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The Anderfel – Tevinter border, 9:51 Dragon
Still swollen from the lashings of rawhide, Rook's back screams at her to stop. She grits her teeth, pleading with her legs to keep moving. They were so close to Varric's camp. So close to a snug bedroll and a warm meal.
“You know kid, I thought it'd take more to convince you, but here you are, taking a gamble on a crusty old dwarf like me.” Varric offers the weary warden a wink, playfully flipping a coin in the air as he speaks. “Lady luck may just be on our side.”
Just why am I doing this again? She could have gone back. Back to Hossberg. Back to the ranch where her and Toby once called home. Except she didn't. I'm a disappointment, and a coward. With the tip of her boot, she kicks a pebble, watching as it bounces across the horizon.“You're lucky my calendar is free. Disgraced Grey Wardens are in high demand.”
Varric grumbles in disagreement. “You're a hero Rook, and I need heroes right about now.”
Hero? Rook thinks people use that word far too liberally. She can still hear the wailing of small children. How their desperate pleas breached their barricade, stabbing at her heart. Yes she ignored orders to lead the charge, but why? Was it because she didn't want their deaths on her conscience? Heroes aren't supposed to be selfish, she considers. Another grunt escapes her as her back continues to throb with the memory of the First Warden's wrath.
“Not long now, kid.” Varric smiles reassuringly. There's something about his easy-going character that reminds her of him.
The father I left to rot in that cesspool of a city.
“There's someone I'd like you to meet when we get there. She used to scout for the Inquisition, the best around.”
Rook grunts once more, clutching the small of her back in discomfort. She isn't much in the mood to meet new people. Her pain has not gone unnoticed by Varric.
“A warning, she's a dwarf like me. Your posture will be shot stomping around us little people.”
“Used to it,” Rook replies casually. She wouldn't be surprised if her spine is misaligned from all the stooping. “My father is a dwarf.”
This stops Varric in his tracks. He stands at a distance to take in the entirety of Rook's form. “He a Titan or something?”
“Adoptive father.” She lets out a small laugh, recalling something. “He never could quite discipline me. The growth spurt didn't help. By the age of fifteen, I was slinging him over my shoulder.”
“He teach you to fight? You fight like a dwarf.”
“Sort of. He gave me my first axe on my sixteenth birthday. Said it belonged to his grandfather.”
Tobias even went through the effort to wrap it in floral paper, tying the oversized package with a neat bow. Most girls she knew were receiving shiny trinkets and garments to wear on their person. All before they were married off to some local pig farmer or other. Yet, there she was, receiving the means to decapitate someone with no suitor in sight.
Nothing says 'sweet sixteen' like sharpened veridium.
“Apparently his grandfather was some disgraced noble from Orzammar? Wound up exiled to the surface.”
Varric narrows his eyes. “Not an unfamiliar story... Sounds like you didn't believe him?”
Rook shrugs. “Dwarfs have this habit of seasoning their stories with spice.” She smirks knowingly at the man in front.
“Careful Rook, you're beginning to sound like a bigot... But...” He turns to take a bow. “I think my retellings make life more interesting... Say, when I tell your story, what do you want, a silver tongue or spectacular tits?”
Her smirk spills into laughter. “Sounds like you won't need to season anything.”
The pair press on, the occasional banter bouncing back and forth. Meanwhile, Rook had been doing her best to hydrate. She despised summers in the Anderfels, knowing only too well the effects of dehydration and heat stroke. Naturally, the more she drinks, the more irrepressible the call of nature. Her weighty bladder yearning to be emptied. “One moment Varric, just need to do my business over there.” She points to a nearby shrub.
Varric groans. “Rook, camp is just around the corner!”
“I take it there will be an abundance of shrubs, trees and tall rocks to maintain my privacy? As you can see, the landscape is positively lush this time of year.” The landscape is in fact typical of Ander 'countryside,' barren and unyielding. That mere shrub was the first sign of plant life they'd seen in a good while.
“No, but... Argh, just go!” Varric holds up his hands, defeated.
With the increasing pressure growing in her abdomen, she sprints towards the shrub, hastily lowering her trousers and undergarments en-route. She can hear the dwarf cuss behind her. Squatting with her eyes closed, she releases a sigh of relief as a stream of urine forms.
THRUUM
She hears something fly past her ear.
What in Thedas was that!? An insect?
Peeling her eyes open, she staggers back in horror. Before her lies the corpse of a slain ghastling; a fetid clump of grey flesh and sharp bone. Its listless face looks up to the sky, an arrow protruding from its bulging, bloodshot eye.
With a yelp, she waddles away into view. “Varric! Thank the Maker you had Bia-”
Except, it's not the renowned author, it's something, no someone a lot easier on the eye.
“Varric, I swear on the Maker... Oh! Ah... Hi?” A dwarven woman greets her. She stands covered from head to toe in viscera. Despite the gore, her fiery red hair, tied neatly into intricate plaits shines like a beacon in the brilliant sunlight, drawing Rook in like a siren's song.
I wonder what it looks like down? Just how long is it?
“Harding! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes!” Varric swaggers into view. “Great shot by the way, but why so bloody, don't you kill from afar-”
“Never mind that!" Harding is not best pleased, her arms extended in exasperation. “Where were you!? You walk out of camp one night telling me that you 'had to see a man about a dog,' whatever that's code for. Then you don't come back... for three whole days!”
Varric winces. Rook isn't sure if it's a manifestation of guilt or a reaction to the volume of Harding's ire. “I'll be more considerate next time freckles.”
Huh, she does have a lot of freckles. I wonder if they're all over her body... Rook's mind wanders.
Varric continues - “I did bring help. A skilled, highly competent warrior in fact. Harding, meet Warden Thorne, or as I call her, Rook.” A proud grin forms on his face as he turns to the Warden, but it falters as soon as he lays eyes on her. “Hells, pull your pants up kid!”
“Damnit!” Too distracted by the freckled beauty before her, Rook failed to notice that her trousers still lie pooled around her ankles. Chancing a glance at Harding, she spots the cherry red hue ripening on her cheeks, and, more interestingly, how her hazel eyes linger on her thighs, for longer than what is polite or appropriate.
Yet, I don't mind...
Rook hoists her trousers up, watching as the scout's eyes ascend to her face.
“Ah, hehehe... Sorry Rook, it's very nice to meet you, but may I have a word with Varric?” She swiftly shepherds him towards camp, and Rook trails behind. The Warden permits them enough distance to talk privately. All the while, Harding spares the occasional glance behind her, not in annoyance or resentment, but curiosity. Her mouth slightly agape as she takes the other woman in.
They finally arrive at camp. It's a modest set up of two tents and a keyhole fire. There's a a smoky, sweet smell emanating from the latter, and Rook prays barbecued ghastling isn't on the menu. Harding pauses, pivoting on the spot to face her, the blush creeping in once more. “Don't worry, we have a third tent.”
Rook isn't sure why she's disappointed to hear that. I wonder if she snores...
Harding fidgets with the straps on her apron. “Varric told me about what you did with the Wardens, how you charged in to seal that tunnel.”
Rook tuts, she doesn't need to be built up as something she isn't. “Embellishing his stories again, I see.”
This earns a giggle from Harding, and Rook feels her pulse quicken at the sound. “You know as much as you need to know about him already. Although, this time, he did sound pretty sincere... I see he's given you a nickname already, I-” Harding's voice trails off, her eyes journeying down to linger on Rook's crotch.
A bit forward, aren't we Harding?
Harding's eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. “One of the reasons he called you Rook is because you think in straight lines... Shame you don't pee in them.”
Rook's eyes scan down to the offending area; there's a noticeable wet patch marring her groin area and extending down her left leg. “Ah bollocks! I was midstream, and then there was that insect that wasn't an insect and... Argh!”
There's another giggle, and any frustration Rook feels melts away. “Sorry,” Harding apologises, “normally, I'm a lot more careful and considerate with my words, but there's something about you, and...” She breaks off into nervous laughter.
“I like the sass,” Rook blurts, “please, sass me anytime.”
What am I doing!?
Rook internally screams at herself for having the grace of a genlock.
“Oh, okay, erm...” A flustered Harding scratches at the back of her neck. “I need to wash. As you can see I've not made the best first impression... If I knew you were coming, I'd have worn my finery and... Wait... what am I saying?”
Now all Rook can do is imagine Harding in a dress, the fitted cut accentuating her buxom-
“I'm happy to see you come!”
“Pardon?” Rook feels very light headed.
“No no, I'm happy you came. Wait. Crap. I'm glad you're here!” Harding doesn't spare another look as she darts off in the direction of the stream.
“Wait, I need a wash, I could join-”
Never mind, she's gone.