Convergence

A Dragon Age/Harry Potter Crossover Fan-fiction

By Systatic

Summary

Harry chose to move on rather than live, but landing in a world just as war-torn as his own wasn't his idea of an afterlife. But after meeting Malcolm Cousland, he's decided Ferelden isn't all bad.

Chapter Two

A week later, the trio and Odin stood on a hill overlooking the ruins of Ostagar. They were utterly magnificent.

Harry let out a breathy "Wow," at the sight of the afternoon sun reflecting off of white stone towers. The entire structure seemed to glow with an inner radiance despite its obvious age. For Harry, it felt like he was stepping into a piece of history, and judging from the muted look of awe on Malcolm's face, he probably was. It sat upon the lowest point in the hilly lands around it, right on the most accessible entrance to the swampy land beyond.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Duncan asked as he started down the hill towards the entrance, the others trailing after him. "The Tevinter Imperium built Ostagar long ago to prevent the Wilders from invading the northern lowlands. It's fitting we make our stand here, even if we face a different foe within that forest.

"The king's forces have clashed with the darkspawn several times, but here is where the bulk of the horde will show itself. There are only a few Grey Wardens within Ferelden at the moment, but all of us are here. This Blight must be stopped here and now. If it spreads to the north, Ferelden will fall."

Malcolm nodded at Duncan's reasoning while Harry wondered just how large the king's army was.

They approached the entrance quickly and were waved in by guards, who recognized Duncan immediately. Harry's nose wrinkled cutely and he pressed his face against Malcolm's armor-covered arm, groaning in disgust. "Oh, that's vile," he shuddered, much to his friend's amusement. "How can they stand it?"

"It's what hundreds of people and animals living together smell like, Harry."

"I know," the teen whined, "but it's still awful. I swear that I'm going to cast dozens of cleaning charms over the entire place—there has to be millions of germs." More importantly, while Harry's magic bolstered his immune system, he wasn't used to living in such conditions and was more likely to contract sicknesses from this unfamiliar world.

Malcolm chuckled, and Harry enjoyed the low, vibrating rumble. "I can't imagine that I smell like roses either. Give me a few days; water is scarce around here."

Harry blushed and pushed closer to Malcolm as the people—and the odor—around them increased. "But I like the way you smell," Harry confessed. Malcolm smirked down at him.

Duncan, walking ahead, rolled his eyes at their conversation, though his annoyance was belied by the amused smile on his lips. Harry's social awkwardness was oddly endearing. He glanced behind him, nearly laughing when he saw Harry attached to Malcolm's side like a leech, glancing at the world around him like a wide-eyed child. His expression was at odds with the Cousland heir's blank mask.

"Ah, Duncan!" The Warden Commander's musings were interrupted, and his eyes snapped forward in astonishment to see the King himself standing before him in his gold-plated armor. He sighed internally; he should have expected this—Cailan had a certain fascination for the Grey Wardens, and he'd no doubt want to greet a new recruit first-hand.

Harry and Malcolm's attention was drawn away from each other

"Bloody hell," Harry spluttered incredulously, "is he seriously wearing gold armor? Shiny gold armor?" Malcolm stifled a snicker at Harry's barely audible words.

"That's the king, Harry," Malcolm gently scolded, his words carrying no real admonishment.

"Sorry, I couldn't tell. I was rendered momentarily blind by his sheer magnificence. It's like looking into the sun," Harry muttered in faked awe. Malcolm struggled to keep a straight face as the King's attention turned to them.

"You must be the new recruit," the king said, walking forward. Malcolm felt oddly satisfied that the king had to look up to him, and silently admitted that the man's armor was overly gaudy.

"Yes, your Majesty," Malcolm replied, accepting the offered hand and gripping it firmly.

"Allow me, to be the first to welcome you to Ostagar. The Wardens will benefit greatly with you in their ranks." Harry's eyebrow twitched at the king's assumption. Has he even met the king before? The teen glanced towards Duncan to see the man watching the scene with exasperation. Apparently he wasn't new to this King Cailan's attitude.

"Hold on a moment, you look familiar. Ah! You must be Bryce Cousland's youngest! He's spoken about you before. How is he faring?"

Harry winced as he felt Malcolm stiffen against him. The king's hand was released quickly and Malcolm's expression turned to ice. "My father is dead, your Majesty, slaughtered by a traitorous friend."

Cailan looked dumbfounded. "When was this?" he exclaimed, some anger leaking into his words. "Duncan, is what he says true?"

"I'm afraid so, your Majesty," Duncan sighed. "Arl Rendon Howe betrayed Teyrn Bryce Cousland nearly a fortnight ago. Teyrn Cousland had sent his oldest son and troops ahead and waited himself to ride out with Arl Howe's men, who were purposely delayed. Arl Howe's men attacked Castle Cousland the night after the majority of its guard had departed, leaving it defenseless. Fergus Cousland's wife and son were murdered, Teyrn Cousland was injured grievously, and Teyrna Cousland stayed behind to buy time for Malcolm and myself to escape."

Harry felt a fresh wave of sadness well in his chest as he listened to the tale all over again. Duncan's abridged version was no less horrifying than the bloody, heart-breaking narrative he'd heard from Malcolm. He squeezed Malcolm's hand tighter, trying to give what little comfort he could as King Cailan spoke empty platitudes, clearly more concerned with the idea of battling the darkspawn alongside the Grey Wardens.

"Thank you, your Majesty," Malcolm said between gritted teeth. He seriously doubted the king would survive if he kept harping about glory with his head inside his ass, much less bring Arl Howe down. "I must ask, where is my brother?"

Cailan suddenly looked nervous. "I sent him and his men out scouting in the Wilds. He's not due back before the battle, I'm afraid. I'll send out a few men to pull them back, but I can't guarantee that they'll reach them in time. The Wilds are a dangerous place."

Malcolm felt his eye twitch. His brother was a warrior, not a scout. That he had been sent out on such a mission—Maker, the king was an idiot.

Duncan had been just about to excuse his party, sensing Malcolm's understandably deteriorating temper, when Cailan landed eyes on the youngest Cousland's companion. "And who's this?" he asked, leaning in to take in Harry's features, the way that he and Malcolm stood so close together, the smaller tucked under the noble's arm, and how Harry's small hand rested on Malcolm's armored stomach.

It was Harry's turn to stiffen as the Ferelden king invaded his personal space. He didn't like the way the man watched him, and his grip on Malcolm's hand became white-knuckled while his face was a carefully constructed blank slate.

"This is Harry Potter, your Majesty. I conscripted him on my way back from Highever; we'd met on the road and I was impressed with his abilities," Duncan lightly fibbed.

Malcolm was barely restraining himself from glaring at the king, who was staring at Harry—his eyes more interested than they should be—for a longer period than was acceptable. At Duncan's words, however, the king seemed to distance himself; Harry's pretty features were eclipsed by his status as a Grey Warden recruit.

"Two recruits, Duncan? What marvelous news! The more Grey Wardens we have at our side, the greater chance we have! I cannot wait for that glorious moment. The Grey Wardens battle beside the King of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil." He stepped back and smiled at them graciously. Harry suppressed the urge to sneer. "I wish you the best of luck with your Joining, may the Maker watch over you."

Duncan nodded, "Thank you, your Majesty," and motioned for his two wards to follow him.

Harry heaved a great sigh of relief once they were out of sight of the king's entourage and sank into Malcolm's side, the man easily holding him up with a single arm. Duncan gazed at him understandingly.

"Thank you for holding it together back there. I know that King Cailan can be frustrating at times." Malcolm grunted, a bit disgusted with the king's behavior. "Harry, what did you think of him?"

Harry turned to look at the graying man, his expression deadpan. "He's a bloody ponce, that's what I think. He spends too much time with his head in the clouds, and not enough time at how to make every person on the battle-field count. He'll get his men killed with his delusions of grandeur. The Grey Warden's can't be all powerful, and if you're so worried, then it's obvious he's not doing his job."

Duncan frowned at him. "It would not do you good to be seen insulting the king, Harry. Regardless of his demeanor, he is a respected man."

Harry's eyes narrowed in anger, and he stepped away from Malcolm and looked Duncan straight in the eye, "He is not my king, and there is nothing about him that I find worthy of high esteem. With all due respect, sir, I've already been at the forefront of a war—and I'm half your king's age. I first killed at age eleven, thrust into a battle I was ill-prepared for, with thousands, maybe millions, of lives on my shoulders; lives that would have ended had I failed. I do not find the prospect of needless death attractive. Frankly speaking, if someone doesn't beat some common sense into his skull, your little preemptive strike will be useless.

"I apologize if I gave you the wrong impression, but I am anything but weak, Warden Commander. Should I actually try, I am capable of bringing Ostagar to ruin within hours—by myself. I speak from experience, regardless of my age." Harry shut his eyes and forcefully relaxed his tense muscles. "I am tired, Duncan. I am tired of leading, of being strong when I shouldn't have to. I am quiet, yes, and I am ineloquent and awkward, and I am ignorant about this world, but that does not mean I am weak."

Harry slowly opened his eyes, suddenly exhausted. He felt Malcolm come up behind him and leaned into the man's welcome embrace. "I have powers at my command that you could only imagine, Duncan," he said, thinking of the wand that had followed him between worlds, of the cloak on his shoulders, ready to become invisible should he pull up the hood, and the ring, inset with a peculiar stone, on his finger. "I am here because I care for Malcolm, and because I have the ability to help you save your country, but I will only help you; I will not do it for you."

Duncan watched him with wide eyes, thoroughly shocked at Harry's words. It was disconcerting to be scolded by someone else after so long of doing it himself, and certainly by so young a person. That a mind like that was hiding behind Harry's hesitant demeanor was astonishing, and Duncan almost felt guilty for his reprimand where he now knew it wasn't warranted. He bowed his head, "I apologize, Harry." He could say nothing else.

Harry smiled sadly, but nodded, accepting the older man's request for forgiveness. He tilted his head upwards, the crown of his head resting against Malcolm's breastplate, and met Malcolm's eyes. He felt a rush of relief when he saw the lack of judgment there, and sighed tiredly.

Malcolm had known, deep down, that Harry was not all he portrayed, and that he, too, had suffered through much in his life. He was determined to give Harry some semblance of happiness, and if that meant withholding his questions and accepting the teen for who he was, inside and out, Malcolm would do that.

Duncan led them to the Grey Warden's camp and gestured to an empty tent. "I suggest you get some rest." His eyes lingered on Harry longer than Malcolm as he spoke. The teen hadn't been prepared for the long journey they'd taken; he'd fallen asleep exhausted each night and woke up bone tired in the morning, but never complained. "I'll meet you in the afternoon. You'll have the morning free to explore the camp before we need to get started on the Joining."

Harry nodded sluggishly and let Malcolm lead him into the tent. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he whispered, pulling open the clasp at his neck. His cloak fell to the floor in a heap.

Malcolm looked over his shoulder from where he was unbuckling his armor, "Think nothing of it, Harry," he said quietly. "You have no reason to apologize."

Harry smiled gratefully and moved to help Malcolm remove his breast plate and greaves, his slender fingers reaching more easily into the narrow cracks than Malcolm's own. Harry told Malcolm to lay out his armor and weapons, much he had done every night after telling Duncan of his abilities, and absently enchanted a cloth to clean and oil the taller man's equipment.

The youngest Cousland watched Harry work his magic with a smile, ever grateful that Harry was willing to take such tasks off his hands. He swept Harry up in his arms just held him for a moment, enjoying the way Harry fit against him. He brushed a kiss against the teen's small ear. "Besides," Malcolm whispered seductively, his breath tickling Harry enough that the raven-haired wizard shivered, breathless at the heat in Malcolm's voice, "I like that you have some fire in you. Mm, very much so." He suddenly chuckled. "A bloody ponce?" he asked as he pulled back to look Harry in the face, amusement dancing in his eyes and the heated air between them dispelled.

Harry flushed and glared at him playfully. He flicked his wand and transfigured the flimsy cots into a large feather bed before clearing the air of the foul smell. Harry was willing to bet the night would be a chilly one and was unwilling to give up his personal space heater, good-natured teasing or not, or risk permanent damage to his olfactory senses. "Well, he is! Just look at him; all he's missing is a sunset background and a shower of rose petals." Harry grimaced, "From the way he acts, one would think he shits daisies, even when there's evidence," he gestured to the air around him, referring to the, thankfully now absent, smell of the latrines, "to the contrary."

Malcolm burst out laughing at the mental image, and was quickly joined in hysterics by Harry. Odin barked and jumped around them.

The sable-haired man calmed himself before crouching and scratching behind the massive dog's ears. "What do you think of King Cailan, hm, Odin?" he asked the hound. He snorted when Odin whined and slapped a paw over his eyes, his cropped ears drooping in shame. "Yes, his armor was ghastly, wasn't it? I'll be sure to never use his fashion consultant; they're positively atrocious at their job."

As a reward, Harry conjured a meaty bone for Odin, and the mabari barked at him thankfully before dragging it to the cushy dog bed Harry had transfigured from a stick, located at the foot of the bed.

Malcolm flopped down on the bed, groaning in pleasure as he sunk into the mattress. "You're a gift, Harry. I'm never letting you go," he proclaimed, his face muffled by a pillow. Harry chuckled as he crawled onto the other side, his eyes already closing in fatigue.

"Mm, can't live without my necessities," he mumbled vainly, scooting over to snuggle against Malcolm's warm side.

The tall man's grin softened as he gaze down at Harry's slumbering form, before he wrapped a secure arm around his companion's waist, laid a gentle kiss on the smooth forehead, and settled in for a much needed sleep.

Malcolm awoke early the next morning, but was in no hurry to leave the warmth of the transfigured bed. Sometime during the night, Harry had rolled on top of him, using him like a giant pillow. Malcolm smiled at the sight of the sweet face, relaxed in sleep. The strain around the teen's eyes had vanished, and he looked even more beautiful as a result.

Malcolm knew their behavior was odd, even irrational, but he couldn't help but feel that Harry was his—his to protect, his to cherish. He reached up a run a hand through Harry's soft raven hair, and tugged softly to wake the young wizard.

"Mm," Harry hummed sleepily, moving to bury his face in Malcolm's neck. The noble chuckled and tugged Harry's messy locks more firmly. The tired teen whined in protest, "Bad Malcolm! 'Lemme 'lone!"

"It's time to get up, Harry," Malcolm rumbled.

Harry locked his arms around the warrior's neck, molding his body to Malcolm's, and refused to open his eyes. "Nooo," he grumbled. "Comfy, warm. Sleepy sleep."

Malcolm sighed, his eyes drifting to the ceiling of the tent in silent prayer, before he threw the duvet off of them, and ignoring Harry's indignant squeal, he stood from the bed, the wizard still twined around him like a human sweater.

"I'll go outside like this if I have to, Harry," Malcolm growled. The threat was an empty one; there was no way he'd allow sexually deprived soldiers to get a glimpse of Harry's pale flesh. Harry knew this, and only held onto him tighter, wiggling his hands under Malcolm's sleeping shirt to keep them from the cold air.

"Malcolm," he begged, "I'm still tired." He'd gotten little sleep during their journey. The pace at which Duncan had forced them to travel had pushed him to his limits; he'd had to heal blisters on his feet more than once, even with the cushioning charms cast on his boots. He just wanted to rest, preferably on his Malcolm-pillow.

The tall man sighed and sat down on a roughly hewn stool and wrapped his arms around the bundle in his lap. "I know, my sweet," he said understandingly. Harry smiled against his neck at the endearment. Malcolm was so gentle with him; he enjoyed the man's attention, which was so unlike the overwhelming stares of his former home. "You can rest more later on, but you need food in you—you're far too thin already. Plus, I'm sure you'd appreciate the opportunity to clean up before Duncan comes to get us."

Harry pulled back slightly to meet Malcolm's eyes, pouting cutely. "Promise?" he asked. Malcolm smiled at the weak manipulation, but gave in nonetheless.

"I promise," he swore. Harry grinned and bounced on his lap before jumping up and looking for one of his wands.

"I want a hot bath," the wizard stated, already waving the dark wood of his Holly wand through the air in intricate patterns. Malcolm watched, amazed, as a white, claw-footed bath-tub seemed to spring from thin air, and then water shot from the tip of the wand in a rapid stream, before cutting off. Seconds later, steam rose from the bathtub, and Harry conjured various soaps that floated in the air, waiting to be used.

The sable-haired teen grinned at him mischievously, before flicking his wand once more; a curtain appeared to section off Harry's bathing area, though it didn't stop Malcolm from watching Harry's silhouette disrobe and slowly sink into the water. He stiffened at the teen's low, pleased moan.

He cleared his throat, forcefully dragging his eyes away from the thin fabric. "I'll, um, be back later," he called, before speeding out of the tent, Harry's wicked laughter echoing in his wake.

It was official: Harry hated Ostagar.

Besides the god awful smell, he'd been—rudely—introduced to the locals. The gathered soldiers had no sense of privacy. More than once since Malcolm had departed, he'd had to yell someone out of his tent when they'd peeked inside, trying to get a look at the new recruit and almost succeeding in getting an eyeful of Harry's naked backside, instead. He fumed silently, pacing at the foot of the transfigured bed clad in only a bath robe, his hair still damp. Malcolm would be returning any moment, and he couldn't wait to see the man's expression at learning Harry had practically been spied on while in the bath.

Harry knew it uncharacteristic of him, or of anyone, really, to be so close to another after only two weeks, but he liked the connection between Malcolm and himself, and saw no reason to discourage it. It was quick, and confusing, and, when thought about logically, seemingly impossible, but Harry wanted this odd relationship between the two of them. He wasn't entirely sure what to call it at the moment, but it was comforting to know that Malcolm would be there for him no matter what, a feeling that probably went both ways. The warrior made him feel secure, and Merlin knew that he gave the greatest hugs, and the way he looked at Harry with those hungry blue eyes made him feel all gooey and warm and tingly and—

The moment Malcolm ducked underneath the tent flap, Harry leaped at him, arms and legs wrapping around the tall man. The weight didn't even faze Harry's companion, and he struggled to catch Harry's rapid speech and ignore the way he could feel every inch of Harry beneath his thin bathrobe. "Oh Merlin, these men kept coming into our tent while I was in the bath, trying to figure out who we were and it was so uncomfortable, and they wouldn't leave until I started yelling and I didn't have any clothes on and they kept pissing me off—"

Malcolm cut him off with a hand over his mouth, his eyes dark. "They what?" he hissed. Harry rubbed his cheek against the man's stubble, almost purring.

"They kept invading my privacy," Harry said, speaking more slowly now that he had Malcolm's attention, "while I was in the bath."

The noble practically growled, sounding rather like his mabari hound. Odin had picked up on his master's anger and was prowling outside the tent's entrance, scaring off any prospective peeping toms.

Malcolm knew word had spread about how Duncan had brought back not one, but two Grey Warden recruits, but had figured that most would give them the distance they deserved. Apparently not.

Harry looked up at him with imploring green eyes and Malcolm suddenly knew he'd walked into a trap, but he couldn't find it in himself to give a damn, because Harry was so ridiculously adorable and he'd been peeked on while in the bath—

"You," he demanded, "will not leave my side at any time, understand?" Harry beamed at him, knowing he'd won.

"Okay," he chirped, unwinding his limbs and hopping off Malcolm, acting for all the world like he hadn't been upset earlier. Malcolm knew better; he'd already gleaned that Harry was an intensely private person, and having strangers invade his personal space bugged him. A lot.

He raised an eyebrow when Harry pointed at the impromptu bathing area he'd set up. "Bath, now," the wizard ordered. Malcolm shrugged and complied, dropping a kiss on Harry's forehead and his shirt on the ground.

He found that Harry had enlarged the bathtub to better fit someone of his stature, and refreshed and reheated the water. He sighed as he sunk into the porcelain tub, immediately grabbing a rag and scrubbing away the accumulated dirt on his skin. It felt wonderful to have a hot bath after two weeks of hard travel, and especially after the night of his parent's murder. If it weren't for Harry and his magic, he'd probably still be covered in remnants of the blood of Howe's men.

He grabbed a bar of soap that smelled of sandalwood, skipping right over the more fruity options, and cleaned himself quickly. Harry's chatter filled the background comfortably as the younger man mused on what he would change his clothes into that day.

"Make sure it's suitable for battle," Malcolm said as he toweled himself dry. "Preferably thick enough to keep you safe. I don't know if you'll be comfortable in armor—you don't really need anything but protection against arrows."

He eyed the underclothes Harry had prepared for him. They were of a finer knit than even his court clothing, and he wondered just what kind of world Harry came from that afforded him such comforts.

Harry waved him over and asked him what would prevent arrows from hurting him. "You'll bruise if they hit you, no matter what. Leather is weak against it, and plate is too cumbersome for you. I recommend putting a thin layer of mail between the layers of your clothing, if you can, and make it stronger so the links don't shatter against the force of the arrowhead."

Harry scratched his cheek in thought, his imagination running wild, before he started waving his wand. He used the clothes he had been wearing as a base, and conjured a layer of finely knit mail underneath the outer dragon hide and over the inner layer of silk. He hit the entire outfit with unbreakable, lightening, and cushioning charms and declared himself ready to go.

Malcolm was impressed with the result when the outfit resisted his attempts to puncture it with a dagger, and declared it satisfactory. Harry even decided to similarly charm his armor and weapons.

The chestnut-haired man turned to look at Harry after donning his armor, reveling in the lack of weight. He grinned, "You are, officially, the best thing that has ever happened to me." Of course, he'd have to adjust to the change in his center of gravity, but it would be worth it in the long run: his armor was nigh impenetrable, and light as a feather. He knew men that would kill to get their hands on such equipment.

Harry raised a sardonic eyebrow, "And you're just realizing this?"

Malcolm chuckled in appreciation before his expression became serious. "Harry," he declared, "I don't want you to let anyone know you can do this. Wars have been started over less, and if anyone with an agenda finds out about your abilities, minus the combat magic, you'll be targeted."

Harry looked nervous at Malcolm's words and moved into to the comfort the noble's arms provided. "I know you can defend yourself, and I will be with you every step of the way, but accidents do happen, and someone could get lucky, so please, promise me that you'll be discreet."

"I promise, Malcolm," the raven-haired wizard whispered. Malcolm sighed before reaching for Harry's hand and pressing a soft kiss on the palm. Harry blushed at the intimacy of the gesture.

"Good," Malcolm said, relieved. "Good."