Dragon Age One Shots

Dragon Age Autumn -- Blackwall

A tug rattled me out of my stupor, my eyes snapping up the translucent line leading out of the reel. I bored into the black tip of the pole, aching for it to pull downward in an arc, but the damn thing remained obstinately straight. Whatever nibbled on my lure must have moved on.

Sniffling, I rubbed under my nose. My entire face bore a sheen of dew from the humidity angling to tip to rain. It felt as if we were swimming in the lake along with the fish thanks to the water clinging to every inch of the boat inside and out. Trying to squeege it away was pointless as more would simply bead up in five or so minutes.

Adjusting the sleeves on my jacket to cover over my freezing fingers, I gazed out across the lake. Only a soft breeze blew through the surrounding forests, a gentle glug-glug bounding into the aluminum sides of the boat. The slow rise and fall with the waves nearly pulled me into a waking dream state, leaving me to not notice how cold the lake became.

"Hey..." the man with one hand at the motor, the other holding his rod steady called out. I twisted on the damp, wooden seat to catch his eye. Drops of water beaded up in his bramble of a black beard creating the effect of decorating him in diamond pearls. The rest of his face was hidden under a trusty fishing cap studded with jigs and hooks.

Blackwall pointed at my fingers nearly hidden below the hems of my sleeves. "You cold?"

"Nah," I shook my head, rolling my shoulders back, "I'm fine."

The stringer was light this trip. Apparently, even the fish decided to stay in by the fire on this drizzly autumn day. And I had a shore lunch all planned out too. Well, even if I couldn't use the six-pack to batter the fish, it'd still be good for warming me up once we got back. Got inside, kicked off the waterlogged boots, nestled our feet by the old wood stove, and rested away the cold.

In the distance, I spied a small log cabin with smoke curling up through the birch trees. Stretching my shoulders, I thought of the warmth wafting off a pile of burning logs. The scent of crackling wood, mulled cider sitting by the hearth, and a hunter's stew bubbling on the stove filled my nostrils.

"Here," Blackwall staggered up from the 'driver's seat.' He kept his back hunched over, his body rolling with the lapping waves as he yanked off his coat. Before I could argue, he draped it around my shoulders. His body heat entwined with mine, quickly warming me to the core. Nuzzling tighter to the collar, I reveled in the scent of pine, of motor oil worked into the pores of his hands, of wood ash on the air. Of him.

As Blackwall sat beside me, he cast his lure on the other side of the boat. It kerplunked loudly in the soggy air of the silent lake. The ripples coalesced towards us, expanding with each lap until they washed on past.

"You didn't have to," I insisted, rising up higher. Be nice to catch something today so it wasn't a complete wash.

A soft chuckle rolled in Blackwall's chest. His bearded features shifted as those weary and cautious eyes softened. "I know. You're harder than steel."

"Damn straight," I nodded, gently laughing at the thought. We worked side by side, both of us bringing in the fish, or game, to fill the supper table. Neither more important than the other. Neither a wilting flower that needed rescuing.

I worried my fingers, Blackwall's larger coat easily hiding them away inside a sheathe of protective wool. In a soft voice, I admitted, "Thanks."

He didn't answer, but I felt his back slide against mine. I stared haphazardly at my bobber, wishing for it to tug under, as Blackwall reeled in and tried casting once more. After his hand circled out to guide the lure to the fish, the palm patted against my knee. Three times it knocked before worrying higher up my thigh.

"This cold already, gonna be a harsh winter. And soon," was all Blackwall said.

"Yup," I answered.

Waves lapped against the boat wall. Lunk lunk lunk. I flexed my toes inside my water-resistant boots, the pair of wool socks struggling to keep up.

"Can only mean one thing," Blackwall said leaning forward to try and catch my eye. But I was too busy reeling in and preparing to cast to look.

As the white and red bobber sailed through the air to land with a plop, I finally gazed over at the man. A smile burned on my face, and I exuberantly proclaimed to the world, "Lots of ice fishing."

The smile made it through the beard, Blackwall's free hand locking around mine. He swung the pair together, eyes burning into mine as he answered, "Yup."