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: I have no explanation whatsoever for this.
In this chapter: The price for redemption is uncommonly high.
033.
The good thing about the confusing Landsmeet and all the consequent mess which followed is that he finally got accepted. One could say completely even. In their effort to make sure that the Teyrn understands how he's not, even the most reticent members – more commonly known as Wynne – make sure that he's fed, clothed, properly babied and bothered at random intervals. Jowan likes it. Fade, who wouldn't? But, in this really stupid way, he misses the times when it was mostly the Warden. Every action was completely honest then and now, he has to wonder.
"What was her name?"
"Eh?"
Maybe the assassin is, indeed, a mage. Scary and silent and shadowy. Stalker.
"You're staring at the berries like they are some delicacy." The elf walks by his side, reaching out to take a berry at odd intervals, a bouncy step which would be expended in something akin to a fair. "That, my dubious friend, one only does when in remembrance of one so lovely as to be compared. Was she beautiful? Pretty? Brown haired? Perhaps a blonde? Oh, perhaps not a worshipper of the fairer sex?" A wiggle of eyebrows underlines the last sentence. Very wrong. Extremely wrong. This is one odd elf. He wasn't thinking of anything like that.
In truth, he mutters looking at the berries shifting in his hands, he never did think much in… no, he's lying to himself. Of course he did. He is a grown man, living in a huge tower filled with lovely women. Of course, he thought things like that. And, considering that they were all stuck in that tower for life, it wouldn't be that hard to find someone either. The strangest thing about it all, Jowan went immediately for the one thing, the one person he couldn't have. A mage was discouraged, even frowned upon, but it happened. But an acolyte, a sister of the Chantry. He couldn't have found someone more forbidden had he walked into the Royal Palace and thrown himself at the Queen's feet.
His thoughts hadn't been on the berries and certainly not where the elf places them at. Now they are. Oddly though, they don't dwell on Lily. She was a flower, maybe. Something pretty and pure, easy to admire like the starlight or the sun during the mornings. She'd be light, jewels in someone's hair, silver or gold. Wild berries are earthy, sweet and easy to touch. Not her. In fact these are more like Amell, his mind whispers immediately. Wild, always laughing, always happy and filled with life, his friend Amell. They were twelve when Jowan concluded she would be branded a maleficar simply because she couldn't learn to bow her head properly. Or just stop mocking the Templars.
Do you enjoy standing still this much? It is oddly ridiculous. Abomination passing by, feel free to stare and stab. Well, I think the Maker is a self-righteous prick, will you lock me somewhere because I spoke my mind? That is such a big sword, Ser Templar. Is there a reason for it to be that long?
"She nearly died because of me," he hears himself say, far softer than the voice in his memories.
The elf hears, of course, dismisses the comment with a single shake of his head. "Irrelevant, my friend. Just see our Warden here. I tried getting her killed once. Well, tried killing her, actually. As you can see, she is very much alive."
Their Warden laughs out loud, as the louder comment reaches her ears, an arm waving without its owner bothering to turn. "I'm fine with it."
"See? She's fine with it." Another smirk, another grin and the damned elf still persists on the subject. "Your lady friend is probably fine with it too. I'd recommend gifts. What would she like?"
Jowan doesn't exactly know what to reply. The answer comes slowly, measured, one word at the time as if nothing can be enough to erase what he did to her. It makes him forget to say she's not his lady friend. At least, not in the sense the elf's leer uses it. She was his friend who was a lady, in the correct sense of the world. The tilt of her head when she passed by the Templars, the gaze when they spoke, the happiness when finding a new treasure, Jowan, Jowan, read this, isn't it amazing, the fear in her eyes when he told of what expected him, we'll get you out, don't worry and that last moment. When he fled, he saw betrayal in her features.
Buy redemption, can that even be attempted? Jowan shrugs slightly, popping another fruit into his mouth.
"Necklaces, I guess?" He half asks, half states. "Jewelry, all women like jewelry." Even the Witch of the Wilds. That one looked virtually covered in it at times. "Books. Old books, she always loved books. Made me run up and down the tower just to get something she thought no one had seen before. A new mirror, we broke the last one before we left. A robe? Maybe a new staff…"
"A staff?"
Finally, confusion. The elf has an eyebrow raised just so, food forgotten halfway to his mouth.
"Well, yes?" Jowan continues as his understanding reaches a new low. "Hers was damaged and while I'm sure the Senior Enchanter would repl…"
"Jowan, my friend, are we speaking of a mage? A hot-blooded mage?"
A small nod and the elf is shaking his head.
"Keep to the jewelry. And maybe a Templar. You know, keep her quiet and not killing you before you give her anything. And, more important than anything." Now, Jowan can almost swear the elf is serious, an arm thrown over his shoulders in solid companionship. "Become an eunuch. Nothing speaks of regret and wish to repent as much as cutting off..."
One of the berries chooses that precise moment to lodge itself in his throat and attempt to make him commit suicide.