War is Never Cheap Here (1/12)

Jul 22, 2011 09:37

Title: War is Never Cheap Here (1/12)
Authors: cherith & serindrana
Game: Dragon Age: Origins
Pairing: Bann Teagan/Ser Cauthrien
Series Rating: NC-17/AO
Chapter Rating: T
Series Wordcount: 99,400
Chapter Wordcount: 6,822
Warnings: Problem drinking.
Summary: Bann Teagan has been corresponding on and off with the Lady Cousland for the past eight months; Queen Anora sends her watchdog, the dreaded Ser Cauthrien, to investigate. (Ao3) (FF)
Notes: War is Never Cheap Here will be updating weekly, on Fridays. Projected length is roughly ten to twelve chapters.
Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12



A horse and rider like the one that moved through Rainesfere now did not cover so much ground without Bann Teagan getting word. He had received word of the rider more than an hour ago.

She hadn't been to Rainesfere since the civil war.

He knew that as she rode, she passed through fields that were again showing signs of green, not the brown and black char her torches had left. Though his bannorn had been left largely untouched, compared those east of Lake Calenhad, and closer to Denerim, as she rode she would still pass fields she had destroyed and villages she had burned.

The war had ended too soon for her to take Rainesfere, but the signs were still there.

She rode alone. He knew she could have ridden alongside others. She had chosen not to.

There had been rumors that she held a death wish, ever since Loghain Mac Tir had become a Grey Warden and died slaying the Archdemon. Yet, she moved through the country freely despite the enemies she had made, the hatred borne against her by so much of the Bannorn, and when things drew towards battle, she did not turn away. Now, she rode for Rainesfere.

What Bann Teagan didn’t know was why, and while he waited for the rider to reach the gates, he paced.

Word came that she rode through the central town without pause, the roads clearing at her coming, at her imposing horse, her gleaming armor, her greatsword strapped to the animal's flank. She wore a grand helm, a heavy thing with wings reminiscent of the wyvern's on the Gwaren teyrnship's crest.

When she came before his walls, her horse stamping and snorting, she called, voice clear, cold, and loud, "I am here on the orders of Her Majesty, Queen Anora Mac Tir, sole sovereign of Ferelden."

There was no mistaking that voice as it came over the gates. He heard it in his sleep- heard it as he had nightmares of the war, nightmares he knew he shared with the people of the Bannorn. Nightmares that it might happen again, while they still struggled to put their lives back together after the Blight.

So. Queen Anora had sent Ser Cauthrien to check on him.

He waved a hand as signal to let her through the gates. He decided against meeting her at the door, leaving only a squire to greet her. Instead, he went back to his desk, tugged at the sleeves to his shirt and leaned back in his chair. She could meet him here, with a desk between them.

He would not stand for her.

--

There was a knock at the door of his study; she was there, just behind it, and he let her wait a moment more.

On his desk was correspondence to the Wardens, half-finished. There was another letter, more personal, to the Warden-Commander at Amaranthine. She was more than that to him- she was a link to his nephew, Alistair. And also, he thought, a friend to him. To Alistair as well, if he hadn’t been so-

Well, Teagan might not have agreed with the way Alistair left but he knew that his nephew had reason enough to do so. He didn’t think he could have joined with Loghain either. Not after the attacks Loghain had ordered on the Bannorn.

Teagan thought it a pity that Alistair wouldn’t be convinced to return to the Grey Wardens or even to be found long enough for anyone to try and convince him, even now with Loghain gone. Loghain had saved them in the end, from the Archdemon, the Blight, even if there hadn’t been much a choice. That, at least, was the story the Warden-Commander told. He believed her. He had no reason not to.

While he made Ser Cauthrien wait, he stored the missives he was in the middle of writing in a drawer and hoped that no one had need to look at them. He had no plans of giving anyone, hand of the Queen or not, a look at his letters to the Warden-Commander. It wasn’t that they were involved, but they were friendly- and he knew how that might look to anyone given half the chance.

He knew the knight would be angry at his delay, at being met by a squire, and so it was with a sense of resignation that he called out for the servant to open the door.

And there she was, jaw clenched and lips pressed to a fine line, holding a rolled up parchment in her fist. She entered at something approaching a stalk, her eyes fixed unmoving on him.

"Bann Teagan," she said, bowing only shallowly as she removed her helm and tucked it in the crook of her arm.

"Ser Cauthrien." He fixed her with an almost amused expression, feeling a little better with the letters put away and having made her wait.

He knew he was pushing his limits. It didn’t matter who she reported to now, what she had done- he expected no apology, he knew well the price of war. But, he would not- could not act as though everything was fine and that he was happy to meet her, to have her in his home.

He remained seated and only leaned forward, tugging again at his sleeves as though he was settling into his desk. His hands clasped in front of him once he was comfortable.

"To what do I owe this... visit?" he asked through nearly clenched teeth. The smile on his lips remained, though it was strained.

She didn't flinch or even frown at how he responded to her. Still, he was sure it was filed away, with so many other notes; he would not and could not hide his personal distaste for her even when she came in official office.

Ser Cauthrien crossed to his desk and held out the parchment to him. "I'm under orders from Her Highness, Queen Anora, to take up residence here for the next month."

With no small amount of distrust, he reached out and took the parchment from her. Unrolled it, let her stand there while he read it. It was true-

Politics.

He let the orders fall to his desk, slipping through his fingers slowly so the it curled back up before landing. With a sigh he leaned back into his chair and looked Cauthrien over. Her helm, cloak, armor- if he didn’t know better he would think she was still prepared for war. The thought scared him, but he pushed it away. There wouldn’t be war here- his people didn’t need that.

After another breath, he let his gaze flick back to hers. He lowered his hands into his lap, elbows resting on the arms of his chair.

"Any particular reason?" His gaze was level, his tone strong but bordering on spiteful at the very edges. He assumed she would pick up on it. "Or did you just miss Rainesfere?"

She tilted her head at that. "No, I did not," she said, calmly. "Though it looks to be recovering well. I'm glad."

His jaw twitched. She was glad.

She shifted her weight, her armor creaking as she moved. "As to why I'm here, the Queen does not entirely trust the nature of your correspondence with the Warden-Commander, and has sent me to ensure that you are not... plotting."

He thought a moment about the letters in his desk, his correspondence with the Grey Wardens, not just the Warden-Commander. Of course, anything he had written that could have been read, or intercepted- those were safe words . Those were meant to be read by anyone that wanted to read them. Innocently, they were letters where he was only inquiring after his nephew- nothing more.

Reminding himself that he would need to lock his desk later, he wondered what else the Queen had Ser Cauthrien looking for, watching for, if she was willing to speak so freely of her purpose.

He wasn’t sure he had it in him to put on a show.

"I see. Well, that’s... disappointing."

He had supported the Warden-Commander’s decision to put Anora on the throne, and though he didn’t agree with what her father had done- they had had little choice. For now, she was what Ferelden needed to help it put itself back together. Her choice in help, however, was... questionable. And this inquiry- He wondered if Anora truly thought so little of him?

If Anora did think so little, he would be pleasant, noble. He would welcome Ser Cauthrien, just to prove that he could. Perhaps, he thought, he might even try to be pleasant. He pushed his chair back and stood. Walking to where she stood he offered the tall woman a hand.

"Then, welcome." Back.

Cauthrien eyed his hand curiously, shoulders visibly tense even beneath all her armor. There was a moment of hesitation- and then she pulled her gauntlet off before taking his hand, her grip firm but not crushing. "I am not, for your peace of mind, under any orders to take action while I'm here. I'm only to observe."

With a nod, he shook her hand, but was glad to be free of it a moment later. He understood orders, understood what they might have meant when she had ridden through the Bannorn at Loghain’s command. Understanding politics was not going to help him feel better about what happened or about who carried out those orders, but it was a start.

Still, he forced out a steady, "Thank you" in return for the additional information about her presence. He didn’t have to believe her, but she hadn’t needed to say it either. It seemed some manners remained.

Her hand falling back to her side, Cauthrien glanced to the window in his study. "... For what it is worth, the order that brought me here last was not easily made," she said, her voice oddly strained. And then she looked back to him, expression bland, fixed.

His jaw clenched and he turned to look where her gaze had gone to the window. With a sigh he said, "We’re recovering. Slowly, but recovering."

"And I am glad to hear it," she said, echoing her earlier sentiment. "If you would direct me to where I am to be quartered, I will leave you to your work, Bann Teagan." She sketched him another slight bow.

He turned away and took a few steps passed her, putting his back to her. If she was going to strike him down, she would have done so already, though that moment of vulnerability did make him want to squirm. Over his shoulder he said, "If you’ll follow me, then?"

He took her up the stairs and led her to one of the only guest chambers still ready for use. It wasn’t elaborately decorated since he hadn’t needed room for guests in some time. Since before the Blight... and the war before that. To long to remember.

"You can stay here. If you need me, you know where to find my study," he said as he gestured for her to enter.

And with a shallow bow of dismissal, he turned to leave.

--

She let him go.

Met at the gate by a squire, but led to a guest room - not even the barracks - by the bann himself? She didn't know what to make of Teagan Guerrin, and she busied herself once he left by shedding her armor, retrieving her pack, seeing that her horse was well-stabled. She sat in her room, once those jobs were done, and polished her armor. It was meditative. It helped her think without letting her think too much.

Anora would have-

Anora would have not so much has taken her hand, and they had, in some ways, grown up together.

And yet Bann Teagan had led her up here, even after she had burned his fields to ash, after she had declared her intent and the Queen's ill-trust. She had no military post that accorded her respect these days, merely the good will and direct orders of the Queen. He had no reason to play the gracious host. In fact, he had every reason not to.

It did not sit well with her.

When it came time for the evening meal, she didn't think to go to the main dining hall; she went down to the kitchens and ate there, quiet, head bowed, wearing her arming jacket and trousers and none of her gleaming armor.

It had been hard, these last eight months, in the wake of Loghain's death, in the wake of the failure of the civil war, even if Anora ended up on the throne still. She had begun to doubt her lord in the last months of the civil war, it was true, and she had allowed the Lady Cousland to talk her sword down. But she could not forgive herself for abandoning him. She could not forgive herself for allowing him to take the Joining alone, though it was Riordan that had turned her away. She could not forgive herself for not being there to strike the final blow in his stead.

She had sworn, in the quiet dark of the regent's chambers, that she would protect him with her life.

She had failed.

Anora's rule was uneasy, her leash tight, but Cauthrien could see no better place for herself, no better place for atonement. She would be Anora's sword and would, as she had tried to do for Loghain, take all the blame in the world for her, all the hatred. And when she eventually was felled, it would reflect only well on her Queen.

Maker, but when had it come to this?

All she had ever wanted was to serve.

Well, she would serve, take Anora's paranoia as her own. And there was weight to it - all sources pointed to Teagan attempting to court the Lady Cousland. While Wardens were not allowed to hold rank, Anora had already given the woman an Arling, even if it was a non-traditional one. It was easy enough to imagine Teagan and Cousland marrying, forming an alliance that Cauthrien knew that all the Bannorn would unite behind. And then what? Bring back Alistair, of course- set him on the throne finally, without the point of contention of Loghain. Eamon would have his puppet, Anora would be forced out.

The Lady Cousland had supported Anora, true. And Teagan, at least, had fallen in line. But it had been expedient, in order to gain Loghain's loyalty and to sacrifice him - the best political move to get rid of the man. Alistair's fleeing the country had been unintentional, from every statement Cousland had made that Anora had relayed to her, but it was fixable. The man wasn't dead - they had stopped Anora from having him executed.

Which left Anora dependent on the good will of the Warden-Commander- and the Lady Cousland was a noblewoman, politician. Anora was wise not to trust the situation.

Cauthrien was likely less wise to drink as much as she had, sitting at the low table in her enemy's the kitchen, but politics made her head ache and, at least at the moment, ale helped with that. Four tankards was, however, maybe a bit much for a woman who had only picked up the habit after Loghain's death, and she was currently nursing a fifth while poking at the braised ox tail half-eaten in front of her.

She took another long swallow from her tankard, then scowled down at her uneaten dinner. It wasn't that it tasted bad. She just couldn't find an appetite. That was happening more and more often these days - her body rebelling against her. Sleep was tricky at times, too. She didn't look forward to that night.

"If you’re going to drink my supply of ale, in my kitchen, I should at least get to enjoy some of it with you," came Bann Teagan's voice, and she looked up, startled, with a glare.

What in Andraste's name was he doing here? She hadn't heard him step in, hadn't heard him approach, and she bristled at her own vulnerability. He even had the damnable nerve to look as if he was in a pleasant mood. Was he gloating over her rather pathetic state of mooning into her drink?

And if so, why wasn't he simply watching from the door, laughing?

He poured himself a tankard and took a seat across from her at the table.

"I," she said, eyeing him warily and trying to pick her words carefully, "did not disturb you during dinner. Why are you disturbing mine?"

"In fact," he said after a long drink, "I'm here because you did not come to dinner." He looked her over, perhaps a bit curious, perhaps a bit amused. "I’ll admit, I didn’t not expect to find you dining in the kitchen, however."

She made a sound- maybe a laugh? Even she wasn't sure. "Where else would I eat?"

The answer, she supposed, was wherever his knights ate. Or, barring that, wherever his guard ate. She occasionally had private dinners with the Queen, had had private meals with Loghain, but- they were rare. By invitation only. He just watched her with a quirked brow, however, and offered no solution.

She rubbed her fingers against her temples, scowling. Why was he there? He wasn't outwardly mocking her yet, and she was left with the conclusion that he was trying to discern his opponent. It was what she would have done, certainly, what Loghain would have done.

Well.

She didn't feel like being discerned against her will.

"If you were waiting for me to bother you," she muttered, looking up to him again, "on official orders, here-"

She hesitated, faltered. There was only one question she knew she was supposed to find the answer to, but it stuck in her throat.

She took another drink to dislodge it.

"Are you, or are you planning on, fucking the Warden-Commander? Queen demands to know."

There. Perhaps the question would even scare him off. She finished her tankard and considered if it would be a good idea to have another one. Or, barring that, if she wanted another one anyway.

"Well." He quirked an eyebrow and pursed his lips, once he'd stopped gaping open-mouthed at her. "That’s direct." He glanced at her tankard. "Have I? No." He chuckled. "Am I planning to?" He took another drink and laughed fully this time.

Laughed.

Why in the Void was he in such a good mood? He'd been courteous but bitter that afternoon. Had he been drinking?

If he had, why did he get to be happy when drunk?

He didn't seem drunk.

When he caught his breath and resettled, he looked at her directly, waited for her to make sure she saw his eyes. "The better question would’ve been, if I wanted to. But, planning to? No."

Right. This had to go in the report.

Her fingers played along the mug in her hand, and she found herself distracted by the cool ceramic. By the way he laughed. By the way-

That didn't matter. What mattered was, his statement was that he wasn't and didn't plan on sleeping with the Lady Cousland. Not that he didn't want to- she could still understand that much of his comment. She was not that far gone.

"Right," she said, considering for a moment asking him if a sixth tankard would be a good idea. Her fingers stopped trailing along the handle, shifting to run her index finger along the lip of the mug. "... Work done for the night, then. Right?"

Another little frown pursed her lips. Just go away. She slumped in her seat on the bench.

"It is," he said matter-of-factly. "I’ve no where else to be for the night." His eyes followed her fingers on the tankard, and then he rose to his feet, looking down to her. "Another drink then? If neither of us have more pressing business?"

Well.

If he didn't think a sixth one would hurt-

"Another drink," she said, her frown disappearing for a moment, replaced by a grim smile. "Are you always this good to war criminals who forcibly move in?"

She pointedly did not say war heroes.

Some called her that. Anora referred to her as that. At the very least, most did not say criminal aloud. She did. There was no reason to shy from the truth, after all.

But the man across from her didn't seem to notice or respond. No, he would agree with her assessment. "No, I'm not. Not that I get much cause to host them. Forcibly or not," he answered.

She pushed her tankard over to him, then picked up her fork to push her dinner around her plate. She really should eat more. But she wanted to stay well and truly drunk, and an ox tail in her belly wouldn't help with that.

Eat, her mind told her, taking on Loghain's voice like it did whenever her subconscious needed her to shape up. She took a bite and watched as he poured them both another round.

He sat down as he handed her back her drink, closer this time, and watched her pick at her food.

"I imagine we’ll just have to make the most of our month together," he said.

She lifted the tankard and quickly took a swallow. But then she set it down, and tried to focus on her food. Not on the alcohol, not on Teagan, and Maker, not on the voice of Loghain echoing in her head.

"I'll stay out of your way when I can," she mumbled, then took another bite of ox tail.

Chewed. Swallowed. There were things that needed to be said, outlined directly. Her purpose there, she would not hide that, nor her displeasure of being there at all, assigned to a task that did not suit her. And then there were the fields. She had ridden through them and some part of her heart, the part that was a farmer's little girl's, had ached.

"I didn't want to burn the damn fields. Or the villages." She didn't look at him when she said it, just went back to playing her fingers along her mug. She watched them, instead. Up and down the handle, around the rim, over some of the decorations on the side. She groaned and closed her eyes, rested her forehead against her hand, elbow propped on the table. "Fucking-"

"Would you rather I was mean to you? I think I had enough of that this afternoon." There wasn’t a playfulness to his voice anymore, just wonder- concern?

He took a drink and she wanted desperately to mirror his actions.

"I-" She growled, trying to think straight. Maybe the sixth drink- no, that had been a wonderful idea, courtesy of the man sitting right across from her. "At least I'd understand you," she finally mumbled, forcing herself to take another bite of her dinner. That still left it less than half finished, but she let her fork drop down and pushed the plate away from her. She massaged at the bridge of her nose, then let go of her tankard. She rested both elbows on the table and stared down at her hands.

People weren't supposed to see her like this. Why in the Blighted Void did he have to come here? He was her job. Finding out how he was going to betray Ferelden-

He interrupted her thoughts, waving a hand dismissively. "What’s to understand? Your- Our Queen sent you, intending to make me upset. But it won't be because I’m being investigated. By all means, investigate."

He shook his head and took another drink. "I don’t have to pretend I’m happy about it, when I’m not. But, I will act like a nobleman should and treat a hand of the Queen, and a guest in my house, with some courtesy."

A very small smile touched his lips. She hated it.

"Are you determined," she asked, frowning and gesturing to him, "to be as not upset as possible in order to- to slight Anora? ... I should report that."

He looked over at her and, after a moment's consideration, nodded. "You know, I think I am. And that you should report it. I’m half-curious to see what she’ll do about it."

She eyed her tankard, then his. He'd still had less than she had. Though, she supposed, it would take some effort to catch up.

"I'll report that. Along," Cauthrien added, thoughtfully, peering at him, "with your otherwise good behavior. Or- something. I don't know. I'll figure it out when I write it. After I investigate. In the morning."

Maybe. If she could figure out what she was supposed to investigate - she was no spy, after all. And if she could stop babbling. Maker, where were all these words coming from? These little moments of weakness, of I don't know what I'm doing, enemy.

He didn't comment, however - only finished off what remained in his tankard and stood to get a third.

When he sat back down he leaned in over the table, as if they were friends, talking more conspiratorially than hostile. And he was smiling again, a little testing thing. "Are you allowed to tell me what exactly you’ll be looking for? Other than my supposed sexual relationship with the Warden-Commander?"

Cauthrien blinked at him, owlishly.

"She didn't say I wasn't," she said after a moment. "She also- didn't really tell me what to look for."

She bit her lower lip at the confession, then pulled away to take a long draw from her tankard.

"She doesn't trust you, though. So I don't, either. Thinks that you and the Warden-Commander are going to-"

... Should she be telling him this? She'd already all but laid herself bare before him. The knife, it would come no matter what.

Teagan tapped the table to get her attention. "Get married, have little noble babies, and throw her from her hard-earned throne?" He made no attempt to hide the distaste in voice, shaking his head. "We’re planning nothing of the sort," he then added, a little more softly. "Sorry to be a disappointment to the crown. I guess she’ll have find something else wrong with me."

Cauthrien shifted enough that she could lean her entire upper body on the table, chin resting on her folded arms, giving up any pretense of strength. "She thinks you're going to bring the royal bastard back, now that-"

Loghain.

"... now that there is nothing he will object to," she finished, quietly. "And that if you were planning on marrying the Warden-Commander - or, I guess, if she'd let you marry her?" Yes, that seemed about right from what he'd been saying. She walked her fingers idly along the table. "And if you were planning that, that the Bannorn would gladly burn us alive for you.

"And so, I'm here, Bann Disappointment."

It wasn't true sarcasm - just exhausted confusion, a little bitterness, a little distrust. She frowned and settled deeper into her seat. "So I'm looking for that, I guess. Your plans for having our heads on pikes. If you have any, I'd be greatly obliged to you if you showed me where they are. In the morning."

She watched him blearily as he began to laugh again, lifting her head from the table.

"I have to continue to be a disappointment, I suspect. All my heads on pikes plans..." He grinned and then shrugged playfully. "I’m all out!" He made an explosive gesture with his hands and looked at her, his eyes wide.

And then he seemed to remember who she was, and leaned back to pull his gaze away from her. He let his smile fall.

She took another drink, finishing off her tankard, but didn't move to ask for another.

More softly he added, "But really, I don’t have any. Besides, that all sounds like it hinges on Alistair." He shook his head. "And he doesn’t want to be found."

If he was telling the truth, that there were no dastardly plots... Granted, she could think of no reason for him to be honest with her. But the way he laughed, smiled, fooled around-

Was Teagan so great of a liar?

This was too hard for her. This wasn't what she was trained for. Reading intercepted Orlesian letters? Yes. Sussing out when a confusing and ridiculous nobleman was telling the truth? No.

"She's just scared," Cauthrien mumbled, finally, reaching back to tug her hair free of its restraint. "So I'm here to be righteously suspicious on her behalf. You're not making it easy. You're supposed to lie about things. And be plotting."

She was supposed to echo a lot of Anora's feelings that, on further thought, she didn't share. She should have distrusted him, but it was growing more and more difficult.

And sometimes, she even wondered if Alistair returning would truly be bad for Ferelden.

And then she decided that, on top of everything else, she appeared to be becoming a traitor, and she stared at her pointed lack of ale.

"Well, I apologize," he smiled. "Tomorrow, when I’ve had less to drink and more time to sleep, I’ll be properly confusing. Maybe I’ll even plot something just for you."

Cauthrien snorted and rolled her eyes, looking back up to him. Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow, she'd be on-balance and this would all be a routine mission and her distrust of him would be firmly back in place. She pushed herself up to her feet- and promptly wavered more than slightly, reaching out to brace herself on the table. He moved to help her. He placed a hand at her elbow, just barely touching her.

"May I?"

She looked down to where he was touching her. He was being more than confusing. She tried to step away, started to say, "I can manage-"

And then she had to catch herself against the table again.

Six tankards had been a bad idea. "... I-" She frowned, frustrated, somehow more embarrassed than she had been at any point that night. She was a proud woman, even with all her self-loathing. And yet, she still needed to get to her room. Or the stables, whichever was closer. She could bed down there, and-

No, that was a horrible idea.

"... yes," she finally said, not quite looking at him.

"Good," he said and reached out with his other hand to steady her and then held his arm out for her like a gentleman might. "I’m happy to help. Tonight." He tapped her hand gently. "Tomorrow however, will be another matter."

--

He hadn’t expected to dine alone. Wasn’t she meant to be watching him?

Though it wasn’t rare that he ate by himself, he enjoyed it more than most times. Knowing that she was somewhere in the house, avoiding him- he had felt a small sense of accomplishment at that.

Still, when the dishes had been cleared, he went looking for her.

After all, what kind of host would let a guest miss dinner? Even if that guest was one as loathed as Ser Cauthrien.

And then he had found her, buried in a drink.

Part of him had smiled at that, this woman, this soldier, hiding in a drink- in his kitchen. The rest of him wondered at how much she had had to drink and if this was to be his life for the next month: Cauthrien drinking his house dry. Perhaps that was to be his punishment for Anora’s suspicions of him.

When he had poured himself a drink, he had only meant to sit long enough to drink it, and maybe to revel in the sight that was Ser Cauthrien, looking so defeated after only a few hours in his house.

Then, she had called herself a war criminal. And he thought it went a long way to explaining her: the surly personality, the lack of food missing from her plate, the drinking. Somewhere, a part of him thought to be more pleased by that. That she understood where her proper place was- that this was an indulgence on Anora’s part for a woman that had been so close to her Father. This was guilt. And he thought she should feel it.

He felt it too. They all had their own part to play during the Blight.

But instead of addressing it, feeding into her guilt, he had just poured her another drink. Mostly, the rest of them were getting on with the lives they had left to live- even his brother who had put so much behind the idea of Alistair as king, was moving on. It seemed that Cauthrien was not one of those people, to put the past aside.

Earlier that day, he’d been determined to be angry and frustrated with her, completely unhelpful. And yet, he’d been joking- no, flirting. He had found it pleasant- easy even, to be nice to her. Especially when she seemed to dislike it so thoroughly.

She seemed to be doing a good enough job hating herself for them both.

So, carefully and like a gentleman should, he guided her out of the kitchen, across the hall, and up the stairs to the guest chamber, stopping occasionally to steady one or the both of them. He had not has as much to drink, but he had enough to make him stop trusting his feet for a moment. She let him lead her, bracing herself with a hand on the wall when she could. They made a clumsy pair by the time they reached her door.

"Safe and sound," he said, patting her hand again.

With a shoulder he helped keep her steady long enough to open the door for her. He waved a hand inside and said, "My lady, your room."

He nearly regretted it as soon as he said it. But he didn’t try and take it back- he just smiled at her and kept his mouth shut. My lady. Her, Ser Cauthrien, a lady. He should not be teasing her like this. Playing. It was too easy to fall into this trap- beautiful woman, political unrest, too much alcohol.

She wavered a little on her feet.

"I don't-" she tried, frowning, licking her lips as she searched for words. "Don't usually drink this much. Never drank before- the Blight." Carefully, she tried to take her hand from his arm and move to the door frame.

"There’s a good many things most of us didn’t do before the Blight," he said, watching her. "Drinking seems the least of them."

It had not been his plan to stand at the door, to make sure she was safely inside, but he did.

She was almost inside her room when she turned back to him, a determined look on her face. "So-" she said. "You are not and will not in the foreseeable future be sleeping with the Warden?" She leaned on the door frame again, pushed her loose hair out of her face, doing her best to stare him down. It was less than imposing - more of a curious, pleading look.

Really, when she wasn't scowling, she had a surprisingly soft-featured face. Wide, almost sad eyes, a small, upturned nose- it was incongruous, almost, with her broad shoulders, her calloused hands. It was like she was a different person.

"That’s what I said." He nodded and gave her a questioning look.

He had already admitted to wanting the Lady Cousland, in some capacity. He had been truthful. Not to mention that it was a ways between here and the Warden’s Keep. He’d have to want it badly. It never seemed as pressing as the way Cauthrien was asking him-

His missives to the Warden-Commander Cousland had begun innocently. Then, as he heard rumors, he might share them with her- she seemed interested in regaining Alistair to her group in Amaranthine. After a time, they had turned friendlier and then nearly-

Well, those messages were few and far between but Anora had reason to question their relationship. He had more than once thought what it might be like but he knew the new Arlessa was not the least bit interested in marriage. Still, he thought, there was no way for the Queen to know such things.

"No," he said, firm this time, no longer playing at it.

"Good."

"Good?" He smiled and readied himself to turn and go down the hall to his own room.

She smiled then, a little thing, and pushed herself away from the frame, taking a moment to make sure she could stand steadily on her feet. He waited at the door and watched, in case she took a tumble. He didn’t need her getting hurt after too much drink. That would be a miserable way to spend the next month, for them both.

With a chuckle, he shook his head. "Good night, Ser Cauthrien." And then before he could stop the words, he added, "I’ll dream up a proper plot for you to take to Anora- to the Queen."

"Don't come up with anything too worrying," she said as she finally made her way into the room. She paused a moment, looking down at herself as she undid the clasps of her arming jacket and slid out of it, leaving her in just a sleeveless tunic up top. "She's inherited her father's-"

Her voice faltered.

"... paranoia," she finished in a quieter voice as she made it to the bed and sat down heavily on the edge of it, reaching down to tug her boots off.

He wanted to laugh, but the way her voice caught-

Well, between that and the view. He was used to being around delicate women, excepting one Warden-Commander. She’d never been what he would call delicate. In his time with the Lady Cousland, he’d found it more... attractive than he would have previously admitted to.

Cauthrien, she wasn’t the same, and the history there gave him pause- but he couldn’t help but admire what he saw. Then he wondered how long she might let him stand there, being as how she had not closed the door behind her.

When his thoughts caught up with him, he was able to say something at least. "I suppose, then, that I’ll have to make it intriguing enough and still not possibly actionable."

He had said goodnight, hadn’t he? Still, he watched her pull her boots off a hazy sort of look in his eye, part drink, part sleep and part- mostly attraction. He stayed leaning against the door frame, legs crossed as the frame supported his weight.

She tugged off her second boot, setting both aside, and then looked up to him.

"She's fond of murder mysteries these days," she said, with a shrug. "For reading."

"Murder mysteries?" His eyebrows shot up in true surprise. "Is that true? Certainly she should have gotten enough of all that-" his hand waved without purpose. During the war.

"Before now?"

Her hands went to the laces of her leggings, seemingly without her notice. His eyes followed her hands-

Right.

He moved away from the door and for a moment wavered on his feet, realizing he had stepped into her room and not out of it as intended.

"Well, I- it seems I-" he stammered a moment. He swallowed to regain feeling in his mouth. "Right, I had said good night already. So...

"I’ll see you in the morning Cauthrien." He turned to leave, for the second time.

"Do I need to come to breakfast?" she asked, words accompanied by the sound of leather sliding down skin.

"Only if you want," he said, taking a deep breath to keep himself from turning to look.

He took several steps and found himself standing in the hallway somewhere between the guest chambers and his own room. He sighed. Three drinks had been too many, clearly. Some of his normal rational thought was returning without his eyes on Cauthrien.

Ser Cauthrien, of all people.

Truly, the way he had entertained thoughts of the Warden-Commander had gotten to him. Changed him more than he thought it would. With that sobering thought he found enough stability to make it the rest of the way to his room, remembering to shut the door behind him.

2

cauthrien/teagan, war is never cheap here

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