dragon age II. ashaad & saemus. spoilers through act 2. PG-13. characters belong to bioware.
nehraa asala
If I am lost to the Maker for refusing to hate someone, for finding beauty in the "other..." Well, perhaps the Maker is the one who is not worthy of me.
There are other ways to see the world. The Qunari have shown me that.
Saemus storms away from Kirkwall, his fine leather boots and delicate clothing no match for the windswept terrain of the Wounded Coast. The rocky beaches are always desolate, abandoned save for a handful of gangs and raiders that occasionally plague the shore.
It's getting worse these days, and his father shouts at him when he ventures out here like this. He calls him a foolish boy, reprimands him loud enough for Seneschal Bran to hear. What doesn't the public know about their personal lives?
Saemus kicks at the beach and sends sand flying, the harsh ocean breeze blasting it back into his face. He curses and rubs at his eyes, furious with himself, with everyone.
"Unwise."
He looks up, surprised to see a lone Qunari quietly surveying the coastline. The giant sketches quickly, accurately, and pays the human no mind.
Almost.
"W-What are you doing here?" Saemus asks, confused. He's spent a lifetime speaking with diplomats, choosing his words carefully, but this has him completely out of his element.
"I am here to meet a demand of the Qun," he answers, simply. Saemus waits patiently for more of an explanation, but nothing comes.
"You're a cartographer, then?" he persists. He dares to take a step forward, and another, pleased when the giant makes no move to attack or send him away. "We saw your shipwreck, you know. I'm sorry that-"
"Do not be."
Saemus blinks. He's not used to having an offer of condolences rebuffed. "You... intended to crash, then?"
"Hardly. We stay now for a purpose."
But the giant reveals no more, and Saemus has a sneaking suspicion that his questions may not yield any further information. Instead, he steels his nerves and extends a hand in greeting.
"I'm Saemus Dumar," he says, nodding confidently. "And I'd like to welcome you to Kirkwall, even if my father won't."
The Qunari regards him calmly, scrutinizing him before taking his hand and shaking it. "You may call me Ashaad."
Without another word, he returns to his work, busily mapping the land, while Saemus watches from a distance.
As the weeks turn into months, Saemus finds himself spending extended amounts of time on the coast, seizing every opportunity he can to avoid city life. The wind stings his cheeks with sand and salt, but it's worth it to walk alongside Ashaad, discussing anything and everything.
Ashaad boils water over a small fire, and steeps fragrant tea leaves to accompany their meal. Saemus thinks he'd like Seheron, for the food alone if not the warmer weather. He's sick of the Free Marches. He wants to be elsewhere. Ashaad has told him time and again that he must accept his role in life, to be what he was born to be, but it's a difficult notion.
They eat a light lunch in near silence. Saemus pulls his cloak tighter around his shoulders, shivering, and when he shifts closer to Ashaad for warmth, he is met with no objection.
"I like spending time with you," he says, his voice so soft it's almost drowned by the crackling fire.
"You are worthy of it."
The Qunari have occupied the compound near the docks for nearly a year now, and Saemus has no choice but to cover his face when he ventures near it. It would not do for his father to catch word of how frequently he's there.
He is viddathari, welcomed by the people of the Qun despite his race, despite his status. Inside the walls of their temporary town within a city, he samples exotic spices and burns incense, his afternoons passing in a daze as he studies their foreign books and language.
Within this segregated space of Kirkwall, he's found what he was meant to be.
A violent storm on the shore forces them into a cave, and the secluded darkness brings out a desire that he's been suppressing for what seems like forever. Saemus can smell the sea, can smell the lingering scent of bakhoor on his friend's skin, and he can't hold back any longer.
"You're amazing," he breathes, and impulsively grabs Ashaad's horns to hold him still. He kisses him again and again, trailing his hands down along pointed, gold-tipped ears, and threads his fingers into his hair.
Ashaad does not encourage, but does not resist.
A peaceful walk along the coastline turns devastating as Ginnis brings her knife across Ashaad's throat. Saemus screams at her, at the injustice of it all, and sinks to his knees in defeat.
With a heavy heart, he allows Hawke to escort him back to the Keep and the accusations of his father. There will be no vengeance for his friend's death, no concern over his body lying abandoned on the sand. The Arishok will acknowledge him, perhaps, in their own way, but he could not bear to venture back to the compound again. Not after this.
After three more years of reading the Qun, his life ends in the Chantry.