Our Ghosts Are The Same

Dragon Age 2

Chapter 24: (Part Two) Something Borrowed

A/N: Well, well, well. I have good news and bad news. Good news (for me, at least) is that I just commissioned some art of art of Aedan and Hawke. Bad news, I'm starting the second period of my training. Why is that bad? I'll have to focus on really fun stuff like nuclear physics rather than this. I'll still chip away at this as I can. I have everything planned out; it's more a time issue.

This chapter is a little long.

Also I was reading the Howe's wiki page and it mentions that Delilah Howe will complain about almost being in an arranged marriage to a "stuck up Cousland boy". I feel like that was/is an accurate description of Aedan.

Fenris was not adjusting to Ferelden's weather as well as Varric had hoped. Hawke's mabari, Rebel, had the opposite problem. The dog was so relieved to be off ship and somewhere familiar that it had taken to nipping at snowflakes and running circles around their broodiest friend. Surprisingly Merrill wasn't adapting either and she had lived through Ferelden winters many, many times. Varric deduced that it might have had something to do with the elven pair's lack of body fat. They really needed to eat more.

And after hearing Isabela grumble about the travesty of having to wear trousers in this weather for the fourth time, Varric understood finally why he exaggerated about Hawke's life so much. Her actual job sucked.

The general public was not helpful, either. Fereldens were stubborn and naturally suspicious and usually intoxicated. If it weren't for Rebel, Hawke's mabari hound that they had dragged along, Varric suspected they would never have made it as far as they had. First stop had been the Grey Warden's keep outside Amaranthine and it had been a bust. The overseeing commander, a gloomy and proper Nathaniel Howe, had been rather reluctant to reveal the Champion's current location. Very, very secretive, those blighted wardens.

It had taken some convincing, but Varric had more charm than half a dozen men, as Isabela had often put it.

"I don't get her," Isabela complained after they had left the Keep for their next destination, a little place called Highever. "She kills a man, runs off to Ferelden, and thinks, hey, might as well crash a Teryn's wedding while I'm at it? Wait, never mind, that sounds just like her."

"It's better than her just running off into the Wilds to disappear like any other apostate, as we had assumed," Varric pointed out blandly. "I hear in the Wilds even the trees try to kill you."

"That's true," Merrill nodded, stretching up on her toes. "But sometimes they're just poets."

Varric leaned into Isabela and accidentally caught a faceful of her chest. "That make any sense to you?"

"Of course not."

"Good."

It took them longer to get to Highever than they had hoped, even with Fenris stalking ahead and carving a path out of bandits and bears. Highever, when they had finally reached it, was less impressive than they had imagined it would be while hosting a wedding of such grand status. It was closed off and dark and the group didn't see another soul until they reached the castle gates.
"They're closed." As usual, Fenris was a man of few words.

Merrill suggested, completely serious, "Do we knock?"

Varric studied the tall, imposing wooden gate that was the only thing separating them from Hawke. He was about to suggest they try another route, something more roguish and possible towards the back of the castle when the small side door directly next to the gates opened up. A man in grimy armour and tattered clothes ushered them inside with quick, panicked movements. "Get inside! Quickly! We can't let them get out!"

Varric noticed that the elf was smiling wryly. "Ten sovereigns," he muttered to the dwarf in confidence, "that whatever's going on here is Hawke's fault."

"Not even Gamlen would take that bet, Broody."

Their guide led them through the courtyard at a fierce pace none of the weary travelers appreciated. "I really hate to ask this, but," Varric made one attempt to find out whatever Hawke had sodding done. He was quickly cut off by their new friend.

"Are you the King's men or did the Teryn send for you?" The man at the gate led them inside a small dining hall that, which escaped absolutely no one's notice, was smeared in blood and ashes. Worn out men and women sat at the benches, hunched over stew or bloody weapons. "Or are you from the Circle? We sent the Queen and that Warden for the templars just a few days ago but I suppose you must have some sort of transportation magic?"

Merrill's eyes widened. "Oh, my. You really don't understand magic at all."

Isabela understood what this all meant first. "Alistair's here? Something big is going on. Something that'll probably not pay well," was added quieter so only Varric could hear her.

Realizing this was going nowhere, Varric prompted the guard with, "Uh, we're with the Champion of Kirkwall?"

"The Champion?" was repeated in disbelief. "We were never told that she..." That train of thought was quickly given up on. "She's in the library. I'll take you there but we'll have to be careful. She's asked not to be disturbed or she'd turn us into something unnatural. But I'll tell her you all insisted."

Varric was tiring of this slow introduction; he cut to the chase. "What exactly is going on here?"

Their guard stopped short. "If you have no idea what's been going on, why are you all even here?"

Merrill made an attempt to answer that. "To help?"

"Let's be realistic," Isabela corrected. "We'll see."

"I'm no mage," the man began, though that was painfully obvious to all of them, "but from what I've been told there's been a tear in the Veil and we've been dealing with the fallout. It's been mostly under control since the Champion's took charge."

Fenris was skeptical. "Hawke placed herself in charge?" He did not doubt that Hawke possessed the necessary qualities for leadership. It was more the fact that she was not known for acting on them. Meredith had had to threaten her before Hawke would face down the Arishok. Until then she had been going on about how "Antiva is nice this time of year".

Their guard frowned at Fenris's doubt. It seemed like Hawke had made herself a fan. "She practically kicked all the visiting nobles out once the demons started appearing outta nowhere. Made some marquis cry and threatened to set most of the ladies on fire because they complained about getting mud on their slippers."

"That's silly," Merrill quipped. "Ferelden is mostly mud. What did they expect?"

"To not be kicked out by a former Ferelden peasant, I suspect, Daisy."

Rebel whined impatiently at their slow progress. The guard seemingly noticed the mabari for the first time and grunted. "I've been ordered to take any hounds and send them to our first line of defense. Champion said we're to use the dogs first before we send people."

"This is Hawke's mabari," Varric tried to explain but he was ignored. It was hard to sweet talk Fereldens; they preferred action over words any day. So they had to watch another guard lead Rebel away before they were allowed to move on.

Highever's library was, to put it lightly, a wreck. Every bookshelf was pushed against the walls, on all three sides, in order to make more room in the center. There was a lone table in the midst of all this and someone in a long tattered cape was working at it diligently. Wisps floated slowly through the air, bouncing off the ceiling. The room glowed with a pale greenish light from torches along the walls. It became clear that they were dealing with a mage and probably in the middle of some odd experiment. And as the mage was not facing the doorway, they didn't even notice the little party enter.

The guardsmen announced their arrival perhaps a little too loudly. That hunched back straightened quickly and their fist pounded into the wooden table. "Maker dammit," they cursed and though she was swearing violently Varric's mouth twitched into a smile he couldn't even try to hide. Here she was. The damned Champion of Kirkwall was actually doing something 'magey'. Alert the presses. The wisps vanished as Hawke slammed her palm into the table once more. "I ordered you to keep distractions out of here."

Their guide bowed in apology, a wasted motion as Hawke still had her back to everyone. "My apologies, Champion, but I have some friends of yours here."
"Friends?" came the unimpressed snarl. "Is that supposed to be a joke?"

"Hawke, that cuts me real deep." Varric knew he had to interrupt. His friends behind him were growing uncomfortable at this commanding, angry version of Hawke that they did not know. "And after all we've been through."

"Varric?" Hawke's tone lost it's demanding, fierce edge and went up a few, embarrassing octaves. She stepped away from her work table and whirled around, eyes wide and bloodshot from exhaustion. Her gaze was slow and confused as she took them all in. Varric could see her mouthing their names in wonder as she stared at each one of them in turn. "How are you...What are you... Am I hallucinating? I mean I accidentally inhaled some lyrium dust an hour ago and lemme tell you, it's not all Samson cracked it up to be."

Varric felt the tension in the room dissipate. He stepped further into the room after gesturing for the guard to run out before Hawke tried to strip his rank or something. It had been mere weeks since Hawke had fled Kirkwall for Ferelden and yet Varric could already see that his friend had changed. She had abandoned her ragged, patchwork armour in favor of a slim, expensive suit and bloody cape that had no other purpose than for decoration. It made her look noble and he didn't think it suited her, at least not the Hawke he knew. What made the whole image complete was the silver encrusted circlet that adorned her brow. That in itself could not go overlooked. He had to say something.

"Are you wearing a crown?"

Fenris was, perhaps, even less pleased by Hawke's outfit. "That's a Tevinter artifact."

"It's a defense against templars," Hawke corrected, but her voice wasn't reassuring or calm as it was when she usually addressed Fenris's suspicions. "Unless you all came to Ferelden just to tell me Meredith isn't asking for my head on a spike anymore, I'm going to continue wearing it." Hawke paused. "Please tell me that's why you're all here, because it's so cold here I don't think I can live in Ferelden again."

"I'm afraid not, kitten," Isabela drawled and sauntered over to feel Hawke's new clothing. "Ooh, this is nice."

Hawke rubbed at her eyes. "Andraste's ass, I'm glad you miraculously showed up but you all have just stepped into some real shit."

"Care to explain?" Varric asked.

"We've heard about some demons," Merrill offered up what little information they already knew.

"So many demons. So many," Hawke admitted and slouched forward in defeat. "Everyone," she waved a hand around, "take a seat, have a drink, because explaining might take awhile. I'll tell Varric everything that went down because I'm honestly afraid what he'll do if I leave any details out and then he can give the rest of you his shortened version. That's probably full of lies."

Varric was immediately concerned. She wasn't doing this to spare Fenris, Isabela, and Merrill her inability to tell a story correctly; there was something she didn't want the others to know. Perhaps several somethings. Wary, Varric followed Hawke into a side room of the library and waited while she kicked the door shut.

Hawke leaned against the nearest wall and slowly slid onto the floor. "I am so tired," she whined, looking up at him for once. "Before I begin, Varric, why did you all track me down? Is Meredith close? I-"

"It's nothing like that," he quickly assured her. "Frankly," he said, eyeing a lone bottle of liquor perched on one of the many bookshelves, "we were worried. You left Rebel behind and that shady Red Iron bastard has set up shop in your estate and-"

"Rebel!" Hawke interrupted with a shout. "Is he here?"

Varric studied her reaction. "He's here but 'your' men took him away to fight demons."

"Ah. Shit. It'd be hypocritical if I sent for him now." Hawke used her hands to hide her face from him. "You're just here because you were worried about me?"

That should have been obvious, but Varric replied anyway with, "We thought you'd desperately need our help."

The admission came easily. "I do."

"So I've noticed. Wanna tell me what's going on, Hawke?"

"Now, Varric, I have never boasted your story telling skills but I suppose I'll give it a shot."

She wasn't completely certain that she was wearing her outfit correctly. The pants felt wrong and she had never worn a cape for anything other than warmth. Did it matter what shoulder it fell over? Hawke didn't want to accidentally insult someone; she liked to work at that.

Thankfully then Cousland entered her quarters, knocking on the door a few times before she answered. He had assigned himself as her escort just after Anora had made a big deal out of the fact that Hawke did not yet have one.

Until then Hawke had assumed the future Teryna did not care for her, and the whole "it's improper to have an escort" bullshit would have made Hawke count that theory as correct if not for one little thing. After Cousland's head had snapped up at Anora's voice and he had declared himself, rather vocally, as the Champion's escort, Anora had turned Hawke and, of all things, smirked. Hawke even swore that she had seen the woman mouth, "you're welcome" before she leaned into the Teryn and shared something in confidence. Hawke couldn't help but turn pink as now Fergus was grinning wickedly at her. And through all of this Aedan wasn't paying a lick of attention to anything else other than the plate of food in front of him.

What was going on?

She had suspicions that Fergus and Anora were conspiring against her, but for the Champion's own good certainly. What she couldn't understand was what made them think that she wanted to spend more one on one time with the younger Cousland. Hawke couldn't think of what she had done or said that would make Anora or Fergus presume that was what she wanted. Unless Aedan had said something to them...

No, that was ridiculous. Earlier that day they had been fighting again and she had claimed he was a quarter Orlesian. That wasn't something one could just take back.

Hawke forced that memory away for later analysis, perhaps when the man it centered around was not in the room alongside her. "You look fine in that shade of red," Aedan remarked upon entering.

She made a face. "The crotch fits weird."

"I'll have the tailor flogged again, don't you worry." His form of humor was quite unsettling.

"I liked you better before you started trying to make jokes."

"Not a joke." Aedan gestured down at himself. "Does this suffice, my Lady?"

"Well, your crotch measurements seem to have been spot on."

"I need you to be serious about this, Champion. There will be a few Orlesians here and I want to avoid talking to any of them. And that means my clothes must be pristine." He closed any distance left between them. "I don't think Squire Edith pressed these trousers correctly. Take a look." Aedan turned around then and Hawke wasn't positive what she was supposed to be looking at but she knew what she was looking at. Though slightly distracted, Hawke swore her roaming hand was only trying to straighten a wrinkle in the trouser cloth, she really was, and yet her hand, ah, lingered.

All at once Cousland stopped messing with his cuffs. He grew very still. "Is that your hand on my ass?"

Hawke froze and, unsure, gave his backside a quick pat before retracting completely. Well, it was meant to be just a pat. She was nervous and ended up smacking him hard enough to make the sturdy man jump. "Just, ah, making sure it was still there." Maker, she didn't want to look at him. She had the social skills of a damn mabari and she blamed her father for that. "Let's get going, yes? Sooner we begin, the sooner it's over."

"One could only hope."

At his words Hawke almost thought he was going to let what had just happened go. That was until she saw his shit eating grin. "Oh, shut up."

A few silent seconds in embarrassment passed before she caught him looking at her. He was studying her, not staring. Aedan rarely gazed at anyone for pure pleasure; it was always to get information or to suggest adjustments. "Your hair is too short for a handmaiden to do anything elaborate with it. Do you have any pins?"

"I'm not taking fashion advice from someone who stands around in sweaty armour most of his life."

"If you're not sweating in your armour it's probably because you're Orlesian and you're being killed by a Ferelden sweating in his."

She laughed rather unattractively. "I love it when you talk Ferelden to me." Cousland didn't respond to that. He had resorted to ruffling through her belongings instead. She hovered over him. "Do you remember who you're talking to? I don't own any fancy pins."

"No," he agreed, digging through her things further. "But you have this." Aedan reached in and held up the circlet he had gifted her on her banquet so long ago. "Why do you have this?"

She tried to be nonchalant about it. "Forgot it was in there."

"Don't give me that. You left that bloody mutt of yours behind and yet you kept this? Explain."

Hawke backpedaled. "I was being chased by templars. Aveline was using Rebel for her damned patrols. Fetching him from Viscount's Keep would have been literal suicide. I-I had to. There wasn't any time. And you said-"

"That this would keep you safe from a templar's abilities. I understand." Aedan stood then and held out the circlet to her. "Put this on."

"I'd rather not."

"It'll keep Orlesians from talking to you."

"I don't believe you but I'm not about to take that chance."

She let him smooth her hair down before he set the circlet on her head. It was a familiar gesture but with the exception that she was not babbling like an idiot this time. "There," he said, adjusting the circlet until it sat straight and frowned when Hawke's hand immediately set it crooked again. He sighed and said with more patience than he usually possessed, "You look...not like yourself."

"I'm going to hurt you. But don't worry, I won't make you cry in front of your brother."

"And I'm sure I'll be grateful for that. Shall we go?"

"Only if you promise there'll be enough ale afterwards that I can get more drunk than Ohgren usually is."

"That's a tall order. I cannot truthfully make that promise but an attempt will be made."

"That's all I can ask."

The ceremony was not as elaborate as Aedan had feared. Perhaps, as this was both Fergus and Anora's second wedding, they were less particular about the smaller details as they could have been. Much more effort had been placed in the reception that followed afterward than the wedding itself. And Aedan appreciated it. The dinner was divine and though every noble near him had looked on in disapproval he had felt no shame in asking for thirds.

Besides, he had some news for Hawke and he loved seeing her react to the prospect of her having to spend more time with bluebloods. Aedan discreetly handed her a bit of parchment which was a simple enough task as she was seated to his left. "This is yours."

She took it between spoonfuls of some fancy soup. "What is this?"

Straight faced, Aedan answered, "Your dance card."

"But this is full."

"You said make it known that you traveled all the way to Ferelden just to attend this wedding. I do not disappoint."

"We'll see about that," Hawke quipped. When she caught his pleased expression at that statement she corrected him, "Don't read into that. That's just how I speak."

"As you say."

"Well, you can read into it a little." She slouched in her chair until Aedan reminded her to sit up straight. She complied with more complaining than was ever necessary. Waving her dance card in his face, she continued, "Look at all these people I'm going to disappoint! I can't dance!"

"I am painfully aware."

"You said I didn't step on your feet at the banquet."

"I lied."

Hawke glared at him and returned to studying her card. "Holy shit, the King's name is on here."

"There's nothing to be nervous about. Alistair can't dance, either."

"Uh, your name is on here seven times."

That caught his attention. Aedan peered closely at her card. "What?" She was telling the truth; Aedan didn't know how he hadn't seen it before. "Wait, Anora's handmaiden wrote this, not me."

"Sure she did. I just want you to know I'm going to step on both of your feet this time."

Varric motioned for her to slow down; he was still jotting down notes. "Let me get this straight, you ran away back to Ferelden, to hide from Meredith's templars, and then you decided to crash a high profile wedding."

"Leaving Kirkwall because I'm attending a wedding party sounds much better than leaving Kirkwall because I'm fleeing for my life."

"There's really no arguing with that logic."

"No, there isn't."

"And why did you touch the Hero of Ferelden's ass again?"

"It's rather nice. I would recommend it but you're going to have wait for him to wake up first."

"Say again?"

"I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me continue."

Alistair was a terrible dancer but it did make Hawke feel better about her own shambling feet. He also was a bit of a talker. By that she meant he never stopped.

He was looking everywhere but at her. "Is it weird that I'm here? It feels weird."

Hawke considered the situation. "You did decapitate the bride's father."

"That's it. That's why this is weird. I can't believe Eamon talked me into this." The King stopped dancing as the music changed. "Now do I spin you or do you spin me?"

Oh, she loved having no qualms at all about lying to the monarchy. "I definitely spin you."

And spin him she did. Hawke even managed to work a dip in there as she and Alistair were passing Cousland and his partner. She could hear Cousland's amused snort even over the music as she dipped the King so low his precious hair was in danger of brushing the floor.

"This doesn't feel right," the King complained.

"Hey, who's the expert here? You or me?"

"I thought it was neither of us."

Surprisingly it was Arl Eamon that rescued Alistair from Hawke's shenanigans. "It's time that we speak," the Arl said as he stepped in between them.

"I think he means me," Hawke told Alistair. She waved and ran after Eamon as he had already left without her. "Thank you for the dance, Your Majesty."

"There's really no need to thank me."

Hawke shrugged and offered Varric some more wine she probably wasn't authorized to give away. "And then the Warden and I had a nice, long, and completely unexpected talk."

Varric rose a brow. He sensed she was skipping a few scenes. "But what about Eamon?"

"Maker, Varric, that was so boring! You don't want to hear that!" Hawke 'tsked' him and went on. "And don't interrupt the storyteller, you know that."

"Then please continue. And perhaps without all the 'oh shit, I forgot to mention this one part' business."

"I cannot promise that."

Aedan watched Hawke emerge from her meeting with Arl Eamon and hurriedly abandoned his current dancing partner and appeared at her side. "You look like you fought the wrong end of an Arch-demon."

Hawke laid a hand on his arm. "You know I've been away from Ferelden for a long time. I'm not up on all your new lingo so let's keep this simple."

"It's fairly easy to understand that phrase from context."

"Regardless." Hawke leaned her head on his shoulder and growled. "Arl Eamon is horrible. There's no compromise with him. When I get back to Kirkwall I'm basically his-"

He warned her, "Language, Marian."

"Eamon's going to make Kirkwall zero fun." Aedan made a humming sound in reply. Hawke had learned what that meant; Aedan wanted to say something but wouldn't. "Oh, Maker, what is it? I can take it. I just survived Eamon after all."

He couldn't stop himself from making that 'hum' again. "You're really returning to Kirkwall then." It wasn't a question. Aedan grabbed a cup of ale from a passing waiter.

Hawke slowly and deliberately took his drink from him and downed it herself. "I sort of just accepted a job that requires me to be there. And I made you spread rumors all over the place just so I could return there. This shouldn't be a surprise to you."

"So," Aedan inhaled deeply and could not think of a single way to not make this sound like a business transaction, "You will not leave Kirkwall. But, and this is a completely unrelated question, is my company not unpleasant to you?"

Hawke gave him a strange look. Where was he going with this? He could see that question in her expression and he wished he had an answer for her. "Why do you talk so weird?" she grumbled. "I guess I like fighting with you. That's something. And I never liked my men too pretty."

She was going to go there. Again. "Then I would be permitted to visit you? In your shithole of a city, I mean."

"Would this be a conjugal visit?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of I show up, find out what trouble you've gotten yourself into, tell you what you're doing wrong, and then we try and fix it. If that armpit of a city can be fixed."

"You like to shit on Kirkwall but you do realize Ferelden smells continuously like wet dog."

"Sounds like something an Orlesian would say."

She was wringing her hands together, trying to warm them up with her breath. The temperature was dropping steadily as the night went on. "I apologize for the sarcasm, but all of this...it's rather out of the blue, don't you think?"

"I enjoy fixing messes. It's almost a compulsion. And you, Hawkling, find yourself in quite a lot of them."

She hurriedly shrugged off the compliment. "It's part of my charm."

"I agree. And it's why I'd like to continue seeing you. My position as Warden-Commander has become..." He even hated to admit it. "Routine."

The eyebrow wiggling was only slightly over the top. "Do I break up the monotony of your everyday life?"

He was already regretting this, if his headache was any indication. "Why do you feel the need to speak like a romance novel cliché?"

"Too much time around Varric." The fact she had a response to that so quickly was alarming.

"Nevertheless, I would not wish us to part ways as any less than friends," his voice dropping in volume and trailing off at the end. His focus had switched; Cousland was now eyeballing some Bann's chief guardsmen. "I'm sorry, but that man looks so familiar. I noticed him earlier tonight and it's been bothering me. I asked Fergus where I knew him, but..."

No. His heart skipped a beat, perhaps a few beats—he wasn't keeping track. Logically, he knew that what his gut was trying to tell him could not be true. Even the Maker, in one of his infamous ironic moods, would not allow this to happen.

"Why are you sweating?" Hawke's voice broke his concentration. "You remember where you know that guy from?" Her tone grew mocking, "Is he a prostitute?"

"He was the Captain of Rendon Howe's guard."

A/N: Okay, okay. I know this is really uncool to end this here but this chapter was already dragging...I know this is a lot of talking and leading up to other things but the next chapter will be almost entirely action. Okay, mostly action.