War is Never Cheap Here (9/12)
Title: War is Never Cheap Here (9/12)
Authors: cherith & serindrana
Game: Dragon Age: Origins
Pairing: Bann Teagan/Ser Cauthrien
Series Rating: NC-17/AO
Chapter Rating: T
Series Wordcount (to date): 99,400
Chapter Wordcount: 8,086
Warnings: None
Summary: The search party is sent out. Cauthrien and Teagan turn to Edlyn's writing practice to try and set straight what's happened once and for all. Along the way, Teagan realizes that only three weeks remain before Cauthrien leaves - possibly forever. (Ao3) (FF)
Notes: War is Never Cheap Here will be updating weekly, on Fridays. Projected length looking like twelve chapters.
This chapter has a modified stanza of the poem When we Two parted by Lord Byron.
Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12
Chapter Nine
Cauthrien woke up in Teagan's bed sometime around dawn, clad only in her smalls. He kept heavy curtains drawn over his windows, leaving the room without light, but her body still knew when the sun rose. She stirred, rolling onto her back and opening her eyes, blinking up blearily at the ceiling.
Dinner had turned to an invitation back to his office, which had led to wine, half-hearted attempts at spelling lessons, and her working the tension from his shoulders until he had turned and kissed her. From there, it had been a sneaking trip through the halls to his room, dodging servants and trying to keep Teagan's hands off of her until they were once again behind closed doors.
She'd risen sometime after midnight with the idea of leaving while the servants slept. Discretion, she had reminded Teagan earlier when he had been focused on leaving marks on every inch of skin he could, his lips warm against her throat and the insides of her thighs. Discretion, she had tried to remind him once more when he woke and sleepily took her hand, tugging her back to bed. She'd only managed to get her smalls on before he'd noticed her warmth missing, and she hadn't fought when he had insisted she sleep beside him again.
But now it was morning and not only was there work to be done - work that they had struggled at first to put aside - there was the matter of getting out of his room unseen, again.
If the last night had taught her one thing, it was that leaving Teagan without a word, made it harder to go. So she leaned over and pressed her lips to his shoulder.
"Teagan."
He stirred. Blinking slowly, sleepily, he looked for her.
"Mmm … Yes?" He reached for her again, like he had in the night, unwilling to let her go. A hand on her arm, he tilted his head to return her kiss. "Not thinking of leaving again are you?" There was a tiny, sleepy smile at that.
Carefully, she tried to extricate herself from him and the bed. "I have to go wash up and change my clothes at some point," she said, shaking her head. "It's dawn. We have work to do and more servants to dodge now."
Dawn meant seeing the guards off on their search. It meant leaving his bed, his room. She didn't want to leave, but he seemed to want it even less so, groaning as he started to push himself up from the bed.
"Next time, you need to let me leave while the house is still asleep," she added.
With a quirked brow he said, "Or maybe next time we’ll just go to your room."
"And then it will be your job to remember to sneak out before the servants come around," she said, shaking her head and standing, beginning to pull her clothing back on. She was about to pull her hair back when she remembered his insistent nips at the spot just below her ear. There was bound to be a mark there (damn him), and so she kept her hair down.
He slid his feet off the bed, toes curling in and legs stretching. He rubbed at his face, ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to rouse himself. "Go then, get ready... get dressed," he said over his shoulder. "I’ll do the same and meet you downstairs."
She glanced to him as he spoke, then nodded. "I'll be there as quickly as I'm able."
For a moment, she found herself simply watching him, his back turned to her as he rolled his shoulders, stretched his arms above his head and pushed himself off the bed. Cauthrien shook her head and moved to the door, opening it by small inches and looking for anyone in the hall. An elf boy passed the door and was walking away and she waited until he turned a corner before she slipped out.
Away from Teagan and the distractions he provided (apologies in touches and kisses for their argument the other night, murmurs of uneven, warmth against her back, fingers laced with hers), she was able to put herself back together quickly enough. A quick splash of water from the basin in her room and a change of clothing later and she went to meet him in the main yard. She kept her hair down, which made her feel out of place, but a look in the glass in her room had proven that, yes, Teagan had left a trail of reddened kisses down her throat.
The yard was familiar, as were the sounds of men and women checking armor and packs, soothing anxious horses, murmuring amongst themselves. This was where she belonged, in a sense: at the head of a contingent, or with them. But she stood instead at a remove, hair down and on the outside. This was Teagan's world, she reminded herself; she could support, but she could not lead.
She waited, arms folded behind her in parade rest, until she saw Teagan approaching. He had an easy smile for her, though it was short lived and had faded by the time he looked away from her and to the captain of his guard. He gave a small nod towards the rest of the assembled men and women.
And then he hesitated and looked back to Cauthrien, taking a small side-step to move closer to her. "Thoughts on directions for the search party?"
She frowned. "Are you asking me," she said, voice pitched low, "to give those directions to them, or to pass them on to you?"
It would be easiest to direct the party herself, but that would mean taking a position of leadership that would either be seen as challenging Teagan's or as proof of something going on between them. She hesitated, then added,
"... I can do either."
He shifted uncomfortably for a moment, but met her questioning gaze. "I have little experience in directing search parties," he said. "If you have directions that would be useful, I’m willing to let you give them." He took a breath, trying to straighten himself more, and she thought he looked commanding even as he handed over some measure of leadership to her.
She should have said no, simply whispered in his ear. What had Oswin said? That he listened to her too much already?
But no. The orders, if they came from her mouth, would be heard from her lips.
"I'll take care of it," she said, drawing away slightly, hands clasping behind her back once more.
He nodded and stepped away from her again. There was a whisper of thank you from him as he moved back towards the guard captain.
"Ser Cauthrien has some directions on conducting the search," he said, head held high and shoulders back.
Cauthrien stepped forward, taking a deep breath. These were not her people. These were not even soldiers who trusted her because of her reputation or rank. But she kept her gaze level, her chin lifted, and when she spoke, her voice was calm and firm.
"The girl you're looking for is, in all likelihood, heading towards Orlais. That means our best chances of finding her are along the roads to Gherlen's Pass and West Hill. She may be alone or she may be with another person, and will likely be on foot or moving by ox cart, not horse. By tonight, she'll have only moved at most fifty miles from here. Keep your search tight and limited. Ask questions at any town you pass through.
"Edlyn knows Orlesian and may speak it to hide her identity, or she may be open with who she is.
"She's a farmer's girl, so chances are good she won't stray into the woods too far. Her family told us that she doesn't help with the trapping or hunting. She may be hurting for food; carry extra on you in case you find her.
"Your priority is to keep her safe. If that means whoever she travels with gets away, fine. If that means you need to escort her to where she will be taken care of, whether that's home or the border, then so be it- but provide counsel when you can. Try to bring her home.
"And remember: she's just a girl."
Teagan stepped to her side and looked out over the guards. "If you find the girl, or have to deviate from our plan based on what you find, send a runner as soon as you can to keep us informed." He nodded to the guard captain to dismiss them.
"Maker be with you."
"And with you," she responded in a low murmur along with the assembled guard. It sent a shiver through her, to move swords like this again after so long. There was muttering in the ranks, shifting, the creak of riding leathers- but there were no protests. There were no snorts of open disgust or mistrust.
It was as much as she could hope for.
As the guard began to move, Cauthrien turned to Teagan again.
"About Edlyn's letter- Would Èdouard have kept her writing practice? Would her family? If I had an example of how she wrote, I could compare that to the note we found, just like I did Èdouard's writing." She glanced away a moment, then added, "I want to be sure this time."
"I don’t know," he said without turning. His gaze was still fixed on the guard. Though they seemed to take her direction well, she could see her own unease echoed in the set of his shoulders. But it seemed quickly apparent that the guard was focused on the task at hand.
"Would you like me to go back to Èdouard’s house to ask him?" Teagan asked.
"I would like somebody to ask him - if you think he'll only listen to you, then I suppose it should be you." She would have preferred him to stay- to go over with her again what they knew, to talk to her through the anxiety of waiting for word from the search party. But she could do it alone if she needed to, and it would only be a few hours apart. When had a few hours begun to matter?
"There are still guards at his home, I don’t necessarily need to go," he said finally turning towards her at what might have been hesitance in her voice. "There’s no real need for me to go, I think he’ll turn over anything he has."
He eyed her carefully, "Unless there’s something else you want me, specifically, to ask him?" With a small shrug he added, his voice lower than before, "Otherwise, you and I can just go back inside and I’ll send a runner out to Èdouard’s house."
She considered for a moment, then shook her head. "No, nothing else. At least, I can't think of anything. Keeping this all straight..." She shook her head again, and pinched at the bridge of her nose.
"... Though one day, I should go and make my apologies to him," she muttered.
"Alright then, I’ll send someone to Èdouard’s." He turned as if to leave and a thought stopped him. He turned to face her completely and smiled, something soft and intimate and had anyone been able to see his face - definitely not discreet.
"I’ll meet you inside for... breakfast then?" he asked as though he couldn’t remember when they’d last eaten, or what meal it had been.
It was becoming an unbreakable ritual, these meals together, and she thought back to her first night there, when he'd found her in his kitchen. And the day before, in the field.
She nodded. "Breakfast," she repeated. "But then I want some time to go over what we have, especially if your runner is back by then." Quiet time, she meant. Alone time, where work wouldn't be interrupted by his lips against her throat, the scratch of his beard along her skin.
He nodded almost solemnly, though he quirked a brow at her mention of work. "Soon then."
Cauthrien was the first to leave the yard, long strides carrying her back into the keep and up to her room. She sifted through the papers on her desk, pausing at her letter to Anora, still unsent. After a moment's hesitation, she left it there, along with the pieces of evidence they had. She didn't want to lose this last moment of relaxation with Teagan before the day's work and the waiting truly began.
As she made her way to the dining hall, she nodded to servants she could now recognize and who could recognize her. Most were still distrusting and distant, but a few gave her knowing looks that made Cauthrien frown.
Did they know?
She had thought they hadn't been seen, but it was possible they'd been heard, or that the servants could read their brief shows of public affection. Turning the thought over in his mind, she settled down at her customary spot and waited.
--
He had a smile in place as he made his way through the hall, catching a glimpse of Cauthrien as soon as he rounded the corner. It almost didn’t feel strange how easily that smile came to his lips when he saw her, or thought of her. And it felt less so, seeing her in that spot at his table - a table that had been so often empty since the Blight. Any thought of the work that lay before him vanished, despite Raud's insistence that it needed to be dealt with. His seneschal's discomfort at the source of Teagan's distraction had been more than clear, even as he had gone off to call for a runner to town, but Cauthrien sitting at his table sent that thought away, too.
Breakfast was already being brought to the table when he cleared his throat. "What a surprise to find you here," he said with a broadening grin - since it was anything but surprising to him now - as he took his seat across the table from her. He grabbed at a chunk of bread and bit into it.
Between bites he said, "Now, we wait."
"Yes, we wait," she said as she dipped her hunk of bread into spiced honey. She propped her weight on one elbow and, after a quick glance around, leaned in. "... I think the servants know," she said, with a tight little smile. She finished off the piece of bread, licking her fingers clean, and then reached for water.
Teagan gave a small shrug but did his best to put a damper on his smile. With an insincere nod he said, "That is... too bad." The lie was light and easy, and he hoped it covered to a polite extent, his relief and happiness at the news. He wanted people to know - he would be discreet because it was proper and she wanted it from him, but hiding it entirely was not something he sought.
He scooted back in his seat, pushing his elbows off the table before he was too tempted to lean the rest of the way across the table to plant a kiss on her lips. Another bite of bread and he looked away from her. Reminders of discretion were never far from her lips and he expected to hear another one now.
"Is there something you want to do about it?" he asked. A frown tugged at his lips as the memory of the letter she had written to Anora surfaced. She had written to receive a new assignment - and even if she hadn’t sent it yet, at some point it had been on her mind.
But, things had been good between them, the day before with their picnic and then the evening together. Even with the duties they had tended to that morning in seeing the guard off on their search, it had been a pleasant enough morning. She had stayed through the night. He was not eager to disrupt that, by bringing up the letter she had yet to send.
"I'm not sure what can be done." She reached for a piece of dried fruit as she thought. "If they know already, discretion remains polite but... will not make the rumors go away. If there are rumors. I may be wrong."
Cauthrien shrugged, sitting back herself and nibbling. The look she gave him was plaintive, questioning - but not panicking.
He gave her a small, knowing nod. "Discretion, of course."
Questions about the letter were there, on the tip of his tongue, and he wanted to ask her if she meant what she had written. He pursed his lips and tapped the fingers of his other hand on the table as he thought for a different way to ask them. He finished last of the bread in his hand.
"Would you go home if there were more than rumors? Would you tell Anora after all?" He swallowed and gave her a careful, measured look where no trace of his previous playfulness remained.
"I- no. I'm here for a month. I would tell the Queen, yes, but unless my orders change..." She frowned.
"... No, I think I would stay here. I would like to, certainly- even if Edlyn were to be brought back tomorrow." Cauthrien swallowed herself, shifting in her seat. "Unless there were an outcry. That I could not abide. But I don't think you could, either?"
A quiet relieved sigh escaped his lips and he slid his hands from the table to his lap. He was glad she wanted to stay. Maybe what he had seen wouldn’t be sent to Anora after all, and the corner of his lips quirked in a hint of a smile. He could not abide it if his people were truly upset, if they all spoke against her. But, he did not think that would happen.
"Well, just have to hope that’s not the case. An outcry, I mean. Rumors we can handle."
Even still, he had meant what he had told her nearly a week before- it wasn’t about his people. He could admit now that he felt something for her. He wondered where he would find a limit. If his people did oppose her, would he continue to see her? Would he fight to keep her?
"Still..." He leaned into the table again, sliding his hands up on to it. "If it came to that..." I would be willing to try. The words didn’t come.
"... If it came to that?" She glanced between his hands and his face, lips firming into that line that spoke of tension, nervousness, uncertainty.
Did she really want him to answer that? Here, when she had been worried moments before that the servants knew something was happening between them? He gave her a soft shrug and looked down at what else remained of breakfast, suddenly less hungry. No, he wouldn't tell her. It had only been a week and worrying her further would be unwise.
His smile was still there, refusing to leave, even in the depth of the moment and when he looked back to her it broadened. If it came to that, she would know what he would do. And he suspected, she had a good enough idea already. After all, he had faced her down, sword and all, after she had only been in Rainesfere two nights.
He licked at his lips and after a long pause, hands reaching for more food, he said, "We’ll hope it does not. And keep to your diligent reminders of discretion."
"Of course," she said, finishing off her water as if it were a stiff drink. She smiled over the rim of her cup, though. She finished off her food as quickly as she was able to. "We only have three weeks left, now. ... I believe we can manage."
"Indeed," he murmured. He pulled fruit and cheese onto his plate and then stared at it. "...three weeks."
It didn’t seem like so little time. It hadn’t seemed like a week had passed at all, not when every day and many of the nights had been spent with her at his side, or in his bed. They had begun to blend together, the days - the two of them. But it did seem like too little, like any stated amount might be too few days.
If she tried to run, if she gave up, he would go after her. That much, he was sure of. But what happened when the month was up, when she left for duty that could not be denied instead of her own fears and uncertainties? What could he do then?
He swallowed a bite of cheese and looked back to her, opening his mouth as if to say something. Maybe it would be something like, we should make the most of it. But wasn’t that what they were doing already? He closed his mouth again and reached for his mug, washing the words and the food away.
Cauthrien looked about her, lips pursing in his silence. "... While I work on going over what we have, will you be attending to the bannorn?"
He relaxed a little, nodding. "I have been... distracted."
Not that he was complaining. The distraction had been- was still- very welcome. But at the moment he was eager for the change in topic and would be ready for some work if it meant being able to avoid the topic of the end of their month together, though it would only be a temporary reprieve. He took another drink and eyes following his hand as he placed his mug back on the table.
"Someone should be back soon enough with word from Èdouard. If it comes, I’ll have it sent to you." he smiled. "Will you be in your room while you work?"
"Yes, I'll be there."
His eyes flicked away for a moment, catching sight of Raud crossing the hall towards Teagan’s office. When he looked back at her, he started to push away from the table. She rose as well.
"In fact, I think Raud is ready for me now."
They both had work to do, he reminded himself, pushing away thoughts of her tumbling into bed with him the night before. There had been, of all things, laughter then, from both of them. Cauthrien had been playful and so had he and there hadn't been a moment's darkness until she'd tried to leave a few hours later.
And even that had been short lived.
"I'll be taking my mid-day meal there, as well," Cauthrien was saying while his thoughts tried to go in twenty directions at once. He lifted an eyebrow at that last, as if to say, we’ll see about that. Instead he flashed her a smile, one that helped , as he turned towards the hall to his office.
"Then I’ll have anything they find at Èdouard’s sent to you there."
Teagan ran a hand over his chest, smoothing down the fabric and then tugging at the ends of his sleeves as he started down the hall. Over his shoulder he called, "Have a good morning Ser Cauthrien," though there was no severity to her title as he did so. In fact, he teased her, even as he was already down the hall and anything else he might have said was far from discreet.
--
She shook her head as he left, then rose and made for her own room.
There, she sat at her desk going over the same notes again and again. She knew them by heart. She almost didn't need them in front of her. But she read them again, read the letter found by the goat's blood, and eventually, she settled onto her bed to think.
What did they have?
A missing girl. A dead wether. A potentially missing butcher's boy who had lost a wether the day the girl went missing. An Orlesian letter, written with odd poetics as if the writer had never read or heard Orlesian in truth. An endearment used by the man who had taught Edlyn Orlesian.
A betrothal Edlyn hadn't wanted.
Wary of jumping to conclusions again, she tried to rearrange the pieces, find another way they could fit, but all she could come to was that Edlyn had written the letter, had killed or had somebody else kill the goat to fake her own death. The boy could have been with her, left with her, but maybe not. Perhaps he was in hiding. Perhaps she'd played upon his feelings for her to gain his aid, but had left without him.
Cauthrien didn't know.
She sagged back against her pillow and stared up at the ceiling.
The writing samples, if Èdouard had kept any, would confirm that the letter had been written by the girl. Apologies would need to be made to the man. And as for the search team... all that was left was to wait.
She didn't know if she could stand that.
Lunch came and went. After she ate, she tried to focus on her letter to Anora. She read it over several times, and fixed the spelling of one or two words, but she found nothing else to add. She toyed, briefly, with the idea of adding a postscript about herself and Teagan, but each time she moved to write it down, her hand shook and she abandoned the idea.
Finally, an hour or so after her meal, there came the odd sound of a shoe against the bottom of her door. She looked up and heard, on the other side, Teagan clear his throat and say, "We have parchments from Èdouard’s house."
She pulled herself up from her desk and crossed the short distance. Her letter sat, unchanged, on her desk, and she was glad for the respite. She opened the door with a relieved but tired smile that was answered by one of his, then looked at the pile of rolled parchments in his hands.
"Ah. He kept a lot of her practice, then."
She tried not to feel suspicious at that, tried not to fall to suspecting Èdouard again. He was perhaps a packrat, or Edlyn liked to see her progress. There were many explanations.
"Well, it looks that way." He half-shrugged and gestured with the pile in his hands as if to make sure it was okay for him to enter.
"I thought we could go over them together?"
"Of course. Though you only gave me one chair," she pointed out, shooting for levity in imitation of him. She took some of the pile with careful fingers, then stepped back so he could enter.
"You also gave me a workable floor, though," Cauthrien added, and settled herself thereon facing her chair. He could take it; she, of course, had sat on much worse, and in this case, she preferred to have everything spread out in front of her. As she situated herself, he chuckled, watching her, and then bending down, he set the other parchments before her.
"The letter we found is on my desk," she said with the barest glance up, beginning to unroll the practice parchments, putting aside those that were just words and not sentences. "Top right corner, I think- should be on top."
He looked at the desk, grabbing for the letter Cauthrien indicated. He glanced, then, to her chair. After running a hand through his hair, he lowered himself on the ground instead, across from her.
"I’ll be fine here," he said with his customary easy smile. "Where I can better see... everything."
He handed her the original letter and then started to spread the new ones out on the floor between them.
"I see you’re working on your report," he added, not looking up.
"Oh," Cauthrien said, glancing to her desk. "Yes, I am. I can't think of what to put in it, though, and I wrote it- Well, I wrote it after our discussion in the chantry. I should probably just start it over to add what's happened since." She continued to remove the samples that wouldn't be of any help; some were copies of well-known Orlesian poems and lines from novels, nothing originally of Edlyn's. She could recognize them easily; she'd read the same, once, or similar.
She looked up to him after a moment, sitting on the floor like- well, she couldn't say not like a noble; banns were nothing like Orlesian aristocrats who would never consider sitting on the ground with a soldier unless there were sumptuous pillows and treats involved (and even then, they'd be playing at being magisters). But he was sitting on the floor like they were close friends.
And they were.
It made her smile.
He nodded, still not looking up at her. "I saw that."
The smile? She frowned, then pressed her lips into a firm line. The letter. Saw-
With a small sigh, Teagan looked between a piece of parchment he was holding and the original letter. "What do you think? It looks a little similar." He squinted, searching the pages and then looking again to Cauthrien.
His question distracted her from her own and she sat forward to look more closely. It was a few sentences, constructed instead of copied. The handwriting was close, very close. "It does look similar. Did he date these at all? It would be best if we had something recent to compare it to."
She sorted through what else they had, removed a few more pieces of parchment, leaving them with only what appeared to be full, original sentences.
"... I don't want to jump to conclusions again. It does none of us any favors," she added, more quietly. It only led to arguing, fighting- which she was confident she didn't want anymore.
Teagan tilted his head, turned slightly to see the pages Cauthrien was looking at. "I don’t see dates. It’s not really formal practice is it? Bits and pieces of things..."
Èdouard was no real instructor, just an Orlesian who seemed kind to neighbors and young girls with big dreams and the willingness to learn his language. It was not Loghain teaching her through constant, structured lessons, progress tracked and commented on to spur her forward.
"Does the letter use anything from her practice? Anything that might imply she or Èdouard wrote it?" Teagan asked.
She scanned the letters, holding up a hand for quiet. She needed to focus. She was looking for tiny puzzle pieces, and it had never been her strongest skill.
Little flower was already accounted for. But what of the rest? She kept an eye out for loves you more than the stars, for little turns of phrase about beauty.
When she spoke, it was in Orlesian, as was how she thought; translating didn't help, because she was looking for similarities in syntax, in style. "There are some similarities. ... Let me get the pieces where she was copying poetry out again. She may have taken things from there- or at least, how she remembered the poems going."
--
His brow quirked up at her hand, at the gesture for silence. He leaned back to give her space and let her work. If she wouldn't speak aloud, then he wouldn't try to work in tandem. He waited. It meant his mind wandered, eyes following the length of her arm to her neck even though it was still covered by the fall of her hair. The marks he had left there were barely visible, but he knew where each of them was, remembered looking at them over and over again the night before as he left others.
He was staring openly at her. She was lost in thought, and he knew she didn’t like the language on her lips or in her brain - or at least the memories associated with it. Still she continued on, her mouth set, her eyes alight. When he couldn’t talk, he wanted to: about the letters, about her letter, about them, about what he had wanted to say at breakfast and found then he couldn’t. It all danced on the tip of his tongue as he watched her brow crease in concentration, the occasional lip movement as she read.
She leaned back to look through what she had set aside, and then handed him a few rolls. "Here, look at these," she said, taking a few for herself and sitting back straighter, looking over one. "Loves you more than the stars," she mused aloud, turning over the phrase.
He fumbled for the parchment as she handed them over, not expecting to be brought into the work she was so focused on. He started to go through them, one at a time, remembering the line she had recited from the original. Each page he tried to read fully; it was the best distraction from the woman across from him.
One in particular, a poem Edlyn had copied, held his attention. He read it over, caught in the sentiment of it, the emotion. The speaker was forced to remember a past lover. It was a private shame for the author, having been separated from this other person, when no one ever knew of the affair.
Teagan felt it. He understood it. He didn’t know how many times he had read the whole poem before something else stood out to him, a trembling reminder of their purpose. He swallowed, mouth dry with concentration. After a moment, he fought to shift his gaze from the parchment and the unsteady curves of Edlyn’s writing to Cauthrien.
Softly and remembering her earlier use of Orlesian, he said, "Where’s the letter? The original?"
His hands searched for it and through he wanted to keep his eyes on Cauthrien he read the note as he drew it closer to himself. His jaw tensed as he read it, and then the poem, again.
"I- uh-" he stammered and glanced at Cauthrien. With some nervous effort, he put the original letter down and started over. "I think I’ve found something, listen to this-"
His words were still soft, careful, both for the language and the solemnity of the words. He almost felt as though he could recite the whole poem without glancing down. He did, though using the feel of the parchment as a foundation. He found the section in the poem that had finally triggered some memory in him- something that finally broke through the emotion of the poem and reminded him of Edlyn’s letter.
"They speak your name,
A curse in my ear;
A shudder runs through me-
Why must you turn me away?
They know not I know you,
And love you like stars;
In silence I grieve,
Too deeply to say."
Finished, he took a staggered breath and raised his gaze again to Cauthrien. He wanted to play it off, but there was no levity in the moment, no joy in that poem or in him at reading it.
"... Teagan?" she asked, reaching out to take the poem.
He let her, feeling the drag of the parchment through his fingers and dropping his gaze to it as she pulled it to her. With another deep breath, he felt more steady, more controlled. He knew, having heard it with his own voice, that this was the basis. This was what Edlyn had used. She had written the letter that had been found in her absence.
But knowing that, he still couldn’t distract him from his own strong connection with it.
Cauthrien said his name again and he looked up. He met her questioning expression with narrowed eyes, almost composed. It was not uncommon this- this- whatever he had with Cauthrien. Strong connections, confusing ones... dalliances, indiscretions, affairs. Among noble circles, he had heard more stories about them than he could count.
And though he couldn’t quite put it into words, he wanted to believe that what he and Cauthrien had could be different.
Still, she had only that morning reminded him that they had three weeks left. Three weeks. After which she would return to her regular duties for Anora, back to her home, leaving him and his bannorn free of her. She had told him he was a fool that first night. Maybe he should have listened, if not for the reasons she had wanted him to.
His jaw was still tense as he looked at her, but he forced a quiet, noble, respectable, "Yes?" from his lips. Then, with an almost stoic expression, almost a challenge he asked, "That’s it, isn’t it?" He inclined his head to indicate the poem in her hand.
Her lips parted as if she would speak, but she looked instead down to the parchment. She read over it then nodded, slowly. "It looks right," she said, but when she looked up to him again, she was still questioning.
Carefully she set the poem aside, moved some of the remaining pieces from between them. That done, she looked to him once more.
"... Teagan, is something- wrong?"
Was there?
He wasn’t sure. He had told her it would be okay, that he was prepared for this. But he didn't need to be able to see the paper to see the words again. The problem was not that the poem meant something to him- but that she did. And though it was not their situation, not exactly, it could be.
Months, years, decades possibly, of working on opposite sides of Ferelden. Knowing the other was there, was alive and remembering what they had - even if only for a month. Teagan didn’t think he wanted that. To be in Rainesfere, forgotten, while she went home to Denerim and resumed her life of service to Anora.
"I’m... not sure," he said with a small shrug.
He shifted awkwardly and then stood, slowly, torn between wanting to leave and not.
She stood as well. There was still parchment all over the ground and her boot toe nudged it with a crackle. Her usual fastidiousness didn't seem to stop her from rising, from taking a step towards him. "This morning you seemed off, too," she pointed out. "... Is this about the Warden?"
He canted his head and eyed her curiously.
The Warden?
It took him a moment to think about it and as he did, his expression softened. He supposed it could have fit. Cauthrien knew, after all, what few other people had, that he had feelings for the Warden Commander.
But he shook his head. "No."
And then he added a brief, "I’m sorry," that strange noble facade of his sliding into place, without a smile. "I should go."
He turned sharply, letting out a small huff. He was disappointed in himself, getting as caught up as he had in a poem, in an idea, in something that hadn’t even happened, or might not happen yet. Shaking his head again, he made for the door.
No, not about the Warden. He had never felt like this when thinking of the Lady Cousland.
"No, don't go," Cauthrien called from behind him. He hadn’t made it more than a few steps into the hall and his shoulders fell forward. He supposed he should have expected her to follow. Hadn’t he showed her that he would do just the same? And she had done it before- already it had become a habit between them. One ran, the other followed and brought them home.
"I just-" he tried, but his voice caught. There were too many things going around in his head. He slowed, pivoting on his heel. His eyes were still downcast, still avoiding her, his fingers pressed against his thighs, threatening at fists.
What he didn’t want to do was have to explain himself. He wasn’t even sure he could explain it all- why he had such a reaction to the poem. If they only had a month- if they only had three weeks, shouldn’t it be lighter and more frivolous, not this melancholy that was settling into him? It would have been better to go - even if just for a little while - away from her, to calm down, to find that light-heartedness again.
But she already knew him too well. She came closer, closer than an agent of the Queen should have, and reached out to touch one of his tensed hands.
"Don't run."
His fingers flexed, searching for hers instinctively. He slid his gaze to their hands and let out a small derisive laugh. Even his own fingers would betray him, would go to her whether he thought he was in the mood or not. He was trying to run, and would have been, if his fingers hadn’t desperately tried to lace together with hers. She let their fingers entwine and stepped closer still, and he exhaled sharply.
"I just thought I needed some space," he said, voice dangerously low. His jaw tightened again, teeth clenching. At the moment, he wanted not to be so raw, confused, so readable.
Because it wasn’t completely true. He needed more than that. He needed her, and he knew that she would see it.
"Don't go," she murmured. Her brow was furrowed, her grey eyes searching his for something. She didn't understand, not entirely, but he could see her trying. Her voice was strained as she continued. "Not while you're like this. I-" And then she gave up and leaned in to kiss him.
He froze, shifted uncomfortably- and then leaned into her, into the kiss. He brought his other hand up, though it was still tense like the rest of him, and laid it on her shoulder. He slid his palm up to her jaw, feeling her pulse fast beneath his hand.
There were footsteps down the hall, and she was bold, he thought, bolder still when the footsteps grew louder and she didn’t pull away. Discretion was forgotten. But he didn’t feel that strong, and after a moment he broke the kiss.
Three weeks kept echoing in his head, that and love you like stars. It wasn’t really the poem, or Edlyn’s letter that was threatening to break him. He knew, as he held her, his fingers still twined with hers, that it was her - Cauthrien, and the idea she would have to leave. Three weeks.
He licked his bottom lip nervously, leaned back a little to meet her gaze and said, "Three weeks," with a sigh.
"I know," she said, softly. "But that's three times again what we've had so far."
She glanced behind her and he tilted his head to look around her. It had been Raud approaching. Raud, now stopped, looked at the both of them with disapproval, the judgment evident and creased into the lines of his face and the whitening to his lips. Cauthrien took a breath and turned back to face Teagan. "... I...
"... I'm not going to want to leave. When the time comes," she admitted, quietly.
He wanted privacy for this, and was sure that Cauthrien did as well. But Raud did not turn to leave, and Teagan looked to Cauthrien, unwilling to leave her admission unanswered.
With a gentle squeeze of her hand, and a light touch against her face, he pulled away from her once more. This time he felt far less tense or hesitant and his hands rested naturally against his thighs.
"And I won’t want you to go. … Don’t want you to go."
It was as close a confession of what he had wanted to say earlier that morning, that what he wanted wasn’t something fleeting. He couldn’t say it now, not with Raud so close and not while he worked through his conflicting emotions, trying desperately to make them behave. It was only what he could say now and he hoped she could read the rest in the downward turn of his lips and the sadness in his eyes.
He took a step back, still looking over her shoulder where his seneschal still stood. Cauthrien took a steeling breath and stepped away as well, turning to face the man. She said nothing, but fell into parade rest.
"Raud?" Teagan called.
His sensechal glanced at the floor for a moment before bringing his gaze level with Teagan’s, and ignoring Cauthrien completely. He cleared his throat.
"... I was going over the finances for this month while you were... occupied. I had a question that I could use your help with, my lord." Raud lowered his head just slightly in some sort of deference.
Teagan wasn’t sure what to make of the interruption, whether it had been intentional or not. Now, the idea that Raud knew (if he hadn’t already, or suspected at least) was enough to help Teagan put his emotions away. He nodded at Raud and then turned to Cauthrien, looking at her with a faint, tender smile, wondering if later if there would be further discretionary reminders.
"We can talk later, if you want," he said softly. He reached for her hand and squeezed at her fingers as he took a few step towards Raud. "This shouldn’t take too long."
Then, to Raud, trying to sound as though he was focused on the business at hand, he said, "Well, let’s take a look, then." It wasn’t genuine interest and once the words had left his lips, he knew it was evident to everyone, but he was proud at least at the effort as he took his leave of the woman he wanted more than the stars and rejoined work further down the hall.
--
Cauthrien retreated to her room. She closed her door and looked down at the writing samples. Carefully, she collected everything but the poem and set the rolled up parchments aside, then set the note and the poem on her desk. She spread the poem out with splayed fingers, rereading it.
She tapped her finger on the wood of her desk, considering. Teagan had been right; the letter was a near-perfect match for the note. Edlyn had written both - even the handwriting matched. It was close to Èdouard's but not quite. The man had likely taught her penmanship, too.
Now, there was only the wait.
The work was done. She was frustrated by how little more she could push, but that frustration did not linger long. Instead, a small, sad smile touched at her lips.
They know not I know you.
Well. They knew now.
Raud knew, certainly, and there was no use doubting that the servants gossiped. Discretion was likely still the best route, but there was something freeing in the idea that she could take his hand at dinner, or that she didn't have to leave in the middle of the night when they bedded down together once more.
She leaned back in her chair, looking up at the ceiling of her room. It had been a spur of the moment decision, to demonstrate her affection in what amounted to public, but the monumental nature of it weighed down on her. She breathed deeply. If there was outcry, she would leave. And if there wasn't...
But there would be. She just hoped it would take until the end of the month to build that high.
She closed her eyes a moment, then sat forward. There was one task left that she could do. Pulling fresh parchment forward, she began to write a new letter to Anora. At first she only copied what she had already written of Edlyn's disappearance, amending a few notes.
Have not fownd out much more about Teagan's motivs. He remanes a deesent horse man and servisable with a sword, though it would apeer he has becom rustee in the last few months.
Since ariving a local girl has gon mising and posiblee framed a man for murdur. I am asisting on the kase, as the evidens is in Orlesian.
And then, after taking a moment to roll her shoulders and steady herself, she added,
In the intrest of ful disclozur, I am sleeping with Teagan.
10
Authors: cherith & serindrana
Game: Dragon Age: Origins
Pairing: Bann Teagan/Ser Cauthrien
Series Rating: NC-17/AO
Chapter Rating: T
Series Wordcount (to date): 99,400
Chapter Wordcount: 8,086
Warnings: None
Summary: The search party is sent out. Cauthrien and Teagan turn to Edlyn's writing practice to try and set straight what's happened once and for all. Along the way, Teagan realizes that only three weeks remain before Cauthrien leaves - possibly forever. (Ao3) (FF)
Notes: War is Never Cheap Here will be updating weekly, on Fridays. Projected length looking like twelve chapters.
This chapter has a modified stanza of the poem When we Two parted by Lord Byron.
Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12
Chapter Nine
Cauthrien woke up in Teagan's bed sometime around dawn, clad only in her smalls. He kept heavy curtains drawn over his windows, leaving the room without light, but her body still knew when the sun rose. She stirred, rolling onto her back and opening her eyes, blinking up blearily at the ceiling.
Dinner had turned to an invitation back to his office, which had led to wine, half-hearted attempts at spelling lessons, and her working the tension from his shoulders until he had turned and kissed her. From there, it had been a sneaking trip through the halls to his room, dodging servants and trying to keep Teagan's hands off of her until they were once again behind closed doors.
She'd risen sometime after midnight with the idea of leaving while the servants slept. Discretion, she had reminded Teagan earlier when he had been focused on leaving marks on every inch of skin he could, his lips warm against her throat and the insides of her thighs. Discretion, she had tried to remind him once more when he woke and sleepily took her hand, tugging her back to bed. She'd only managed to get her smalls on before he'd noticed her warmth missing, and she hadn't fought when he had insisted she sleep beside him again.
But now it was morning and not only was there work to be done - work that they had struggled at first to put aside - there was the matter of getting out of his room unseen, again.
If the last night had taught her one thing, it was that leaving Teagan without a word, made it harder to go. So she leaned over and pressed her lips to his shoulder.
"Teagan."
He stirred. Blinking slowly, sleepily, he looked for her.
"Mmm … Yes?" He reached for her again, like he had in the night, unwilling to let her go. A hand on her arm, he tilted his head to return her kiss. "Not thinking of leaving again are you?" There was a tiny, sleepy smile at that.
Carefully, she tried to extricate herself from him and the bed. "I have to go wash up and change my clothes at some point," she said, shaking her head. "It's dawn. We have work to do and more servants to dodge now."
Dawn meant seeing the guards off on their search. It meant leaving his bed, his room. She didn't want to leave, but he seemed to want it even less so, groaning as he started to push himself up from the bed.
"Next time, you need to let me leave while the house is still asleep," she added.
With a quirked brow he said, "Or maybe next time we’ll just go to your room."
"And then it will be your job to remember to sneak out before the servants come around," she said, shaking her head and standing, beginning to pull her clothing back on. She was about to pull her hair back when she remembered his insistent nips at the spot just below her ear. There was bound to be a mark there (damn him), and so she kept her hair down.
He slid his feet off the bed, toes curling in and legs stretching. He rubbed at his face, ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to rouse himself. "Go then, get ready... get dressed," he said over his shoulder. "I’ll do the same and meet you downstairs."
She glanced to him as he spoke, then nodded. "I'll be there as quickly as I'm able."
For a moment, she found herself simply watching him, his back turned to her as he rolled his shoulders, stretched his arms above his head and pushed himself off the bed. Cauthrien shook her head and moved to the door, opening it by small inches and looking for anyone in the hall. An elf boy passed the door and was walking away and she waited until he turned a corner before she slipped out.
Away from Teagan and the distractions he provided (apologies in touches and kisses for their argument the other night, murmurs of uneven, warmth against her back, fingers laced with hers), she was able to put herself back together quickly enough. A quick splash of water from the basin in her room and a change of clothing later and she went to meet him in the main yard. She kept her hair down, which made her feel out of place, but a look in the glass in her room had proven that, yes, Teagan had left a trail of reddened kisses down her throat.
The yard was familiar, as were the sounds of men and women checking armor and packs, soothing anxious horses, murmuring amongst themselves. This was where she belonged, in a sense: at the head of a contingent, or with them. But she stood instead at a remove, hair down and on the outside. This was Teagan's world, she reminded herself; she could support, but she could not lead.
She waited, arms folded behind her in parade rest, until she saw Teagan approaching. He had an easy smile for her, though it was short lived and had faded by the time he looked away from her and to the captain of his guard. He gave a small nod towards the rest of the assembled men and women.
And then he hesitated and looked back to Cauthrien, taking a small side-step to move closer to her. "Thoughts on directions for the search party?"
She frowned. "Are you asking me," she said, voice pitched low, "to give those directions to them, or to pass them on to you?"
It would be easiest to direct the party herself, but that would mean taking a position of leadership that would either be seen as challenging Teagan's or as proof of something going on between them. She hesitated, then added,
"... I can do either."
He shifted uncomfortably for a moment, but met her questioning gaze. "I have little experience in directing search parties," he said. "If you have directions that would be useful, I’m willing to let you give them." He took a breath, trying to straighten himself more, and she thought he looked commanding even as he handed over some measure of leadership to her.
She should have said no, simply whispered in his ear. What had Oswin said? That he listened to her too much already?
But no. The orders, if they came from her mouth, would be heard from her lips.
"I'll take care of it," she said, drawing away slightly, hands clasping behind her back once more.
He nodded and stepped away from her again. There was a whisper of thank you from him as he moved back towards the guard captain.
"Ser Cauthrien has some directions on conducting the search," he said, head held high and shoulders back.
Cauthrien stepped forward, taking a deep breath. These were not her people. These were not even soldiers who trusted her because of her reputation or rank. But she kept her gaze level, her chin lifted, and when she spoke, her voice was calm and firm.
"The girl you're looking for is, in all likelihood, heading towards Orlais. That means our best chances of finding her are along the roads to Gherlen's Pass and West Hill. She may be alone or she may be with another person, and will likely be on foot or moving by ox cart, not horse. By tonight, she'll have only moved at most fifty miles from here. Keep your search tight and limited. Ask questions at any town you pass through.
"Edlyn knows Orlesian and may speak it to hide her identity, or she may be open with who she is.
"She's a farmer's girl, so chances are good she won't stray into the woods too far. Her family told us that she doesn't help with the trapping or hunting. She may be hurting for food; carry extra on you in case you find her.
"Your priority is to keep her safe. If that means whoever she travels with gets away, fine. If that means you need to escort her to where she will be taken care of, whether that's home or the border, then so be it- but provide counsel when you can. Try to bring her home.
"And remember: she's just a girl."
Teagan stepped to her side and looked out over the guards. "If you find the girl, or have to deviate from our plan based on what you find, send a runner as soon as you can to keep us informed." He nodded to the guard captain to dismiss them.
"Maker be with you."
"And with you," she responded in a low murmur along with the assembled guard. It sent a shiver through her, to move swords like this again after so long. There was muttering in the ranks, shifting, the creak of riding leathers- but there were no protests. There were no snorts of open disgust or mistrust.
It was as much as she could hope for.
As the guard began to move, Cauthrien turned to Teagan again.
"About Edlyn's letter- Would Èdouard have kept her writing practice? Would her family? If I had an example of how she wrote, I could compare that to the note we found, just like I did Èdouard's writing." She glanced away a moment, then added, "I want to be sure this time."
"I don’t know," he said without turning. His gaze was still fixed on the guard. Though they seemed to take her direction well, she could see her own unease echoed in the set of his shoulders. But it seemed quickly apparent that the guard was focused on the task at hand.
"Would you like me to go back to Èdouard’s house to ask him?" Teagan asked.
"I would like somebody to ask him - if you think he'll only listen to you, then I suppose it should be you." She would have preferred him to stay- to go over with her again what they knew, to talk to her through the anxiety of waiting for word from the search party. But she could do it alone if she needed to, and it would only be a few hours apart. When had a few hours begun to matter?
"There are still guards at his home, I don’t necessarily need to go," he said finally turning towards her at what might have been hesitance in her voice. "There’s no real need for me to go, I think he’ll turn over anything he has."
He eyed her carefully, "Unless there’s something else you want me, specifically, to ask him?" With a small shrug he added, his voice lower than before, "Otherwise, you and I can just go back inside and I’ll send a runner out to Èdouard’s house."
She considered for a moment, then shook her head. "No, nothing else. At least, I can't think of anything. Keeping this all straight..." She shook her head again, and pinched at the bridge of her nose.
"... Though one day, I should go and make my apologies to him," she muttered.
"Alright then, I’ll send someone to Èdouard’s." He turned as if to leave and a thought stopped him. He turned to face her completely and smiled, something soft and intimate and had anyone been able to see his face - definitely not discreet.
"I’ll meet you inside for... breakfast then?" he asked as though he couldn’t remember when they’d last eaten, or what meal it had been.
It was becoming an unbreakable ritual, these meals together, and she thought back to her first night there, when he'd found her in his kitchen. And the day before, in the field.
She nodded. "Breakfast," she repeated. "But then I want some time to go over what we have, especially if your runner is back by then." Quiet time, she meant. Alone time, where work wouldn't be interrupted by his lips against her throat, the scratch of his beard along her skin.
He nodded almost solemnly, though he quirked a brow at her mention of work. "Soon then."
Cauthrien was the first to leave the yard, long strides carrying her back into the keep and up to her room. She sifted through the papers on her desk, pausing at her letter to Anora, still unsent. After a moment's hesitation, she left it there, along with the pieces of evidence they had. She didn't want to lose this last moment of relaxation with Teagan before the day's work and the waiting truly began.
As she made her way to the dining hall, she nodded to servants she could now recognize and who could recognize her. Most were still distrusting and distant, but a few gave her knowing looks that made Cauthrien frown.
Did they know?
She had thought they hadn't been seen, but it was possible they'd been heard, or that the servants could read their brief shows of public affection. Turning the thought over in his mind, she settled down at her customary spot and waited.
--
He had a smile in place as he made his way through the hall, catching a glimpse of Cauthrien as soon as he rounded the corner. It almost didn’t feel strange how easily that smile came to his lips when he saw her, or thought of her. And it felt less so, seeing her in that spot at his table - a table that had been so often empty since the Blight. Any thought of the work that lay before him vanished, despite Raud's insistence that it needed to be dealt with. His seneschal's discomfort at the source of Teagan's distraction had been more than clear, even as he had gone off to call for a runner to town, but Cauthrien sitting at his table sent that thought away, too.
Breakfast was already being brought to the table when he cleared his throat. "What a surprise to find you here," he said with a broadening grin - since it was anything but surprising to him now - as he took his seat across the table from her. He grabbed at a chunk of bread and bit into it.
Between bites he said, "Now, we wait."
"Yes, we wait," she said as she dipped her hunk of bread into spiced honey. She propped her weight on one elbow and, after a quick glance around, leaned in. "... I think the servants know," she said, with a tight little smile. She finished off the piece of bread, licking her fingers clean, and then reached for water.
Teagan gave a small shrug but did his best to put a damper on his smile. With an insincere nod he said, "That is... too bad." The lie was light and easy, and he hoped it covered to a polite extent, his relief and happiness at the news. He wanted people to know - he would be discreet because it was proper and she wanted it from him, but hiding it entirely was not something he sought.
He scooted back in his seat, pushing his elbows off the table before he was too tempted to lean the rest of the way across the table to plant a kiss on her lips. Another bite of bread and he looked away from her. Reminders of discretion were never far from her lips and he expected to hear another one now.
"Is there something you want to do about it?" he asked. A frown tugged at his lips as the memory of the letter she had written to Anora surfaced. She had written to receive a new assignment - and even if she hadn’t sent it yet, at some point it had been on her mind.
But, things had been good between them, the day before with their picnic and then the evening together. Even with the duties they had tended to that morning in seeing the guard off on their search, it had been a pleasant enough morning. She had stayed through the night. He was not eager to disrupt that, by bringing up the letter she had yet to send.
"I'm not sure what can be done." She reached for a piece of dried fruit as she thought. "If they know already, discretion remains polite but... will not make the rumors go away. If there are rumors. I may be wrong."
Cauthrien shrugged, sitting back herself and nibbling. The look she gave him was plaintive, questioning - but not panicking.
He gave her a small, knowing nod. "Discretion, of course."
Questions about the letter were there, on the tip of his tongue, and he wanted to ask her if she meant what she had written. He pursed his lips and tapped the fingers of his other hand on the table as he thought for a different way to ask them. He finished last of the bread in his hand.
"Would you go home if there were more than rumors? Would you tell Anora after all?" He swallowed and gave her a careful, measured look where no trace of his previous playfulness remained.
"I- no. I'm here for a month. I would tell the Queen, yes, but unless my orders change..." She frowned.
"... No, I think I would stay here. I would like to, certainly- even if Edlyn were to be brought back tomorrow." Cauthrien swallowed herself, shifting in her seat. "Unless there were an outcry. That I could not abide. But I don't think you could, either?"
A quiet relieved sigh escaped his lips and he slid his hands from the table to his lap. He was glad she wanted to stay. Maybe what he had seen wouldn’t be sent to Anora after all, and the corner of his lips quirked in a hint of a smile. He could not abide it if his people were truly upset, if they all spoke against her. But, he did not think that would happen.
"Well, just have to hope that’s not the case. An outcry, I mean. Rumors we can handle."
Even still, he had meant what he had told her nearly a week before- it wasn’t about his people. He could admit now that he felt something for her. He wondered where he would find a limit. If his people did oppose her, would he continue to see her? Would he fight to keep her?
"Still..." He leaned into the table again, sliding his hands up on to it. "If it came to that..." I would be willing to try. The words didn’t come.
"... If it came to that?" She glanced between his hands and his face, lips firming into that line that spoke of tension, nervousness, uncertainty.
Did she really want him to answer that? Here, when she had been worried moments before that the servants knew something was happening between them? He gave her a soft shrug and looked down at what else remained of breakfast, suddenly less hungry. No, he wouldn't tell her. It had only been a week and worrying her further would be unwise.
His smile was still there, refusing to leave, even in the depth of the moment and when he looked back to her it broadened. If it came to that, she would know what he would do. And he suspected, she had a good enough idea already. After all, he had faced her down, sword and all, after she had only been in Rainesfere two nights.
He licked at his lips and after a long pause, hands reaching for more food, he said, "We’ll hope it does not. And keep to your diligent reminders of discretion."
"Of course," she said, finishing off her water as if it were a stiff drink. She smiled over the rim of her cup, though. She finished off her food as quickly as she was able to. "We only have three weeks left, now. ... I believe we can manage."
"Indeed," he murmured. He pulled fruit and cheese onto his plate and then stared at it. "...three weeks."
It didn’t seem like so little time. It hadn’t seemed like a week had passed at all, not when every day and many of the nights had been spent with her at his side, or in his bed. They had begun to blend together, the days - the two of them. But it did seem like too little, like any stated amount might be too few days.
If she tried to run, if she gave up, he would go after her. That much, he was sure of. But what happened when the month was up, when she left for duty that could not be denied instead of her own fears and uncertainties? What could he do then?
He swallowed a bite of cheese and looked back to her, opening his mouth as if to say something. Maybe it would be something like, we should make the most of it. But wasn’t that what they were doing already? He closed his mouth again and reached for his mug, washing the words and the food away.
Cauthrien looked about her, lips pursing in his silence. "... While I work on going over what we have, will you be attending to the bannorn?"
He relaxed a little, nodding. "I have been... distracted."
Not that he was complaining. The distraction had been- was still- very welcome. But at the moment he was eager for the change in topic and would be ready for some work if it meant being able to avoid the topic of the end of their month together, though it would only be a temporary reprieve. He took another drink and eyes following his hand as he placed his mug back on the table.
"Someone should be back soon enough with word from Èdouard. If it comes, I’ll have it sent to you." he smiled. "Will you be in your room while you work?"
"Yes, I'll be there."
His eyes flicked away for a moment, catching sight of Raud crossing the hall towards Teagan’s office. When he looked back at her, he started to push away from the table. She rose as well.
"In fact, I think Raud is ready for me now."
They both had work to do, he reminded himself, pushing away thoughts of her tumbling into bed with him the night before. There had been, of all things, laughter then, from both of them. Cauthrien had been playful and so had he and there hadn't been a moment's darkness until she'd tried to leave a few hours later.
And even that had been short lived.
"I'll be taking my mid-day meal there, as well," Cauthrien was saying while his thoughts tried to go in twenty directions at once. He lifted an eyebrow at that last, as if to say, we’ll see about that. Instead he flashed her a smile, one that helped , as he turned towards the hall to his office.
"Then I’ll have anything they find at Èdouard’s sent to you there."
Teagan ran a hand over his chest, smoothing down the fabric and then tugging at the ends of his sleeves as he started down the hall. Over his shoulder he called, "Have a good morning Ser Cauthrien," though there was no severity to her title as he did so. In fact, he teased her, even as he was already down the hall and anything else he might have said was far from discreet.
--
She shook her head as he left, then rose and made for her own room.
There, she sat at her desk going over the same notes again and again. She knew them by heart. She almost didn't need them in front of her. But she read them again, read the letter found by the goat's blood, and eventually, she settled onto her bed to think.
What did they have?
A missing girl. A dead wether. A potentially missing butcher's boy who had lost a wether the day the girl went missing. An Orlesian letter, written with odd poetics as if the writer had never read or heard Orlesian in truth. An endearment used by the man who had taught Edlyn Orlesian.
A betrothal Edlyn hadn't wanted.
Wary of jumping to conclusions again, she tried to rearrange the pieces, find another way they could fit, but all she could come to was that Edlyn had written the letter, had killed or had somebody else kill the goat to fake her own death. The boy could have been with her, left with her, but maybe not. Perhaps he was in hiding. Perhaps she'd played upon his feelings for her to gain his aid, but had left without him.
Cauthrien didn't know.
She sagged back against her pillow and stared up at the ceiling.
The writing samples, if Èdouard had kept any, would confirm that the letter had been written by the girl. Apologies would need to be made to the man. And as for the search team... all that was left was to wait.
She didn't know if she could stand that.
Lunch came and went. After she ate, she tried to focus on her letter to Anora. She read it over several times, and fixed the spelling of one or two words, but she found nothing else to add. She toyed, briefly, with the idea of adding a postscript about herself and Teagan, but each time she moved to write it down, her hand shook and she abandoned the idea.
Finally, an hour or so after her meal, there came the odd sound of a shoe against the bottom of her door. She looked up and heard, on the other side, Teagan clear his throat and say, "We have parchments from Èdouard’s house."
She pulled herself up from her desk and crossed the short distance. Her letter sat, unchanged, on her desk, and she was glad for the respite. She opened the door with a relieved but tired smile that was answered by one of his, then looked at the pile of rolled parchments in his hands.
"Ah. He kept a lot of her practice, then."
She tried not to feel suspicious at that, tried not to fall to suspecting Èdouard again. He was perhaps a packrat, or Edlyn liked to see her progress. There were many explanations.
"Well, it looks that way." He half-shrugged and gestured with the pile in his hands as if to make sure it was okay for him to enter.
"I thought we could go over them together?"
"Of course. Though you only gave me one chair," she pointed out, shooting for levity in imitation of him. She took some of the pile with careful fingers, then stepped back so he could enter.
"You also gave me a workable floor, though," Cauthrien added, and settled herself thereon facing her chair. He could take it; she, of course, had sat on much worse, and in this case, she preferred to have everything spread out in front of her. As she situated herself, he chuckled, watching her, and then bending down, he set the other parchments before her.
"The letter we found is on my desk," she said with the barest glance up, beginning to unroll the practice parchments, putting aside those that were just words and not sentences. "Top right corner, I think- should be on top."
He looked at the desk, grabbing for the letter Cauthrien indicated. He glanced, then, to her chair. After running a hand through his hair, he lowered himself on the ground instead, across from her.
"I’ll be fine here," he said with his customary easy smile. "Where I can better see... everything."
He handed her the original letter and then started to spread the new ones out on the floor between them.
"I see you’re working on your report," he added, not looking up.
"Oh," Cauthrien said, glancing to her desk. "Yes, I am. I can't think of what to put in it, though, and I wrote it- Well, I wrote it after our discussion in the chantry. I should probably just start it over to add what's happened since." She continued to remove the samples that wouldn't be of any help; some were copies of well-known Orlesian poems and lines from novels, nothing originally of Edlyn's. She could recognize them easily; she'd read the same, once, or similar.
She looked up to him after a moment, sitting on the floor like- well, she couldn't say not like a noble; banns were nothing like Orlesian aristocrats who would never consider sitting on the ground with a soldier unless there were sumptuous pillows and treats involved (and even then, they'd be playing at being magisters). But he was sitting on the floor like they were close friends.
And they were.
It made her smile.
He nodded, still not looking up at her. "I saw that."
The smile? She frowned, then pressed her lips into a firm line. The letter. Saw-
With a small sigh, Teagan looked between a piece of parchment he was holding and the original letter. "What do you think? It looks a little similar." He squinted, searching the pages and then looking again to Cauthrien.
His question distracted her from her own and she sat forward to look more closely. It was a few sentences, constructed instead of copied. The handwriting was close, very close. "It does look similar. Did he date these at all? It would be best if we had something recent to compare it to."
She sorted through what else they had, removed a few more pieces of parchment, leaving them with only what appeared to be full, original sentences.
"... I don't want to jump to conclusions again. It does none of us any favors," she added, more quietly. It only led to arguing, fighting- which she was confident she didn't want anymore.
Teagan tilted his head, turned slightly to see the pages Cauthrien was looking at. "I don’t see dates. It’s not really formal practice is it? Bits and pieces of things..."
Èdouard was no real instructor, just an Orlesian who seemed kind to neighbors and young girls with big dreams and the willingness to learn his language. It was not Loghain teaching her through constant, structured lessons, progress tracked and commented on to spur her forward.
"Does the letter use anything from her practice? Anything that might imply she or Èdouard wrote it?" Teagan asked.
She scanned the letters, holding up a hand for quiet. She needed to focus. She was looking for tiny puzzle pieces, and it had never been her strongest skill.
Little flower was already accounted for. But what of the rest? She kept an eye out for loves you more than the stars, for little turns of phrase about beauty.
When she spoke, it was in Orlesian, as was how she thought; translating didn't help, because she was looking for similarities in syntax, in style. "There are some similarities. ... Let me get the pieces where she was copying poetry out again. She may have taken things from there- or at least, how she remembered the poems going."
--
His brow quirked up at her hand, at the gesture for silence. He leaned back to give her space and let her work. If she wouldn't speak aloud, then he wouldn't try to work in tandem. He waited. It meant his mind wandered, eyes following the length of her arm to her neck even though it was still covered by the fall of her hair. The marks he had left there were barely visible, but he knew where each of them was, remembered looking at them over and over again the night before as he left others.
He was staring openly at her. She was lost in thought, and he knew she didn’t like the language on her lips or in her brain - or at least the memories associated with it. Still she continued on, her mouth set, her eyes alight. When he couldn’t talk, he wanted to: about the letters, about her letter, about them, about what he had wanted to say at breakfast and found then he couldn’t. It all danced on the tip of his tongue as he watched her brow crease in concentration, the occasional lip movement as she read.
She leaned back to look through what she had set aside, and then handed him a few rolls. "Here, look at these," she said, taking a few for herself and sitting back straighter, looking over one. "Loves you more than the stars," she mused aloud, turning over the phrase.
He fumbled for the parchment as she handed them over, not expecting to be brought into the work she was so focused on. He started to go through them, one at a time, remembering the line she had recited from the original. Each page he tried to read fully; it was the best distraction from the woman across from him.
One in particular, a poem Edlyn had copied, held his attention. He read it over, caught in the sentiment of it, the emotion. The speaker was forced to remember a past lover. It was a private shame for the author, having been separated from this other person, when no one ever knew of the affair.
Teagan felt it. He understood it. He didn’t know how many times he had read the whole poem before something else stood out to him, a trembling reminder of their purpose. He swallowed, mouth dry with concentration. After a moment, he fought to shift his gaze from the parchment and the unsteady curves of Edlyn’s writing to Cauthrien.
Softly and remembering her earlier use of Orlesian, he said, "Where’s the letter? The original?"
His hands searched for it and through he wanted to keep his eyes on Cauthrien he read the note as he drew it closer to himself. His jaw tensed as he read it, and then the poem, again.
"I- uh-" he stammered and glanced at Cauthrien. With some nervous effort, he put the original letter down and started over. "I think I’ve found something, listen to this-"
His words were still soft, careful, both for the language and the solemnity of the words. He almost felt as though he could recite the whole poem without glancing down. He did, though using the feel of the parchment as a foundation. He found the section in the poem that had finally triggered some memory in him- something that finally broke through the emotion of the poem and reminded him of Edlyn’s letter.
"They speak your name,
A curse in my ear;
A shudder runs through me-
Why must you turn me away?
They know not I know you,
And love you like stars;
In silence I grieve,
Too deeply to say."
Finished, he took a staggered breath and raised his gaze again to Cauthrien. He wanted to play it off, but there was no levity in the moment, no joy in that poem or in him at reading it.
"... Teagan?" she asked, reaching out to take the poem.
He let her, feeling the drag of the parchment through his fingers and dropping his gaze to it as she pulled it to her. With another deep breath, he felt more steady, more controlled. He knew, having heard it with his own voice, that this was the basis. This was what Edlyn had used. She had written the letter that had been found in her absence.
But knowing that, he still couldn’t distract him from his own strong connection with it.
Cauthrien said his name again and he looked up. He met her questioning expression with narrowed eyes, almost composed. It was not uncommon this- this- whatever he had with Cauthrien. Strong connections, confusing ones... dalliances, indiscretions, affairs. Among noble circles, he had heard more stories about them than he could count.
And though he couldn’t quite put it into words, he wanted to believe that what he and Cauthrien had could be different.
Still, she had only that morning reminded him that they had three weeks left. Three weeks. After which she would return to her regular duties for Anora, back to her home, leaving him and his bannorn free of her. She had told him he was a fool that first night. Maybe he should have listened, if not for the reasons she had wanted him to.
His jaw was still tense as he looked at her, but he forced a quiet, noble, respectable, "Yes?" from his lips. Then, with an almost stoic expression, almost a challenge he asked, "That’s it, isn’t it?" He inclined his head to indicate the poem in her hand.
Her lips parted as if she would speak, but she looked instead down to the parchment. She read over it then nodded, slowly. "It looks right," she said, but when she looked up to him again, she was still questioning.
Carefully she set the poem aside, moved some of the remaining pieces from between them. That done, she looked to him once more.
"... Teagan, is something- wrong?"
Was there?
He wasn’t sure. He had told her it would be okay, that he was prepared for this. But he didn't need to be able to see the paper to see the words again. The problem was not that the poem meant something to him- but that she did. And though it was not their situation, not exactly, it could be.
Months, years, decades possibly, of working on opposite sides of Ferelden. Knowing the other was there, was alive and remembering what they had - even if only for a month. Teagan didn’t think he wanted that. To be in Rainesfere, forgotten, while she went home to Denerim and resumed her life of service to Anora.
"I’m... not sure," he said with a small shrug.
He shifted awkwardly and then stood, slowly, torn between wanting to leave and not.
She stood as well. There was still parchment all over the ground and her boot toe nudged it with a crackle. Her usual fastidiousness didn't seem to stop her from rising, from taking a step towards him. "This morning you seemed off, too," she pointed out. "... Is this about the Warden?"
He canted his head and eyed her curiously.
The Warden?
It took him a moment to think about it and as he did, his expression softened. He supposed it could have fit. Cauthrien knew, after all, what few other people had, that he had feelings for the Warden Commander.
But he shook his head. "No."
And then he added a brief, "I’m sorry," that strange noble facade of his sliding into place, without a smile. "I should go."
He turned sharply, letting out a small huff. He was disappointed in himself, getting as caught up as he had in a poem, in an idea, in something that hadn’t even happened, or might not happen yet. Shaking his head again, he made for the door.
No, not about the Warden. He had never felt like this when thinking of the Lady Cousland.
"No, don't go," Cauthrien called from behind him. He hadn’t made it more than a few steps into the hall and his shoulders fell forward. He supposed he should have expected her to follow. Hadn’t he showed her that he would do just the same? And she had done it before- already it had become a habit between them. One ran, the other followed and brought them home.
"I just-" he tried, but his voice caught. There were too many things going around in his head. He slowed, pivoting on his heel. His eyes were still downcast, still avoiding her, his fingers pressed against his thighs, threatening at fists.
What he didn’t want to do was have to explain himself. He wasn’t even sure he could explain it all- why he had such a reaction to the poem. If they only had a month- if they only had three weeks, shouldn’t it be lighter and more frivolous, not this melancholy that was settling into him? It would have been better to go - even if just for a little while - away from her, to calm down, to find that light-heartedness again.
But she already knew him too well. She came closer, closer than an agent of the Queen should have, and reached out to touch one of his tensed hands.
"Don't run."
His fingers flexed, searching for hers instinctively. He slid his gaze to their hands and let out a small derisive laugh. Even his own fingers would betray him, would go to her whether he thought he was in the mood or not. He was trying to run, and would have been, if his fingers hadn’t desperately tried to lace together with hers. She let their fingers entwine and stepped closer still, and he exhaled sharply.
"I just thought I needed some space," he said, voice dangerously low. His jaw tightened again, teeth clenching. At the moment, he wanted not to be so raw, confused, so readable.
Because it wasn’t completely true. He needed more than that. He needed her, and he knew that she would see it.
"Don't go," she murmured. Her brow was furrowed, her grey eyes searching his for something. She didn't understand, not entirely, but he could see her trying. Her voice was strained as she continued. "Not while you're like this. I-" And then she gave up and leaned in to kiss him.
He froze, shifted uncomfortably- and then leaned into her, into the kiss. He brought his other hand up, though it was still tense like the rest of him, and laid it on her shoulder. He slid his palm up to her jaw, feeling her pulse fast beneath his hand.
There were footsteps down the hall, and she was bold, he thought, bolder still when the footsteps grew louder and she didn’t pull away. Discretion was forgotten. But he didn’t feel that strong, and after a moment he broke the kiss.
Three weeks kept echoing in his head, that and love you like stars. It wasn’t really the poem, or Edlyn’s letter that was threatening to break him. He knew, as he held her, his fingers still twined with hers, that it was her - Cauthrien, and the idea she would have to leave. Three weeks.
He licked his bottom lip nervously, leaned back a little to meet her gaze and said, "Three weeks," with a sigh.
"I know," she said, softly. "But that's three times again what we've had so far."
She glanced behind her and he tilted his head to look around her. It had been Raud approaching. Raud, now stopped, looked at the both of them with disapproval, the judgment evident and creased into the lines of his face and the whitening to his lips. Cauthrien took a breath and turned back to face Teagan. "... I...
"... I'm not going to want to leave. When the time comes," she admitted, quietly.
He wanted privacy for this, and was sure that Cauthrien did as well. But Raud did not turn to leave, and Teagan looked to Cauthrien, unwilling to leave her admission unanswered.
With a gentle squeeze of her hand, and a light touch against her face, he pulled away from her once more. This time he felt far less tense or hesitant and his hands rested naturally against his thighs.
"And I won’t want you to go. … Don’t want you to go."
It was as close a confession of what he had wanted to say earlier that morning, that what he wanted wasn’t something fleeting. He couldn’t say it now, not with Raud so close and not while he worked through his conflicting emotions, trying desperately to make them behave. It was only what he could say now and he hoped she could read the rest in the downward turn of his lips and the sadness in his eyes.
He took a step back, still looking over her shoulder where his seneschal still stood. Cauthrien took a steeling breath and stepped away as well, turning to face the man. She said nothing, but fell into parade rest.
"Raud?" Teagan called.
His sensechal glanced at the floor for a moment before bringing his gaze level with Teagan’s, and ignoring Cauthrien completely. He cleared his throat.
"... I was going over the finances for this month while you were... occupied. I had a question that I could use your help with, my lord." Raud lowered his head just slightly in some sort of deference.
Teagan wasn’t sure what to make of the interruption, whether it had been intentional or not. Now, the idea that Raud knew (if he hadn’t already, or suspected at least) was enough to help Teagan put his emotions away. He nodded at Raud and then turned to Cauthrien, looking at her with a faint, tender smile, wondering if later if there would be further discretionary reminders.
"We can talk later, if you want," he said softly. He reached for her hand and squeezed at her fingers as he took a few step towards Raud. "This shouldn’t take too long."
Then, to Raud, trying to sound as though he was focused on the business at hand, he said, "Well, let’s take a look, then." It wasn’t genuine interest and once the words had left his lips, he knew it was evident to everyone, but he was proud at least at the effort as he took his leave of the woman he wanted more than the stars and rejoined work further down the hall.
--
Cauthrien retreated to her room. She closed her door and looked down at the writing samples. Carefully, she collected everything but the poem and set the rolled up parchments aside, then set the note and the poem on her desk. She spread the poem out with splayed fingers, rereading it.
She tapped her finger on the wood of her desk, considering. Teagan had been right; the letter was a near-perfect match for the note. Edlyn had written both - even the handwriting matched. It was close to Èdouard's but not quite. The man had likely taught her penmanship, too.
Now, there was only the wait.
The work was done. She was frustrated by how little more she could push, but that frustration did not linger long. Instead, a small, sad smile touched at her lips.
They know not I know you.
Well. They knew now.
Raud knew, certainly, and there was no use doubting that the servants gossiped. Discretion was likely still the best route, but there was something freeing in the idea that she could take his hand at dinner, or that she didn't have to leave in the middle of the night when they bedded down together once more.
She leaned back in her chair, looking up at the ceiling of her room. It had been a spur of the moment decision, to demonstrate her affection in what amounted to public, but the monumental nature of it weighed down on her. She breathed deeply. If there was outcry, she would leave. And if there wasn't...
But there would be. She just hoped it would take until the end of the month to build that high.
She closed her eyes a moment, then sat forward. There was one task left that she could do. Pulling fresh parchment forward, she began to write a new letter to Anora. At first she only copied what she had already written of Edlyn's disappearance, amending a few notes.
Have not fownd out much more about Teagan's motivs. He remanes a deesent horse man and servisable with a sword, though it would apeer he has becom rustee in the last few months.
Since ariving a local girl has gon mising and posiblee framed a man for murdur. I am asisting on the kase, as the evidens is in Orlesian.
And then, after taking a moment to roll her shoulders and steady herself, she added,
In the intrest of ful disclozur, I am sleeping with Teagan.
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