Off To Sleep, Fight Song.
Working hard on chapter 18 today! Might have missed a few typos in here though.
Disgrace of Redcliffe
A Great Big Hole Called
'They lied to me.' Connor was miserable. 'They lied to me.'
He left Commander Surana's apartments and went to take the hot bath ordered of him, hands shaking and ears ringing as he splashed himself with hot water and scrubbed the grime from his hair, the tears from his eyes. He'd learned a lot, discussed a lot, but there was no way for him to shake the most horrifying part of it.
His family had lied to him.
He was supposed to eat and yes, Connor was hungry, but looking down from the balcony by his room told him the meal service had cleaned up already and he didn't want to disturb the kitchens. He ignored something Hawke said and slipped through his own door, shutting it behind him.
"Hey!" Connor didn't open the door. Hawke didn't knock.
He crawled into bed and pulled his pillow down over his shoulder, hugging it, eyes closed.
'They lied to me.'
He didn't move until the day's heat began to taper off, his stomach twisting painfully in his gut and telling him he needed to eat now. He wasn't one of those melancholy heroes from Hawke's books who could go days without sustenance. A meal here or there, sometimes, but he needed to eat.
Connor opened the door and jumped when he saw Hawke standing there, arms folded, scowling.
"About damn time." The other Warden grunted, but then he hesitated, focusing on Connor's bloodshot eyes before backing down. "You don't want to go to dinner, do you?"
"I just want to eat." Connor admitted. "And then go back to sleep."
"Maker, what did he say to you?"
"I don't want to talk about it." He wasn't lying, he was having a hard enough time telling himself. "It's nothing he did, Hawke. I'm just tired."
"Well just- stay here then. Don't close the damn door this time."
"Thank you, Hawke." Connor didn't close his door. Something nagged at him that Hawke would probably just come back with the smallest, coldest, hardest lump of bread he could find and tell Connor to get over himself if he wanted a better dinner, but about ten minutes later that wasn't what happened.
He was so tempted to just huddle back up in bed for the minutes he waited, but resisted. He was sitting on his chair next to his crowded desk when Hawke came back triumphantly bearing a stolen plank of wood with several large dishes sitting on top of it.
"Did… you just take those off the table?"
"You can thank me later."
Hawke had honestly just taken three serving dishes from a table downstairs. There was a platter of thickly sliced roast, a pot of roasted roots and peas, a gravy boat, and a basket of soft bread. He'd forgotten plates, spoons, or knives, and there was no space on Connor's desk so the other Warden just set the whole meal down on the floor. Connor regained enough sense to light the lamps in his room as the sun began to sink, and Hawke convinced him to open the door to the balcony because it was stuffy.
"It's nice outside, actually."
"Of course you say that after I sit down. Fine."
The twilight sky was going purple and orange, the balcony stones were dusty and in bad need of a good sweeping. Connor's planter that he'd mixed elfroot and water into had exploded in the two weeks he'd been gone: wild green vines spitting out of the old dirt and bearing tightly furled leaves that would be ready to harvest any day now.
It was too much food for two people but there were no plates or manners to abide by. Connor hadn't eaten since that cold breakfast at dawn on the road and needed food. Food filled part of the empty, hollow space the talk with Surana had opened up in him, coaxing the fire in his soul to try and wake back up. Connor wasn't used to feeling cold: he actually wanted to feel his magic rumble and burn against him.
They dipped their bread in the gravy boat and pulled apart the meat with their fingers, the oil on the roasted beans and wedges of turnip and parsnips made them slippery, so Connor lost a few of them to the gravy. He was poor dinner company but Hawke talked enough for both of them: he complained about Connnor's elfroot and how much of it was growing. He told Connor it was dumb for the distillery and its tubes to take up his entire desk because where was he ever going to get any work done? And the worst offense of all:
"You better not have spilled any of that flower oil on my book, Guerrin."
"I did." Connor admitted, the first thing he'd said in several minutes. He pulled another chunk of roast apart with his teeth and chewed thoughtfully, mouth thick with the juice of rendered fat until he swallowed. "I spilled a drop of lavender right down the spine just to bug you."
"You villain." Hawke seethed.
"What have you got against flowers?"
"Nothing, it's just something I can bug you about."
"Well you'll be happy to know the Dalish gave me a few recipes to work on, so my room will smell like elfroot for the next week instead."
"Great, our mage is going to have green hands again." Hawke sighed. "Just make sure you don't touch your face or you'll really make the scars stand out. I'll walk in and you'll just be bright grass green from your roots to your ankles."
"Maker, I'm not going to bathe in it."
"Tell that to the tunic you got handprints all over- Mistress Felsi threw a fit."
"I don't see why. I'm the one who has to wear it, not her."
"You don't know Mistress Felsi."
Connor laughed softly through his nose and used the last of his bread to scoop a bit more of the oil from the nearly-empty pot of veggies. The heavy aroma of rosemary and garlic were pleasant when he chewed through it. Hawke had a satisfied look spread across his wide face and looked like he was going to say something, then rolled his shoulders with a grunt.
"Nah, I won't ask."
"Mm? Ask what?"
"You already said you don't want to talk about it." Oh. That. Connor felt his mood fall and hadn't realized how much the company and conversation had helped.
"I'll be okay." He said, and somehow he believed it. He wasn't sure why, but sitting outside under a summer evening sky gave him the confidence for it anyhow. "It's just Denerim."
"Well we all know you can handle that just fine." Hawke told him cheerfully. "Before you let it get to you, Guerrin, just remember that when everyone starts cheering for you tomorrow it'll be that 'laughing with you, not at you' thing. Think you can handle that?" Connor felt his face pull in a nervous frown.
"Surana tried to make me a Champion."
"Tried?" Hawke repeated, "What, you said no?"
"Of course I said no."
"Okay no, just for that, the next time an Arl or a Teyrn insults our Commander you let me do the jaw-breaking." Hawke told him with a solid huff. "I can't believe you wasted the opportunity for the Champion of Redcliffe to name a member of House Guerrin the Champion of Vigil's Keep for decking the Arl of Fucking Redcliffe. Where is your sense of irony?"
Connor opened his mouth to respond with a dig or a joke, but felt something freeze over inside of him and his words came out sharp.
"I'm not a member of House Guerrin." Was what he said, and it slapped Hawke's smile off his face. Connor felt the mood shift and dropped his eyes, curling his lips into his mouth. Hawke was just being a friend to him the way Surana had just been trying to show him the sorts of deceit at work in the games Denerim played, but here Connor was acting like an ass again. "I'm sorry."
"Believe it or not I can actually close my mouth for two minutes and listen if you want to say something." Hawke told him in a lofty voice. "Or I can go back to my room and cry about how mean you sounded."
"You do bruise easily." Connor mumbled, a better apology than the first because Hawke gave a quick laugh and leaned over the remaining food to clap him on the shoulder.
"Give it a go then. I'll shut up for it." Hawke crossed his legs and rested his elbows on his knees, hunched over and ready to listen as the sky began to darken over the Vigil.
Connor tried to figure out how. He could be blunt about the facts or he could try and tackle the great empty hole in his chest. He wanted his magic to cling to his bones and give him back the anxious scratching he was used to, worried for a moment that maybe the news had made him lose his powers- but no, if he focused a little bit while sitting here he could feel it waiting. It didn't feel like the fire he was used to, the almost-pain of anxiety and fear made of lightning and caution. The revelation had hurt him and Connor didn't even know how to make sense of the wound.
"You have siblings, don't you, Hawke?" He asked at last.
"An older, famous, rich, heroic sister, yes." Hawke rambled off-the-cuff. "And a twin."
"Were you close?"
"With Marian? Maker no." Hawke pulled a face. "There was never any time for mundane little Carver with Marian throwing a tantrum with her magic or using me for her staff practice. I don't think we started seeing eye-to-eye with each other until Kirkwall, and we were never open about it until after the rebellion started."
Connor remembered the story Surana had told him. The Apostate, Run-away Warden Anders. Stories said the Champion had killed him after the chantry exploded. Hawke had been there but said he didn't know the truth. Connor didn't ask.
"But Bethany?" Hawke's eyes softened, his voice calmed, and Connor stopped fretting for a moment to listen to him. "Now that… that was different. We were twins. We were always around each other. From birth until the day her magic began to manifest we were always with each other. Maker, it's been so long but I still look for her."
'My parents lied and kept my little sister secret from me. Somewhere in Redcliffe there's a ten year old girl I've never met.' Connor could have said it. He could have made the conversation about him again. He could have.
"What was she like?" Was what he asked, hooking one arm around his knee. "Bethany?"
"She was sunshine." Just the way he said it made Connor feel better for not turning the conversation around. "She used to pick daisies and make me put them in her hair. She could smile and mother would forgive her for anything, even if I was the one who'd made the trouble. The one time Marian got mad at her Bethany went off like a little firestorm and we both jumped on her, I can't even remember what it was about, I just remember hiding in our father's garden until dark when he came out looking for us."
Carver talked and Connor listened. He asked questions, prodded the memories for details that made them into stories. The air grew cool and the food was cold, the light from Connor's lamps inside became the brightest thing around them, the deep indigo of the sky pricked with starlight. But Carver talked about Bethany, his mage and twin-sister Bethany, the girl who'd thrown herself between her family and an ogre when they fled the Blight. Bethany who'd had patience that mirrored and masked her siblings' tempers. Bethany who had been so scared of her magic and had clung to her twin's hand in a way Carver still remembered and tried to mimic with his own strong hands just to prove he was explaining it right. Bethany who'd left a hole in her twin brother when he'd lost her and Carver had made himself build over and across the gap with anything that almost fit, just to make sure Connor had to have known him half a year and then fallen down hard before Carver would let himself talk about her.
Carver talked about Bethany and Connor held the lonely feelings tenderly when they were passed to him, because that was how he found the word for the void. Loneliness. His family had lied to him and Connor had felt lonely in the quiet that followed their silence. It wasn't the same loneliness as Carver's, but it was the right name for the right kind of emptiness.
Lonely in the tower where his cohort Amara had died in the Harrowing Chamber, and his overseer Irving had passed Connor over, and his mentor Leorah had been run through by Templars, and his friend Jylan had been made Tranquil. Lonely in Redcliffe where the sins of the stained earth had haunted and frightened him away from contact with most anyone else. Lonely in Haven where his skills had been too weak and his magic too self-defeating to make a difference. Lonely at Skyhold where he'd been shackled by the reality of never being anything but an apprentice and a novice for what could have been the rest of his life.
Connor had been lonely.
"Maker! This is where you two have been!" Genevieve's voice behind Connor made him jump and give a shriek on the ground. When he looked around he saw the Warden's twisted hair shaking as she shook a finger over the low stone wall separating her part of the battlements-turned-balcony from Connor and Hawke's.
"Congratulations, you've found two people who weren't hiding." Hawke quipped, looking up at the dark sky now and noting the moon. "When did it get this dark?"
"Sorry, Evie." Connor's voice was weak.
"It has been hours!" She scolded, looking over Connor's head at Hawke, who seemed to be at fault for this. "We went past your doors and could not see either of you. We thought you'd left!"
"And gone where, back to the Dalish?" Hawke asked. "I'm sure the Commander would have loved that."
"That's none of my business." Genevieve said shortly. "But the Keep is still falling all over itself about that spectacle this morning, and no one will tell me what that even was!"
"A challenge." They answered together. Genevieve scoffed and threw both hands in the air.
"Congratulations, you two small minds!" She huffed in Orlesian, causing Connor to smile by accident. "It is as if no one here realizes I am not Fereldan! I know what an Arl is, they are like the Dukes and Duchesses of Orlais- but you cannot simply punch a Duke!"
"Well he's not a Duke," Connor corrected. "He's an Arl."
"And this is Ferelden, not Orlais." Hawke followed up. "Connor's a Freeman. If an Arl can't answer his Freemen then he'll lose his Banns' support. It's not like Guerrin came up behind him and slugged him in the neck either: you encouraged him!"
"Maker Watch Over Me I knew I should have kept my mouth shut! You could have been arrested and flogged!"
"No!" Connor shouted,
"This is Ferelden, it doesn't work like that!"
"It doesn't work at all."
"Maker, Evie, just get over here and sit down." Hawke finally invited, gesturing to the rest of the open balcony. "I'll explain it again for you. Connor was born noble: he knew what he was doing."
"I don't know that much, I was eleven when I went to the Circle." Connor reminded him, not that Hawke seemed to care.
"Ugh. Alright." She walked away out of sight, but a few seconds later her footsteps clapped the balcony stones again and she reappeared at the wall, placing a hand on top of it and hoisting herself up. She swung her long legs over the wall and stepped down lightly, wearing a long white linen shirt over dark trousers and soft shoes. She had a blanket over one arm and a wine bottle by the neck. "I hope you intend to return these dishes to Mistress Felsi."
"Nah, I figured Connor can use them for more of his plants."
"No thank you, I like being alive." Connor defended, offering his work knife to Evie when she sat on her blanket and took note of the cork sealing the wine shut. She pushed the tip of the knife as far as it would go, twisted a few times, and wrenched the top off with a satisfying pop. "Is that from Orlais?"
"Emprise Du Lion's finest." She agreed, swirling the bottle like it would be able to breathe properly just through the neck. "I paid half a crown for this."
"To what do we owe the honour?" Hawke asked curiously, both of them watching as Evie put the bottle to her nose and took a deep, satisfied sniff of the vintage. Her twisted hair was pulled into long knotted bundles, each one moving slightly with her head and catching the lamplight from Connor's room with a golden glow that warmed her dark skin in the night. She took a quick, delighted mouthful of the wine and held it in her mouth for a moment, sighing gently at the taste before handing the bottle to Connor.
It was a white wine, dusty and sweet at the back of his throat. Maybe not worth fifty silvers to him, but Evie was in bliss and Hawke was quick to take the bottle and try it.
"A completed mission, a grand spectacle of Ferelden foolishness, a beautiful summer night…" She sighed whimsically, eyes closed and shaking her hair in the warm air. "And I'm the one who paid for it so I get to decide when we drink it. Don't hog the bottle, Hawke!"
"You're a Warden, you can't get drunk off a single bottle of wine." Hawke complained, surrendering the bottle with a sour look as he licked at his mouth.
"It's not about getting drunk you animal." Evie complained, drinking before letting Connor have it again. "You, you're half Orlesian, that's good enough. You understand wine."
"Again, I was eleven the last time I saw my mother." Connor quickly snatched the bottle away when she tried to take it back from him. "Easy there-! I still want my drink."
"Neither of you appreciate it!"
"I appreciate your company," Hawke drawled.
"Shut up."
"I made you rose water." Connor reminded her.
"Hmph. That is a fair point." Evie allowed, letting him drink and nodding when he indicated Hawke again in the rotation.
"Tell you what, Captain," The smartass gloated in the dark. "Guerrin and I'll get you fifty silvers worth of Fereldan wine and between the three of us we'll drink it all."
"Maker, Hawke, that's nearly five hundred bottles." Connor said and Hawke almost shot wine out his nose, covering his mouth with a laugh.
"Heathen!" Evie shouted, "You're wasting it!"
"Blame him! He made me do it!"
"He speaks the truth and you spill good wine!" She ranted, a smile tugging at her lips as she took the bottle back. "How did you ever survive the journey across Orlais?"
"I don't fucking know…" Hawke was still laughing, face in his hands.
The bottle went around and around and around between them until it was empty, laughter and jokes twisting through the night. The only thing they were missing was a campfire which Connor, eased by the wine and company, allowed himself to cast atop the picked-clean dishes from dinner. The magic spun together smooth and warm over his fingers, twisting into plumes of gentle blue magefire that glittered and hung around them. He twisted it to purple and then a deep, deep red, watching how the colours reflected off Hawke's black hair, how the shades played with the silver glow of Evie's smile.
They went to bed tired and in high spirits, Connor too lazy to close either of his doors or change out of his shirt and trousers before crawling into bed. After two weeks it was glorious to sleep on something soft and cozy, and he was barely awake for when the heat of the summer made him get up in the dark just long enough to pull off his shirt and pants before rolling himself back up under a thin linen blanket and his soft pillow.
Connor slept deeply and oh-so-happily through the night until the breakfast bell startled him awake. He rolled into a pair of trousers that seemed reasonably clean and the stained white tunic everyone thought was so funny with its green smears, and went down to eat without bothering to wash his face first. He was hungry and wanted to sleep more.
There was a fast, sudden cheer that went up when he showed his sleepy unwashed face in the dinner hall. It ended quickly enough when Connor just stood there petrified for a few seconds, and from several of the hall's long tables came the roundelay of the stupid fox and the strong mabari. Nathaniel looked fresh and clean and in good spirits as he flagged Connor down for a meal.
"You look better for a good night's rest." The hunter said cheerfully, peeling boiled eggs and spreading sweet jam over several slices of bread.
"Not as good as you," Connor marvelled. "Are you smiling?"
"My wife- and I have to get used to saying that- is being assigned as archivist and record keeper for the Vigil." Nathaniel went on immediately, it was obvious he'd been waiting for someone to sit down and let him talk at them. "She's met my sister and her husband, Thomas has absolutely no memory of who she is but he and his sister just assume it's another adult who'll hand them sweets if they're good."
"So… you're already settled in?" Connor asked, feeding in to the senior Warden's delight as Nathaniel stuffed a mouthful of food into his mouth, shaking his head and making a useless gesture with one hand.
He explained between mouthfuls of food that the Vigil was very full. Velanna was not a Warden so couldn't reclaim the old room next to Howe's in their hallway that had never been reassigned. She could stay temporarily with Nathaniel in his room but even Connor understood that things would get very cramped very quickly for two people. The couple were living with Nathaniel's sister and her family for the time being, but Garevel was already working on finding a small place to tuck Warden Howe's new wife while simultaneously drumming up work for her in the Keep's scanty library.
"While she's busy I've promised my niece and nephew a day fishing. What're you plans, oh almost-Champion?"
"Please don't call me that." But that was a simple answer: Connor had recipes from the Dalish he wanted to try, not to mention a planted box full of elfroot on his and Hawke's balcony to try and tame.
"That green jelly stuff?" Yes, that was the one. "I'm all for having more of that around, but watch out. I think the Commander tried to make it once and Oghren went ahead and ate it on his bread."
"But it-?" It was lemon rind and dawn lotus!
"Don't ask me why." Nathaniel nodded down the row of chairs. "Incoming."
"What?"
Connor looked and then Connor tried to dive under the table- Nathaniel caught his arm and told him to sit easy instead. That was very hard to do with two stubborn and surly looking dwarves marching down between the tables, eyes fixed on him.
"Oghren." Connor's voice was weak, "Mistress Felsi."
"Where the sodding hell are my wife's dishes, boy?" Oh Maker, he didn't-
"Hawke took them and left them outside." Connor winced at the sound of his own answer. Thus was written the end of Carver Hawke. "My door's open. They're still on our balcony."
"Then I'll go make sure bird-brain wakes up with them on his sodding face." Oghren growled and then shoved past Connor's chair, storming off and leaving Mistress Felsi behind.
Mistress Felsi's job was to keep the Vigil fed. She was a dwarf like her husband with sandy blond hair braided back behind her head, a thick snub nose and- maybe if she didn't always look so cross her pale eyes might have been kinder. As it was, she had a lot of people to keep track of and even more of them to feed. She wasn't just some cook, she was the person Garevel kept in control of the Vigil's stores, orders, and surpluses. It was a big job and she didn't have any time for major distractions.
"Alright, Warden, I'll keep this brief." Mistress Felsi told him in a sharp, too-the-point manner. "Oghren explained enough about you being too new to know better, but here at Vigil's Keep we don't let our Wardens wander around looking like Dusters. Wear this," she held out something for Connor to take from her, "-when you do your work, or you'll find your at-leave time spent up to your elbows in the laundry's hot water, understood?"
"I- Thank you, Mistress Felsi." It was an apron. Not a baker or a cook's apron though, this was made of thin, soft hide lightly tanned just to keep it together. It was heavy all folded up in his hands but long and with tight double-stitched hems and seams where the belt and loop for the head went. Very quickly in deft white stitches was a rearing griffon at the top left corner over the heart. Just enough to show it didn't belong to a servant around the keep, but one of the Wardens. "Wow… I… I really don't-"
"And put that damned tunic out on the floor when you go back to your room, I want it cut up for rags."
"What! That's not necessary, I don't think." It was hardly worn and had no holes or missing stitches yet, just a few-
"Cut it up or I'll cut you up, Warden." Maker she sounded like she meant that.
Rightly fearing what may happen if he didn't listen, Connor did surrender his tunic when he returned upstairs after breakfast, leaving it folded by his open door. He met briefly with the elven servant who cleaned their rooms and she told him brightly that she thought the elfroot was growing nicely outside, and Connor thanked her for having watered it while he was gone. She also informed him that she'd swept the outside space just now and had collected the missing dishes.
"I would have made your bed, Warden, but I wasn't sure what to do about… that."
"What?"
"That."
There was a lump on Connor's bed that had not been there before. It was under the loose covers, and it was wet.
"Maker's bre- Hawke!" There was a great wet lump of- wait, were those lotus leaves? Nevermind, he wasn't angry. "Thank you- nevermind about the bed, just- thank you."
Connor's bed had a great wet patch in the middle of it now, but he was too preoccupied with unravelling the bundle of folded scrap hide to be bothered by it. Inside were at least eight slippery wet blood lotuses, plus four black lotus and two white dawn plants. They'd been doused with water and had a smell to them after however many days it had been from Crestwood to the Vigil, but Connor barely had time to put on his gloves and new apron before going to work on them.
He started with the rarest component and worked his way backwards. Connor gently, gently set the distiller down on the floor next to his desk without disturbing the tubes and vials before clearing the desk off and pulling the plants apart. He stripped the leaves off carefully, clipped the longer stems and sliced them finely, treating the stalks the same way and paring down the roots before hanging them to dry, the other pieces soaking in clean water.
"Just so we're clear," Hawke's voice tried to interrupt him as the day marched closer towards noon. "It was Sigrun's idea to get those things and I had nothing to do with it."
"I'll make sure I thank her." Connor didn't look up from his work, "These things have roots longer than she's tall, and I didn't even tell her they good for anything- I'll have to think of something nice to give her in return."
"Just tell her you'll burn and freeze things on command and she'll probably call it even." Hawke answered, still from the doorway. Connor thought of something for the part-time handyman.
"Hawke, if I got rid of this desk do you think I'd be able to fit a longer table against the wall?"
"Uuh…"
"I mean not get rid of as in break it apart or anything, just put it down in the Vigil's storage."
"Alright…" Hawke slowly drew the word out, "Have the room for it? Yes, but one thing at a time, maybe?"
"Not right now, I want to finish this first." Connor assured him. "Maybe in a few days or something."
"Guerrin, eyes up for a minute."
"What?"
"Connor!"
"What?" Connor looked and there was Hawke in his work-clothes, trousers streaked with dust and work gloves protecting his hands and wrists under his shirtsleeves. He was carrying something under his arm but staring at what was hanging in front of his face.
"This-" The other Warden grunted, pointing at the bundle of dried spindleweed dangling from one of Connor's twine threads. "This is not good. You need to stop this. I was going to mention it last night but you were all sad about something so whatever, but, no, this is insane."
"Oh- um, those are dry now. I can take that down." He very quickly set down what he was doing, brought his work knife over and cut the twine, holding the bundle and finding Hawke's scowling face looking through the window of his raised arms.
"Not what you meant?"
"Not what I fucking meant." Hawke lectured with a scowl. "You cannot hang spiney, prickly, poisonous things from your ceiling, least of all where people walk."
"The rest aren't poisonous-"
"I don't care!" Hawke pulled around what he was carrying and thumped it between them. "Just use this!"
Connor froze, then he quickly put his knife and the spindleweed down on his desk. He pulled off his lotus-stained gloves and left them, hurrying back to Hawke and taking the item from him.
"This is a drying rack," he breathed. It was folded up, the wood sanded smooth and still carrying the smell of the light varnish that had been rubbed into the bars and rods. "Did you make this?"
"I did not." Hawke blustered.
"Sorry, I meant did Sigrun make this?" Connor amended and the other Warden huffed at him.
"I found it. I fixed it. If you don't want it then I'll give it to Nathaniel's sister."
"I want it." He answered immediately. "Unless she needs it mo-" Hawke shoved the rack at him and threw his hands at the hanging herbs and roots.
"Just deal with these!" He huffed, and then he left.
And Connor, biting back an excited grin, hurried outside with his new toy.
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