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In good times and in bad	By : kruemel Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 14749 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Dragon Age and the characters of the game do not belong to me. This is a no profit fanfiction

Chapter List
- 56
- 57
- 58
Notes:

Refers to the novel "The Calling" by David Gaider.

Chapter Text
„Hello Sandal.“
„Hello Rori, hello Alibear, hello puppy!“ The young dwarf beams at us, clapping his hands as he bounces around giddily. „Enchantment?“
„Not today, Sandal.“ Rori smiles warmly at Sandal and gives him a hug. The dwarf is specially fond of her and she usually has a treat for him, although he most likes it when he can craft an enchantment for her. I like the boy a lot. Yes, he is a complete retard with no more brain capacity than a toddler – even Morrigan admits Sandal is dumber than I am – but his cheerfulness just makes him adorable.
While Sandal plays with Barkley, Rori and I talk to Bodahn. He has hired a mercenary, a young elf from Denerim with short honey coloured hair and dark green eyes. „Darrian Tabris,“ he introduces him to us. „You Grey Wardens are the best protection a merchant can get but I cannot sit outside Orzammar and wait for your return while you are in the Deep Roads.“
„You are Grey Wardens?“ Darrian asks in awe, staring at us as if we were an epiphany. „I've always dreamt of becoming a Grey Warden. But for an elf that's all what it is, a dream.“ He shrugs, offering a shy grin as he runs his nimble fingers through his short hair uneasily.
„Race or social status don't really matter to the Grey Wardens,“ I explain. „My mentor Duncan always said it's men and women from every race, warriors and mages, barbarians and kings. We are united by a higher cause, made brothers and sisters by our sacrifice.“
„That's... it sounds awesome,“ the elf laughs. „Where's the catch?“
„There's more than only one catch,“ Rori sighs. „When they say sacrifice, they mean it.“
„But their sacrifice it's for something great,“ the elf insists enthusiastically. „The greatest thing an elf like I can hope for is to empty the chamber pot of some nobleman.“ He looks at both of us expectantly. Five minutes later Rori has yet another new recruit. It took Duncan twenty years to rebuild the Grey Wardens of Ferelden and they still were only a few. Give Rori the same amount of time and she will have a group of a hundred or more. I just hope those choices she makes... I pray to the Maker they will all make it through their Joining. But I guess I should be more worried about my own survival for now.
The reason why we talk to Bodahn is Dagna. We cannot let her travel to the Circle all alone. She's never been to the surface before. And Bodahn is a nice fellow. He'll take care of her as if she was his own daughter.
Dagna already awaits us inside the gates of Orzammar. She pounces Rori as soon as she sees her. „What did they say? Did they say yes? Oh, please tell me they said yes!“
„Yes, they said yes,“ Rori laughs, swaying when Dagna, squealing with delight, locks herself around her waist to hug her tight. She even lifts Rori off the ground and whirls her around once. Then both topple over.
„Hey, don't get her and yourself killed,“ I laugh, helping both girls back to their feet. Next Dagna clings to my leg and squeezes it in a bear hug.
„Thank you, oh, thank you! I'm your biggest fan forever! You make a dream come true! Oh! I'll go pack my bags right now! Wait... I already packed them two weeks ago! Haha... oh, I am so excited.“ She hops up and down so giddily, I just know we did the right thing. I do hope she'll find what she is looking for at the Circle.
„Get your stuff then,“ Rori laughs, hugging the giddy dwarf back. „You can travel with Bodahn, a dwarven merchant, and his son Sandal.“
„I cannot find the words to say how thankful I am. You are awesome! Both of you!“ Dagna cheeps, then she hugs both Rori and me goodbye. „Visit me at the Circle, will you? I so can't wait to get there! Thank you, thank you for always and forever!“
While Dagna emerges to the surface for the first time in her life – her decision cutting all her bonds with her family – Rori and her little party descend to Orzammar once more. Dagna has tried to find us a guide but failed. Obviously most dwarves think it's suicidal and downright stupid to try to find Branka. „Told me I was sounding like Oghren, that's what they did,“ Dagna growls. „I am so sorry I couldn't help you.“
„Don't worry, Dagna, we'll manage,“ Rori assures her before she can become completely devastated for having failed her heroine. Dagna has already done so much for us. Without her we'd be still trying to find our way around Orzammar. It is incredible how huge this city is – and hard to imagine how great the dwarven realm had to be before the darkspawn tore it down. The Grey Wardens have their own headquarters in Orzammar. Even without being closed down, surfacers aren't often allowed into the city. Merchants stay at the merchant's guild, tourists are non-existent and ambassadors either live in the palace or one of the noble houses. The Grey Wardens are an exception to the rule. They are the only surfacers who are always welcomed. The dwarves never forget about the darkspawn as they are right there at their front door all the time.
„Stranger!“ We turn at the sound of a deep, slightly slurred voice calling us. Within a crowd of dwarves we are easily detected. We tower over them. Even Rori. The voice belongs to a strangely familiar redheaded dwarf with a braided beard. „Have you seen a GreyWarden hereabouts? I've been privy to the rumour that he... or was it she - you understand this was many mugs ago – was searching for Branka on Lord Harrowmont's own command – or was it Behlen?“
The dwarf reeks of alcohol. He's drunk as a lord. Now he mentions Branka, I recall where we've seen him before. He was even more drunken then – and he wasn't wearing any trousers. He obviously does not remember us.
„A Grey Warden? What does that Grey Warden look like?“ Rori grins, shaking her head at the drunken fellow. She keeps her distance, though, clearly remembering him, too.
„Stout and muscular, fair of face, but with a strong jaw and bold nose...“
Everybody turns their eyes on me. „Those dwarves know rugged handsomeness when they see it.“ I grin, throw my head back as I run my fingers through my hair and... prance. But only a little. Vain? Who? I? Noooooo!
„...surrounded by a great glowing nimbus.“
„Only if idiocy glowed,“ Morrigan snorts.
HEY!
„If she's a woman, she might be more slight but her eyes will shine with the light of purity and her large but chaste bosom will heave magnificently.“
Everybody turns their eyes on Rori's boobs. „Hey! Did you miss the part about the eyes?“ she pouts, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
„With boobs as the dwarf describes them who would even get to notice the light of purity in her eyes?“ Zevran wonders out loud as he leers at Rori's bosom. He has a point there. I still scowl at him for ogling my woman.
„I've been looking for hours but I haven't seen anybody who looks like that. Very frustrating.“ The dwarf sighs and scans the area again for the glowing-in-the-dark superheroes he's expecting. I wouldn't mind if I glowed. It's pitch black dark in the Deep Roads. Glowing would come in quite handy. One would also save a whole lot of candles... On a second thought, being a walking, talking beacon would make for a perfect target for any ambush... If one could switch that glow off... how cool would that be?
„You might want to look right here.“ Rori snaps her fingers in front of the dwarf's face. He turns and scrutinizes her thoroughly.
„Nah!“ he finally grunts in mere disbelief. „You're no more than a little gal. You're mucking me about!“
„I wish I was,“ Rori sighs. „Alistair and I are the only Grey Wardens here – actually the only Grey Wardens in Ferelden.“
„Well, if you are the best they've got, then standards must have fallen way down...“
„You are one to talk,“ Rori snorts. „You're not exactly a Paragon yourself!“
The dwarf stays completely unperturbed by her comment. „At least they were right about the bosom. That truly is large... and it heaves...“ He smacks his lips and gets lost in the close inspection of Rori's breasts. „Say, can I ask you a favour?“ he finally asks, saving himself from having Rori punch him in the face for gawking at her indeed large breasts.
„That's how you butter up people when you want to ask them for a favour?“ Rori laughs – which causes her bosom to truly heave magnificently. „Well, why not? Everyone else does. So feel free to bother me as well.“
„Name's Oghren, and if you ever heard of me before, it's probably all been about how I piss ale and kill little boys who look at me wrong,“ the dwarf introduces himself with a grunted laugh. „And that's mostly true...“
„Charming,“ Rori mutters.
„...but the part they never say is how I'm the only one still trying to save our only Paragon. And if you're looking for Branka, I'm the only one who knows what she was looking for, which might be pretty sodding helpful in finding her.“
„Let me have a guess, you want to come along? Don't I have enough armed lunatics following me already?“ Rori groans.
„Perfect,“ the dwarf chuckles. „What's one more?“
„He has a point there,“ I agree. „He fits in nicely. And you were looking for a guide. Here you got one.“
„He is drunk.“ Rori wrinkles her nose. She is not particularily fond of the dwarf. „How good can a drunken guide be?“
„You should be more worried about me being sober, gal,“ the dwarf drones.
„Well, he hasn't yet tried to murder us. And he's the only one who wants to go with us. The archdemon won't patiently pick its nose while it waits for us running around the Deep Roads.“ Either running around the Deep Roads aimlessly and hope to stumble over Branka, or running around the Deep Roads with a drunken guide – not the best choices but we've done more with less.
„Branka was a brilliant girl but half the time she'd add two and two and make it fifty. You want to find her, you need someone who knows how she thinks.“ Oghren tips his index finger to his forehead.
„I take it you trying to find Branka is somewhat connected to that heartshaped tatoo with her name on your buttocks?“ Rori asks, sighing as she accepts her fate in form of a drunken dwarf joining our little party.
„Aye, how you know about that?“ Oghren gasps, staring at her in awe.
„Grey Warden awesomeness. We got some special skills, you know. Don't let yourself get deceived by the looks.“
„You can see right through my clothes?“ The dwarf doesn't sound shocked at all by the prospect. Quite the contrary. „See me naked? Me and little Oghren?“
„Little who...? Oh, never mind! And no! I cannot see through your clothes. The mere idea is just... gross. So, no need to get excited. Maker!“ Rori rolls her eyes.
Zevran offers a far warmer welcome than my ginger. „Hello my stocky little friend!“ he cheers.
„Huh.“ The dwarf rakes his drunken eyes over the elf in utter confusion. „You got small breasts for a gal.“
„Ah. This is where we begin the typical dwarven-elven rivalry, is it?“ Something that's totally awesome about Zevran: it seems absolutely impossible to insult him. Or maybe that's just what he wants you to believe and in secret he counts all the moments when you hurt his feelings and once the score is high, he slices your throat while you're sleeping. I can't decide. He's just too sneaky.
„Nahhh.“ Oghren waves him off. „Now let's go. Branka is not going to find herself.“
Later we all try to pack our backpacks for our trip to the Deep Roads. We can only take with us what we can carry and only carry as much as won't become a hindrance in battle. In Rori's case that's almost nothing. Cursing she stuffs several towels into her already crammed backpack.
„What do you need those for?“ I wonder with growing amusement. I've watched her pack for a while now. I've also tried and offered some advice. But I like my head where it is and don't need it to be bitten off by a bitchy ginger. She'll discover sooner or later that an extra pair of socks is a luxury she cannot afford.
„I'm a woman, remember? Women have to deal with womenly things every now and then,“ she snaps as she tries to close her backpack. She cannot even lift it off the ground. And when I give her a hand she topples over and lies on her back like an upsidedown beetle. „Hmph,“ she grumps, trying to kick at me when I burst into laughter. All she manages is some helpless flailing. I take pity in her and help her back to her feet. Then I take even more pity in her and pack some of the things she cannot carry.
„You do not need any extra clothes,“ I point out.
„We're going to be down there for weeks!“ Rori shudders.
„Starve or stink. Your choice, kitten. You cannot carry both clothes and food.“
„Hmph.“
Well, you get the impression.
On the evening before our departure, we all sit together in the great hall of the Grey Warden's Orzammar headquarters, discussing Mission Branka.
Oghren has proven more useful than we all expected. He thinks we have a five day walk until we reach Ortan Thaig. Maybe seven depending on the difficulties we meet. He can point out places where to find fresh water and he can decipher the dwarven runes.
„What about the darkspawn sensing us?“ Rori asks me, frowning worriedly. „Won't they all come running for us?“
„I really don't know. Usually they would, but the Blight could come in handy for once. Most darkspawn are on the surface or farther south. At least I do hope so.“ We'll go in deep, though. I am worried, too. We can sense the darkspawn just like they can sense us. Unfortunately there's only two of us and thousands of them.
„Does Morrigan still have some of the stuff we used back in the Korcari Wilds to fool the darkspawn?“
„Speaking of Morrigan... that potion she made, how much protection does it offer?“ Zevran inquires. He has been quite a pest ever since we began to prepare for our trip. First I didn't really notice, I mean, Zevran talking about things people usually don't talk about, that has become almost a constant background noise. The closer we get to the hour of our departure, the more obstrusive he becomes.
„It's like an armour,“ Rori explains. „It offers some protection but it does not make you immune. You could still be infected. If that happens the potion could slow down the deadliness of the taint but it would not stop it.“
The elf pales visibly. He sits there on his chair and is so silent I almost worry he could be ill. No juicy details about his love life, no attempts of hitting on any present female, no jokes about Wynne's bosom... it's so unlike him.
„Honesty would not have been my first choice,“ the witch mutters, rolling her eyes at Rori.
„I don't want to lie to you. This mission could turn out as suicidal. We do not know where Branka went or how many darkspawn are still down there. I will not force any of you to follow Alistair and me. It's your own decision...“
„I've sworn an oath...“ Zevran mumbles.
„It still is your decision, Zev,“ Rori says softly, squeezing the elf's hand lightly. „I would not ask anything of you, you do not want to do.“
The elf stares at her as if she has sprouted a second head. „Well, that's a premier then,“ he slurs in his thick accent, attempting rather unsuccessfully to return to his often unnerving and importunate cheerfulness. Rori says, it's his shield. Like mine is my humour. She's probably right. To see this shield coming down, it's almost shocking. He has to be scared out of his mind at the mere thought of entering the Deep Roads.
It's only a moment, though, and then he's back to his old exaggerated self, telling tales about Orzammar's whorehouses. You can't find a single boardinghouse in this city but Zevran claims he's found and visited twelve whorehouses in two days.
„Twelve in two days? How in the name of the Maker... no, wait, forget I even asked!“ When will I ever learn to keep my mouth shut?
„Alistair, my dear friend, there's roots you might want to chew...“ Zevran begins, helpful as always.
„I said forget about that question!“
„It can help with your stamina...“
„I have no problems with my stamina, thank you very much,“ I snap.
„You sure?“
„Yes, yes, he is sure,“ Rori jumps in on our conversation.
„You're probably right. With all the nightly exertions you hardly get any sleep anymore, poor girl. You have to be rather sore most of the time. I have an ointment you might want to rub on your womanhood after it suffered from the penetration of certain objects... “
„Err... we're not really discussing this, are we?“ Rori squeaks, frantically looking around for an escape route. It's only Zevran and us in the hall, though. The others have left to prepare dinner. We're going to have a feast tonight. Leliana's lute already lies on the table next to Rori's fiddle.
Whoa! No, we really don't want to discuss this with the lecherous elf! It's totally private and... Then I recall Rori shares girl talk with Leliana about stuff I would never share with anybody. „What's wrong? You have no problems discussing my manhood's size with Leliana,“ I comment in a low voice.
„Now... that's something totally different...,“ Rori begins, blushing violently. Oh, how she squirms. She's so cute when she's bashful. „... and I did not... I didn't say anything about... I... listen, there was this cucumber when we prepared dinner... and it had about the same size as... and so I wondered...“ She kneads her fingers and grins sheepishly. „I mean, I don't know much about that... I have nothing to compare it with... and it is huge! Your... aehm... not the cucumber... well, the cucumber, too, or I wouldn't have been reminded...“
„Rori...“
„Yes?“ she cheeps.
„Shush.“ Earthworms. Cucumbers. I wonder what comes next. Sighing I pull her close and place a soft kiss on her lips. Rori answers with her own boisterous passion, turning my innocent caress into something steamy, tongues twining in a lustful dance.
„Oh, don't you worry about me. Just keep acting as if I wasn't there,“ Zevran chuckles. The sound of his voice makes us jump. „I was looking for that darling mage anyway. Now... where is Wynne? My manhood is itching and it kinda looks funny...“
„It looks funny?“ Rori asks naively before I can stop her. She will regret this. I will regret this. Dearly...
„Yeah, here, look!“
„NOOOO!“ Rori and I wail but it's already too late. Only Zevran can unpack his most private parts that fast. And only Zevran would do so in front of everybody and their dog.
„Andraste's flaming sword! Ewww!“ Both Rori and I stare in horrified fascination at that... thing... Zevran has produced from within his pants. It looks awfully hurtful. I cringe at the mere sight. For once the elf has my full-hearted sympathy.
„Is that... uhm... normal?“ Rori croaks.
„Nope,“ Zevran laughs. „Not at all, my innocent Fereldan rose. Where is that lovely lady mage... oh, my darling Wynne!“ He beams at the passing by granny and beckons her over.
„What is it now? I am not your darling and no, you cannot rest your head at my bosom,“ Wynne snaps, stopping to see what we are all staring at. „Seriously?“ she snorts.
„I am afraid it requires your healing hands to help me recover,“ Zevran sighs, sounding utterly blitheful at the prospect. „Rub it with some salve...“
„I am not going to touch this,“ Wynne says firmly. „You can rub it yourself.“
„You are deeply hurting my feelings, you know. I had a sad childhood...“ the elf chuckles as he follows the fleeing mage. Thankfully only after he put everything back into his trousers.
Strangely when you know your chances of going to die are higher than your chances to survive, life tastes so sweet. Sure, we have one foot in our graves already almost all the time. If there's no darkspawn, there's Loghain's bullies or dragons or demons or bloodmages... The list of those wanting to kill us is quite long.
This night we laugh and sing together – well, Oghren does not sing, at least not for long because Shale threatens to smash his head like a grape should he continue to howl. But the rest of us. Even Sten! I'd never have thought he can actually sing. We eat together, we drink together. We talk and we dance... Well, I don't. I cannot dance. I have the grace of a drunken ogre when I as much as try to dance. And I stomp on feet. It's rather hurtful. Rori plays her fiddle, Leliana her lute. Oghren turns a set of pots into drums.
That time we spend together... I'm reminded of my dead brothers, those fellow Grey Wardens who died at Ostagar. I'm reminded of Duncan, how he was a Grey Warden in heart and soul and how he accepted this burden without allowing it to weigh him down. It makes me sad to think of him, despite all the good memories I got. He's always been kind to me. He took care of me. He believed in me. And I so wanted to make him proud. I wonder what he'd say if he was here with us.
Suddenly it's too loud and crowded in here. I need some space for myself. Some time to wallow in my memories. The grief returns every now and then. Rori understands. The loss of her parents still haunts her. The uncertainty about her brother's fate is even worse.
I slip out of the door, closing it carefully behind me. The vast entrance hall is cast in gloom and shadows, only illuminated by a few lanterns. Like everything dwarves build, the Grey Wardens' headquarters are huge. I wonder why. Even I feel dwarfed by the immense size of the buildings and statues.
Here there are statues, too. So many of them line the way down the hall like guards of honour. Each one is the silent memorial of a Grey Warden that has passed away a long time ago. Men and women, humans, elves and dwarves, mages and warriors. Every single one of them died in the Deep Roads. The dwarves honoured them by crafting these statues – and still, it's only the Grey Wardens to truly remember them. Nobody really cares as long as there's no Blight. I pass by the long row of former Wardens, their cold dead eyes staring back at me. It makes me shudder. At the walls behind the statues there's huge stone plates with the names of many more engraved. I run my fingers across the letters carved into the stone.
The last plate in the row is only half covered with the names of the dead. I step closer and squint my eyes to read the last entries.
Bregan, Warden Commander of Orlais, 9:10 Dragon.
Genevieve, Warden Commander of Orlais, 9:10 Dragon.
Kell ap Morgan, Senior Warden, 9:10 Dragon.
The list is longer... Julien, Nicolas, Hafter... all of them went into the Deep Roads twenty years ago and none of them returned.
Now, ain't I looking forward to going down there? There's a good chance Rori's and my name will be the next on this list.
I turn at the soft sound of footsteps echoing through the vast hall. The door to the dinning hall is ajar, the warm glow of the fire and the distant sound of music flow into the gloom of this memorial room. Rori comes to stand beside me, examining the plate as I did before, her fingertips caressing the names of Wardens long forgotten.
The music crescendos, Leliana's sweet voice rings clearly throughout the darkness. Rori turns away from the memorial. Her face is cast in shadows, only her eyes glitter in the dim light, reflecting the glow of the fire. „Dance with me,“ she whispers as she steps closer, lying her hand to my chest right above my heart.
„Dance? Oh, no, I don't dance. I stomp on feet. Hard.“ I close my hand around hers, squeezing it gently, hoping to lure her thoughts away from dancing. Rori isn't one to give up easily, though. "You really enjoy to be handled roughly, don't you?" I sigh when she tugs at my arm.
„It's not that much different from swordplay. You got your different footings like when attacking or parrying. Come on, I show you.“
I follow reluctantly when she drags me to the middle of the hall where she arranges both my feet and my arms. "Okay, okay, I will try not to cause permanent damage. But I can't promise... just so you don't complain afterwards I didn't warn you." Strangely I find it easy to follow her instructions. I'm a pretty good swordsman and to imagine the steps not as a dance but as foot positions of my fighting stance has me grasp the basics in no time at all. Soon my grip around her waist tightens and I swirl her around the hall to the rhythm of the music. It's as if we were floating.
Oghren is unable to see how Rori glows, how she's a light in the dark when there is nothing but death, despair and destruction surrounding her. I can see it, astonished by her ravishing beauty in the midst of so much darkness. I can feel it deep in my heart when her smile chases my personal demons away, when her touch makes my whole being vibrate with liveliness.
There's no use wasting time on brooding about death when life is so short. The moment I die, I want to look back and see a life in vibrant colours. And Rori will be the brightest of all of them. She's a whole painting of her own.
This time that's supposed to be the worst of my life, with the Blight and all, she makes it the happiest I have ever experienced. It's a paradox. I don't really understand how all this horror can pale besides Rori. I find myself standing on a battlefield amongst the slain and grin stupidly, my heart seems too big for my chest, bloated with the immense love I feel for her. And the reason for all this is this small ginger with her dark blue eyes and that sweet impish smile.
I never thought this was possible, yet here I am, kissing my beloved fellow Warden passionately in the middle of a memorial of death, loss and sacrifice.
I love her. Oh Maker, how much I love her!
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In good times and in bad

Notes:

Chapter Text