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peopleofthedas2011-06-07 11:32 am
le_monde) wrote in peopleofthedas2011-06-07 11:32 am
Disquiet 5/? M overall
Title: Disquiet 5/?: Duncan's Find
Author: Briala
Rating: M overall
Summary: Five Guardians: The Sten, The Assassin, The Kinslayer, The Old Warden, and The Dog. Each playing their part in the Dalish Warden’s life, which in turn adds to the greater wheel of Thedas.
Disclaimer: All Dragon Age characters and places belong to BioWare. I aim to make no profit off of this, so please keep those lawyers (including my own) in check.
WARNING! This story contains: Too many spoilers to count, Sex, Rape, and Abuse.
AN: This chapter of Disquiet is one of my very favorites and is, despite being chapter 5, a good introduction to the story - should you start here then begin at the beginning, I would understand.
I absolutely love Duncan and wish there was more of him, other than this and later in Chapter 13. Thankfully, parts of him are carried on and are important to the story, but hearing his internal voice and thoughts only happens here in this chapter.
Again, grateful thanks to1smut_princess who has taken the time to scrub my face so I look presentable.
*~*~*~*~*
Chapter Five: Duncan’s Find
*~*~*~*~*
"It was a dark and stormy nightmare." – Neil Gaiman
Duncan found her in an abandon farmstead north of the Circle Tower. The house had been burnt to the ground, but the barn was still standing. There was a storm building over the lake and he felt lucky to have found the place before dark. Having been attacked by some bandits earlier that day he was having trouble stopping the bleeding from a gash in his leg – and figured one of the bandits had used a poison that made the wound difficult to heal despite elfroot potions and tight bandages. He stumbled into the barn and was forced to lie down before he fell. He dreamt of an girl with deep green eyes the same verdant color as the hills of his homeland.
He awoke to the smell of stew on a fire, but saw no one. His armor had been removed and he was still wearing his under tunic and breeches. The breeches, cut from the bandit's dagger, revealed that the wound was partially healed. The skin underneath was warm to the touch, but not fevered as before. He noted that minor cuts and bruising on his chest and arms had also been repaired.
Feeling eyes upon him, Duncan began to speak softly, "I am grateful for your assistance. I know you must be weakened from this difficult healing. Please come and share this meal with me." Duncan continued to talk softly as he took two bowls and spoons from his pack along with some oatcakes and dried fruit, trying not to groan as he moved.
He explained that he had been attacked and how pleased he was to find shelter from the storm which raged outside. His voice was calm and reassuring. Observing movement near the door, Duncan continued to talk while dishing up the stew and crumbling an oatcake into each bowl. By the time, he was done an elf girl had crept to the fire.
Without pausing, he handed her a steaming bowl, keeping up his one-sided travel dialog. She hesitatingly took the bowl. Duncan ate and looked at her closely while her attention was on the food. She appeared to be Dalish, old enough for blood ink, with light hair gathered into a single braid down her back. She wore mage robes, but he could see no see a staff within the light of the fire. Perhaps she had left it nearer to her escape route? She looked at him over the rim of the bowl with verdant eyes assessing him as well.
Clearing his throat, he introduced himself as Duncan of the Grey Wardens. Her eyes widened and she set down her bowl. He continued softly explaining that he was heading to the Circle Tower. At that she scrambled backwards out of the light. He said that, if she would prefer, he did not need to go there having already found what it was he was looking for.
Hearing the door creak, desperate to keep her from running away, he held up his hand, "I promise, no one will harm you. Please, tonight is not the night for traveling or running from your fears. You are safe here, I give you my word."
He heard a hitch in her breathing. Lightening crashed outside and he saw her silhouetted, hand on the door, a bag in her hand, and no staff in sight. She stared at his hand and pressed her palm to her heart. She came back to the fire, sat across from him, and resumed eating.
Duncan picked up his bowl as if nothing had happened. When he finished, she dished up the last of the stew into his bowl and helped herself to some of the dried apples and an oatcake. He kept his movements slow and began to share why he had been traveling and why he had been going to the Circle. He explained the needs of the land and the coming Blight. He told her that her skills with healing would be greatly needed. "If you join me, join the Wardens, you would never have to return to the Tower."
She stared at him and slowly lifted her hand spreading her fingers.
His eyes smiled and he held up his hand copying her gesture, "Yes, I promise."
He nearly held his breath as she leaned forward and gently pressed her palm to his, her green eyes holding his.
Breaking the spell by taking his emptied bowl and spoon from his other hand, she stood to gather the rest of the dishes. She stepped out of the barn and he heard splashing from the rain barrel outside. He dug through his pack to find his sewing kit and his other breeches. Slowly, aching with every move, he changed and sat at the fire repairing the rip with small neat stitches. When she returned, she set the cast iron pot near the fire to dry. Duncan watched her from the corner of his eye as he worked. Apparently she was already quite familiar with the contents of his pack as she removed a small vial of oil to rub into the dried cast iron. She crumbled the oat cakes into the bowls and sprinkled them with dried fruit. Then pouring a little water into the bowls, left them to soak overnight. She quickly wrapped and repacked the remaining oatcakes and fruit.
Cautiously, she crouched near him and put her hand on his cool forehead and he knew she would find no fever. He paused his sewing and looked into those deep eyes, watching as she focused on and gently touched each of his recent injuries. As she did so, Duncan felt tendrils of healing in the ones that still ached. Softly her hand reached out to his outstretched leg, a gasp of pain escaped his lips, as she probed the wound through his clothes. More tendrils knit the muscles back together and neutralized more of the poison.
"That's much better, thank you," he said tightly. Her eyes flicked to his then back to her work, if he didn't know better she called him a liar – he nearly chuckled.
She concentrated her gaze on his ankle and slowly moved her hands down his leg.
"That is an old break," he protested. "The healers said that was the best they could do. Even Wynne was unable to return it to the way it was."
At Wynne's name, she looked at him weighing his words. Her eyes returned to the ankle accepting the challenge. A firm set came to her expression, the concentration she poured into the old break near single-minded.
He set down his needle and watched her work. She unlaced the leather brace the healers had made to hold the weak joint steady, eased his sock off, and stared through the limb apparently seeing everything hidden by his skin. He had broken it in a fall and it had been hastily set. Although the healers had re-broken it, the bones never set right. Yes, even Wynne had thrown up her hands declaring it beyond her skill.
It was a long and difficult healing. Although she buffered him from most of the pain, occasionally what seeped through was more than he could keep in his tightly held control. There was a moment when he cried out for her just to remove the foot as it would be less painful. He then felt a bone move deep in the joint, turning and slipping into place. He must have fainted. Opening his eyes to the leaky roof he felt her healing tendrils slow to a trickle. He looked up to the exhaustion on her face, her eyes closing. He struggled to sit up, to ease her slow fall into sleep. Her hand slipped from his ankle, her head rested on his wounded thigh. Even in her sleep, her healing tendrils reached out and soothed the ache under her head. As he lay back on his bed roll he felt waves of sleep sweeping him away.
He floated to consciousness listening to the birds outside. Dawn is coming they sang. His hand was tangled in the girl's loose braid, her head resting against his thigh. Arms still wrapped around his wounded leg, she sent brushes of healing deep in the wound. Her leg was thrown over his ankle; yes, soft touches of healing continued there as well. He gingerly moved his foot, not wanting to wake her as he tested the once damaged ankle. No pain. He had told Wynne that the constant ache of his ankle turned him an old man; he was that old man no longer.
Her slow breathing indicated that she was still asleep. "Do not move,” she breathed in elvish. Her low voice was harsh and dull from disuse.
Obligingly, wonderingly, he stopped moving as she drew his mind back down to sleep. When he awoke again, her warmth was gone from his side, and he could see through the roof that sun was high in the sky. She sat at the small fire warming their breakfast. He was ravenous.
Side by side they ate. As he spooned the last of the fruit sweetened oat porridge she had prepared the night before, he asked "What is your name?"
Her eyebrows quirked and with her finger she wrote in the dirt "Dulsanaya" in elvish.
"Ma serannas, Dulsanaya." She glanced sidelong at him and nodded.
Her movements were jerky from her extended exertions healing his injuries. The depths of her reserves had been drained, while he felt twenty years younger. Duncan could only guess at what it had taken from her to fuel such strong magics, and he worried over her fatigue, not wanting her to risk herself to further exhaustion.
"I think it would be best for my healer to rest here and I will fish for our supper. Agreed?"
She nodded again, her eyes closing with the movement.
He stood gathering the dishes and watched as she fell into his bedroll already asleep. He slipped his sword and dagger from under his pack, settled them on his back, and gathered a bit of fishing line and a hook from a side pocket of the bag. Gingerly he pulled on his boots, ready to go see to their bellies’ needs.
The sun was still at its peak when he stepped outside. Giving the dishes a wash, he set them in the sun to dry. He walked through a field down to a creek which ran past the farm gurgling on its way to Lake Calenhad. He felt wonderful, simply wonderful. Well rested certainly, but a spring in his step that hadn't been there since his fall in the wilderness so many years ago. The girl was an amazing healer, having an ability to accomplish what Wynne wouldn't even attempt. And that ability to continue the healing while sleeping was something he had never encountered or even heard about. Her reserves were great and would take time to renew without access to lyrium.
He prepared his hook and cast the line. Although she hadn't said a word while awake, talking in her sleep certainly proved that she had the ability to do so. And she could write. Given her robe and her base fear when he discussed his plans to travel to the Circle Tower, he assumed that she had escaped from there. It had to have been recently as she was not starved nor overly dirty, but perhaps her Dalish upbringing had provided for her.
"Yes," he smiled, musing aloud, "I believe I have found what I was searching for." Irving had written him of a natural healer who had recently passed her Harrowing after only spending an amazingly short time in the tower. The Senior Enchanter believed that her apprenticeship was the fastest yet. Irving had not mentioned that the girl avoided speaking or did not speak by choice, merely that she was quiet and skittish in regards to Templers, with the notable exception of Greagoir.
With two cleaned fish and several freshly picked and washed elfroot leaves to poach them in, he walked back to the barn. Everything was as it was when he left. The girl curled up in his bed sighed sadly in her sleep. He set the fillets in the elfroot, sprinkled on spices stored in his pack, and wrapped the leaves securely around the fish. With a stick he scraped the top layer of coals from the fire setting the pouches in the indentation and pushed the coals back on top. He finished his sewing and then inspected and maintained his arms and armor. After replacing the leather strap that was sliced by the poisoned blade, he raked away the coals and helped himself to the fish. Did everything taste more delicious, he thought remembering the morning's porridge, or was it a side effect from the healing?
By evening it was apparent that she would not be waking anytime soon, so he ate another packet of fish and built up the fire. That was when she began to talk in her sleep to a Templar. Her ragged voice, crying out for mercy in the night, tore at him. Every night she was laid open by that armored fiend. No wonder she ran away from the Circle; no wonder she chose not speak; no wonder she hadn't trusted him. Trust and mercy given had granted her none.
He mentally reviewed routes which would lead them away from the Tower. Any travels to the Circle would have to wait until after Ostagar. He would not subject her to that – there were plenty of other monsters to be faced.
*~*~*~*~*
Ma serannas (ma SEHR-ahn-ahs): Thank you. Specifically: Ma (MAH): you. Serannas (SEHR-ah-nahs): grateful, appreciative.
Author: Briala
Rating: M overall
Summary: Five Guardians: The Sten, The Assassin, The Kinslayer, The Old Warden, and The Dog. Each playing their part in the Dalish Warden’s life, which in turn adds to the greater wheel of Thedas.
Disclaimer: All Dragon Age characters and places belong to BioWare. I aim to make no profit off of this, so please keep those lawyers (including my own) in check.
WARNING! This story contains: Too many spoilers to count, Sex, Rape, and Abuse.
AN: This chapter of Disquiet is one of my very favorites and is, despite being chapter 5, a good introduction to the story - should you start here then begin at the beginning, I would understand.
I absolutely love Duncan and wish there was more of him, other than this and later in Chapter 13. Thankfully, parts of him are carried on and are important to the story, but hearing his internal voice and thoughts only happens here in this chapter.
Again, grateful thanks to
1smut_princess who has taken the time to scrub my face so I look presentable.*~*~*~*~*
Chapter Five: Duncan’s Find
*~*~*~*~*
"It was a dark and stormy nightmare." – Neil Gaiman
Duncan found her in an abandon farmstead north of the Circle Tower. The house had been burnt to the ground, but the barn was still standing. There was a storm building over the lake and he felt lucky to have found the place before dark. Having been attacked by some bandits earlier that day he was having trouble stopping the bleeding from a gash in his leg – and figured one of the bandits had used a poison that made the wound difficult to heal despite elfroot potions and tight bandages. He stumbled into the barn and was forced to lie down before he fell. He dreamt of an girl with deep green eyes the same verdant color as the hills of his homeland.
He awoke to the smell of stew on a fire, but saw no one. His armor had been removed and he was still wearing his under tunic and breeches. The breeches, cut from the bandit's dagger, revealed that the wound was partially healed. The skin underneath was warm to the touch, but not fevered as before. He noted that minor cuts and bruising on his chest and arms had also been repaired.
Feeling eyes upon him, Duncan began to speak softly, "I am grateful for your assistance. I know you must be weakened from this difficult healing. Please come and share this meal with me." Duncan continued to talk softly as he took two bowls and spoons from his pack along with some oatcakes and dried fruit, trying not to groan as he moved.
He explained that he had been attacked and how pleased he was to find shelter from the storm which raged outside. His voice was calm and reassuring. Observing movement near the door, Duncan continued to talk while dishing up the stew and crumbling an oatcake into each bowl. By the time, he was done an elf girl had crept to the fire.
Without pausing, he handed her a steaming bowl, keeping up his one-sided travel dialog. She hesitatingly took the bowl. Duncan ate and looked at her closely while her attention was on the food. She appeared to be Dalish, old enough for blood ink, with light hair gathered into a single braid down her back. She wore mage robes, but he could see no see a staff within the light of the fire. Perhaps she had left it nearer to her escape route? She looked at him over the rim of the bowl with verdant eyes assessing him as well.
Clearing his throat, he introduced himself as Duncan of the Grey Wardens. Her eyes widened and she set down her bowl. He continued softly explaining that he was heading to the Circle Tower. At that she scrambled backwards out of the light. He said that, if she would prefer, he did not need to go there having already found what it was he was looking for.
Hearing the door creak, desperate to keep her from running away, he held up his hand, "I promise, no one will harm you. Please, tonight is not the night for traveling or running from your fears. You are safe here, I give you my word."
He heard a hitch in her breathing. Lightening crashed outside and he saw her silhouetted, hand on the door, a bag in her hand, and no staff in sight. She stared at his hand and pressed her palm to her heart. She came back to the fire, sat across from him, and resumed eating.
Duncan picked up his bowl as if nothing had happened. When he finished, she dished up the last of the stew into his bowl and helped herself to some of the dried apples and an oatcake. He kept his movements slow and began to share why he had been traveling and why he had been going to the Circle. He explained the needs of the land and the coming Blight. He told her that her skills with healing would be greatly needed. "If you join me, join the Wardens, you would never have to return to the Tower."
She stared at him and slowly lifted her hand spreading her fingers.
His eyes smiled and he held up his hand copying her gesture, "Yes, I promise."
He nearly held his breath as she leaned forward and gently pressed her palm to his, her green eyes holding his.
Breaking the spell by taking his emptied bowl and spoon from his other hand, she stood to gather the rest of the dishes. She stepped out of the barn and he heard splashing from the rain barrel outside. He dug through his pack to find his sewing kit and his other breeches. Slowly, aching with every move, he changed and sat at the fire repairing the rip with small neat stitches. When she returned, she set the cast iron pot near the fire to dry. Duncan watched her from the corner of his eye as he worked. Apparently she was already quite familiar with the contents of his pack as she removed a small vial of oil to rub into the dried cast iron. She crumbled the oat cakes into the bowls and sprinkled them with dried fruit. Then pouring a little water into the bowls, left them to soak overnight. She quickly wrapped and repacked the remaining oatcakes and fruit.
Cautiously, she crouched near him and put her hand on his cool forehead and he knew she would find no fever. He paused his sewing and looked into those deep eyes, watching as she focused on and gently touched each of his recent injuries. As she did so, Duncan felt tendrils of healing in the ones that still ached. Softly her hand reached out to his outstretched leg, a gasp of pain escaped his lips, as she probed the wound through his clothes. More tendrils knit the muscles back together and neutralized more of the poison.
"That's much better, thank you," he said tightly. Her eyes flicked to his then back to her work, if he didn't know better she called him a liar – he nearly chuckled.
She concentrated her gaze on his ankle and slowly moved her hands down his leg.
"That is an old break," he protested. "The healers said that was the best they could do. Even Wynne was unable to return it to the way it was."
At Wynne's name, she looked at him weighing his words. Her eyes returned to the ankle accepting the challenge. A firm set came to her expression, the concentration she poured into the old break near single-minded.
He set down his needle and watched her work. She unlaced the leather brace the healers had made to hold the weak joint steady, eased his sock off, and stared through the limb apparently seeing everything hidden by his skin. He had broken it in a fall and it had been hastily set. Although the healers had re-broken it, the bones never set right. Yes, even Wynne had thrown up her hands declaring it beyond her skill.
It was a long and difficult healing. Although she buffered him from most of the pain, occasionally what seeped through was more than he could keep in his tightly held control. There was a moment when he cried out for her just to remove the foot as it would be less painful. He then felt a bone move deep in the joint, turning and slipping into place. He must have fainted. Opening his eyes to the leaky roof he felt her healing tendrils slow to a trickle. He looked up to the exhaustion on her face, her eyes closing. He struggled to sit up, to ease her slow fall into sleep. Her hand slipped from his ankle, her head rested on his wounded thigh. Even in her sleep, her healing tendrils reached out and soothed the ache under her head. As he lay back on his bed roll he felt waves of sleep sweeping him away.
He floated to consciousness listening to the birds outside. Dawn is coming they sang. His hand was tangled in the girl's loose braid, her head resting against his thigh. Arms still wrapped around his wounded leg, she sent brushes of healing deep in the wound. Her leg was thrown over his ankle; yes, soft touches of healing continued there as well. He gingerly moved his foot, not wanting to wake her as he tested the once damaged ankle. No pain. He had told Wynne that the constant ache of his ankle turned him an old man; he was that old man no longer.
Her slow breathing indicated that she was still asleep. "Do not move,” she breathed in elvish. Her low voice was harsh and dull from disuse.
Obligingly, wonderingly, he stopped moving as she drew his mind back down to sleep. When he awoke again, her warmth was gone from his side, and he could see through the roof that sun was high in the sky. She sat at the small fire warming their breakfast. He was ravenous.
Side by side they ate. As he spooned the last of the fruit sweetened oat porridge she had prepared the night before, he asked "What is your name?"
Her eyebrows quirked and with her finger she wrote in the dirt "Dulsanaya" in elvish.
"Ma serannas, Dulsanaya." She glanced sidelong at him and nodded.
Her movements were jerky from her extended exertions healing his injuries. The depths of her reserves had been drained, while he felt twenty years younger. Duncan could only guess at what it had taken from her to fuel such strong magics, and he worried over her fatigue, not wanting her to risk herself to further exhaustion.
"I think it would be best for my healer to rest here and I will fish for our supper. Agreed?"
She nodded again, her eyes closing with the movement.
He stood gathering the dishes and watched as she fell into his bedroll already asleep. He slipped his sword and dagger from under his pack, settled them on his back, and gathered a bit of fishing line and a hook from a side pocket of the bag. Gingerly he pulled on his boots, ready to go see to their bellies’ needs.
The sun was still at its peak when he stepped outside. Giving the dishes a wash, he set them in the sun to dry. He walked through a field down to a creek which ran past the farm gurgling on its way to Lake Calenhad. He felt wonderful, simply wonderful. Well rested certainly, but a spring in his step that hadn't been there since his fall in the wilderness so many years ago. The girl was an amazing healer, having an ability to accomplish what Wynne wouldn't even attempt. And that ability to continue the healing while sleeping was something he had never encountered or even heard about. Her reserves were great and would take time to renew without access to lyrium.
He prepared his hook and cast the line. Although she hadn't said a word while awake, talking in her sleep certainly proved that she had the ability to do so. And she could write. Given her robe and her base fear when he discussed his plans to travel to the Circle Tower, he assumed that she had escaped from there. It had to have been recently as she was not starved nor overly dirty, but perhaps her Dalish upbringing had provided for her.
"Yes," he smiled, musing aloud, "I believe I have found what I was searching for." Irving had written him of a natural healer who had recently passed her Harrowing after only spending an amazingly short time in the tower. The Senior Enchanter believed that her apprenticeship was the fastest yet. Irving had not mentioned that the girl avoided speaking or did not speak by choice, merely that she was quiet and skittish in regards to Templers, with the notable exception of Greagoir.
With two cleaned fish and several freshly picked and washed elfroot leaves to poach them in, he walked back to the barn. Everything was as it was when he left. The girl curled up in his bed sighed sadly in her sleep. He set the fillets in the elfroot, sprinkled on spices stored in his pack, and wrapped the leaves securely around the fish. With a stick he scraped the top layer of coals from the fire setting the pouches in the indentation and pushed the coals back on top. He finished his sewing and then inspected and maintained his arms and armor. After replacing the leather strap that was sliced by the poisoned blade, he raked away the coals and helped himself to the fish. Did everything taste more delicious, he thought remembering the morning's porridge, or was it a side effect from the healing?
By evening it was apparent that she would not be waking anytime soon, so he ate another packet of fish and built up the fire. That was when she began to talk in her sleep to a Templar. Her ragged voice, crying out for mercy in the night, tore at him. Every night she was laid open by that armored fiend. No wonder she ran away from the Circle; no wonder she chose not speak; no wonder she hadn't trusted him. Trust and mercy given had granted her none.
He mentally reviewed routes which would lead them away from the Tower. Any travels to the Circle would have to wait until after Ostagar. He would not subject her to that – there were plenty of other monsters to be faced.
*~*~*~*~*
Ma serannas (ma SEHR-ahn-ahs): Thank you. Specifically: Ma (MAH): you. Serannas (SEHR-ah-nahs): grateful, appreciative.