Searching for Trouble, a dragon age fanfic

A/N: All characters, places, etc., of course, belongs to Bioware.

Searching for Trouble

"Messere!" the frantic sound of Bodahn's voice reverberated sharply from the lower section of the mansion. His alarmed cry drew me to my feet as I left the low wooden desk and bounded through the bedroom door. The letter that I had been trying to scribe to Bethany would have to wait as I reached the top of the long stairwell.

"Lady Hawke! Pardon my intrusion, but I have an urgent matter that requires your attention!" the unsteady voice of a man clothed in midnight robes of flowing silk sputtered near the entrance hall. I descended the stairs, concern sparking in my chest.

"What is this about?" I asked as anxiety quickly washed through me. Before the stranger could answer, Bodahn who has been standing nearby said in an uneasy rushed tone.

"It's Anders. He's gone to the Bone Pit."

Anders? The Bone Pit? Apprehension raced through me as worry formed unpleasant thoughts in my mind. There would only be one reason why Anders should venture there.

"He's gone looking for lyruim," Bodahn voiced my suspicion. Without hesitation, I whirled around and began climbing the stairs.

"Make ready my sword, Bodahn," I ordered. "If I hurry, he may yet still be in one piece!"

"Maker's breath!" he retorted in horror. "My lady, you cannot possibly go there alone! There are dangerous beasts and bloodthirsty dragons there!"

"Nothing I cannot handle!" I yelled back as I reached the top. Bodahn's frightened voice followed me as I hurried across the hall toward my open bedroom door.

"I will summon the others!"

I stopped and turned around. Even though I could not see my faithful friend, I could picture the look of terror on his weathered face.

"There is no time!" I bellowed back and then ran to the adjoining room where my private armory was stored. I hope the Maker has a heart and has favored Anders and kept him from harm. One could only hope.

I stared across the desolate terrain with foreboding. Crumbled heaps of rock lay scattered about mingled with meager tufts of grass that poked out here and there. Remnants of broken wagons and barrels littered the abandoned mine in a sad sort of ruin. The overcast sky did not make the landscape any better, it was like the skies felt cold and dark to match this patch of deserted land.

Reaching into my pack, I pulled out the decanter and took a sip of the cool water within. The freshness of the liquid soothed my parched throat and dry lips. It took most of the day to arrive and the journey in itself was harrowing. I had encountered stray bandits who thought I was easy prey to be traveling alone. They were surprised when they tasted the edge of my blade. Tossing away the unpleasant events, I squinted toward a faint path that led back into the crevices of hard rock that rose on all sides of the carved out canyon. Putting the water bottle away and hoisting the pack onto my shoulders, I trudged quickly along this faded trail. It was not long before I stood in front of a huge gaping hole in the wall of stone. The darkness of the cave foreshadowed sinister things that were waiting for unsuspecting victims to stumble upon. I gritted my teeth, hardened my resolve and stepped into the maw of the Bone Pit.

The dim light from the opening gradually began to diffuse and then wink out as I cautiously trudged deeper into the fissure. When I could no longer see, I felt around for timber to light a torch. A sturdy broken piece of a mine wagon was what I found. As the flickering flame lighted my way, I continued down craggy narrow paths, across towering cliffs where in the distance stalactites hung precariously from the vast ceiling and down winding wooden stairs that led into the bowels of etched rock and corroded stone.

After what seemed like hours wandering into an abyss of blackness, I neared a door set back into the walls as if carved naturally there. Soft blue light glowed from the edges of the frame which stood ajar, as if the glowing radiance was trying to escape the confines of its' prison. I quietly unsheathed the sword that hung behind my back and tentatively crept toward the light. Low murmuring reached my ears as I slowly pushed the door open.

"It is the only way," a familiar voice said with commanding authority. "We are the future and they are nothing but servants that need to be crushed underneath the might of our power!"

"No, this is not right. Peace does not require power," another voice, the same voice responded, but the tone was less demeaning, softer and laced with unfathomable fear. I peered into a vast cavernous room. Hundreds of lyrium pods grew from the rough ground and many poked from the fissures of numerous cracks in the stone walls. The soft azure glow that they emanated bathed the room in an unnatural brilliance that was terrifying and yet beautiful at the same time. I lowered my awestruck eyes down to a person kneeling amidst the brightness. His back was to me, but his golden hair, black buckled coat and high boots were easily recognizable. Grasped in his right hand was the long polished staff that he wielded.

"Anders?" I said, gently. With astounding speed, he jumped up and whirled around. The white glow from his eyes was the first thing I saw and then a flash of blinding light. Pain coursed through my body in waves of agony. The sword in my hands loosened and then clattered to the ground as I cried out in misery. The anguish was so powerful that it was hard to breathe, my chest heaved as if I had been running for leagues. My vision grew blurry as I crumpled onto the cold gray floor. A short distance away, a surprised howl echoed.

"Hawke?"

With effort, I tried to restrain and fight the torment, but I could not hold it off for long. It rushed back and overwhelmed me. In my wounded trance-like state, I felt hands on my shoulders and a voice in my ear.

"Stay calm! I will heal you!" Anders consoled and then stiffened. "What was that?" In my dreamy daze I could hear faint scratching like claws grating upon stone. Fear entered my mind at the thought of what that could be, but the agony besieged my body and I could only think and feel the pain.

"Oh dear, Maker!" Anders' horrified gasp sounded next to me. "Dragonlings!"

I tried to focus my hazy vision and saw dark sleek forms scamper and slither through deep gaps in the walls where I had not notice them there before. Anders stood up and moved in front of me, lifting his staff into a defensive position. I blinked several times and found that my eyes cleared only but a little. With shaky fingers, I reached for my fallen sword and willed myself to stand. The attempt was futile, Anders spell was powerful and the effects were meant to impair and hurt. I shuddered as my hand squeezed the handle of my blade with tremendous exertion. I could not let Anders die while I still breathed. I must help him for his sake as much as my own.

The sound of Anders' battle cries resonated in the air accompanied with shrieks and squeals from the reptilian dragonlings. Countless scaly forms surrounded the two of us, penning us in like doomed victims. Anders is an exceptional mage, at a safe distance he can be deadly but at close contact, he is vulnerable to attacks. Knowing this, I used my sword as leverage to pull myself to my knees. Before I could stumble to my feet, a nearby dragonling who had been eyeing me with hungry eyes pounced and seized me with its' strong claws. I fell over, shielding my face from its' snapping jaws. The weight of the lizard pinned me down and in my weakened state, I could not defend myself properly. I was grateful for the armor I wore. The gauntlets repelled the sharp claws and the chestplate protected me from its' razor sharp teeth, but that was not enough when another dragonling leaped onto me to join the first one. These lizards were small, but they were fast and their strikes were precise. With a grunt, I rolled over unto my stomach and felt a jab at my right side. Ignoring the pain, I reached for the hilt of my sword which was only inches away.

"Hawke!" a deep voice cried out not too far away. I lifted my eyes and tried to focus on the tall figure who ran toward me. His silver hair and lyrium markings glowed like white fire even brighter than the bluish luster all around.

"Fenris?" I whispered, so grateful to see his face that for a second the ache did not seem to bother me. He reached me and with his broadsword, began hacking away at the dragonlings with fierce determination.

"Get-off-her-you-filthy-creatures!" Fenris sputtered through clenched teeth as he swung his blade with expert precision. Shrieks echoed in the air and then silence.

"Anders, get back!" the familiar sound of Varric's voice rung loudly nearby. The throbbing pain at my side was unbearable. With a trembling hand, I grazed my fingers to the small gap in between the front and back plates of my chest armor and felt sticky warmth on my skin. Lifting my hand, I stared in horror at the thick red blood that dripped from the tips of my fingers.

"That's the last of them. But we should not linger, there may be more," Varric said as Fenris kneeled down next to me. His handsome elven face was filled with concern and then turned to terror as he too stared at the blood on my hand. He twisted his head toward Varric and said in a hurried tone.

"Varric, give me the elfroot potion!"

"I can heal her," Anders offered and stepped forth, but Fenris eyed him with disdain and what poured from his mouth next halted Anders' steps.

"Keep your distance mage! If you so much as come near her, I'll see to it that you will join the Maker before your time!"

His words were bitter and the anger that emitted from his tone was so like Fenris that Varric chuckled and handed him a small vial.

"Don't take his words to heart Anders, but I would have to agree that coming here alone and then endangering the brooding elf's love interest is pretty stupid on your part."

Fenris pulled the stopper from the vial and gently poured some onto the wound at my side and then let me sipped the rest. The stabbing pain at my side began to subside, but the effects from the spell was still there.

"By the way, how is it that Hawke is the one that is defended? Is it not the other way around?" Varric asked in his whimsical, joking way. Anders lowered his gaze and did not say a word. With an affectionate look at me, Fenris gathered me into his arms and lifted.

"The physical injury is from the dragonlings. The magical injury is from him," Fenris replied with coldness. Varric raised an eyebrow in surprise. "I have seen this type of effect from spells before."

A wheeze escaped my lips before anything else was spoken and halted the tension between the men. My vision began to blur and it was hard for me to focus my gaze. Instead, I closed my eyes and felt myself floating in a sea of gray shapes. Landscapes of mists filled my mind as I tried to find my way through the fog infested terrain. I heard faint voices echoing through the haze; their words muffled as if coming from a distance. The sound of my name echoed like the sweet notes from the lips of a bard. The music resounded in my ears calling me, beckoning me to the surface, to the fringes of wakefulness.

My eyelids fluttered open to see Fenris's worried face; the creased lines on his forehead, the taut lips pressed in anticipation, and the smoldering green glowing from his concerned gaze.

"You came back to me," he whispered, relief plainly on his handsome face.

"Of course," I answered and smiled.