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Irminric Eremon

New Member
Canon Character
Noble
Post DAI Timeline
DAO/DA2 Timeline
Posts
3
#1
(( 15 Kingsway, 35 Dragon, Mid-Morning, Alistair Theirin ))

Percy perched on his father’s arm, his own slung over his father’s shoulder as he jabbered on and on about the fennec he saw on the way to Denerim.

“Its ears were huge, Papa! Huge!” the boy exclaimed.

“Oh really? How big?” Irminric watched as his son tried to maintain his balance while shaping his hands into roughly the same size as a fennec’s ear, albeit an exaggerated one. Percy grinned and was about to chatter more about it when he suddenly tipped over with a yelp. Irminric’s heart skipped a beat as he lunged forward and pulled a giggling Percy back into a safer grip.

“Alright, Percy, I think it’s time you walked,” Irminric said as calmly and firmly as he could despite the third near-fall his son had had that morning. He doubted the boy’s clothes would make it through their visit without somehow getting a new tear in it. Irminric crouched down and let Percy climb his way back to the floor as he resumed his conversation about the fennec like nothing had happened.

“Do you think it could hear us talking all the way back home with those ears? They were just so big!”

“Maybe. Maybe it hears all the things you say and tells your nursemaid when you say mean things.”

“Really?” Percy’s eyes grew wide. “Wow, it must not talk to my nursemaid at all.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because I don’t say mean things. Anyway, what if a fennec has bigger ears? Could it hear me in Denerim? Or in Orlais? Maybe there’s one with ears so big it can hear me all the way in the deepest part of the sea. Or maybe…” Percy went on and on, leaving no room for his father to intervene and answer his questions as he pulled him along with one hand wrapped around two of his father’s fingers. Irminric smiled and let the boy talk all he wanted as they made their way through the castle to the gardens. It would keep the boy occupied, but more than anything it reminded him of how much the boy took after his mother. Even at this age he already had her penchant for talking of nothing and everything.

“Percy.” They boy kept chatting, but Irminric stopped and gently pulled his son back to him. That was enough to interrupt his ever-growing run-on sentence. “We’re about to meet the king. Now this is really important: do you remember how I taught you to greet him?”

“Yup!” Percy gave a big bounce of a nod.

“Good. Are you ready?”

“Yup!” An even bigger bounce of a nod.

“Alright, here we go.” Irminric offered his hand to his son, this time wrapping his own around Percy’s before leading him into the garden where King Alistair was already waiting for them.

“Announcing Ser Iminric Eremon, Bann of the Waking Sea, and his son, Percival Eremon!” a guard said a little too loudly after they approached. Irminric thanked the guard with a nod anyway before turning back to the king.

“It’s been a long time, Your Majesty,” Irminric said with as cordial a bow he could muster. Once he was back up, he looked down at his son with an encouraging smile. “Alright, your turn.”

“A really big pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty!” Percy gave a near perfect bow, one that his nursemaid would have been proud of until he bounced back out of it.

“About Alfstanna,” Irminric began, “I wanted to discuss-”

“Papa said fennecs can hear whatever I say and that they tell my nursemaid all about it,” Percy interrupted. Irminric bit his lip to hide both the embarrassment and laughter that threatened to show itself, but he didn’t stop Percy from continuing. “He said they only tell her bad stuff but I never say bad things, but is it true, ser - I mean, your majesty?”
 
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Alistair Theirin

King of Ferelden
Canon Character
Noble
Grey Warden
Post DAI Timeline
DAO/DA2 Timeline
Posts
91
#2
The air had begun to get crisp in the early morning, but the rising of the sun warmed the world up, and in a few short weeks, the real cold would arrive, so autumn was the time to get outside while you could. That was part of the reason that Alistair had chosen to have his audience with Bann Irminric on the patio overlooking the children’s garden.

The other reasons were currently engaged in a game of hide and seek. The rose garden was Constance’s to oversee; this particular garden had been his idea, and he had spared no expense. Shrubs painstakingly trimmed to resemble playful animals gamboled among a set of swings, a slide, a fountain in which splashing about was absolutely permitted and a miniature castle, complete with drawbridge. Here, he’d watched with quiet satisfaction as children long denied a childhood began to cast off the shadows of the past and discover the joys of play. Even Elena often joined Bran and Arwen, pushing them in swings, playing damsel in distress to Bran’s Grey Warden with amused tolerance or sitting beneath the willow that had been dubbed the Reading Tree while Bran read tales to his sisters. A year ago, they had been joined with increasing frequency by Peter Yorath, and now it was Peter Theirin who ran to duck behind a shrub shaped like a squat toad while Bran hid his eyes against the wall of the castle

A family. After years of yearning, never even daring to hope, he finally had the thing that he wanted most. His marriage to Constance, while nothing remotely like anything he had ever envisioned for himself, was nonetheless something that he could be content with, but it was the children that were his real joy. Alfstanna had said that her brother felt the same way about his only son (her opinions regarding the now-absent wife remained unspoken but clearly conveyed in the crackling irritation in her eyes). So Alistair had included Percival in the missive that had requested the Bann of Waking Sea to attend his King.

His elevation had been overshadowed by the royal wedding, the appointment of Quinton Yorath as Teyrn-Regent of Gwaren and his younger sister’s placement as the newest (and hopefully last) Arl of Denerim. He’d seemed to prefer it that way, and Alistair had respected that, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to check up. He felt more than a little responsibility for the man, and more than a little kinship.

“Announcing Ser Iminric Eremon, Bann of the Waking Sea, and his son, Percival Eremon!”

Alistair turned at the guard’s announcement, hands clasped behind him and a welcoming smile on his face. Alistair had seen him a handful of times since they had rescued him from the cell in Howe’s dungeons, but his mind’s eye could still see the haggard man with hollow eyes that spoke of a dance with madness peering from behind rusted iron bars, holding out the ring that proved his lineage, proved just how low Rendon Howe had sunk.

The man before him had filled out since that day, the once wild hair and beard neatly barbered, bones no longer quite so prominent. Still a hint of a limp, but the real change was in the way he regarded the boy that trotted at his side. Alistair knew that look, and the feeling that lay behind it: the earthshaking realization that loving someone more than life itself was a real thing … and it wasn’t about a woman. It was a tiny hand holding trustingly to your own, hair as fine as silk brushing against your cheek and eyes that looked at you as though you were the greatest thing in the world when you could put a broken toy back together.

“It’s been a long time, Your Majesty,” Irminric greeted him with a formal bow, then turned to his son with a fond smile “Alright, your turn.”

“A really big pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty!” the boy announced dipping a bow that was a mirror of the one his father had offered, except for the little bounce on the heels at the end.

“And a pleasure to meet you, young ser,” Alistair told him with a smile. “You’re looking good, Irminric,” he said, and meant it. The former templar’s struggles after being freed from his captivity had not been widely broadcast, but Alistair had checked in discreetly with Alfstanna over the months.

“About Alfstanna,” Irminric spoke, “I wanted to discuss-”

“Papa said fennecs can hear whatever I say and that they tell my nursemaid all about it,” Percival burst out, bouncing up and down in his eagerness. “He said they only tell her bad stuff but I never say bad things, but is it true, ser - I mean, your majesty?”

Alistair crouched until he was on eye level with the lad. “They do have big ears, don’t they?” he agreed with a smile. “I’ll bet they hear a lot of things, but if you never say bad stuff, you don’t have to worry. I hope they’re not listening to me, though.” He leaned in close. “I went down to the kitchen this morning and found that somebody had eaten the last slice of apple pie, and I said a few bad things, because I really wanted that pie for breakfast.”

He shifted, nodding toward the gardens, watching the boy’s eyes go round. “My son, my nieces and nephew are playing out there, if you’d like to go join them.”

He stood, watching as Percival glanced to his father for permission, then ran down the steps. Arwen ran to meet him, then Peter, then Bran. A few seconds of talking and the hide-and-seek game resumed with the addition of one.

“Be nice if things were still that easy,” he remarked to Irminric. No politics, no ulterior motives. Just ‘Hello, let’s play’.
 

Irminric Eremon

New Member
Canon Character
Noble
Post DAI Timeline
DAO/DA2 Timeline
Posts
3
#3
The King’s greetings were met with a cordial smile from Irminric and a much larger grin from Percy. The boy reveled in Alistair’s attention, hanging on his every word as the king leaned in to answer his absurd question. Irminric watched, amused both at his son’s wide-eyed interest and Alistair’s incredibly natural ability to play along with Percy’s antics. It wasn’t every day someone could keep up with the boy without missing a step.

“My son, my nieces and nephew are playing out there, if you’d like to go join them.” Percy rocked back on his feet before Alistair could even finish the sentence, ready to dash off before he remembered himself and looked up at his father for permission. How could he possibly say no to those wide green eyes?

Irminric gave the smallest of nods, enough for Percy to tear off with a, “Thanks, Papa! Bye!” tossed over his shoulder. A light chuckle escaped Irminric, uncharacteristic many years ago but seeming to crop up daily now that Percy unwittingly seemed to find a way to draw them out. The boy fell in with the group of children as if he’d known them all his five years of life.

“Be nice if things were still that easy.” The King’s remark drew Irminric back to the real reason he’d come to Denerim. An audience with the King himself wasn’t always easy to come by.

“Some folks would claim I’ve not much more depth than them,” Irminric replied. It was true enough - he’d never been talented at playing the game of politics, nor had he reveled in even the simplest of his noble duties. It was a job, one that he refused to complicate more than necessary. “I prefer it that way, though. I’d rather not while away my evenings worried about who may or may not be plotting something, but enough of that.”

Irminric finally lost sight of Percy long enough to fully return his attention to Alistair. Taking him in now, he couldn’t tell if the differences he saw in the man were simply age or his own rotten memory of the first time they’d met. Certainly Alistair stood a little taller - a crown could do wonders for a man’s posture, apparently, but there was also that something in his eyes, something that made them a little darker than what they should be. Irminric knew his own well enough. Years of recovery could only do so much to bring some of that old shine back, but it also made it easier to see it in others. The peacefulness of today would never erase what they had seen in the past, however briefly their own paths had crossed, however different their own experiences had been.

“I’ll venture to say that you won’t have to worry so much about that with Alfstanna,” Irminric said, trying to turn the conversation with a gentle hand. “She’s shrewd, but she’s loyal and welcoming. She would never dream of making your life difficult unless you deserved it. Of course, you know that well enough.” Of course the King did. Why else would his sister have been offered the position? “We’ll miss her at the Waking Sea. She’s been the heart of it for quite some time.”

Irminric looked over at the children to see Percy hiding behind a rather large hedge. Occasionally the boy would jump as high as his little legs would let him to peer over the edge as one of the others rushed around to search for him. A few leaves had already gotten caught in his tousle of brown hair, and even from this distance Irminric could see a fresh tear in the boy’s sleeve. Harlow was going to throw a fit when the pair returned to their living quarters.

“I’m sure this goes without saying,” Irminric continued, “but I had a favor to ask: watch over her. Denerim is vastly different from the Waking Sea, and while I’ve no doubt she will handle it splendidly, I can’t say the same for any other nobles out there. There’s been enough tragedy with Denerim already, but I hope she can overcome all that - with some guidance and assistance from you, of course. She may be the most capable person I’ve ever known, but she’s still my younger sister. I’m going to be concerned. Your support would help to assuage some of that.”
 

Alistair Theirin

King of Ferelden
Canon Character
Noble
Grey Warden
Post DAI Timeline
DAO/DA2 Timeline
Posts
91
#4
The look of love on Irminric’s face as he watched his son joining seamlessly into the play made Alistair’s throat tighten a bit. It was the expression of a man who had more than he’d ever hoped to be given, and it didn’t have a damn thing to do with the Bannorn of Waking Sea, but it told him much of what he needed to know about his newest Bann. Alfstanna had been frank about her brother’s struggle to recover from what he’d suffered at the hands of Rendon Howe, but she had been adamant that the experience hadn’t broken him, and that his son had been the driving impetus for him to pull himself together and move forward.

“Some folks would claim I’ve not much more depth than them,” he remarked, his eyes still on Percival as Peter began to count and the children scattered. “I prefer it that way, though. I’d rather not while away my evenings worried about who may or may not be plotting something, but enough of that.”

“Not a bad way to be, all things considered,” Alistair agreed, meeting the other man’s gaze as Percival ducked out of sight and he turned away from the gardens. The brown eyes that regarded him were clear, but the shadows were not far. Between the Chantry’s tender care and Howe, he’d have seen more than his share of the evil that men were capable of, and he hadn’t forgotten it, hadn’t blocked it out. He just refused to let it shape him, and that took courage. If it looked likely to cross the line into dangerous passivity or avoidance, it could be dealt with then, but with Waking Sea not a point of contention right now, having a Bann who wasn’t looking for trouble would be more help than hindrance. Alfstanna would have advised her brother which landholders were potential problems and which neighboring nobles were the strongest allies.

“I’ll venture to say that you won’t have to worry so much about that with Alfstanna,” Irminric told him, showing not a trace of jealousy or resentment of the younger sister who almost all agreed eclipsed him in ability. “She’s shrewd, but she’s loyal and welcoming. She would never dream of making your life difficult unless you deserved it. Of course, you know that well enough. We’ll miss her at the Waking Sea. She’s been the heart of it for quite some time.”

“Yes, she has been. It is my hope that she will be able to inspire that degree of loyalty in Denerim, with time.” Alistair wasn’t fool enough to think that managing Ferelden’s capitol wouldn’t be like herding cats in a room filled with mice. “But Waking Sea overwhelmingly supported you as Bann.” The few grumblers had been hoping that the title would go to them instead, but as proud as Fereldans were of the independence implied by the selection of ruling nobles by those that they ruled, the attachment to bloodlines lingered. Which was how you got a royal bastard on the throne.

Irminric glanced briefly back to the gardens, watching his son select a hiding place, before returning his attention to Alistair. “I’m sure this goes without saying,” he began, “but I had a favor to ask: watch over her. Denerim is vastly different from the Waking Sea, and while I’ve no doubt she will handle it splendidly, I can’t say the same for any other nobles out there. There’s been enough tragedy with Denerim already, but I hope she can overcome all that - with some guidance and assistance from you, of course. She may be the most capable person I’ve ever known, but she’s still my younger sister. I’m going to be concerned. Your support would help to assuage some of that.”

“She’ll have my support,” Alistair promised firmly, “and I’m not going to be inclined to take it easy on anyone who tries to challenge her.” Hanging Vaughan Kendalls had driven home the point that the new king, while inexperienced, would not accept insurrection, open or otherwise. “She’s well thought of by her peers, so I’ve no real concerns on that score, but the merchants and guilds in the city haven’t had a firm hand guiding them in a while. And the situation with the elves is … delicate.” He grimaced. For every step forward on that front, it felt as though there were two steps back, even though he knew that things had improved from where they’d been at the end of the Blight. Still a long way to go, but one step at a time. “I’ve faith in your sister, though. She can handle it, and she’ll have the full support of the crown, as will you.

“Have you visited her since she became Arl?” he asked. Not as idle a query as it might seem to a casual onlooker. What he was really asking was if Irminric had returned to the place where he had spent months in captivity, tortured seemingly for the amusement of those who held him. The dungeons had been cleared, the bars removed, implements of torture dragged out and burned or melted down, and the walls and floors scrubbed, but Alfstanna had confided that the stench still lingered and the place retained its unsettling aura. The cellar was used for storage now, seldom entered, and the doors were kept locked.
 
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