Work Text:
Reports of a surviving Venatori cell spotted down the coast had Tarquin leading a party of Shadows in pursuit. Given the size of the group, Tarquin’s team had been directed to rendezvous with a secondary squad at an appointed location a few miles down the coast. They’d arrived a short time ago, without any trace of the Shadows assigned to meet them, and as the minutes passed and his team relaxed by degrees Tarquin debated forging on ahead.
Fists propped on his hips, he scowled down the slope of the long, high hill they waited upon to the small wharf utilized only by a few locals for fishing. The afternoon sun glittered on the waves of the Nocen Sea.
The latest scout indicated the Venatori mages now pushed inland in a south-southwest bearing, parallel to the Imperial Highway. Though there were miles of forest between the Highway and the coast, the spike-shaped peninsula created by the High Reaches effectively made a straight track to follow. The Venatori would be anxious to leave the area as quickly as they could.
“Where are these layabouts who were supposed to meet us?” Tarquin muttered, not quietly.
“Ehm,” said Tivel, pointing, “right there, I suppose.”
Tarquin turned northward and immediately identified the man on horseback leading three other Shadows arranged in a horse-drawn wagon. He bit back his initial reaction, his mouth working hard on a frown, and released a sigh as he watched them close the distance on the thin, wagon-track path cutting through the thick grass.
“Andraste’s magnificent tits, who let you out of the city?”
The Viper reined his bay mare to a halt, ponying a fleabitten-grey gelding alongside him. In the shadow of his hat’s brim, one dark eyebrow rose. “They let me go on my own recognizance.” He dismounted and drew the mare’s reins over her head, guiding the two horses a few steps closer. “I brought more efficient transport.”
Tarquin flicked his gaze over the Viper’s shoulder toward the wagon. “I see that. Right,” he called, “everyone pack it in so we can finally be on our way.”
Behind him, Tival, Burke, and Marin picked up their packs and made their way to the wagon.
Stepping close, Tarquin poked a finger into the leather armor covering the Viper’s chest. “You let me say goodbye to you this morning.”
After the assignment had been given and the meeting ended, they had mutually slipped away into an alcove whose privacy depended on faith or desperation rather than actual logistics.
Above the mask, Ashur’s eyes creased with self-satisfaction. Tarquin’s ears burned. “My plans changed. As it turns out, the city doesn’t always require my presence.”
“How long before someone notices?” Tarquin persisted in rough whisper.
“Everyone knows the Divine is a busy man.”
Tarquin stared at him unhappily. The Viper, as an alias, still held. Not as securely as it once had, before the assault on Minrathous. For now, only an expanded circle of allies were privy to his true identity. Eventually, someone would piece things together and then they would have a problem of a different kind on their hands.
“Quin—”
He jerked his chin toward the horses standing at Ashur’s shoulder. “I hope you don’t expect me to get on top of one those things.”
Ashur’s bright eyes studied him. Tarquin easily imagined the hidden tilt of his mouth. “Petruvius is very patient with new riders.”
“Who’s a rider?” Tarquin scoffed. “Not me!”
“I wouldn’t have brought him for you if I didn’t trust him with you.”
“You better not have bought him for me, Ashur.”
“I’m not that naive. No, Petruvius and Daphne have both been signed out from the estate’s stables by our discrete lord benefactor, Lux Ignis.”
Another alias, this one used when Ashur needed to transfer assets from the Vesperian side of his life to the more Shadow-filled one. Tarquin privately thought it was a poor name, but the highbloods seemed to enjoy the flourish of obvious symbolism. At least it wasn’t Felix Aeternus or Vito Immortalis. Their benefactor’s name was practically tame compared to all that.
Tarquin folded his arms. “Still not getting me on that beast.”
“Don’t tell me you’re scared of horses.”
“Go on, have a laugh. I don’t think I’m crazy for not wanting to get anywhere near something that weighs over a thousand pounds. Could bash my head in with a twitch of its back leg. Or bite clean through my finger. And the noises they make—stuff of nightmares.” Tarquin stepped around Ashur. “I’ll be in the wagon.”
From the driver’s bench, Orek called out, “Wagon’s full, mate.”
He rocked back on his heels. “What d’you mean, wagon’s full? We each only brought one pack.”
“Provisions.”
“Provisions,” he repeated.
“For camp.”
“Camp.” Said slower, with reluctance. He’d hoped to catch up with the Venatori before camping became a necessity. Now, with Ashur among their number, he wanted even less to spend more than a day out of the city.
His gaze trailed back to Ashur.
“Wagon’s full,” Ashur informed him with an innocent lift of his eyebrows.
Tarquin glanced sidelong at the grey gelding, who ripped at the grass with those huge, blunt teeth. Its tail flicked the air, skin twitching away an errant fly.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.
Ashur moved closer, his arm brushing Tarquin’s side. “I can give you a hand up.”
Tarquin got on the horse with minimal swearing, it should be noted. And with Ashur’s confident grip guiding his boot into the stirrup. And a final two-handed boost on his arse that didn’t seem strictly necessary. Tarquin shot him a look and received the same hidden smile as Ashur handed him the reins.
“What am I meant to do with this?”
“Just hold on to them. Don’t worry about guiding; Petruvius will follow Daphne.”
Ashur mounted up in a fluid, practiced motion, all strong thighs and a glimpse of his rear through his dramatic coattails. He tapped his heels to Daphne’s sides and started onward. As promised, the grey gelding followed after and Tarquin swallowed a startled yelp as the animal’s gait rocked him in the saddle.
“Bloody bastard,” he muttered at the Viper’s back.
Ashur turned his head, his visible eye nearly fucking twinkling with mirth. “Keep your heels down and relax your reins.”
“Never knew you to have a twisted sense of humor, Viper,” he grumbled, tempted to forget the reins entirely and grab the saddle horn, which seemed the sturdier option.
Ashur laughed that low sound which rumbled in his chest. It was one of Tarquin’s favorites. “You’ll do just fine.”
Before he could retort, Ashur’s horse picked up speed and reliable, steady Petruvius jounced forward. Tarquin cursed breathlessly as he held on for dear life.
Camp. Tarquin had changed his mind about camp. Stopping to camp was a crucial necessity. Ashur caught him as he tumbled backward in the dismount.
“Fuck—!”
Ashur merely grunted, taking his weight.
Tarquin found his feet and groaned as his muscles tensed in a different configuration than the one they’d been subject to for hours. “How does anyone survive riding these blighted animals all day?”
“You get used to it.”
“I fucking won’t.”
Ashur patted his shoulder consolingly, but Tarquin heard his fucking chuckle and he swore he’d do something tonight—
“So,” Ashur mused, “camp.” He observed the other Shadows unpacking the wagon: canvas, poles, and rope for the tents, piles of bedrolls, a couple crates of foodstuffs—everything Tarquin had seen hundreds of times before when he had served the Soporati infantry.
Ah. Beautiful.
“Say, Orek, how many tents you’ve got there?”
The slim Qunari man glanced toward the piles. “Not enough for everyone, weren’t enough room. We’ll have to sleep doubled up.”
Perfect.
“I’ll save everyone the awkwardness of finding out if the Viper sleeps with his mask on.”
Orek nodded placidly, wholly unconcerned. Marin, however, looked up from one of the crates with a suspicious, darting glance. Tival had stopped, arms full of canvas and poles, seeming to earnestly ponder the question. Burke nearly walked into him, his own arms laden with supplies, and nudged him in the back to keep moving. Dexsia finally caught Marin’s eye and a quick smile passed between them.
It was Tarquin’s turn to clap Ashur on the back. “All right, Viper, let’s see how well you pitch a tent.”
Sounding a little strangled, he replied, “Only if you take care of the horses.”
Just as Tarquin started to protest, dear, sweet, quiet Amica slipped by and took both horses’ reins. “I have them, sir.”
“See, Amica has it all sorted.”
“Mm. Then,” Ashur said slowly, “I will request the necessary supplies from Orek.”
The qunari, gathering up his own set, said, “Help yourself, Viper,” and walked off.
“Ah.” Ashur adjusted the brim of his hat and set his shoulders. “That’s fine. I can set up a frame and stretch the canvas over it. Simple.”
He picked up the folded weatherproofed canvas, paused to count the poles, then grabbed a handful, then grabbed a couple more. He tucked them under his arm and flopped a coil of rope on top of the canvas. Eyed the anchors and carefully collected four into his hand. Stood and set off a few paces. Looked around and casually walked a little farther off from everyone else.
“Oy.” Tarquin, unable to contain his smile, picked up a hammer. “You forgot one of these.”
Ashur’s head tipped back. “Of course.”
He brought it over and dropped it in the grass beside the other things Ashur had begun to lay out. “I’ll stand here and let you know if you’re doing it wrong.”
Ashur, kneeling in the grass now, lifted his head and pushed the brim of his hat upward just so he could make perfect eye contact with Tarquin. He intoned dryly, “Is that so?”
He was a man resigned to his fate and Tarquin took great pleasure in saying, “You’ll do just fine.”
With a simple meal eaten and a fire steadily burning before them, Burke had drawn Orek, Tival, and Dexsia into a dice game. A few feet away, Amica hummed along to the gentle plucking of her thumb piano while Marin pretended not to be immersed in her performance.
Tarquin observed both groups with a touch of dismay. “This was meant to be a serious field mission. We’re chasing Venatori before they disappear into the wider Tevinter countryside.”
“They watched you laugh at me while I put our tent up,” Ashur offered for consideration.
Tarquin had fixed it later. He wasn’t going to take the chance of it collapsing on top of them in the middle of the night.
“They watched you push me arse-up over a saddle first,” he retorted.
“Just checking your seat. Firm,” Ashur added, “if you were wondering.”
Tarquin snorted, biting back a grin. “You try climbing up and down Dock Town all day and night and see what it does for your hamstrings.”
“About half the time, I do.”
“Yeah, but you’re naturally gifted in that area, too,” he said, thinking back to the view he’d had for the duration of the afternoon.
Ashur’s laughter rumbled in Tarquin’s ear. It filled him up with a glow, like he’d swallowed an ember from the campfire. “Generations of careful breeding to produce the most talented offspring…”
“And here I am reaping the benefits.”
“Were you upset with me?”
Tarquin glanced at him. “For slinging me over the back of a dangerous animal? I’m still upset. We have the whole ride back to do yet, you bastard.”
His eyes glimmered in the firelight. Tarquin wished he could remove that mask himself and actually see the smirk he knew was on Ashur’s lips. Whether or not the presently gathered crew knew for certain or had made their best guesses, it still meant something to unveil that aspect of Ashur’s identity. It would never be a casual thing and Tarquin would continue to respect that importance.
“For coming with you,” Ashur clarified.
“Oh. Yeah. Not your brightest idea.”
Ashur tilted his head. “Because the outside world is so much more dangerous than the pit of vipers we tangle with in Minrathous?”
“Well, out here you legitimately run the risk of a snake biting your cock while you’re having a piss.”
Ashur’s brows lifted on his forehead. “Anything else?”
“Had a scorpion in my bedroll once. But we’ve an excellently pitched tent, so you shouldn’t worry about them.”
“Yes,” Ashur said dryly, “thank you for that.”
More seriously, Tarquin said, “Shit’s more complicated if you get hurt or worse out here. Most of us are trained to give aid, and Marin’s a fair hand with magic, but…” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t risk it with you.”
“I appreciate your care.”
The gravity of what went unsaid—that it hadn’t been so long since the Blight had sickened Ashur, that he’d been saved only through the act of killing a god—drew them closer together. Their shoulders brushed. Tarquin traced Ashur’s bare hand with his fingertips.
“So, the Venatori mages have already been captured.”
He froze. “What.”
“An hour after you left, I received a report that the group had been apprehended not five miles from the city.”
He strained to keep his voice down. “So why the hell are we out here?”
“I wanted to show you something.” Ashur wove his fingers through Tarquin’s. “Come with me.”
Sputtering and bewildered, Tarquin followed Ashur to his feet and then away from the fire. He didn’t think the others didn’t notice them leaving, but neither did anyone call out in question.
Tarquin stumbled over a knot of grass in the dark. “Ashur, where are we going? Do you even know?”
“Just looking for a clear view.”
“Of what?”
Ashur guided him this way and that and then, finally, head tipped back, came to a stop. “Here.”
“Here? There’s nothing—” Ashur pushed a finger beneath his chin. “Oh.”
Above the trees, far larger than the distant stars, something amazing pushed through the night sky. Bright white with a softly glowing tail, it seemed to hang suspended above them like a painting. Tarquin had never seen anything like it.
“It’s a comet called The Eye of the Maker. It last crossed over Tevinter 186 years ago.”
“Is it…an omen?”
That soft chuckled again. “No. I don’t believe so.”
“What does the Chantry think? Did you give a sermon, or sommat?”
Ashur, still holding his hand, drew Tarquin closer until he stood with his back against that broad chest. “The Divine gave a special address, yes, but I didn’t bring you out here to talk about the Chantry. I wanted to show you something beautiful and rare without the chaotic background of Dock Town. Out here there aren’t rain clouds or fog or bright, magical signs to obscure the view.”
“It’s…special,” Tarquin managed, suddenly having a hard time finding the words.
All eight of them had spent the afternoon trekking down the peninsula in search of a threat no longer there. Ashur had changed whatever plans he might have had for the day and regrouped quickly enough to ride out to meet them with only a small delay. Just to show Tarquin something he would only ever see once in his lifetime.
A comet.
Standing beneath it, with Ashur’s warmth at his back, Tarquin felt strange.
He had spent so much of his life being coarse and faithless. Ill-fitting. Bad-tempered. Foul-mouthed. One of the thousands of unremarkable Sleepers in a city ruled by the magically awakened. Frontline fodder for war. The Shadow Dragons were one of the few things he put his trust in. Somehow, in a twist of perfect irony, the highest of the highbloods ranked chiefly among that number.
Celestial phenomenon, it seemed to him, should be privileged to the scholars and the holy. Weren’t they the only ones living high enough in the city to see the night sky like this?
Yet, here was Tarquin, wrapped in the arms of the Imperial Divine, far from the haze of the city, staring upward at a blazing veil of light overtaking the starry dark. Wondering if Thedas appeared changed to its ancient eye.
“Yes.”
Tarquin blinked. “What’s yes?”
He felt Ashur’s lips graze his ear. “The answer to the question you’re thinking. Yes. It was worth it, and you are worth it.” Tarquin twitched with surprise. “I want to share everything with you that I can. As soon as I learned about the comet, I knew I had to show it to you. The expression on your face when you saw it, I will treasure that more than the comet itself.”
“It’s too dark to see my face,” Tarquin mumbled. “And I’m not even facing you.”
“Easily fixed.” Ashur’s hands found his hips, turned him, and then held him in place. “Better?”
Tarquin reached up with both hands and pulled down the mask. “Better.”
Ashur drew him in for a slow kiss, savoring each subtle sigh and touch. Tarquin leaned into him, just as he’d been leaning into him the entire day. Trusting. Following his lead. So maybe, standing here beneath the slow fire of the comet’s eye, a special, once-in-a-lifetime sight, Tarquin could fall into the arms of the idea that he, too, was special.
“Whatever it is that you’re thinking about right now,” Ashur rumbled, “the answer is yes.”
“Better be careful,” he said against his lips, “handing out blanket permission like that.”
“I’m pretty sure I can afford anything you come up with.”
Tarquin ducked his head away to bark out a laugh. He gazed into Ashur’s face, cast in silver beneath the starlight and comet-glow, and traced the curve of his bottom lip. “You are a ridiculous man.”
“You can call me anything, so long as you call me yours.”
He laughed into a groan, letting his head rest against Ashur’s cheek. Despite himself, that campfire ember in his throat now settled bright and soft in his chest like his own miniature comet flame.
“Mine,” he breathed. “I won’t forget this, Ashur.”
His hands gripped Tarquin’s hips again. “Let’s watch it for a little longer.”
So Tarquin did. He settled into Ashur’s arms and looked up, and it felt like the night sky shone just for them.