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It is no secret that the Viscount is ashamed of his son. Saemus Dumar sees his father’s disappointment in every strained conversation they have: You read too much and fight too little. You ask too many questions and give too few commands. How will you lead Kirkwall when not one of its citizens would follow you?
But Saemus does not want to lead, and he is certain his father knows this as well. The Viscount crown is constricting, and it has aged Saemus’s father beyond his years; selfish as it may be, Saemus does not want the same fate for himself.
So, where his father would have him sit in the Viscount’s office and help rule, Saemus finds excuses to leave Kirkwall. He says that he’s fostering loyalty among those who live outside the city walls, and working to forge an alliance with the Dalish. In truth, though, he leaves them well enough alone – and in exchange he gets a curt nod instead of the point of an arrow when they do cross paths.
Instead of playing the diplomat, he takes long walks up and down Sundermount, and spends days out by the Wounded Coast. He could name every birdsong he hears, and he’s sure that if he did his father would only purse his lips and sigh – but Saemus is happy, or at least as happy as he’s ever known how to be, and if his wanderings mean that he can put off ruling for even one more day, then that makes the sunshine just a little bit sweeter.
One of his favorite spots on the Coast is a perch he discovered quite by accident. It overlooks the main path and, beyond that, the Waking Sea, and on clear days Saemus brings a telescope to try and see all the way across to Ferelden.
It is on one of these days that he first sees Ashaad.
Saemus knows little about Qunari, save that his father is constantly speaking with his advisors about the Arishok down by the docks. From listening to them, Saemus suspects they believe that it will be Qunari, and not darkspawn, that cause the Sixth Blight. But this is the first time Saemus has seen a Qunari outside the city, and…
He seems relaxed.
He is sitting just at one of the curves of the Coast, feet propped on some rocks jutting out from the water. Saemus is relatively far away, but it looks like the Qunari is drawing or writing something. His grey skin is bare of the red paint that Saemus has seen adorning the Qunari messengers who come to the Viscount’s Keep.
Before Saemus has made a conscious decision, he finds his feet already carrying him down the slope. He crosses the main path and starts picking his way through the weeds and rocks.
“Ho there, friend,” he calls out, still at a safe distance. If there is any truth at all to his father’s anxieties, he wants to be careful. But rather than snarling or brandishing a weapon – as the Viscount’s advisors might have him expect – the Qunari simply turns, an expression of mild curiosity in his eyes.
“Hello,” he says to Saemus, and turns back to his work.
Saemus, for his part, is a bit bemused as to how he ought to continue. But since the Qunari has not explicitly forbade him from moving closer, he does just that.
“May – may I join you?”
Once again, the Qunari looks up. “You may,” he says.
Saemus waits, but no further invitation seems to be forthcoming. So he finds a rock that looks relatively comfortable, and sits down. It’s quite a nice view – he can see the Coast curving out into the water in both directions, and there are some tiny islands dotting the bay. Saemus briefly entertains the idea of swimming out to them, and smiles to himself as he imagines trying to explain his soaking wet clothes to his father.
“Something funny?” The Qunari is looking at him again, and Saemus is surprised by how intensely golden his eyes are.
“Er,” he says eloquently. “No, sorry. I mean – well, I was just thinking about those islands, and swimming out to explore them, and how silly that idea must seem – ”
“Is exploration silly?”
Saemus smiles. “No, I suppose it is rather important, actually.”
“Indeed.” The Qunari gestures at his work. “Exploration is my current purpose.”
“Oh! Are you making maps?”
“Yes. The Arishok sent me to map the Wounded Coast.” He considers his papers for a moment. “It is quite extensive. I have been here for several days already.”
“Yes, it is. You, um – you work for him? For the Arishok?”
“All Qunari serve the Arishok.” The Qunari does not seem offended. His tone is one that might be adopted when instructing a small child in matters of fact.
“Ah. Right. Of course. I – you do know that we have maps of the Wounded Coast already, don’t you?”
“Certainly.”
Saemus waits again, but the Qunari has returned to his work with no further elaboration. After a few minutes his curiosity gets the best of him.
“Sorry, but – if you know we have maps, why make your own? Don’t you trust – ”
And, just like that, he’s answered his own question. “Oh. No, you don’t trust us, do you?”
“The Arishok does not trust you, no. Have you given him reason to?”
Saemus can’t help a short laugh, shaking his head. “I can’t say we have.”
“Hmm.” The Qunari is considering him carefully. “You are the first human I have encountered who readily admits this. You are also the most inquisitive human I have met. Why is this?”
Saemus shrugs. “I think we have a lot to learn. Humans in general, and Kirkwall humans in particular. Don’t much care for Kirkwall myself, to be honest. That’s why I come out here.”
There is a beat of silence. Then Qunari nods, and Saemus feels oddly like he has just passed a test of some sort.
“I am Ashaad of the Qun,” the Qunari says.
“Saemus Dumar. And before you ask, yes, I am the son of the Viscount. Unfortunately.”
Ashaad smiles for the first time in their conversation. “I understand now why you do not care for Kirkwall.”
*
Saemus accompanies Ashaad for the rest of his trek along the Wounded Coast. Ashaad does not speak much, and Saemus finds himself asking questions upon questions – how did Ashaad come to be in Kirkwall? what was his family like? (and then, what do you mean you didn’t know your family?) what, exactly, is the Qun? why don’t Qunari smile much? – yet even with answers there is still so much he does not understand.
Ashaad asks him things too, sometimes. What was it like growing up with a family, and why has he not left Kirkwall yet, and also why does he ask so very many questions?
Though Saemus worries that he is irritating Ashaad, the Qunari never snaps at him or tells him he is ignorant and should be quiet. And for his part, Saemus appreciates the comfortable silence that falls between them sometimes, listening to their footfalls or birdsong or waves lapping at the shore.
Ashaad, as it turns out, does a lot of mapping. He begins paying street urchins to carry messages to Saemus at the Viscount’s Keep, usually with just a location – Sundermount, or the Bone Pit, or any number of the small mountains and beaches surrounding Kirkwall. Saemus meets him as soon as he can, and the two of them travel together, sometimes for a few days.
It’s during one of these trips, mapping out a lightly-traveled path just west of Sundermount, that Ashaad stops and just looks at Saemus. Saemus doesn’t notice at first, too preoccupied with sketching some flowers he hasn’t seen before, but then he turns and sees Ashaad and feels himself flush.
“Yes?”
There is a very small smile on Ashaad’s face. He tilts his head. “You are very attractive.”
Saemus flushes even more. He’s certainly spent time admiring Ashaad’s broad shoulders, muscled forearms, the depth of his eyes and the curve of his horns and the grace of his movements and…
He’d never thought Ashaad would be interested in him. But now, Ashaad is slowly closing the distance between them.
“Is my attention unwanted?”
So polite, always. An undignified giggle escapes Saemus, and he clears his throat, trying to regain his composure.
“Um – unexpected, but not – not unwanted.”
“Good.”
Ashaad finally reaches him, and cups Saemus’s cheek in one hand. His voice is quiet, and it rumbles through Saemus’s body, leaving a pleasant warmth behind. Ashaad leans down, and Saemus leans up, and then they’re kissing, and Ashaad’s mouth is so soft, his lips and tongue so welcoming, and Saemus wraps one arm around his waist and the other around his neck and tries to get closer, tries to let him know how much this means to him.
They pull apart and Saemus is breathless, vision just a little blurry, head just a little foggy. Ashaad’s skin seems flushed, and Saemus feels a burst of pride. He did that. He had an effect on Ashaad.
“I doubt either of our superiors would approve of this,” Ashaad tells him.
“Well,” Saemus says, tracing Ashaad’s jaw. “Nothing wrong with some exploration, is there?” He leans up and kisses Ashaad again, and feels his lips curl into a smile.