[fic] amare et sapere 5/?
Title: Amare et Sapere, 5/?
Author: amasaglajax
Rating: PG
Author Notes: This is set in the world of Dragon Age. If you are unfamiliar with Dragon Age, I strongly suggest you read the primer for this fic here.
ch 1 | ch 2 | ch3 | ch4
FFN | AO3 | tumblr
5.
“If I never have to do another one of these Maker-forsaken twelve-hour shifts,” Puck groaned, his head thumping back against the wall. Puck forewent the helm of his uniform, as many of the longer-established Templars did, but Sam couldn’t help but feel that the helm might have protected Puck from the incredible grimace of pain that immediately crossed his face.
“You find a way of keeping the mages from wanting out, then,” Sam replied. He felt no less irritable about it than Puck, but faced the prospect with decidedly more pragmatism. “It’s almost over.”
“Three hours, almost over? I have shit to do, Evans. People to see.”
“Hudson doesn’t count, he’s the whole reason we’re doing double duty in the first place.”
Puck scoffed, ill-disguising his envy as he said, “Then Ser High-and-Mighty Runaway-Seeker can hardly be who I plan to see, can he?”
There was no one to see in the Tower except for other Templars, considering how discouraged they were from speaking to the mages more than necessary, and because they already ate and bunked together, they tired of each other’s company easily. Puck in particular was rambunctious and belligerent, furious at being retained at the Circle for an extra year, and got along with few of his fellow Templars. Hudson was a rare exception, as they’d known each other prior to entering the Order.
Sam had gravitated towards Hudson and Puck naturally. Puck was irreverent - insisted on being referred to by the abbreviation of his noble house, as he was its gravest shame, he swore - but he made Sam laugh, and Hudson was good-natured and kind, if occasionally and infuriatingly sanctimonious. Hudson’s good intentions couldn’t be doubted, anyway.
But Hudson was out of the Tower for now, specially selected to assist Knight-Sergeant Schuester in the safe return of yet another runaway mage, leaving Sam and Puck to take up his slack with extended shifts. Puck was beyond antsy, even for him. “So, then… who do you plan to see?” said Sam, humoring his friend’s poor temper.
Puck didn’t respond at first, shifting from foot to foot like a child about to be scolded by their nan. “Whoever it was, I didn’t plan to make them wait three extra hours,” Puck finally said with a giant irritated huff. He glanced both ways down the long curving corridors. “By Andraste’s left teat, if that poncy elf brat doesn’t -”
He ceased abruptly in his agitation as he caught sight of someone down the corridor, clenching a fist by his side. “Yes,” he hissed.
Sam stood in congealed confusion, because Kurt was walking down the corridor as though he owned every cobblestone blessed by the soles of his boots, with a sort of regal long-limbed surety that was absolutely compelling. Kurt’s eyes lingered over Sam’s armored form for a suspicious moment before they widened, then narrowed. Kurt’s precocious air of self-possession took on an abrupt, bewildering tinge of injury as Kurt turned to face Puck. “She’ll wait,” he announced.
“You’re sure?” Puck asked roughly, drawing a hand over his scalp. He looked both haggard and immensely relieved, his hazel eyes puppy-hopeful. “She said so?”
“Mind you, she’s not delighted about it,” Kurt said dryly, “but I interceded on your behalf. Lucky you.”
“That’s my poncy elf brat!” Puck grinned suddenly, a broad cut of white in his swarthy face, clapping Kurt on the shoulder.
Kurt grimaced delicately, easing out of Puck’s gauntleted grip with a prissy muttered “if you don’t mind.” Sam snorted to himself, watching how gracefully Kurt moved even as he sidled away, his deep blue robes swinging about his feet.
“And you’ll keep the watch for us?” Puck asked, as though he already knew the answer.
“Haven’t I all this time?” Kurt’s nostrils flared as he released a breath, looking wryly over his shoulder in Puck’s direction. Puck chuckled lightly, raising a hand in a vague half-salute.
“All right, what is this about?” Sam broke in. He knew it was awkward, knew that whatever Puck and Kurt were talking about it wasn’t related to him, but he wasn’t furniture.
Kurt rotated on the spot, an elegant full-body twist, brows lifted and blue-green-blue eyes cool and haughty enough to penetrate Sam’s armor. The hem of his robes flared with his spin, just as indignantly as the mage they contained. “A private affair.”
Sam stared at him, uncertain why on earth Kurt should suddenly act as though they’d only ever exchanged two words before, and those hostile. “Between mage and Templar,” he drawled. “Right.”
“It’s nothing to do with me, I’m just the messenger,” Kurt said sharply. Defensively, Sam thought with increasing consternation, looking at the wide-eyed glare Kurt was throwing Puck’s way. “And he doesn’t wish to speak of it. Does he.”
“Sam’s all right, Kurt,” Puck replied with a shrug. The smile he wore was only barely uncertain, filled with a sincerity Sam was entirely unused to seeing from the other Templar. “And we need his help, anyway.”
“Er.” Sam hoped his earnest confusion was transmitting properly through the shadow of his visor. “In what, exactly?”
Kurt’s sharp look of warning had not lessened in the slightest, but Puck waved Kurt off impatiently, looking at Sam. “Listen. Tonight, half a candlemark past the end of our shift, can you meet me at the chapel?”
“…What… for?”
Kurt huffed a disbelieving breath, crossing his arms.
“Oh, come on, Kurt,” Sam protested, his voice less angry than he’d thought it would be, more pleading. Kurt’s lips pursed and he gazed up at the ceiling rather than at either Templar, gesturing jerkily that they ought both continue their discussion, hip jutted out.
“I can’t explain here,” said Puck, lowering his voice. Sam dragged his gaze away from Kurt’s furious posture. “Or anywhere. Meet me at the chapel. Please.”
Sam eyed Puck warily. Kurt gave a sound of disgust, leveling a look of near-betrayal at Puck. “I sincerely hope you cleared this with her, or you’ll have some excuses to make tonight. But as you’ve made up your mind to do as you pleased, I see no reason to stand around in the presence of a moron and a-”
He cut himself off abruptly, pinching his lips together as his gaze sliced across Sam’s visor. Without finishing his sentence, Kurt whirled upon them both and stalked away down the curved corridor.
Sam watched him go. What the hell, he thought as he watched Kurt leave, but somehow, his injured confusion got caught up in watching the way Kurt walked, the glide of those long legs and the way his movements made his robes swing, the golden rope of his belt slung low about his hips and shifting slightly with each step, the dip at the small of Kurt’s back. That dip, the way his robes clung to his lithe form… standard apprentice robes weren’t like that, weren’t form-fitted or flattering that way, so Sam wondered if Kurt had altered them somehow and decided immediately that he must have, some cunning, careful alteration that made enough of a difference to be notable without getting caught.
Clever, he thought, all admiration for a moment despite his bewilderment over Kurt’s strange behavior, clever, and by the time Sam noticed Puck staring at him, Kurt had swept around the corner, long gone.
“You,” said Puck in a tone of unholy delight that immediately set every single hair on Sam’s head bristling in warning. He tore his thoughts from contemplation of Kurt’s behavior or wardrobe as he met Puck’s gaze. “You.”
“Yes, ‘tis I,” said Sam, briefly dipping into low, unctuous tones before returning to his normal voice. “What do you want, Puckerman?”
“You…” A satisfied grin split Puck’s face. Sam immediately wished to do likewise, with a longsword.
“That’s against regulations,” Sam informed Puck.
By the look that crossed Puck’s face, that hadn’t at all been on Puck’s mind, but he laughed, a great big laugh that had him clutching his armored belly. “No, no, no.” He lowered his voice, leaning forward conspiratorially. “You like him, don’t you?” His brows wagged up and down. “That one.”
“Well enough,” Sam said cautiously.
“Right, and the ass you just watched for twenty minutes doesn’t hurt,” Puck barked, wiping his eyes.
“I-”
“Sam.” Puck managed to calm himself, straightening, though his eyes still sparkled with mirth. Sam stood perfectly tall, gritting his teeth against Puck’s mockery. “I’m the best Templar in the entire world you could have watched that brat talk and swish and sway in front of, all right? Trust me. The chapel.”
“There wasn’t-”
“You want him and it’s obvious,” Puck interrupted. “Extremely obvious. Keep your eyes off him if you want to keep your secret, you look like Andraste about to jump on the Maker’s lap. Three and a half hours, Evans.”
Grateful Puck couldn’t see the tomato red of his cheeks, Sam gave one nod and forced himself to lean casually against the wall. For his laughter, Sam returned Puck silence for the remainder of the shift.
Author: amasaglajax
Rating: PG
Author Notes: This is set in the world of Dragon Age. If you are unfamiliar with Dragon Age, I strongly suggest you read the primer for this fic here.
ch 1 | ch 2 | ch3 | ch4
FFN | AO3 | tumblr
5.
“If I never have to do another one of these Maker-forsaken twelve-hour shifts,” Puck groaned, his head thumping back against the wall. Puck forewent the helm of his uniform, as many of the longer-established Templars did, but Sam couldn’t help but feel that the helm might have protected Puck from the incredible grimace of pain that immediately crossed his face.
“You find a way of keeping the mages from wanting out, then,” Sam replied. He felt no less irritable about it than Puck, but faced the prospect with decidedly more pragmatism. “It’s almost over.”
“Three hours, almost over? I have shit to do, Evans. People to see.”
“Hudson doesn’t count, he’s the whole reason we’re doing double duty in the first place.”
Puck scoffed, ill-disguising his envy as he said, “Then Ser High-and-Mighty Runaway-Seeker can hardly be who I plan to see, can he?”
There was no one to see in the Tower except for other Templars, considering how discouraged they were from speaking to the mages more than necessary, and because they already ate and bunked together, they tired of each other’s company easily. Puck in particular was rambunctious and belligerent, furious at being retained at the Circle for an extra year, and got along with few of his fellow Templars. Hudson was a rare exception, as they’d known each other prior to entering the Order.
Sam had gravitated towards Hudson and Puck naturally. Puck was irreverent - insisted on being referred to by the abbreviation of his noble house, as he was its gravest shame, he swore - but he made Sam laugh, and Hudson was good-natured and kind, if occasionally and infuriatingly sanctimonious. Hudson’s good intentions couldn’t be doubted, anyway.
But Hudson was out of the Tower for now, specially selected to assist Knight-Sergeant Schuester in the safe return of yet another runaway mage, leaving Sam and Puck to take up his slack with extended shifts. Puck was beyond antsy, even for him. “So, then… who do you plan to see?” said Sam, humoring his friend’s poor temper.
Puck didn’t respond at first, shifting from foot to foot like a child about to be scolded by their nan. “Whoever it was, I didn’t plan to make them wait three extra hours,” Puck finally said with a giant irritated huff. He glanced both ways down the long curving corridors. “By Andraste’s left teat, if that poncy elf brat doesn’t -”
He ceased abruptly in his agitation as he caught sight of someone down the corridor, clenching a fist by his side. “Yes,” he hissed.
Sam stood in congealed confusion, because Kurt was walking down the corridor as though he owned every cobblestone blessed by the soles of his boots, with a sort of regal long-limbed surety that was absolutely compelling. Kurt’s eyes lingered over Sam’s armored form for a suspicious moment before they widened, then narrowed. Kurt’s precocious air of self-possession took on an abrupt, bewildering tinge of injury as Kurt turned to face Puck. “She’ll wait,” he announced.
“You’re sure?” Puck asked roughly, drawing a hand over his scalp. He looked both haggard and immensely relieved, his hazel eyes puppy-hopeful. “She said so?”
“Mind you, she’s not delighted about it,” Kurt said dryly, “but I interceded on your behalf. Lucky you.”
“That’s my poncy elf brat!” Puck grinned suddenly, a broad cut of white in his swarthy face, clapping Kurt on the shoulder.
Kurt grimaced delicately, easing out of Puck’s gauntleted grip with a prissy muttered “if you don’t mind.” Sam snorted to himself, watching how gracefully Kurt moved even as he sidled away, his deep blue robes swinging about his feet.
“And you’ll keep the watch for us?” Puck asked, as though he already knew the answer.
“Haven’t I all this time?” Kurt’s nostrils flared as he released a breath, looking wryly over his shoulder in Puck’s direction. Puck chuckled lightly, raising a hand in a vague half-salute.
“All right, what is this about?” Sam broke in. He knew it was awkward, knew that whatever Puck and Kurt were talking about it wasn’t related to him, but he wasn’t furniture.
Kurt rotated on the spot, an elegant full-body twist, brows lifted and blue-green-blue eyes cool and haughty enough to penetrate Sam’s armor. The hem of his robes flared with his spin, just as indignantly as the mage they contained. “A private affair.”
Sam stared at him, uncertain why on earth Kurt should suddenly act as though they’d only ever exchanged two words before, and those hostile. “Between mage and Templar,” he drawled. “Right.”
“It’s nothing to do with me, I’m just the messenger,” Kurt said sharply. Defensively, Sam thought with increasing consternation, looking at the wide-eyed glare Kurt was throwing Puck’s way. “And he doesn’t wish to speak of it. Does he.”
“Sam’s all right, Kurt,” Puck replied with a shrug. The smile he wore was only barely uncertain, filled with a sincerity Sam was entirely unused to seeing from the other Templar. “And we need his help, anyway.”
“Er.” Sam hoped his earnest confusion was transmitting properly through the shadow of his visor. “In what, exactly?”
Kurt’s sharp look of warning had not lessened in the slightest, but Puck waved Kurt off impatiently, looking at Sam. “Listen. Tonight, half a candlemark past the end of our shift, can you meet me at the chapel?”
“…What… for?”
Kurt huffed a disbelieving breath, crossing his arms.
“Oh, come on, Kurt,” Sam protested, his voice less angry than he’d thought it would be, more pleading. Kurt’s lips pursed and he gazed up at the ceiling rather than at either Templar, gesturing jerkily that they ought both continue their discussion, hip jutted out.
“I can’t explain here,” said Puck, lowering his voice. Sam dragged his gaze away from Kurt’s furious posture. “Or anywhere. Meet me at the chapel. Please.”
Sam eyed Puck warily. Kurt gave a sound of disgust, leveling a look of near-betrayal at Puck. “I sincerely hope you cleared this with her, or you’ll have some excuses to make tonight. But as you’ve made up your mind to do as you pleased, I see no reason to stand around in the presence of a moron and a-”
He cut himself off abruptly, pinching his lips together as his gaze sliced across Sam’s visor. Without finishing his sentence, Kurt whirled upon them both and stalked away down the curved corridor.
Sam watched him go. What the hell, he thought as he watched Kurt leave, but somehow, his injured confusion got caught up in watching the way Kurt walked, the glide of those long legs and the way his movements made his robes swing, the golden rope of his belt slung low about his hips and shifting slightly with each step, the dip at the small of Kurt’s back. That dip, the way his robes clung to his lithe form… standard apprentice robes weren’t like that, weren’t form-fitted or flattering that way, so Sam wondered if Kurt had altered them somehow and decided immediately that he must have, some cunning, careful alteration that made enough of a difference to be notable without getting caught.
Clever, he thought, all admiration for a moment despite his bewilderment over Kurt’s strange behavior, clever, and by the time Sam noticed Puck staring at him, Kurt had swept around the corner, long gone.
“You,” said Puck in a tone of unholy delight that immediately set every single hair on Sam’s head bristling in warning. He tore his thoughts from contemplation of Kurt’s behavior or wardrobe as he met Puck’s gaze. “You.”
“Yes, ‘tis I,” said Sam, briefly dipping into low, unctuous tones before returning to his normal voice. “What do you want, Puckerman?”
“You…” A satisfied grin split Puck’s face. Sam immediately wished to do likewise, with a longsword.
“That’s against regulations,” Sam informed Puck.
By the look that crossed Puck’s face, that hadn’t at all been on Puck’s mind, but he laughed, a great big laugh that had him clutching his armored belly. “No, no, no.” He lowered his voice, leaning forward conspiratorially. “You like him, don’t you?” His brows wagged up and down. “That one.”
“Well enough,” Sam said cautiously.
“Right, and the ass you just watched for twenty minutes doesn’t hurt,” Puck barked, wiping his eyes.
“I-”
“Sam.” Puck managed to calm himself, straightening, though his eyes still sparkled with mirth. Sam stood perfectly tall, gritting his teeth against Puck’s mockery. “I’m the best Templar in the entire world you could have watched that brat talk and swish and sway in front of, all right? Trust me. The chapel.”
“There wasn’t-”
“You want him and it’s obvious,” Puck interrupted. “Extremely obvious. Keep your eyes off him if you want to keep your secret, you look like Andraste about to jump on the Maker’s lap. Three and a half hours, Evans.”
Grateful Puck couldn’t see the tomato red of his cheeks, Sam gave one nod and forced himself to lean casually against the wall. For his laughter, Sam returned Puck silence for the remainder of the shift.