected, given how rare the type of sword she used was in Westeros.

[wardenings]

"Water dancing swords?" While Alistair, the skilled swordsman, was familiar with a couple of types of blades, the one that the young girl was mentioning seemed... oddly unfamiliar. Then again, it might just be the partial language barrier the two of them faced. While both blonde and brunette spoke a form of the common tongue, there were terms he used that she was not familiar with and vice versa.

"Would you mind telling me just what those are, exactly?"

[needlebearer]

Arya rises from where she's seated herself, her body shaping into a water dancer stance, relaxed and fluid, her left arm outstretched and looking as though it's not complete, as though Needle isn't just missing from her hand but has been amputated from her and she's incomplete without it.

"It's smaller and lighter than most swords. You don't just hack away at people, you have to be agile. Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow."