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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
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@Anon: Thank you. Alistiar is so adorkable, isn't he?
Irredeemability
“Take off your shoes before you enter. My mum will flip out if you leave muddy footprints on her floor,” the tall copper-haired man warned when we reached the ramshackle house in the alienage. It was one of many recently erected buildings. Elves really are incredibly creative when it comes to recycling waste. They are the grandmasters of patchwork architecture.
The man’s name was Slim Couldry and he was one of Zevran’s many friends. As Zevran calls everybody and their dog his friends I wasn’t sure if we could trust Couldry, but we didn’t have much of a choice. We needed help and a hiding place and the halfblood offered both. He wasn’t really fond of Rori and me as we were what he called “the establishment,” but he recalled Suri had put an end to the slave trade in the alienage so he was willing to make an exception.
Since Rori and I couldn’t walk around the alienage in our own—or in Rori’s case, stolen—clothing if we wanted to pass as halfbloods, Slim had outfitted us with... rags. Rori wore a patchwork skirt Arlington wouldn’t even have considered fit for cleaning the floor. Her blouse was too small and quite tight around her chest. My pants and shirt were held together by patches and the shoes had been tied together with strings to keep the soles from falling off.
Obediently we left our footwear in front of the door as not to anger Mrs. Couldry. She rented out rooms—correction: one room—and her son planned to introduce us as potential lodgers. He claimed it was the perfect hiding place and we were in no position to argue.
“Hello, Mum! I’m back...”
“Severin Lloyd Ichabod Miles Couldry!” a sharp female voice answered. “Where have you been? You’re late!”
The tall man flinched. “You know you’re in trouble when your mum calls you by your full name,” he muttered under his breath.
“Tell me about it!” Rori agreed wholeheartedly.
“Who is that?” Mrs. Couldry demanded to know, arms akimbo, when she caught sight of us. She was a tiny, spindly woman in her early fifties. Once upon a time she must have been a striking beauty, but life in the alienage had taken its toll and she had aged before her time. Her eyes, however, gleamed with determination and there was not a single stain on her well-worn clothes. Her home was just as spotless. According to her demeanor it was better not to tangle with her, so Zevran, Rori, and I greeted her politely while Slim introduced us.
“These are Al... err...” Just in time he bit his tongue.
“Albert,” Rori prompted quick-wittedly. “And I am Rosie. We’re from Lothering. We’re looking for a place to stay.” With Rori’s help, Slim convinced his mother to rent the chamber under the roof to Rori and me after Rori swore by Andraste that we were a married couple.
“Albert? Really?” I complained under my breath when Mrs. Couldry led the way upstairs to show us the room. Zevran had to stay downstairs. She claimed he was bad influence on her dear Severin. Obviously, Mrs. Couldry had no idea how her son earned his crust.
“When lying, stick as close to the truth as possible,” Rori lectured me.
“How close to the truth did you stick when you told my mum you’re married!?” Slim protested. “I understand you’re undercover but I’d very much appreciate if you didn’t misuse the name of our beloved Lady Andraste...”
“Your mum wouldn’t have let the room to us,” Rori defended her emergency lie. Mrs. Couldry, like her son, was a faithful Andrastian and it was beyond question she wouldn’t have accepted two people sharing a room in her house out of wedlock—or anywhere for miles around.
The chamber had no more than three solid walls and opened onto a rooftop garden. A patchwork curtain of all kinds of leather and cloth—some suspiciously looking like flags of noble houses lost on the battlefield—offered protection against wind, rain, or heat. The elf-style suite was furnished with fresh straw and two blankets on the floor, a battered washbowl, and a chipped chamber pot. Everything in the house reeked of poverty and yet Mrs. Couldry put forth so much effort to keep it clean and make it as cozy as possible. Surana, the daughter of an elven whore and an unknown sailor, had grown up in the pre-Blight Denerim alienage. She had told me about the misery of her people but I didn’t truly understand what poverty meant until I saw it with my very own eyes. Before, I had considered myself poor. Afterwards I never once complained about any hardship again. When I had first entered the alienage I had made a silent promise I would better the life of the elven people if I became king. Four months later and I hadn’t yet achieved a single improvement. Instead, I had spent my time grieving, wailing, feeling sorry for myself and getting drunk... Maker’s Breath, I was worth less than these poor people that so many regarded as scum.
While I was still castigating myself, Mrs. Couldry declared in a commanding tone that would have made Anora go green with envy, “Here’s the rules: You pay the rent in advance every week. This is a respectable house. I do not tolerate the demon alcohol, fornication, swearing, or any other disgraceful behavior...” Her catalogue of rules was longer than the Chant of Light. Last, but not least: “Don’t touch my tomatoes!” She pointed at several potted plants on the rooftop garden. “The last tenant was a terrible drunkard. He tried to deny it but there’s nothing I do not see.” Glowering at Rori and me, she pointed two fingers at her squinted eyes. “In case you find one of his hiding places, you will inform me at once. Now refresh yourselves. I expect you in the kitchen in five minutes.”
“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” Rori and I said in unison. With some effort I fought down the urge to salute.
Exactly five minutes later Mrs. Couldry mustered us in her kitchen, checking if the men had washed their hands before she assigned tasks. Rori did not undergo any inspection. Mrs. Couldry obviously didn’t hold male bodily hygiene in high esteem.
Rori almost gave us away when she only stared uncomprehendingly at the heap of potatoes she was meant to peel. She had never in her whole life peeled a potato and cut her finger as soon as she picked up the knife. “Blast!” she cursed, sucking at her finger. Mrs. Couldry’s reaction came without the least delay. She whacked Rori over the head with her ladle.
“No swearing!” Mrs. Couldry snapped. “Look at how you hold that knife! Have you never...” She grabbed for Rori’s hands and the sharpness of her voice faded when she became aware of their condition. “Oh my poor darling!”
“It’s alright, really. I will manage. It’s just a little tricky,” Rori insisted forcefully, pulling her hands away. I watched her bravely struggle with her potatoes for some time, focused intently on the impossible task before her, the tip of her tongue sticking slightly out of the corner of her mouth. It was a battle she couldn’t win and I took mercy on her when she was close to tears. It had to be utterly frustrating for her to have lost her dexterity.
“Peeling potatoes happens to be my most favorite pastime,” I lied, fully aware that the last thing she wanted was pity. Gently, I took the knife from her. There was so much gratitude in her eyes for so small a gesture.
“You can peel potatoes?” Rori gaped as if I had confessed I could turn plumbum into gold.
“Back at the monastery I won the potato peeling championship three years in a row,” I whispered, winking at her conspiratorially.
“You have some very unexpected qualities,” Rori observed with a lopsided grin.
During the jejune meal, my headache returned full force as the magical potion’s effect wore off. After supper, Rori was recruited to help Mrs. Couldry with the dishes. Slim and Zevran made use of that unwatched moment and introduced their plan to me. I could hardly follow their conversation. Slim had snitches amongst the elven servants he would contact. And he mentioned fifteen cousins—whatever they were meant to do, I was supposed to pay them. That was all I got before they hauled me upstairs and I collapsed on the hay. I only once opened my eyes when Rori poured yet another potion down my throat, then I drifted into oblivion.
When I awoke, darkness surrounded me. At first I didn’t know where I was. I lay in the gloom, hardly daring to breathe as I listened to the noises of the city outside. They were as alien as the smell of poverty polluting the air. I couldn’t imagine a more blatant contrast to the palace. Even during the Blight when we hadn’t been traveling in the lap of luxury, I had never been as poor as the people in the alienage. Alienage, right. Slim Couldry. I was at his mother’s place. The memories returned and with them my worries for Rori. Hurriedly I searched for her and found I had worried for no reason. She was sitting cross-legged in Mrs. Couldry’s roof garden safe and sound—and a bit tipsy already.
“I found the booze!” she greeted me, holding up a dirty bottle. “It smells like cat piss and tastes like acid.”
“Then it’s obviously the best liquor for drowning one’s sorrows. We wouldn’t want to enjoy our excessive mind-numbing, would we?”
“How’s your head?”
“It’s much better. It’s about time to do something against it.” I slumped down beside her, accepting the bottle. We sat together, watching the full moon rise and mercilessly spotlighting the squalor below with its silver glow. People lived here day after day with no hope to ever escape this misery. And I whined about my fate and got drunk because I couldn’t cope with the loss of my love and the responsibility of being king. Still, people insisted I had a heart as strong as a Mabari’s and twice as big. What a joke!
Rori’s thoughts took the same turn. “So much poverty and misery and still they live their lives the best they can,” she whispered when distant music and laughter echoed through the streets. Under the tree in the center of the alienage elves gathered, sharing whatever food they had, their stories and songs. “I mean, look at Mrs. Couldry,” she croaked, her voice husky with tears. “She got raped but she loves Slim despite him being the spitting image of his father, a constant reminder of what happened to her. She neither lost hope nor faith but brought up her son as best she could. I... I don’t even know where my baby is. I do not want to know. I’m disgusted with myself but I cannot find any love inside of me for that child... there’s only fear and guilt and pain.” She blinked rapidly and when that didn’t help, pressed her fists to her eyes. The tears still streamed down her face. “Bloody blast it! I’m so sick and tired of crying all the time,” she sniffled, angrily wiping her nose at her sleeve. “Fergus says that he doesn’t know me anymore, that Howe has beaten the Cousland out of me. He says I’m a shame for the family; a blemish on our name and legacy... Oh Maker! If only I knew what to do... but with these hands... I am so useless...”
“Your brother is wrong,” I protested softly, taking her hands in mine carefully. This time she didn’t pull away. They were so small and fragile—a reflection of her vulnerability. Gently I began to massage her hands and fingers one by one, flexing and bending them. Suri once had broken both her hands when she had lost her patience with Shale—oh, she quite had a temper!—and punched the golem in the chest. Not one of her brightest moments, but, yeah, afterwards Wynne had shown me how to treat her healed fingers to regain their litheness. “You survived. Many would have given up; you didn’t. It’s okay to cry. You’re a girl and that’s what girls do, remember?” I offered a wink and a lopsided grin.
“…Do you believe it will ever feel right again?” Rori hardly dared to ask, her voice a hushed whisper. She leaned in closer, her face only inches away from mine, a faint spark of hope glinting in her dark eyes.
I let go of her hands, cupping her face instead to gently brush her tears away. Instinctively she flinched but when I withdrew she laid her hand onto mine, leaning into the touch. This simple gesture provoked a storm of confusing emotions I wasn’t ready for. Abruptly I recoiled. Hanging her head, Rori closed her eyes and I realized I couldn’t endure seeing that gleam of hope fade into the merciless irredeemability covering her like a thick layer of dust that shrouded her world in different shades of grey until she didn’t know anymore what she was living for. She was a reflection of myself and I clung to the possibly erroneous assumption that saving her would bring me salvation. Maker’s Breath, how could she cope with yet another disappointment? I for sure couldn’t. I yearned to ease her pain and so I lied with desperate fervor. “Yes. Yes, I do believe it will.”
And then I kissed her.
Really, I do not know what came over me. I wanted to feel something, anything but the dull ache that dominated my bleak days. I wanted that spark to fly, blaze like a wildfire inside of me and fill the emptiness with warmth and light.
Once my lips brushed against hers, I lost courage. Guilt crashed against me like a tidal wave. After my impetuous assault I deservedly felt like a complete idiot. Stammering some nonsense apology I made a quite hasty retreat. Alas, I hadn’t really considered Rori and how she would react. In her stunned and drunken state, she only gasped and gaped like a mooncalf, then chose the very moment I leaned backwards to lean forwards. She lost her balance, tumbled against me, and landed on top of me.
And then she kissed me.
She was so terribly nervous, scared, and drunk; she trembled violently. Combined with her adorably clumsy inexpertness we didn’t get to do much more than bang our foreheads together and clink our teeth before Rori lost her nerve, recoiled, and vomited into one of Mrs. Couldry’s tomato pots.
“Eww.” Rori groaned, wiping her mouth at her sleeve. Then she reached for the bottle to rinse her mouth thoroughly with liquor. Her face was ashen. “Bloody blast it!”
“I suppose that spares me from having to ask whether I am a good kisser,” I sighed resignedly. Blast, what else to expect after what she had gone through? And after how much she had drunk. Still, I was devastated, my manly feelings were seriously hurt. And what did Rori do? After she was done with her projectile vomiting, she accomplished her mission of completely emasculating me by bursting into a gigglefit. She laughed so hard she snorted her drink out of her nose and finally collapsed on the floor, rolling around in hysterics.
In a feigned huff—honestly, who could have been mad at her for real?—I crossed my arms in front of my chest and pressed my lips together, determined to stay earnest.
I lasted about three seconds.
In the end we were breathless and utterly spent. Still shaken by the aftermath of our conniption we lay on our backs, watching the starlit canopy above.
“I believe we have reached the epitome of awkwardness,” I chortled, clutching my aching belly.
“Hehehe,” Rori giggled.
“You are as nutty as a fruitcake, my lady,” I grinned, teasingly poking her side.
“You flatter me, your Majesty.” Rori propped herself up on her elbow, hovering above me, a toothy grin adorning her face. Her dark eyes were sparkling with mirth, her cheeks flushed prettily. She was radiating an untainted joy so pure and electrifying it chased all her ghosts away and for the first time since I had met her, I glimpsed her former self.
“What?” Rori asked with a frown when she became aware of me gaping at her in awe. “Is there something stuck between my teeth?”
“Maker’s Breath,” I whispered, “but you are beautiful.”
She blushed but wagged her finger at me. “Don’t get smarmy with me, Ser. It’s not very gentlemanly to make fun of a lady.”
“Make fun of you, dear lady? Perish the thought.” Catching her hand when she poked my tummy, I kissed it. “I would never address compliments to a woman carelessly.” Rori’s face took on the color of Mrs. Couldry’s tomatoes. Confused, she stared at my hand still holding hers, my thumb gently stroking her palm.
“We shouldn’t...” she began hesitantly. Biting her lips, she stopped herself, watching me intently. I was dizzy, my head was spinning and my mind was in a thick haze, so damn baffled I couldn’t have said for sure if this was reality or just a dream. “Oh bloody blast it! What of it!” Rori blurted out defiantly.
And then we kissed. Really kissed.
Maker’s Breath! Blast, yes, this was real.
Her lips against mine were as soft as rose petals. An innocent brush, a touch as light as a feather, testingly staying on the safe side until Rori’s arms slipped around my neck, her fingers entangling with my hair, and my arms wrapped around her waist, my palm resting at the small of her back. I pulled her tightly against my body, the softness of her bosom pressing against my solid chest. Teasingly I nibbled her lower lip, flicking my tongue against her teeth, coaxing her into deepening the kiss. A soft mewing noise escaped her mouth as she opened up to me, surprised yet laced with desire. It was such an adorable sound, both innocent and passionate, it sent a shiver down my spine that spread through my whole body. Up until then, some part of my brain still had been active enough to let me exercise restraint. Well, blast that! Rori was inexperienced but—Merciful Andraste!—she was a quick study. Swoosh! and my troubled mind was made empty, replaced by nothing but the sensation of her body close to mine. Within a heartbeat I caught fire. Whatever sorrow and grief had been suffocating me was burnt away by the fierce caress of Rori’s kiss.
Maker’s Breath! For ages I hadn’t felt so... alive!
Too bad it couldn’t last forever. Already when we held each other, breathless and flushed, guilt hit me like a golem fist. The whole weight of my responsibility crashed down on me. My grief for Suri made me compare my lost love to the woman in my arms. Rori didn’t stand a chance in this competition. She was beautiful, clever, funny, adorable... She was everything a man could wish for—but she wasn’t Suri.
Lying there, I felt like a complete jerk for having betrayed Suri... and for having taken advantage of Rori... Maker’s Breath! She didn’t expect a proposal now, did she? She wasn’t queen material. She really was great company and without the heir hitch and the whole king business and my dedication to Suri... maybe this could be something. But as it was, it was unthinkable to even consider her as my wife... or anything else that included any... um... lamppost-licking activities... And with that train of thought, of course, my treacherous imagination at once produced lewd visions of a whole lot of rather thrilling lamppost-licking activities...
Sigh.
While my brain assaulted me with a whole lot of thoughts I rather had not thought because they were altogether unpleasant and I soon thoroughly disliked myself for having any of them, all that time there was this warm, fuzzy feeling whirling around inside of me like a will-o'-the-wisp. This spark just wouldn’t smolder out, no matter how hard I tried to suffocate it. Instead, when I looked at Rori and saw that the gleam in her eyes had turned into a sapphire glow, that blasted feeling became warmer and fuzzier, settled into my heart and struck roots at once like rampant weeds. Before I really could get hold of that alien emotion, it was covered by a thick layer of guilt, grief, and self-hatred. All that was left in the end were feelings of loss and confusion.
Doom!
DOOM!
Why was everything so maddeningly complicated?
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What Becomes Of The Broken Hearted