Author's Note: This is for the DA2 Anders Prompt Group: Manifestos Welcome Prompt #1 Misguided
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, I just simply play, draw, and write in it.
Misguided
Tiny points of light reflected from the fire, winked at Eiolyn Hawke as she stepped around the small puddles that scattered the surface of the tiled floor. She looked around to find the culprit who had made such a mess in her study. Her Mabari, without even a look of guilt, laid vigilant at the base of the stairs, ears alert to the racket coming down from above them. He huffed a greeting to her. She quietly took the stairs, without too much concern to unsheathe her daggers because if Bunny was this calm, then she could at least pretend to be as well.
Facing away from her, clad in nothing but what appeared to be one of Orana's laundry aprons, tied loosely around his waist, was her live-in apostate. A large wooden laundry tub that was sloshing full of water had been placed in the middle of the area. The puddles not only grew in size, but in frequency, as she slowly approached Anders, but that wasn't the only mess to cause her concern. In attempt to protect the surfaces around the tub, parchment were strewn all over, blots of black staining their once pristine cream surfaces. Her fictitious calm lowered several notches. Hadn't she just given him a large bound stack for his never-ceasing, ever-growing, manifesto?
She paused to listen to the tune he hummed as he stirred the tub, she was sure it had to be some ditty you would hear at the Hanged Man. The hands that gripped the stick were coated black to a faded grey from near elbow to fingertips. She lightly patted the bare cheek that peaked out from the too small apron before speaking, "May I ask, pray tell, what are you doing to cause such a mess?"
He startled at her touch with a look of slight guilt that briefly entered his eyes, "Yes, this?" he stammered. A blush crept up along his neck before painting his cheeks, "Justice and I feel that we must look the part, we have decided to dye my robes black."
It saddened her to hear Anders include Justice's name in his answer. Lately, his eyes had a faraway look to them. This change had kept her up most nights when she woke whenever his side of the bed laid vacant. She couldn't bring herself to ask just what part he wanted to portray.
Eiolyn crooked an eyebrow, tilting her head to gesture her next question for him to explain his state of dress. His favored smirk lighted his lips before he spoke, "I have nothing else to wear."
Both eyebrows shot up, "You're dying everything?" she peered down into tub, amassing the large, wet, and black pile. "Even your overcoat and jacket?"
"Not in here, they're on the table over there." He gestured with is chin at the far table that he pulled away from the wall to use.
Eiolyn sidestepped over a large puddle, to inspect his work. She had adored his jacket, feather, down, and all. His overcoat was spread out, drying. A used cloth, its dabbed end covered in black, lay beside for he must have rubbed the dye into the leather. The jacket was neatly folded, as if waiting patiently for its turn, but gone were the black and white feathered pauldrons.
"What, no feathers? I'm sure Varric would agree that all rebel apostates must have feathered pauldrons." She spied a partially spilled canvas sack of ink black raven feathers. Questions begin to circle in her mind that ran along the lines of, did he gather them himself, the poor bird, or bought the lot in the market.
"You hated their smell, I seem to recall, and no matter how many times Orana tried to wash them that smell always lingered," he gave the tub a loud stir, " I'd like to add that once wet they took ages to dry," he replied factually. Where had the somewhat carefree Anders, that she loved, gone that may have answered with a tease or a jest back at her?
She had actually come to like it, it was uniquely his, a scent of the air after a rain shower, when the air had not entirely cleansed, maybe it was a smell of wet dirt, a trace from home, Ferelden. Even though she felt such, she'd never admit it to him that it actually became a comfort to her. Bethany once called her out on it, how she hid behind sarcasm and humor, she missed her sister.
Pushing it all out of the way, "What better way to make a statement? Or do you plan to take after Flemeth?" the last bit came out harsher than she thought, as she twisted a large black feather between her fingers to show him she hadn't meant any seriousness in that claim.
Anders didn't even seem to catch the remark, his tone sounded as far away as his eyes did, "The oil on the feathers is so slick, any water will just stream off of them."
She turned away, he seemed oblivious and doubted he'd even notice the saddened pain that entered her eyes, but continued to ramble if only to get him to speak to her more. "I just gave you all this parchment, although it does add to the ambiance of this area you've made for yourself. Why waste it?"
A little of the familiar fondness filled his voice, "Don't fret, love. Most I can still use, and the worse of it, I can carefully rinse the dye from them, albeit a bit wrinkled once dry."
Walking towards the stairs, Eiolyn grasped at anything with hope that she could still fix this minor thing that was broken, "Are the old feathers in the refuse? I'll get them and help you try to clean them," she said, looking at him expectantly, blinking back tears that threatened to fall.
"Sorry, Bodahn burned them with the rest of the refuse, even so, they'd smell even worse than before," he replied nonchalantly. She stopped at the top of the stairs again, and wondered if she should turn back.
"Do clean up before coming to bed," she said quietly to the air. The sound of wooden legs scrapping against the tile, him moving a chair, followed by a hollow thump of propping the stick against the chair's back. The soft padding of bare feet came up from behind her. She finally turned toward him, he held his hands up and away from her to keep from touching anything, he leaned down to kiss her on the cheek, his eyes looked vacant, avoiding her gaze altogether, made her believe he was simply going through the motions.
Bunny knew it was bedtime and followed her faithfully as she left the study, then walked ahead once they approached her bedroom. Eiolyn shut the door behind her, reluctant to let go of the knob, she placed her forehead against the cool wood, eyes tightly shut. She hated pretending nothing was wrong, dwelling on the idea that instead of having him accept Justice, now turned Vengeance that she helped him fight against their merge, supporting him in that way, not hiding behind her humor but giving and showing her true heart. Had she misguided him all this time?