#also lol not me linking the canticle of shartan to avatrice

[the-darkness-does-not-bargain]

Shartan 9: 5-7

A snippet of another scene from my Warrior Nun Dragon Age AU, set in DA: Inquisition.  Part of a larger chapter about Ava and Beatrice developing their connection (by having an argument, of course) and Ava talking about her past before the Conclave.  This snippet is between Mary and Ava, where Mary (god love her) does something she never did in the show, which is ask Ava seriously about her experiences.  If this sounds interesting to you, you can check out my dragon age au tag and see the previous posts talking about the setting :D.

Mary pushes down on your shoulder until you sit in the rickety-looking chair.  “Your ass better stay in that seat until I’m back, you understand?”  Then she turns and marches toward the bar.  You fix your gaze on the wood grain of the table and focus on ignoring the stares of the randos milling about the tavern.  You spent so many years being ignored by almost everyone, and you hated it, but now it seems you can’t escape being the center of attention, and you hate that just as much.

Mary returns and thunks a wooden tankard in front of you before taking the seat across from you.  You peer into the mug suspiciously, seeing only an unfamiliar frothy, amber liquid inside.

“It’s just beer,” Mary elaborates when it’s clear you don’t know what you’re looking at.  “Try it.”

You pick up the mug gingerly and take a sip.  Which you promptly spit out onto the floor next to you.

“Hey, no spitting!” The bartender shouts at you.

Mary, meanwhile, is laughing into her own pint at your expense.  “Okay, that was funny, not gonna lie.”

“That’s beer?!” You squeak, looking at the tankard like a demon might pop out of it.  You knew what beer was, of course, theoretically.  The Templars were always talking about it.  Drinking beer, running out of beer, “when are we getting more beer in?” etc.  Some of the other prisoners would talk about it too, always with a wistful or nostalgic tone as obviously they weren’t allowed to have any.  “Why would anyone drink that?!”

“It’s an acquired taste,” Mary responds, still chuckling.  “Give it a few more sips.  It might grow on you.”

“I fucking doubt it,” you say, to which she shrugs.  She doesn’t say anything for a time, instead listening to the bard wrap up her current song, something about an “empress of fire”.  When it does, she looks back at you, and the lighthearted mood becomes serious.

“Now, clearly the subject makes you a little touchy, but I’m gonna need you not to clam up about this until I’ve at least asked the question.”

You grip your tankard tightly and shrink back from her.  “No promises,” you respond, earning a sigh.

She takes another gulp from her beer.  After nearly another minute of silence, in which you pray that she’s changed her mind, she asks, “Why were you really in Aeonar?”

You let the tankard go before you give yourself a splinter, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms.  “You already heard why.  They sent me there when I was just a kid.”

“And they wouldn’t just do that for no reason.”

You scoff.  “Shows what you fucking know."  She holds up a hand to stop your tirade before it can start.

“Baby girl, I do know.  I know what the Templars have been up to, I lived in Kirkwall, remember?  Anders was one of my best friends.”  She leans forward, holding your gaze.  “My point is that the Templars can’t act without official justification.  Or couldn’t, I suppose.  Even in Kirkwall it took years to get as bad as it did because Meredith had to go through official channels, up until the point she really lost it, which is when we took her down.  What I’m saying is they couldn’t have sent you to Aeonar without written approval, some evidence and documentation.”  She taps her fingers idly against the side of her pint.

You stare at her, hard, searching her face.  She holds your stare, undeterred, until you snort darkly, quietly, and drop your eyes to the table again.  “What more evidence do they need in the wake of a purge?”  You ask.  “And what documentation would they have filed in the middle of a Blight?”

She stills, her fingers ceasing their steady beat.  “What are you saying?”  You can see in her eyes that the pieces are starting to fall into place.

“I don’t think you want to hear it.”

“Fuck that,” she denies, leaning further forward.  “Tell me.”

It’s hard to think about and harder to say, even after 11 years.  You feel as though a burning coal has taken up residence in your throat as you struggle with the words.

“I was in Kinloch Hold,” you reveal.  “At the Circle Tower.”

“...Shit.”  She curses, leaning away until she hits the back of her chair.  She stares at you, as if hoping you’ll suddenly change your answer, then, “Shit!”

“Yeah,” you say dully, taking a morose sip of your drink.  The taste doesn’t magically improve, but you are able to keep it down.  You push away the memories of that night, of hiding with the other children, watching Senior Enchanter Wynne battle demons outside the protective barrier.  You were the last child she had rescued, and the only reason you had survived at all was because she risked her life to carry you to safety.

"You were one of the survivors?  One of the kids Wynne saved?"  You nod.  Mary sucks in a breath through her teeth.

Although you hadn't recognized Mary at first, you do remember them, the Hero of Ferelden and her friends.  How they burst into the room after the Senior Enchanter battled a relentless line of demons to defend you.  You remember thinking that the Hero, Shannon, looked really pretty and cool, in her Grey Warden armor, with her shining sword and a bright red braid whipping behind her.  You'd thought the same of Mary, and still do (not that you will ever say so).

"They really sent you all to Aeonar after we left?"

You shrug.  "First Enchanter Irving had no power after you guys left, and Senior Enchanter Wynne went with you, so there was no one to object.  Apart from us, and who cares what a bunch of kids thought?"  You swallow.  "They didn't even wait a week."

There's silence for a minute or two, in which Mary continues to stare at you and you struggle to swallow another bitter sip of beer.

Finally, she says, "Fuck.  I'm sorry, kid.  I really am."

You shrug again, a little stiffly, trying not to question if this is the first time anyone has apologized to you.  "You don't have to.  I mean, I get it.  I do.  You guys kinda had more important stuff to worry about, like saving the world," you joke mirthlessly.

"Still, we should have said something, done something… I don't know.  We wouldn't have agreed to it.  Shannon wouldn't have agreed to it."

"She seemed pretty cool," you admit, because the wistfulness and regret decorating her face makes you uncomfortable.  "You all seemed really cool.  You just sort of busted in and started kicking ass.  It was kind of awesome."

She snorts, lips lifting in a small smile.  "When Shannon gets back, I'll tell her you said that.  Or better yet, you can tell her yourself."