Disclaimer: I own absolutely and completely nothing. Bioware has that particular pleasure.

Author's note: I have an amazingly huge writer's block but I thought this could do it. As always, feedback would be nice and welcomed~

In this chapter: He should have learned by now.


002.

The elf doesn't reply to him. In any fashion. She remains still, large blue eyes impossibly open, unfocussed and unblinking, pursed lips and he can swear she has gone paler – or perhaps that is just a trick of the eyes just as the two bright spots of red in cheeks. Her hands, those have closed. Tightly. Very tightly, white skin against blood red.

For a moment, Eamon believes the woman is going to punch him, older man or not.

But she doesn't. In fact, she says nothing to him at all, barely bothers to look at his face except with something that's alike to disgust and her hands shake. Then she walks away.

Eamon frowns in her stead, the curiosity he cannot kill guiding his footsteps. The elf doesn't stop in any room. She is all sharp moves and gestures, banging the doors as they close behind her, pushing them off their hinges even with a badly disguised horrible humor. She walks and he follows without question until the nobleman recognizes the hallways, the rooms and the person.

She'll say it's over, he thinks. It's the logical thing to do, it's the right thing to do, the obvious path. The only action to take. She'll say it and leave, to Amaranthine or the Fade, he cares not. She'll leave now that she's not longer needed or wanted. The reasons are too much for him to voice and she knows them, having survived in an Alienage as she has. Elves and humans don't belong together. Commoners and nobles do not walk in the same paths, nevermind in the same house.

"Your brother has demanded something of me," the elf begins, eerily calm, oddly so considering the circumstances – the anger which clouds anyone's judgment and closes her hands in tight fists. "As you were also mentioned in this conversation, I believed this reply should be done in front of the both of you. To end this discussion once and for all."

Teagan doesn't seem annoyed. In fact, he looks resigned, a warrior for whom the battle has finally ended and rest is right on the next corner. Good, Eamon concludes. This subject is about to end, closed between these four walls never to be touched upon again. Good, because the Arling that he rules will not be his forever, his age weights on his mind and body and Connor is locked away in the Tower. Teagan will rule, a good strong ruler like both him and his father.

He should have known this woman would be difficult. He should have known she would do the exact opposite of what he wanted. He should have known she never quits, never turns away from a fight, from a battle before she is right in the front and facing whatever comes her way, the stupid stubborn wench.

The elf says nothing for a long moment. Instead, she walks to his brother, hands raising to press carefully on the back of his neck, presses until his confused face is right next to hers and there is really no question to what she wants or what she is about to do. And then she's kissing him. Slowly, strongly, deeply, just lightly bellow violently, hands moving to touch tresses, careless and intruding – and dearest Maker, dear Andraste and all her followers, that is his brother she is mauling. Though, truth to be told, Teagan seems to care little about that fact, hands wondering definitely not of their own volition, settling comfortably against her waist after a moment.

They take their time, forgetting he is there – not caring – remaining near each other even when the contact has been severed. Forehead against forehead, a smile that is as honest as it is innocent in the trace of his brother's face that he is able to see. They whisper, she frowns, he smiles – smirks, mocks – and their companionship seems almost real instead of pure representation for their audience.

"Better?"

"Yes. I am sorry." She truly doesn't seem to be. "I will be leaving for the…"

"Alienage." The younger man kisses her cheek gently, an almost brotherly caress which lacks all innocence after the previous display. "I will join you there. We should speak."

The woman's head lowers in assent and she turns in his brother's arms, without a look, without a comment to the man she just attacked, without a cure for the disease she is causing. Foolish, thoughtless woman. Eamon has no words left and she leaves.

His brother stays. Calm and smiling like a true idiot.

"Feel free to make her angry more often."


AN - comic version at http : / / dayofautumn .deviantart . com / gallery / # / d37cfil