Our Ghosts Are The Same

Dragon Age 2

Chapter 15: For Ferelden

A/N:Hey. Another chapter! Finally, right? Unfortunately it may be the last for awhile. Not because I've lost interest! I'm just going to Naval boot camp in February and believe it or not they do not allow time for fanfiction writing. So there will be a break but once I'm out of basic I'll try to pick this back up!

Aedan could feel the judging eyes of Hawke's companions on him. Anders, Varric, and Fenris were waiting to see if he would go along with her antics. He doubted the rest of them often refused her. Before he had a chance to accept himself, a heavy dwarven hand clamped down on his arm and steered him back onto the bench. Damn, Aedan had nearly looked over Ohgren's presence at the table. Usually the dwarf's scent gave him away, but he fit in quite nicely with the overall stench of the Hanged Man.

"Go easy on him, Champion. Boy still hasn't forgotten the time he lost to me." Ohgren grinned at Aedan through his blazing red beard. "Poor sod passed out right in front of his lady-friend."

That memory caused his brows to pinch together. Morrigan had never let that damn night go. The whole camp wouldn't let it go. Even Wynne of all people had given him shit for it. Feeling it necessary to defend his own honor, Aedan grunted, "That's because dwarven ale is not meant for human consumption. Hell, I don't think it's meant for dwarven consumption."

"Blah blah blah." Ohgren was unimpressed by excuses or explanations. "Three sovereigns says this little girl drinks you under the table."

Hawke let out a low whistle. "Cousland, he just called you out."

This was a mistake. Getting smashed with a blood mage and her mentally unstable friends was never a wise choice. But the need to wipe that smirk off Ohgren's face was too great. Aedan adjusted his collar, cracked his knuckles, and said in response, "I'd like to point out two things to you, Ohgren; one, that's physically impossible and two, you're on."

"Perhaps..." There was a pause. Words were suddenly becoming increasingly difficult to form. Which was not something Hawke was used to experiencing. She always had something to say, not always the right thing, mind you, but it took a lot to still her tongue. And tonight a lot evidently meant over a dozen ales. It was over a dozen, right? Maker, she hoped someone was keeping track.

Aedan was still working on his last pint. Hawke had secretly been hoping that the warden-commander would be a loud drunk or a funny one. No, he grew even quieter and more thoughtful the more he drank. It wasn't exactly the change of pace she had been hoping for. He finally looked up at her moodily and asked, "Perhaps what?"

"Perhaps this wasn't the best idea I've ever had," Hawke finished awkwardly before Isabela slung an arm over her shoulder and patted her hand with her own. "This is supposed to be a celebration!" She gestured wildly to her friends, all who, like Cousland, were sitting quietly and drinking. Fenris and Anders had even come together to play a card game, despite their disdain for one another. Hawke knew Fenris had only agreed because Anders was so bloody awful and the elf took a small amount of pleasure in defeating him, if only in cards. "Two legends are sitting at a table together and nothing is happening!"

Isabela's sing-song voice rang out before Aedan could answer Hawke's accusations. "Oh, Kit, you can't help it if Cousland was born boring." The pirate fixed the noble with a satisfied smirk until Aedan slammed his fist onto the table. Drinks rattled from the impact, threatening to tip over.

"Hey!" Hawke cradled her drink to her chest protectively. "Watch it. This right here is number twelve-"

"Fifteen," Varric corrected, holding up a sheet of paper with tally marks scratched onto it.

"Fifteen? Really? Should I still be alive?"

Aedan interrupted her mercilessly. "Oi, Hawkling. I'm not going to say this hasn't been fun, but some of us have to try to sneak back in an Orleasian mansion tonight. How about we settle this the old fashion way?"

Varric was the most intrigued and thus asked first, "And that is?"

"Arm wrestling."

Fenris laid down his hand and looked over. Hawke was snorting helplessly. As she said incredulously, "Arm-wrestling? D'you really think I'm going to go for that?", Varric said, "She'd love to."

The warden obviously chose to listen to Varric. He propped his elbow up on the table, waiting for her to do the same. Hawke stared at his hand, frowning and realizing there was no possible way she could beat him.

Without cheating.

"Okay, Warden, what are the stakes?" She made a show out of pushing back her sleeves and getting into position.

"Stakes? I win, you let me go. And," he added, just as Hawke thought he was finished. "Afterward, you help me complete my task, the reason I'm still in this pisshole of a city."

Ah, he was talking about the spy ordeal. Since she had refused him Varric was Cousland's only option left. "Don't call my city a pisshole," she snapped without any real fire. Kirkwall was sort of a pisshole. "And if I win?"

The bastard laughed at the idea. "If the impossible happens, you can choose."

"Fine." Isabela and Varric were suddenly paying attention. Anders had abandoned the card game and was hovering protectively over Hawke's shoulder. "I win, you have to answer three questions. Truthfully. No exceptions."

Isabela booed that decision. "Questions? That's what you want? Hawke, you're not thinking this through. This could have been our only chance to get him to take off his pants."

"Oooh, damn. You're right. I don't think I thought this through-"

She was quickly cut off. Cousland was wagging a finger at her. "No. We already agreed to the three questions. Let's stick with that, shall we?"

Shrugging noncommittally, she answered, "If you wish. It's a shame, though, if you believe what the whores have been saying about you."

Anders in particular was intrigued by that. "You've been to the brothel? Andraste's knickerweasels, I'm going to have to write Nathaniel."

Cousland was getting irritated, as was Hawke's intention. "Technically, Isabela brought the brothel to me, and Maker, Ohgren, it wasn't for that."

Now Fenris was hovering, hunched and watchful and as usual, wary of her latest antic. "He could break your arm, Hawke."

Ah. Now Cousland was impatient. "I promise I won't. Let's get on with it."

"Cousland, the first day I met you you snapped some guy's arm like a twig." But still she put her arm on the table and curled her fingers around his hand. Oh, maker, she was definitely going to have to cheat.

Varric was busy taking everyone's bets. The odds were not exactly in her favor. In a small show of pity Aedan assured her, "I'll drag it out. Don't want to embarrass you in front of your friends."

Mercy? From Cousland? He was going to regret that. "I appreciate it, Cousland. I really, really do."

Isabela leaned over the table and placed her hands over Hawke and Cousland's clasped hands. "Everyone ready?"

Hawke and Cousland groaned in unison. "Yes."

"Shirts off?"

"Isabela."

"Alright, alright." Isabela let go of their hands and shouted, "Begin!"

He wasn't even trying. Normally she would have felt insulted, but this could actually play in her favor. And an idea was forming that would test their new relationship. It was dangerous, yes, but Hawke didn't trust anyone that heard the word 'blood mage' and didn't start reciting the chant of light. She personally liked those sorts of people, though it was her experience that anyone who was fine with blood magic, it was usually because they were into something worse.

Letting it look like she stood a chance, instead of just slamming her hand to the table, was sort of nice of Cousland. If nice was ever a word she would have used to describe him. However, he was going to regret that soon.

Hawke clenched his hand tighter and discreetly and slowly used her blood magic to start leeching off his strength. As their hands suddenly dipped lower to his side of the table, a direct result of her spell, she said through gritted teeth, "You know, I used to have a crush on you." Fuck it if Fenris heard her. She was going to test Cousland's 'tolerance' of blood magic, now, before he was out of her sight and possibly running to the templars with her secret.

Cold, warden grey eyes widened in surprise. Whether it was from the sudden flow of blood magic or from what she said, she didn't know. "Used to?" he finally answered.

"Yes, well, that was before I met you." She smiled snarkily until she felt a strange sensation running up and down her arm. What the fuck? Hawke looked up at the man straight across from her and startled. Cousland was smiling. She didn't need to be a mage to sense that wasn't right.

"Not used to being on the other end of it, are you?" Oh, Hawke didn't like that tone. Her friends wouldn't understand what he meant by that and Varric even asked for clarification that he never received. But she knew. The strange feeling in her arm had to be part of those reaver techniques Cousland had claimed to have. He had likened them to her blood magic but she hadn't understood the similarities until now. The closest she could come to describing it would be that it was a sucking feeling. Like being drained, which she guessed was exactly what was happening.

She almost felt bad about the scum she used her own blood techniques on.

Ohgren was Cousland's personal coach now. "Warden, what's taking you so sodding long?"

Cousland snapped at him. "Ohgren, shut up. Hawkling-"

Hawke sped up her draining spell. If he wanted a battle of wills she'd gladly give it to him. Cousland grunted in response. "I don't like that nickname, Warden." This must have been taking longer than Isabela anticipated because the pirate yawned and started wandering around the table, trying to distract them both into making a mistake.

Cousland sneered and fought back as well. Damn, she was certainly glad she didn't run into too many reavers in Kirkwall. "Would you prefer Marian then?"

That caught Isabela's wandering attention. "Why would you call Hawke Marian?"

Hawke was equally as confused as her companions. "You all do know I have a first name, right?" There was an unearthly pause. "Oh, I am so not talking to any of you."

"Your friends are very perceptive, Marian. And I'll ask this again, 'used to'? What? Am I too tall?" Cousland was starting to win, mostly out of pure strength. Her magic wasn't going to help her this time-

Oh, wait. Maybe she just wasn't using it right. Hawke smirked. "You're prettier in the stories."

"Are you saying I'm not-"

The small shot of electricity she sent up Cousland's arm was barely noticeable to the naked eye. It was very noticeable to Cousland. Noticeable enough that she was able to slam his hand down on the table and end the match. The table erupted in a chorus of boos and cheers in equal number. Hawke started laughing until Aedan jumped up from the table. As was her habit, she decided to speak first. "You shouldn't have gone easy on me. And, in my defense, you never said no magic."

He was about as convinced as she thought he'd be. He stated simply, "You cheated."

"Yes," Hawke shrugged, waiting to see if she was going to end up fighting the Hero of Ferelden after all.

"You're a cheater."

She gestured to herself and to Isabela. "We prefer the term survivalist, thank you."

His Ferelden accent was getting thicker. "I ought to kick your arse, Marian." Fenris stood up slowly, the only one in the tavern to take his threat seriously. "But, you're right. Should have beat you when I could. Tactical error. Won't happen again." Aedan sat back down, sipped at his ale, and gestured for her to go on. "Now, then. These questions. Shoot."

Answer three questions? Aedan shook his head and downed the rest of his drink. Fine, but knowing Hawke these questions would be immature. Asking about the color of his smalls or queries about his virginity or lack thereof. Maker, he should have just taken her down quickly, as he would have any other time. But he hadn't wanted to be rude.

Instead of winning and leaving, Aedan had been tricked into a game of wills. His reaver skills versus her blood magic. Rather risky with all her oblivious friends gathered around and scores of templars combing the city for her kind. She had been testing him. That was certain. Trying to see if he'd give her up now that they were in public.

"First question," Hawke-now-Marian interrupted his mental analysis of her possible motives. "What's your favorite color?"

The boos from her companions were quite amusing. Aedan just raised a brow, surprised. Hawke was clever. She wouldn't waste this opportunity on something idiotic like that.

"Purple," he answered. Ohgren gave him a strange look for it, but it was the truth.

"Like lilac?" Anders teased.

"No, darker purple...you know, what? Forget that, next question."

Hawke leaned back and grinned, hands laced behind her head. "Second question, Warden. Do you take after your mother or your father?"

What in the Void is she leading up to? "These are not the sort of questions I thought you were going to ask, Marian."

Varric snorted, as disappointed as Isabela was. "No kidding."

Marian looked perfectly satisfied as she waved a hand at him. "Oh, come on, Cousland. Everyone has a parent that they try to be like and then there's the parent they actually are like. Believe it or not, there was once a time I tried to be a right proper lady like my mother. Most uncomfortable thirty seconds of my life."

"You lasted thirty seconds?" That was from the elf behind her, the protective one she'd been fighting with in the Deep Roads earlier.

The Champion was refreshingly honest. "Give or take. Mostly take."

Aedan wished he hand been drinking more heavily now. Speculating which of his dead parents he was more like was not something he exactly wanted to do. Ever. "Shit, Marian," he sighed. "Fergus was more like my father. Goodhearted, always joking. Jokes my mother and I used to sigh at."

"You're a momma's boy, good to know."

Not what Aedan wanted to hear. He tried to tune out Ohgren's guffawing. "Alright, Marian. Not that I'm not thrilled that your dwarf friend is writing all of this down, but can we get to the final question?"

Varric held aloft his quill with a tilt of his head. "I'm my vast experience I've learned to take notes."

Aedan wanted to move things along. "Final. Question."

"Okay, okay," Marian held up her hands, shrugging. "Now this last one might sound a little ridiculous. But what I'd like to know is..." There was an unnecessary pause for effect. "What did you do to my baby brother?"

It was amazing how quickly the atmosphere in the Hanged Man changed. The other patrons continued drinking and talking too loudly, but everyone in their little corner of the place was as silent as the dead.

"Could you be a little more specific?" Now Aedan knew what had been the point of this little game. The Champion didn't know what had happened with her brother, one of his newest wardens. What Aedan didn't understand was why the Champion hadn't fulfilled her curiosity with Anders. Aedan wasn't naive enough to believe Anders was still so loyal to the grey wardens as to keep all their secrets. The real question was why wasn't Marian asking Anders things questions, unless she didn't trust him to tell the truth.

Marian's playful smirk was all but gone. "Your warden, Stroud, the one with the fantastic mustache, he was reluctant to take my brother on as a recruit. I nearly had to beg him. I want to know why. I can't imagine it was because he didn't think Carver was warden material." Aedan didn't recognize this new edge to her voice and it was damn apparent that her companions didn't either. "My brother's been running from templars and the Chasind and those who would sell his sisters to the Chantry for a copper since he was out of diapers. Why did Stroud hesitate? What happened to my brother when your lot took him in."

"When my lot took him in?" Aedan repeated quietly. He shared a quick, concerned glance with Anders. "They postponed his death."

That answer was unsatisfactory. Marian frowned. "I know that. I-"

"No, you don't. They postponed it." The grey wardens did like their secrets. Personally Aedan felt it was their damn secrets that caused every king and commoner alike to mistrust them. "Your brother will still die from his...affliction. I'm sure Stroud mentioned that becoming a warden isn't a cure." Stroud wasn't one to cut corners. Took being a warden very seriously, even, Aedan had to admit, more seriously than he did.

She nodded. "He did say that. Several times. Until it got annoying."

Aedan had to give him credit. Anders tried to steer Marian away from this topic of conversation. "Hawke, we can talk about this later. I'll-"

"Try to protect me. You'll lie." Marian never looked away from Aedan. "Keep talking, Warden." Gladly, if it gets me out of here. "Since your brother joined us his death's been set in stone. He has thirty years, unless the darkspawn get him first. Sorry, less than thirty. "

"What?" Marian leaned forward. "I mean, when he said it wasn't a 'cure' I thought he just meant Carver would have to fight darkspawn for the rest of his life."

Anders wasn't so keen to be sitting so close to Marian now. Aedan continued, "There's that, but what eats away at the darkspawn is eating away at your brother as well. Thirty years is approximately the time it takes for this to destroy the body and mind of a warden." A thought hit him, one that he'd been able to keep at bay for a long time. "It's getting closer to twenty for me."

And with that Marian shut down. Her face smoothed over, her sarcastic mask slipping back into play. "Damn. Guess you're rethinking that career choice."

Wasn't a choice. Aedan kept that to himself. "I am sorry about what happened to your brother. And maybe he won't appreciate what you did for him now. Maybe he will never appreciate what you did for him."

Marian laughed. It was faked, but he could barely tell. "Aren't you a ray of sunshine."

"You didn't let me finish," he tried to say. The middle of his sentence was interrupted by the smoking bastard he had knocked cold hours ago.

"You piece of Ferelden dog-shit."

"Yes?" Marian answered cheerfully. She tilted her head at the confused stares of Aedan and the formerly comatose bastard. "Oh, sorry. I thought you were speaking to me. Old habits from living in Lowtown, I suppose."

The man grabbed Aedan's arm and sneered at her. "Wasn't talking to you, bitch."

"Hey, piss off," Isabela threw her empty mug his way. "We're all angry and drunk and you're insulting our friends." Her words were silently seconded by the elf and Anders. Varric's quills were out of sight and that crossbow of his was lying on the table.

"My fight's with him," he replied and Aedan knew the man must still be suffering from his earlier head wound. Smart people didn't point to him and announce they wanted to fight. "But," he continued, nodding to Marian, "if your dog-fucking girlfriend wants to try a real man any time soon, I have a room upstairs."

Aedan's next move was, in a word, spontaneous. He didn't normally do spontaneous but someone needed to punch that arsehole in the face and Hawke was all the way on the other side of the table. And Ohgren, well he was in too deep into his ale to know what the hell was going on around him.

Hitting the drunk was called for. Shouting, "You Free-Marcher piece of shit, how dare you talk to your champion that way," was less called for.

Aedan watched the man drop to the floor, again, until he felt Marian's hand on his shoulder. "I'd say thanks for that, but right now I think I should point out that you've insulted every Free-Marcher in the place and they are all drunk enough to want to fight you."

After a brief examination of the situation, Aedan confirmed that she was right. A lot of people wanted to kick his arse right now. "Why do I always hit the fucker with the most stupid friends in the same place?"

"Don't know," she grinned, her feet shifting into a fighting stance. "But maybe a black eye might pretty you up a bit, Cousland. Certainly couldn't hurt."

"If we weren't about to get into a drunken brawl together, Marian..."

"Ah, but we are. Try not to break any of the chairs. Corff hates that."

"This wasn't my fault." Hawke had tried that line on Aveline before (unsuccessfully), but it was honestly, swear to the Maker, actually true this time. The Hero of Ferelden had technically started it. She had just joined in the fight a little too enthusiastically.

Aveline held her face in both hands for a long time before she looked up again. "Hawke, you're trying to tell me that the Hero of Ferelden, defeater of the Blight, commander of the Grey, Arl of Amaranthine-"

"Oh, I didn't know he was an Arl-"

The guards-captain continued on as if Hawke had never spoken. "-brother of Teryn Fergus Cousland, actually started a bar fight in a foreign country he's a tourist in. That's what you are trying to tell me?"

Hawke considered that considerable statement. "I doubt he'd like being referred to as a 'tourist'."

"I could give a fig what he likes, Hawke!"

"They insulted Ferelden!"

"Is that why Fenris got involved? And Isabela?"

"They insulted Ferelden...in a roundabout way," she finished rather lamely. "Shit, it might be better if you have Cousland explain all this."

For once Aveline didn't see the need to argue. "Perhaps that would be best. Bring the Warden in!" she shouted to some guard Hawke didn't recognize. Must be new, she definitely would have remembered that shapely ass.

She had to hand it to him, even with a black eye Cousland knew how to walk into a room like he thought he was better than whomever else was in it. "You called for me, Guard-Captain Vallen?"

"Yes," Aveline gestured for him to sit down. Rude, Hawke thought, since she was making her stand. "I thought you could explain what transpired in the Hanged Man this evening."

"I can. The Champion's safety was in question and I and her companions acted accordingly." Aedan shrugged. "She was insulted directly, though it was I that caused the original offense."

Those two sentences were not going to satisfy Aveline. "That's it? That's all you have to say?"

"That should be all I have to say."

Ohhh, shit. Aveline would not like the way that had come out. Cousland could sound really snotty when he wanted to. He was using his I-didn't-kill-a-fucking-dragon-to-be-talked-to-this-way voice. It was sad that Hawke could already recognize it.

Finally, "There will be fines."

Cousland was undisturbed. In fact, he looked bored. "They will be paid."

Aveline pointed at the two of them. "And this can't happen again."

"I promise," Hawke saluted her awkwardly. She was starting to feel the effects of the night's drinking binge. Aveline remained unconvinced.

Shuffling through some papers, Aveline told them as though it pained her to do so, "You've both been sitting in lockup for a good time now, while we sorted this out. I'll give you time served."

"And that's our cue!" Hawke tugged Cousland out of his seat and passed Aveline's frowning guards. She tried to find the one with the nice ass on their way out but she was long gone. Cousland allowed himself to be pulled along until they reached the courtyard. Her house was only a few yards away; Cousland had to turn a few more corners to find the de Launcet's place.

Hawke held out her hand. "Is this where we part ways as unlikely friends? Or is this when we fuck? I can't remember."

Cousland made a strange sort of choking sound in surprise. "Sometimes I wonder how it is that you defeated the Arishok," he admitted finally, trying to change the conversation.

Oh, well. Can't blame a girl for trying. "It went down like this, Cousland." She started mimicking Varric's wild hand gestures he used when telling a story. "So...so the Arishok says, 'submit to the Qun'. And so I was like, 'submit to my dick...'"

"That is not how it happened."

"It wasn't? Damn, it should have happened that way. All I remember is running in circles. And being impaled. Maybe we need another drink."

"Drinking is what landed us in jail."

She felt like arguing with him for argument's sake. "The night is young!"

"The sun's about to rise." Cousland was determined to be a buzzkill.

"Fuck. Is it?" Hawke started for her door. "Shit, then you might as well stay for breakfast."

The mention of food had his attention. "Breakfast?"

"Yeah, but don't be too excited. It's Sandal and Bodahn's turn to make breakfast. Enchanted toast and jam again."

Cousland stopped in her doorway and refused to move any further. "Did you just say Sandal and Bodahn?"