Our Ghosts Are The Same

Dragon Age 2

Chapter 16: Special Delivery

A/N:Guess who's back? Graduated book camp and all that and I'm starting nuclear power school. Will work on this as much as I can! Sorry if it's a little short, just wanting to get something out so y'all know I haven't disappeared. Feel free to let me know any questions, comments, concerns. This may take a bit of a more serious, militaristic turn, but hey, I just got out of basic training what do you expect?

Sandal was hanging for dear life on one of Aedan's legs. And he wouldn't let go. Aedan had tried peeling off the young dwarf, had even tried bribing him with pie, but to no avail. Now the warden glared impatiently (as though this was Hawke's fault-which in a way she supposed it could be construed as her fault, but really she had only suggested that Sandal give Cousland a hug) at her, but she didn't really see the need to help him out. Instead Hawke made for her dining room table and sat down, waiting to be served. Bodahn, after he had greeted the warden and rambled on about their travels together, had left for the kitchen and was making something that didn't smell poisonous, at the very least.

"Honestly," Cousland shouted to the kitchen, "I didn't think I'd ever see you two again!"

"Enchantment!"

"Yes, Sandal, enchantment. Can you let go now?" Sandal was obviously reluctant, but Hawke was surprised to see he actually listened to Cousland. Once free, Cousland sat down across from her at the table, similar to how they had been seated last night.

Hawke pushed her chair far enough from the table so she could prop her boots up on it. "Bodahn, you run into the most interesting people, don't you?"

"It's just my good luck, I suppose," the dwarf admitted. "Or bad luck, depending on how you look on it. The two of you get into an awful lot of trouble."

"It's not intended," Cousland said as Hawke replied, "It's just what I do."

"Right," Bodahn narrowed his eyes. "I did hear something about the two of landing yourselves in jail. Not that that's unusual for our Serah Hawke-"

Hawke made a face. "Thanks, Bodahn."

"-but Cousland, I'm surprised at you."

As Cousland attempted to explain, Hawke quickly spoke over him. "You shouldn't be. Cousland just gets out of trouble and silly things like consequences because he's a blueblood."

Hawke glanced impishly over at Cousland, wanting some kind of reaction only to receive a simple shrug. "Sometimes it pays to be a condescending noble," he retorted glibly.

She looked sheepish for once. "I am sorry that I called you that."

"It's fine...wait, you never called me that."

"Not to your face."

Cousland's eyes narrowed and Hawke could tell he was debating on whether it was worth arguing with her. Finally he made a swipe at her boots and demanded in that snotty high and mighty tone of his, "Get your damn boots off the table."

"It's my table," Hawke argued before she gave herself a hard push away from the table. Standing and swaying a bit, she added brightly, "Let's go to the Hanged Man for breakfast."

"You mean that dirty place we were kicked out of last night?"

"Shut up. You sound like you're Orleasian. And do you know how many times I've been kicked out of there."

"I could hazard a guess."

Bodahn watched them, smiling softly until he smacked himself swiftly in the forehead. Hawke gave him a careful look. "Trying to kill flies, Bodahn?"

"No, serah, though I hate the blasted things," the dwarf admitted with a slow shake of his head. "I simply failed to mention that you received a package last night while you were-"

"Warming the jail bench for Isabela, go on," Hawke interrupted.

Bodahn decided to forgo that train of thought. "I'll go and fetch it now, serah."

"Unless it's pancakes, I don't really...and he's off," she finished lamely, looking over at Cousland. "He's very determined, isn't he?"

He was trying to hide a smile. "He certainly isn't easily deterred. Even if you have an army of darkspawn gnawing at your rear."

"Sounds like that's from experience," Hawke pointed out and gestured with grabby hands for Bodahn to give the package he was entering with. "Gimme, gimme. It's probably from Lord Cyril." She dropped her voice to a whisper, wiggling her eyebrows at Cousland while he struggled to keep a straight face, "He wants me to have his fancy Orleasian babies."

Cousland had perfected the monotone. "You must be thrilled." He shook his head disapprovingly as Hawke shook her wrapped package, trying to guess what was in it.

"Who doesn't want a bunch of children with accents you can't understand?" She slowly and agonizingly began tearing off the brown wrapping paper. "Could be a book," she hummed cheerfully. Hawke paused. "It better not be a book."

"Literature never hurt anybody."

She countered peevishly, "You've never read any of Isabela's novellas. I've been permanently scarred. And that takes a lot."

Cousland gave a sort of half-snort before slowly sipping the hot tea Bran had brought him. He enjoyed a few minutes of glorious silence before he realized something was wrong. It was silent. Hawke was silent.

He looked up at her, expecting her to be stuffing her face with some pastry or such and instead found her to be staring down at the table, visibly shaking. "Hawke," Cousland started, slowly standing up from his seat. "What was in that package?"

"You need to leave."

Oh, she was giving him orders now? He had had enough of that back in Ferelden. Cousland placed one hand on the table and used it to vault over. Pushing away the discarded brown paper Cousland snatched away a frame and studied the picture closely. It was a worn painting of a older woman, hair grey but still elegantly done up and pinned. "Who is this?" he asked quietly as Bodahn appeared at his shoulder.

The dwarf pulled on the human's arm until Cousland lowered the painting enough for him to get a glimpse at what was causing his mistress's distress. "It looks like..." He almost seemed afraid to finish. "It looks like your mother."

"Doesn't it?" Hawke's voice is too high, too unnatural. "That was the problem, wasn't it? This women looked like my mother! This fucking bitch-"

He didn't know why he did it, but Cousland laid a hand on her arm to calm her. She was obviously having some sort of a meltdown and while he did try to think of something reassuring to say all he came out with was, "Who sent this?"

"I don't know," she began, but then...

There was only one person who would have snuck down to that fucking necrophiliac's sewer to steal that bastard's painting just to torture her with. Someone she should have killed a long time ago.

Hawke suddenly shoved Cousland away from her and stormed for the exit. Under her breath she corrected herself. "Oh, I know."

Meeran was half-asleep and fully naked on his bunk in the middle of the Red Iron's warehouse. He was having a rather good dream about one of the brothel girls, the one who had actually been rather impressed by his stories. The only one that bothered actually talking to him. It was getting good, too, that was until an incessant pounding started at his door. It was quickly followed by yelling.

"Meeran, wake the fuck up! I need to talk to you! Fucking now!"

"Hawke!" Dammit, he thought when she had quit the Red Iron he would have been saved from her horrible sense of timing. "What in the Maker's name do you want?"

Meeran felt the room shake as Hawke threw her body at his locked door. "I want him fucking dead!"

Tired of her screaming through his door frame, Meeran threw the door open, recalling all too late his current lack of attire. "Who this time? And why can't you handle this yourself?"

"Gascard Dupuis." Hawke was unfazed by his package. Sadly it was a feeling Meeran was used to. "I think he's been stalking me. Maybe behind the attempt on my life. I don't know, this is all very sudden." Hawke stepped inside his room and immediately began pacing in a small loop. "And I can't find him. So I can't kill him. You need to find him."

"I need to find him?" That sounded like a lot of work.

"Yeah," Hawke muttered, a hand pulling at her already too short hair. "Send out your men. All of them."

Oh, this definitely sounded like a lot of work. "All of my men?" What had this Orleasian pansy done to piss Hawke off this bloody much? "You couldn't afford that if you gave me the deed to that estate of yours."

"Then consider it fucking yours." Hawke snarled. "The rest will come later."