Alaric shoots Anders an amused look but doesn't answer immediately. He doesn't feel he has time to, before doing what he is going to do.
The only outward sign that anything is happening is Clifton's eyes glaze over and turn very, very vacant, to the degree that he even stops blinking. What is happening is Alaric digging deep into the man's mind, removing memory of this encounter completely, but also implanting a very, very strong suggestion that he a-) leave this room immediately, nothing is here, and b-) never, ever, touch an Omega who has said no, no matter what.
Anders blinks, more than a little confused, but he trusted Alaric's judgment. He stepped back from the guy, waved off the glyph and watched in vaguely confused amusement as he just...left without saying anything or looking back at them.
"Alright...what snazzy head magic was that, then?" He smiled, still a little strained but getting there, over to Alaric.
Alaric slumps back against the wall behind him when Anders' approaches - or more accurately when the other alpha is out of the vicinity.
"I made him forget the encounter and made sure he would not forget not to touch people who didn't want to be touched." He laughs, just a little shaky in doing so. "No idea how he will explain the bitemark to himself."
Anders thinks on that as he steps in closer to Alaric, more protective from the outside world than to be close.
The idea That Alaric could rewrite someone’s memories was...unsettling. On paper, Anders would suspect blood magic in any other case, but he knew better. Plus, Alaric had done nothing to indicate he was the type. He wasn’t unsettled, just...worried.
He reaches out to cup Alaric’s cheek. “Rats maybe...it’ll explain it if it goes foul.” A pause and small shake of his head. “I’m more worried about you. Are you actually alright? For what it matters, I think you did the right thing.”
"So long as you aren't going to start calling me a rat." There's a smile, and it's only slightly strained around the edges. "I am now. I've no guilt or regret, I just didn't enjoy the situation that prompted it and am glad it is over."
He's not easily intimidated, in the sense that it makes him behave.
In the sense that he feels threatened? Apparently so.
"And I am glad you were here to intervene. I'm not sure I would have thought clearly enough to come up with a solution without you."
“It shouldn’t have happened.” He wishes he could promise it wouldn’t again, that he’d always be there to interfere, but he couldn’t. What if he were late? What if next time he weren’t even here? The thoughts made him feel ill and they stayed firmly in his mind.
He leans in to press a kiss to Alaric’s forehead, then pulls back with some hesitation. “I’m sorry, is this alright? I’ll step back, if you’d rather.” He had more to say, but it could wait in deference to the sudden thought that just because Alaric was glad he’d shown up, didn’t mean he wanted Anders so close right now.
"The forehead kiss or you being close?" He asks the question with an arched eyebrow. "The closeness is fine. The kiss may be a bit patronizing but I think I can accept it in these circumstances, for this moment."
A tiny pause there, and he finds Anders' hand to give it a quick squeeze. "You're scared."
That was fair. He wouldn’t make a habit of it, but if it helped right now, that was fine.
He squeezes Alaric’s hand back and stays close, though not too close to not be able to look at him. “Me? Always. Certified coward, that’s me.” But. “Not of you, though...for you. I swear...you’re safe with me, but you and I both know I’m not always around. I happen to be coming to meet you.”
He shakes his head. “This isn’t about me and whatever I’m feeling, it’s about you. You’re shaken, however understandably, is there some way I can help?” He pressed a small stir of panacea into the air between them, hoping to at least soothe a bit that way.
"Don't." Quiet, but firm - velvety steel sort of tone, that wasn't lacking warmth but also wasn't lacking hardness. "Don't deflect, don't dismiss, and most certainly do not take responsibility for my well being."
The panacea did ease things for him, though, made breathing easier and him steadier, and he pressed a kiss against Anders' jaw.
"Neither of us have any real power here. Best handle things and they come and this one, at least, has been handled." He has a sinking feeling that, actually, things are going to get worse. He's going to need to find a way to deflect himself, and his default ... remote coolness is not going to work.
But he doesn't want Anders in danger to deal with it.
With no indication it's unwanted, he strengthens panacea a little and moves the hair from Alaric's face. A small, soft gesture. "I'm not trying to take responsibility, as you put it, I'm trying to help carry what I can and wish to of what's on your mind. Your wellbeing is your own unless you're my patient, but I want to be able to help." He didn't often. He was selfish and scared, but even if he wanted to listen to logic and not get so attached to someone else again, he wasn't sure he could anymore.
Just as he wasn't sure he knew how not to deflect. He'd practiced it so often, it was second nature now.
"At least, for Alphas like that, who don't listen to no, the templars are good for that one thing only. If you see one, use them, it's meant to be their job after all."
Whether the panacea or the touch is responsible isn't even clear to Alaric but he groans a little and lets his eyes drift shut for just a moment. He still has Anders' hand, though his grip is looser now. Not holding on in a serious way, just continuing to touch him.
"If it comes down to anything truly dire, I will. Otherwise the more ... removed I am, the pushier and more curious people will get. I'll manage it and I will accept your help - and company, where we can."
He tightens his fingers just a little. "Go get dinner."
He's kind of lost the desire to go anywhere near the dining hall. And he'll be fine.
He smiles softly and takes a private moment to appreciate just looking at Alaric. Not for his attractiveness, not for the clear comfort, but just...existing.
He leans in and kisses Alaric's cheek, squeezes his hand, then pulls back. "Just flash them a bit more of a smile, even if it's fake, it might help." He didn't doubt Alaric's mysteriousness was part of his allure, if even some part of him seemed approachable, ironically, he might be approached less. Maybe. Or maybe not. Perhaps it was time for Anders to start spreading his own rumors. It had been a while since he'd utilized the mill.
If not, maybe it would also result in him making... a friend, or at least friendly acquaintances. He should probably do that.
He grunts his agreement, inelegantly, opens his eyes and lets go of Anders hand to push away from the wall. "We're going to have rumors going about the pair of us if this continues." He doesn't care. It would position Anders to make claims about Alaric of any sort he wanted and, well, he also just isn't new to a lot of speculation and gossip about him.
But he heads toward the library and tables without elaborating, and waits on Anders there. Only once he's waiting does he realize he should, maybe, be clear that he didn't expect Anders to indulge him quite as far as he has.
"What else is new?" He waved off, the warning as he left and made his way to fetch their food. He expected there already were some anyway and he might start some of his own -about himself, about Alaric, about them together- whatever seemed most prudent. He'd think on it tonight and put it into place once he had good ones. If he could have templars knocking at walls in search of hidden passages for months, he could do this.
He retrieves their dinner with only a little brown-nosing needed (they were far more interested in getting him out of the kitchens once an elbow caught a mixing bowl during their rush) and returns to the library with two plates and a bottle of wine. He sets one plate down in front of Alaric before moving to the other side of the table to take his place. "Your dinner, Ser Morgan. Freshly pilfered from the kitchens. And a red! They won't miss it, I swear."
He flashes a smile as he works the cork from the bottle. No glasses, but he was sure they could manage.
"I meant for you to be able to eat your dinner, not that you needed to bring dinner to me." He feels bad about that and given that he is a spoiled noble that is likely saying something.
"Oh. Huh." He says it as mildly as though Alaric had mentioned it was raining.
He pops the cork out and hands the bottle over when it's reached for. "Oh well, it's done now, the food isn't going to eat itself, so I suppose you may wish to help it, hmm?" Anders dug into his own certainly, and took the bottle back for his own sip once it was free.
"I'd think you'd be used to having someone want to wait on you. Not that I'm servant in anything but my fondness for you, but still."
He doesn't take a sip, he takes a swig, but passes the bottle over when he has finished and picks up a fork.
"Servants aren't..." He doesn't know what word to use, there. "Service out of duty is not the same thing." Anders should know that. "It isn't... involuntary but it also isn't kindness."
When he's done, the bottle moves to the space between them to share. He raises a brow up at Alaric before returning to his plate. "No, I didn't figure involuntary, that would make it slavery. From what I know -granted not much- Gwynedd isn't Tevinter. Pretty sure they're the only ones where slavery is still legal." And being a mage, but nowhere was perfect.
"I thought servants were just workers. There's some in the tower too, those that aren't just the Tranquil. Simply paid to do their jobs. What makes 'out of duty' different? Other than sounding more fancy, I suppose." He did not, in fact know. There are no servants or slaves or vassals on a simple backwater farmer's lands. Especially not one born from the pride of the harsh Anderfels.
"A majority of the regular workers are simply workers, and they are all paid, regardless." He eats slowly, because he isn't really focused on his food this time and isn't just coming off heat. Also his appetite can just be an inconsistent and fickle beast.
"Duty comes into play because it is mutual. It is... an exchange of service. The nobility rules, but they also protect, manage, and arbitrate - and the king does for us. It simply moves up and down a ladder of responsibility, all the way to individual households and families."
Tiny pause and correction: "Ideally that is what it should be and often is. In practice, not always. Regardless of scope."
He sets his head against his knuckles as he considers that. "I suppose...the nobility here in ferelden is similar, the people make their products and the Bann gets some of those products, in return he protects the land. The Bann reports to the Arl, swears fealty to him and will defend and aid him if needed, in return the Arl tells the crown what the lands need." He shrugs and takes a bite of his food, tone largely irreverent when he speaks again.
"Seemed overblown and complicated to me: just a bunch of people with more titles than they know what to do with, often with far too much time on their hands. Ferrenly said half of them would barely know how to till a field if asked to. Still, I haven't heard of anyone bringing food to an Arl or anyone's table who wasn't simply a servant. Cultural differences, I suppose." That and people always claimed Fereldens were barbaric or backwards, so maybe they simply weren't doing it 'right' compared to every other kingdom.
"I've not the first idea how to farm," he says, mildly, "but I certainly know how to lead an army and use a sword from one." It's mild and there's a bit of a wan smile to go with it. "I had some friends amongst the 'staff', but most were somewhat wary of me and very young. At least when it comes to the people who were serving food."
He scoffs playfully. "Really? What a noble. Although...you're likely the only mage in the tower who knows how to use a sword, so there's that." He was impressed, even if he was bad at showing it.
Half his plate finished, he sets his dinner aside in favor of the wine and giving Alaric his full attention. "So...they were wary of you because of your magic? Or something else?"
He wasn't wrong, he also wasn't answering Anders' question.
Anders rests his jaw to his hand with a small smile. He shouldn't tease or rile, he shouldn't be a bastard...and yet, as easy as it was to be himself around Alaric, it was just as easy to forget to take that veneer off himself when he wore it all the time. If he even realized he was wearing it.
"Did I touch a nerve? It's a good thing, really! Someone pulls a sword out on you, you might even stand a chance against them. You're right: the only place tilling any earth comes in handy are in the pots in the garden and that's hardly the same. I do know how to stitch clothing back together, though, that's still practical." Especially when sometimes he had to apply it to skin. Luckily, not often.
He studies Anders' face and slowly gets his hackles down. He should know better than to take it personally or let it show.
Yet, somehow, that had gotten under his skin.
"Wary of my magic, in cases that it was known. Wary of my status and rank, or wary of rumors or just my strangeness in cases where my magic was not." Olive branch of an answer? Yes. Yes it was.
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The only outward sign that anything is happening is Clifton's eyes glaze over and turn very, very vacant, to the degree that he even stops blinking. What is happening is Alaric digging deep into the man's mind, removing memory of this encounter completely, but also implanting a very, very strong suggestion that he a-) leave this room immediately, nothing is here, and b-) never, ever, touch an Omega who has said no, no matter what.
"Let him go. I'll explain afterward."
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"Alright...what snazzy head magic was that, then?" He smiled, still a little strained but getting there, over to Alaric.
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"I made him forget the encounter and made sure he would not forget not to touch people who didn't want to be touched." He laughs, just a little shaky in doing so. "No idea how he will explain the bitemark to himself."
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The idea That Alaric could rewrite someone’s memories was...unsettling. On paper, Anders would suspect blood magic in any other case, but he knew better. Plus, Alaric had done nothing to indicate he was the type. He wasn’t unsettled, just...worried.
He reaches out to cup Alaric’s cheek. “Rats maybe...it’ll explain it if it goes foul.” A pause and small shake of his head. “I’m more worried about you. Are you actually alright? For what it matters, I think you did the right thing.”
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He's not easily intimidated, in the sense that it makes him behave.
In the sense that he feels threatened? Apparently so.
"And I am glad you were here to intervene. I'm not sure I would have thought clearly enough to come up with a solution without you."
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He leans in to press a kiss to Alaric’s forehead, then pulls back with some hesitation. “I’m sorry, is this alright? I’ll step back, if you’d rather.” He had more to say, but it could wait in deference to the sudden thought that just because Alaric was glad he’d shown up, didn’t mean he wanted Anders so close right now.
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A tiny pause there, and he finds Anders' hand to give it a quick squeeze. "You're scared."
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He squeezes Alaric’s hand back and stays close, though not too close to not be able to look at him. “Me? Always. Certified coward, that’s me.” But. “Not of you, though...for you. I swear...you’re safe with me, but you and I both know I’m not always around. I happen to be coming to meet you.”
He shakes his head. “This isn’t about me and whatever I’m feeling, it’s about you. You’re shaken, however understandably, is there some way I can help?” He pressed a small stir of panacea into the air between them, hoping to at least soothe a bit that way.
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The panacea did ease things for him, though, made breathing easier and him steadier, and he pressed a kiss against Anders' jaw.
"Neither of us have any real power here. Best handle things and they come and this one, at least, has been handled." He has a sinking feeling that, actually, things are going to get worse. He's going to need to find a way to deflect himself, and his default ... remote coolness is not going to work.
But he doesn't want Anders in danger to deal with it.
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Just as he wasn't sure he knew how not to deflect. He'd practiced it so often, it was second nature now.
"At least, for Alphas like that, who don't listen to no, the templars are good for that one thing only. If you see one, use them, it's meant to be their job after all."
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"If it comes down to anything truly dire, I will. Otherwise the more ... removed I am, the pushier and more curious people will get. I'll manage it and I will accept your help - and company, where we can."
He tightens his fingers just a little. "Go get dinner."
He's kind of lost the desire to go anywhere near the dining hall. And he'll be fine.
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He leans in and kisses Alaric's cheek, squeezes his hand, then pulls back. "Just flash them a bit more of a smile, even if it's fake, it might help." He didn't doubt Alaric's mysteriousness was part of his allure, if even some part of him seemed approachable, ironically, he might be approached less. Maybe. Or maybe not. Perhaps it was time for Anders to start spreading his own rumors. It had been a while since he'd utilized the mill.
"Meet you at the tables near the library?"
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He grunts his agreement, inelegantly, opens his eyes and lets go of Anders hand to push away from the wall. "We're going to have rumors going about the pair of us if this continues." He doesn't care. It would position Anders to make claims about Alaric of any sort he wanted and, well, he also just isn't new to a lot of speculation and gossip about him.
But he heads toward the library and tables without elaborating, and waits on Anders there. Only once he's waiting does he realize he should, maybe, be clear that he didn't expect Anders to indulge him quite as far as he has.
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He retrieves their dinner with only a little brown-nosing needed (they were far more interested in getting him out of the kitchens once an elbow caught a mixing bowl during their rush) and returns to the library with two plates and a bottle of wine. He sets one plate down in front of Alaric before moving to the other side of the table to take his place. "Your dinner, Ser Morgan. Freshly pilfered from the kitchens. And a red! They won't miss it, I swear."
He flashes a smile as he works the cork from the bottle. No glasses, but he was sure they could manage.
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He looks startled because he is startled.
"I meant for you to be able to eat your dinner, not that you needed to bring dinner to me." He feels bad about that and given that he is a spoiled noble that is likely saying something.
Like maybe he isn't actually all that spoiled.
sort of.
Still reaching immediately for that wine though.
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He pops the cork out and hands the bottle over when it's reached for. "Oh well, it's done now, the food isn't going to eat itself, so I suppose you may wish to help it, hmm?" Anders dug into his own certainly, and took the bottle back for his own sip once it was free.
"I'd think you'd be used to having someone want to wait on you. Not that I'm servant in anything but my fondness for you, but still."
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"Servants aren't..." He doesn't know what word to use, there. "Service out of duty is not the same thing." Anders should know that. "It isn't... involuntary but it also isn't kindness."
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"I thought servants were just workers. There's some in the tower too, those that aren't just the Tranquil. Simply paid to do their jobs. What makes 'out of duty' different? Other than sounding more fancy, I suppose." He did not, in fact know. There are no servants or slaves or vassals on a simple backwater farmer's lands. Especially not one born from the pride of the harsh Anderfels.
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"Duty comes into play because it is mutual. It is... an exchange of service. The nobility rules, but they also protect, manage, and arbitrate - and the king does for us. It simply moves up and down a ladder of responsibility, all the way to individual households and families."
Tiny pause and correction: "Ideally that is what it should be and often is. In practice, not always. Regardless of scope."
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"Seemed overblown and complicated to me: just a bunch of people with more titles than they know what to do with, often with far too much time on their hands. Ferrenly said half of them would barely know how to till a field if asked to. Still, I haven't heard of anyone bringing food to an Arl or anyone's table who wasn't simply a servant. Cultural differences, I suppose." That and people always claimed Fereldens were barbaric or backwards, so maybe they simply weren't doing it 'right' compared to every other kingdom.
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Half his plate finished, he sets his dinner aside in favor of the wine and giving Alaric his full attention. "So...they were wary of you because of your magic? Or something else?"
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Defensive?
...Yeah.
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Anders rests his jaw to his hand with a small smile. He shouldn't tease or rile, he shouldn't be a bastard...and yet, as easy as it was to be himself around Alaric, it was just as easy to forget to take that veneer off himself when he wore it all the time. If he even realized he was wearing it.
"Did I touch a nerve? It's a good thing, really! Someone pulls a sword out on you, you might even stand a chance against them. You're right: the only place tilling any earth comes in handy are in the pots in the garden and that's hardly the same. I do know how to stitch clothing back together, though, that's still practical." Especially when sometimes he had to apply it to skin. Luckily, not often.
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Yet, somehow, that had gotten under his skin.
"Wary of my magic, in cases that it was known. Wary of my status and rank, or wary of rumors or just my strangeness in cases where my magic was not." Olive branch of an answer? Yes. Yes it was.
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