Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

The Games We Play (Redux)	By : LordDBurroughs Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 49386 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: Dragon Age and all related locations, characters, shiny objects and concepts are copyright Bioware and Electronic Arts, not me. I make no money from this work of fiction. Sadfaice.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
(A/N: Sorry for the wait followed by the sudden takedown. I decided to expand and refine the story, starting with this little prequel set in the Warden's younger days. I decided he needed a little more fleshing out, and I needed to edit and properly format the chapters to meet my current standards. I'll also be tweaking some scenes to adjust for the continuity I have in mind, as opposed to just writing it in as I go, contrasting with earlier scenes and story. I appreciate your patience, and I hope to get back to a regular update schedule soon. Thank you again for your eminent and unending awesomness,

-LDB )

A Day Out, Part One

-The Road to Lothering, 9:24 Dragon-

Lothering was an ugly little village, Mathias thought as the wagon creaked and canted to one side or the other down the dirt road. Still, after spending the better part of a decade locked in the Circle Tower, even the dingy little hamlet was a sight for sore eyes. He stretched his legs, sighing happily as the cart rolled to a stop, not even minding the manacles around his hands, or the piercing glare Ser Moira insisted on favoring him with. She had insisted on following him from the tower, of course, and Gregor had eventually relented, apparently convinced that Mathias wouldn't indulge in his usual shenanigans if Moira was standing over his shoulder.

Dark auburn hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail, green eyes set in a stern, glowering gaze, freckled cheeks and nose slightly reddened by the chill, Ser Moira could be downright cute despite her best efforts. Said best efforts were demonstrated when she cuffed him on the back of the head after she noticed him looking.

"Eyes front, mage. If it were up to me, you'd still be back at the tower."

A lazy, slightly abrasive voice chided the Templar. "Ser Moira, First Enchanter Irving and I both agreed that young Mathias could do with a bit of exposure to the world outside the Circle. He's not about to run off; are you, lad?"

Mathias chuckled softly, shaking his head. "No, Enchanter Ines. Who'd carry your sacks of madcap bulbs then?"

The aging herbalist snorted good-naturedly, thumping him on the arm.

"There. You see, Ser Moira? Nothing to worry about."

Ser Moira grumbled something indignant, and remained silent as the cart drew to a halt in front of the village Chantry. There was the usual exchange of protocol and pleasantry between the Templar escorts and the Chantry's own garrison, the suspicious looks from the Templars and the outright gawking of the townsfolk.

Mathias wasn't surprised to learn that they would be staying in the Chantry, joy of joys, and that he'd be confined to a brother's spare chambers, with Ser Moira standing guard outside the door. He was about to suggest that his pretty young nemesis could guard him much better in his bed, but the Reverend Mother passed by with the Knight-Captain, and he decided to stifle himself.

Enchanter Ines and himself were being shuffled into the Chantry when a girl a year or so younger than he came skidding around the corner, tears in her eyes, breathing hard, but otherwise calm.

"What in the name of Andrast-"

"Please! You're mages, aren't you? It's my mother! She's hurt bad, you have to help!"

Mathias took a closer look at the girl, her big, beautiful, honey-brown eyes, long, curly black hair and fair skin. She was tall, with a nice build that would blossom into something amazing one day, he was sure. Running up behind her were two younger children, the same dark hair and bearing a notable resemblance. Siblings, he thought.

Ser Moira was about to protest, but Ines swept in front of her.

"Calm down, child. What's your name?"

The girl's voice quavered only slightly. "Astrid. Astrid Hawke, ma'am. Please, my mother.."

The younger of the two children behind her, the girl, huddled behind her sister, as if trying to shrink away from the crowd, and Ser Moira in particular.

"Father could help her if he wasn't away.."

He brother, a stocky boy with unkempt black hair, glared and jabbed her in the arm.

"Quiet, stupid!"

Astrid whirled around, popping her brother on the back of the head. "Not. Now. Carver."

Carver grumbled, but backed off, and Bethany clung to her sister's waist.

Ines crouched to eye level with the girl, putting on her gentlest smile. The old woman, for all her prickliness, could be quite grandmotherly at times. Provided, of course, one did not insult her research. Ever. Mathias hadn't seen her and Wynne so much as utter a word to each other in passing since the senior enchanter dismissed her herbalism studies as 'Gardening'.

Mathias, for his own part, paid rapt attention in his herbalism lectures, if for less than scholarly purposes. His experiments with rashvine pollen and the Templars' linens had provided hours of entertainment for him and Jowan. And when he'd managed to squirrel away enough Arcanist's Deathbloom, he was looking forward to seeing what effects it had on Ser Amory, the surly, sadistic Templar who'd brought him to the Circle.

"Mathias? Are you listening?"

He blinked, slightly embarrassed at having been caught.

"Sorry, Enchanter, my mind was somewhere else."

Ines frowned. "Somewhere besides that space between your ears, you mean?"

He smiled at the old woman. "Well, I didn't hear it rattling around, so, no."

The senior mage stifled a smile, trying her best to remain cross.

"Hmph. Anyhow, Astrid says her mother, Leandra, has a nasty gash in her leg, and she's worried it's beginning to fester. I'll take a look at it and see if we can't clear it out with a spell. In the meantime, I want you to go dredge up some fresh canavaris to go with the distillation agents we brought."

Astrid tilted her head inquisitively. "What's canavaris?"

"Elfroot," Mathias replied, almost without thinking, and got a stern glare from Ines.

"What have I told you about that word, Mathias?"

Mathias sighed, repeating the last lecture verbatim.

"The common name for Canavaris is a misnomer because it has little or nothing to do with elves, nor is it a major component of most elven medicine."

Ines nodded, mollified. "Good. Now, off with you. You'll want to get it before it grows dark. Even the outskirts of the Wilds are dangerous."

Ser Moira frowned. "The Wilds? Surely you can't mean to send him that close to the forest. He could escape! He could be taken by the Dalish or the Chasind or.."

Mathias smiled. "Why, Ser Moira, I didn't know you cared."

The Templar's freckled cheeks burned red, and she reached a gauntleted hand to grab him, when Ines interjected.

"If you're so worried, Ser Moira, go with him. There's enough Templars here to look after me."

Moira huffed, but nodded, turning to glare at the young mage. "Get your pack and make ready. I want to be done with this quickly."

Mathias flirted with the notion of making a joke, but being out in the wilderness with an angry Templar was already unappealing enough without antagonizing her. He nodded and set to work, gathering his pack, his staff, and some harvesting tools.

The young mage had never seen the Korcari Wilds, but here, on the edge of the vast, legendary forest, he suddenly felt every story he'd heard come crashing back to him at once. The dark, marshy abyss of gnarled trees and misty hollows seemed like the edge of the world, where monsters and witches and cannibals roamed the fog. Suddenly, and for the first time, he was happy to have a Templar around.

Ser Moira's expression seemed to indicate she wasn't any happier with the sight.

"Hurry up, mage. I mislike this place."

The teenager nodded in agreement, scanning the litter and the roots for the distinctive flower spikes he needed. He saw a few stems and discarded plants shorn of their valuable roots, indicating that the locals had probably picked the edges of the forest clean. He'd have to go deeper, something he wasn't pleased about.

Nor, for that matter, was Ser Moira.

"Flames.. Just don't get too far ahead. If I lose you I'll get it from the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter both."

Well, at least her priorities were in order, Mathias mused. He sent a trickle of mana through his staff, the orb at the top shining brightly as he thrust it among the branches and brush, the light sending strange, twisting shadows through the gloaming. He could hear Ser Moira's clanks and curses as her heavy plate slowed her down and the vestments of her armor caught on snags and thorns. He looked over his shoulder to amuse himself at the spectacle..

And promptly caught his boot on a raised root, and pitched face-forward into the dark, sliding down a ravine on rotting leaves and loose soil. He absently heard Ser Moira call for him as his staff rolled out of his grip, it's light going out shortly before he landed with a thud on the cold, damp forest floor, striking his head on a rock and falling unconscious.

How long he lay there, he couldn't say, as when he opened his eyes, the thick canopy of the trees suffocated most of the hollow, starving it of all but the barest hints of light. He licked his lip, tasting the salty tang of blood where it had split, and immediately let out a curse that would get him thrashed were he back in the Tower. He felt around for his staff, finding instead, his pack, the vials inside mercifully intact. Irving would harangue him about losing his staff, the very same one the First Enchanter had owned during his apprenticeship decades ago, but he'd be happy just to get out of the Wilds, lecture or no.

Sighing, he concentrated, reaching out his will to search, to call. Hearing the soft, chiming coo in his mind, he beckoned, and a small, floating orb of light came into being, hovering around him curiously. He did his best to project friendliness to the wisp, and was rewarded as it bobbed happily, drawing closer. In the light, he could see the forest floor, the roots of the trees and the paths through their close-set trunks.. And something else.

Reflected in the glow of the wisp were two yellow eyes, gazing at him from the shadows. He tensed, ready to be pounced upon by one of the wolves or wild cats that dwelt in the wilds, but no attack came. The eyes just watched him, silent and still. He backed up against a moss-grown tree trunk and raised his hand, calling a crackling flame to life. The eyes tilted, as if whatever lurked in the dark was cocking its head in amusement or curiosity.

There was a sudden flash of pale light and a crisp snap of the air, and a spray of ice crystals shot through the air at him, making him dodge to the side, his wisp startled into fleeing. Something moved past him in the darkness and scurried off, a sound almost like a giggle lingering in the emptiness.

He cursed again, calling the wisp back and looking around the gloom. With a sinking feeling, he noticed his pack was gone. He was about to unleash another withering stream of his most creative profanity when he noticed a single black feather among the leaves, a shining bead of rock crystal threaded onto the plume. The culprit was either a human or an elf, if they'd taken the time to decorate themselves. And while he didn't exactly relish the idea of following them into a Dalish or Chasind ambush, the pack held the water and food he'd brought along in case of an emergency in addition to his tools. And there was no telling if Ser Moira could find him without his phylactery.

He picked up the plume, pondering it a moment. He held it up to the wisp and tried to convey his intentions. The wisp bobbed once, twice, a third time, and chirped before floating slowly down one of paths.

Ser Moira hacked through a thicket with her sword, cursing Mathias Amell with every strike. The teen had been the bane of her existence since she'd joined the Tower garrison. From his pranks, to his sex life to his improbable ability to get away scot-free with his antics, everything about him seemed custom-tailored to infuriate her. She'd taken to 'accompanying' him on the after-hours research he was allowed by the First Enchanter, which was a pleasant way of saying she never gave him a moment alone. In the library, while he studied, she watched. In the gardens, while he picked and pruned and scribbled notes, she watched. While he bathed, she watched.

She frowned, flushing at the thought. She was adamant that she only wanted to make sure he wasn't using the baths for illicit purposes. It had nothing at all to do with watching the handsome teen disrobe.. seeing his toned body glisten, his hair damp, that impossible length between his legs..

She cried out in frustration, hacking a sapling in half as if she were hewing her unchaste thoughts. He -had- to be using some kind of spell! Some sort of warped, twisted magic to make her feel this way, to think these disgusting thoughts! She growled, holding up the lyrium-laced chalk that served as a lantern. She'd find him, and then she'd make him pay for this. Pay the way she always pictured making him pay when -she- was alone in the baths.. Tangle her fingers in that silver hair and make the smug little spell-flinger apologize properly and..

"Gragh!" She buried her sword in the trunk of a tree, chastizing herself. This was -not- the way a Templar thought. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, letting the discipline she'd learned in meditation gather her thoughts. First, she needed to find him. Then, whatever happened, happened. She yanked the blade out of the wood, stood up straighter, and continued her search.

Mathias squinted as the sunlight suddenly broke through the trees in an almost blinding shaft, illuminating a small clearing. Strewn about the clearing were tiny trinkets, minutia, little curiosities of no particular interest other than they appeared man-made. There was a large tree-stump and a little hollow in a tree where books and scrolls had been squirreled away, and seated on the stump, their back to him, was a person in a threadbare magenta cloak, the hood drawn up. From what he could tell of the figure, they were young, younger than he was, possibly, and skinny from the way the cloak draped. The other teen sat cross-legged on the stump, rummaging through his pack, tossing out little vials and scraps of parchment disinterestedly.

Enough was enough. Creeping as quietly as he could, careful not to make too much noise, he slid down the slight incline.. and jumped.

There was a cry of angered suprise as he collided with the smaller teen, the two of them rolling over the stump and across the ground, scuffling and scrabbling to get on top. The Wilder locked their legs around the mage's hips and rolled on top of him, a small fist pounding into Mathias' mouth and opening his split lip back up. The Wilder's face was still in shadow, silhouetted by the hood and the sun above as they cocked back a slender arm for another blow. Mathias growled, grabbing the smaller teen's wrist and jerking it to the side, rolling them onto their back, the hood falling back.

His breath caught.

"Y-you're a girl!"

And not just any girl. Her slender, porcelain-perfect oval of a face glared up at him with brilliant golden yellow eyes, the pupils shaped into a strange, catlike slit. Her small, yet pouty mouth was pursed in a glare, her lips naturally wine-dark. A smattering of freckles dusted across her slender nose, and dark, inky hair fell in wild shocks across her forehead.

"How very observant of you," she sneered in a strange accent, like and unlike the native Fereldan clip, squirming under him, trying to buck him off with her hips.

"Would it trouble you overmuch to GET OFF?"

He blinked, still stunned, but glared. "You stole my pack!"

She snorted, glowering up at him. "It's not yours if you can't keep it!"

He scoffed. "What? Of all the.. who even thinks like that? Are you a Chasind?"

She growled, baring bright white teeth. "You'll wish the Chasind had found you if you don't unhand me!"

Her head shot up, and he barely moved in time, her teeth clicking shut an inch from where his nose had been. She was as wild as any animal, but the way she spoke was so archaic.

He redoubled his efforts, putting more force into restraining the wild girl.

"If you're not a Chasind, then what? Avvar? I thought they lived in the mountains... Wait." Something occurred to him, and he stared back down at her.

"Earlier, you used magic! You're a hedge mage!"

She scoffed, looking indignant. "Hardly! I perform no parlor tricks for outsiders! I am a Witch of The Wilds!"

He blinked. "Come again?"

"I am a Witch of the Wilds!"

After a moment, he burst out laughing.

"A Witch of The Wilds! Ha! That's rich! You can barely steal a pack without getting caught, much less a baby to eat! Do you dance under the moon, too? Besides, you're too.." He stopped, catching himself.

She glared up at him, though her expression held a touch of uncertainty.

"Too what?"

Mathias chuckled, grinning slightly. "You're too pretty to be a Witch."

The girl blinked, a light bit of color rising to her pale cheeks, a look of shock on her face. It lasted only a moment before it was replaced with a small smile.

"You think I'm pretty?"

The white-haired mage blushed a bit, caught off-guard by the sudden change in her demeanor.

"Y-yes, I do."

The 'witch' smiled, freeing a hand suddenly to pull his face down to hers, kissing the older teen firmly, eyes closed.

Mathias blinked in shock, stiff for a moment before he melted into the kiss..

And a solid knee rammed itself into his groin. He cried out in pain, loosening his grip on her arms as she rolled him off her, jumping to her feet and giving him a solid kick in the ribs. He grunted again and tried to roll away, only for her to straddle him and wrap her slender hands around his neck, throttling him.

"Idiot.. Look at you, you've lost the upper hand over a kiss.. and now you're going to die from it. It rather beckons a small, sad little tear, does it not?" She grinned as she pressed her thumbs into his trachea, her knees pinning his arms, unable to dislodge her no matter how he kicked.

She was still grinning when a loud snap drowned out the sound of their scuffle, and a frustrated female voice rang out.

"Mathias! Mathias Amell! Where are you, damn your eyes?!"

The girl's eyes shot up, catching the glint of armor off in the distance, the burning sword emblazoned on the place. In the moment of distraction, Mathias managed to pull his legs up under her and kick her -hard- in the stomach, throwing her off him with a muffled grunt.

He crawled backward, rubbing his throat as she glared at him panic overtaking her as Ser Moira approached the clearing. She watched him, transfixed, paralyzed by fear, waiting for him to call out to the Templar.

For a moment, he almost did. He sat, clutching his throat, red-faced and coughing. But there, watching her shiver there like a frightened little bird.. he couldn't. If Ser Moira found her, they'd take her to the Circle. This strange, wild creature would be caged, just like him. Just like two other dark-haired little girls, years ago. The anger melted out of him.

"Go," he mouthed, cocking his eyes to the opposite treeline.

She blinked at him in confusion, but rolled backward into a handspring and threw herself into the air.

As Mathias watched in awe, her form flickered and faded, mislike, and a raven flew from where there had been a girl only moments before, gliding off into the treetops.

He was still staring after her when Ser Moira slid down the embankment, relief plastered on her face for a moment before her usual glare eclipsed it.

"There you are! What in the Maker's name happened?"

She looked around sharply. "And what is this place?"

Mathias rose to his feet shakily, grabbing his pack.

"Chasind grabbed me and dragged me here after the fall. You may have saved my life, Ser Moira." Well, it wasn't a total lie, anyhow.

The Templar grabbed his arm roughly, pulling him closer to inspect him, her eyes narrowing when she saw his neck. A flicker of concern and anger in those green eyes for a moment, and then it passed.

"Good. I'd never hear the end of it from Ser Gregor if I lost an apprentice on my first escort. Even if that apprentice was -you-." She let him loose and looked around. "If found another clearing nearby. We'll camp there for the night, since I don't want to be travel through the Wilds after dark. We'll head back in the morning, with or without your roots."

Mathias, for once, was in no mood to argue, and nodded quietly, gathering up the contents of his pack and stuffing them back inside haphazardly before following the Templar.

Far above, in the trees, a raven watched them quietly.
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Games We Play (Redux)