#don't love algernon tho he's a creep

[nirikeehan]

Pravin & Thalia, dramatic situations prompts: "A character angling themselves in front of another character when things get tense or uncomfortable, stepping between them and harm’s way"

HI THIS has possessed me and is now part one of something to be continued at a later date. Stay tuned.

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 1759

CW: Introduction of an OC from Thalia's past with super bad creeper vibes.

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The Hinterlands were ablaze with autumn color. Thalia sat on her provided wooden bench and admired the hues: burnt oranges, vivid yellows, reds as bright as flame. The afternoon air was crisp but the sun warm, the sky an aching blue. The fair weather, it seemed, was her only respite. The procession to see her spread straight out of Redcliffe’s town square and curled around a corner. 

With a nod, she allowed the Inquisition soldiers serving as her security detail to admit the next petitioner into the shade of her pavilion. It was a woman, not much older than Thalia herself, wearing dark braids and a homespun dress. In her arms, to Thalia’s dismay, she held a swaddled, squalling infant. 

“Praise the Herald!” The woman threw herself prostrate on her knees, so that Thalia was forced to look over the edge of the long wooden table where she sat. The woman held up the crying babe, mucus streaming from its nose. “Please, bless my child.” 

Thalia hesitated only a heartbeat. She raised her left hand, flashing the gash in her palm that spilled emerald light, and waved it over the child. By luck — or perhaps the anchor’s glow did have a soothing effect — it calmed. 

“Your babe is already blessed,” Thalia said with a soft smile. 

The woman climbed to her feet, equally dazzled. “Thank you, my lady. That was incredible. Thank you so much.” 

The mother retreated, and in the procession’s lull, Thalia’s cousin Pravin slunk out from behind a tent pole holding up the pavilion. 

“Nicely done,” he murmured. 

“That’s not the first snotty baby that’s been shoved in my face.” Thalia sighed, resisting the urge to rub an eye. The afternoon felt every bit as long as the line gathered to see her. “Usually waving the anchor around is enough to convince the small folk I don’t need to kiss them.”

“The best for everyone involved,” Pravin adjusted the ostrich feather in his wide-brimmed cavalier hat. Today he’d donned a doublet and half-cape of deep navy blue slashed with royal purple. “I’ve heard tell the miasma of sickness is spread more easily in close contact, especially with children.” 

Thalia smirked. “I’d rather not face Corypheus while battling a chill, thank you.”

Pravin peered at her with his sharp green eyes. “Are you tired? I can tell the guards to turn the remainder away for the evening.”

“It’s all right.” With the Inquisition’s fame spread far and wide, these sort of audiences had become both more important and more taxing. It seemed these days she couldn’t go ten feet without a crowd of people wanting to meet the Inquisitor and ask for her favor, blessing, or air any amount of petty grievances. “We’ve an hour or so before sunset; I can make it until then.” 

“If you insist.” Pravin leaned forward, picking a bit of pollen off the collar of her dress. “In that case, I think I ought to go check on your boyfriend.” 

Thalia snorted. “Don’t call him that.” 

“No? What shall I call him, then? Your paramour? Beau?” Pravin smirked and struck a dramatic pose. “Your lover—?”

“I think ‘Commander of the Inquisition’ will suffice,” Thalia cut in, her face burning. 

Pravin let out a hearty laugh. “You two can’t keep it a secret forever, you know. The puppy eyes he gives you in our war council meetings are already so obvious. And now Arl Teagan has asked him to give a speech tonight — in your honor. Do you really think his Wicked Grace face is that good?”

“I thought he turned that offer down,” Thalia said, bemused. Cullen hated giving speeches that weren’t meant to boost battlefield morale among his soldiers; he found them overlong, self-important and trite — his exact words.

Pravin’s grin widened. “I… might have persuaded him otherwise.”

“Pravin!” 

“Because it’s good public relations,” Pravin insisted. “And perhaps because I got Varric to write it for him and agreed to coach him on his delivery. Trust me, when he hits lines like ‘our beloved Herald,’ he is not subtle.”

Thalia let out an exasperated laugh. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you about us.” 

“I’d’ve figured it out. Just like everyone else will,” Pravin said with amusement. “I’m just saying. Think of making a public announcement. Get ahead of it.” He buffed his nails against the lapel of his doublet. “Now, dear cousin, I’ll bid you adieu so that you may get back to your Inquisitorial duties.” 

Thalia shook her head as Pravin strolled out the back exit of the pavilion out amidst milling townsfolk and Inquisition retainers. Sighing, she straightened her posture and lifted her chin. There was a line of people waiting, after all. “You may send the next in.” 

An hour later, her pavilion closed to the public, Thalia slipped into the gathering twilight. Redcliffe’s town square bustled around her. The lamp lighters were out, and as she stood amidst the cobblestones, she could see the fading sunset reflected on the placid surface of Lake Calenhad. The warmth of the day had given way to the pleasant chill of an autumn night. Fireflies dotted the sky, and, higher up, so did the first dusting of stars. Thalia closed her eyes and inhaled the cool air, heady with the scent of cookfires. Redcliffe was hosting a feast for the Inquisition’s retinue, and all too soon she could be called to another pavilion, greeted by Arl Teagan, and seated at a high table for another round of diplomatic mingling. 

“Thalia?” said a man’s deep, silken voice, at once strange and unsettlingly familiar. “Thalia Trevelyan?”

She opened her eyes. A tall figure loomed before her, bathed in shadow. A lingering petitioner, probably, though the way he hunched, as if used to being unable to fit through doorways, set her on edge. She’d left her mage staff in her room at the Gull and Lantern, deemed too threatening to carry while meeting the common people. She clenched her left hand, feeling the anchor’s reassuring spark. “Yes? May I help you?” 

“It is you.” The man slunk forward, face obscured by his hooded cloak. His voice brimmed with elated mirth. “My, you’ve grown.”

Thalia’s stomach clenched. “Who are you? Forgive me, I don’t recall—”

He glided into the street light. The world tilted slowly. Intense blue eyes, crooked nose, concave cheeks, limp hair falling across his forehead — he was older now, but she’d know him anywhere. She’d stared into this face for hours, once. 

“Knight-Templar Algernon,” she breathed. 

“I’ve dispensed with the title, unfortunately.” He lifted his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “War — what’s it good for? Never should have left our little slice of paradise, methinks.” He cocked his head, smile wide and ghoulish. “Do you ever miss it? The Circle Tower?” 

“No,” Thalia said sharply, drawing back. “I don’t.” 

Algernon laughed. “Not surprising, I suppose. Dissolving the Circles and all that. Couldn’t comprehend it would ever come to that, let alone at the hands of one of mine.” He stretched out an arm to brush bony fingers against the dark ink beneath her right eye. His voice went hushed. “How could I have known my work would one day adorn the Herald of Andraste?”

 “Hey.” In a flash of purple cape and ostrich feather, Pravin threw himself between Thalia and Algernon. “Hands off the Inquisitor, buddy.” 

The former Templar snatched back his palm. Light-headed, Thalia dug her nails into the puffed sleeve of Pravin’s doublet. 

“Forgive me, ser, forgive me.” Algernon raised his arms as if in surrender. “We go way back, she and I.”

Pravin clucked his tongue. “What a coincidence, as do I. I’m her cousin. Who the hell are you?” 

The remaining glee drained from Algernon’s face. He swayed in his raggedy cloak, eyes darting. Without another word, he whirled and stormed off into the night. 

“Asshole.” Pravin turned to Thalia, brow furrowing in concern. “Are you all right?” 

“I— yes.” She leaned against the lantern-post, the fuzzy light above gathering moths, and tried to breathe deeply. He’s alive. He’s still out there. He… remembers. She shuddered.

“Are you sure?” Pravin asked, skeptical. 

“I just need a moment.” Thalia sat on the low stone wall that separated the town square from a manicured garden, pressing her palms against her thighs. Her dress pooled out around her, whisper-soft aquamarine samite threaded with cloth-of-gold. Not for the first time, she felt as if all of this were a farce — that only people like Algernon knew who she truly was. 

Pravin watched her with a troubled expression. As he opened his mouth, her security detail rounded the corner of her pavilion. “Is everything okay?” one of them asked, breathless. “We thought we heard a commotion.”

“No, everything is not okay.” Pravin jabbed a finger in Algernon’s general direction. “While you two were slacking off, the Inquisitor was accosted by a vagabond. You can rest assured I will be reporting this incident to the Commander—”

 “Pravin,” Thalia said. “It’s all right. I came out here by myself for some fresh air. It’s my fault.” 

“Like Andraste’s tit it is,” Pravin retorted. “They have one job, and that’s to keep you safe.”

“I’m fine. Look, see?” She lifted her chin and forced herself to smile. 

 Pravin rocked back on the heels of his expensive shoes and let out a slow breath. “If you insist. But all of us are escorting you back to the Gull and Lantern — right now.” 

Thalia didn’t protest; she stood and followed her cousin and guard detail. Soon they stood in the busy common room of the Gull and Lantern. The soft light and warm, cheery atmosphere reassured her. A minstrel tuned her lute over the din of those eating, drinking and carousing, and launched into a jaunty ballad. 

In the wide, bright space, Thalia felt less like Algernon might again leap from the darkness at any moment. She sank into a chair at an empty table and put her face in her hands. It had been years since she’d been able to feel the imprint of her tattoo on her skin, but her fingers found the curves and spiky lines regardless. She traced it from the bridge of her nose, around her eye, to her temple. She rubbed the opposite eye, where the ink bisected her eyebrow. 

Pravin sat beside her, folding his hands on the tabletop. He’d worn lacy, ruffled sleeves — dressing to impress the Arl tonight, it seemed. 

“So,” he said, voice low and gentle, “are you going to tell me what that was all about?”