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[thats1evildude]

This is one of those stories that has very little plot; in fact, the whole thing can be summed up as "Sigrun tries to read a book but has a hard time doing so." If you want to see how I stretched 5,000-plus words from that brief summary, then keep reading.

As I said elsewhere, Sigrun is one of those characters that gets little love in the fandom. Which is a shame, because she's as close to a universally-liked characters as you can get in this series; although she has detractors, they are few.

This story is set during Awakening and also features cameos by Velanna, Nathaniel and Oghren. I left out Anders and Justice for a reason. If you don't want to read about my own Warden character, then skip the final chapter.

If you liked this story and want to read other stuff I've done, then you can find it here:

http://zombiehunter52.deviantart.com/

Modifié par thats1evildude, 24 novembre 2011 - 09:18 .

[thats1evildude]

The squire bowed quickly to Lady Talia, sweeping his hands through the air in an exaggerated, almost comical fashion. He reminded the lady of an animal she had once spied in the marketplace, a chattering beast exported
from the jungles of Seheron that hung from the top of its cage via a long tail wrapped around the bars.

“Er, Lady Talia, may I present my lord and master Ser Garren?”

The knight stepped before her, the clanking of his heavy armor adding to the din of the dance hall. Talia herself did not speak, only extending her perfumed hand in a perfunctory show of civility.

She only glanced in the knight’s direction when he pressed his rough, sandpaper lips to her delicate flesh.

“Charmed, milady,” the knight stated, his voice rasping and harsh. “What a lovely thing you are.”

“I am, uh, pleased to meet your acquaintance, Ser Garren,” Talia responded, side-stepping his odd comment.

The knight smiled at her with a mouth of yellowed teeth. Garren looked at her in a way that made her distinctly uncomfortable, and she turned her gaze away from his own.

Garren stood, brushing away the hair that hung limply over his eyes.

“If I may be so bold, milady, may I ask for this next dance?” he asked gruffly.

Talia was suddenly overcome with the urge to flee from the ballroom, but her training as a noblewoman of Orlais kept her terror in check.

“I-I would be honoured, Ser Garren,” her eyes darting nervously to her fiancée still standing near the banquet.

Still grasping her hand tightly, Ser Garren led Lady Talia to the centre of the great chamber, weaving through the crowd of chatting, bored noblemen. Almost on cue, the orchestra finished the piece they had been playing and began to set up for a new performacne; there was more than enough time for the couple to take positions on the bustling dance floor.

The music started anew, and Talia’s stomach sank when she realized that the band was playing a waltz.

Ser Garren’s hand slipped around her waist and pulled her close to him; she was close enough to count every scar on his rough features. As he pulled her across the dance floor, he leaned in close and said—

“Is that my book, dwarf?!”

Startled, Sigrun nearly let her book tumble to the floor, but was able to keep her hands on it. She jerked her head up and saw that Velanna was standing directly in front of her, glaring angrily. Her hands were placed firmly on both hips and she was giving Sigrun a look that she suspected would have soured milk.

Uh oh.

Sigrun looked around her on the slim chance that the elf wasn’t glowering at someone else. No such luck; the hall was empty, save for a single human merchant who appeared to be cowering in the corner, doing his best not to be noticed by the angry elven witch.

She must be talking to me, Sigrun concluded. If it was the human she was mad at, he’d be dead already.

“Umm, is there some I can help you with, Velanna?”

“My book!” Velanna snapped, as though that were all the explanation that was needed.

“I don’t …”

“A history of the Dales! I was reading it last night and now I can’t find it. It has the same red binding as the book you’re reading! Did you take it?”

Sigrun raised an eyebrow. “I’m … sorry, Velanna, this isn’t your history book. This is a novel.”

She closed the book around and held it up, allowing Velanna to examine it.

Velanna scanned the title. “‘The Rose of Orlais?’”

Sigrun nodded. “It’s a story about an Orlesian noblewoman who falls in love with a brutish knight. But see, she’s engaged to marry another man, and then the knight starts to pursue her, and …”

Without waiting for Sigrun to finish, Velanna abruptly reached out and snatched the book out of her hands. Scowling, she flipped through the pages while Sigrun watched her, stunned by her rudeness.

Finally, Velanna clapped the book shut with a disgusted snort.

“By the Creators. Sigrun is this one of those vile romance novels that the shemlen write?”

Sigrun grabbed the book away from the elf and hugged it close to her chest. “Well, I’ve read nearly everything else on this bookshelf, so don’t pester me about it,” she said defensively.

Velanna’s eyes widened as she stared at the bookshelf. “You read ALL of these books?” she asked, gesturing towards the shelves crammed with tomes.

“Well, I did skim a few,” Sigrun admitted. “There were a couple books that didn’t interest me that much. There was one about the mating habits of deepstalkers I didn’t pay much attention to — way too gross. And there was a preachy book about how Andraste was really a mage, but I think someone tried to burn that, because most of the pages were black.”

Velanna shook her head. “To think that good trees were cut down so that humans could scribe such vulgar trash.”

“I don’t think it’s so bad,” Sigrun commented, but Velanna ignored her and continued to rant.

“Humans are such perverted, filthy creatures. I would expect someone like Anders to waste his time on such trash, but I thought better of you Sigrun. Why would you spend your energy on this tripe?”

One of Sigrun’s eyes fluttered a little as she bit down onher tongue to keep from saying something extremely vulgar about Velanna’s parentage.

Still, she would not let Velanna’s comment slide. As they say in Orzammar, that was the load that broke the bronto’s back. Her patience worn to a razor-thin line, Sigrun locked eyes with the elf.

“It’s just entertainment, Velanna,” she snarled through gritted teeth. “Don’t you like love stories?”

Velanna turned her nose into the air. “Bah. I am the first to the Keeper of my tribe. I have more important matters on my mind than such trivialities.”

“Riiiiiight,” Sigrun said. “Maybe that’s why you’re always stealing glances at Nathaniel and giggling like a noble hunter when he compliments your looks.”

Velanna’s jaw dropped.

“WHAT?! I would never—“

Sigrun held up a hand. “Please, don’t deny it. The way you fritter over him, I’d swear you were going to start passing him love notes. I can see why; for a human, he’s awfully handsome.”

Velanna’s face turned bright red and her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her whole body began to tremble like a kettle on a hot stove. Sigrun wasn’t entirely certain, but she could swear that smoke was beginning to curl into the air above the elf’s head.

“Why you … how dare you … you horrid little … I ought to … “

Sigrun wagged a finger at her while wearing an impish grin. “Nuh-uh. Before you do anything rash, Velanna remember that I’m a dwarf and you’re a mage. You know how that goes.”

Velanna stood there fuming while attempting to bore holes in Sigrun’s skull with her glare. Sigrun weathered it like a true Legionnaire and pressed on with her taunts.

“Well, Velanna, it’s been swell chatting. But if you can’t find your book, why don’t you run off and make doe eyes at Nathaniel? I think I saw him in the courtyard, practicing his brooding.”

The elf stood there for several more seconds, then turned swiftly on her heel and stormed away, heading towards the main doors.

Feeling incredibly smug, Sigrun slowly raised her hand and waved it in a mocking farewell. “Have a nice day, Velanna,” she called after her.

As the elf stormed from the chamber, Sigrun heard Velanna scream “GET OUT OF MY WAY!” to someone in the hall, followed by a loud crash and the sound of plates smashing.

Sigrun sat for several moments, grinning with no small sense of satisfaction. As soon as she was convinced that Velanna was out of earshot, however, Sigrun leapt to her feet and scampered out of the throne room, hoping to find a safer spot to read before Velanna remembered that dwarves are only resistant to magic, but not immune.

Modifié par thats1evildude, 24 novembre 2011 - 09:30 .

[thats1evildude]

“Ser Garren, I have had enough of you following me!”

The knight gave her a lopsided grin. “Is there some law that restricts my presence on these lands? Some rule that allows only flighty high-born ladies to walk its paths?”

Lady Talia turned back and stomped back to Ser Garren, who regarded her with amusement. “Flighty?!” she spat out angrily.

“Would you prefer stuck-up? Haughty?” The knight stroked his beard. “No, wait: arrogant. I can think of no better word for the likes of you.”

The forest grew suddenly still thin, and Lady Talia’s rage overtook her. She struck him, hard, across the face, the loud smack echoing through the trees. His head even twisted with the blow.

“Pig!” she snapped.

The knight slowly raised his hand to his cheek and rubbed it, slightly. “Nice swing, milady,” he murmured. “But may I offer this retort?”

Ser Garren sprang towards her. Too late, Talia could see that the knight had goaded her into coming back so that she would be unable to flee.

She raised her hands in a defensive gesture,, but Garren forced her arms away. His head dipped low and he kissed her then, harshly. She tried to pull away, but found she couldn’t.

She had options, of course. She could bite his lip, kick  his shins, pull away and then scream bloody murder for the guards. They were certain to hear her. She could have Garren hauled away, tossed in a cell, tried for attempting to force himself on a noblewoman.

She could do a thousand things to end this kiss with this horrid beast of a knight, but despite the revulsion she was feeling, Lady Talia found she simply couldn’t. Perhaps it was the pounding of her heart that made it hard to think, or perhaps it was something else, a desire that had been long festering but was now given voice.

Finally, the kiss ended, and Garren stepped away, breathless but smiling. As she stared blankly at the knight, too shocked to speak, he grinned slightly and said—

“Sigrun, I need to talk to you!” Nathaniel’s voice rang out,followed by the loud banging sound of a fist pounding on wood.

Hidden behind a stack of crates, Sigrun took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to remain as quiet as possible. She was alone in this storeroom, nestled against the wall with the adventures of Lady Talia and her torrid love affair.

It seems her solitude had come to an end, however, as the door continued to shake from the pounding of Nathaniel’s fist.

Maybe if I stay quiet he won’t know I’m here, she hoped.

Nathaniel’s voice rang out again.

“Holy Andraste, Sigrun, open the damned door! I know you’re in there!” he bellowed. “A guard saw you go into the storeroom! I need to talk to you!”

Buuuuusted, a mocking voice whispered in her mind.

Sigrun rolled her eyes. "Nug droppings,” she muttered before climbing to her feet, the Rose of Orlais tucked underneath her arm.

When she opened the door, she was greeted by a deep frown. Of course, Nathaniel wore frowns like people wear socks — damn near perpetually, in other words, except when in bed or making love.

But this was an especially angry frown. He wasn’t just surly or generally pissed at the world because Father didn't love him; he was furious. The nostrils on his odd fishhook nose were flaring, and his face had turned red.

Well, mostly red. The pale white outline of a woman’s hand on his cheek — the mark of a very hard slap — was still shining.

“Sigrun,” Nathaniel began, his steady voice barely concealing his rage, “may I ask what you said to Velanna an hour ago?”

“Velanna?” Sigrun scratched her head. “Uh, haven’t seenher.”

“Really?” Nathaniel’s eye twitched. “Then why did Velannaburst into the courtyard an hour ago to accuse me of spreading rumours about her? And what did I do to earn this?” He jabbed a finger accusingly at his throbbing cheek.

Sigrun held up her hands. “Whoa, whoa,” she said, “I didn’t tell her anything like that.”

“What did you tell her then?” he demanded.

“Well, I might have …” Sigrun’s words trailed off. She
dropped her gaze to the floor.

Nathaniel pressed on, undaunted. He bent down and leaned in
very close before raising Sigrun’s chin with two finger.

“Yeeeeeeesssss? What did you tell her, Sigrun?”

Sigrun smiled weakly. “Well … I might have teased her about …fancying  you?”

Nathaniel’s hand shot to his forehead with an audible smack of leather on flesh. “Why in the Maker’s name would you tell her THAT?!” Nathaniel shouted.

“She was bothering me.”

“Bothering YOU?!” he bellowed. “Bothering YOU?! Sigrun, Velanna shouted at me for fifteen minutes straight because of what you said! I haven’t been lectured like that since I was a child!”

“Really?” Sigrun’s eyebrows perked up in interest. “What did she say?”

“For starters, that I was dreaming if I ever thought she’d spread her legs for a dirty shemlen rat like myself. She then went on a tirade about my poor archery skills, my crooked nose and how my traitor of a father had brought shame on my family name for generations to come.”

“Wow,” Sigrun remarked, amazed. “She really didn’t pull any punches, did she?”

“No, she did not. And I suspect she’s in the Commander’s office right now trying to get us kicked out of the order.” Nathaniel shook his head. “Really, Sigrun, what were you thinking?!”

Sigrun frowned and clapped her hands together as though to pray for forgiveness. “I’m so sorry, Nathaniel. I didn’t know when I teased her she’d take it out on you.”

“You should have considered your actions more carefully, Sigrun. This is Velanna we’re talking about here! Velanna!”

“I know, I’m so sorry!” Sigrun hung her head in shame, briefly considering whether or not she should try crying.

Fortunately, such a display wasn’t needed; her apology seemed to be enough for Nathaniel. The young Howe sighed and adjusted the bow on his back.

“What’s done is done, I suppose,” he said. “Nothing we can do about it now.”

The two stood together silently in the doorway of the storeroom for a few moments, quietly.

“So … why are you hiding in the storeroom, anyway?”

“Oh, I was just reading,” Sigrun remarked.

“Reading?”

“The book I had started when Velanna interrupted me. It’s called The Rose of Orlais.”

“What?” Nathaniel exclaimed in disbelief. “You found The Rose of Orlais?!”

Sigrun took a step back. “You’ve … read it?”

Nathaniel threw his arms into the air. “Have I read it? Sigrun, that was my mother’s favourite book! I’ve been looking for it forever!”

The archer peered over Sigrun’s head into the storeroom. “Do you have it in there? I must have it immediately!”

“No, it’s here.” Sigrun reached under her arm and held up the Rose of Orlais. Nathaniel snatched at it.

“But … I’m not done reading it,” she argued.

“Sigrun, this is my family history we’re talking about here!You don’t want to deprive me of a treasured heirloom, do you?”

“No, but …”

“Then give it here!”

Nathaniel held out his hands expectingly, waiting for Sigrun to place the tome in them.

Sigrun opened her mouth to protest but her protests died in her throat when she noticed Nathaniel’s eyes watering.

She sighed wearily. “OK, Nathaniel, I guess you can have—“

The dwarven rogue’s sentence was promptly cut off by an angered screech. As one, Nathaniel and Sigrun turned towards the source.

There, at the end of the corridor, stood Velanna. Her hair had become undone, perhaps in the midst of a yelling fit, and long blonde strands now tumbled down to her shoulders and across her face. Nonetheless, she
could see both of them. Her tiny body was practically trembling with rage, and she pointed at the pair accusingly.

“I knew it! I KNEW IT! Conspiring to spread more rumours about me! Why, I have half a mind to tear both of you a new—“

Nathaniel spun back to Sigrun. “Quickly! Give the book to me while I have a chance to escape!”

Sigrun turned back to Nathaniel. His fingers flexed in anticipation of getting the book.

As the elven witch drew up the corridor, wagging her finger and shouting insults, Sigrun’s mind raced. It was one thing to give away the book before she was done reading it, but Nathaniel’s intent was clear; he would lee from this passage and leave Sigrun to the mercy of Velanna.

While Sigrun was all for returning his mother’s book to Nathaniel, she wasn’t particularly keen on getting yelled at for an hour.

But there wasn’t enough time for both of them to get away. A wave of guilt overcame Sigrun as she came to a terrible conclusion.

“Sorry, Nathaniel,” Sigrun murmured, before stomping on the archer’s right foot. Hard.

As he cried out in pain and jumped up on one foot, Sigrun took off down the corridor, shouting behind her “I get the book back to you
tomorrow!”

Nathaniel’s cries of protest were soon swallowed up in Velanna’s own, but the dwarf never looked back.

Modifié par thats1evildude, 16 octobre 2011 - 05:15 .

[thats1evildude]

“You shouldn’t have come.”

Garren looked at her thoughtfully. His own face was silhouetted in the moonlight streaming through her window. “If you knew how I felt about you, you’d know that there was no way I couldn’t."

Lady Talia glanced to the floor, blushing. The knight placed his fingers underneath her chin and raised her face to meet his own.

“Andraste’s Blood, but you’re beautiful,” he whispered to her. He bent in to kiss her, but she turned away, hugging herself.

“This isn’t right,” she lamented. “My husband—“

“Your fiancée,” he corrected her.

“Keenan isn’t a bad man.” She said his name forcefully,as though to stress the point. “He loves me … It isn’t right to do this to him.”

Garren “But do you love him?”

She covered her eyes, trying desperately to force back her tears. “I don’t know! You have me so confused.” She wheeled on the knight, her eyes now red. “Please, just go!”

Garren crossed his arms. “No,” he answered.

“Please,” she whispered, her cheeks now wet with the tears streaming down them. “Please, I want you to go.”

Garren moved towards her. “Only you have the power to force me to leave, Talia. You need but shout out, and your fiancée will come running.”

Talia shook her head. “He would kill you.”

“That would be better than living without you.”

He took her in his arms, then, and she gave herself without resistance. Her trembling ceased, and the warmth of his body pervaded her own. They kissed deeply, and as her nightgown fell to the floor, she leaned in and whispered—

“Whatcha up to, ya saucy minx?”

Sigrun clapped the book shut with an aggravated grunt. She’d been so engrossed in her reading that she failed to notice the stench of hard liquor and what was probably vomit emanating from several feet in front of her. It overpowered even the smells of the keep’s kitchen.

“What do you want, Oghren?” she asked wearily.

“Nuthin,’” the dwarf replied, swaying slightly on his feet. For a moment, Sigrun feared he might fall over, but he managed to keep his balance. “I just nipped down to the kitchen here for a night cap and saw you sittin’ in the corner, that’s all.”

“Well, you seen me!” Sigrun said, gesturing to the door. “Best be on your way now!”

“Sure, sure,” Oghren mumbled, absently scratching his stomach. “Why’re ya reading in the kitchen anyway?”

“Because it’s empty at night!” she snapped. “I want to be alone! Got it?’

“I hear ya,” he mumbled.

Sigrun leaned back on her seat and waited for Oghren to leave, but if he actually intended on meeting her request, he was doing a ******-poor job. Instead, the red-headed dwarf glanced around the kitchen, digging at his privates with two fingers and occasionally letting out a loud belch or a fart.

 “So whaddya reading anyway?” Oghren asked at last.

Sigrun slapped her forehead. “Does it matter?”

“I’ve never been much for the written word myself,” Oghren continued. “Branka sure was, though. She was always readin’ something about the lore of the ancients and whatnot. And poetry! She could spend hours in her
private quarters listening to poems written by that bodyguard of hers, Hespith.”

Oghren scratched his chin. “Shoulda … shoulda considered that a sign, in retrospect.”

“Lovely story, Oghren. Now will you please go?”

Oghren ignored her plea. “So what’s the book yer readin’, hot stuff?”

A tired sigh escaped Sigrun’s lips. “The Rose of Orlais.’

“The Rose of …? Is it about flowers and gardening and whatnot?”

Sigrun narrowed her eyes in a look of disbelief. “What? No, you idiot! Why would I read a book about gardening? It’s a love story!”

“A love story! HA!” Oghren bellowed with a loud guffaw. “If you’re in the mood for romance, why didn’t you say so?”

With that, Oghren stumbled forward, his eyes intent on Sigrun. She pleaded with him to stop, to go away, but to no avail.

With a grunt, Oghren half-flopped on the bench the dwarven rogue was sitting on. Sigrun slid up the bench as far she could, but Oghren scooted his ass up next to her. The sound of his metal armor grinding on the stone made Sigrun’s teeth ache.

“Why don’t I tell ya a love story of my own?” Oghren mumbled. “It’s about a brave dwarven warrior and a Legionnaire who meet in the Deep Roads. The story ends with them going at it like mabari in heat in his bedchambers.”

Sigrun fought down the urge to gag from the stench of Oghren’s breath. “By any chance, does the Legionnaire slit her wrists afterwards?”

“Bah, yer just frigid, is all.” He grinned. “Why don’t you let ol’ Oghren warm up them dead bones of yours?”

With that, Oghren’s hand snaked its way on to her right thigh as the warrior clumsily leaned in for a kiss.

“All right, that’s it!” Sigrun jumped up from the bench. She wheeled on Oghren, who stared up at Sigrun, glass-eyed.

“I could stand the drunken come-ons, Oghren, but when you start getting grabby, that’s when I start getting punch-y! Say goodbye to your sodding teeth, you giant bronto turd!”

She drew her fist back for a punch she hoped would break Oghren’s jaw.

But the blow never came.

A split second before Sigrun’s fist connected with Oghren’s face, the drunken dwarf passed out, slumping to the floor with a groan. He landed face-first with his ass sticking up in the air, and within seconds he was snoring loudly.

Sigrun lowered her fist, hardly believing her luck. She considered giving him a kick, but decided against it; she didn’t want to risk waking Oghren up.

As silent as a wraith, she picked up a small satchel hanging off a hook on the wall and tucked her book into it. While Oghren slumbered behind her, she crept out of the kitchen, pausing only to take a lantern from a shelf.

The corridor outside was empty, save for a pair of indistinct shapes draped in shadow at the end of the hall where no torches were lit.

Sigrun peered down the corridor. She couldn’t make out who they were, but she could see that one of the shapes resembled a tall human while the other was short, slender and decidedly curvaceous. They were embracing, and from the looks of it, kissing rather passionately.

Sigrun watched as they quickly broke apart, perhaps after noticing Sigrun. The smaller shape slapped the larger across its face and an unmistakenly female voice exclaimed “Shemlen pig!” as the blow connected with its target.

They stood there silently for several seconds before the woman pulled the man to her again and they resumed kissing.

Shaking her head in disbelief, Sigrun made her way to the castle walls.

Modifié par thats1evildude, 16 octobre 2011 - 05:21 .

[thats1evildude]

The night air was chilly, especially out on the open parapets of Vigil’s Keep. Sigrun shivered as she awkwardly tugged at the heavy cloak wrapped around her shoulders; she was not used to the cool temperatures of the surface, where there were no streams of magma cutting through the Deep Roads to generate natural heat.

Thankfully, there was no wind, which would make have made her task into a fool’s errand.

Holding her lantern in front of her, Sigrun made her way along the walls of the ancient fortress. There was light enough from the stars above for her to see normally, but Sigrun had another goal in mind beyond touring the Vigil. Her thoughts strayed to the copy of The Rose of Orlais tucked in her pack.

It would have made more sense to wait until morning, but Sigrun was determined to finish the book this evening. She’d had her fill of distractions.

Finding a suitable spot, Sigrun quickly scanned her surroundings to make sure she was alone. Seeing no one, she set down the lantern and then plopped down on to her ass with a sigh of relief.

Wasting no more time, she retrieved her book. Sigrun quickly breezed through two chapters of Lady Talia bemoaning her inexplicable yet fierce attraction to Garren and was about to finish the final chapter in which Talia finally accepted or rejected the chevalier’s proposal of marriage when she was suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling that she was being watched.

Sigrun set down the Rose of Orlais with one hand as the other sneaked down to the dagger on her belt. She waited for several seconds, listening intently.

There was a noise behind her, and in a flash Sigrun was on her feet, brandishing her knife. She spotted someone moving within the shadows that clung to the edges of the keep.

“Who’s there?!” she cried out in challenge. “Show yourself, you nug-humping bastard, or I’ll spread your guts from here to Amaranthine!”

A figure with spiky straw hair stepped from the darkness and into the light. It was only then that she recognized the Warden Commander, wearing a look of surprise on his face and holding up both hands in an indication of surrender.

“Uhhh … hello to you too, Sigrun.”

“Commander!” Sigrun exclaimed, before quickly sheathing the dagger. “I’m so sorry! I thought perhaps you were Oghren!”

The elf cocked an eyebrow. “If you thought it was Oghren, then why did you pull a knife?”

“Uh … no reason,” she said, avoiding the question. “What are you doing out here?”

The Warden Commander lowered his hands slowly, as though he was expecting other recruits to burst on the scene and start waving weapons in his face.

“I come out here sometimes on clear nights. I’m sorry for sneaking up on you. Was I interrupting something important?”

“Yes. Well, no. I just came out here to read.”

The Commander’s eyebrow jumped yet again. It was an expression that was oddly befitting of an elf. “You … came out here to read?”

“I had some … difficulties earlier.”

“Ah. Does this have anything to do with Velanna bursting into my chambers earlier today and insisting that I expel both you and Nathaniel from the Grey Wardens?”

“You could say that. Should I go pack up my things, then?”

The Commander shook his head. “No, you’re still a member of the order. But I think Velanna might have put a curse on me for refusing her request, so you better keep an eye out in case I turn into a werewolf.”

Sigrun laughed. “I’ll do that, sir. Thank you.”

An awkward silence followed. “Well … I’ll let you get back to it,” he remarked finally. “I apologize for my interruption.”

With that, the Warden Commander turned and walked a short distance away, far enough that Sigrun sensed it wouldn’t feel as though he were hovering in the background. Bracing one foot on the parapets, he gazed up into the blanket of stars covering the night sky.

That should have been the end of it, but before she picked up her book, Sigrun paused and watched the Commander.

He’s not just idly stargazing. He’s actively looking for something.

It was at that moment that Sigrun realized how little she knew of the Commander. She knew he was an elf, obviously, and that he played in a key role in defending Ferelden from the Fifth Blight. But that was it. He often spoke to her of life in Orzammar and her time with the Legion … but of his own past, he said virtually nothing.

He looks lonely, she thought, and the realization saddened her.

She glanced down at the Rose of Orlais. There was just a little bit left of the book. Just one chapter. One chapter that she might never finish reading if she didn’t start it now, because who knews what interruptions awaited her tomorrow? It would take her a half-hour. The Warden Commander didn’t need someone to talk to. Did he say anything like that? Why was she worrying about it? She should just sit down and finish reading, just keep  going, then go to bed. Doing anything else would be the most stupid thing she could possibly OH SOD IT.

Lady Talia could bloody well wait.

Gathering up her book and her lantern, Sigrun walked over to the Commander. The elf gave her a curious look.

“I thought you wanted to finish your book,” he remarked.

Sigrun stepped up beside him. “It can wait a bit,” she said. “You looked like you needed some company.”

“I’m fine.” He straightened up gave her a hollow smile that she guessed was supposed to be re-assuring. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Who said I was worried? I just thought, y’know, it might be fun to stargaze a little. But if you want me to leave, Commander …”

He looked out at the stars. “Do what you like,” he said finally.

A long silence followed, and over the course of a hundred heartbeats, Sigrun wondered if she was just being foolish. The Commander didn’t ask for her company, after all. Maybe she should just go.

But then she looked at him again and noticed his anxiousness, as though something were preying on his thoughts and the only way to get rid of that ache was to give voice to it.

So she stayed. And waited. And at last he spoke.

 “I … owe you another apology, Sigrun,” the commander said at last, his voice heavy with regret.

Now it was Sigrun’s turn to look confused. “What for?”

“For the Carta,” he answered. “For what I did in Orzammar.”

Sigrun remained silent.

The elf took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his breath ragged.

“When I was gathering allies against the Blight, I was charged by Prince Bhelen to take down Jarvia’s gang. I agreed to do so. I broke into their hideout and slew Jarvia herself, along with many other Carta dwarves.”

Sigrun scoffed. “Jarvia was no friend of mine,” she said. “I hated that sodding cow. She broke one of my fingers once at Beraht’s orders.”

The elf frowned. “I know that Jarvia was bad, but … most of those dwarves didn’t have a choice. The caste system in Orzammar, it forced them to be criminals. It wasn’t right to kill them.” He frowned. “I’m just sorry if … if I killed anyone you knew.”

She reached out and touched his arm lightly. “You did what you had to. That’s what we all do in Dust Town: we fight to survive.”

The elf nodded in solemn agreement, though Sigrun noticed that he was trying hard not to meet her gaze.

Several minutes of awkward silence ticked away before either of them spoke again.

 “It’s a beautiful night,” Sigrun remarked.

“It is.” The Commander gestured to the horizon. “You’re not bothered by all that empty skyline?”

 Sigrun smiled. “A little at first, but not anymore. Don’t be surprised if I fall into the sky any moment now, though.”

“Don’t worry. If I notice you start to take off, I’ll grab one of your legs and tie it to a rock.”

“Aren’t you worried that I might take you with me?”

He shook his head. “Elves don’t fly. The world works too hard at keeping us down.”

The dwarf chuckled. “That’d be much appreciated, Commander.”

“Darian,” the elf stated, matter-of-factly. “My name is Darian. You can call me Commander in front of the others, but out here, it’s just Darian.”

“Darian,” Sigrun repeated, turning over in her mind. “It’s an odd name, but I like it.”

Now it was the Commander's turn to smile. Sigrun stopped short of clapping her hands over her mouth; the sight of the Commander grinning in genuine happiness was like spotting a griffin soaring through the air or being invited to tea by a dragon.

When the shock wore off, however, Sigrun found herself noticing that Darian was none too bad-looking. For an pointy-eared elf, that is.

He’s got a nice smile. Shame he doesn’t wear it more often, Sigrun thought.

“Do you know much about stars?” he asked suddenly.

“Uh, hello? Dwarf here.”

Darian ignored her snarky observation and pointed to the sky, indicating a cluster of stars far to the east. “A close friend of mine told me a story about those stars. Would you like to hear it?”

Sigrun cocked her head like a mabari regarding something curious. “A friend?”

“A traveling companion. She was unable to accompany me to Amaranthine, but she might visit the Keep soon.”

 “Ohhhhhh. So is this a friend or is this a ‘friend’?” she teased, emphasizing the term with finger quotes.

The Commander’s smile faded.  “A Warden never kisses and tells,” he grumbled. “Now do you want to hear the damn story or not?”

With a shrug, Sigun gestured for him to continue.

“That cluster of stars is named for a fair maiden named Alindra, who had many suitors but spurned them all. Then one day, when a solider was passing underneath her window, he heard her beautiful singing …”

Sigrun nodded and listened carefully as the Warden Commander shared the tale. Nearby, the Rose of Orlais rested at the bottom of her pack, all but forgotten.

THE END

Modifié par thats1evildude, 16 octobre 2011 - 05:29 .