Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.
Interlocking
Chapter Thirty: Just a Little Longer
"They have each made the commitment. Each promised their lives to a cause, even when secretly, tenderly, hidden somewhere in their hearts where even they cannot fully know, they have promised their lives to each other." - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.
They have a small reprieve in the following days while the Inquisitor and the Advisors visit the Winter Palace. Krem and Harding play Wicked Grace. They read to each other. They go on walks and Harding practices pulling her bow. They steal kisses and touches in between. When the news of the Inquisitor's return from the Palace reaches Skyhold, a celebration at the Herald's Rest is planned in honor of the end to Orlais' civil war between Celene and Gaspard.
Harding is not quite up for scout work yet, but the Inquisition is readying a scouting regiment for the Hissing Wastes nonetheless, in anticipation of the Inquisitor's interest once they make it back from Halamshiral. Harding instructs her temporary replacement, Lieutenant Loran, on procedure, especially with regards to updating the Advisors and mapping routes for soldiers.
Krem finds her in the scout barracks just as she finishes her rundown with Loran. The lithe, pale elf thanks her and wishes her well, passing by Krem as she leaves, nodding her greeting. Krem smiles in return, and then makes his way to the desk Harding sits at. She looks up from her reports and warms at his entrance.
He sits across from her, reaching one arm back to rest languidly against the back of his chair. "You're looking much better."
Harding sighs, but it is the soft breath of relief and anxiety rather than weariness. "I feel much better. Can't join the ranks yet. Still practicing with my bow. When I can pull it all the way and sink a quaver of arrows, then I know I'm fit for duty."
Krem watches her, his eyes lined with a quiet worry. "Not long now."
She grins eagerly. "Thank the Maker, too. I'm ready to get back out there."
Krem suddenly remembers the way she crumpled when the arrow pierced her, the way she toppled, limp and lifeless, over the wall's edge at Adamant. His smile falters momentarily, before he clears his throat and leans forward, reaching his hands over the table to grasp hers.
But Harding knows him. And she recognizes the hint of fear he hides behind bravado. Her eyes soften. Looking at their hands, she turns his palms over in her own. "You knew it would happen," she offers quietly, not a demand, not an accusation. Only a fact. Only a truth.
They have each donned their armor and lifted their blades and bellowed their war cries. They have each made the commitment. Each promised their lives to a cause, even when secretly, tenderly, hidden somewhere in their hearts where even they cannot fully know, they have promised their lives to each other.
Krem pulls a slow breath in and throws a crooked grin her way. "Sure wish I could keep you here, though."
Harding watches him silently for a long while, her fingers running restlessly over her knuckles, and then, "Did you ever think about how I felt every time you charged into a horde of enemies?"
Krem blinks at her. There is something hesitant to her gaze, brimming with mild frustration and vulnerability. It is a look he has never seen before.
Harding swallows and looks away. "I hated watching you go off with the Chargers or the Inquisitor. Hated the helplessness that came with that. Not knowing if you'd come back to me." She looks at him out of the corner of her eye.
Krem pulls a hand from hers and wipes at his mouth, his brows furrowing in thought. "Lace, you are in just as much danger as I when you go out there."
Harding's throat tightens and she pulls back slightly, their hands breaking their hold over the table. She lets out an amused scoff.
It startles Krem with its disregard.
Harding cocks her head and levels him with an unflinching gaze. "Scout work is hardly frontline stuff. I work at a distance. I recon. I watch, I listen, I report. I only engage as a last resort. You do nothing of the sort."
"Where is this coming from?" Krem cannot help the spark of irritation lining his voice and he leans back in his chair, his hands leaving the table completely.
Harding groans, running her hands through her hair and then planting her elbows on the table, crossing her arms before her. "'Where is this coming from?' It's coming from you being needlessly worried about me when you put yourself in even worse danger all the time."
Krem's jaw tightens at her words, his brows knitting together in sudden anger. "I don't think it's being 'needlessly worried' when you recently almost died, for Maker's fucking sake." Krem looks away and blows an exasperated breath through his lips. "Fasta vass, Lace, don't you get it?" He can't recall a time he's ever been frustrated enough to curse in Tevene around her.
Harding huffs. "What do you want me to say? 'I'm sorry'?"
"Don't be ridiculous," he snaps back, maybe too harshly.
Her brows knit together, her mouth a deep frown. Harding licks her lips before speaking. "You can't be angry with me for getting hurt," she says slowly, tightly. "You're not allowed to be the only one scared to death."
Krem looks up at that, his mouth opening but there are no words that follow.
Harding's eyes are hard, glistening slightly, her breath shaky in her chest. This is not how she wanted him to see her. She clears her throat and looks away, wiping a hand over her eyes quickly. "It's been…so hard. And I thought I could do it. I thought 'Just a little longer', you know?" Her voice breaks suddenly and something twists tightly in Krem's chest.
She spreads her palms smoothly along the table and watches her fingers splay across the wood, shaking. Her voice is an aching hope. "Just a little longer and this war will be over and I won't have to go to bed at night absolutely terrified that this night – please Maker, not this night – will be your last." She swallows and tries to find words. She looks up and finds Krem watching her silently, his face pulled tight with pain she doesn't think he even recognizes himself. She pulls a steadying breath in and feels the slow release on her heart as she speaks. "We both might die tomorrow."
Krem's breath catches then, a barely-there choke of air in the back of his throat.
"We promised ourselves to something bigger. You of all people understand duty." She says it meaningfully, maybe even resentfully if she allows herself to think it, her eyes fixing his with a pointed stare.
The thought flares bright and hot in him and he leans forward sharply. "That's not fair and you know it," he barely gets out, a finger in the air. He lowers it slowly, his chest tight.
Harding flutters her gaze down at the ache in his gaze. But she is already too far in. And there are things she needs to say or she will never forgive herself. "I…don't want to be silent about it anymore. About how much it hurts to see you walk away each time and never knowing if I will see you again." She sniffs loudly, a hand reaching up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "You've done so much for me, Krem, while I've been hurt. Took care of me. Kept me company. Entertained me. And believe me when I say how much that means to me. But…I need you to do one more thing for me." She looks up at him. "I need you to support me on this. Either we are in this or we're not. Either we are both waiting and hopeful and arms welcoming when the other returns or we are not. Either we are strong and silent when we need to be or we are not. Both of us."
Krem's gaze is on the table, his hands curled into fists at they rest atop the wood.
Harding cannot help the quake in her voice. "I want you smiling and waving me off when I leave, Krem." Her words are lined with tears she will not shed. "I need that."
Krem squeezes his eyes shut and does not speak.
Harding pulls her lip between her teeth and watches him silently for several moments. "Krem?"
He grips his hands atop the table and does not look at her. She exhales shakily and moves to stand. "Look, I'll…I'll be at the tavern tonight, for the celebration. I'd like to see you there." She hesitates a moment longer and then moves from the table, her fingers sliding along the smooth edge near him. He follows their trace and watches the space where her fingers had touched long after she leaves.
Author's Note: I could never have expected the reception this piece would garner. I've recently received 200 reviews and I just can't get over the love you've all given me for this story. This is a HUGE thank you to all the readers and reviewers who have made this story possible Every single word is for you. Every single word. You beautiful people you.