#jamiewriting

Title: Ante Mortem (Chapter 1) Fandom: Dragon Age: The Veilguard (Pre-Plot) Characters: Rook (ft. a small cast of original characters) Warnings: No romantic relationships, focuses on gladiators and discusses slavery characteristic of the Tevinter Imperium, lots of action and violence, lots of angst & guilt & hope; basically, a character study / origin story for my Rook inspired by the stories in Tevinter Nights Artwork in graphic: A personal commission from xfreischutz

Summary:

Before he became Rook, Cato was a gladiator. Practically born in the sands of a Tevinter training grounds, a blade was put in his hands the very moment he was old enough to hold one. Under the grueling tutelage of his mentor, Reth, he crawled his way to the Grand Proving Arena of Minrathous—hungry for the accolades that come along with gladiatorial triumph. But earnest ambition is seldom rewarded within the Imperium, and plots concocted in the shadows came to eat away at Cato's gold-plated fantasies of glory.

Cato missteps. 

He knows it before the sword meets his back; before the pain sears into his skin like a brand. Air spills out of him in a violent gasp, and, as he falls to the ground, the blow is still ricocheting within his ribcage.

"Again."

Blood is in his mouth. Blood and sand. Kaffas. He can't even fall right. Spitting, Cato gets to his feet. It's a scramble; far less controlled than he wants it to be. He steadies himself. 

At least he didn't drop his blade. 

Being a member of an international taskforce has its drawbacks, especially when relationships are involved. For example, one of you might get scheduled to an overseas location for an extended amount of time, while the other is stuck doing paperwork back at home base. Distance isn’t a major obstacle to Hanzo or McCree, but it definitely comes with its own share of challenges.

From: “Hanzo” [email protected] To: “McCree” [email protected] Subject: [ Blank ] Time Sent: 5:01am

McCree, Arrived in Ilios. Am safe. We have not been assigned phones yet, hence the e-mail. Will call tonight.

- Hanzo

From: “McCree” [email protected] To: “Hanzo” [email protected] Subject: hello to you too Time sent: 5:32am

Turn down the affection there or are we one of Those Couples always sendin each other love notes and whatnot

:-P

- It’s high noon somewhere. -

Hanzo is a new member of Overwatch, working undercover in a coffee shop with a few other agents. He’s adjusting to his new life – and making good progress on his missions – when he starts finding ridiculous messages scrawled on coffee cups… Messages that are, apparently, for him. While he’s convinced it’s all just a ridiculous prank, D.Va calls them “pick-up lines” and insists that he has a “secret admirer.”

Know what’s on the menu? Me-n-u.

Hanzo squints down at the words scrawled across his coffee cup’s sleeve.

He was in a rush this morning.

He had an important meeting with Winston – namely, a video call about escorting a payload with “crucial resources for Overwatch’s mission.”

Hanzo is a new – and, admittedly, slightly reluctant – member, but he is already beginning to wonder why so many payloads are so very crucial to their mission. That aside, he ordered a cup of coffee – black, to go. He paid for it (because, apparently, working undercover in a coffee shop doesn’t entitle you to free coffee) and left, wearing a dark, hooded jacket as to not stand out. His Storm Bow was concealed in a case meant for a large instrument.

The coffee shop they established was popular in the area. Their sole competitor (a run-down diner that Hanzo has yet to visit in a non-combat-related situation) is miles away and infamous for having coffee that tastes akin to watered dirt. Since Overwatch could easily import ingredients from other the other bases, their coffee was far better (albeit still sub-par), and, thusly, people flocked to them. The store was always busy, which somehow made it easier to stay incognito.

No one suspected that the new café was actually an undercover base for an international task force.

Still, the popularity did come with a price. Hanzo despises crowds. He, naturally, kept his head low all morning.

This is what makes the message on his now-empty cup all the more puzzling.

He has no idea who wrote it. He cannot remember who handed it to him.

Garrett Hawke is a simple guy. He likes simple things. Things like playing MMORPGs with his friends. Their guild, Wicked Grace, has been pretty exclusive for a while. But, when the guild becomes interested in recruiting a new member - an elven warrior named Fenris - what used to be a “fun way of passing time” becomes “Operation: Hard in Hightown” (or, as Isabela calls it, “Operation: Get Hawke Laid”). Needless to say, this operation is anything but simple.

Fenris and I got back to the hotel, still hand-in-hand.

The receptionist greeted us and was very friendly. Almost too friendly. There was a lot of enthusiastic waving.

He had to let go of my hand when we got to our room, since he got the key out, but…

It’s okay. It’s fine.

It happened, and I hope it happens again. Preferably sooner than later, but... I’m not picky.

We got out of our costumes and took showers, because hygiene is important. I want to specify that these were separate showers, because I think that specification is also important.

Garrett Hawke is a simple guy. He likes simple things. Things like playing MMORPGs with his friends. Their guild, Wicked Grace, has been pretty exclusive for a while. But, when the guild becomes interested in recruiting a new member - an elven warrior named Fenris - what used to be a “fun way of passing time” becomes “Operation: Hard in Hightown” (or, as Isabela calls it, “Operation: Get Hawke Laid”). Needless to say, this operation is anything but simple.

“Isabela, where are your pants?!”

Fenris and I are standing outside of the Rogue Room - right in front of its door. We’re listening to a very important, loud discussion going on inside of said room.

“Since when do I wear pants, Vallen?”

“That wasn’t even a little bit funny.”

“Shut up, I’m hilarious and it was very funny.”

“Am I wearing pants?” A different, concerned voice squeaks. “Is this material too thin to be pants?”

“Daisy. Sweetness. Listen: If you don’t want it to qualify as pants, then it’s not pants.”

“Good!” Merrill… “Then I think I’ll say that they’re not pants!”

“Excellent!” Isabela’s logic strikes once again. I can hear Bethany guffawing… They’re so rowdy.

I glance over at Fenris. “Should we go in?”

“I don’t know, should we?” He smirks back at me.

I stifle a laugh. “I think we should.”

Garrett Hawke is a simple guy. He likes simple things. Things like playing MMORPGs with his friends. Their guild, Wicked Grace, has been pretty exclusive for a while. But, when the guild becomes interested in recruiting a new member - an elven warrior named Fenris - what used to be a “fun way of passing time” becomes “Operation: Hard in Hightown” (or, as Isabela calls it, “Operation: Get Hawke Laid”). Needless to say, this operation is anything but simple.

The Hanged Man is… Quaint.

Quaint in a gross way.

Fake plastic candles are everywhere. I’m not kidding. Half of them aren’t even working.

The walls are wooden. So is the floor. It’s all really, really old wood.

A part of me wants to start fixing everything that I can get my clammy hands on.

As we walk in, a chorus of people yell Varric’s name.

He yells something back at them in a very jovial manner, but I’m too busy eyeing a stain on the floor, right in the middle of the room.

It looks suspiciously like a blood stain.

Amell and Cousland learn what must be done to destroy the Archdemon. They do not take it well.

They say the Maker smiles sadly on his Grey Wardens, as no sacrifice is greater than theirs.

Aiden has heard the stories – usually unwillingly, given how often Alistair is prone to going off on rants about their purpose – yet he remains unconvinced.

And as he hears the true method of slaying the Archdemon – something about its soul seeking the nearest vessel, something about its death must be repaid with more death – he can’t help but shake his head.

Garrett Hawke is a simple guy. He likes simple things. Things like playing MMORPGs with his friends. Their guild, Wicked Grace, has been pretty exclusive for a while. But, when the guild becomes interested in recruiting a new member - an elven warrior named Fenris - what used to be a “fun way of passing time” becomes “Operation: Hard in Hightown” (or, as Isabela calls it, “Operation: Get Hawke Laid”). Needless to say, this operation is anything but simple.

“Garrett! Isabela keeps throwing things on me!”

“Stop complaining, Anders! It’s childish!”

“You’re the one throwing things on me!”

“Both of you need to shut up,” Aveline snaps.

“I second that,” Fenris mutters. His eyes are closed, and he’s leaning against the window.

I glare into my rearview mirror. “I agree. Shut up.”

“You’re all so uptight,” Isabela says.

“First she lights me on fire…” Anders grumbles. “Then she throws garbage on me…”

Isabela flicks another chocolate bar wrapper behind her seat. It hits Anders in the face. He screams my name again.

Fenris sighs. I sigh, too.