wardenbrosca | Open post!

Hawke does chuckle at that. As will Varric, when she tells him later. "The songs made me think you'd be ten foot tall, able to juggle ten swords at once while also throwing six at darkspawn, and riding on a rabid bronto while screaming war cries at the top of your lungs." She gives Zoralin a brief but obvious once-over. "I'm disappointed. You look like you could only juggle eight swords."

"Don't worry," she snarks. "My tits juggle the other two."

Damn, Zora likes her already. At least something from the bloody book was true- the wit.

"Right, I should have guessed that. Obvious, really."

Hawke straightens up, sighs a little, rolls one shoulder. Maker, she's getting older. These days she can feel it. She juts her chin towards the sunset. "I can't say much for the desert, but I'll give it this: that sunset is pretty blighted glorious." Brief pause. "Bodahn told me a bit about you, of course. And Sandal, Sandal was particularly eloquent."

Enchantment all the way. And spiky. Hawke was pretty sure that hadn't been referring to the weaponry.

"Bodahn told me all about you, too," Zora replies, pausing her nail-cleaning regimen to appreciate the sunset. "We still correspond, actually."

Which makes for a great segue into a fucking terrible conversation. She sighs, expression tightening visibly.

"Which actually- there's something I need to- a few somethings I need to tell you." Another sigh, and she kicks a small pebble a little too intensely, as if the small rock had somehow offended her. Then she blows a stray hair out of her eyes and meets the human's gaze tersely. "I knew where they were. Not the whole time, but almost."

Hawke looks a little nonplussed. "Bodahn and Sandal? I wasn't aware that was--"

Her voice trails off as the copper drops. This isn't about Bodahn and Sandal. It's about who else's location Zora would have known about. The other acquaintance they have--had--in common.

By the time she speaks again, Hawke's face is blank. "Well. This should be good."

For a value of good meaning impressively shit, obviously.

Acquaintances. Zora said them on purpose.

Her gaze turns away, towards the ground. "Bodahn said they moved in with you. Anders was- happy. I could've gone into Kirkwall and pulled them out, I should've, I should've helped them, but I thought..."

She shakes her head sadly. "He told me once that all he ever wanted was a warm bed, a pretty girl, and the right to shoot lightning at fools."

There you have it, Hawke. The Warden-Commander left Anders and Justice alone because of you. Because she thought you were making them happy.

"Anyway. I caught up with them last year."

Edited 2018-02-08 00:14 (UTC)

Hawke doesn't think of Anders and Justice as them, not least because Anders himself was always so adamant that there was no division anymore, they were intertwined. To her mind it was both true and inaccurate. And, these days, moot.

Or not.

She doesn't move. She stares back at the sunset. It's a nice sunset. Maybe that will help. "How bad was he?"

"Them." It's almost snapped, almost sighed. "They were... a fucking mess. You don't... you really don't want to know."

Judging by the haunting, hunted look in her eyes, Hawke really doesn't. From Anders' conversations about Zora, they had been friends. The woman who once annulled a Circle had seemed interested in what he had to say, and had been changing her mind about magic in general. They'd gotten on like a house on fire, wit and wiles melding seamlessly. Zora was a loyal commander who took personal responsibility in the well-being of her men. The situation with the Wardens only broke down when Zora left for Orzammar.

"Anders... wanted you to have something."

Zoralin reached into her cloak and produced a small pouch, a battered leather thing that had very clearly endured a lot of travel, and looked very old. She picked through it, pulling a couple things out- a dwarven coin with a hole bored through it, a magically preserved rose, an earring, a shoelace, a small crystal. Finally, she pulled out something carefully wrapped in cloth, and put all the other keepsakes back in. The Warden handed it to Hawke without looking at her, leaving the other woman to unwrap it.

A Tevinter Chantry amulet.

Hawke's mouth twists a little at the answer. No, she really doesn't want to know. But she also does. Anything her imagination as come up with over the past few years is probably worse. Well, as bad.

She doesn't ask again, though. It wouldn't help to know, not really.

She knows what's in the cloth before she opens it. She recognizes the weight, the feel of the imbedded design. She stares at it for a long time, tracing the design. Shiny and subversive. I like it. Maybe someday I can give you something as meaningful. She can almost hear his voice saying it.

Damn it, Anders.

Her expression doesn't change, but her eyes are bleak. "He would've been glad it was you," she says finally. "He considered you a friend. Do you know what happened to Justice, afterwards? He worried about that a lot."

He would’ve been glad it was you. Her eyes are hollow and hurt, like empty halls where the Veil still thins from suffering.

“I don’t know.” Softly. More soft than you’d expect from her. “I hope he’s home. He- he came through, in the end, and- and begged. Said he wasn’t being just anymore, that it- that being here hurt too much.”

Zora wipes something itchy from her face and is surprised to find dampness. This is a story she’s never told anyone- not even Nathaniel, when he’d asked how it went.

“Don’t blame yourself, please. Please. Everything that happened to him was all on me. Everything. I didn’t understand how- how people are to mages. I left him there. It’s not your fault, don’t- just don’t.”

Edited 2018-02-08 13:01 (UTC)

Hawke's mouth twists cynically. Her voice is very quiet. "He said pretty much the same thing, you know. Before he did it." No need to state what he did.

She twists the amulet in her hands, still staring at it. You are the one, shining light in my life. Never blame yourself for what will happen.

Abruptly, she stands up, walks a few steps forward. "Anders and Justice made their own choices. You're not to blame for them." Pause. "Or how they turned out."

Zora turns away a little. “You don’t have to do that. I know the score. I was their commander, they were my men. I left them in a pit of vipers and wasn’t smart enough to realize they’d get bit.”

Her head quirks to the side a hair, as if almost thinking of turning to look at Hawke. “You did better. If the book is even halfway accurate, you did better, with less than I had.”

Hawke snorts. From here she can't see the expression on Zora's face, or see her at all. Just the sunset, dyeing the sky red and gold. "If you think the book was even halfway accurate, you clearly haven't met Varric." She's doing Varric an injustice with her flippancy. For all the excessive prose, the book is pretty accurate. The story was too incredible as it was to need much embroidery.

But she had to say something, and it was easier than please just stop talking now.

“I knew it,” Zora says softly, her tone cold and serious. “The dog was your romance.”

Still utterly deadpan, she tosses her head, letting her braid swing around over her shoulder. “Ferelden.“

Hawke's laugh is edged, but real. Thank the Maker for terrible, dark humor at inappropriate moments. She'd never survive her life without it, or without other people who did the same. "What can I say? You can take the girl out of Lothering, but you can't take Lothering out of the girl. The Marchers call us dog-lovers for good reason."

She owes the woman better than this, though, and she knows it. She sighs and turns around, walks back to the pillar, still weighing the amulet in her hand as though it has some answers to give. "You're the Hero of Ferelden. You couldn't be everywhere at once, and there are always Templars. They would've had trouble sooner or later, whatever you did. Apart or together."

Zoralin's eyes flicker up to meet the older woman's gaze. A moment passes between them, something sincere and soft, but then it's gone. She opens her mouth to speak, but sputters on a kind of humorless chuckle.

"Hah- kindness. Don't think I'll ever get used to that." Funny how even ten years out of Dusttown, she still doesn't understand any crumb of kindness thrown her way. "Thanks."

Hawke shrugs, all her body language still deceptively nonchalant. "You saved the world a few times. Least I can do in return." She hesitates, takes a deep breath, makes herself say it. "Thank you. For giving them some peace."

She looks like she's going to continue, but stops. Since I couldn't. She did Anders no favors when she left him alive, that night in Kirkwall, and she knew it at the time. But underneath the anger, the real need for a healer in the fight to come, the determination that he should see the results of his actions and have to live with them the same as everyone else...

Underneath it all, she just...couldn't. Even if it would have been the best option for all parties concerned, herself included.

Her hand clenches hard around the amulet. At least they're free now. Maybe in a while that will be a comforting thought, but right now she just feels tired.

She turns, waves a hand. "No doubt we'll have a lot to discuss later on, but if you'll excuse me, I have a pressing engagement just now with some alcohol."

Zora half-smiles and nods understandingly. "Sounds about right. I'm gonna go have a long talk with some food about this."

Before she turns to go, though, she extends a hand to the other woman. "Nice to meet you, Champ."

Hawke takes the hand in an easy, firm clasp. No problems here, nothing important just happened. "See you around, Hero."

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I'm asleep honest

here have some feelings

oh god damn it

Classic “thanks I hate it”

except I love it but yes

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