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peopleofthedas2011-04-21 03:46 pm
aithne) wrote in peopleofthedas2011-04-21 03:46 pm
Fanfiction: The Bar Between Worlds
I blame all of you for this. All of you.
Thanks totwist_shimmy for letting me borrow Faolan. :)
Title: The Bar Between Worlds
Rating: K
Words: about 1700
Summary: Kathil Amell runs into someone unexpected in a bar that's probably not precisely what it seems.
In the Fade Bar it was perpetually last call, forever mere minutes from closing. But it never closed; at least, Kathil’s experience was that whenever she made her way to the place the lanterns were always brightly lit, and there were at least a few people inside.
Right now, though, it was nearly empty. The nameless bartender was wiping down the polished wood of the bar with a damp rag. As always. She suspected that even if she left for years, the moment she returned the same bartender would still be using the same towel, having aged not a day.
This was the Fade. Things were different here.
Her boots thudded against the floor as she strode forward and dropped into a chair at the long table at the center of the room. A snore resounded from beneath the table. A glance revealed that it was Faolan, asleep with her head pillowed on her arm, hair obscuring most of her face.
Must have been a good night after I left last night.
There had been a card game, and a rejuvenation spell that had gotten a few people a little more sober than they would have liked. And grenades. And several public displays that went past affection and into exhibitionism, one of them including a Zevran. Who was not her Zevran, but it seemed that all of the Zevrans had a number of things in common, including being generously endowed. That had been all sorts of pleasant to watch.
And she’d told Philomene (one of the many Suranas, this one a shy and relatively innocent little thing with great big eyes) that she should ask Alistair if she wanted to indulge her curiosity about sleeping with other people. She wasn’t sure Philomene’s Alistair was going to thank her for that one.
Kathil had slipped out when Laica Hawke had started dancing on the tables. She was still a bit worried that Cullen and Zevran were going to ask where she’d been slipping off to, and Maker knew that she couldn’t be away from Cerys for too long at this point. “Small mead,” she said to the bartender. “Please.” The man nodded and vanished, presumably into the back room that was guarded by twin statues of...something. They were vaguely humanoid, but only very vaguely, and they radiated a sort of queasiness that made it difficult to look at them for very long. With the number of mages that frequented the place, she supposed that precautions were in order with the number of exotic substances that the back room evidently contained.
She got up to collect her mead just as the door opened and a young man strode in and dropped down into a chair at the big table. “My brother is an ass,” he said, evidently making an announcement to the room at large. “A Maker-forgotten, idiotic, sparkly ass.”
Kathil leaned against the bar and took a good look at the newcomer. Not someone she’d seen in here before. He was dark-haired, strong-jawed, and was wearing a style of clothing that looked a lot like what some of the Hawkes wore. “You look like a Hawke,” she said.
The young man grunted acknowledgement. “Everyone says that. Nobody seems to remember that there are two Hawke brothers. I am not just my brother’s sidekick!” The bartender appeared at his elbow and set down a pint of something foamy. “I am sick of living in his shadow.”
Kathil picked up her mead and strode over to the table, pulling up a chair opposite him. “You must be Carver, then. Which Hawke is your brother?” She frowned, trying to remember names. Male Hawkes were relatively rare. “Julian? Reinar?”
“What are you talking about?” Carver asked. “My brother’s name is Etain. You know, the apostate.”
The name was vaguely familiar. “I don’t think I’ve met him,” she said. “So. What did he do to make you stomp in here like a particularly grumpy ogre?”
At the word ogre Carver’s visage darkened even further. “He left me behind,” he said. “Told me to stay and take care of Mother. As if I were a child, as if I hadn’t helped him scrape up the money for the stupid expedition.” He picked up his glass and took a long pull. “Serve him right if he dies down there in the dark, him and Varric.”
Some of the Hawkes told stories of what happened to their brothers and sisters. “Perhaps you should count your blessings,” she said, carefully. “You don’t like being in your brother’s shadow, but now he’s gone, at least for a while. Maybe you can start making a name for yourself while he’s away.”
“Maybe.” Carver slumped and stared into his beer. “What is this place, anyway?” he asked. “I never knew the Hanged Man had a back room like this.”
Her heart twisted. He doesn’t know. “It’s not part of the Hanged Man,” she said. “It’s called the Fade Bar. It seems to be open for people who need it, and invisible to everyone else. That door--” she gestured at the front door, which right now was in a particularly oaken mood, probably leading to Faolan’s universe-- “opens into a lot of different versions of Thedas. And every one of those Thedases has a Hawke family like yours, and a Warden like me or Fao down there.” She gestured at Faolan. “Some of us have found this place, and we use it to talk with each other while our chroniclers are off writing down stories.”
He was eyeing her with deep suspicion. “You’re a Grey Warden?”
“The Hero of Ferelden. So is Faolan. So is Philomene, and Tesni, and Maggie, and Taniva, and Aedan, and all of the rest of the Couslands and Amells and Suranas and Mahariels. Funny how it doesn’t really seem very special to be the Hero of Ferelden when you discover there are lots of others. And there are Hawkes who come in here--Laicia, Julian, Maidievh, Lilian, and others besides. It sounds like your brother’s one of the Hawkes who’s never found their way into here.”
“Hunh.” The suspicion hadn’t left his face. “So which one are you?”
“Kathil Amell, at your service. Mage, Warden, and official Chantry gadfly.” She smiled at him and took a sip of her mead. “I come here to play cards and watch the others get drunk. I have a little girl at home, so I don’t party quite as hard as most.”
Carver was staring at her. He ducked his head to look at Faolan, who rolled over and let out a terrific snore. “You know, I've never heard of her. But I have heard of you. The mage who ended the Blight. You look a lot like my brother. Same hair, same eyes. Except my brother doesn’t have all of the...” He motioned towards his face, and then glanced away.
“Scars. I know.” She studied him, trying to see any resemblance. It was there, she concluded, however slight. It’s still strange to know I have family alive, even as distant as this. “I lost my family when I was taken to the Circle,” she said. “If your brother’s a mage, he has a harder row to hoe in the world than you’ll ever really know. Try not to carry too much of a grudge against him.”
“It’s just that--he was the firstborn, and a mage, just like Father and Bethany. They start talking about magic and Mother smiles and I just hit things with swords, you know? I can’t tear the universe apart with my mind.” Carver drowned down into his beer, then took a long swallow. “The two of them got so much of Father’s time, and it was always run along and play, Carver, your brother and sister need to learn how not to turn into abominations.”
“You’re grown now, aren't you?” she pointed out. “Surely there are things you can do that your brother can’t. Hitting things with swords, for example.” She searched her memory. “I heard something about a Hawke being in the king’s army, at Ostagar. Most mages make terrible soldiers. And I hear that women love a man in uniform.”
Carver’s brow was furrowed. “That’s...an idea. I’ll have to think about it.”
“Do that.” She drained her mead to the dregs. “I should be going. The others will probably start popping in, soon. Try not to drink anything the mages offer you.” She shoved her chair back, and stood.
Carver looked down at Faolan. “Is she all right?” The mage had one arm wrapped around a chair leg now, her tattooed face wrinkled up as if she were dreaming about a bad smell.
“She’s fine. I get the feeling that napping on tavern floors isn’t exactly a new thing to her.” In fact, nothing seemed to be a new thing to Faolan Surana. Next to her, Kathil felt positively staid. It was a decidedly odd sensation. Someone had left a cloak hanging on the wall; she fetched it and rolled it up, slipping it under Faolan’s head. “I’m just surprised that she doesn’t have company down there. If she wakes up and you’re still here, ask the bartender for a hangover cure.”
She smiled at her cousin again and walked to the door. It changed when she touched it, going from oak to iron-bound pine. Perhaps she’d come back again tonight; maybe this Carver would still be here. (Or maybe it would be another Carver. There seemed to be little rhyme or reason to who found the bar; they had something like three versions of Anders and no Sigruns.)
As she stepped through the door onto the stone of her own world, she glanced back. Carver was staring into space, a thoughtful look on his face. A foreboding feeling lodged in her chest, for no reason she could name.
She breathed out and closed the door behind her, clearing her mind. Eamon was waiting in the great hall for her, still. Time to go shout down the old wolf. Again. The door to the Fade Bar vanished as if it had never been, leaving only blank wall behind.
It would be there when she needed it. It always was.
Edit: I posted this in the other thread, but I was listening to this over and over while I was writing this. I recognize a few of our Fade Bar regulars in it. :)
Leonard Cohen: Closing Time
Thanks to
twist_shimmy for letting me borrow Faolan. :)Title: The Bar Between Worlds
Rating: K
Words: about 1700
Summary: Kathil Amell runs into someone unexpected in a bar that's probably not precisely what it seems.
In the Fade Bar it was perpetually last call, forever mere minutes from closing. But it never closed; at least, Kathil’s experience was that whenever she made her way to the place the lanterns were always brightly lit, and there were at least a few people inside.
Right now, though, it was nearly empty. The nameless bartender was wiping down the polished wood of the bar with a damp rag. As always. She suspected that even if she left for years, the moment she returned the same bartender would still be using the same towel, having aged not a day.
This was the Fade. Things were different here.
Her boots thudded against the floor as she strode forward and dropped into a chair at the long table at the center of the room. A snore resounded from beneath the table. A glance revealed that it was Faolan, asleep with her head pillowed on her arm, hair obscuring most of her face.
Must have been a good night after I left last night.
There had been a card game, and a rejuvenation spell that had gotten a few people a little more sober than they would have liked. And grenades. And several public displays that went past affection and into exhibitionism, one of them including a Zevran. Who was not her Zevran, but it seemed that all of the Zevrans had a number of things in common, including being generously endowed. That had been all sorts of pleasant to watch.
And she’d told Philomene (one of the many Suranas, this one a shy and relatively innocent little thing with great big eyes) that she should ask Alistair if she wanted to indulge her curiosity about sleeping with other people. She wasn’t sure Philomene’s Alistair was going to thank her for that one.
Kathil had slipped out when Laica Hawke had started dancing on the tables. She was still a bit worried that Cullen and Zevran were going to ask where she’d been slipping off to, and Maker knew that she couldn’t be away from Cerys for too long at this point. “Small mead,” she said to the bartender. “Please.” The man nodded and vanished, presumably into the back room that was guarded by twin statues of...something. They were vaguely humanoid, but only very vaguely, and they radiated a sort of queasiness that made it difficult to look at them for very long. With the number of mages that frequented the place, she supposed that precautions were in order with the number of exotic substances that the back room evidently contained.
She got up to collect her mead just as the door opened and a young man strode in and dropped down into a chair at the big table. “My brother is an ass,” he said, evidently making an announcement to the room at large. “A Maker-forgotten, idiotic, sparkly ass.”
Kathil leaned against the bar and took a good look at the newcomer. Not someone she’d seen in here before. He was dark-haired, strong-jawed, and was wearing a style of clothing that looked a lot like what some of the Hawkes wore. “You look like a Hawke,” she said.
The young man grunted acknowledgement. “Everyone says that. Nobody seems to remember that there are two Hawke brothers. I am not just my brother’s sidekick!” The bartender appeared at his elbow and set down a pint of something foamy. “I am sick of living in his shadow.”
Kathil picked up her mead and strode over to the table, pulling up a chair opposite him. “You must be Carver, then. Which Hawke is your brother?” She frowned, trying to remember names. Male Hawkes were relatively rare. “Julian? Reinar?”
“What are you talking about?” Carver asked. “My brother’s name is Etain. You know, the apostate.”
The name was vaguely familiar. “I don’t think I’ve met him,” she said. “So. What did he do to make you stomp in here like a particularly grumpy ogre?”
At the word ogre Carver’s visage darkened even further. “He left me behind,” he said. “Told me to stay and take care of Mother. As if I were a child, as if I hadn’t helped him scrape up the money for the stupid expedition.” He picked up his glass and took a long pull. “Serve him right if he dies down there in the dark, him and Varric.”
Some of the Hawkes told stories of what happened to their brothers and sisters. “Perhaps you should count your blessings,” she said, carefully. “You don’t like being in your brother’s shadow, but now he’s gone, at least for a while. Maybe you can start making a name for yourself while he’s away.”
“Maybe.” Carver slumped and stared into his beer. “What is this place, anyway?” he asked. “I never knew the Hanged Man had a back room like this.”
Her heart twisted. He doesn’t know. “It’s not part of the Hanged Man,” she said. “It’s called the Fade Bar. It seems to be open for people who need it, and invisible to everyone else. That door--” she gestured at the front door, which right now was in a particularly oaken mood, probably leading to Faolan’s universe-- “opens into a lot of different versions of Thedas. And every one of those Thedases has a Hawke family like yours, and a Warden like me or Fao down there.” She gestured at Faolan. “Some of us have found this place, and we use it to talk with each other while our chroniclers are off writing down stories.”
He was eyeing her with deep suspicion. “You’re a Grey Warden?”
“The Hero of Ferelden. So is Faolan. So is Philomene, and Tesni, and Maggie, and Taniva, and Aedan, and all of the rest of the Couslands and Amells and Suranas and Mahariels. Funny how it doesn’t really seem very special to be the Hero of Ferelden when you discover there are lots of others. And there are Hawkes who come in here--Laicia, Julian, Maidievh, Lilian, and others besides. It sounds like your brother’s one of the Hawkes who’s never found their way into here.”
“Hunh.” The suspicion hadn’t left his face. “So which one are you?”
“Kathil Amell, at your service. Mage, Warden, and official Chantry gadfly.” She smiled at him and took a sip of her mead. “I come here to play cards and watch the others get drunk. I have a little girl at home, so I don’t party quite as hard as most.”
Carver was staring at her. He ducked his head to look at Faolan, who rolled over and let out a terrific snore. “You know, I've never heard of her. But I have heard of you. The mage who ended the Blight. You look a lot like my brother. Same hair, same eyes. Except my brother doesn’t have all of the...” He motioned towards his face, and then glanced away.
“Scars. I know.” She studied him, trying to see any resemblance. It was there, she concluded, however slight. It’s still strange to know I have family alive, even as distant as this. “I lost my family when I was taken to the Circle,” she said. “If your brother’s a mage, he has a harder row to hoe in the world than you’ll ever really know. Try not to carry too much of a grudge against him.”
“It’s just that--he was the firstborn, and a mage, just like Father and Bethany. They start talking about magic and Mother smiles and I just hit things with swords, you know? I can’t tear the universe apart with my mind.” Carver drowned down into his beer, then took a long swallow. “The two of them got so much of Father’s time, and it was always run along and play, Carver, your brother and sister need to learn how not to turn into abominations.”
“You’re grown now, aren't you?” she pointed out. “Surely there are things you can do that your brother can’t. Hitting things with swords, for example.” She searched her memory. “I heard something about a Hawke being in the king’s army, at Ostagar. Most mages make terrible soldiers. And I hear that women love a man in uniform.”
Carver’s brow was furrowed. “That’s...an idea. I’ll have to think about it.”
“Do that.” She drained her mead to the dregs. “I should be going. The others will probably start popping in, soon. Try not to drink anything the mages offer you.” She shoved her chair back, and stood.
Carver looked down at Faolan. “Is she all right?” The mage had one arm wrapped around a chair leg now, her tattooed face wrinkled up as if she were dreaming about a bad smell.
“She’s fine. I get the feeling that napping on tavern floors isn’t exactly a new thing to her.” In fact, nothing seemed to be a new thing to Faolan Surana. Next to her, Kathil felt positively staid. It was a decidedly odd sensation. Someone had left a cloak hanging on the wall; she fetched it and rolled it up, slipping it under Faolan’s head. “I’m just surprised that she doesn’t have company down there. If she wakes up and you’re still here, ask the bartender for a hangover cure.”
She smiled at her cousin again and walked to the door. It changed when she touched it, going from oak to iron-bound pine. Perhaps she’d come back again tonight; maybe this Carver would still be here. (Or maybe it would be another Carver. There seemed to be little rhyme or reason to who found the bar; they had something like three versions of Anders and no Sigruns.)
As she stepped through the door onto the stone of her own world, she glanced back. Carver was staring into space, a thoughtful look on his face. A foreboding feeling lodged in her chest, for no reason she could name.
She breathed out and closed the door behind her, clearing her mind. Eamon was waiting in the great hall for her, still. Time to go shout down the old wolf. Again. The door to the Fade Bar vanished as if it had never been, leaving only blank wall behind.
It would be there when she needed it. It always was.
Edit: I posted this in the other thread, but I was listening to this over and over while I was writing this. I recognize a few of our Fade Bar regulars in it. :)
Leonard Cohen: Closing Time