Disclaimer: I own absolutely and completely nothing. Bioware has that particular pleasure.
Summary: A City-Elf/Bann Teagan collection of drabbles and one-shots based on a prompt table from an LJ-community. These will be more or less in chronological order with the faintest traces of added plot here and there. Will vary from drabble length to one-shot.
Author's note: So people do like Assan :) I am glad, truly. That said, everyone gets a cookie merely for trying. The translation is Stupid = Anora and Dimwitted = Teagan. There are reasons for each of the names in Assan's logic but yes. About this one, maybe I'm jumping the gun but I always thought people out of a situation can see things better. Or just reach all the wrong conclusions with the little information they have. Eamon gets to play older brother in this~ Or gets to be a bit of an ass, I'm not sure..
In this chapter: Good intentions do not lead to Heaven.
021.
It has been a long time since he has seen his father. It has been even longer since he has felt truly like a son, like a child to be protected. That's what happens when one's raised in a country in war, when the only house one manages to know is on the road with four wheels underneath it. It has been a very long time since those days, enough to make him feel old and degenerating.
Even so, Eamon suddenly feels five because he wishes for his father more than anything. Connor is still young, he doesn't need to hear about certain subjects just yet. And Teagan, Teagan is already old – which sadly makes him feel ancient instead of just old – and shouldn't need a father to speak certain things to him. Except he does. And there is no one but him to take up the task.
The worse is that it has to be spoken. His brother is falling into a trap without even realizing it – or realizing it but truly caring little about it. He's giving in without a fight, pursuing something which, likely, has already been used by many. He should know better. He usually knows better. Eamon cannot remember the last time when he had to remember his brother to step back and not take a foolish step. They grew up fast. He became the Arl and Teagan became the Bann, something that gave them guidelines and a secure future, a duty attached which they cannot ignore. Except his brother is.
For once, the Castle is quiet. The group left early that morning – to raid Fort Drakon of all places, Maker knows it is necessary but Eamon cannot help but shudder at the sheer inanity of the situation. Without the dwarf or the Golem, half the commotion in the space seems to lessen by a great deal. It is the perfect moment. The office is quiet, just the two of them and servants somewhere outside where no word can be overheard.
"You cannot," Eamon starts. Though not the best start because Teagan stares at him oddly, confusedly, probably wondering just what he's talking about or if he's hallucinating. Instead of asking anything, however, he pushes his book aside and waits in silence. This is also something he installed in his brother since young. When he speaks, Teagan is supposed to listen. It was always like this and it will not change easily.
He thinks. Hopes. Hrm.
Eamon knows now that he shouldn't have stayed away from Rainsfere for so long. It was true, he had Isolde to look after, Connor to dote on and Teagan was a grown man. But even grown men need a steady presence, something he had not exactly been in the last years. It takes another long look at his brother for Eamon to notice that yes, his brother has changed and not just physically. Back straight and proud, even when facing his brother, a carefully curious expression which is just barely there, a few more lines in a face which used to laugh ever so often. Older.
"Elaborate." It does not sound like a request. Eamon allows his elbows to rest on the table in front of him, chin leaning on carefully entwined fingers. There's none of the exuberance of youth in his brother's voice. Nor can he hear impatience, annoyance, anything bar politeness. It feels like a barrier between them or that they have ceased to be proper siblings, he does not know which. A stupid conclusion, of course.
"The Warden." No reaction. "The elf." It feels like a treasure hunt, to give small clues at a time so someone will be able to reach the prize. A futile gift, it seems, because Teagan continues bearing that oddly blank expression, his confusion just not apparent but impersonating outright stupidity. "You know what I mean."
"I'm afraid I do not understand." A little crease forms in his forehead, little veins, small lines. That's his father, that's all his father, just like the way to wait, the expression, the dark hair, that's all their father. "Did they not leave to get her? She is fine, I'm sure. The Teyrn cannot afford to harm her without a public trial." To get her. She is fine, she is not harmed. This is what Eamon means. Teagan is thinking of her and not even realizing he is – or maybe he is? Well, he is thinking of something and it's no longer anything Eamon might have said.
The drum in the back of his head would be a migraine.
"Teagan. They are fine." They. Plural. The right way to address the entire party and keep the conversation from focusing on the Warden. Though it was supposed to be focused on her to begin with. Or rather, on the need not to focus on her. Eamon feels his migraine widen with that pattern of thought and has to take a moment to thank the Maker about Connor's age. Doing this again once he stepped in Redcliffe – the Tower – would be far too much for his sanity. "This is what I mean," he continues. "Notice your conclusion? Your immediate question? This has occupied your mind for the past months and clearly, it cannot continue. It will lead to nothing."
Thoughtful expression vanishes into that blank one, confused and oddly childish. It is like Teagan truly does not understand what Eamon is talking about. Half of Redcliffe has already understood – will the Bann marry quickly? The Lady will be a good leader. Oh a Grey Warden so near, that would be wonderful, would it not? We would be safe. Does the Lady need anything? Does the Bann need aid? Should we begin preparations? We must speak with the Revered Mother. If he listened to his people properly, both his brother and the woman would be in white and inside a Chantry. Only he does not, especially not in this.
A Warden she might be and Eamon appreciates. She saved his Arling, his life, his family's and Maker knows he cannot forget any of these things – his people would not allow him to, at any rate. But despite all this, she is still what she is. An elf, a low born woman and a warrior who is forbidden by old laws to bear titles. A murderer if the rumors are correct though he allows himself to forget that. He had met the heir of Denerim and that boy spelled trouble from the second he was allowed to stand. She is just not good enough. Not for the Bann of Rainesfere, not for a Guerrin and especially not for his brother.
"This cannot continue?" Still blank, still carefully hidden – or still truly oblivious. Teagan's gaze seems so innocent in that moment, endearing in its lack of understanding. But he has to understand, he must understand, he cannot not understand. No half-elf can be heir to the Bann and definitely not the child of a unnamed Warden. "This what? The elf what? What do you mean?"
And then suddenly, unexpectedly the tables turn, Teagan's gaze changes, piercing and harsh as Eamon has never seen it directed at himself. Like a blunt sword, comprehension seems to mirror itself in his gaze. This is the right moment. Eamon knows he should continue. He knows he should say his thoughts – not good enough, not rich enough, not pure enough, never enough for you – but the barrier between just grew and all the words he thinks are like rocks thrown into that wall. Rocks bring harm.
His brother rises from his chair, patting his clothing absently before straightening – and a cliff forms with him, between them as a Castle's walls.
"I thought you, of all people, would understand. Not all is in our reach." Isolde was Orlesian. Isolde was forbidden, something he could not, should not have pursued but still had. But Isolde was noble. "You read too much into this, brother," Teagan continues calmly, blunt but calmly because he is still well taught and no tone is raised to his brother. "I search for companionship only, I wish nothing else. I cannot have anything else. But had I wanted it, your words would hardly stop me." But that's just it. He does want it, Eamon wants to say. He wants it enough to worry over her, to ask about her presence, to search for it when no one can find her. He does wants, can he not see?
Maybe he cannot.
The closed door is no more and the tall form is already leaving, callous and caring little for Eamon's good intentions – because good intentions do not always cause good consequences. He does not understand.
"Teagan!"
His brother stops for a last look, a pleasant smile and the subject seems far away from his mind if one looks at his expression. It makes him look less and less like the Teagan in Eamon's memories. "Tasha," he declares. "She saved our lives. Use her name."
Teagan cannot see his wishes. He is blind, in pure denial, ignoring obvious conclusions as a teenager would and not forcing himself to reach any truthful conclusion. He cannot see.
And Eamon who does see, who does realize all these things age has taught him, feels like he has just pushed them and her into the sunlight, right where his brother cannot help but see them.
Silently, he apologizes to his father.