Standard Disclaimers and Author's Notes:
I do not own Dragon Age II nor any of the characters. Also – I apologize to everyone waiting on updates to my other stories. Sadly – I haven't had much time and this piece came about only because I was inspired enough to slack off on things I should be doing! *winces* I will, however, try to do better! I have a second chapter of this, from Varric's voice, lurking…
Of Paragons
Her armor creaked and clinked quietly, boots chiming against the stone of Lowtown. Marian Hawke knew the streets by heart and, had she needed to, could have walked them with her eyes closed.
Well, perhaps not that. There were some nasty drop offs and some particularly pungent puddles that one must take care to avoid, after all.
However, she knew them very well after seven years and that much was true.
For example, even though she'd been wandering aimlessly for almost an hour she knew without having to think about it that the Hanged Man was only a few winding blocks that-away, the Elven Alienage just a hop to the east, and Gamlen's house nearly up ahead.
Her path, however, led to none of these places. She was walking because she wished to. Because the silence of her house, even with Bodahn's cheery commentaries and Orana's quiet hellos, sometimes became too much for her.
It had taken her over a year after mother died to think of the house as her own, for it to become her little lair and refuge. Still, sometimes Mother's ghost and those of others from the past lingered a little too closely for comfort. So it was off to fresh air, night skies, and with any luck, the occasional hapless mugger to bully about for a bit.
She inhaled deeply. Yes, a random attack right about now would be a welcome thing. The lack of other distractions, people talking, or situations looming was beginning to encourage thoughts that she preferred to keep nicely locked away. Yes, yes, be good depressing thoughts and please do stay locked in that trunk over there in the corner.
Ah, this wasn't good at all. She wasn't even amusing herself now. She was used to most other people getting annoyed and tired with her quips, but when they were falling flat in her own head, that was truly bad.
It was simply who she was though, no matter how Fenris scowled at her for it or Anders frowned. She just found a great deal about life, and people, amusing. And, when these things did not amuse her, her jokes at least gave her a place to stand in regards to it all. It helped her keep her feet moving, so to speak, helping her to feint and dodge when things turned on her.
Oh and there'd been so many things turning on her of late, hadn't there? The loss of Carver, like a cut from a red-hot sword. So quick and deep, and yet instantly seared over so that no damage could be seen from the outside. They had needed to keep moving. She'd had to make sure that Bethany and her mother kept moving. There was no time for her tears, especially not when Mother blamed her for it happening in the first place.
And afterwards, when they were safe, she was no more capable of soothing their pain than she was her own. But what she could do was bring in coin and bully them forward when needed.
Bullying and prodding. Those were jobs she could do. And when they needed comfort, well, they'd turn to each other. Just as they'd always done.
Mother and Bethany had always been closer to each other than they ever had been to her. They… understood each other better, after all.
And if that left Marian with her proverbial foot stuck in a bear trap of grief and regret, then so be it. She'd become a master at gnawing off her own legs to find freedom long ago. Even more so now that Bethany was gone to the Circle, distant as a sunrise, and Mother…
It still hurt.
Any disdain or miffed anger she'd had held for Fenris had been forgiven that night when he'd come to sit with her after her mother died.
Poor man. Fenris wasn't quite built for comfort, after all, but then again she wasn't built to really receive it. If he'd come bearing platitudes or starting out hugging her, she'd almost have had to turn him aside with a sharp word or a joke that would offend him. As it was, while just sitting there wasn't exactly helpful in of itself, the silence had done to her what it was doing to her right now.
It left her alone with herself. Made her think about things.
She'd cried, then. He'd awkwardly placed his arm around her shoulder and she'd leaned into him and just… cried.
She wasn't about to cry now, of course. Whatever would the street rats think? Besides, she'd been feeling too tired of late. The Champion, they called her. And everyone she met looked at her and saw their own need reflected back at them. Everyone. Even her friends.
It was getting to the point where more and more of them were getting her sharp humor instead of sweetness and light. Oh, but she always forgave them when they took advantage of her, eventually.
Fenris, for example. Even before he'd been what she needed, had been her friend after Mother died, she hadn't really been holding a grudge. They would never agree on the subject of mages, and more often than not he seemed to take that fact as a personal affront.
Or perhaps it was the fact that unlike him, she was capable of keeping a level head, which annoyed him so much!
But when he'd… they'd… when he had left her alone, in that damn bed, afterwards… she'd been angry with him. Angry that he'd gotten all caught up in his own pain once more and couldn't for heaven's sake just step out of it again. To be with her. She hadn't asked him for forever. She wasn't asking for certainties. She just wanted to be with him.
To have someone to hold her for once. To have him care.
Ah well. Some people weren't meant to be loved for themselves. Kicked to the side of the curb and lesson learned.
Well, part of it. If Fenris was a wolf circling, then Anders was a beaten dog nuzzling the hand. And she meant that nicely, truly! Years ago, the only thing that gave her pause about the man was how quickly he took her kindness and flirtations as direct intentions. They hadn't known each other more than a week before he was telling her he'd break her heart. She'd almost quipped that, while that was very dramatic it really did only work on teenage girls with a flare for bad boys. And she'd long since given that up!
So after Fenris exited stage right, she'd leaned a little more towards Anders. Not to take advantage of the man but, perhaps, just to try and accept some of that affection he threw off like heat. To get to know him and try and be honest.
It was a spectacular disaster. He'd taken it to be something much more than she was ready to give just yet.
She'd thought to try and avoid the confrontation, the now or never moment, but she hadn't been successful. Anders proved to her yet again that men never did well with a "not now, but maybe later" no matter how justified it might be.
Misunderstandings, betrayals, both big and small by nearly everyone. Even Aveline! In fact, now that she brooded upon it, was there a single person who hadn't either stabbed her in the back or smacked her hand away when she needed it.
Fenris? Check.
Anders? He'd taken her trust and used it for something. It was only her fear of him walking away all together that had made her agree to serve as his distraction into the Chantry. She had a dire feeling she'd be regretting that weakness someday and if she stopped to think about it she'd be afraid. Very afraid.
Aveline? Granted, it was only in the Fade, but still. It had bruised her pride and her feelings to know that Aveline blamed her for Wesley's death. It wasn't fair and if it weren't for the fact that she knew Avaline understood that, Marian would have likely shut the woman out. Sometimes, you can't help how you felt, after all, and Aveline was a friend despite it. It wasn't a nice thing to bear, but Marian could handle it.
Isabella? Oh, the very thought of that woman made Marian coldly furious. The sheer scale of the bitch's selfishness was unbelievable. Every death that occurred that night was directly on her shoulders, and Marian wondered one day if she'd be in a position to choose whether Isabella paid for it or not. She hoped so. It wasn't like her to be so grimly vengeful, but in Isabella's case, she'd make an exception.
Merrill? Ah, that one was recent enough to leave the taste of ash and sorrow in her mouth. The girl made it so difficult. Such a light spirit, but so willfully blind. And, unfortunately, the cost of that blindness had been paid by good, innocent people.
The cost of it also meant that Marian couldn't face herself in the mirror anymore without having to harden her heart. She couldn't think about that, couldn't dwell on it, or she'd never be able to smile at the elf again. How was she going to respond to the next letter from a grateful son? Nice to know things are going well in Tevinter, oh, by the way, I killed your mother.
Oh, look. Perhaps crying would be on the agenda again! Marian rolled her eyes. Come see the weeping Champion! Only a silver for a vial of her actual tears.
She snorted and shook her head. Her hand rested familiarly on her sword hilt. What she needed now, on such a night and with such awful introspection nipping annoyingly at her heels, was to get drunk.
Blind, stinking drunk. That would put everything back into proper perspective!
The Hanged Man it was, then, and Varric to enjoy getting all fuzzy-headed with.
She blinked, finding herself somewhat surprised as she considered the dwarf. Actually, that was a good point. She was moping and grousing and picking at all her friends, but she failed to account for Varric.
Ah, Varric! A gem among men and a wonder among friends. He hadn't let her down yet and no one else, except for herself, put in half as much time watching out for their friends and making sure that they were whole and happy! She'd watched him cheer up Merrill, tease Bethany out of her sorrow, and even make Aveline laugh.
She smirked, step jaunty as she fanned these happier thoughts into fuller flame. He was smart, cunning, and an imaginative flatterer. Plus, he was the only one in the group who seemed to truly appreciate her humor! A marvel! And, naturally, this epitome of everything a woman could want in a friend and man had absolutely no interest in getting in her pants.
Ah well. No one, not even the Champion, could have everything, could they?
Marian Hawke laughed quietly and hurried into the bar, smiling without a guarded edge for the first time in days.