Chapter 8
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Author's Note: Several things to mention here: First of all, LET ME KNOW IF YOU'D LIKE THIS STORY TO BE RATED M! I feel like I could easily do that, or keep it T. It's up to the readers. Please review or send a private message, either is fine. It was pointed out to me that in cannon, children of elves and humans are always human, so please understand that this is not cannon. Also, if it seems like there are a lot of references to Bronwyn being an elf now, it's because they are no longer in the Circle. I purposefully brought it out now because I figured humans outside the Circle wouldn't just ignore it like the mages and Templars typically do. Just so you know my reasoning... As always, please enjoy and REVIEW! :)
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It had been a bit embarrassing the next morning when their two escorts saw them both exiting the same tent, but Otto ignored their murmurs. He knew, and the Maker knew, that nothing had transpired that was untoward.
Bronwyn, on the other hand, finally took notice of the two Templar's whispered comments, strode right up to them, and called them out.
"Excuse me, Sers?" she said hotly. "Perhaps you could speak your concerns directly to me?"
One of them, Ser Fenwick he thought, seemed shocked. "Pardon?"
"You gossip like two old hens regarding things you know nothing of!" Otto could hear the cruel sneer in her voice, and froze.
"See here, mage," said the other, Ser Tybalt. "Keep your place."
"My place?" she screamed. "MY PLACE?"
Otto quickly moved to intercept. "Ah, Sers, she is merely trying to address your concerns. As you know, I have been released from my vows," he said quietly, putting his arm around Bronwyn's shoulders. "My choices are my own. And surely, the Warden is still recovering from the harrows of the Blight..."
He could tell his words had an effect on the men, who may have forgotten who their companion was temporarily; one did not tell the the Warden who defeated the Blight to 'keep her place'. "Um...yes, Grey Warden. We apologize," said Ser Fenwick.
"Hmph!" said Bronwyn. She wrenched out of Otto's grasp and stalked away. He heard her stop some ways away from the camp.
"Sers, would you mind breaking camp for us?"
"Of course not."
He moved in the direction he had heard her go, hands in front of him. "Bronwyn?" he said quietly.
"I'm here." Her small hand took his. "Why did you stop me? They need to be taught some manners."
"Yes, they do. But you aren't going to be the one to teach. Time and wisdom will work their magic, and in the mean time, we will help them along."
"Fine." She removed her hand and turned from him, crossing her arms.
With a sigh, Otto put his hands on her shoulders and stroked her arms gently. "You know I speak the truth."
There was silence for a few moments, and she leaned back against him. "Yes."
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"My son...what?"
Otto was speaking as gently as he could to the farmer. This was the third settlement, just a few farm houses really, and the first time he'd sensed magic within a child. The farmer's wife seemed approachable, Bronwyn and Otto were speaking with her.
"I can sense the magic inside him, it's only a matter of time before it presents itself. This is a gift, but he must be trained in the Circle."
"Wha- Who are you people? You aren't taking my son anywhere!" she said, sounding angry.
"As I said, my name is Ser Otto, and this is Bronwyn, Grey Warden and Hero of Ferelden. She is working with the Mages Circle now." He added her titles, hoping this would help the country folk recognize that they were speaking the truth.
"You're the Grey Warden?" the woman whispered.
"Yes. Otto speaks the truth. He senses magic, and if he senses it from your boy, that means it will manifest." She was very serious, her voice sharp. "When it does, it could be deadly. If we start his training now, all that can be avoided."
The woman began crying. "Our only boy, a mage! His father will be...so disappointed."
Otto sensed Bronwyn's reaction and gripped her hand tightly, a reminder not to react negatively. "He will have many advantages in the tower. And when he is grown, you will be able to see each other again."
"I will...go get his father..."
He heard her walking away and Bronwyn turned to him. "She forgets that magic helped to defeat the Blight," she said.
"You carry much pain, but you must put it aside for the greater good right now. Let them see our deeds and that will change their hearts."
"Ser Otto, the eternal optimist." She pulled his head down for a quick kiss.
Suddenly, they heard loud, angry footsteps. "Watch out," she whispered. He guessed the boy's father was approaching.
"Please, Lethold, wait," they heard his wife calling.
He felt waves of anger rolling off the man when he finally reached them. "What slander is this? My boy has shown no signs of magic! I'll not see him off with a blind man and a knife-ear!"
Bronwyn sucked in a breath, but calmly began speaking. "Please, this man is Ser Otto, an ex-Templar. He can sense when a child has the gift. For your safety and your sons, you must let us take-"
There was a thud as the man's fist connected with Bronwyn's cheek, and a second as she fell to the ground, unprepared for the attack. "You'll not take my son, elf-whore."
Overcoming his shock, Otto stepped in front of Bronwyn, helping her to her feet. He felt silly, but he did stand in front of her protectively, knowing the man would be less likely to attack a human, especially if he was blind. "Please, there is no need for violence. You can see our Templar escorts investigating other houses behind us. We'll call them over to confirm our claims."
Silence for a moment. He felt Bronwyn summoning power to protect herself if needed, an invisible force field erected around her hastily. "Fine. Go get the Templars, knife-ear."
"I will retrieve them," he said pointedly. The man's hate was too overwhelming for the moment.
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"You've been quiet this evening," Otto said quietly to Bronwyn. Bronwyn had rocked the boy and sung him to sleep, and now the boy was resting comfortably in his tent. The Templars had finally retired to their tent as well; it was common for two Templars to share a tent to cut back on the amount of supplies that needed to be lugged around. It had seemed like forever before he had a chance to speak to her in private.
"Yes." A short, sharp reply.
"You don't have to talk about it, but I thought you might need to."
She sighed. "I suppose...if we are to be together, you need to know."
His heart glowed inappropriately at her words. They were to be together. He sat next to her, once again imagining how gorgeous she must look before the fire. His vision was no longer colorless, but fill with reds and ambers and pale skin he wished he could see. He'd never questioned the Maker's decision to take his sight, but times like these he wished he could see her.
She leaned into him as he sat on a log next to her, and she spoke. "My mother lived in the alienage in Denerim. According to her, her husband was an amazing man, loving and talented in woodcraft." Her voice turned sour. "I wouldn't know of course. He was murdered by a human noble, and my mother was taken prisoner and raped over and over again for months. When she finally escaped, she found she was with child."
Otto didn't know what to say, so he stayed silent. She looked up at him. "It had been too long, you see, for her husband to be my father. She let me know every day that I was a reminder of her shame, that she had taken herbs and other substances to try to abort me, that I would never be elf or human. And still I loved her.
"It gets worse, Otto. Are you sure you want me continue?"
Keeping an arm around her, he gently cupped her cheek with one hand, wiping away a tear. "Tell me."
"I didn't exhibit magic until later in life; Irving always said I had made up for it by excelling and taking my Harrowing before those of my own age, even those who had been there longer. If I had at the age of six or seven, I might have been spared what came next. The same man visited the alienage again when I was twelve, and this time, he took me instead of my mother. She didn't even try to stop him."
She paused thoughtfully. "Now, I think it was her little revenge on him, that he would be forcing his own daughter." She laughed, a resentful, ugly sound. "I was more resourceful than she – I escaped after only a few weeks. When I came back to her, she seemed contrite, giving me the same herbs and potions she said she had taken to try to rid herself of me, once. For me, they worked." She stopped speaking and begain crying.
"Oh, my darling," he whispered, holding her tightly as she sobbed into his shoulder. "You are stronger than I ever knew. To endure such horrors, and still have so much good inside you! The Maker himself must have given you this grace."
"Aren't you disgusted?" she said, awed.
"Of course not. You're...so amazing. So lovely. I confess, I hoped you would turn your gaze on me even before your return from Denerim. And the past you've recounted... it only makes you more so in my eyes. Maker be praised for bringing you to me, my dearest one."
She kissed him again, hungry and desperate. He tried to match her, but had no experience. She pulled away, all breath and spice, and said, "I...don't want to rush you... Can we try...some things at least?"
He nodded and she led him to her tent again, with love in her eyes.
