One Small Miracle
Sunlight filtered through the haze created by unwashed bodies, peat fires and humidity. Daria Hawke tried not to breathe too deeply but she was beginning to feel light-headed. She gulped and held her breath until her eyes watered, before releasing it in a gush of air.
Aveline brushed against her as they wove their way through the mass of refugees.
"This is a ridiculous waste of time," the woman grumbled close to Hawke's ear.
"So is standing around waiting for a miracle. We've been here a week with nothing to show for it while more and more refugees pour into the city. State. Whatever."
"City-state. Honestly, Hawke, I don't know why you can't grasp that simple concept."
Daria eyed Aveline with hostile blue eyes and shook her head. She wondered, not for the first time, when she had ever met a less joyful, good-humored woman. Oh, right, her mother was just such a one. That was a less than happy thought.
Head down, she pressed on, trying not to let her worries overwhelm her. She was not exactly waiting for a miracle, but she was certainly wishful of one. Just a tiny one. A bit of help in getting out of the detainment compound and into a place of their own. But the coins she had brought with her were dwindling daily and still the family remained in the holding area. A growl of frustration erupted as she pushed relentlessly forward. Into something hard, that stopped her progress and sent her stumbling back, clawing the air for a hand hold.
A masculine hand reached out and grabbed for her but missed. She fell with a loud thump and an even louder curse. "Maker's Arse! Watch where you're going!"
A voice, as smoky and rough as well-aged Antivan brandy, flowed over her and a well-shaped, calloused hand extended to help her up. "I beg your pardon, milady. I did try to dodge you, but you seemed particularly intent on running me over. Have I done something to offend your ladyship?"
She glared up into a ruggedly handsome face, a pair of gray eyes fairly twinkling with amusement beneath silky black brows, and equally black eyelashes that any woman worth her salt would kill for. His dark hair brushed his broad shoulders. There was a cleft in his square chin and the hint of a dark beard shadowed his face. Maker, he was nice to look at. Definitely a cut above the other refugees from Ferelden.
He waved his hand in front of her and Daria realized she was gawping like a schoolgirl. Embarrassed, she scrambled to her feet and tugged on her stained tunic. Why hadn't she worn something less grubby? Less "I'm a refugee" and more "I'm part of the estimable Kirkwall Amells."
He was certainly well dressed. His set of dark, oiled leathers were meticulously detailed and a beautifully crafted bow was slung casually over his shoulder. He was obviously part of an estimable family from somewhere. Ferelden, from his accent.
"I apologize. I'm trying to get out of this particular pit of torture. Why aren't you?" she asked, and mentally shook her head at how obnoxious she sounded.
"I am trying to get across the Waking Sea to Amaranthine," he replied with a faint smile, as if he enjoyed her offensiveness.
"Again, I apologize. I'm not sure where that came from. I'm Daria Hawke," she added, trying to find a smile as she extended her hand. "And this is Aveline Vallen."
He took her hand, bowing over it. She shivered as his breath feathered against her knuckles. Maker, he was smooth. She swallowed her sigh and pulled her hand back. His eyes still betrayed his amusement.
"I'm Nathaniel Howe," he supplied finally, and she felt Aveline bristle beside her.
"Lord Rendon Howe's son?" the older woman asked, her voice burning with hostility.
"Yes. Do you know my father?" he returned, surprise lifting one silky black brow.
Daria was aware of an undercurrent from both Aveline and Nathaniel Howe and her eyes swung between the two, her nerves strung tautly.
"I know what he has become," Aveline said, and scorn scorched her words.
Daria groaned, wondering frantically what she was missing and then remembered the rumors that she and Carver had heard while in Ostagar, awaiting the battle. Her eyes closed briefly as she sent a prayer to the Maker. For all the good it did.
"And what is that, pray tell?" Nathan asked quietly, hints of tension and threat threading through his tone.
"He murdered the Couslands and all their retainers, soldiers and guests, except for Devon Cousland, who was saved, no thanks to your father. Arl Howe and Teyrn Loghain staged a coup, killing not only the Couslands but the king, as well. Your father will one day die a traitor's death. I only wish I could be there to see it."
Daria watched as the color washed out of Nathaniel Howe's face, leaving it as pale as the white granite of Ostagar. She put a hand on Aveline's arm and shook it gently. "Enough, Aveline. Enough."
Nathaniel turned his eyes on her and the question in them compelled her to answer honestly, but more gently than Aveline's stinging indictment. "I'm afraid what she has said is true. He has taken the Cousland lands as his own and is Teyrn Loghain's right hand man. Teyrn Loghain quit the battlefield and left the king and the Grey Wardens to die, though what he could have done to save the situation, I don't know."
The man looked as if he had been poleaxed, and it was moments before he gathered himself to speak. When he did, his voice sounded like a rasp on rock, thick with disbelief. "I have always known he could be a vicious man, but this seems impossible, even for him."
Before she could form a reply, a surge of unwashed bodies, pushing and shoving their way to the locked gates, separated them, interrupting her thoughts. A low rumble of discontent filled the befouled air. Daria watched in horror as a group of armed refugees broke from the crowd and began attacking the guards without provocation.
As much as she wanted out of the compound, she wasn't willing to kill the guards, who were guilty only of doing their job, to gain that freedom. Without a word, she pulled her bow from her shoulder. It was nicked, its grip worn smooth, the wood warm and alive in her hands. She swept into the melee, taking aim and downing a man intent on stabbing a young guard. She quickly fought her way to stand beside Captain Ewald, the ranking officer.
"You aren't very popular," she commented somewhat breathlessly as she tried to speak above the roar of the malcontents. She nocked another arrow and raised her bow. He grunted his agreement and banged the flat of his blade into his attacker's face. The man folded with a quiet sigh of surprise.
When the attackers were all either dead, wounded or subdued, Daria glanced around. Aveline was wiping her blade, her face pale but set. Nathaniel Howe was sitting on the steps, cleaning his arrows before replacing them in his quiver. She hated that part of her craft, pulling the arrows from bodies. But it was a necessary part of being an archer and with a grimace, she went around collecting her own arrows.
Nathaniel nodded to her and she made her way to him, plopping down on the step below him with an absolute lack of grace. Her mother would not be impressed, but her legs ached from the unexpected exertion after so many days of sitting in a ship's hold and then forced into cramped quarters in the Gallows.
"Welcome to Kirkwall," she said, shaking her head.
"Not my first trip here and now not my last, apparently. Captain Ewald informed me that no ships will be allowed to dock in Ferelden due to the Blight and the civil war. Which, by your reckoning, my father helped start. The war, not the Blight," he added dryly.
Glancing at him, she saw that his expression was bleak, and his smile was more grimace than grin. For an instant he looked like a lost little boy. She laid her hand on his arm and squeezed gently.
"I'm sorry you had to hear such grim news in that way. Aveline and I both lost loved ones on the trip here and we are not always mindful that others have lost as much, if not more. Bad news is bad news, no matter the source."
He placed his hand over hers and squeezed gently. Her heart dipped and fluttered, and she felt a strange wave of calm wash through her. She had the desire to lean against him, to rest her burdens on his shoulders for a moment. Maker! What was wrong with her? She hadn't felt this edgy and shivery over a man's nearness since she'd fallen head over heels, briefly, for Ser Bryant in Lothering years ago. She gazed down at their hands, trying to think of something more to say. All she heard was the steady buzz of too many people in too small a space and the thump, thump, thump of her heart beating erratically.
"You say you lost someone recently? To the Blight? Or my father?" he asked finally, the husky notes of his voice tickling along her spine, like the deep notes of her mother's now abandoned pianoforte. Her heart skittered down to her toes and back up.
"My brother, Carver, to a darkspawn ogre that makes the statues here in the Gallows look puny. He was trying to protect his twin sister."
"I am sorry for your loss, Lady Hawke." There was sincerity in his words and in the expression of his gray eyes.
"Thank you. It is hardest on Bethany. Mother blames me, of course, as the oldest…the one Father said would be in charge should he ever die. Which he did. And please, Maker, tell me to be quiet," she finished, feeling the heated rush of blood coursing up her neck and flooding her cheeks. What was wrong with her? None of this was his business and she had no right to dump her fears and hurts on him - complete stranger that he was. And yet, he didn't feel like a stranger.
"I was sent away by my father. He wanted my younger brother, Thomas, to be the heir but I am the first born. I was not looked upon with favor once I made clear my desire to become a knight and wander the country helping those most in need. My father was horrified that a Howe would so lower himself when the Howe Arling and a position at court was all that was important."
"So, what brought you here?"
"I was sent to squire under Ser Varley here in the Free Marches. A prosy windbag but a skilled fighter. A Chevalier. He was not much in favor of my picking up the bow rather than the shield and sword, but I found it much more to my liking."
She listened to the deep resonance of his voice and found herself enthralled by it, by him as he wove his story around her heart. She could sit here on the hard steps and listen to him for hours, she was sure. She glanced at him to find him watching her with that amused smile.
"Am I dribbling? Silently mouthing your words? What?" she asked somewhat breathlessly.
"Your face is very expressive, Lady Hawke."
"Please, my name is Daria."
"And now, I must find my way out of here and try to contact some friends who can get me into Ferelden."
Disappointment gave her voice a harder cast to it than she had wanted. "Of course. Why would anyone not want to go to a Blight infested land that is in the middle of a civil war?"
"Put that way, I wonder at my own sanity," he replied with a half-hearted grin. "If not home, then where? I have been so long away. My brother is no doubt clinging to Father's arse, where he has been since he was a child and I know my sister married and has nothing to do with the family. What, except for my past, awaits me there?" he mused.
"Only you can answer that, Ser Howe," she forced herself to say when her heart was crying out to stay with her, to build a future with her. She gave herself a mental shake.
"Nathaniel," he said firmly and smiled at her, a tilt of lips that lit his gray eyes to silver.
In that instant, from one heartbeat to the next, Daria fell in love, deeply and irrevocably. She didn't know how she knew, but she felt it as surely as she felt the sun warming her skin. His presence filled her, somehow, making her more aware, more complete.
Sitting beside him, basking in his masculinity, Daria wished her hair were not quite so curly and of a color other than plain dark brown. No golden or copper highlights for her. She wished her lashes were as long and thick as the Nathaniel's were. Maker, why give them to a man who probably gave them no thought at all? She wished she were beautiful, like Bethany. But wishes were not any more likely to come true than a miracle was to suddenly appear.
"So?" he asked, and Daria blinked.
"So?" she parroted, completely at a loss.
"Why have you not left the temporary detainment area?" he replied with good-humored patience.
"Ha! Evidently, you need quite a lot of money as a bond, or the good word of someone who will attest to your willingness to work and be a productive citizen. Oddly, the last name of Amell no longer holds any sway with the government of Kirkwall." The last was said with a heavy coating of sarcasm.
"Amell? As in "Gambling" Gamlen Amell?" The note of pity was underscored by a hint of compassion, taking the sting out of his words.
She couldn't help the chirrup of laughter at the moniker. "Aptly named. Yes, my uncle. My mother is Leandra Amell Hawke, daughter of the late Lord Aristide Amell. Uncle claims he will return in a week or less with help from a group of either mercenaries or smugglers. Seems there is no alternative. I can't tell you how thrilled I am by the prospect."
She avoided looking at the man beside her, sure she would not like what she saw. On the other hand, his father had murdered one of the most beloved families in Ferelden, so perhaps she was being silly in worrying about what he thought of her family. Still, just mentioning working for a company who knew Gamlen was depressing.
A miracle, she thought wistfully, just one small miracle was all she required. And perhaps, the sun shining on her as she sat next to a gorgeous man who seemed as entertained by her company as she was with his was just such a small miracle.
"We make a fine pair, don't we? Yet, I am glad to have met you, to be sharing the stairs with you. I feel calmer, almost hopeful," Nathaniel said, his voice caressing like roughened velvet against her skin. Had she been a cat, she would have been purring.
They sat in comfortable silence, watching as the city guard cleaned the blood from the square with holystones. Time slipped by; voices around them rumbled soft and indistinct like the buzzing of distant bees. Daria felt drowsy and as relaxed as she had been in months. She felt herself leaning closer to her newfound friend who suddenly leapt to his feet, snapping his fingers. She nearly fell over but caught herself and stood up, staring at him in surprise.
"What?
"I have an idea. It may even be a great idea. Do you trust me?" His voice reflected the excitement of his expression.
She needed no more than a blink of an eye to answer. "Yes, oddly enough, I do."
"Perfect. I know a dwarf who can help you get established in Kirkwall doing legitimate work. He is a brilliant businessman. Even better, he has connections in the government. Let me speak with him and see what I can do."
Cautious optimism began to unfurl in her heart. "You would do that for me?" she asked and hated the hints of suspicion that limned her words.
He shook his head, his eyes suddenly deeply gray and serious. "I would do this for us," he replied.
She shook her head, then nodded. "Yes, please."
"Good, I was afraid you would slap me for my impertinence," he said on a sigh of relief. "I will go and see him immediately."
"You can just come and go as you like?"
She tried not to sound accusatory, but she knew she did and was about to apologize when he took her hand and bowed over it, his lips brushing across her knuckles and leaving her breathless.
"I can and I will. He might not be here in Kirkwall at the moment, but I will find him and get things settled. Should your uncle return before me, do not go with him or the gangs he suggests. Promise me?"
She nodded, finding speech impossible as a lump rose in her, threatening tears and a quivery voice, laden with those tears.
He gave her fingers another brush of his lips and then turned, striding to the gates. She watched as he slipped coins to a guard, who pushed the gate open far enough for him to squeeze through.
And then he was gone. She stared at the gate, now closed and sank back onto the steps.
The wait was excruciating. She tried to convince her mother, as well as a skeptical Aveline, that Nathaniel Howe was an honorable and chivalrous man, whose word was his bond. Aveline finally agreed but her mother was less sure. Finally, Bethany spoke on the matter.
"Mother, I think we must wait for this man. Uncle Gamlen may have room for us, but his connections are unsavory, to put it mildly. Daria has a gift for judging people accurately."
"Thanks, Beth," Daria said, tapping her sister's cheek gently, hoping such faith was not misguided. And not at all surprised that her mother listened to Bethany, rather than her eldest daughter.
On the third day following Nathaniel's departure, Gamlen arrived at the Gallows with a surly, burly, balding man and a surly, slim young elven woman. Daria's heart sank to her toes and stayed there. Where was Nathaniel? Where was her one small miracle?
"Did I not say I would return?" he asked with a flourish. Whiskey made a mockery of his gesture and both the man and the elf who were with him ignored him altogether.
"Meeran, with the Red Iron Mercs. You good with that bow?" the surly burly man asked gruffly, pointing to her back.
"Better than some, worse than others. Not that it's any of your business."
"Huh, mouthy, aren't ya?"
"I need someone with grit and fortitude," the elf interposed, stepping forward. "Can you use any other weapons? Can you fold into the shadows and maintain a low profile?"
"I can do what needs to be done, within reason, providing I am willing," Hawke replied stiffly.
The elf walked around her, studying her with sharp eyes, poking her once in the stomach and one on the arm. "Not in great shape, but we can fix that quickly enough. What's your bid, Meeran? For both?"
Fury awakened in her, her heart resurrecting in her chest and setting her blood on fire. She turned to her uncle, grabbed his wrist in a grip made strong by both anger and years as an archer. She tugged him aside and then dropped his wrist with a great show of distaste.
"How can you sell your niece to either one of those leeches?"
Gamlen glanced down at his wrist and rubbed it. "Ow. Was that really necessary?"
He looked away then, unable to meet her accusing glare. Hawke felt her stomach roil. "Please don't tell me that they want Bethany too? You weren't stupid enough to tell them she was a mage, were you?"
"Here, now, that's no way to talk to me! I'm your uncle!"
"Not by my choice, Gambling Gamlen." The jab hit its mark as Gamlen flinched. She continued without allowing him to speak. "And I will not go with either of those two criminals. I will not be a bond servant. I'd rather rot in here and so would Bethany," she hissed at him, nearly vibrating with her anger.
"Hey you, watch who you call a criminal!" Meeran growled. He lowered his voice and glanced around to make sure nobody had heard him. "I don't take mouthy young jump-ups to work for me. Sod off, the lot of you."
He stormed away from them and all but slammed the gate behind his departure. The elf grinned and shrugged. "If you fight as good as you speak, I'll be happy to have you on board."
"No. Not now, not ever!" Daria assured, her chin high, her jaw tight.
"But Daria, you need to do this. How else will I get rid my deb…er… how else will you get out of here?"
Stunned, Daria turned a look on first Gamlen and then the elf. "You…you despicable, sleazy, old sot! You were going to have us work for these miscreants to not only pay our bond off but also pay off gambling debts?"
For the briefest moment she saw regret and shame on her uncle's face and his shoulders slumped. But the elf, shaking her head, disappeared as if into thin air.
"You have no idea what you've done," Gamlen whispered in anguish.
"Yes, I do. I have saved the Hawke name from sliding into the ignominy that now plagues the Amell name. Oh, Uncle, how could you?"
His eyes watering, he clutched at his hands, twisting them over and over until he finally thrust them behind his back. "Desperation. Sheer desperation," he mumbled and, turning, he began to shuffle away, shame radiating from him.
"Daria! You have damned us to rot in this miasma," her mother moaned when she explained what had happened.
One small miracle. That was all she needed to make things right and she had cast her fate on Nathaniel as that miracle. "Don't let me down," she whispered.
Another desultory day of waiting passed, with nothing but her mother's silent recriminations to bear her company as she waited. And waited. And waited.
Another day went by and Daria felt the enormous weight of what she had done bearing down on her. Her mother's recriminations became hers as she lambasted herself for being a fool who fell for a handsome face and broad shoulders. Empty promises. She had chased away the only hope that had been given to get out of the Gallows.
The sixth day dawned bright and clear with a gentle breeze that lifted the pall over the refugee camps. Aveline had found herself a job with the city guard and was packing her small rucksack, trying not to gloat and almost, but not quite, succeeding.
"I'm sure he will be here soon, Hawke. He said it might take time to track down his friend. Don't give up hope. Once I'm established, I can put in a good word for you, maybe get you hired with the guard."
Daria nodded, only half listening. Her mother was fretting again, whispering a prayer about thankless daughters. Bethany gave Daria a reassuring smile as she patted her mother's shoulder.
One small miracle, that's all, she pleaded with the Maker as she stood in the shadows keeping her vigil.
And then she saw two men, one tall and one short, making their way towards her little encampment. The tall one had wonderful broad shoulders and a bow on his back. The short one, she noted, was a dwarf with a crossbow on his back. As he neared, she saw an abundance of golden chest hair peeking out from his white lawn shirt and a teasing grin lighting his face. Nathaniel wore an equally teasing grin.
"Sorry for the wait but I –" Nathaniel began but by then Daria had launched herself at him and her lips sought his.
"Well, you said she was fast, Nate, but I thought you meant with her bow and her brains."
Blushing, Daria began to pull back, but Nathaniel's arms held her fast. She raised her eyes to his and saw them darkened with emotion. "Don't you dare apologize," he said gruffly and lowered his lips to hers again.
"Well, if Bianca and I aren't wanted, I can always return to the Hanged Man," the dwarf smirked.
Finally, Nathaniel pulled back and put her carefully away from him. "Before we are banned from Kirkwall for lewd conduct," he explained.
And then the dwarf stepped forward with a courtly bow. "Varric Tethras at your service. And I am hoping you are Daria Hawke, archer extraordinaire?"
"I am pleased to meet you, Ser Tethras."
"And even more pleased to see Nate, apparently."
Daria cast a smile at Nathaniel. "I cannot lie. I had almost given up hope. My uncle came by days ago with someone from the Red Something or Other, and a female elf, both of them anxious to pay Gamlen's debts and indenture my sister and me."
"Varric was out of town and I rode out to find him. It took longer than it should have but here we are. Varric has a proposal and so do I."
Daria's heart stuttered and then sped up and for a moment she forgot to breathe. "Say on," she finally managed.
"I am a businessman who is expanding that business into Tantervale and possibly Markham, if Tantervale proves successful. I want Nathaniel to head that venture and he swears he needs your assistance. I can't promise a huge salary, but I have a property in Tantervale that will be at your disposal, as well as a small stipend."
Daria stared at first the dwarf and then Nathaniel. Was it possible?
"Nate says you have family and, while I am not particularly partial to mine, I understand you may be partial to yours. They are welcome to accompany you, but I can't afford to put them on the payroll until Tantervale is up and running profitably."
Daria slammed her lids down over her eyes as tears began to form. She pinched the bridge of her nose to stop them as her brain tried to absorb the information. A job, away from the stench of Kirkwall and its horrible memories of the Gallows. A job working with the most wonderful man she had ever met. A job. A miracle.
Nathaniel put his arm around her shoulder, hugging her close. "Too much good news?" he asked sympathetically. She rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart until hers matched.
"I only asked for one small miracle," she said, her voice thick with unshed tears.
"Voila…I'm small. At least height-wise," Varric Tethras said with a chuckle.
How could she have known that the Maker would take her prayer so literally? Standing within the circle of Nathaniel's arms, she saw the future unfold before her, working side by side with Nathaniel and, perhaps in a few years, a small miracle or two would grace their life together.
Nathaniel tipped her head up and kissed her again. "Shall we go and tell your family, my love?"
One small miracle and one large one, she amended and thanked whatever gods had seen fit to honor her request.
Two years later Nathaniel and Daria Howe were given another small miracle in the form of their first born, a son.
~~ Fini ~~
This was written for zevgirl for the 2020 Secret Santa story exchange.