Notes: Sorry for the unexpected delay with this chapter! I've had some crazy weeks at work and then I went to Disney World for two weeks. I've also just been struggling to get this chapter done - it's one of those awkward transition chapters as we move from 'Bron and Alistair go road-tripping' to 'Bron and Alistair hang with the Inquisition'.
Something is wrong with Bron.
Something is seriously wrong with Bron.
He'd tried to ignore it at first; had hoped that everything would just return to normal if he carried on as if nothing was amiss. But it had been a long journey from Crestwood to the Frostbacks and everything was still, well, wrong – all wrong!
Maybe she's sick? Maybe she'd been hit on the head when fighting the wardens? Oh Maker, how had he missed the massive head trauma that was surely afflicting her?!
Alistair is worried.
She just… she won't – she won't… shut up!
It had been an endless stream of chit-chat ever since they'd met Hawke. At every hour of every day, Bron had been talking non-stop.
He'd heard more stories about Bron in the days since they'd left Crestwood than he had in all the weeks before. He'd heard about her time in Orlais with Leliana, about her childhood growing up in Highever, about her journey across Ferelden to find him. He knows more about her past than maybe anyone else he's ever met.
Although – when Alistair really thinks about it – he still knows very little about her.
He'd heard numerous stories about the exasperating shenanigans of Bron's brothers but he's not actually sure whether she has three or four. And he knows now that Leliana is an old friend of Bron's father but he is yet to discover how they'd met or why they'd become friends.
Bron seems to have the remarkable ability to say a lot without really saying anything at all.
Hawke hadn't noticed anything was awry, of course, had instead been content to happily chatter away as if Bron's behaviour was perfectly normal.
"She's so friendly," Hawke had said to him one evening, "not at all like you'd described her in your letters."
Alistair had only smiled and nodded, trying to ignore the swelling panic inside of him at the thought that Bron was suffering from a possibly life-threatening head trauma. Because while Hawke doesn't know any better; Alistair does.
Bron hates chit-chat, hates idle conversation and polite small-talk. Bron is direct – consistently concise – always choosing her words carefully so as to not use any more than strictly necessary.
No – something is clearly horribly, horribly wrong.
"There's this tree behind the house and my brothers used to climb it when they were little," Bron says, and Alistair can't really remember how long she's been talking about trees but it's definitely been too shifts uncomfortably in his saddle, looks around to see whether there are some convenient bandits lurking around. There's never an ambush when you want one.
"And I always wanted to climb up the tree to join them but I was always too short," she continues, "so one day I stacked up several chairs and made, well, a sort of ramp, until I could clamber up into the branches."
He nods his head politely. He's been doing that a lot recently, too baffled by her chattiness to reciprocate properly.
"I was so happy to finally be in that tree with them; to finally reach their secret hiding spot. I was so damn pleased with myself! But then they all jumped from the tree and took away the chairs so I had no way down to the ground. They thought it was hilarious – they couldn't stop laughing. I was stuck up that tree for hours!"
She chuckles at her own story, a tight, papery thing that makes it clear this is not actually a happy memory. Alistair feels a sudden pang of sympathy. It's funny, he thinks, that her tense laughter can reveal so much more than her rambling stories.
He wants to say something comforting but before he's had the chance to think of something, she's already started talking again.
"So…" she begins as she turns to face him, wearing a smile as forced as her laugh had been, "what's your favourite tree-related story?"
Wait – what?
Alistair's face falls slack, mouth agape at the sheer ridiculousness of her question.
That's enough!
He feels something snap, his patience tested too far. He is not going to indulge this madness anymore. Who even has a favourite tree-related story?!
"You've got to stop this right now!" he bites back, a little sharper than he'd intended. But then Alistair is a little on edge right now; more convinced than ever that Bron's non-stop jabbering is an indication that her health is severely compromised.
"Stop what?" she asks innocently, her expression genuinely baffled, and he can't tell whether she's playing with him.
"Stop this," he says, waving his arm between them as if that's explanation enough. "Stop this constant… chat – this mindless nattering. I don't know what's gotten into you but you have to stop talking! This isn't like you, Bron. It's… unsettling!"
She suddenly looks embarrassed, a roaring pink blooming across her cheeks and down her neck. He's never seen her react like this before, never seen her blush; it isn't exactly the response he was expecting.
"I… um…" she dips her head, seemingly unable to maintain eye-contact as she struggles to find the right words.
"What is it?" he prompts, voice a little kinder than before; he really hadn't meant to shout.
"You said," she begins hesitantly, "you said… that you can hear the Calling when it's… when it's quiet…" She lets her voice trail off, head still bowed, and Alistair doesn't understand, doesn't quite grasp what she's trying to say.
But then he is struck with a sudden, startling realisation.
She's doing it for him.
All of this mindless chit-chat – she's doing it for him.
"Y-you're… i-is this?..." he stutters, expression pinched with confusion, "are you talking continually to… to distract me from the Calling?"
"Is it working?" she asks by way of an answer. And he didn't think it was possible for her cheeks to become even pinker but they somehow manage. It's quite endearing really.
He chuckles warmly, and a little breathlessly, shaking his head with incredulity. "That's incredibly thoughtful of you," he replies.
"I have my moments…" she quips with a small, pleased smile, although it's clear from the persistent flush in her cheeks that she's still embarrassed that her little scheme has been uncovered.
Alistair wants to say more, to explain to Bron just how much her small act of kindness means to him. For days now she's been doing something that makes her incredibly uncomfortable – just to lessen his burden. It is rare for Alistair to be on the receiving end of such selflessness and he can't help but feel a little overwhelmed.
For the first time since they'd left Crestwood, an easy silence falls over the two of them and Alistair is pleased to discover that everything finally feels normal again. Everything finally feels as it was before.
Except – wait – no it doesn't. Something still feels different.
Because Bron doesn't feel so distant anymore. Of course, there's still a lot that she conceals from him. But she's told him so many stories, revealed a part of her that he honestly never thought he would get to see, and she just seems closer now, more real.
"Look!" Hawke suddenly calls from a little further ahead, and Alistair starts a little at the unexpected intrusion on his thoughts. "It appears that we're nearly at Skyhold."
Alistair looks up at Hawke just in time to see her gesturing vaguely toward the mountain range ahead and although it's still far away, he can just make out a tall, sturdy building nestled between the peaks. It looks cold – a hard, dark structure standing out starkly against the pristine white of the mountaintops. Alistair had wanted it to look a bit more… enticing.
When he turns to look back at Bron, he finds her smiling broadly, the kind of wide, toothy grin that she saves for special occasions. Her excitement is palpable, her whole body thrumming with anticipation.
Alistair wishes he shared some of her enthusiasm.
The Inquisition had been their end-goal for some time now but he'd never actually thought about what would happen when he reached it. He and Leliana hadn't exactly parted ways on friendly terms. He'd left quickly and without ceremony after the Landsmeet, not taking a moment even to say goodbye to his travelling companions. Would she be happy to see him? Would it matter to him if she wasn't?
And what about the rest of the Inquisition? Would they welcome a disgraced former warden into their midst? Would they trust him? Would Anora finally find out about his presence in Ferelden and send someone after him?
Well – whatever questions Alistair has, it won't be long now until he gets some answers.
Bron is home.
Sure, it might not exactly look the same as last time but it certainly feels the same.
As they cross the bridge and under the arch of the watchtower, Bron finds her excitement growing as she hears the familiar sounds of Haven, now transplanted to this strange new place. She can hear the haggling of shoppers, the whinnying of horses in Dennet's stables, the clanking of weapons from the training yard and the oddly comforting bellowing of voices.
For someone who prefers the quiet, Bron is amazed by how much this cacophony of noise pleases her.
They'd clearly been spotted on their approach because a little welcoming party is already waiting for them in the yard. Nothing grand or lavish, just Josephine and Varric standing patiently near a staircase. And Leliana, of course, with her hands clasped in front of her and a gentle smile adding warmth to usually cold features.
Bron jumps from her horse as soon as she spots her old friend waiting for her, trying to appear calm and collected but certainly failing. She hurries across the grass with an awkward little skip, tossing only a cursory greeting toward Varric and Josephine before throwing herself at Leliana, wrapping her arms tightly around her.
Clearly taken aback by this uncharacteristic display of physical affection, Leliana stands rigid for a moment before she finally reacts, lifting her arms to pull Bron closer, one hand cupping the back of Bron's head in a gesture of almost motherly affection.
Bron is dimly aware of conversation happening around her, introductions and words of welcome, but all her attention is fixated on the woman in front of her, and the comforting thrum of a heartbeat she can hear where her ear is pressed to Leliana's chest. She cherishes that sound, the long-awaited proof that Leliana is undeniably still alive.
Bron feels a little embarrassed when she finally steps back, oddly exposed at having indulged in such public exhibitionism. But then she'd thought Leliana dead for such a long time and the memory of her grief is still so strong in her mind. Compared to the anguish she'd felt when she thought Leliana lost to her forever, a little public embarrassment seems inconsequential.
Alistair moves toward them then, and she'd almost forgotten he was there, and when Leliana pulls him into a quick hug, he returns it with polite stiffness.
Bron can't help but feel amused at this sudden role reversal: herself affectionate and open while Alistair is awkward and stiff.
Alistair is saved from his discomfort when Josephine steps forward and ushers them all toward the fortress's main Keep, insisting that they all head to the War Room at once for introductions with the Inquisitor. Bron would rather disappear somewhere to wash off the grime of the road, maybe take a few moments of solitude to gather her thoughts. She may feel joyful at having finally returned to the Inquisition but she also feels a little overwhelmed; Skyhold is a lot to take in all at once. But Bron knows better than to disobey a direct order from Josephine and she follows the Ambassador without argument.
They wait in the War Room for some time (the Inquisitor is very busy, Josephine explains) and though Bron considers herself a patient woman, she finds herself resenting the delay. She could be exploring her new home right now, seeking out old friends she thought buried under snow. At the very least, she could be peeling out of travelling leathers she has worn for far, far too long. Instead, she tries to distract herself by asking Josephine and Leliana about the Inquisition, fascinated to learn about everything that has happened during her absence, about the destruction of Haven and a seemingly impossible journey across the Frostbacks.
Alistair hovers uncertainly at the periphery of the room, standing close to Bron but trying to keep his distance from everyone else (perhaps not yet ready to answer the questions that they all undoubtedly have).
Suddenly the door swings open and two familiar faces walk in, a little more severe than she remembers, perhaps, but still a welcome sight. Cassandra is murmuring something into Lavellan's ear and Bron is surprised by Lavellan's stern frown as she shakes her head furiously in response. The Lavellan she remembers had always seemed a little intimidated in Cassandra's presence, a little nervous, a little wary. But now she seems to hold herself with a new determination.
But then Bron notices the way Lavellan avoids looking at the War Table, the slightly uncomfortable way she skirts around the outside of the room, and Bron finds it comforting to know that some of the woman she remembers still remains.
She'd always liked Lavellan; she has a kindness and an openness that Bron admires in other people.
"Bron!" Lavellan cries in greeting when she finally catches sight of her, the discomfort in her face bleeding away to make room for a smile. She reaches out to grasp Bron's hands. "It's good to see you again. You look well."
It's a friendly greeting, warmer than Bron had expected. Perhaps she had been missed.
It's a nice thought.
"And you must be the ever-elusive Alistair!" Lavellan calls out to Alistair, moving away from Bron until she's close enough to take his hands. "You're a big guy!" she exclaims as she looks up at his far taller frame towering above her, "I'm impressed that a big guy like you was able to stay hidden for so long!"
"Thanks?" he replies gingerly, brows knitting together in bemusement. Whatever Alistair had been expecting, Lavellan clearly is not it.
"I hear you're going to solve our warden conundrum," she continues
"That's the plan," he says with a nonchalant shrug that Bron can tell is forced.
"Well then let me be the first to say - welcome to the Inquisition!"
Alistair rolls his tankard between his hands, watching as the last dregs of beer swirl around the bottom in an almost hypnotizing circular motion.
Up at the bar, Leliana is ordering their second round, and Alistair is grateful for the brief moment to himself.
His reunion with Leliana had been a bit… awkward so far. He is glad to see her of course; he had considered her a good friend during the Blight. But the Blight feels like a lifetime ago now and he knows that he's changed, can tell that she's changed too.
She is darker, colder. Not that she hadn't always had an edge, always held something stark and deadly within, but there'd always been a lightness to her as well, a sunny idealism that Alistair had always admired. To be an idealist in a cruel world had always seemed like such an impressive feat. But now some of that lightness has left her eyes, and she looks upon him with a new hardness.
Not that he can judge her; he is harder now too. Nearly 10 years in exile will do that to a man. He's less trusting now, less optimistic. Alistair wonders whether his own eyes now look as dark as hers.
He wishes Bron was with him. He doesn't know why, but he feels like she'd make conversation a little easier. She does know both of them after all. At the very least, she'd put him at ease; she seems to have that effect on him.
He'd been feeling tense ever since he'd arrived at Skyhold, a little on edge, a little high-strung – like he doesn't belong (and he knows he doesn't, not really). He'd only really felt at ease when he was with Bron. He knows her, knows that she is on his side, knows that she would never judge him or ask too much of him.
In the days since they'd arrived at Skyhold, Alistair had spent almost all his time with Bron (when he wasn't hiding in his room of course). They'd taken all their meals together, sparred together in the yard, attended meetings together with the Inquisitor and her advisors. For much of the time, they'd simply sat in the Chantry garden and read.
Nothing had really changed – they'd been spending every moment together for several months now – but something definitely felt… different. They weren't constantly travelling any more; they were in the safe confines of Skyhold and it seemed oddly domestic, oddly intimate, to spend so much time with just one other person.
But then Bron is the only person he knows at Skyhold so of course he spends all of his time with her.
Well, apart from Hawke, but then he'd barely seen her. Hawke had slipped away almost as soon as they'd arrived, claiming that she didn't want to draw too much attention to herself. Alistair can respect that; for someone as infamous as the Champion of Kirkwall, it's probably difficult to get a little privacy. Alistair would occasionally see her skulking around the corridors, paying Varric a visit no doubt, but usually she just kept to the quarters that Josephine had found her.
It's a vain effort of course. Skyhold may be a large fortress but it isn't big enough to keep the rumours from circulating. She'd barely been in Skyhold for one day before talk of the Champion dominated most conversations.
Well – he was glad they were talking about her and not him.
"Here you go, my friend," comes Leliana's softly lilting voice as another tankard of beer is placed in front of him. He nods in thanks and puts his empty tankard aside to take hold of the new one.
"Is it good?" she asks as she watches him fuss with his hands.
"Yes, thank you. Much better than anything I've had recently."
They sip their drinks in silence, not the comfortable kind of silence he shares with Bron but the kind of heavy, laden silence that plagues those who have too much to say but not the words to say it. There are questions that he's been avoiding, important topics that he's been skirting. And it's silly, really, to think that he's come all this way to the Inquisition and yet can't build up the courage to ask the questions he's been longing to ask to the one woman who might actually have the answers.
"Do you-" he starts before abruptly stopping. He takes a deep breathe before starting again: "are you still friends with Elissa?"
Leliana looks a bit shocked at his sudden question but then she composes her features into a small smile. It's not a fond smile, rather sad and oddly distant.
"Friends?" she ponders, "I'm not sure we were ever really friends. I think we could have been but… I'm not sure friendship would have been possible after… well, after Connor."
They both fidget uncomfortably at the memory.
Connor had only been a child, lost and afraid, and Elissa had ended his life without even hesitating. She'd justified it by saying that Connor was already dead, that the demon had killed him long before she raised her blade. It was little solace to Alistair. Surely there had been an alternative – the mages at Kinloch Hold perhaps – but Elissa had claimed that there wasn't enough time, that two many innocent villagers would die if Connor was not stopped immediately.
At the time, he'd relented to her logic. He wishes now that he'd fought harder.
"If she wasn't your friend, why did you stay with her?" he asks with genuine curiosity.
"She was… effective. She was practical and logical and… and maybe she could have been kinder. But the Archdemon needed defeating, the Blight brought to an end, and I thought she was the one chosen by the Maker to do it. I… I still do."
She shakes her head, scratches at the wooden tabletop with a fingernail. "Maybe she could have done things differently. Maybe she couldn't. But I never doubted that I belonged by her side; I needed to see things through… right to the bitter end."
He nods like he understands. And he thinks he does. After all, he'd been happy to travel alongside her for a long time, had been prepared to fight by her side right to the Archdemon. At the time, everything she did had seemed justified. Her cold pragmatism had been necessary to bring an end to the Blight. It was only after he'd been exiled that he started to reevaluate everything, to think that maybe he'd been an accomplice to something… dark.
"But to answer your original question," she says, pulling him away from his thoughts, "yes… yes I am still in touch with Elissa."
He nods again. He has his answer but it's not, well… it hardly feels satisfying. He needs to ask more but he can't quite figure out what to say.
They drink their drinks for a time.
"Do you know where she is now?" he asks after a long pause, "has she gone missing with the rest of the wardens?"
"No," she answers quickly, "I don't know where she is. But according to her last letter, she did not heed Warden Commander Clarel's orders. She has gone on her own quest."
"That sounds like Elissa," Alistair notes with a dry chuckle, "she was never one to follow orders; she always did exactly as she pleased."
Leliana nods her head vigourously in agreement then abruptly stills, head dipping in a way that makes her look… guilty? She looks like she's about to say something but then – doesn't. Alistair takes a long, drawn-out sip of his beer while he waits for her.
"She was trying to save your life," she says after a long pause and Alistair looks at her sharply, brows dipping with confusion.
"What?"
"Elissa was trying to save your life when she sent you away," she explains, "Anora wanted to kill you – she thought you were a threat to her crown – and Elissa thought that exile would save your life."
"And I'm supposed to be grateful?" he asks.
"No – I don't expect that," she says before pausing, "but you and Elissa were close and I think… I think she was trying to do right by you. In her own way."
He takes another long sip of his beer while he considers his next response.
"I'm actually glad she exiled me," he says, and he takes a perverse sort of pleasure in watching Leliana's face twist in surprise (and he wonders whether the Inquisition's spymaster is often surprised). "Because you're right – Anora probably would have killed me. And if Elissa hadn't made Loghain a warden, if she'd killed him and I'd fought the Archdemon by her side instead – well then I'd be dead instead of him. And I quite like not being dead."
He chortles softly to himself and it pleases him when Leliana joins in, even tentatively.
"And besides – for the first time in my life, I'm in control. I'm not following orders from the Templars or from the Wardens. Every job I take, I choose for myself. My life might not be noble or heroic but it's mine."
"That's a… remarkably mature outlook you have there," she says, and her sharply arched brows betray her obvious surprise at his level-headed attitude. And to be honest, he himself is surprised a little by his words. Because he really does mean them. Yes – he'd been bitter and angry when Hawke had found him in the Hanged Man during his exile. But he'd built a sort of life for himself in the years since then and while he isn't exactly ecstatic, he is… content.
He laughs richly at Leliana's baffled expression. "I'm going to ignore your astonishment! Otherwise I would be gravely offended."
Leliana laughs with him. It's not much of a laugh, too strained and small, but it's a start and Alistair can feel some of the tension between them dissipate. The air between them feels clearer now that they've talked about Elissa. Before, she'd hovered above them like a spectre. But speaking her name seems to have banished her ghoulish presence and they can finally just talk as old friends.
Alistair tells her about his exile, about some of the more exuberant people he'd met or the more outrageous jobs he'd worked, and in turn she tells him about the Inquisition, and her pride is clear from the tone of her voice. She's built something of which she's clearly supremely proud and Alistair finds he's almost jealous. When was the last time he acted with such clear purpose?
It suddenly strikes him that he's actually enjoying himself. In fact, he's so absorbed in conversation that he almost doesn't notice the door to the tavern open. Almost. Except he's been keeping an eye out for Bron all evening and there's no way he's going to miss her when she does finally appear.
She walks in briskly, shutting the door carefully behind her in her usual fastidious manner, and he can see her nod in acknowledgement when he throws her an awkward little wave. But then before she can make her way over to him, she's accosted by someone sitting near the door and he's left watching impatiently while she talks to her friends.
Bron looks… different, he thinks as he stares at her from across the room. She looks softer, out of her usual leathers, wearing instead a loose fitting shirt and cotton trousers.
And it's not just this evening, either. Something's been different about her ever since they'd arrived in Skyhold. She smiles more now, wider and with greater ease. On the road, her smiles had always been a little thin, a little tight; like someone had made a joke at her expense and she was trying to hide her offence. And her posture seems more relaxed, no longer coiled with tension, ready to spring to action if required.
Even her gait has changed. Her walk is less hurried, her steps longer, hips swaying enticingly with each step.
Wait, that's not right – why is Alistair watching Bron's hips?
Because she's beautiful, Alistair's brain readily supplies.
What?! No she's not – she's… Bron, she's…
Oh Maker, she is beautiful.
Huh.
He hadn't seen that coming.
When they'd first met, he'd thought her too cold, her face too impassive to be considered conventionally pretty. But then, as he'd come to know her, he'd noticed all the little things that gave her expressions life. The little crease in her forehead when she's thinking, the way her eyes darken when she's listening really intently. That funny little smile she makes when he tells a particularly bad joke, lips curled in amusement but pulled thin as if she's trying too hard not to laugh.
Maker, he loves the way she smiles.
What?! No! Love seems a bit strong – he's very fond of the way she smiles. Not love, of course not love.
He tries to push his thoughts away with a firm shake of his head. Bron's his friend, one of very few, and it's not right for him to be thinking about her in this way.
"Alistair!" snaps Leliana, "did you hear what I just said?"
"Ugh, yes, yes – I'm… ugh… fine," he stutters hastily, earning him a mildly reproachful glower from Leliana. But then she spots Bron waving farewell to her friends and making her way toward their table and her frown quickly melts away until she just looks… well, Alistair's not quite sure how to read her expression. There's amusement there, but also… knowing? Like she's figured out some great secret and is now immensely proud of herself. Proud and smug. Definitely a bit smug.
"Good evening," Bron says brightly as she takes a seat at Alistair and Leliana's table, "I'm sorry to interrupt your conversation."
"No, don't worry," Leliana says, that smug little smile still in place, "I don't think Alistair was really listening anymore anyway."
"I…" Alistair begins, intending to defend himself from Leliana's pointed comments, but then his voice trails off feebly when he realises he genuinely can't remember what they'd been talking about when Bron had entered the room. The whole thing's rather embarrassing really, made worse by Leliana's oddly triumphant smirk.
"We were just catching each other up on what we've been up all these years," Leliana explains, covering for Alistair's awkward mumbling. "It's been a long time; there was a lot to talk about."
Bron hums thoughtfully, eyes scanning over Alistair and then Leliana in turn. He knows that face, knows when he's under Bron's careful scrutiny. She's confused by how flustered he appears, concerned by his reticence, and trying to figure out whether his reunion with his old friend has been a pleasant one.
She raises a brow at him questioningly, eyes gently probing. Is everything all right?
Alistair tries to give her a reassuring smile, head tilted slightly to the side. Everything's fine; we're just talking.
She gives a satisfied nod and Alistair is relieved when he sees her posture relax.
Across the table from him, Leliana is watching them both closely, clearly intrigued by their silent exchange. Her brows are low, gaze focused, and Alistair can see now where Bron learned her scrutinising gaze.
It is a discomforting experience, and he feels oddly exposed under Leliana's piercing stare. That damned smile of hers doesn't help, lips curled wickedly, knowingly. He wishes she would stop.
"Well I've taken up enough of your evening," Leliana announces as she rises from her chair, "I'll leave you two to… chat." She puts a little too much emphasis on the last word. It sounds oddly vulgar.
She gives Alistair's shoulder a friendly squeeze as she walks passed him then leans over Bron to place a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. The two women exchange a few words in Orlesian (and he forgets sometimes that Bron has spent most of her adult like in Orlais) before Leliana gives a final wave and walks smartly from the tavern.
He watches Leliana until the door closes behind her and when he turns his attention back to Bron he finds that she's already looking at him, the same expression of concern from before back on her face.
"So your conversation went… well?" she asks tentatively.
"Well enough. A little awkward at first but…" he pauses and considers, "It was… nice - by the end at least."
"Good, I was… worried."
He smiles, oddly touched. "You were? Why?"
"We've been at Skyhold for several days now and you've barely spent any time with Leliana. I was beginning to suspect you were avoiding her."
"Well… I guess I was."
"I thought she was your friend."
"She was – a very long time ago. But people change, and I left Fereldan so suddenly, and I wasn't sure what it would be like to see her again."
"She has always spoken very highly of you."
"Really?" he exclaims, disbelief evident in his tone. He hadn't realised that Leliana thought so well of him.
"Your commitment to the wardens, your skill with a blade, your kindness and compassion – Leliana told me many stories." She pauses and looks to the side, raising her hands to rub at her eyes in what Alistair suspects is a poor attempt at hiding her growing blush.
He's seen her like this a lot recently, fidgety and embarrassed. Perhaps it's because she's finally being more open with him and it makes her uncomfortable. Alistair suspects Bron's not the type who deals well with feeling exposed.
"I was actually rather… well… excited to be picked for the mission of retrieving you from your exile," she continues," I'd heard so many stories of your heroism during the blight. I thought that you would be a… formidable man."
He can't help but laugh sharply at that. "You must have been pretty disappointed when you finally found me."
"Yes – enormously," she replies without missing a beat and while he wouldn't blame her if she did indeed find him a disappointment, he can tell from her smirk that she is only teasing him.
"Yes, well, I may be a disappointment but at least I'm here! I'm with the Inquisition and you've succeeded in your mission."
A delighted smile spreads across her face, smug and self-satisfied. It's endearing really, how pleased she is with herself, revelling in contentment at her success.
"Out of curiosity…" he ventures, deciding it the right time to ask a question he's been considering for some time, "what would you have done if I had refused to come back to Haven with you?"
She takes a brief moment to think, lips pursed and brows furrowed. "My mission was too important to fail," she answers, "I would not have returned to Haven without you."
"So you would have just stayed and carried on trying to persuade me to come with you?"
"No," she says, shaking her head primly, "I would have poisoned you and kept you unconscious for several days as I took you back to Haven against your will."
He laughs; he's always enjoyed Bron's dry, deadpan humour. But then he realises that she's not laughing with him and he suddenly stills. "You're – not joking?"
She looks affronted, glaring at him sharply as if he has somehow impugned her character. "I don't joke about abductions," she states simply.
Well, quite right. He doesn't know what he was expecting really. He'd asked her a straightforward question and she'd given him a straightforward, unfailingly practical answer in response – just as Bron always had.
"For the record, I'm glad that you came willingly," she hurriedly adds, "I'm glad that I didn't have to poison you."
"Yeah. I'm pretty glad about that too," he drawls dryly, rolling his eyes and grimacing dramatically until Bron breaks into easy giggles.
And actually, when he really thinks about it, he's glad about a great many things. He's glad that he survived the Blight. He's glad that he met Hawke and that she gave him the push he needed to sort out his life. He's glad that Bron found him, glad that she stuck with him, even when she thought the Inquisition dead and she could have easily walked away from him. He's glad that she's here with him now, laughing at his silly faces and teasing him with the calm ease of an old friend.
She raises a hand and nudges his shoulder playfully. It's a simple gesture, just a fleeting moment of physical contact. But Bron doesn't touch easily and he knows that this is important; that they've both worked hard to develop this easy, warm comradeship.
Despite his initial reservations, he's glad that he's here, with the Inquisition. It's… nice, he thinks, to feel like he belongs.