Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.
Author's Note: Sorry I was missing for a minute there. Life kind of happened. I'll spare you the paragraph of explanation and just let you enjoy the chapter.
Interlocking
Chapter Nineteen: Deep Peace
"Harding hesitates for a moment, her lip caught between her teeth. 'I had a sister, you know.'" - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.
"So that's Caer Bronach?" Krem wonders aloud, arms crossed over his plated chest as he eyes the dark keep across the wet plains of Crestwood. The towering fortress rises shadowed and imposing in the rain. Behind him the Chargers and Inquisition forces are preparing for a raid, weapons sharpening, potions stocking, last words spoken.
Harding raises a brow toward him, standing beside him. "Think you're up for it?"
Krem scoffs loudly, looking down at her with pride and assurance. "Want to make a bet?"
Harding smirks, her fingers already itching for her bow. "Kill count? Or rooms cleared?"
He reaches a gloved finger to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear, and the tender touch is at unexplainable odds with his challenging look. "Ladies' choice."
Her smirk turns devilish. Harding thinks this might be fun.
They sit around a firepit that night, in the cool and windy courtyard of the captured keep. Harding's scouts have only just retired, most of the Chargers finishing pitching their tents, the Inquisitor already pouring over maps and strategy with their party and the Inquisition Lieutenant charged with overseeing the keep. Harding expects to investigate the recently drained lake the next day before the Inquisitor moves in to close the rift deep within the caverns. The keep should begin seeing reinforcement and a full appraisal of its defenses by then. And shortly after, their return to Skyhold.
Grim and Skinner sit around the fire with her and Krem. The Orlesian elf is finishing cleaning her blades by the firelight, and Grim is chewing on the last bit of meat clinging to the ram bone between his fingers. Harding glances up to see Krem's face beside her, his features dancing in the light of the fire, her hands moving closer to the flames to warm.
He is already watching her. She starts at his stare, her smile slowly spreading across her lips before she can realize it. Krem chuckles at being caught, shaking his head. "You cheated," he says.
Harding nudges his knee beside her with her own. "Did not. Don't be a sore loser."
"You never mentioned you'd be flanking the courtyard. Gave you the perfect vantage point for knocking off raiders." He eyes her suspiciously.
Harding raises her brows at him. "You realize you're griping about how many bad guys I killed. Bad guys," she intones, laughing.
"I'm not griping," he muses lowly, his words grumbled almost petulantly. "I would have won if the bet had been 'rooms cleared'. You stood in the same spot for the whole run. Just planted yourself on the ramparts and shot into the crowd. I had to go through half the bloody castle."
"And you were marvelous," she comforts teasingly, one hand moving to pat his knee.
He narrows his eyes at her, but there is the subtle tug of a smirk hinting at his lips. "Don't humor me."
Harding's laugh is loud and natural in the air around them, the warmth of the fire before them tinting her cheeks a charming pink. "You shouldn't have made it ladies choice then."
Her laugh does things to him he thinks shouldn't be possible.
Harding has seen her fair share of corpses. Still. Walking. Mindlessly trying to eat her. She's fairly certain that last bit isn't really how it goes, but it definitely seems like it half the time. She should not be thrown by the sight of corpses or walking dead anymore. Most days she isn't. She knows each corpse harbors nothing of the original owner. But seeing the sunken Old Crestwood Village stirs something within her.
The rotting, still half-standing homes. The rooms with huddles of decomposing bodies that tell her where the families lived. The remnants of once-homes that speak of life and sun and laughter. Children's toys. The bones of a dog. A traditional Crestwood marriage chalice.
Something catches in Harding's throat as she surveys the muddy, water-logged grounds of Old Crestwood. Her scouts are already back at Caer Bronach. The Inquisitor's party is down below in the water-logged caverns.
"Alright, Chargers, gather your gear. We're heading back to the keep!" Krem calls out to his companions around the ruined town square. He steps up beside Harding as she looks out over the destroyed homes. His voice is softer and laced with a warmth she recognizes now as only for her. "You okay there, love?"
Harding forces a smile and nods, looking up at him. "Yeah, just…'what ifs', you know?" She sniffs slightly.
Krem furrows his brows at her in question, one hand coming up to rest reassuringly between her shoulder blades.
Harding shrugs her shoulders and chuckles, but there is something tender and vulnerable in the sound that Krem does not recognize. "Like, could this have been Redcliffe? Could this have been my home?"
The thought scares her more than she is willing to admit. But it also lights a fierceness inside her that she revels in.
Krem swallows thickly and looks back out to the dead village before them. He rubs a thumb gently against her back where his hand rests. "No point in asking that. Only brings harder questions."
"I suppose," she answers, her eyes turning to gaze out as well.
Krem watches the sun dance across her face.
Harding hesitates for a moment, her lip caught between her teeth. "I had a sister, you know."
Krem furrows his brows at her words. He swallows tightly and lets her continue. He doesn't think he needs to ask about the 'had'.
Pulling in a quaking smile, Harding glances up to Krem. "She didn't survive the siege of Recliffe ten years ago. During the Blight." She looks off past his shoulder where she doesn't have to meet his eyes. She wonders if she will ever stop feeling like this when she thinks of the broken body of her sister. "She was fourteen," she whispers.
Krem is silent for several long moments while he watches her. Eventually she turns from him and pulls a hand up to wipe at her moist eyes. She takes a step forward and past him, so that he cannot see her face when she almost breaks.
"What was her name?" he asks softly.
Harding clears her throat, pulls a heavy breath in. When she smiles to herself it is not wholly sad. There is remembrance and a tender fondness. "Poppy," she answers. She releases a chuckle, her face turning back to look at Krem once more, her tears dry. "Short for Poplin. Mom really liked to sew."
Krem cannot help the laugh that escapes him, but he holds a hand to his mouth quickly, and clears his throat. There is nothing of admonishment in her gaze though, when he looks at Harding.
She only shrugs her shoulders, her smile an unknowable tangle of nostalgia and regret. She looks back at the sunken town.
Krem watches her a moment, and then steps up beside her once more. He crouches down next to her, his fingers digging into the moist dirt. He pulls a handful of soil into his palm and weighs it in his hand, staring at it.
Beside him, Harding is watching him in questioning silence.
Krem closes his eyes and breathes softly as he speaks, his voice a steady rumble that lulls Harding with its smoothness. "Tu ad persentio quietis. Terra ex persentio quietis." He opens his eyes to watch the wet soil sifting through his fingers as he releases it back onto the ground. He moves two dirt-covered fingers to his forehead and then offers them up to the sky before him.
Harding is breathless beside him. "What does that mean?"
Krem turns his gaze to her from his crouched position, her head just higher than his. He rolls the words along his tongue in thought before speaking. "Roughly, it means 'Deep peace to you. Deep peace of the earth.'" He cocks a crooked smile her way. "Old Tevene goodbye."
The tears are warm and quick against her eyes again, but this time they are welcomed. She lights a hand along his shoulder and leans in to place a kiss along the smooth skin of his cheek. She pulls back and locks eyes with him, her smile wide, nothing of grief to her face. "I think she would have liked you."
The thought settles something inside her she doesn't have a name for.
Additional Author's Notes: I took some heavy creative license with the Tevene that Krem uses. I did a variation on Latin, so it's not really anything you can look up or get a clear definition on. But hey, this is fanfiction. So why the hell not?