Fic - A Child Unexpected (Part 4)
Title: A Child Unexpected (Part 4 of 10(?))
Author: skybound2
Characters: Fem!City-Elf PC (Kallian Tabris), Sten, Zevran, and Alistair (the overall fic is Zevran/Tabris with Sten and some others tossed in. Liberally, at times. References Alistair/Tabris and Zevran/Other.)
Word Count: ~3000 (this chapter, ~12000 so far)
Rating: T
Summary: Heroes have problems too. That's why they need friends. In this bit: Zevran makes a decision, and the Warden gets on with qunari surprisingly well. .
Spoilers: Through end game.
Author's Note: I swear that I am working towards having Zevran and Tabris in the same room (and not in a flashback). It will happen! This story can also be found at FFN. Many, many thanks to pennydreadful for the beta!!! I would also like to say thanks to everyone that's been reading and reviewing, you are all made of awesome :-) Here's hoping it doesn't disappoint!
Previously:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Interlude (the First)
Chapter 3
Denerim: Fourteen Months after the Fall of the Archdemon
Unsurprisingly, Alistair was not as open to the majority of Zevran's suggestions as the former Crow would have liked. Alistair may no longer have been the bright-eyed Chantry boy that he once was, but still he held an obvious distaste for the more unsavory aspects of life. Not to mention that the King still held the Wardens in high esteem, and did not wish to do anything that would be truly detrimental to their ranks. This scratched out nearly one-third of his ideas. Which was a pity, as they had all been subtle masterpieces of espionage, intrigue, and - yes - a little bit of sex. But really, what good plan didn't involve copious amounts of sex? Nor, did he wish to engage in any acts of overt sabotage, assassination, subterfuge, or anything equally helpful.
He recalled one of his last suggestions: “It would not do any permanent damage, I assure you Alistair. It would merely be...a long-term incentive if you will. Should they decide to go searching for her again, the pain would flair up, and presto they would find themselves with more, how shall we say...pressing manners. It would be a simple enough spell to perform, if one is willing to pay the right mage the right price.”
“An apostate, you mean.”
Zevran raised a brow, “You suddenly have an issue working with apostates, my friend?”
“There is nothing at all sudden about it Zevran. I will not employ a maleficar.” Zevran had opened his mouth to interrupt, but Alistair cut him off with a raised hand., his cheeks flushed.“Contrary to popular opinion, I'm not an idiot. And I do have Templar training. The kind of magic you are talking about wouldn't require just the average mage. It would require one experienced in blood magic. Not something we are likely to find at the Circle.”
“I won't deny that the methods of accomplishing this particular task would be looked down upon by the Chantry, Alistair. But, you have systematically vetoed every other option that I have presented. There is only so long that the Wardens are going to buy your continued assurances that Kallian is in the Gamordan Peaks or Llomeryon.”
The King nearly smiled, “Oh, I don't know. We aren't doing so bad so far. Your forgery skills are really quite top notch.”
Zevran gave Alistair a tight-lipped smile. “Be that as it may, I do believe we need to start investigating other avenues.”
Zevran watched as Alistair's face dropped, and he wiped a weary hand across his neck. “Fine. Only...not tonight. I think I've had enough of this for one evening.”
Zevran was practically beside himself with annoyance. It was almost as if Alistair wanted the Wardens to retrieve Kallian. He snorted, the thought was actually more probable than anything. Alistair may have claimed to understand why Kallian wanted nothing more to do with the Wardens, but Zevran had his doubts. It was clear that the King was still entirely enthralled with the concept of the Wardens - he still wished to be one of their active ranks. Overseeing their growth in Ferelden was one of the few activities he seemed to take distinct pleasure in, even if he only got to do it from the comfort of his throne (something which rankled him to no end, Zevran could tell).
Now that Zevran really took the time to examine the King and his reactions, it seemed most likely that Alistair would think that allowing the Wardens to go after Kallian wouldn't be such a bad thing. He obviously held no ill will towards the order, and it was clear as day to anyone that looked that he wanted her back in Denerim. Perhaps he saw this as the only way to get her back. Back from Seheron. Back from Sten.
Back in his bed.
The thought shouldn't have angered Zevran as much as it did, but the unconscious clenching of his hands into fists was proof enough that would should and shouldn't matter, made very little difference.
He'd managed to keep his opinions on Alistair's poor excuses to himself during their talks (and even managed to make the King of Ferelden blush so furiously at one point, that Zevran wasn't certain the man's cheeks would ever return to normal). He'd even received some mild praise from the man, which was quite the feat in and of itself. All things considered, Zevran wasn't doing too poorly.
But, from his perspective, Kallian returning to Denerim would present an...issue. Not that he didn't long to see her once more, he merely had very little faith in her or Alistair's willpower when it came to one another, and now that Eamon had begun to put heavy pressure on the King to produce an heir...well, Kallian didn't deserve to be witness to that.
If she wished to rejoin the Wardens, so be it. (Although Zevran truly did not believe that to be the case.) But Zevran was not a fool, and he knew that there was some element that he was missing. Something that had to do with the how behind Kallian's defeat of the Archdemon. And no, no he decidedly did not want to think about how willing she seemed to be to throw her life away at the beast. She had left him at the gates. Told him not to worry, that it would all work out. And it had, hadn't it? They'd all made it through. Zevran wasn't sure what was worse, the idea that she went up there planning to die and hadn't told him, or the idea that she went up there knowing she wouldn't die, and still not told him. Either option left him in the dark. No. No there was something that neither Kallian nor Alistair was owning up to. Something that they hadn't informed the Wardens about. And if there was something that Alistair was willing to lie about, for this long, then it couldn't be good.
Perhaps it was time that Zevran said his faretheewells to Ferelden, and made his way to the north (it had really been quite some time since he had been to Antiva, after all. And he had always heard how lovely Par Vollen could be in the spring...)
He just needed to pay a brief visit to an oh-so-lovely red-headed elf over in the alienage first, and see if she had any recent news on their wayward Warden to provide.
Seheron: Sixteen Months after the Fall of the Archdemon
In the year plus that Kallian had lived in Seheron, she had secured enough money selling off various articles of armor and weaponry, that when added to the heavy change purse she had received from Alistair before departing Ferelden (for what was meant to be a trip lasting no more than eight months - but which likely could have sustained her for five years, 'Just in case,' he had said…) meant she was not wanting for food or clothing for Adaia or herself. Seeing as how her chosen profession of “warrior” was not acceptable in Seheron, this was a decidedly good thing.
She had managed to make friends with a local armorer; an older qunari with a quiet and subdued demeanor. She had come to meet him through one of the Qun philosophers, and had found in him a bit of a kindred spirit. He was open to discussions with her in a way that she had not realized she'd missed, gone from Ferelden for as long as she had been. Not that she didn't adore Sten. She did. Nearly to a fault. But, she had come to enjoy the crowd - their little merry band of misfits, traveling and conversing all across Ferelden - that the narrowing down of her list of people she was close with to just one, had been a harsh slap of reality. She was happy to expand upon that, however she could.
The smith had lost both his wife and child to a wasting illness several years prior, and was exceedingly tolerant of Kallian's - and later Adaia's - presence in his smithy. So much so that he'd only required a minimal amount of persuasion before he began teaching her how to meld the metal. She found that it was an excellent source of stress relief.
And if she felt more than the occasional twinge of envy that Sten had returned to the Beresaad with little trouble, she kept it tightly bound and gagged.
Most days, after she completed the morning's chores, would find her at the armorer's. On occasion, he would grant her a lesson. Sometimes, however, he merely attended to his work while she watched, Adaia curled in close to her body with the aid of a sling. Unsurprisingly, the babe was able to sleep no matter the racket around her, anvil strikes included.
This day, she was moving through the outermost of the three rooms that made up the smithy, her small well-calloused hands trailing over the various pieces of beaten plates and blades that adorned every available surface - Adaia sound asleep in her sling. (The child was growing faster than elfroot, Kallian feared she would not be able to carry her like that for much longer.) Kallian was drawn to one spot in particular where the outline of a greatsword, now missing, could be seen. The wall was discolored, a slightly more vibrant umber when compared to its surroundings, where the sword had so recently sat. She reached out, trailing her fingers along the edge of the outline, visualizing the sword perched there. It had been an exquisite blade. Nothing flashy, of course. Simple. Refined. Each edge sharpened to perfection, and the hilt larger than anything Kallian, with all her well-honed dual-wielding strength, could ever hope to comfortably grasp. She had no doubt that in the proper hands it would be no less than a battering ram.
The steady, harsh pinging sound of hammer upon molten metal tapered off, and a moment later was followed by the sharp sizzle of the metal being doused in water. She listened as the smith made his way through the back rooms out to the front; his deep, rumbling voice echoing on the walls. “That blade had been a special commission, Ashkaari. From one of the Ben-Hassrath for his first-born son.”
Kallian did not remove her eyes, nor her hand, from the wall. “It's been here as long as I can remember.”
“Your memory is not very long.”
Kallian laughed, and turned an exasperated stare to him. “Fine. It has been here for at least the half a year I have been bugging you.”
His yellow eyes narrowed, and his head titled slightly. “You have no insect qualities as far as I can see, Ashkaari.» He peered at her for another moment. “Well, perhaps that pointed chin of yours.”
She waved him off, “Its just an expression. It means that I've been a bit of a pest, a...a nuisance.”
It was his turn to shrug. He moved over to the work table that housed his wash basin, and began to remove some of the soot from his extremities. “If you were a nuisance, you would not be here.” He dunked the cloth into the basin once more, before lifting the soaked cloth to his face, and neck. A low groan greeted her from behind the fabric, causing her to smile.
“Has it only just been retrieved?”
The cloth slipped over the old qunari's face once more before he rung it out over a bucket kept by the side of the basin, and nodded. “Obviously.”
“Why?”
“The Ben-Hassrath had it commissioned before leaving for the Hunterhorn Mountains. He has only just returned.”
“How long ago was that?” Adaia made a disconcerted grumbling noise, and squirmed slightly from the confines of the sling. Kallian did her best to calm the child, cooing and rocking her gently, as she waited for an answer. When it came, she was surprised by its proximity, as the smith had crossed the distance between them and was watching her small daughter with a far away look in his eyes.
“Long enough for the sword to have left such a mark upon my wall.”
Kallian glanced back to the marred wall, and wondered how long such a thing may take. “And the boy?”
A wry grin twisted his features, “Dead. Three years ago. In the service of his Kithshok. It was an honorable death.”
She gasped, and turned her eyes back to his, understanding flooding her. “He was a grown man.” It was an obvious statement to make, one which Sten would have called her out on, but the smith was a much more forgiving man where such things were concerned.
“Yes.”
“Then the father...” Kallian's stomach rolled with unease.
The smith turned his gaze back to Adaia for a moment, pausing briefly before he headed back towards the basin. “Never knew the boy. But the sword was his all the same.”
Kallian nodded, her skin suddenly feeling too dry, and her head full of cotton. She knew what swords meant to qunari warriors. Even if she hadn't endured a nearly 30 minute long (which, when given by a qunari, seemed infinitely longer) lecture by the smith when she first made her entreaty to learn his craft from him, her promise to look for Asala, and the outcome of its eventual retrieval had taught her that quite well. Sten had never truly been whole without the blade. Once it was back in his hands, everything about his demeanor changed. It was a subtle change, to be sure. But one that occurred nonetheless. Even when he was not wielding the sword in battle, its presence nearby had an impact on him. If such a thing as souls did indeed exist, she had no trouble believing that Sten's resided in Asala. What must it have meant that the Ben-Hassrath's son had never held his own during his lifetime? The thought caused a curdling sensation inside her. She moved towards the bench, and leaned upon a stool opposite the smith, the feeling of unease unwound slowly when Adaia awoke with a wide yawn.
“It is good that he came and got it then.”
“I would have delivered it to him, once I'd heard of his return. It was not mine to keep.”
The smith was watching them again, the same familiar look upon his face. She had lost her own mother at such a young age, and it had taken her years to come to terms with that. Now that she was a mother, she couldn't imagine the tables being turned. Couldn't fathom losing her child. No war was worth that. Maybe it was cowardly, or perhaps it was pragmatism. It didn't much matter to her what it was though. She simply knew that leaving her child behind, for any reason, was something that she would fight against for as long as there was breath and blood enough in her body. Watching the smith, she realized that he had that same disjointed look to him that Sten had once upon a time. As if a piece, or pieces, were missing. Even a fool (which Kallian certainly wasn't) could see that the loss of his family had permanently altered him. Altered him in a way that nothing in this world could ever fix.
Kallian admired the strength he had, for she wasn't sure she'd still be standing, were Adaia taken from her.
The smith broke the silence first. “Have you heard back? From your family in Denerim?”
Kallian broke out in a genuine smile, “Oh yes! My cousin's letter arrived only two days ago. She is doing quite well. Causing all sorts of havoc for the nobles, apparently. She seems to take personal delight in irritating the queen, as well. I'd expect nothing less, of course.” If she pointedly avoided mention of Alistair it made no difference in these quarters. Her former relationship with the King was not something she spoke of with anyway, save Sten of course.
He raised one dusty, white eyebrow, “And the father?”
She blinked. She forgot how often qunari dug to the heart of things. Made her look positively tactful in comparison. “Oh, I suspect he is doing fine as well.”
“You have still not told him.”
“I - no. I haven't. Not yet. The situation is rather...complicated.”
He huffed at that. “Life is only as complicated as you make it. But, knowing you, that is likely more complicated than the sun rising and setting each day.”
“Hey! That's quite unfair. I'll have you know that I do not over-complicate everything in my life.”
“No?”
“No.” She made sure to hold herself straight, her chin jutting out. The tiny laugh from her daughter as Kallian's hair swept into her face cracking the facade only slightly.
“Hmm. That explains why you spend your days with an old man like me, and not in a happy home.”
“I like you.”
He nodded his head in Adaia's direction. “One would assume that you also liked her father at one point in time, and yet, he is not here. At your own choosing, I might add.”
She could feel the blush rising to her cheeks, and knew that the conversation was in danger of spiraling out of control.“Its-”
“Complicated. So you have said. But I counter that sending a letter would be a surprisingly simple task. Certainly simpler than folding metal, which you have managed aptly enough.”
She cleared her throat, “Speaking of which, you were going to show me how to work with veridium, weren't you?”
His lip pulled up in a near smile, “Indeed. But after lunch. Your babe is getting restless.”
And indeed, she was.
On to Chapter 4!
Author: skybound2
Characters: Fem!City-Elf PC (Kallian Tabris), Sten, Zevran, and Alistair (the overall fic is Zevran/Tabris with Sten and some others tossed in. Liberally, at times. References Alistair/Tabris and Zevran/Other.)
Word Count: ~3000 (this chapter, ~12000 so far)
Rating: T
Summary: Heroes have problems too. That's why they need friends. In this bit: Zevran makes a decision, and the Warden gets on with qunari surprisingly well. .
Spoilers: Through end game.
Author's Note: I swear that I am working towards having Zevran and Tabris in the same room (and not in a flashback). It will happen! This story can also be found at FFN. Many, many thanks to pennydreadful for the beta!!! I would also like to say thanks to everyone that's been reading and reviewing, you are all made of awesome :-) Here's hoping it doesn't disappoint!
Previously:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Interlude (the First)
Chapter 3
Denerim: Fourteen Months after the Fall of the Archdemon
Unsurprisingly, Alistair was not as open to the majority of Zevran's suggestions as the former Crow would have liked. Alistair may no longer have been the bright-eyed Chantry boy that he once was, but still he held an obvious distaste for the more unsavory aspects of life. Not to mention that the King still held the Wardens in high esteem, and did not wish to do anything that would be truly detrimental to their ranks. This scratched out nearly one-third of his ideas. Which was a pity, as they had all been subtle masterpieces of espionage, intrigue, and - yes - a little bit of sex. But really, what good plan didn't involve copious amounts of sex? Nor, did he wish to engage in any acts of overt sabotage, assassination, subterfuge, or anything equally helpful.
He recalled one of his last suggestions: “It would not do any permanent damage, I assure you Alistair. It would merely be...a long-term incentive if you will. Should they decide to go searching for her again, the pain would flair up, and presto they would find themselves with more, how shall we say...pressing manners. It would be a simple enough spell to perform, if one is willing to pay the right mage the right price.”
“An apostate, you mean.”
Zevran raised a brow, “You suddenly have an issue working with apostates, my friend?”
“There is nothing at all sudden about it Zevran. I will not employ a maleficar.” Zevran had opened his mouth to interrupt, but Alistair cut him off with a raised hand., his cheeks flushed.“Contrary to popular opinion, I'm not an idiot. And I do have Templar training. The kind of magic you are talking about wouldn't require just the average mage. It would require one experienced in blood magic. Not something we are likely to find at the Circle.”
“I won't deny that the methods of accomplishing this particular task would be looked down upon by the Chantry, Alistair. But, you have systematically vetoed every other option that I have presented. There is only so long that the Wardens are going to buy your continued assurances that Kallian is in the Gamordan Peaks or Llomeryon.”
The King nearly smiled, “Oh, I don't know. We aren't doing so bad so far. Your forgery skills are really quite top notch.”
Zevran gave Alistair a tight-lipped smile. “Be that as it may, I do believe we need to start investigating other avenues.”
Zevran watched as Alistair's face dropped, and he wiped a weary hand across his neck. “Fine. Only...not tonight. I think I've had enough of this for one evening.”
Zevran was practically beside himself with annoyance. It was almost as if Alistair wanted the Wardens to retrieve Kallian. He snorted, the thought was actually more probable than anything. Alistair may have claimed to understand why Kallian wanted nothing more to do with the Wardens, but Zevran had his doubts. It was clear that the King was still entirely enthralled with the concept of the Wardens - he still wished to be one of their active ranks. Overseeing their growth in Ferelden was one of the few activities he seemed to take distinct pleasure in, even if he only got to do it from the comfort of his throne (something which rankled him to no end, Zevran could tell).
Now that Zevran really took the time to examine the King and his reactions, it seemed most likely that Alistair would think that allowing the Wardens to go after Kallian wouldn't be such a bad thing. He obviously held no ill will towards the order, and it was clear as day to anyone that looked that he wanted her back in Denerim. Perhaps he saw this as the only way to get her back. Back from Seheron. Back from Sten.
Back in his bed.
The thought shouldn't have angered Zevran as much as it did, but the unconscious clenching of his hands into fists was proof enough that would should and shouldn't matter, made very little difference.
He'd managed to keep his opinions on Alistair's poor excuses to himself during their talks (and even managed to make the King of Ferelden blush so furiously at one point, that Zevran wasn't certain the man's cheeks would ever return to normal). He'd even received some mild praise from the man, which was quite the feat in and of itself. All things considered, Zevran wasn't doing too poorly.
But, from his perspective, Kallian returning to Denerim would present an...issue. Not that he didn't long to see her once more, he merely had very little faith in her or Alistair's willpower when it came to one another, and now that Eamon had begun to put heavy pressure on the King to produce an heir...well, Kallian didn't deserve to be witness to that.
If she wished to rejoin the Wardens, so be it. (Although Zevran truly did not believe that to be the case.) But Zevran was not a fool, and he knew that there was some element that he was missing. Something that had to do with the how behind Kallian's defeat of the Archdemon. And no, no he decidedly did not want to think about how willing she seemed to be to throw her life away at the beast. She had left him at the gates. Told him not to worry, that it would all work out. And it had, hadn't it? They'd all made it through. Zevran wasn't sure what was worse, the idea that she went up there planning to die and hadn't told him, or the idea that she went up there knowing she wouldn't die, and still not told him. Either option left him in the dark. No. No there was something that neither Kallian nor Alistair was owning up to. Something that they hadn't informed the Wardens about. And if there was something that Alistair was willing to lie about, for this long, then it couldn't be good.
Perhaps it was time that Zevran said his faretheewells to Ferelden, and made his way to the north (it had really been quite some time since he had been to Antiva, after all. And he had always heard how lovely Par Vollen could be in the spring...)
He just needed to pay a brief visit to an oh-so-lovely red-headed elf over in the alienage first, and see if she had any recent news on their wayward Warden to provide.
Seheron: Sixteen Months after the Fall of the Archdemon
In the year plus that Kallian had lived in Seheron, she had secured enough money selling off various articles of armor and weaponry, that when added to the heavy change purse she had received from Alistair before departing Ferelden (for what was meant to be a trip lasting no more than eight months - but which likely could have sustained her for five years, 'Just in case,' he had said…) meant she was not wanting for food or clothing for Adaia or herself. Seeing as how her chosen profession of “warrior” was not acceptable in Seheron, this was a decidedly good thing.
She had managed to make friends with a local armorer; an older qunari with a quiet and subdued demeanor. She had come to meet him through one of the Qun philosophers, and had found in him a bit of a kindred spirit. He was open to discussions with her in a way that she had not realized she'd missed, gone from Ferelden for as long as she had been. Not that she didn't adore Sten. She did. Nearly to a fault. But, she had come to enjoy the crowd - their little merry band of misfits, traveling and conversing all across Ferelden - that the narrowing down of her list of people she was close with to just one, had been a harsh slap of reality. She was happy to expand upon that, however she could.
The smith had lost both his wife and child to a wasting illness several years prior, and was exceedingly tolerant of Kallian's - and later Adaia's - presence in his smithy. So much so that he'd only required a minimal amount of persuasion before he began teaching her how to meld the metal. She found that it was an excellent source of stress relief.
And if she felt more than the occasional twinge of envy that Sten had returned to the Beresaad with little trouble, she kept it tightly bound and gagged.
Most days, after she completed the morning's chores, would find her at the armorer's. On occasion, he would grant her a lesson. Sometimes, however, he merely attended to his work while she watched, Adaia curled in close to her body with the aid of a sling. Unsurprisingly, the babe was able to sleep no matter the racket around her, anvil strikes included.
This day, she was moving through the outermost of the three rooms that made up the smithy, her small well-calloused hands trailing over the various pieces of beaten plates and blades that adorned every available surface - Adaia sound asleep in her sling. (The child was growing faster than elfroot, Kallian feared she would not be able to carry her like that for much longer.) Kallian was drawn to one spot in particular where the outline of a greatsword, now missing, could be seen. The wall was discolored, a slightly more vibrant umber when compared to its surroundings, where the sword had so recently sat. She reached out, trailing her fingers along the edge of the outline, visualizing the sword perched there. It had been an exquisite blade. Nothing flashy, of course. Simple. Refined. Each edge sharpened to perfection, and the hilt larger than anything Kallian, with all her well-honed dual-wielding strength, could ever hope to comfortably grasp. She had no doubt that in the proper hands it would be no less than a battering ram.
The steady, harsh pinging sound of hammer upon molten metal tapered off, and a moment later was followed by the sharp sizzle of the metal being doused in water. She listened as the smith made his way through the back rooms out to the front; his deep, rumbling voice echoing on the walls. “That blade had been a special commission, Ashkaari. From one of the Ben-Hassrath for his first-born son.”
Kallian did not remove her eyes, nor her hand, from the wall. “It's been here as long as I can remember.”
“Your memory is not very long.”
Kallian laughed, and turned an exasperated stare to him. “Fine. It has been here for at least the half a year I have been bugging you.”
His yellow eyes narrowed, and his head titled slightly. “You have no insect qualities as far as I can see, Ashkaari.» He peered at her for another moment. “Well, perhaps that pointed chin of yours.”
She waved him off, “Its just an expression. It means that I've been a bit of a pest, a...a nuisance.”
It was his turn to shrug. He moved over to the work table that housed his wash basin, and began to remove some of the soot from his extremities. “If you were a nuisance, you would not be here.” He dunked the cloth into the basin once more, before lifting the soaked cloth to his face, and neck. A low groan greeted her from behind the fabric, causing her to smile.
“Has it only just been retrieved?”
The cloth slipped over the old qunari's face once more before he rung it out over a bucket kept by the side of the basin, and nodded. “Obviously.”
“Why?”
“The Ben-Hassrath had it commissioned before leaving for the Hunterhorn Mountains. He has only just returned.”
“How long ago was that?” Adaia made a disconcerted grumbling noise, and squirmed slightly from the confines of the sling. Kallian did her best to calm the child, cooing and rocking her gently, as she waited for an answer. When it came, she was surprised by its proximity, as the smith had crossed the distance between them and was watching her small daughter with a far away look in his eyes.
“Long enough for the sword to have left such a mark upon my wall.”
Kallian glanced back to the marred wall, and wondered how long such a thing may take. “And the boy?”
A wry grin twisted his features, “Dead. Three years ago. In the service of his Kithshok. It was an honorable death.”
She gasped, and turned her eyes back to his, understanding flooding her. “He was a grown man.” It was an obvious statement to make, one which Sten would have called her out on, but the smith was a much more forgiving man where such things were concerned.
“Yes.”
“Then the father...” Kallian's stomach rolled with unease.
The smith turned his gaze back to Adaia for a moment, pausing briefly before he headed back towards the basin. “Never knew the boy. But the sword was his all the same.”
Kallian nodded, her skin suddenly feeling too dry, and her head full of cotton. She knew what swords meant to qunari warriors. Even if she hadn't endured a nearly 30 minute long (which, when given by a qunari, seemed infinitely longer) lecture by the smith when she first made her entreaty to learn his craft from him, her promise to look for Asala, and the outcome of its eventual retrieval had taught her that quite well. Sten had never truly been whole without the blade. Once it was back in his hands, everything about his demeanor changed. It was a subtle change, to be sure. But one that occurred nonetheless. Even when he was not wielding the sword in battle, its presence nearby had an impact on him. If such a thing as souls did indeed exist, she had no trouble believing that Sten's resided in Asala. What must it have meant that the Ben-Hassrath's son had never held his own during his lifetime? The thought caused a curdling sensation inside her. She moved towards the bench, and leaned upon a stool opposite the smith, the feeling of unease unwound slowly when Adaia awoke with a wide yawn.
“It is good that he came and got it then.”
“I would have delivered it to him, once I'd heard of his return. It was not mine to keep.”
The smith was watching them again, the same familiar look upon his face. She had lost her own mother at such a young age, and it had taken her years to come to terms with that. Now that she was a mother, she couldn't imagine the tables being turned. Couldn't fathom losing her child. No war was worth that. Maybe it was cowardly, or perhaps it was pragmatism. It didn't much matter to her what it was though. She simply knew that leaving her child behind, for any reason, was something that she would fight against for as long as there was breath and blood enough in her body. Watching the smith, she realized that he had that same disjointed look to him that Sten had once upon a time. As if a piece, or pieces, were missing. Even a fool (which Kallian certainly wasn't) could see that the loss of his family had permanently altered him. Altered him in a way that nothing in this world could ever fix.
Kallian admired the strength he had, for she wasn't sure she'd still be standing, were Adaia taken from her.
The smith broke the silence first. “Have you heard back? From your family in Denerim?”
Kallian broke out in a genuine smile, “Oh yes! My cousin's letter arrived only two days ago. She is doing quite well. Causing all sorts of havoc for the nobles, apparently. She seems to take personal delight in irritating the queen, as well. I'd expect nothing less, of course.” If she pointedly avoided mention of Alistair it made no difference in these quarters. Her former relationship with the King was not something she spoke of with anyway, save Sten of course.
He raised one dusty, white eyebrow, “And the father?”
She blinked. She forgot how often qunari dug to the heart of things. Made her look positively tactful in comparison. “Oh, I suspect he is doing fine as well.”
“You have still not told him.”
“I - no. I haven't. Not yet. The situation is rather...complicated.”
He huffed at that. “Life is only as complicated as you make it. But, knowing you, that is likely more complicated than the sun rising and setting each day.”
“Hey! That's quite unfair. I'll have you know that I do not over-complicate everything in my life.”
“No?”
“No.” She made sure to hold herself straight, her chin jutting out. The tiny laugh from her daughter as Kallian's hair swept into her face cracking the facade only slightly.
“Hmm. That explains why you spend your days with an old man like me, and not in a happy home.”
“I like you.”
He nodded his head in Adaia's direction. “One would assume that you also liked her father at one point in time, and yet, he is not here. At your own choosing, I might add.”
She could feel the blush rising to her cheeks, and knew that the conversation was in danger of spiraling out of control.“Its-”
“Complicated. So you have said. But I counter that sending a letter would be a surprisingly simple task. Certainly simpler than folding metal, which you have managed aptly enough.”
She cleared her throat, “Speaking of which, you were going to show me how to work with veridium, weren't you?”
His lip pulled up in a near smile, “Indeed. But after lunch. Your babe is getting restless.”
And indeed, she was.
On to Chapter 4!