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What Becomes Of The Broken Hearted	By : kruemel Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 4863 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age or any of the Dragon Age characters. This is a non-profit fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 9
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- 11
@Anon: Well, thanks. ;)
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My conflicting emotions deprived me of sleep. Lying in my arms, Rori had dozed off a while ago, her head resting on my shoulder. Her warm breath tickled the crook of my neck. When I buried my face in her hair I inhaled the fresh, tangy scent of verbena. Closing my eyes, I tried to invoke Suri’s image, but with the soft warmth of an unmistakably female body pressed against mine, all I could think about was how much I longed to fondle Rori’s breasts...
Maker’s Breath! I had only just kissed her. Granted, it was several times and it had been quite steamy... but still...
Alright! Busted! I admit it: I have a preference for full-bosomed women—a predilection I never confessed to Suri. With her gamine figure, her breasts were the size of midges’ bites—Oghren’s words, not mine... It’s a miracle he lived to regret telling her she had small breasts for a gal. Especially since he told Zevran the very same right before passing the compliment on to Surana. Anyway, Suri’s admittedly quite small breasts had been her weak spot—the chink in her armor, so to speak. Next to her mop of frizzy hair, that is. I loved her nonetheless. To me, she had been the most beautiful woman I had ever met—frizzy hair, small bosom, and everything...
Notwithstanding, our encounter with Captain Isabela had been quite... thrilling... concerning bosoms... No wonder Suri hadn’t talked to me for two weeks afterwards... although it so hadn’t been my idea!
Rori... she was in no way inferior to Isabela when it came to busty bosoms...
Maker’s Breath! I had to be really drunk, really desperate, or really needy if all I could think about was breasts...
Suri. I had to focus on her. On the purity of our love... But the only images popping up in my mind were those of our first night together. She had asked me once and I had panicked. I had not been prepared for any... lamppost licking. I was ashamed of my lack of and intimidated by Suri’s treasure trove of experience. Let’s just say she was the adventurous type. When she had asked me a second time, I hadn’t dared to turn her down again. She had been all, “Ready or not, here I come.” She had knocked me flat and for sure had expanded my horizons.
Still, I had always felt I wasn’t able to match up with her... Rich in experience and several years my senior, she had always been the one in charge—including the times when she didn’t have any clue as she had never been one to admit she didn’t know what she was doing.
Without her, I was like an abandoned dog that still hadn’t accepted the fact that his mistress wouldn’t return. My loneliness consumed me. It gnawed at my soul. Until tonight I had walked a lonely road that had led me straight downhill. Now, all of a sudden there was a turnoff and I had to decide whether to plunge forward into disaster by continuing my downhill journey, or to choose the road less traveled and at least try to lead a somewhat content life.
That sounds quite simple, doesn’t it?
Well, it wasn’t.
Riven with grief, I was convinced I deserved misery for always and forever until my dying day. I just couldn’t shake off the guilt of having failed Suri, of having abandoned her when she had needed me the most. It felt so wrong to lie here with this beautiful ginger maiden in my arms while Suri was lying in her cold grave. At the same time, it felt so damn right to be with Rori I yearned to embrace the comfort she offered.
Nothing was right. I was torn and unable to rest. When I couldn’t endure any more, I fled from Rori’s embrace, leaving her, leaving the chamber. In my dreadful state of mind, I got it into my head I would find my murderer out there and face him alone in a single combat—an ultimate showdown. Only it was not the faceless killer I imagined collapsing in a puddle of his own blood...
“Where do you think you’re going at this un-Andrastian hour?” Arms crossed in front of her chest, Mrs. Couldry blocked my way.
“Err...”
“You’re drunk,” she observed disgustedly.
“I am not...”
Bang! Bang! Mrs. Couldry’s wooden ladle went down on my head. “Lies don’t travel far, son. Didn’t I tell you I see everything?” She pointed two fingers at her squinted eyes.
“Ow! Hey! Don’t hit me! I bruise easily.” I covered my head with my hands. “I only just recovered from a concussion.”
“You need some sense knocked into you,” Mrs. Couldry growled, ladle at the ready. “You want to leave? Tell me, what is a hiding place good for when you don’t hide in it, your Majesty?” My jaw dropped. “Close your mouth, son. You look like a stranded carp.” She tapped her ladle at my chin.
“B-but... why?... how?... what?” I stammered.
“Didn’t I tell you I see everything?” She sharply pointed two fingers at her squinted eyes. “Also, I have good hearing. That does not apply to you considering how often I have to repeat myself.”
“All this time you knew who I am?” I stammered.
“That’s what I said. You’re not the sharpest knife in the drawer, are you?” Mrs. Couldry observed mercilessly, completely unimpressed by the presence of her monarch in her modest little cottage.
“Rori and I... we’re not married,” I blurted out, still shocked by the tiny woman’s revelation.
“You don’t say…” Mrs. Couldry deadpanned. “I expect you to correct that as soon as possible.”
“Wh-what?!” I squeaked. “B-but I cannot marry Rori!”
Mrs. Couldry glowered at me, menacingly slapping her ladle at her palm. “You don’t like her?”
“Well, yes, I do...” I stammered, retreating a few steps to get out of reach of her ladle.
“Then what’s the problem?” Mrs. Couldry demanded to know as if there were no problem at all.
“It’s complicated...” I muttered evasively.
“Bah! You make it complicated. That’s quite a difference.”
It wasn’t that simple, was it? I opened my mouth and closed it again when Mrs. Couldry wagged the ladle my way. “But if you knew all along...” I mumbled lamely instead. “Slim said you had no idea...”
“Slim likes to believe his mother is an unsuspecting old woman. But it is he who has no clue,” she chortled as she guided me towards the table by poking me with her ladle. “Here, take a seat. Have a cup of tea. And then tell good old Mrs. Couldry what’s bothering you.”
“You won’t take no for an answer, will you?” I sighed, obediently slumping down on the ramshackle chair.
“You’re smarter than you look.” Mrs. Couldry poured me a cup of tea—chamomile (it grew on the meadows in the hills around Denerim). Elves couldn’t afford the luxury of imported black or green tea. Reluctantly, I turned the cup around in my hands. It was a favor from Cailan’s and Anora’s wedding with a faded picture of the smiling couple. “Come on, son, pluck up your courage. I don’t bite!” Mrs. Couldry urged me kindly. Pointedly I glared at her ladle. Grinning sheepishly, Mrs. Couldry slipped it under the table.
So, resignedly, I told her everything, starting with my childhood—how first my father, then Arl Eamon had abandoned me. With the second cup of tea I described my outsider life in the monastery, portrayed Duncan and the Grey Wardens and how I had lost them at Ostagar. Then—for a whole pot of tea—it was all about Suri. How she had changed my life, how she had given me strength, love, happiness—and how I had lost it all in a heartbeat. Afterwards I shortly introduced Mrs. Couldry to the difficulties of a life as Ferelden’s monarch and lunged myself into a detailed description of my guilt-induced self-hatred. When I was finally done pouring my heart out to a stranger with the patience of a saint, Mrs. Couldry regarded me thoughtfully for a moment, knocking her ladle against the table.
“Your love, would she want you to be unhappy if she were still alive?” She came straight to the point.
“Never! Suri always said I deserve happiness.”
Bang! Bang! Mrs. Couldry’s wooden ladle went down on my head. “Then why do you believe she would change her mind in death?” Mrs. Couldry asked sharply.
“She wouldn’t...” I mumbled, feeling like a complete idiot. “But how can I find happiness without Suri?”
“Life is what you make of it, son.”
She was right. And from her it wasn’t just an empty platitude. She was the living example of her own wisdom.
And what did I do? Did I have an epiphany that changed my life? Nope. Sniveling simp I was, I sulked: “Nothing I do will ever bring Suri back. Why did she have to die? Why did the Maker desert her?”
Immediately Mrs. Couldry wacked me over the head with her ladle again. I guess I deserved it.
“Come here, son,” Mrs. Couldry ordered sternly as she crossed the room and knelt before a makeshift altar. A tiny wooden statue of Andraste stood on a small table, framed by a candle and a vase with field flowers. Mrs. Couldry beckoned me to join her, then she folded her hands in prayer. Obediently, I followed suit.
“Maker,” Mrs. Couldry said with her strong clear voice, “give this fool next to me the serenity to accept the things he cannot change, and the strength to change the things he can." She cast a sharp look at me, squinting her eyes, and added:" And the wisdom to know the difference. Amen.”
“Amen,” I muttered, unable to bite back a grin.
“Got it?” Mrs. Couldry asked coolly.
“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” I confirmed.
“About time,” she snorted.
Mrs. Couldry disappeared into her kitchen when Rori came downstairs. We had a whole lot of things to sort out and I neither knew what I truly felt nor what I really wanted nor how to explain any of the above to Rori...
She blushed prettily when she caught sight of me, then shyly cast her eyes down and kneaded her fingers uneasily. And so we awkwardly stood there, shifting our weight and looking anywhere but at each other. The silence between us grew unbearable. I opened my mouth to say something, lost courage, and made a remark about the weather instead. Rori muttered an equally useless reply. We laughed awkwardly and fell silent again.
“Merciful Andraste!” Mrs. Couldry’s voice sounded from the kitchen. “If you don’t kiss her at once I am going to beat you up with my ladle, king or no! You haven’t forgotten how it works since last night, have you?”
Huh?
Blast it! That woman really did see everything!
“Wha-?” Rori began confusedly when I swept her up in my arms and kissed her. I couldn’t endure any more of Mrs. Couldry’s ladle attacks.
“Ohhh... so it wasn’t a dream,” Rori breathlessly murmured against my lips when we finally broke the kiss. With manly pride I noted that her knees were so wobbly, she clung to me to keep herself upright. “It seemed too good to be true...”
“I’m glad I could convince you of the contrary,” I whispered hoarsely. Fuzzy-headed, I felt like I was floating three feet above the ground. It wasn’t quite cloud nine, but after I had wandered an emotional wasteland for what seemed an eternity, cloud number three or four was more than I had ever dared to dream of.
“I still can’t believe it... You have a whole lot more persuading to do, it seems,” Rori grinned impishly.
“I suppose I could arrange that.” I nibbled at her lower lip—and Rori bit me teasingly in return. Her own boldness both surprised and scared her. She surged forward, pressing her body to mine, deepening the kiss, sucking my tongue into her mouth—and went rigid in my arms when she felt the effect she had on me hard against her stomach. “Sorry...” I began. Then my apology was suffocated by her mouth covering mine. Without breaking the kiss, she bent forward with her lower body as far away from mine as possible. My fingers entangled with her hair as I leaned toward her, her trembling hands rested at my shoulders as our tongues intertwined in tender passion.
Bang! The door burst open. Rori and I jumped apart, startled by the sudden entry of Slim Couldry and Zevran.
“We found the bastard!” Slim blurted out excitedly.
“Language! Don’t make me bring my ladle in there, young man!” Mrs. Couldry shrieked from the other room.
“Sorry, Mum! Anyway, chinless with a wart at the corner of his mouth... This description rung a bell. I just couldn’t put my finger on it until I overheard some gossip about Loghain in the market place. Loghain’s seneschal! He... oh!” The copper-haired halfblood stopped dead, looking from Rori to me and back again. “Did you just kiss her?” he asked suspiciously. “Maker! My mum could have seen you!”
“Slim, about your mother,” I began and hurriedly bit my tongue when I caught sight of Mrs. Couldry glaring daggers at me behind Slim’s back. She swung her ladle like a club. “Your mother... she’s a real fine lady...”
Zevran uncharacteristically stayed in the background, nonchalantly leaning against the doorframe as he examined us closely from half-hooded eyes. “Alistair, my friend, I am surprised to see your period of mourning has come to an end,” he purred into my ear in his thick accent when we left to seek Loghain’s seneschal. “You console yourself with a beautiful woman. Still waters run deep, my friend.”
The sound of his voice made me shudder. I was guilty as charged, caught red-handed kissing another woman with passion when I should have been steeling my heart against any emotion that was not reserved for Suri.
Zevran read my expression like an open book. “Do you really believe Suri would have deprived herself the comfort of another man’s embrace after you broke her heart?” he laughed. “You didn’t know her at all, my naive friend. She sought solace and I gave it to her gladly. No worries, she was well taken care of during her last days.” Smirking, Zevran slapped my back amiably. “You see? There’s no reason to feel guilty.”
Clutching my chest, I checked to see if he had stabbed me. Considering the pain that bore into my heart, I wouldn’t have been surprised if my hands had come away covered in blood.
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- 11
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What Becomes Of The Broken Hearted