Disclaimer: EA and Bioware own DA. I own a green jacket.
A/N: As explained in the summary, this will be a collection of themes that may or may not be present in DA or DA:A. Readers are welcome (and encouraged) to PM me and offer their own ideas for the collection, as well as cite which characters they'd like included. The following one-shot was inspired by the amazingly awesome Natmonkey. Shifts in verb tense is entirely intentional.
Regret
He tries not to think about her, but after so many years with her by his side, life without her seems…strange. In the beginning she was proud to call him her husband, and he had always looked forward to coming home every night to see her smiling face shining up at him.
He remembers the exact moment that everything changed.
She had just invented the smokeless fuel that elevated her to the status of Paragon. He couldn't believe that he, a simple dwarf from the warrior caste, was married to a Paragon. The thought of it was enough to make him laugh in exultation and cry with pride. It wasn't until the celebratory feast that he'd discovered the down side to being a legend's husband. The purveyor had been some drunken nobody that had crashed the festivities.
"Must be tough having someone like her as a wife," the duster had said.
"What the sod are you babbling about?"
The drunken duster had shrugged a shoulder, the action causing ale to spill over the sides of his tankard. "Just sayin' I wouldn't want to have my wife wear the pants. Face it, no one'll ever remember you for being a 'great warrior'. They'll remember you as the husband of a Paragon."
The truth of it hit him like a ton of bricks. All of the Provings, all of the bloodshed and broken bones, all of it was for nothing. In the end, no one would see it. When they looked at him, all they'd see is the woman by his side. Suddenly he wasn't so proud of his wife. Suddenly that cask of ale looked much more welcoming than it had just minutes before.
Why hadn't anyone warned him that drowning your problems can be both liberating and devastating at the same time?
It wasn't long before she stopped coming to his bed at night. In another life, another time, that fact might have bothered him. In this life he barely batted an eye. It was so much easier to have another drink and not think about it. He started to spend entire nights at Tapster's, not even bothering to show his face at home. He had a feeling she was spending her nights elsewhere as well. The occasional time he did bump into her, she was with that rug-munching poet. Based on the looks and snickers that passed through the bar, the two of them were more than just friends.
When he returned home one day in the wee hours of the morning to find his entire House missing, he didn't give it much thought. He was too sodding wasted to care. He just rolled into bed and snored himself into oblivion. When they didn't return after a few days, he asked around. What he heard didn't make him happy.
The crazy broad had gone into the Deep Roads and convinced every member of their House to go with her. Everyone but him. He should've known something like this would eventually happen, but had to admit it still came as a blow to the old ego. Instead of pursuing her, he had another drink.
Days turned into months, and months into years. He spent his time marinated in ale and spirits. Nothing mattered. When he walked through the Commons, people gave him a wide berth. He was a pariah, a drunk that was good for nothing but swilling beer and crushing skulls. The odd time that he managed to dry out he'd tried to convince the guards to let him into the Deeps, but no one listened. No one ever listened to him.
Until she came along.
When she first walked into Tapster's, asking around about Branka, he'd written her off as one of Harrowmont's flunkies. In fact, she looked pretty sodding ridiculous in Orzammar, all sharp angles, pointy ears and silly armour. And what was with the crap on her face? Were swirly designs the new height of fashion on the surface? Rumours about her whirled around the bar with a frenzy. He later found out that she was one of the legendary Grey Wardens and she was on a mission to find Branka. Joining her was his only option. What he hadn't counted on was how much he'd like the Stone-forsaken elf. She was a monster in battle, her lithe body granting her swift and graceful movements. She used it to her advantage, of course, and sliced into darkspawn with a ferocity he'd never seen before. Even the humans she travelled with (especially the other Warden) were in awe of her.
And she'd been genuinely regretful when the time came to butcher Branka.
He understood that she'd had no choice. His wife had turned into a lunatic over the two years she'd been buried in the Deep Roads. The Warden told him she couldn't in good conscience allow Branka to take possession of the Anvil. So they killed a Paragon. His wife. Branka.
Now he sways dangerously close to the fire, the drink dulling his senses. He knows he'll be passing out again tonight. He does almost every night. It's the only way to quiet her voice in his head. He's been travelling with the Warden on the surface for a few weeks now. She'd welcomed him into her party with open arms. He likes to think she took a shine to him. Having someone like her as an ally isn't something he'll sneeze at. He's not surprised when he sees her approaching him, eyes wide and worried.
"How are you feeling, lethallin?" she asks.
He shrugs a shoulder, eyes bleary, unfocused. "Fine I guess. Trying not to think."
She sighs and rests a hand on his shoulder. "I know you are in pain. Abelas, Oghren. I wish I could have saved her."
He secretly enjoys the sprinkling of Elvish in her speech, and he suspects she knows this and goes out of her way to use as much as possible. It's the little things like this that make him cherish her company - though he wouldn't admit such a thing out loud.
"Don't worry about it, Warden. I know you did whatcha had to do. I only wish I'd been able to get to her sooner. Maybe I woulda been able to stop her from killing our entire House and turning into a drooling nug-humper."
"Perhaps. But the world is filled with 'could haves' and 'would haves'. Neither one helps us along our paths. Think instead of 'wills' and 'cans'." The Warden seems to like offering him little gems of wisdom like this. Unfortunately it doesn't go far in the way of helping him forget about where he went wrong. He's about to tell her as much when he's interrupted.
"Lyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyna! Your dog bit me again!"
She rolls her eyes playfully and turns her head toward the pike-twirler. "Did you try and take some of his food again?"
Silence, then an eventual "Noooo…." from the other Warden.
The elf laughs and shakes her head. "I'll be right there, emma sa'lath." She turns her attention back to the dwarf. "If there's anything I can do, just let me know."
He thinks about this a moment, then says hesitantly, "well, there is one thing…"
She cocks her head to one side. "Oh?"
"Well, there's this girl I used to know in Orzammar, and she came to the surface not too long ago," he replies.
The Warden seems amused by this. "A girl you knew, or a girl you knew?"
"What? Oh, you mean did I sleep with her? Yeah, I did."
She laughs. "Oghren, you dog! I'm guessing you want to find her?"
"Well, I was sorta hoping we might be able to, yeah…"
She shrugs a shoulder and fixes him with one of her brilliant smiles. "Sure, why not. Any idea where she's at?"
His eyes narrow as he tries hard to remember the last time he'd heard about her. "I'm pretty sure I heard she's near some lake. Lake Cleanbad or something like that."
"I think I know where you're talking about. We have to head that way on our way back to the Circle of Magi. Wynne and Morrigan need some supplies. If I'm right she's probably working or staying at the Spoiled Princess."
"Thanks, Warden. I appreciate it," he says.
"No problem," she replies. She turns and heads for the pike-twirler, who apparently made up with the dog since the pair of them are busy playing fetch. He's not sure which of the two is doing the actual fetching considering how the dog has the human running around in circles trying to retrieve the stick from the former's mouth.
He reaches to his belt and takes a long pull from the flagon that the Warden had given him a few days previous. The spirits warm his insides and bestow a feeling of wellness. In these days of Blight and strife, the booze is the one thing in his life he knows he can always rely on. It will never make him feel like less of a man. It will never shout obscenities at him or throw red hot tongs at his head.
Most importantly, the booze will never leave him for another woman.