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stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage · 1 year

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[half agony, half hope] ch4: in the quiet desert, reminders are sought

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Pairings: Warden!Carver/Merrill; some side M!Hawke/Anders and F!Tabris/Alistair Rating: M Chapter Summary: Having acquired confidential records from the archives of Weisshaupt Fortress, Warden-Commander Rosalie and her companions have a lead in the right direction. Unfortunately, Warden Carver won't be able to accompany them as he and his beloved companion have a long trip to Kirkwall to make, and a lot of feelings to sort out. But first: dwarven ale.

Note: I wanted to have this chapter out sooner but silly me got sick and needed some recovery time. I'm feeling better now, and was able to finally have some fun with Carver and the Grey Wardens.

I also want to note that this story takes place in my King Cailan Lives AU; it's not super relevant or important right now, but has a greater purpose in later chapters. Just throwing that out there since he's mentioned a few times. I promise it'll make sense, you just gotta stick with me! Thank you for reading!

-x-

In the southern Anderfels, there’s a desert made of dusty windstorms and prickly edges; a jagged butte rightfully called the Broken Tooth. Weeds and thick vines, some as dark as coffee grounds, others as light as tea leaves, grew all around Weisshaupt Fortress, the desert’s centerpiece. As impressive and intimidating as the Grey Wardens who occupied it.

Within the walls of stone, all decorated with elaborate tapestries that honored the order, whispers breathed new life into the stale air with piqued interest and anticipation. Not all were impressed, though; among them were a few dubious glances and cynical grumblings.

It was the second visit to the fortress made by the Hero of Fereldan; the only Grey Warden to ever kill an Archdemon, to accept the soul of an Old God within, and to survive.

An elven woman from the alienage of Denerim, conscripted upon facing execution for the murder of an Arl’s son, Warden-Commander Rosalie Tabris was a topic of speculation within the order. Most believed the story she spun for them—a witch saved her and Warden Alistair at Ostagar, and another witch’s magic ritual saved them against the archdemon.

Other’s believed it a fabrication, and spat scrutiny at the way she commanded the wardens under her at Vigil’s Keep.

But this time, Rosalie did not walk through the gates alone.

On her left was a dwarf with hair the color of fresh blood and the smell of an entire brewery on his breath; Warden Oghren, another hero of the fifth blight. On her right walked another dwarf with a casteless tattoo on her cheek, dawning armor pieced together of both Grey Warden and Legion of the Dead outfits; Warden Sigrun, recruited shortly after the Grey Wardens settled in at Vigil’s Keep.

And then there was the man who followed closely behind them with the distinctive chin and prominent dimples in his smile—Warden Carver Hawke, who towered over his companions, an impressive warrior with the silverite greatsword on his back.

And interestingly, if not amusingly, a rather large nug followed at his heels, of all things. The creature was larger than the average nug; fleshy pink with a grey patch around the right eye and a stripe down the back, creepy looking feet, and a ringlet for a tail; and had the temperament of a protective mabari.

Carver’s face was the one most at Weisshaupt recognized. Stroud brought him there as a warden still recovering from his Joining, but he had little time to form any long-lasting bonds.

Though he hadn’t intended nor expected it, Carver brought the Hero of Fereldan to Weisshaupt the first time. Rosalie showed up unannounced and demanded to see him, refusing to divulge her reasoning or say how she knew he was there at all. While questions were pressed, no one could deny her.

After speaking for only an afternoon, he agreed to go back to Fereldan with her.

Now Warden Carver served at Vigil’s Keep with great loyalty to the Hero of Fereldan and her cause, one that wasn’t so different from the order’s, but strayed enough that it had to be kept secret.

While that might’ve been a difficult task given that cause was the reason for their visit, the Grey Wardens were always good with their secrets. The wardens spent most of their visit in Weisshaupt’s expansive library, discretely inquiring after information and whispering to the shadows.

They found the information they sought, and departed in the dead of night with barely a goodbye.

-x-

Among all the coarse sand hills, insignificant boulders in every shade of brown, and the yellowing grass somehow thriving in the dry conditions, a makeshift camp was settled by the travelling Grey Wardens.

Three tents pitched around a lively fire, bags acting as extra weights to keep gusts of wind from blowing them away. The scent of dinner, a vegetable stew they scrapped together, still lingered with the smoke. A distant howling, perhaps a wolf excited by the bright moon in the inky sky.

It would’ve been peaceful if not for Oghren’s abhorrent snoring. He didn’t even make it into his tent, but no one paid him much attention. Sigrun went to do a perimeter check, and to meet back up with Zevran, who the group hadn’t seen since he passed off stolen documents to them from the shadows.

That left Carver, his commander, and The Destroyer of Darkspawn on watch by the fire, but the most they fended off were the irritating bugs buzzing around.

Sat cross-legged on a heavy blanket a relaxed distance from the fire, Rosalie sifted through a stack of papers while Carver rested on his own blanket beside her. The Destroyer of Darkspawn—or DeeDee, if you prefer—lay at his side with her head in his lap, the heavyset nug peacefully snuffling in her sleep.

A restless night, like many, but this time it wasn’t due to the burdens of being a Grey Warden; nightmares of dripping black ichor, the screeching and gurgling of darkspawn, the whispers of broodmothers tingling behind his ear like a fingertip, tracing over the helix and down the back of his neck. It wasn’t even the buzz of new information they learned during their research that brought an anxious fluttering to his guts.

No, tonight his thoughts raced with conflicted cocktail of anticipation, enthusiasm, and dread over Kirkwall and everything that awaited him there.

Admittedly, he thought he’d outgrown tantrums by now, but when Rosalie told him of Edgar’s letter and that she granted the request to give Carver leave, he was this close to throwing one.

With a hard tug, his hand was free of the gauntlet to rub at his face. Then off came the other, tossed over on packed bags, all stuffed with everything he and DeeDee would need for the journey and stay in the damned City of Chains.

The nug acknowledged the disturbance with a huff, long ears perking up, but relaxed when Carver soothed his hand down her pudgy back. Was it just him, or had she grown even bigger since they left Fereldan? She seemed heavier on his leg than before.

She’s definitely grown since he found her in Orzammar not that long ago. The Grey Wardens were regularly welcomed by King Bhelen for dinners and provings in their honor, and the last time Carver joined Rosalie, Alistair, and King Cailan, a “delicacy” of surface nug was on the menu.

Supposedly, DeeDee was found in the Arbor Wilds by dwarven butchers who sold exotic meats to Orzammar’s nobility, but Carver had no idea how she could feed anyone, not even a dwarf. Within the iron cage, she was a pathetic little thing like most other nugs. Noises that may have been the nug equivalent of growls emitted from her tiny body whenever anyone approached her cage. Maybe it was just chance he and Alistair happened by at the right moment, but whatever it was, he couldn’t stomach the thought of eating something so… helpless.

“Hey, distract the butchers for me. Keep their eyes off me.”

“Sure… wait, why?”

Not only did Carver gain a companion in DeeDee, who seemed to understand what fate he’d saved her from and followed him after he tried to set her free, but he also learned that Alistair made for a terrible dancer. It got the job done, though.

DeeDee stretched out her legs and yawned, twisting to peer up at him with those beady eyes. Carver couldn’t help but grin down at her. The Destroyer of Darkspawn, as he initially named her, wasn’t the sort of companion he would’ve thought for himself, but he absolutely adored her.

Hopefully she got along with Fleabag. DeeDee and the Commander’s mabari, Griffon, often played and chased each other around the yards, but his beloved nug wasn’t exactly the friendliest creature when it came to first impressions. He didn’t want to hear Edgar complain about DeeDee beating up his dog.

Carver’s smile faltered.

Maker, he hadn’t even told his brother about DeeDee yet; hopefully his brother didn’t object Carver’s companion.

They wrote as often as they could, but Carver was far less elaborate on the fine details of his life; “Dear Edgar, how are you? Fereldan’s still Fereldan. Killed some darkspawn the other day. King Cailan visited Vigil’s Keep for dinner. Going to Orlais next week. Alistair says hello. Give my love to Mother. Your brother, Carver.”

It’s mostly because he couldn’t share certain things about the Grey Wardens, but also the vulnerability that came with sharing his life now became distressing. He knew his brother too well. Every letter Carver sent was probably waved around and shared with anyone who would listen. Not out of malicious intent, but because that’s just how Edgar was.

He always asked if Carver could come home to visit in every reply without fail, too. That part wasn’t anything new, except this time his brother changed his strategy, no doubt succeeding thanks to the sewer dweller he was smitten with, the bastard.

And given Rosalie and Alistair raised their daughter, Aria, in secret at Vigil’s Keep and often visited family in Denerim, allowed Oghren to take leaves to visit his son and ex-wife, as well as Nathaniel to see his sister… it’s unsurprising that they granted the request.

It’s not that he didn’t want to see his brother or return to Kirkwall, but Carver had a calling now. A duty to fulfil that his brother couldn’t possibly understand; to help save the world from facing the twisted corruption brought on by the taint… to make sure no one he loved ever had to face the underground horrors of broodmothers and their children, to succumb to destructive madness.

Even though the taint flowed in his blood, there was a freedom that he hadn’t felt before. Once Carver was a child with a collection of maps and flags. Now he’s a man who travels to those places he once dreamed of seeing with a purpose.

The Grey Wardens didn’t merely tolerate him. They all experienced the Joining, and witnessed the deaths of those who didn’t survive taking the taint into their bodies. All had made their own sacrifices, suffered nightmares and grief. Some bonds were stronger than others, but they all shared the same home now and there was comfort in that. Even if—even when they found the cure they sought, there was little fear in his mind that they would all part ways forgotten.

He had a Commander who recognized his worth and trusted his judgement out on the field. He had DeeDee who would follow him everywhere and looked at him with the adoration he once thought only a mabari could have. He and Alistair went for early morning runs and had afternoon tea with Aria and all her toys. Drinking contests with Oghren. Debates and—mostly—good-natured quarrels with Velanna about mundane things. Prank wars with Sigrun that always ended with Nathaniel as the loser despite not even participating. The newest warden, Ivun, a one-eyed elven fellow Rosalie conscripted to prevent him from hanging for theft, shared Carver’s interest in Fereldan history and lore.

He trusted them all with his life down in the Deep Roads, when facing the soulless horrors of darkspawn, just as he cherished their time working together at Vigil’s Keep and Amaranthine.

He's more now than he ever was before the Deep Roads Expedition. Being a Grey Warden finally brought him out into the light away from his big brother’s shadow, and part of him wanted everyone who ever doubted him to see that. Five years ago, Carver was just Edgar Hawke’s little brother. A tagalong only put up with because everyone liked his brother, and he could swing a sword well enough. Yes, he was an ass back then. It did little to improve his popularity, he could admit that.

But he’s older now. He’s a respected warrior of the Grey Wardens, serving under the Hero of Fereldan. Everyone at Vigil’s Keep, and most citizens of Amaranthine, knew his name. He had more than enough coin flowing to never worry about living comfortably. Carver drew the eyes of the lovely noblewomen, unmarried or otherwise, who casually inquired after details; “Tell me, has anyone caught the fancy of Warden Hawke?”

And he wished… he wished Mother could see him. Bethany and Father, too. See that he did become someone uneclipsed and worthy, someone they could be proud of.

Carver would love nothing more than to boast all of that to Edgar. And to Aveline. And to all of his brother’s friends who believed he wouldn’t amount to anything, who didn’t even like having him—

“If you had a pet griffon, what would you name it?”

“A griffon?”

“I would name mine Feathers. Griffons don’t eat people, do they? What if it got out and ate the neighbors?”

“Eh, if it did, the neighbors probably deserved it. Actually… that’s what I’d name mine: Neighbor Eater.”

“Really?”

“That way no one can complain if he eats anyone. I’ll just tell them the name’s a warning; if you get eaten, it’s your own fault.”

“That… is the silliest name!”

“Is not!”

…No, that wasn’t true. There was…

Shit. Shit.

“I should go with you.”

The Commander only paid Carver half a glance. Another obnoxious snore rang from Oghren, followed by slurred grumbling.

“Kirkwall can wait a little longer,” he said, composing himself. DeeDee peered up at him, listening as well. “We finally have a good lead. If it’s true, and Fiona’s in Montsimmard, I should be there when you talk to her.”

A slow nod. Rosalie read the documents like if she glared hard enough, the pages would forfeit some secret information hidden from the eye. And who knows, maybe they would. He’d certainly spill his guts if she ever looked at him like that.

They’ve already discussed the information Zevran snatched from Weisshaupt’s confidential archives, courtesy of his inability to be sensed by other Grey Wardens and his deft thievery skills. They wouldn’t have resorted to stealing the documents if the Grey Wardens were more forthcoming, but somehow the Commander knew they wouldn’t let her waltz out of Weisshaupt with the only case reporting of a Grey Warden being miraculously cured of the taint—hence the forethought to sneak in their thieving confidant.

They wanted crucial information that could potentially bring the cure of the taint to all Grey Wardens, saving them from the fate of the Calling? Perish the thought!

Yet even for as thorough as they were, something in the reports didn’t add up. Carver wanted to go to Kirkwall, but he wanted to know how ex-warden Fiona cured herself of the taint from the woman herself even more.

“If you don’t go,” Rosalie finally spoke with a perked brow, but still didn’t pay him any glance, “then can I expect another letter from your brother? Or should we have a room made up for him when he inevitably storms the keep?”

Carver chuckled, shaking his head. “Believe it or not, there are more important things than my brother’s bullshit. He can wait.”

That got a snicker out of the elven woman. “Have you ever told him that?”

“More times than I care to count,” said Carver flatly, then sighed. “Look, if you’re going to the Circle, you’re going to need me. The templars may have no authority over you, but that doesn’t mean they won’t try something.”

“I’m aware.” Rosalie finally looked to him with an amused, knowing smile. “Many templars tried to take Anders away after I conscripted him, and I hear Greagoir threw a fit when the rumors about Justice reached Kinloch. Then one of their seekers showed up to have a chat with me. Lovely one, that.” She rolled her eyes, straightening out the stack of papers to tuck them in her bag. “And they think I don’t know about their attempts to send undercover templars to snoop around the keep. I’ve only met a few in the order who aren’t complete pricks. Alistair says it’s part of their oath.”

There’s a sentiment Carver shared. His whole life centered around not drawing attention from the Chantry and its templars. He could still only name enough decent ones on a single hand. Alistair once told him that if Fereldan wasn’t left in a such a delicate state after the Blight, King Cailan would’ve sought an effective way to “kindly shoo them out.”

“That’s why I should be there.”

“Your concern is sweet, Carver, but you needn’t worry about us. Besides, we’re not going to Orlais so soon. Unfortunately, there’s still much to do here.”

“I have to go through Orlais anyway,” Carver pressed. “I see no reason to separate just yet. What’s another month or two?”

The Commander looked at him then, studying, but not unkindly. “I thought you’d be more eager to get away. Even if you get sick of your brother and Anders, surely you can busy yourself with other fun things.”

“You’ve never been to Kirkwall, have you?”

“Alistair said it was a charming place until the qunari started attacking people.”

“Most places are.” Carver shifted, fidgeting with the indigo material of his uniform. “I still don’t feel right about leaving, and for that long.”

“I’m sure you’ll have so much fun that it’ll pass before you know it.”

“Maybe. But…” Carver shook his head, shrugging. ��I don’t know.”

Silence fell over them, save the continual snoring of Oghren, as Carver avoided the quizzical stare of his commander.

In truth, Carver debated confiding in her or Alistair before about… about certain things, given their relationship. Except doing so would mean he’d actually have to talk about the night before he left for the Deep Roads expedition and…

The distant memory of a sweet laugh echoed, paired with a smile just as adorable. So familiar, so poignant. Eyes like the vivid forest of the Emerald Graves, brightened by battle and triumph. Many evenings spent at the tavern, drinks in hand. Enthused ramblings about everything and nothing. Delicately inked markings over flushed cheeks—

“Uh, you have mud on your face.”

“Oh? …Did I get it?"

"No, other side, uhm… May I?”

Maker’s breath. He believed he’d outgrown blushing just as he’d outgrown tantrums, but a shame long pushed out of his mind crept back to paint his skin scarlet. In vain effort, Carver ran a hand over his face to wipe the tire from his eyes, and perhaps to hide from the inquiry of his commander.

He’d done so damn well to not dwell on stupid faults anymore. Hadn’t he wasted enough time coping with his own bitterness and remorse for what happened? No matter how many times he replayed it all in his mind, nothing changed—he made a mistake and ruined everything.

“Carver?” Rosalie’s soft voice sent a jolt through his gut. “What’s bothering you?”

Carver stared into the fire. Or through it, not truly caring to see the mesmerizing dance of the flames. When he spoke, melancholy teased his tongue.

“Merrill.”

Her name hung in the warm night air, unable to be taken back. Real. True. When he finally glanced at his commander, she asked a simple question.

“And who is Merrill?”

Too bad the answer was complicated.

“A girl I knew,” Carver replied quietly. “Before I caught the blight.”

Rosalie nodded, then asked, “A girl you knew, or a girl you knew?”

A silent wince. Carver scratched behind his neck.

“A friend. My only friend from Kirkwall, actually. We…” he trailed off, throat gone dry. He swallowed thickly, shifting uncomfortably and disturbing DeeDee. Alert to the new tension radiating off her master, the heavy nug sat up in search of danger in the surrounding area. “We parted on… I don’t know. Bad terms? No, I- I made an ass of myself and…”

And he did something he shouldn’t have done; in a moment of quiet tenderness amid a thunderstorm, knowing that morning would come, and he’d spend Maker knows how long in the blighted Deep Roads… he almost kissed her.

He’d hoped that the way she looked at him meant something more, that she went out of her way to spend so much time with him because she returned his affection… but he should’ve known better. Merrill’s heart was kind, and she treated everyone like that; he wasn’t anything special.

“I take it you two haven’t spoken since then?” Rosalie interrupted his thoughts.

“No.”

“And this will be the first time you see each other in…?”

“Five years. Give or take.”

Damn… how has it been that long?

Concerned noises rumbled in DeeDee’s throat as she scrambled up into Carver’s lap, planting her feet against his chest plate, nose twitching up toward his chin. He believed the nug was too smart for her own good, attempting to soothe her unease by scratching her neck. Without thought, Carver said, “I bet she’ll adore you.”

Shit.

Merrill would be there with the rest of them. It’s inevitable that Edgar would drag him to the Hanged Man and there she’d be… sitting at the same table they always sat at as if no time has passed.

“You’ve never written to her, I assume.”

Carver shook his head. “And she’s never written me.”

That’s how he knew. Edgar and Mother wrote him, and Gamlen sent a few letters hoping to squeeze coin out of him. Varric occasionally wrote, too. Even Isabela sent him a package once with a book baring a scantily clad templar on the cover; “it reminded me of you, Little Hawke.”

Not a single letter from Merrill.

“May I ask what you did to make an ass of yourself?” asked Rosalie.

“I told her how I felt.” Carver chuckled, the sound more bitter than he intended. “But she’s Dalish, and since I’m human… well, we all know how that goes.”

“Oh.”

“It was stupid,” he grimaced. “I didn’t plan it or anything, not exactly. I overthought everything, and it felt right, in the moment. The look on her face… Now I wish I hadn’t said anything at all.”

“I see.”

Carver maneuvered DeeDee off of him, who snorted in protest, settling her comfortably at his side so he could better stretch out his legs. He continued, “I didn’t really have anyone else. We lost everything when we fled Fereldan. No one but mercenaries and thugs wanted to hire me. Ed was always running off without me. Merrill just came to the city from her clan, and somehow we grew close.… I don’t know, we got along. She was odd, very odd; not at all like the other elves in the city. But she was sweet.” He swallowed thickly. “I liked that about her.”

He had liked a great deal about her; kind, witty, perplexing, beautiful Merrill. Brilliance touched her mind in a way that made her, in Carver’s opinion, the most resilient and impressive mage he ever met. Sure, Anders was Circle-trained, and Father taught Edgar and Bethany to wield their magic well, but none of them had the quirks Merrill had. The only comparably skilled mage he knew was Velanna. Maybe it’s a Dalish thing.

The blood magic made him uneasy at the time, but even then he knew it wasn’t inherently evil like the Chantry preached. Merrill never used it when she didn’t have to, nor did she allow it to corrupt her mind. Now that Carver was a Grey Warden and had to stomach everything ugly but necessary, Merrill’s ways with blood magic didn’t seem nearly as consequential. After all, what was the Joining if not a blood magic ritual used to create more Grey Wardens?

But what mattered was she saw him as more than just Hawke’s little brother or the tagalong, she didn’t shy away or grow intimidated by his presence like a lot of city elves did, and she was the truest friend he had in a long time. Carver didn’t quite know how to accept her off-hand compliments or encouragements, even after spending so much time together, but they meant everything to him. If there was ever anyone he cared about in Kirkwall, aside from his brother and mother—and maybe Aveline, if hard-pressed enough to admit it—it was Merrill.

From beside him, Rosalie scooted over to grab DeeDee, who huffed at the Commander for foiling her plans of sneaking back into Carver’s lap. “Just a stab in the dark,” she started, brow arched, “but it sounds like you still care for her.”

“No,” Carver responded, defensive yet surprised at his own firmness. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t care, but I’ve moved on. I’m a Grey Warden. I’m on borrowed time, and I won’t waste it pining over something that’s never going to happen.” He meant every word, too. “I’d rather focus on what’s important, like what we’re doing; fighting darkspawn, and investigating this stuff with Fiona.”

“There will always be an endless pit of darkspawn, and a need for Grey Wardens to fight them. There’ll even be future Blights,” Rosalie said. “And as important as that is, I’m of the opinion that other things can be important, too.” Then, she smirked at him. “That’s why I’m so unpopular with Weisshaupt.”

Carver laughed. “Unpopular? Come on, some of those men wanted to worship you at your feet.”

She wrinkled her nose at that. “And the rest believe I’m a liar and undeserving of my title,” she reminded him. “My point is that I appreciate your dedication to this. I couldn’t ask for a better warrior.”

Pride swelled in Carver’s chest, yet found himself sheepish in looking away.

“But sometimes we need a reminder of what it is we’re actually fighting for,” the Commander continued. “Why devote our lives to a battle with darkspawn to save the world from their corruption if we’ve nothing to save? Why seek a cure to the taint if we’ve nothing to live for?”

A glint caught Carver’s eye; the fire that reflected off the golden band his commander wore and twisted on her finger.

“I have Aria to think of,” she said softly. “And Alistair, and my father. Shianni, Soris and his family. Everyone I left behind and lost in the alienage. Those who fought at my side during the Blight. All of you, and everyone back in Vigil’s Keep. King Cailan, and all of Fereldan. They’re who I do all this for, and—” Rosalie knocked her shoulder with his, “—I think it’ll be good for you to go home and gather your reminders, too.”

Carver hung his head with a heavy sigh.

His reminders, huh? He already had reminders all around him. Reminders that lived inside him and wore Bethany’s face and crippled Father’s body, that screamed the terror of his fallen comrades at Ostagar, all haunting his nightmares. Every letter he received from his brother. Every thought about Mother that brought the reality that she was gone, and he’d never see her again. Memories of fleeing Lothering as it crumbled. All the little things he tried to ignore because he refused to keep mourning what he and Merrill had.

But… he understood what the Commander meant.

“And I think you and this friend of yours have a lot to discuss.”

“Do we?” he asked dryly. Merrill didn't want anything to do with him now; she made that loud and clear.

With another bump to his shoulder, Rosalie nodded over across the fire to beyond the camp where two familiar figures approached. DeeDee took the opportunity to escape her lap into Carver’s, long ears standing alert as she sniffed the air.

“You’ll have plenty of time to think about it,” Rosalie said, arm raised to greet Sigrun and Zevran. “You have a long journey ahead of you yet.”

Right. Getting back to Kirkwall wouldn’t be a short trip, but he had the coin to make the journey easier. At least this time he wouldn’t spend two weeks in a stuffy ship of refugees. At least DeeDee seemed to like the traveling they did, though how the people of Kirkwall would react to seeing an aggressively protective nug, he didn’t know.

“Look who I finally found!” Sigrun called. “For a while there, I thought he might’ve fallen into a sinkhole or something.”

Zevran laughed, hand pressed to his chest. “It wouldn’t be the first time, but alas, it turns out it’s far easier to break into Weisshaupt Fortress than it is to break out. Who would’ve thought? Usually it’s the other way around.”

“You had our expertise to help get you in,” Sigrun offered with a grin. “Seems that you’re not so sneaky on your own. Or competent.”

“Madam, you wound me!”

“Huh? Whazzat?!” Oghren jerked up, thrashing with drool matted in his beard. “Where are they?!” Whipping around, recognition slowly spread in his eyes, and he relaxed. “Oh, s’just you.”

“Please, please, my stocky little friend, don’t get too excited at my return,” Zevran snickered, dropping a bag down on the ground. “I know how hard it is to contain yourself. You must’ve been sick with worry at my delay!”

“Bahh!” The dwarf managed to heave himself up to make a rude gesture toward the grinning elf. “I wipe my ass with worry, elf!”

“Smooth, Oghren,” said Sigrun, plopping herself down beside Carver and pulling off her helm. DeeDee eyed her, a cautious noise in her throat as if she believed she was the most intimidating creature in the desert. But Sigrun was hardly deterred, instead giving the nug a quick pat on the head before jerking her hand away with a giggle. One wouldn’t think it, but nugs can bite pretty hard.

Oghren wiggled his brows. “Heh, you’re smooth.”

“Ugh.” Sigrun rolled her eyes, holding her hand out to the nug as a sign of peace, telling DeeDee, “And just like that, I wish I fell into a sinkhole.”

“Oh yeah? Y’know, ol’ Oghren can show you a real—”

“Oghren,” Rosalie snapped, shooting him a stern warning. The dwarf promptly shut up with only a further small grumble.

There was some strange comfort found in the fact that while Carver wasn’t always the most charming flirt or some suave womanizer, at least he wasn’t Oghren. He almost felt sorry for the man and both of his failed marriages… until he opened his mouth. The Commander seemed to be the only one he’d listen to when told to shut up.

“Come now, put away all the sour looks,” said Zevran, rummaging through his pack and shooting a smile at Carver. “I understand we’re to part ways soon, yes? I came across something terrifying yet intriguing among the racks when I crossed through the cellars on my way to the archives, and thought to myself, ‘Why, this could lead to a great many mistakes, potential trysts in the sand, and headaches in the morning. I must take it! This will give our rugged warrior something to remember us by while he’s off galivanting without us!’”

A dark, glass bottle with a worn, burgundy label was brandished for the group to see. Oooh’s sounded from the group. But, Of course, this piqued the interest of Oghren the most, who sniffed at the air as if he could tell what the unopened bottle contained through that snout of his.

Carver eyed the bottle. “Is that…?”

Sigrun clapped her hands together, startling DeeDee. “It is!”

“Fine dwarven ale!” Zevran laughed, admiring the bottle. “Old, too, given the layers of dust I had to blow away and how the label crumbles off at the touch.”

“Well, shave my ass and call me a nug!” Oghren hollered gleefully. “You actually did something of worth, elf!”

Rosalie scoffed. “Yes, because infiltrating Weisshaupt Fortress was a small feat.”

Oghren gave a dismissive wave, then gripped at the air for the bottle like a hungry baby. “Whattya waitin’ for? Give it here!”

“Ah, ah, ah, I think not,” Zevran wiggled a condescending finger at the dwarf. “I did not steal this for you, my smelly friend.” The agile elf circled around the group to hand Carver the bottle with a wink before settling down beside Sigrun. “If anyone gets the first drink, it’s our dear friend who we must tragically part from soon.”

“But—but… augh,” Oghren conceded, though reluctantly. “Fine. But don’t go drinkin’ it all!”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” the Commander laughed. “One shot of that will knock you on your ass.”

“Hah! Maybe for a dainty little elf!”

Heavy in his grip, the black liquid inside sloshed thick against the glass, and while he couldn’t smell it, Carver still felt like gagging. Dwarven ale—nasty shit, like a sickly skunk pissed in a bottle of wine. Made the memory of the swallow at the Hanged Man seem luxurious.

Yet he couldn’t contain his wide, dimpled grin.

“Thinking of me, were you?” he asked Zevran.

“Your figure tends to dance across my mind at inopportune times, I admit,” the elf teased back. “It is such a shame that once you depart, the only ruggedly handsome shoulders I’ll have left to admire are the ones in my memories.”

“Pfft,” Carver attempted to shrug that off, but the flattery flushed the tips of his ears anyway. “Sorry, Zev, it’ll take more than this to sweet talk me.”

“Is that so?” Zevran smirked. “I will keep that in mind.”

“Hey!” interjected Oghren impatiently. “If you two girlies are done paintin’ each other’s nails, let’s get drinkin’ already!”

“Keep talking, ass face, and I’ll let Sig down the whole thing,” threatened Carver.

“You wouldn’t!”

“I would!”

“Ooooh, can I?” asked Sigrun gleefully. “Bet I could do it all in one gulp!”

“Heh, there’s a woman after my own heart.”

It’s amazing how quickly the man could switch from temper tantrum to perverted in a blink of an eye.

With a dubious look toward the Commander, who gave Carver an encouraging nod, he uncorked the bottle. The sickening scent was like a fist to the face, and DeeDee made an offended squeal as she attempted to knock the bottle from his hand.

“Ah, as foul as I remember,” Rosalie recoiled, leaning away from Carver and coughing. “It’s like I’m back at Tapsters.”

“Maker, when was the last time we had this stuff?” he cringed, keeping the bottle in the air away from DeeDee. “After Ivun’s Joining?”

“Poor guy,” Sigrun said, snatching up the protesting nug to hold her close. “Made him drink darkspawn blood, then he survives only for us to give him a mug of dwarven ale to celebrate. I'm surprised he didn’t flee then and there. Or die, I guess.”

“Aye, that was a good night,” chuckled Oghren.

“I heard one of the groundskeepers found you face-down in the gardens in nothing but your smallclothes the next morning.”

“Heh heh, sure gave that old hag a good scare.”

A disappointed sigh from the Commander.

“It was worth celebrating,” added Carver, growing solemn. “We finally had someone survive the Joining in… Maker, months? A year? I think it was well deserved.”

A murmur of agreement from everyone, then all eyes turned to him, anticipating the first sip of the bottle. A short sniff of the rim was enough to burn his throat. While he wasn’t as familiar with the ale as the dwarves were, Carver never forgot the taste or the way it burned his guts the first time he tried it.

“On the march to Ostagar, one of the soldiers in my unit brought a whole keg of this to camp,” he began. “Never heard of it before, but everyone said you had to be tough to stomach it.” Carver’s confidence faltered a little. “I was barely eighteen. Never had anything more than cheap beer before, but I wanted to impress all the older soldiers so they’d take me seriously. When it was my turn, I chugged down a full mug without stopping.”

Rosalie shook her head knowingly. “Oh no.”

“They were amazed until I vomited in the bushes.” Luckily, he built up a better tolerance since then, so Carver raised the bottle in a toast; “To a successful infiltration of Weisshaupt, and to finding our cure.”

One gulp. A second.

Everything inside him wanted to die a death even the taint couldn’t fathom.

Cold sweat perspired on his skin, and his heart raced.

A gagging cough.

“Gah, fucking void!” he choked.

All around him a joyous laughter erupted, and Carver found he was laughing through the pain, too. For good measure, as if his guts didn’t hate him enough, he took another swig.

“Shit! That’s—” he rasped, coughing. “That’s… pretty weak shit.”

Oghren threw his head back with an obnoxiously loud chortle. “Atta boy! Looks like you do have some stones on ya, after all!”

“Ha! Just for that, I’m drinking the rest!”

“What? HEY! PASS IT HERE, NUG-HUMPER!”

The bottle eventually made it Oghren, but not before the others had a taste, with Sigrun nearly downing the rest out of pure spite. She was nice enough to leave him an amount that wouldn’t even get DeeDee drunk. And yes, he pouted and grumbled for the rest of the evening before retiring to his tent.

Sleep didn’t come as easy to Carver as it did the drunken dwarf. Some nights were better than others, depending on where the day took him. Though the ale in his belly helped, it did little to fend off the anticipation of morning, nor did it keep his mind from wandering.

Kirkwall awaited him. A whole month spent living in an estate with his brother, being… normal. Whatever that meant. Familiar places and faces…

As he lay there in his tent, DeeDee curled up at his side, a murmur escaped his lips.

“I am a Grey Warden. I’m a damn good warrior. Let them see me as such.”

And let Merrill…

“Hang what Merrill feels. I don’t care anymore.”

A huff from DeeDee.

“I don’t care.”

Maybe if he said it enough, he’d believe it.

#dragon age 2 #da2 #carver hawke #da2 merrill #carver/merrill #carver x merrill #dragon age fanfiction #edgar hawke #rosalie tabris

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

Text

The Raven with Silver Wings

I’m having so much fun writing Elise! She’s so different than Fane, and I thought that that would make it hard to write her, but it may have been just what I needed to get me inspired again!

As such, I wrote a really, really, really long story with every member of the Awakening crew because Elise found a second family with all of them when her first was whisked away by either her decisions or general life and pursuits. (And bonus Nathaniel x Warden because HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN ROMANCEABLE DAMMIT!)

***

The Raven with Silver Wings

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/Warden Amell

Warnings: None

Word count: We don’t talk about it. *smiles*

***

“Has anyone ever told you that your hair’s really pretty, Commander?”

Elise was currently rearranging the books along the far wall of the main hall when the question was asked, her task halted as she turned to look over her shoulder, but saw no one. She looked around a bit, still seeing no one before the clearing of a throat had her shooting her gaze downwards from where she was standing on a small stool.

“Oh! Sigrun!”, Elise said, gingerly making her way down the small ladder to speak with her dwarven friend more personally. “I’m sorry! I didn’t see you there!” Quite literally. How she continued to forget she had dwarves as Wardens was a mystery. She had constantly done the same thing in Orzammar, and she had known there were dwarves around her.

“It’s all good, Commander!”, Sigrun assured with a small laugh, tattoos on her face wrinkling from her smile. “If I’m easy to miss by your sharp senses, then that means I’m doing something right with my training!”, a sense of pride from the dwarven woman making Elise smile despite the guilt she felt. Sigrun was always so boisterous and lively, not at all someone she would have associated with the Legion when they first met.

“I’m still sorry. I tend to get wrapped up in whatever I’m doing and forget where I am.”, Elise apologized, dusting off her trousers from where she had leaned against the bookshelf. Sigrun tilted her head.

“What exactly were you doing up there?”, she asked, curious eyes looking up at where she had been fussing. “Cleaning?”

Elise nodded, smiling. “Pretty much. I always dusted the shelves in the Circle when I had time between lessons.”, she said, voice taking on a somber tone as she remembered her old home, sorrow and longing intermixing. “I used to find lost books and scrolls, and it was relaxing for me.”

A look of understanding crossed Sigrun’s face. “Ahh, so it’s like a hobby?”, she said, head tilting once more. That constant curiosity and interest always made Elise happy. It reminded her of the children in the Circle, wide eyed and in awe of new findings. She knew Sigrun was no child, but her exuberance reminded her of one sometimes.

Elise hummed, lifting a hand to wiggle her hand back and forth. “Sort of.”, she agreed, somber tone dispersing with the light banter. “I certainly wouldn’t categorize it as a chore or arduous task, so hobby would work!”

Her dwarven compatriot hummed, tapping her chin in thought. “Kind of like how Anders tries to collect cats every time we’re out.”

Elise blinked, brows furrowing. “How..so?”, she asked slowly. She didn’t see the correlation. Anders’...habit of trying to start a shelter in the Vigil wasn’t really a ‘hobby’ it was more of… Honestly, she didn’t know. It was intense, though.

And arduous for the rest of us. She thought with increasing exasperation, remembering the last time the Keep had been almost flooded with stray cats and kittens. Elise adored Anders like a brother, but, sometimes, he was too much, but in an endearing way. An exhausting, tiring, endearing way.

Sigrun shrugged with a smile. “He says cats relax him. Cleaning bookshelves relaxes you!”, she said, clapping her hands together which made Elise startle a bit. “Put those two together, and voila! Hobby!”, she declared, nodding with pride at her connection.

Elise blinked, mouth gaping a bit before simply nodding. She guessed she could see the connection now, but...you know what? She was just going to let the Legionnaire have this one. She looked so happy, so proud, and it would be wrong to spoil that with harsh reality. The reality that Anders’ ‘hobby’ was more of an obsession. One that had Nathaniel nearly strangling the mage after finding a slew of kittens hidden in one of the sheds. Those happenings usually resulted in her having to mediate between the two men lest she be short two Wardens. Thankfully, Nathaniel always relented quickly when she gave him ‘the look’. The one she reserved for when she was deathly serious, but Anders knew her better, knowing how she was as a child in the Circle, so he poked, teased, and literally, pinched her cheeks with little coos of, ‘Little Ellie is all grown up~ I’m so proud~!’.

Those happenings usually abated when she pulled out electricity, and then Nathaniel had to be the mediator as he physically took her from the room.

Despite her exasperation at the memory, Elise could only smile with a shake of her head before stilling, noticing Sigurn was watching her with another curious glint in her eyes. Another bout of connecting the dots, would it be?

“Sigrun?”, she asked, tilting her head a bit to where her long hair cascaded over her shoulder. She had decided to leave it out of her braids today, finding it easier and healthier, sometimes, to leave it freely flowing. She absently brought a hand up to card through the raven waves, blinking when Sigrun’s face lit up, eyes following the action. What was that look about?

“I said it earlier, but your hair is suuuuper pretty! And long!”, the dwarven woman exclaimed, a wide smile spreading across her face. “How do you get it that long?”, another question, another bout of dizzying, but welcome concepts.

Elise chuckled softly, understanding now. “A lot of time. A lot of brushing. And a loooot of staying away from large amounts of fire.”, she divulged, twirling a lock around a finger out of habit and running a pad of a finger against a tip, feeling its paintbrush type softness was slightly rough. She would need to trim it soon. “Why do you ask? Thinking about growing out your locks~?”, she asked, eyes flitting along Sigrun’s own head of short, raven hair.

Sigrun let out a laugh, waving her hand dismissively. “Oh, Ancestors, no! I’d probably trip over it if my hair was as long as your’s!”, she said, smiling all the while. “I was just wondering if there was a story behind it!”

Elise tilted her head, still playing with the ends of her hair. “Story?”, she inquired. A story..behind her hair? That was an interesting question.

“Yeah! Most things have a story tied to them! Like is there a reason you like your hair long, or do you just like it...well, long!”, an innocent question filled with new world wonder and unwavering friendliness, two things that made Elise feel like she was right where she belonged, but right now, she also felt warm as her hair undoubtedly held a story within shimmering raven that sometimes glinted with deep blue.

Elise brought the bulk of her hair forward, combing through it with a nostalgic smile. “I guess, in a way, I wanted to be..different.”, she said, deftly beginning to braid a tiny piece. “In the Circle, you were allowed long hair, but it was advised against due to fire and chemical components potentially scorching it, and in turn, your head. If you had it, you tied it up to keep it safe.”, she moved onto another small braid, eyes going hooded with contentment as noire locks glided through her fingers.

“So, you wanted to be a little rebel?”, Sigrun questioned, smile softening as she could tell the memory and reasoning was indeed a story.

Elise nodded, moving onto the next braid. “The Circle was my home. I had a better time than most within its walls, but such isolation, disconnection, makes you yearn to break the mold.”, she said, stopping her braiding for a moment to close her eyes, willing away memories of blindness and blood before reopening them to resume. “I wanted something that defined me as me, and the Enchanters always complimented my hair, so I let it shape me. I was the tower’s ‘little raven’, even though my wings were clipped.”

“But not anymore, right?”, her friend and ally offered, a knowing smile on her face as glittering eyes regarded her with respect and awe. Elise honestly felt as if she didn’t deserve such...loyalty, but she was grateful for it when her own had been severely tested in the past.

She nodded with a warmer smile. “Right. I’m not grounded anymore.”, she affirmed, sighing with contentment as she combed out each braid gingerly, silky locks like water on her fingers. “I’m free to flow as freely as my hair does.”

“That’s the Commander I know and love!”, Sigrun cried with exuberance before leaning towards her a bit, lips pursed with a question. Elise blinked before laughing softly. This woman would always keep her on her toes, wouldn’t she?

“You can touch it if you want?”, she offered, already knowing precisely what the dwarven woman wanted with how two of her fingers tapped together as well as how her gaze was fixated on the shimmering wave of her hair. She wasn’t put off by people wanting to touch her hair, as long as they asked, of course.

“Can I?!”, Sigrun cried in disbelief, eyes like saucers as her hands stilled in their anxious butting.

Elise nodded, giggling. “Mm-hm! Maybe one morning you could help me brush it?”, she offered more, tilting her head and smiling as wide eyes went even wider. She hoped the orbs wouldn’t dislodge from how large they seemed. That would not be a pretty sight. Then again, nothing was worse than Broodmothers. Broodmothers were...awful. The image nearly made Elise shudder, but was able to ward it off as Sigurn bounded up to her, nodding her head all the while.

“You..”, the dwarven woman said as she bounced towards her. “Are..”, another bounce, another step. “The..”, another, larger bounce closing the distance between them. “Best!”, a cry of praise as careful, but excited hands came to tentatively stroke at a few locks, mouth going agape.

Elise couldn’t help but laugh, leaning down a bit more to give Sigrun better access. “I don’t know about that, but thank you all the same, Sigrun. I really don’t deserve everyone here..”, she admitted, gaze shifting downwards sheepishly and with gentle shame. The hand petting her hair stilled, coming up to lightly tap her cheek in reprimand. She blinked, shifting her gaze back to see exuberance and joy replaced with firmness and admonishment.

“You deserve every bit, Commander.”, Sigrun told her, putting her hands on her hips. “Sod what everyone else says, you’ve done more than they deserve! You’re funny, kind, sharp, bright, and one hell of a Warden! You killed an Archdemon, for crying out loud!”, the praise continued, Elise feeling her cheeks heat up at the fierceness as they were delivered. “And you gave me a chance when I was so ready to scurry off and die in the dark, forgotten and unmourned like the Legion’s oath declares.”, fierce tone turning somber, but grateful. “So, don’t talk like you don’t matter, either. Because it’s not the truth.”

Elise stared in awe at the woman before her before her face broke out into a wobbly grin, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. She was going to start balling! She had felt this companionship before with Leli, with Morrigan, with Zev, even with Sten and Shale, and Oghren, too, but she had nearly forgotten what it felt like after nearly two years disconnected from them all! Oghren was still with her, thankfully, but the only others she had managed to keep in contact with was Zev and Leli, Morrigan’s whereabouts unknown, as well as Shale’s, and Sten back home where he always wanted to go. Loghain, someone she never believed she would grow close to, but had, was off in Orlais, her influence and own personal pleas unable to keep him where he belonged. And Wynne and Alistair...well, those were strained when they had otherwise been full of affection and warmth, and it was why she felt she didn’t deserve another chance of...of a family. But yet, here it was, as surely as the Vigil was physically.

Elise sniffled a bit, a few tears escaping. “T..Thank you, Sigrun.”, he said, eternally grateful as more tears escaped.

Sigrun’s eyes widened in panic and concern, hands flailing around her. “Ahh, you’re crying? Did I say something wrong?! I said something wrong, didn’t I?!”

Elise shook her head, laughing, full of light and air. “No, no!”, she assured, wiping at her eyes with the sleeves of her shirt. “You said everything right. I promise.” It was what she needed to hear, having begun her hobby of cleaning as a way to distract herself from such distressing feelings. Sigrun visibly relaxed, letting out a heavy sigh before giving her a relieved smile.

“Ohh, good! I got worried!”, the rogue exclaimed, reaching up to give her arm a pat and a rub. “I’ll keep the mushy stuff to a minimum from now on, though! I don’t like seeing you cry, even if they are ‘happy’ tears.”, making air quotes around the word ‘happy’.

Elise giggled, steadily calming down to where she wasn’t sniffling anymore. “Wouldn’t want the Legion thinking you’ve gone soft, would we?”, she teased.

“Definitely not! That’ll get me kicked out!”, a joke in reciprocation making them both laugh before a large clattering sound came from beyond one of the adjacent doors, both she and Sigurn jumping in surprise. “Uhh, what was that?”, Sigrun asked, hands already inching towards one of her daggers. Elise, herself, could feel sparks dancing across her fingertips, readying to unleash a bolt on a darkspawn before a cacophony of voices had her magic dissolving back into the Veil in an instant.

She only wished it would have been a darkspawn.

“Give me the cat, Anders!”, Nathaniel’s voice boomed from behind the door, furious clambering of two pairs of feet signaling a pursuit.

“Her name is Madame Whiskers McMeow, and you’ll address her as such!”, Anders’ voice came next, indignant and appalled by the lack of courtesy before a squawk rang true. “Ah! Not the robes, not the robes!”

“Then give me the--Justice, move!”, her Second’s voice addressing another, meaning there was even more to the picture than either she or Sigrun could see, and truthfully, maybe they both didn’t want to see.

“This is unjust treatment, son of Howe.”, Justice’s voice sounded in its normal, but odd echoing way, the vocal cords powered by Fade energy rather than by natural force. “The creature has done no harm; it should be allowed to stay.”

“Hah! Two against one! I win!”, Anders barked, pride oozing from his voice.

“You didn’t even know what a cat was the other day, so you can’t say it stays!”

“It is wrong to throw a helpless creature out into the elements when it has done no crime except existing!”, a bellow making the walls echo with its timbre. “The Warden-Commander brought you in, did she not?!” Elise shook her head, not even part of the conversation beyond the door, but feeling the need to declare so. She wanted no part of this!

“I’m not a stray cat! And don’t bring Elise into this!”, Nathaniel defended her, unknowing that she was waiting beyond the door when this ‘catfight’ would come rolling to where she and Sigrun were still standing, but with twitching lips, trying not to smile or laugh.

“She is the figure of authority within the Vigil, yes? Then she should be the judge!”

“Ohh, no, no, no!”, Anders butt in again rapidly. “Ellie’ll make me get rid of Madame Whiskers McMeow to a farmhold again! I’m with dour sour on that one!”

Elise felt her eyebrow twitch at the insult in Anders’ voice. What was wrong with a farmhold?! There were plenty of mice for the cats! She would love to keep each kitten and cat the mage brought back, but it wasn’t safe! At least in the wild they could scurry off and hide!

“Don’t try and kiss up to me, Anders!”

“Oh, I’m not the one who gets your kisses, even though I--!”, a screech cutting Anders’ typical poking as a ripping sound made Elise wince and slowly shut her eyes, knowing precisely what that was. “The robes! Not the robes! These cost a fortune!”

“The healer’s bill is going to cost a fortune if you don’t give me the damn cat!”, more clattering and shattering glass vibrating through the Keep at those words. Elise shot a glance down at Sigrun, the woman giving her a shrug and pout that said, ‘I dunno.’

“Are you imbeciles done tearing up the Vigil with your barbarism?!”, another voice, one that Elise immediately recognized as Velanna’s, rang with authority and sheer disgust. The fun never ended it seemed.

“Not even close!”, Anders quipped in sing song, but screeched again as another tear occurred. “Do you really want me naked?!”

“No, we do not.”, Justice denied flatly before his voice rose. “Cease this onslaught, Howe!”

“Not until he gives me the CAT!”, Nathaniel roared.

“This is unjust!”

“Yeah, it is! I feel like I’m being chased by templars again, except more exciting!”

“Do I need to summon the earth to shut you all up!?”

Elise stood transfixed, eyes glued to the door as the commotion grew closer and closer to where she and Sigrun were. She cast her gaze downwards a few times as if to say, ‘Should I?’ Sigrun only shrugged like before, but smirked as she tried to hold back a laugh from the whole situation. She wished she could feel such mirth, but she only felt tired from how much of a mess the room beyond would be once she opened the door. Elise sighed as the raucous noise continued, coming to a decision.

“I am the Commander, aren’t I?”, she bemoaned, dragging her feet along the plush carpets that would indelibly be sullied the moment she opened the door, but she placed her hand on the handle all the same, a crash making it rattle before a sigh passed her lips again. The movement of Sigrun running to the side to not get caught in the tidal wave had a slight smirk forming on her lips, but she schooled it as the handle was turned. “This is more dread inducing than the Archdemon was..”

The moment Elise began to open the door, she had to stagger back, succeeding in tripping and falling rump first onto the stone floor with a wince as two male bodies, a fluffy white cat held up in the one with a bored expression on its pretty face, and the other pinning that one down with furious glint in steel colored eyes, face hard, came tumbling through its opening.

“The cat, Anders!”, Nathaniel commanded, pressing his elbow into the mage’s shoulder blades to keep him in place. Anders only let out a laugh before releasing the cat, who bolted like a snowy flurry into the recesses of the Keep.

“Be free, Madame Whiskers McMeow! Bend to no one!”, the mage cackled in victory as Elise saw Nathaniel’s face go deadpan with silent fury and aggravation. Oh, that wasn’t a good look. She knew that look, and it was usually reserved for the haughty recruits.

“I’m going to kill you.”, a threat coming out like a hiss, to which Ander only laughed again, lifting his blonde head, ponytail almost completely undone just like his robes almost were. Elise had to flit her gaze about to not land upon unmentionables.

“Do it.”, Anders challenged, smirk on his face. “You won’t~! Not when your lady love is watching~”, amber eyes flashed over to her, seemingly knowing she was there the whole time.

Nathaniel’s furious expression fell at that, grey eyes instantly flitting about until it caught sight of her, the orbs widening when they saw her on the ground.

“El--Warden-Commander!”, Nathaniel corrected his exclamation deftly, but only because he probably knew she was not in the mood for sweet nothings as she could feel her face give ‘the look’. “This is..uh..”

“His fault!”, Anders piped up and was rewarded with a sharp push of Nathaniel’s elbow in his shoulder blades. “Eee, easy with the massage!”

Elise sighed, face going lax as she fell backwards onto the floor. She couldn’t keep up the bravado any longer as a bubbling, warm, tight feeling began to fill her chest with light.

“El!”, Nathaniel’s voice came again, formality thrown to the wind as hurried footsteps rushed over to her, Anders letting out an ‘oof’.

“Looks like you’ve successfully broken our Warden-Commander.”, Velanna’s voice came from the open door, dry and just as exhausted as Elise felt, even as her chest tightened further with air. Why did she feel so...light while feeling so tired?

“She held on longer than most of those who claimed to be just and righteous. I cannot help but applaud her tenacity when dealing with such adversities.”, Justice’s voice came next, also from the door.

“Oh, she’s fine!”, Anders assured, a slight wince escaping his lips as Elise heard him shift, supposedly looking to sit up. “She’s just about to laugh is all!” Was that what she was about to do? It kind of felt like it, but..

“What--?”, Nathaniel began to question, but was cut off as a loud crash came from down the hall, the door behind them swinging open to hit the stone wall harshly.

Elise let her head lull backwards to see Oghren staggering through the threshold, a tankard in one hand and eyes wide with panic, but she felt anything but alarmed as the words that poured from his mouth, as surely as the mug of ale in his hand did, had her breaking.

“The schleets are real! I saw them! I sodding saw them!”, Oghren exclaimed, eyes darting around before they landed on his trousers which were...around his ankles before he let out a screech, shuffling back through the door while screaming. A collective series of groans echoed through the room before they silenced when Elise let out a loud screech of laughter, making her roll over on her side as the force shook her.

“O..Oh..Oh, Maker!”, she howled, tears kissing the corners of her eyes as she dissolved into snorts and giggles. “Ah..ahahaha!”, curling up more as her stomach began to hurt, but she didn’t care! She felt so light, so happy! It was wonderful even though the Keep was a mess!

“See?”, Anders’s voice broke through her laughter filled hearing, only making her laugh more at its familiarity and warmth. “Told you she was gonna laugh like a banshee.”

“Humans.”, Velanna scoffed, but her tone was fond. “I’m going back to work.”, footsteps issuing her departure.

“Peculiar. She seemingly cannot breathe, but continues to engage in the act. I will have to think on this.”, Justice mused, muttering a bit more as his footsteps, too, ebbed away from her hearing.

“Okay, Commander~”, Anders drawled, coming into her tear veiled view, a friendly smirk on his face and hands on his hips as amber eyes gazed down at her warmly. “Might want to let yourself breathe. I have some amazing magical powers, I know, but I don’t dabble in necromancy!”, he joked, only succeeding in making her laugh more. Sweet Andraste! She felt like she was going to puke, but again, she didn’t care! She hadn’t laughed like this, loudly screeching and tears in her eyes, since before the Blight!

“Ahaha!”, Elise cackled, rolling over onto her other side so harshly that warm, sturdy hands had to stop her from going too far. She looked up to see Nathaniel regarding her warmly, a smirk replacing the furious scowl she had seen earlier. It made her break out into girlish giggles, face heating up from the general sight of her lover.

“A mess.”, Nathaniel said with a shake of his head, a smirk turning into a smile as he kept a hand on her shaking shoulder. “What will the nobility say?”

“T..That..ahah..I..I’m o..obviously..having..having a good time!”, Elise managed to get out, sucking in deep breaths to calm herself. Oh, yeah, she needed to breathe! She felt dizzy and light and flighty, but also happy, undeniably happy!

“That you are, my love.”, the man next to her giggling form said, rolling his eyes with that quip of fondness and adoration.

“Ooo, that look in grey eyes tells me some alone time is necessary!”, Anders piped up, deftly dodging a swipe from Nathaniel, backpedaling to stand next to where Sigrun was watching the whole display with amusement and smile. “Don’t you say, Sigrun?”, the mage winking at the dwarven woman.

“Oh, yeah, definitely!”, Sigrun said, nodding sagely before grabbing a hold of Anders’ arm to disappear through the door with a wave. “Have fun, you two! I’m gonna go get this weirdo in some clothes and get him started on cleaning up!”

“Wait, what?!”, a squawk from Anders nearly sent her into a fit of giggles again, but a finger against her lips had them simmering down with a shaky, content sigh.

Elise laid on the floor as only she and Nathaniel remained, but she felt anything but abandoned, knowing her allies, her friends, her family was lurking within, bright, alive, and present with their myriad of personalities and peculiarities. Her family was strange, but then again, her whole life to this point had been strange. She let out another sigh, eyes hooded as she gazed up at her Second, who was watching her with so much affection and warmth that Elise felt that she could nearly burst from all the emotions running through her.

“All good? Do I need to do mouth to mouth?”, he offered with a raised eyebrow, grey eyes simmering like hot coals and expression carrying that same heat. Elise giggled, slowly pushing herself up to sit before him on equal ground.

“Mm, I don’t think so, but you could, if you’re really worried~”, she teased, inching closer to fall into awaiting arms, their warmth and stability making her heart race, but wonderfully so.

“Just for peace of mind, I’ll do it.”, Nathaniel declared with a drop in his voice, brushing a bit of her disheveled hair away from her face as he pulled her closer, immediately capturing her lips in a kiss that had residual mirth fluttering away to allow soft want and desire to take center stage.

Elise let out a tiny hum, fully intent on losing herself in the kiss as it left her feeling even lighter, soft where the edges were sharp, and unbelievably warm, but the cute, but small sound of ‘Mrow!’ had her pulling away to look down, feeling Nathaniel continue his kisses, but against the side of her hair, completely unphased by why she had disconnected.

“Why, hello, Madame Whiskers McMeow~”, Elise greeted the petite, fluffy white cat with large gold eyes looking up at them with a smile, tail swishing majestically. She let out a soft laugh when the cat ‘Mrow’d’ again, patting the chest she was resting against. “Aww, I like her!”

“We are not keeping another one, El.”, Nathaniel growled against the side of her head, giving her a light squeeze.

“Ser Pounce a Lot could use a lady!”, she argued, feeling far more amenable than usual to have another family member. “Then they could have babies!”, excitement filling her with a gasp as she whipped her head up to look at her Second, some of her hair smacking him in the face to which she reached up to dislodge some. “Oops! Sorry..”, turning sheepish with her apology. Yeah, she really needed to trim her hair.

“Do you really want to keep her, or are you just being ‘spur of the moment El’?”, Nathaniel asked with that same deadpan expression, but there was a spark of mirth and relent within piercing steel.

Elise nodded, smiling. “I do. We have the room, and she seems a stalwart breed~”, she cooed, turning her attention back to the Madame, reaching down to scratch under her chin softly. She giggled softly when a resounding purr followed from that. “Who’s a pretty kitty~? I’m going to a commission you a collar with a griffin bell~”

“You’re worse than Anders.”, her bastion grumbled, but let her go, knowing when he was bested and when to surrender to her will. “But fine. If it makes you happy, I’ll resist the urge to strangle the mage, but I’m not going to be the one to tell him we’re keeping her.” Elise let out a laugh, turning her gaze away from fluffy snow as it wandered away, instinctual curiosity taking hold of a feline mind.

“Every one here makes me happy.”, she told the man gazing down at her with all the love and respect she could only have dreamed of once upon a time. “Including you, unfortunately~”, reaching up to poke at a nose with a cheeky grin. She let out a resounding laugh when her poked bear let out a growl and grabbed a hold of her hand, smirking goodnaturedly all the while.

“That’s toeing the line towards beratement, Commander.”, Nathaniel quipped, giving her a hand a light kiss. “Do I need to report to Weisshaupt to have your cat owning privileges revoked?”

“I’ve heard worse threats from a genlock, Howe~”, Elise punched back, leaning up to lay a soft kiss upon smirking lips. “Don’t make me get the electricity out~”, a tease, a promise as sparking as the affinity for which was her primary weapon.

“What if I want you to get the electricity out?”, a firmer kiss against her lips making Elise sigh, the sparks beginning to ignite as she was pulled closer, tighter, and a hand laid upon her back.

“Then..”, she purred as surely as the cats within their halls. “...be a good Warden and go clean up your mess~”, the request a warning amid heat and euphoric promises. The adjacent room was still a mess after all, and she wasn’t going to clean it up, no matter how many kisses Nathaniel gave her. Elise watched as her Second blinked, haze dispersing from the order before he let out a tired sigh, shaking his head with a chuckle soon after.

“As you say, Commander.”

Elise smiled cheerily. “Love you~!”, she chirped. Another chuckle, another light kiss against her temple making her melt was all the reciprocation she needed.

Within the halls of duty and sacrifice, where countless potential family members had been lost to cruel fate or just bad luck, she was loved and she loved in turn. And she felt no shame in that. Painful longing and bitter memories would test that, but would never make it untrue. She was free to fly as much as raven locks did, even as they housed the inevitable end they all faced, but never alone. Never alone, never again. No matter what the end would bring, only light would guide her into darkness, blue and silver swarming her vision as the family stood, waiting, with outstretched arms for her to fall into them when her wings could no longer carry her. Until then, she would fly, she would glide, and she would shield those who had defied fate to stand beside her. This was her home, for now and forever.

***

#i'm so happy with this #it's the most characters i've used in a fic yet!#i hope i got them all in character #my daughter deserves the world just like fane does #she's been through enough ;3;#dragon age #oc: elise amell #nathaniel howe #anders #oghren #velanna #justice #sigrun #my writing #my fanfiction #dragon age fanfiction #nathaniel howe x warden amell #warden amell #dragon age awakening

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