Into the Woods (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

Can't Fight This Feeling

The procession was a slow one the next few days. The whole party were on the lookout for more crocodiles, and there was a general agreement to take their time in order to let Fenris's leg heal. The elf avoided all of them, keeping to himself under an almost visible cloud of doom. Anders, on the other hand, looked more cheerful than Fergus had seen him this trip, riding alongside Isabela and exchanging surprisingly risque quips and jokes with her. Fergus remembered that Anders had been a good friend to Wulfric, who had described the mage as a hopeless womanizer and quite the joker. So far Fergus had seen little of that good humor, and then only when Anders and Oghren were together. He was glad to see the mage in good spirits today, but cautious, as well. Something felt off about the banter.

For her part, Isabela was trying too hard. Her jokes were a little too loud, her innuendoes too pointed. Fenris showed no indication that he was paying attention to anything she said. Jennie rode in the elf's vicinity for a while and then drifted forward to ride with Varric. Fergus noticed that Zev was shifting his position in the line, very slowly, until he was riding near Fenris. He didn't speak, however, and the silence of his presence seemed acceptable to Fenris.

Fergus was surprisingly affected by the fight with the crocodiles. His enforced inactivity had been hard to maintain, even though he'd known at the time it was the right thing to do. He'd never before run head-on into a situation in which he was so utterly helpless; even the loss of his family was something he was sure he could have prevented, had he been there, sword at the ready. He counted on his physical prowess, on his quick wits, on his training and know-how, to get him through anything he had to face ... It had never occurred to him that he might end up in a place where none of those meant anything. Jennie had known just what to do; if it had been up to him, they'd have attacked the crocodiles head-on, with their ineffectual blades, and they might have lost people. They probably would have lost people, if he was going to be honest with himself.

Oghren's horse drew next to his. "Nice little scrap the other day, eh?"

"Nice? Scrap? Not the words I would've used. How did you know what to do with the ones you killed?" he asked. He'd been impressed by Oghren's apparent ease with the crocodiles.

The dwarf grunted. "Got somethin' like 'em in the Deep Roads. Big suckers, but ya hit 'em often enough and hard enough, their heads fall off like anything else's." He grinned, showing stained teeth. "'Sides, it's harder to grab a dwarf an' pull 'im over. Elf there, he's easy. Too skinny to stand up against 'em." He shifted his horse closer to Fergus's. "Say."

"What?"

"Ya think, after this is over, there might be ... a little somethin' in it for me?"

Fergus's eyebrows flew up. He didn't mind paying the dwarf, but it was a surprising request.

"I don't mean money," Oghren assured him. "Just ... maybe a paper, or a medal, or somethin' I could show Felsi and Little Ricky, so's they know I didn't leave 'em just for the fun of it."

"Oh. Yes, I'm sure something like that can be arranged."

"Eh. Thanks." The dwarf's cheeks appeared ruddier than usual, and he dug his heels into his horse's sides, causing it to leap forward. Oghren hung onto the horn of the saddle, shouting, "Whoa, horsie!" as it moved.

"Think he's ever going to get the hang of it?" Anders asked from behind Fergus.

"Hard to tell. Maybe by the time we get back home."

"Home," Anders murmured quietly, but he didn't elaborate.

Fergus thought of what that word must mean to all of them. He and Hawke technically had homes, but they were empty of the life and love that gave the word meaning. Varric lived in a tavern; Anders worked himself to exhaustion in a squalid clinic; Oghren lived with the Grey Wardens pining for the family he didn't know how to hold onto; Fenris squatted in a crumbling mansion. Isabela and Zev had no home bases, unless you counted their devotion to Hawke and Wulfric, respectively. They were a sad bunch of refugees, really, Fergus realized, only they didn't know what they were fleeing from or where they were running to.