Our Ghosts Are The Same

Dragon Age 2

Chapter 6: Doglords

A/N: And we're finally getting somewhere! Aedan's in Kirkwall and thus we'll finally be getting to the damn banquet. Next Chapter. This chapter came out a little late because of work and other issues, but its still ongoing, don't worry.

I'm also working on a modern Dragon Age AU revolving around Garrett Hawke and Fenris. I had to look up the rules for MMA fighting. Also, I'm making an AO3 account so I'll be here and there under the same name (VaultEscapeArtist). I'm also on Tumblr under vault-escape-artist.

Once again, thanks for all the feedback! And for sticking with this.

Well, they had their chance to surrender, Hawke frowned and stepped back, away from the fight. Varric appeared at her side while Isabela and Fenris charged forward into the sea of raiders. One of them recognized Isabela and waved "hello" at her. Right before she stabbed him. Hawke shook her head and unhooked her father's staff from her back and observed how her companions were doing.

As she electrocuted the raider captain to her left, Hawke noticed that Isabela was surrounded. She quickly shielded Isabela with a barrier spell. When Fenris called for healing she rolled a health potion across the battlefield to him. It was comforting to see nothing had changed during her time off. Hawke didn't so much as fight as ensure that none of her friends died. It might not have been the most glorious way to do things, but it was what she knew.

It was what she had tried to do for her family.

Tried.

Shoving a horrible image of Bethany's broken body from her mind, Hawke focused on the task at hand. Messing up raiders all while trying to remain somewhat blood free.

That wasn't the way I would have done it. Aedan felt odd watching the Champion and her companions fight. He kept wanting to jump in or at least shout some advice down to them. He had a decent view of what was going on from one of the dock warehouse's rooftops. The Champion was putting on quite the show for him. All he needed was some snacks.

Maker, man, you just ate, he reprimanded himself quickly. Once the Champion's victory was ensured and she and her companions had parted ways, Aedan dropped down from his rooftop. His goal was to catch up with Isabela, as she was the only one of the Champion's current companions that he knew. And he had some questions.

Isabela still was quick, he realized as he jogged after her and soon lost sight of the swaggering pirate. Guessing, Aedan turned a corner and found himself in a dead end alley. "Shit." He spun around and found his way blocked in. He repeated his earlier sentiment. "Shit."

The cutthroats in front of him were desperate and hungry, Aedan's least favorite combination. They were very seldom swayed from their path. Ah, he'd try anyway.

"Gentlemen," he addressed them pleasantly though they were anything but.

Their leader, the cleanest of the group, grinned at him. Aedan sighed. He could already tell he was going to regret this little jaunt of his. "You're Ferelden."

Oh, by Andraste's shield, was his accent really that obvious? "So you've noticed," he returned flatly.

"How could we not? You Fereldens invade our city and stink up the damn place. Doglords," he spat at Aedan's feet and the noble felt his lip curl unintentionally. The man went on. "And now one of your bitches is our "champion". The Maker does like to play games."

Aedan, as much as he wanted to, couldn't argue with him about that last part. He definitely was regretting not having his shield with him. He had brought his family sword and shield with him for this occasion, cleaning it clean of dust. He may have taken up Warden made weapons, but having his family's blade in hand and shield covering his back was more comforting than he liked. Regardless, he still had the Cousland family blade with him. It would be enough.

Though he tired of this game and was becoming cross, Aedan attempted to engage them in conversation once again. "I need to pass. Is there anyway we can make this happen without bloodshed?"

"Name your price." The thug's eyes wandered over to Aedan's purse.

To the Void with that. He still had some semblance of honor, after all. And paying a toll to some dirty Free Marchers for safe passage would shatter it. He was about to tell them to shove it when reinforcements literally rained down from the rooftops. It seemed in Kirkwall thugs and expendable mercenaries just fell from the bloody sky. Before Aedan could decided with group of thugs to turn his blade on first, the ones in front of him or the ones that had just dropped in, the leader fell forward with a bright, golden handled dagger in his back.

"You take the ones on the right, I'll get the left." Isabela had appeared, dark haired and deadly temptress that she was, pulling out another dagger from somewhere on her bodice. She added with a smirk Aedan recognized, "Sound like a plan, sweet thing?"

Aedan gave her a quick bow. "After you, Isabela." Without waiting another moment, Aedan spun and hacked at the side of the nearest merc. It wasn't a lethal stroke, but it did what he had in mind. It knocked the mercenary to the ground and kept her there, but it didn't kill her. Yet.

Isabela did her work on the others as he slashed and hacked his way through the rest. Without his shield he was allowed more freedom of movement, though it also left him more open. He sustained a few cuts, nothing critical, but the worst of it came when he opened up the throat of one attacker and was sprayed with a wave of blood without a shield to block it. There was no way he was going to be able to slip into the Comte's home dripping in blood. It was not the right way to begin their budding relationship.

Wiping blood out of his eyes, he looked for his next target and found himself blessedly alone with Isabela. "Well," he said, sliding his sword back into his sheath. He'd wipe it clean later. "That was invigorating."

"Why is it only bloodshed that gets you going?" Isabela frowned at him, trying to scrub grime off her bare legs. Aedan blinked as he studied her, glad to see something familiar in this blasted place. But why wasn't she wearing pants? Probably the heat. Aedan didn't blame her at all. If he had her legs, he'd do the same. "I know other activities that involve less blood and are just as invigorating."

The Warden chuckled at that. "I see you haven't changed, Isabela. Almost thought you didn't recognize me back there. I know your Champion did not."

"You've never exactly been one to blend into a crowd. There's not many men that could boast your size. " Isabela was practically purring now.

Aedan groaned. He thought he had escaped such obvious euphemisms when Zevran had left for Antiva. "Already, Isabela? Really? I'm all covered in blood."

"As if that's a turn off." She laughed freely at him. "And why shouldn't I hit the ground running? I don't see that wildling of yours. She was not the sharing type if I remember correctly."

His smile was forced now. "No, Morrigan was not. And I thank the Maker for that."

"Oooh, you nobles are so stuffy." Isabela sighed and sheathed her daggers. "Well, Cousland, was there a reason you were following me?"

How did he want to play this? He decided to be straight with her. "I find myself with business in Kirkwall."

"Maker, I could have called that. You don't do anything without some greater purpose."

Peeved with all the interruptions, Aedan talked over her. "I've been sent to attend your Champion's banquet. And since it seems the two of you are acquainted with one another, I thought I'd ask you your opinion of her. And I also need a bath."

Isabela grinned and gestured to the open ocean that was accessible through the docks. "The ocean's all one big bath, you know. I'll find us a secluded spot."

"I'd appreciate it," he returned suspiciously and followed her down to the docks and to a stretch of empty beach. With the hour so late there was little chance of them being spotted. It would do, he supposed, as long as he didn't take his time.

Aedan began stripping off his clothes. His armor was too noticeable to wear and not draw attention to himself so that had been left back with the Comte and Comtessa. When he noticed Isabela wasn't joining him he called her out on it. Her reply? "I prefer to watch."

"That's not what I've heard."

"Oooh, you're funny now?"

"Just honest."

"Bah," she shook her head in disapproval. "Those clothes are done for. I'll see if I can find you some others. Wait here."

Aedan drawled in response, "Oh, yes. I'll just wait here, naked and exposed, in a strange city while you run off." She didn't even respond to that. Just ran off into the night, hopefully to return with pants that would be long enough. Aedan started scrubbing his boots first. He had slipped in some poor sod's intestines earlier and the smell was getting to him.

Luckily for him, Isabela did return with pants. And with a few friends from the local brothel. The pirate had promised them a chance to see the Hero of Ferelden naked and the bastards had jumped at the chance. "I hate you!" Aedan shouted at her and her company as he tried to pull on the new clothes as quickly as he could. When he was finally fully dressed again, he clambered back up to the main part of the docks and watched Isabela's friends scatter into the wind.

Straightening out his collar, Aedan sent a scathing glare Isabela's way. "Though I appreciate your friends' interest, all I asked for was pants and your opinion. I have the former, but I'm still waiting for the latter."

"You're just going to her banquet, what do you need to know about her?" Isabela watched him try to keep his new, too wide pants from slipping down. "You're thinner than I remember."

"You met me before I took a little trip down to Fort Drakon's dungeons. Lost a bit of weight there. Gained some height, though." The image of a rotting, blood stained rack flashed in the back of his mind. Self-consciously Aedan began to rub the messy scars on his wrists.

Isabela was untroubled by his words, though he knew she got his meaning. "Ah, luckily for you I brought this with me." She held up a black strap of leather in her hands. Aedan blanched.

"You're a special woman, Isabela, but I'm, uh, not into that."

She hit him with the strap, guffawing. "It's a belt, not a whip." She reached out and grabbed the front of his pants, yanking him forward. She began the work of slipping his belt through the loops and buckling it for him. Aedan just rolled his eyes and let her. "So," he said nonchalantly, "the Champion. What kind of person is she?"

"One that worries too much. And feels guilty about things she cannot change. Sort of like you." Isabela thought for a minute. She added with a chuckle, "And makes really bad puns. All the time. Every time she decapitates someone, every time, she says "someone didn't have their head in the game"." Isabela did her best imitation of Hawke's Ferelden accent.

"You're kidding me," Aedan told her in disbelief. "I thought she was a cutthroat mercenary."

"What? She can't do that and make puns?"

Well, he supposed it was possible. "Perhaps I should wait and see for myself what she's like."

"I'm not lying to you," Isabela protested. "Farm boy."

He scowled. "For that I'm only buying you one drink."

"Hey, it's a start."

Aedan shook his head and followed her into the local tavern. He took the time to drill her about Kirkwall and the Arishok before she spotted someone friendlier and with a freer purse. Aedan wished her luck and set out back for the Comte's mansion.

"Can I dance?" Hawke repeated the question slowly. Bran was back in her estate, along with a few of her companions, and was quizzing her once again on what little etiquette she knew. "I know a few reels, but..."

"Those are peasant dances," Seneschal Bran snapped, his migraine worsening by the hour.

Hawke threw up her hands. "Imagine that. The peasant girl only knows peasant dances. Who would have called that one?"

Bran sighed deeply. "Then I suppose I'll have to teach you the fundamentals."

Hawke quickly raised a hand to keep him at bay. "Ah, I'm not dancing with you. Dancing with you means you'll have to touch me and I've seen you in Anders's clinic way too many times to allow that to happen." She turned to her friends. Her only other options were her rogues; Varric, Sebastian, and Isabela.

Isabela sauntered over. "C'mon, Hawke. You don't want to embarrass yourself in front of the Warden."

Confused, Bran and Hawke asked at the same time, "The Warden?"

They didn't know? Isabela was practically bouncing with glee over the fact she knew something the rest of them didn't. Even Varric looked at her blankly. "Wait...you all don't know?" She ran over to Hawke and, taking her arm, twirled the mage around a few turns. "The Hero of Ferelden is coming to your banquet!"

"What?" Once again Hawke and Bran spoke in unison. Bran, however, recovered first.

"Ferelden did say they were sending an ambassador. He must be the Warden, Lord Cousland, I believe?" Bran's initial shock had easily dissipated. Hawke's had not. Her voice cracked as she choked out, "The Warden's coming?"

"If I can help it, yes. Again and again."

"Isabela, take this seriously!" Hawke shrieked and raced over to Sebastian and grabbed both of his gloved hands. "Choir Boy! Teach me to dance. Relive the days of your wild youth, but watch yourself!"

"Ah, Hawke, slow down!" Sebastian pleaded with her as she had taken to spinning the both of them around her study's floor. "This isn't even a dance!"

"I have to learn something! Lead, Sebastian, lead!" Hawke was almost frantic. "I can't make a fool of myself with the Warden there! Shit! I didn't listen to anything Bran said!"

"What do you mean you didn't listen?! I've been here for days!"

Varric nudged Isabela, giving her a knowing look. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

"Oh, I most certainly am." Isabela pulled Hawke out of her and Sebastian's ridiculous spinning. She waited for Hawke to get her sense of balance back before she started in on her. "You have a crush." Isabela stared at Hawke as if she had just given the pirate the greatest gift in all of Thedas. "You have a crush on the Hero of Ferelden. You've never had a crush! Never!"

Hawke protested that. "I've shown an interest in people before! You can't tell me I've never had a crush."

Isabela waved a hand at that. "Yes, I know that, but you've never blushed or ran into stuff or let your mouth say stupid, embarrassing things you can never take back. But look at you now! You're acting like an idiot!"

"Oh, shut up." Hawke grumbled irritably. "There isn't a woman in Ferelden that doesn't have a crush on the Warden. The stories you hear..." She sighed dreamily before crossing her arms and scowling. "It's just a dumb crush, all right? Don't make me any more nervous than I already am."

"You're nervous about facing down a few nobles?" Varric chuckled. "Imagine how they feel about meeting you, the little Ferelden girl who brought down the Arishok?"

"I was allowed to stab the Arishok. I'm not allowed to stab the nobles. I think. Am I allowed? Like it there's a really obnoxious one?" She looked to Bran expectantly for an answer.

He looked disturbed. "I hope I don't actually have to reply to that."

"Then I'm going to assume that's a 'yes'."

"It's definitely a 'no'."

"I'm definitely disappointed."

Sebastian clapped her chastely on the shoulder. "Don't worry so, Hawke. I'll be there. And if you get nervous, I find reciting the Chant calms me down."

"I only know the dirty version of the Chant, Sebastian. I doubt that will help."

The Chantry brother looked stricken. "There's a dirty version?"

"My heart is yours, my breasts are yours, and my ass is yours. For all who walk in the red light of the brothel are--"

Sebastian cut her off with a sudden cry. "Hawke! It's 'my hearth is yours, my bread is yours, my life is yours. For all who walk in the sight of the Maker are one'. What you said was blasphemy! "

"You didn't even let me get to the next verse. That's where all the good blasphemy takes place." Isabela nodded in agreement.

"Please don't."

Bran tried to get them back on track. "Hawke, do you have an escort for the night?"

Hawke's face twisted in confusion. "You want me to hire a whore?" She ignored the sounds of Bran hitting himself in the face.

"Maker, no!"

"Ohhh." She thought she understood. "An armed escort, then? I should be fine. I'm all healed up and should be good to go."

Varric came to her rescue, as usual. "He means to say that an unmarried woman such as yourself needs a male escort. It's improper not to. According to Orlesians, at least."

There was a pause. Hawke slowly inched over to Sebastian and latched onto his arm. "I have an escort. One that won't touch my ass or let anyone else touch it either. It's a good trait in an escort."

"Ah," Sebastian peeled her off of him. "I'm not sure that would be appropriate."

"And Duke Prosper already has provided you with-" Bran began before Hawke cut him off.

"That guy again? Who is he? Did I save his grandmother from certain death or something?" Hawke found a chair and sank into it. Her mabari, Rebel, ran over to her and started licking her hand.

The Seneschal looked tired. "I'm sure I don't know. But the Duke has offered his son as Serah Hawke's escort for the night. It would be wise to except."

Hawke groaned. "Why is he doing this to me? Did I kill his grandmother?" Rebel sensed her distress and whimpered in response.

"His son is named Cyril. Lord Cyril." Bran, obviously at the end of his rope, began gathering up his things. "Serah Hawke, just...try not to embarrass Kirkwall."

"Bran, without me there wouldn't be a Kirkwall." She was sitting upside down now, her feet kicking in the air. It was quite the spectacle.

He stared back at her for a moment. "Yes. And how you accomplished that I will never know."

"Rebel, see our guest out."

Bran startled and then stumbled out the estate with a mabari at his heels. Hawke grinned.

"Good, boy."

There were positives to having a squire, Aedan decided reluctantly. Though he was unused to being waited on, it was nice not having to unpack. When he had finally returned to the de Launcet's place his things were already laid out and cleaned. Damn, the girl was efficient. The following morning the Comtessa sent for him. Evidently she had been put in charge of choosing and designing his outfit for the Champion's banquet.

If there were any ruffles on it anywhere, he was torching it.

The Comtessa greeted him with kisses on both of his cheeks. Aedan just stared at her, stunned with the sudden intrusion of his personal space. Orlesians were...odd.

She seemed to sense he wanted to rush this encounter so she quickly showed him his outfit, draped on an armor stand. "What do you think? I had Isolde help me."

Well, there weren't any ruffles. It had that going for it. And he had been worried when she had mentioned Isolde. Eamon's wife was a strong woman, but she still had Orlesian fashion tastes.

Honestly, he had grown unused to fine clothing. He couldn't recall the last time he had worn such finery. But, he had to admit, what Isolde and the Comtessa had done wasn't in any way bad. It suited him, he thought, feeling the material. The pants were dark grey with a light grey top. Intricate designs covered the collar in sky blue thread. Black boots polished to a shine, probably by his own squire, were on the floor next to the clothes. The outfit also had a cloak, blue-grey in color. It was pinned with a silver griffon. Aedan couldn't help but smile at that. Once he had hinted to Alistair how much Wynne despised griffons the two wouldn't talk of anything else while in her company. It wasn't Aedan's best moment, but in his defense, he and his company had walked everywhere and there was only so much one could do to entertain themselves on the road.

The Comtessa waited until he was done admiring her work. "Will this suit you for tonight, my Lord?" She actually sounded worried. Aedan gave her a nod and tried a smile on her.

"It will do, my Lady."