L’Hymne à L’Amour

by basedonconjecture

Summary:

Newlywed wardens, Antoine and Evka, are in a tiny village in west Orlais following rumors of a werewolf similar to one they encountered previously. When Antoine goes missing during their investigation just as a snow storm kicks up, Evka sets out into the night to find him before the worst can happen.

Notes:

• For Settiai.

After weeks on the road, the musty, cramped room above the tavern was a godsend—even if it did smell a little like mold and stale beer. They'd been tracking rumors of werewolves across northern Orlais, their travels taking them from Ghislain to Montfort, through the marshes, then to a tiny village as close to the edge of the Tirashan forest as the people here had dared to build, and the trail had gone cold.

All along the road, folk had been eager to share what they knew—and, boy, had many of them known someone who'd known someone who'd caught a glimpse of the thing. Most of those leads, unfortunately, hadn't turned out to be anything more than a too-tired shepherd or farmhand spying a fox in the middle of the night and spooking themselves. A few had held enough water to lead them to this place: a village of no name and even less appeal.

It had been midday when they'd arrived, but it might as well have been the middle of the night for as much light as the heavy cloud cover had allowed. Sometime during the late afternoon it had started snowing, too, and hadn't stopped. Currently, snow was building up in small banks along the path and against the walls of every ramshackle building in the village center. Evka didn't even want to to know what the farmers' fields looked like—or the road out of here, which was her primary concern now the dwarf had determined the village a dead end.

After bribing a predictably short list of names from the barkeep downstairs (who also, incidentally, doubled as the village's mayor), she and Antoine had agreed to split up to cover more ground. She hadn't liked the prospect, but she'd liked the prospect of staying in this place any longer than she had to even less. So, they'd gone their separate ways, Antoine with one half of the list and Evka with the other. Whether or not her partner had been any more successful than she had in gleaning information out of the villagers was anyone's guess, but, if they were reluctant to speak to a dwarf, she doubted they'd be any more willing to speak to an elf—no matter they were both wardens, wearing the griffon heraldry of the order plain for anyone to see.

Evka sighed and shucked out of her coat, the damp permeating the multiple layers she wore, and shivered. Even her scalp felt frozen. Building up the fire in the tiny grate in the wall that served as a hearth, she quickly unbraided the intricate plait she wore her hair in, loosing the dark waves to dry faster. If she'd made it back before Antoine, she was certain it wouldn't be long until her husband arrived after her.

Husband.

She chewed the word over, its taste still strange in her mouth, but not sour as she once thought it would be. Evka had never hoped to be married, not after signing her life over to the Order of the Grey Wardens, and she'd certainly never imagined herself married to a city elf from Orlais. The corners of her mouth tugged upwards against her will as his face materialized in her mind's eye. His dear face with its crooked nose and smattering of freckles. As her fingers combed the tangles from her hair, she found herself staring off into space, her eyes unfocused, as she imagined him with flecks of snow dusting his hair and lashes and smiling at her in that crooked way of his.

A round of raucous laughter from below broke the spell, Evka starting at the noise. Training her ears on the door, she listened for telltale footsteps coming up the narrow staircase that led to their door. Not long now, she thought, certain Antoine would appear at any moment.

On the small table to the side of the cot bed, she spied a slip of familiar-looking parchment. She recognized the paper from Antoine's journal, the edge of it ragged as if it had been torn in a hurry. Brows drawing together, Evka reached for it, her expression growing more tense as she parsed Antoine's scrawl.

The note was short and too sparing of the details for her liking. What did he mean 'something happened'? He'd also included an instruction not to worry, as if he'd known she would from the instant she realized he wasn't there. How long ago had he left? It couldn't have been terribly long before she'd arrived, but the room held none of the usual signs that he'd been there. She'd lived with him long enough to come to know there was likely to be a scarf or some article of clothing left behind him wherever he went.

So often was this the case, she'd recently remarked on the wonder it was he wasn't traipsing around naked more often. She couldn't remember what his response had been, though she certainly remembered the interlude that had followed. Even now, her face warmed to recall it, but this was no time to be mooning over her missing husband. Not when there was no indication he'd been in the room at all.

None save the note.

His coat and pack were missing, as well.

Evka huffed a breath.

It was premature to fly into a panic—as if she were prone to those in the first place. Which she wasn't. Still, the niggle of worry in her gut wouldn't be appeased until she set eyes on him. She could either wait here for him (unappealing) or wait downstairs for him (even less appealing) or…go after him. The last thing he would want her to do and the absolute only thing she could do to appease the anxious tapping of her feet.

Quickly re-braiding her hair into a much simpler plait and twisting it into a knot, her breath came in huffs as if she were the most inconvenienced wife in all Thedas. She thought of her mother just then, how she would huff similarly after he father, and quickly shoved the mental image off. She could never tell her the comparison had ever crossed her mind.

After shoving her arms into her coat, still partially damp from before, she fastened the buttons as she left the room. Downstairs was relatively cheery, the huge fireplace burning brightly as a villagers milled around what few tables the establishment could claim. They all looked at her askance as she entered from the stairs, but she ignored them, pulling up her collar as she left the tavern.

She was sure they were merely curious about what two wardens were doing in a village like this. She was equally as sure word had reached most by now said wardens were looking for a werewolf no one could prove existed. Evka could only hope it remained nonexistent until she made sure Antoine hadn't found himself cornered by this one, too. She'd much rather take a dead end than a surprise ambush any day, she thought, recalling a village not so different from this one, when she'd been escorting a newly Joined Antoine to Weisshaupt. Had she fallen in love with him then? She wasn't sure. At the time, she remembered feeling terribly guilty about putting him through the Joining, even if it had been to save his life. There would be no such life-saving measures this time if he found himself in trouble.

The niggle of anxiety turned into a knot, twisting and tying itself up in her gut. He'll be alright, she thought to herself, repeating it like a mantra as she headed off in the direction he would have gone earlier in the day.

The village was surrounded by woods on all sides and, as Evka neared the edge of it, they rose up like shadowy giants far above her head. She was not so easily cowed, her mouth flattening with determination as she headed into them. The Tirenash was still a ways off, she told herself, mentally mapping how far the ancient forest was from the village. These were simple woods, mundane as they were old, and only creaking from beneath the weight of the snow on their branches.

Only snow, she thought as they groaned into the night.

A few steps in, she caught sight of something long and dark fluttering from one of them in the distance. Sucking in a breath, she hurried towards, knowing even before she reached it that it was Antoine's scarf. The blue knitted wool was soft in her hands as she pulled it free of the branch, caught there as if her husband had brushed past it without noticing. It would be just like him to leave it behind if he were in a hurry.

But why would he be in a hurry?

Her pulse surged and Evka forced herself to calm. If something was wrong, she needed to keep her wits about her. After a few steadying breaths, she looked around from some clue about the direction he'd gone in; spotting a broken branch just to the left of where she'd found the scarf, she headed east. The path took her further from the village but still well enough away from the Tiranash that she felt no fear in traversing it alone.

Wherever her husband had gone, she would find him, she thought, her steps turning determined. Her breath fogged the air in great clouds as she trudged through the snow, the trees growing denser the further she walked.

It was full dark now, snow falling heavier, the drifts up to her hip in some places. That her fatigues weren't entirely soaked through was entirely in thanks to the oiled leather panels sewn into the wool. It would be a miserable hike back to the inn once she found Antoine.

Too worried to go so far as to curse him, even inside her own head, even knowing she didn't mean it, Evka gritted her teeth and marched forward.

So set on her goal, she almost missed them.

Footprints—rather, boot prints—roughly the size and shape of Antoine's breaking through a snow drift to her right.

The path wove back north—if it could be called that. In the light of day, once the snow melted off, Evka was sure there would be no path all for how often she had to weave around tree trunks or nearly tripped over raised roots. On and on she trudged until she came to a short hedgerow.

That drew her up short.

The pointed holly leaves were sharp, the edges poking through her gloves. It was really no surprise to find a collection of dark reddish-brown dots of blood smattered in the snow nearby. The top of the hedgerow revealed broken branches where someone had clearly tried to climb over it rather than go around it. In a hurry, likely. While fleeing something, perhaps?

In her mind, she envisioned Antoine encountering a werewolf while out in the woods. He'd come a long way with his weapon training since becoming a warden, but one person, even Antoine, wasn't a match for a fully grown werewolf. He'd been lucky the first time and that with no little planning involved. Being caught unawares…. Evka sucked in a breath.

The hedgerow was long—longer than she'd hope it would be—but climbing over it was impossible for her. Surprisingly, it was neatly trimmed and was clearly regularly maintained. Who was pruning a hedgerow all the way out here and for what purpose? Those questions were secondary to the one currently keeping pace with the rapid beat of her heart: where was her husband?

The hedgerow opened up to a narrow lane lined by trees with low-hanging boughs, the snow weighing them down further. It was lighter here and Evka could move faster through it—though, perhaps, it was simply the sight of blood had motivated her. She pulled her coat more tightly around her with one hand, bracing herself against the wind, as her other hand wrapped around the beveled pommel of her axe. Orzammar-made, it had been a wedding gift from her parents who knew better than anyone that things like plates and linens were outside of her taste. For Antoine, they had gifted him a lovely set of glass flasks, upon Evka's advisement, and fine pair of sturdy leather gloves.

Gloves he ought to have been wearing, only she found one at the edge of the yard where the lane ended.

By the stone, she thought, hurrying her steps.

Ahead of her was a small cabin, similar to those she'd seen in the village, though one side was entirely built out of river rock, tapering into a sturdy chimney a great white plume drifted out of. The orange glow of a fire lit the windows from within, the glass too dirty and foggy to see through. Someone, at least, was inside. Perhaps Antoine had taken shelter with whoever lived there. Perhaps he'd been taken there. Or, worse than either option for his not being there, but still optimistic of her: they knew where he'd gone.

Stomping up the rickety steps of the cabin, she wasted no time banging on the door.

"Hello?" she called at the same time as the door opened.

The light from within cast the figure in deep shadow and she reeled back a step, stunned.

"Evka!" Antoine cried, a grin splitting his face. "Finally, my love, you have arrived!"

"Antoine…" she replied warningly. Contrary to her very real fears, she was irritated to find her husband whole and seemingly well despite the blood. "Where have I arrived?"

"The mayor's hunting lodge!"

He said it so matter-of-fact, as if it were obvious the run-down cabin was either intended for hunting and that it belong to the mayor-slash-barkeep.

Her gaze narrowed at the lanky elf and she crossed her arms.

"Well, are you going to let me inside or am I meant to wait out here all night?"

Perhaps her tone was a touch more bitter than she intended, but, having so recently believed him dead or dying, thought he could stand a little bitterness.

"Désolé, mon amour," he replied sheepishly, stepping out of the way. "Please, please. The soup is just about finished!"

"Soup?" Her ears perked up curiously. Indeed, the cabin smelled delightful—not always the case when Antoine had been hard at work. Still, she was skeptical. "Why are you making soup in the mayor's hunting lodge in the middle of the woods when you were meant to be questioning the cartwright and the pig farmer."

"I did question them," Antoine shrugged, "It didn't take very long. The usual things, you know? A shadowy monster in the dark, a few dead chickens—in this case, pigs—but it is all the same as the others."

Evka frowned at the report, unsurprised, but unwilling, yet, to give an inch. "How does the soup factor in?"

"Ah, well, you see," Antoine ducked his head as he spoke. Raising a hand to the rub the back of his neck, Evka could see the tips of his ears growing pink in the firelight. "I returned to the tavern before you. The mayor wished to know if we had found anything…one thing led to another…somehow we began to talk of you."

"Me?" she asked, incredulous.

Antoine's face softened, the corners of his mouth ticking upwards shyly. "I find it quite easy to talk about you. My wife feels very nice to say outloud, did you know?"

Heat rose in her face and she cleared her throat.

"Right," he stood up straighter, "I did perhaps mention we had been married and left our honeymoon early when we got the report about the werewolf."

Evka choked a little.

"Only to prove to him how hardworking you are! You're very dedicated," he spread his hands helplessly, "I was—am—quite impressed by it, always. Can I help if I am proud to married to a woman such as you?"

"Antoine," she said, "what does this have to do with soup?"

"Ah, it's your mother's recipe!"

"When did you get a recipe from my mother?"

"She writes," he shrugged again, crooked mouth tilting to one side. "I think the recipe was meant for you."

Evka pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling endeared despite herself and even more lost than when she'd been traipsing through the woods. "I thought you'd been attacked, that you were wounded—or worse! And, all the while, you've been here making soup."

"You thought—" he shook his head. "Did you not get my note? I was going to return—ah, it no longer matters. I am sorry to have worried you. But it is, in fact, only soup."

"And you still haven't said why." Sighing, she dropped her arms, and looked at the bubbling cauldron. Her mother's recipes were notoriously disproportionate and this one "What are we meant to do with all of that?"

"This morning you complained it had been too long since our last hot meal," he reminded her and she winced. She had, indeed. "The mayor offered the cabin instead of the room for, ah, privacy and I thought—well, I suppose it does not matter if you are displeased with it."

He looked so crestfallen, she instantly regretted her lack of enthusiasm. "No, I—it's a lovely gesture, Antoine, really. I'm just…overtired from the day and was worried sick about you and—" Without her realizing it, tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she blinked them back, determined to keep a stiff upper lip, but she was too late.

His palm was warmed where it cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that threatened to fall, and before she could think, she threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his chest.

"I was so worried," she whispered into his shirt as his arms came around her, her voice more watery than she cared for.

"Ah, désolé, désolé," he murmured, "Je suis vraiment désolé." A hand smoothed over the messy plait that had nearly pulled itself apart since leaving the tavern. "I did not mean to worry you, my love."

"Thank you for the soup," she said after a few moments, pulling away to swipe surreptitiously at her nose. "What kind is it?"

"Potato! With fresh cream from the farmer!" At her look, he grinned. "I may have planned for the soup before the mayor offered the cabin. I think he might have feared I'd burn his tavern down in the attempt."

Evka laughed, tugging on his hand. "Come on, let's eat."

Raising her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss to her fingers. "As you wish, my lady wife."

Wife.

From Antoine, she decided, she liked the sound of it.

 

Notes:

Thank you for reading! I love Antoine and Evka and hope you enjoyed this <3