The damp-wooden, gloomy tavern room had a settled midnight silence. This was only interrupted by a sharp intake of breath, and tearing open of Connors' eyes. With a stressed heart rate, and heavier breathing - he roused his body from its' stiff position off the scratchy bed, propping his weight onto the wall behind him.
It wasn't that this recurring nightmare he had terrified him anymore, although he did tend to wake up in cold sweats. It was rather more of an annoyance to relive the same events of his life, however, especially over and over again. Not that he wasn't satisfied with his life now, it's just he was unaware back then of the events which would have led him here.
Originally he had hoped to take over the Ash warrior band his family had led for generations, which even pre-dated King Calenhad unifying the Clayne Tribes to form modern day Ferelden. Of course, ever since he had been infected with the disease which would forever plague him, he knew that this would not be possible.
Even if it was possible to remain with the Ash Warriors permanently, he couldn't, as he had rejoined the warriors at Ostagar to assist the Kings' forces against the Darkspawn. This was only the second heavily vivid part of his nightmare, seeing his Father and all of the people he grew with be slaughtered by the unrelenting horde.
Connor couldn't even hold on to his heritage as an Ash warrior, considering the rage he had been taught to use by the band was the very device that would trigger the disease to bubble to the surface and overwhelm him. So, since then he had learn to fight while calm, while in control, and with a clear head: preferably using stealth to achieve all of his objectives. (which didn't exactly advertise his new title as a mercenary, but often gave interesting clients.)
Connor began to remember an instance where he was approached by an interes..-A small flurry of movement by his feet cut off his nostalgia. Hunting eyes darted to the intrusion of peace, noting how it was the legs of a stocky ginger Mabari hound. Her legs flailing slightly, earning a small smile of relief form Connor. He was glad to see that Amber was resting so soundly. He released a silent thanks to the Maker for the distraction from his ghastly nightmare.
His grunting echoed his wearily limbs, as they begrudgingly slumped from the sturdy bed frame, and into the next task. The warmth of the bed was sorely missed, as his skin met the uncomfortable chill within the floorboards. He made quick work of pulling on his trousers, and swiftly - but lightly - treading towards the exit of the room, as not to wake his sleeping companion.
This was in vain, however, as his hound noticed his departure from the moment the atmosphere reeked of his awakening. She raised her head in confusion, and gazed over, clearly tired and worn from the strenuous trip of the day beforehand, gaining the return of - and a gentle scratch behind her ear from- her concerned master. This promptly allowed her to gain the knowledge all was well, which sent her back to sleep, but not before hearing the whisper of "Good Girl, rest now".
The dog rolled her eyes underneath her lids, to comply with the sleep she desperately needed. Her head dropped to the bed with a thud, which led Connor to smile. Turning to the door, he mumbled an excuse for the poor dog to rest: "It's be a long trip.. Just because I'm up doesn't mean you have to be."
With weary footsteps, he once again worked his way towards the door, muttering "maybe a drink might help knock me out for the rest of the night." It wouldn't. It never did.
The following morning, Connor was sat at the cavern tables, hunched over a bowl of sloppy stew. His mood pulled him into solemnly staring into it, resting his head into one hand, nudging the bowls' contents with a slab of bread in the other. He couldn't identify what the broth consisted of, and the thought of it being some poor sheeps' innards put him off eating any further. His faithful Mabari by his feet was comfortably resting, chewing quite happily on a piece of meat that the barmaid spoiled her with, trying to lift Connors' spirits by winking at him. Of course, Connor was too lost within his own thoughts to notice events outside of his mindset. It was an unbalanced mixture of being unable to shake last nights' unsettling dream, and the most recent completion of his questionable job.
Normally ,it would have been a simple 'pick and deliver job', however this was not the case. It never was when people hired Connor and his small but unusual mercenary band:
The job was to be done secretly for a Senior Enchanter within the Circle of Magi. Which in itself, was not unusual, as the mages often hire people outside the Circle to do jobs without the Templars knowing. But this errand had to be completed solidarily, and without anyone seeing him in Kirkwall - a city that practically has more Templars than City Guards, before anyone noticed something was amiss.
Connor spend three days sneaking around Kirkwall's Lowtown, before finally meeting the courier who just gave him a letter. A single, humble envelope. The only abnormality was the seal of the Circle of Magi, which was infamously under heavy scrutiny from the Templars in the Gallows. For him to obtain anything from that Circle was a feat in itself. But the weirdest thing happened after he returned the letter to the Enchanter in Cumberland, which was that there were rumours of the Mages in Kirkwall rebelling - both the First Enchanter and the Templar Commander being killed.
This was an alarm bell in Connors head, not just because he had friends in Kirkwall at the time and friends who where mages that may incur the wrath of the Templars, but also because he knew Templars got more brutal with Mages after revolts. But because of this, he couldn't shake the feeling that his job and the events that took place in Kirkwall were definitely linked .
"You're supposed to eat that; not play with it." Came a familiar feminine voice.
Amber immediately dropped her spit-ridden meat and began barking and running around excitedly. Connor didn't even have to look up, he recognised that voice anywhere.
"Hello, Candis" A smile coming across his face. Looking up, he saw the female dwarf, as he always did - in her dwarven heavy amour and a stern look across her face that said, 'if you don't eat that I will pour it down your throat'. Not wanting to find out if that look she was giving was genuine or not, he began to dip the bread into the stew and finally took a bite. His first thoughts of the stew were true, or at least tasted true. Reflecting his facial expression, his taste-buds were assaulted by a sour note.
Seeing this, Candis began a gentle chuckle, and plummeted down at the table with the grace, but strength of a veteran warrior, and began stroking Amber across her back.
Her entire being reflected that of a seasoned battle master, one of the best Connor had ever seen. Surprising, given that see was closer to 50 than 40, yet Connor valued his head to much to mention how most her age were beginning to learn knitting, rather than laughing down the decapitated body of an enemy. Her hair was practical: braided into a tight ponytail, and remarkably retaining her youthful weathered brown colour, and again Connor wouldn't mention this abnormality to her. Armed with a dented silver shield - bearing the insignia of a dwarven house she was reluctant to mention , and a blade which has seen many battles before Connor could even hobble at fathers' insistence.
She noticed his mood lift considerably at the company, beginning her window of prying conversation. He awaited whatever blunt testimony or orders she was about to brazenly declare, hoping she was not in the forceful mood to enforce her instructions immediately.
"So.." She began, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips.
A/N: My first attempt at a DA story, or FanFiction at all, so reviews, critiques and helpful messages would be honestly welcome. A sincere thanks for my Beta Testers, and thanks to all those who read my first chapter.