Moments in Time – Connection (part 1)
Without so much as a backward glance at those who had near-carried him from the Chantry, Anders staggered away from Hawke's support. With no idea how to aid him, unsure if she even wanted to, she let him go. Her mind was torn by what she had witnessed, good sense rebelling viciously against mage pride.
Anders was possessed. Of that there could be no doubt, but was he an abomination?
How can he be, she wondered, looking about the clinic, and yet be walking, talking, and healing? She couldn't answer with any certainty. Hawke had never actually faced an abomination before, but she had been told stories about them as a child. If Anders wasn't one, he was Maker-damned close, and she had just seen firsthand what his other 'state' was capable of.
She had recoiled instinctively when the thing inside him had burst out in a cloud of Fade vapours, Anders's human form barely holding together under the violation from within. Whatever he became in that instant, it had reaped bloody fury upon the Templars who had made his friend, Karl, suffer the Rite of Tranquillity – a mage who had passed his Harrowing - mercilessly following through on the only words it had shouted before leaping into the fray: 'You will never take another mage as you took him.'
Hawke knew of the Circle stigma. She had learned a lot from her father. She also knew that the Kirkwall Circle's notoriety was particularly harsh, but she'd had no idea it was this bad. For the bastard Templars to sink to such despicable tactics - tranquilising a proven mage just to bait another apostate - was unforgivable. In fact, if Anders hadn't transformed, fulfilling his dark promise to end the existence of every Templar that stood before him, she wondered if she might have been consumed by her own anger at such atrocious injustices. As it was, she'd been left stricken by the turn of events and unable to do a thing as those standing against them had died horrifically.
The distinctive clatter of heavy armour hitting stone had signalled the end of the viciously swift battle. Silence had claimed all but Anders then, their eyes scanning over the carnage wrought by the healer's hands. Even with the lifeless forms littering the ground at his feet in piles of bloody, fractured steel, he was the only one still moving, his eerily glowing form spinning about in state of insane rage, searching for another enemy to tear apart.
His name had escaped Hawke's lips in a mere whisper, brought out in fear, but it was enough. Unable to distinguish friend from foe, Anders's blazing eyes had rested on her for a heartbeat, maybe sensing her readiness to defend herself and her companions from him should the need arise. He had shifted to face her in response, leaving no doubt of his desire to attack. She'd been prepared, her hands already crackling with electricity as she'd heard Juno growl, the distinctive sound of Varric's crossbow drawing back another bolt, and felt her brother's presence draw protectively to her side. As swiftly as Anders had transformed into a monstrosity, however, his human side had re-emerged; it was this that had shocked Hawke more than anything else.
Demonic possession was not usually something a mage could opt out of at will, but that was exactly what Anders appeared to do. Physically caving in on himself, his hands had grasped madly at either side of his head as he fought for control, quite literally pulling himself back together as the cracks of ethereal energy that had ripped open over his entire body in one blazing instant snapped shut again just as suddenly.
A moment later, the man who'd shakily straightened up in front of her was left surveying the horrific destruction about him with an expression that must have mirrored Hawke's moments before. The sincerity she'd seen then, the mingled terror and sorrow etched into the worry lines of his face could not be denied, though for what he truly feared and grieved she was unsure.
When Anders had staggered slightly, attempting to turn to face his friend, Hawke had reached out for him, clasping him at the elbow supportively; ignoring the disapproving snort she had assumed was from Carver. She couldn't blame her brother, she was just as surprised by her actions as he'd apparently been, but despite her fears she'd seemed incapable of letting Anders stumble unaided. She knew she should have simply grabbed Carver and fled, as any rational being would have run after what they'd witnessed. Yet, when she had looked up at Anders's careworn face and saw his eyes closed shamefully, she just couldn't bring herself to leave him. She could've claimed that it was merely her own healing instincts coming to the fore, but Maker, he had looked so… helpless.
He had allowed her to steady him, but refused to meet her eyes as she'd looked him over with open concern. She had felt his pulse pounding heavily under her fingers; felt the way his body trembled with overexertion though he'd fought to control it. To her utter astonishment, there had been no marks left on his skin, no physical evidence at all of the trauma his body had just endured.
Without a trace of fear she'd whispered his name again, the undeniable question in her tone bringing Anders's eyes to meet hers briefly – soft brown eyes she hadn't noticed prior to that moment – and she remembered how her heart had twisted painfully in her chest. He'd then turned, pulling away from her support and searching gaze and made to stand before his friend that they'd been too late to save.
The memory of Karl's monotonous voice and lifeless eyes made Hawke quiver. Constant whisperings of demons be damned, she would never become a soulless drone - she would rather die than be made Tranquil, and Karl had felt the same. Despite knowing his Tranquillity was irreversible, she couldn't help but ask if there was anything they could do.
"Can you cure a beheading?" was all Anders had offered in response before mercifully ending his friend's life.
They'd all run then, fleeing the Chantry as fast as they could, desperate to return to the relative safety of Darktown's shadows. Anders had fallen further and further behind until Hawke had dropped back and pulled his arm around her shoulders. He'd murmured something that sounded grateful as she helped steady him once more. They'd continued on in silence.
She was left watching now as Anders made his unsteady way into what she could only assume was his private room at the back of the clinic, making no acknowledgement of the general din surrounding him. He was equally ignored in return by the many waiting patients as he passed them by, though it was possible in his current state that most saw him as merely another sick person in need of a healer. Seeing him this way, looking so fragile, so normal - it was hard to remember what he had become not an hour ago. Irritation at herself and the situation gripped her suddenly and she growled audibly. It had been her choice to aid Anders, 'a favour for a favour' he'd called it. She shook her head, laughing bitterly and feeling utterly foolish. None of it made any sense, but she was damned sure she would get some answers - not to mention the maps that had been the goal of this complete debacle of an evening - but Anders was in no condition to provide either at present.
Hawke sighed heavily, fatigue creeping over her and dampening the sudden irrational surge of anger. What could she do about it now, anyway? She couldn't undo helping Anders – not that she'd really had a choice in the matter to start with. All she had left was the decision of what to do now.
Those hoping to receive treatment tonight are going to be disappointed, Hawke realised sadly, her eyes briefly resting on a couple soothing the tears of their young daughter as she coughed and hacked continuously.
A stern-looking older woman with thick greying hair and glasses perched precariously on the end of her nose was the only one to look up in concern as Anders walked by. She appeared to be an assistant of sorts, working her way through the groups of people waiting to be tended, assessing and prioritising the patients. On seeing the state of the healer, however, Hawke was the first to receive her reproachful glare, her eyes firing daggers over the rim of her spectacles, and before Hawke could rearrange her features into something more innocently passive, those hard eyes had already moved on, wandering to Carver, Varric, and lastly Juno, all of whom had remained by the clinic entrance. When she got to the mabari, the woman's growing look of suspicion was cemented firmly in place. To Hawke's great surprise, she made no attempt to ask what had happened to Anders; instead she turned away with a disparaging shake of the head, wiping her hands down the front of her apron before dealing with the next elderly gentleman.
Perhaps seeing Anders so exhausted isn't unusual? Hawke mused. Then again, perhaps she just wouldn't believe our explanations, so she doesn't bother asking.
Hawke couldn't blame her on that front, quickly assessing their overall appearance. They did look quite the bloodied, beaten up posse, and certainly could have graced any league of rogues in Kirkwall – unsurprising, considering the night they'd had. Hawke was simply grateful to have all limbs accounted for.
"Sister," Carver began, his voice pitched low as he stepped forward and grabbed Hawke by the elbow, pulling her slightly. "We need to go!"
"Is it just me, or did any of that not seem right to anyone else?" Varric asked nervously, his opinion on the evening's events having been strangely lacking up to that point.
"No, Varric, this is not right. Your bloody Warden's an abomination!" Carver fumed, looking angrily over his shoulder at Varric.
Varric lifted his hands defensively. "Hey, how was I supposed to know?" he asked.
"Sister," Carver said again, looking back at Hawke and pulling more insistently on her arm, "the Templars will be looking for him; we'll be hunted for sure. We need to get away from here."
"No," answered Hawke thoughtfully. She'd already made up her mind about this. She wasn't going anywhere.
"What?" exclaimed both Carver and Varric.
"No, I'm not leaving," she elaborated, "but you both need to get out of here."
"Why? Why are you staying?" asked Carver, yanking hard enough that she was forced to look at him. "You can't expect me to just up and leave you here with that!" he said, pointing in the direction Anders had staggered.
Her brother's expression flinched fractionally under her gaze. The order was clear in her eyes: You can, and you will. "I need to stay," she said aloud.
"No, you don't," argued Carver, his voice rising in volume, drawing unwanted attention.
"Are any of you in need of healing?" It was Anders's assistant, scowling as she crossed the room to stand boldly in front of Hawke. Instantly Carver took a step back, allowing Hawke to take the brunt of the woman's displeasure. "No?" she enquired, looking them over distastefully when no answer was forthcoming. "Then I suggest you make room for those who do… and close the door on your way out." With that dismissal, she turned and marched away, muttering angrily under her breath.
Hawke sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before rounding on her brother. "We need those maps, Carver," she said, pulling her arm free of his grasp, "which he's in no position to give right now."
"Then we'll come back tomorrow," Carver suggested.
"Potentially leading any investigating Templars right here?" Hawke asked incredulously. Her brother's frown deepened. "Look around," she demanded, gesturing to the people waiting in the clinic. "These are innocent people. Many of them are Ferelden refugees like us. This place is their only source of aid. If it were discovered by the Templars…" she let the idea hang.
"So you'd be fine with letting him continue here after what you saw tonight?"
"They need a healer," she muttered uneasily, casting another pensive look over the room at large. Carver huffed impatiently and the resulting spike of irritation at how he always demanded she lead and then was never satisfied with her decisions forced her to respond further. "Look, I'm in no position to play judge right now, I need more information."
"More than seeing him tearing open Templars with his bare hands?"
Hawke winced, worrying her bottom lip as her earlier dread returned with the memory. "Whatever we witnessed tonight," she said, "I doubt it's the first time it's happened, you saw his face after he changed back. He was scared but not shocked."
"Still, Hawke, a possessed mage?" questioned Varric suddenly. "I realise he was my find, but…" He shrugged uncertainly.
"If that's the case," she replied, smiling slightly at him, knowing this was as close as Varric would venture to openly questioning her, especially with Carver present, "then it will have to be dealt with... quietly." She watched him concur though she found the idea of 'dealing with it' thoroughly disturbing. "But only if," she added, "and I'm not convinced."
"Not convinced?" sputtered Carver. "You're too easily suckered by a pair of big brown eyes and the beaten dog routine."
Hawke offered her brother the most sceptical expression she could muster.
"How do you know what colour his eyes are, Junior?"
"Shut up, Varric," Carver snapped, uninterested in his quips, but Hawke caught Varric's eye, offering him a silent apology on behalf of her brother. He simply smirked in return and shook his head, completely unfazed. "For the Maker's sake, he - it - was going to attack you!"
"Don't 'Maker's sake' me, Carver," Hawke began, "I'm not an idiot who's been taken in by a handsome face. I've already said we'll deal with this if there's enough justification, but how many abominations have you seen able to flit back to being human at will? There's obviously more to this man than what we've seen for him to be healing a little boy this morning to-"
"Murdering Templars as 'something else' tonight," Carver threw in.
Hawke let her eyes close, suddenly exhausted. "I don't want to argue about this, okay? Mother will be worried enough that I'm not with you tonight without you stomping home like an angry bear."
Carver's expression said he was about to argue further regardless, but Hawke lifted her hand to silence him before he could begin. "I intend to get answers and maps before I leave here, Carver," she said, "and… I have to stay. These people came here tonight seeking aid, which is something Anders in no state to offer right now, but I can. I'm staying, end of discussion. Juno can stay with me," she added quickly, and her huge mabari barked in agreement, marching from where he had stood behind Varric to sit at her side. She scratched his ear fondly, invoking a deep thrumming sound from low in his chest. "I won't be totally unprotected."
Carver groaned, but Hawke knew that he knew he wouldn't be able to sway her once her mind was made up. "I hope you know what you're doing," he muttered, running his hand through his mop of black hair and glaring.
Hawke couldn't help but smile at him, she was used to this attitude. He was genuinely more worried about her than angry at her, he'd just never learned how to show it. "It'll be alright. Trust me. I'll be home tomorrow, I'll have the maps, and we can get on with making the rest of the coin we need for Bartrand. We'll never have to see Anders again."
"Knowing you, Sister, somehow I doubt that," he answered sourly; turning toward Varric, who was already making his way out of the clinic. Carver paused briefly in the entranceway and, without looking back, said, "I will see you tomorrow, then."
"Be careful, Hawke," Varric added with a nod of his head before following after her brother. "Come on, Junior, quick drink on me in the Hanged Man?"
"I need it after this."
Hawke rolled her eyes, listening to them till her brother's chuntering faded into the distance. Once again she found herself offering silent thanks to the Maker for Varric. He hadn't known them long, but he'd picked up on their family dynamic very fast. He knew to keep quiet when things were like this between her and her brother, giving his usual swift wit a rest, though even he found Carver's whiny immaturity grating at times, when a few choice words easily cut her brother to the quick. Hawke rubbed at her temples, such things often came back to haunt her in the end, so she was grateful for him holding his tongue despite Carver's rudeness. Things would be difficult enough after all this.
To say that her and Carver's relationship was a strained one was putting it mildly. Being second to a mage sister less than four years his senior was more than his pride could handle. Luckily for him, Hawke was willing to utilise her learned mage skills to give her extra patience when really all she wanted to do was set the nearest thing on fire - the nearest thing usually being her brother.
Simple discipline had left her just about able to cope with his apparent predisposition to hate and blame her for a world of injustices he believed heaped upon him, but the last cut had been too deep to not leave a scar on their fragile relationship, because Hawke saw the same blame for Bethany's death mirrored in their mother's eyes as well.
Things had never been right since Beth died, and she doubted whether they ever would be again.
It was too much sometimes, the responsibility of it all - it was like Hawke wasn't allowed to feel anything herself, like her sister's death hadn't or somehow wouldn't have affected her as much as anyone else. The continual rivalry with Carver was leaving her emotionally ragged and it hurt far more than she would ever say. Honestly, she didn't know what to do anymore, they seemed fated to never see eye to eye about anything and the frequency of their arguments was only increasing. She loved him, though, for his fierce protectiveness and loyalty. She loved him as only an older sister could, even if he was an arrogant ass. Now if only he would get from underfoot and start living his life instead of bitching constantly about being caught in her 'big fat' shadow.
The pillock, Hawke groused inwardly, taking a moment to gather her tired thoughts and breathe. Tonight isn't over just yet. Maker, she wished it was.
Finally, she rolled up her sleeves and marched straight up to Anders's assistant, conveying the same boldness the woman had shown her not minutes ago. "Is there somewhere I can wash up?" she asked determinedly, glancing down at her grubby attire.
The woman looked taken aback for a moment, pushing her glasses further up her nose idly. "Do you intend to help, Serah?" she asked, her tone questioning Hawke's ability to actually do anything useful. Hawke simply lifted her chin and nodded. "I don't see how a woman such as you would be able to assist. We need our healer, not the rogue who carried him back."
This woman wasn't the first to mistakenly think Hawke a rogue and undoubtedly would not be the last. She'd trained too hard to master a few physical abilities alongside her other 'gifts' to be tied up in the flowing garb of mages. Plus, nothing screams 'apostate' quite like a set of fancy robes and carrying a staff. As a result, she'd always preferred light leathers. Calmly, she lifted her right hand, drawing the woman's attention to where an orb of light was forming at her fingertips. "I'm not a rogue," she explained patiently and the assistant's eyes widened in sudden realisation. "I'm skilled at healing and herbalism. Please, put me to use."
"Very well, Serah...?"
"Hawke."
"Serah Hawke. I'm Ida." Hawke inclined her head in response. "The basin is over there," Ida continued, pointing to the far corner of the clinic; not a hint of gratitude in her voice. I've yet to prove I'm of any use, I guess, Hawke thought. "You'd best get washed up, and we'll get to it. The clinic is fearfully busy tonight."
"Should we check on him?" asked Hawke, looking over in the direction of the door Anders had stumbled through, though she instantly regretted drawing attention back to him and the possibility of being asked to explain what had happened. Luckily Ida seemed content to be left without details. Hawke wasn't sure how she would react to the knowledge of 'their healer' potentially being an abomination. Assuming that she didn't already know.
"Later, perhaps," Ida answered. "He'll sleep a bit and then come out to help most likely. He's like this every other night anyway, though he did look particularly exhausted." Her grim expression told Hawke she wasn't cleared of blame on that front and she turned away quickly heading for the wash basin, beginning to find the woman's prickly attitude truly irritating. Such a long day would never be conducive to Hawke's normally diplomatic nature, but especially not when her nerves were already frazzled and the night promised to be just as taxing. She needed to be careful.
I always need to be careful, she affirmed, laughing inwardly at herself, for all the good it ever does me. "Juno!" His head lifted instantly at her call and tilted to the side as he waited for her command. Hawke gestured with two fingers to her eyes, then to Anders's door. Juno huffed, laying his head back down and she chuckled, no doubt he was keeping an eye out already.