Author's Note:
All Dragon Age 2 characters are copyright (c) BioWare – many thanks to them for creating a complex and engaging fantasy world and allowing me to play in it's sandbox.
Slaying the Dragon
"Another round of drinks for the house, on me!" Marian Hawke bellows. She throws the rattling sack high in the air and draws her bow, shooting an arrow across it's side to rip the cloth open, sending dozens of copper and silver coins raining down to clatter on the wooden tavern tables and floor below.
The raucous crowd at The Hanged Man hoots and cheers in reply.
Anders groans. She's been at this for hours now. "For Andraste's sake," he hisses at her as she teeters precariously on their table, knocking over Varric's tankard of ale and kicking their deck of cards in the process. "I won't heal you if you fall off,"
"Maybe we should confiscate her weapon before she kills someone with that thing," Avaline grumbles and throws down her hand of cards with a resigned shake of her copper tresses, "I fold. And it's time I got home to Donnic," she pushes herself away from the table.
"What?" Hawke turns to face the guardswoman, arms akimbo. "We just killed a sodding high dragon! We should celebrate!" her words are slurred as she thrusts her hands up in the air with glee. She nearly throws herself off balance with the action. "Whoa..."
"Oh, leave her be. She's enjoying herself for once," Isabella chuckles, "You should give it a try sometime."
Hawke bends over and shakes a wobbly finger with every word, "Don't be such a killjoy, Avaline!"
As she does this, Anders is treated to a full view of Hawke's smallclothes under her extremely short skirt. "Maker help me," Under his breath, he curses this new set of armour she treated herself to earlier in the day. Spare leather panels of the kilt just barely covering her mid-thigh, she has already spent much of the afternoon running errands around town with the mage tagging along behind her, trying desperately to keep his eyes off the exposed flesh beneath and failing miserably.
"Will someone taller than me please get Hawke down from there?" Varric, who is seated beside him, snorts. "I think we've seen enough,"
"I could stand to see more," Isabella smirks, sipping her whiskey and swiftly casting a sly eye up at Hawke's rear end then down at the bulge threatening to form in Anders' lap.
The mage stands abruptly. "All right," he reaches around her slim waist to lift her off the table.
"Hey," she squirms impotently under his arms. "Unhand me, you brute! I'm the Champion of Kirkwall!"
"The Champion of Kirkwall has had way too much to drink."
As he lowers her to the ground to sit back down again, she twists herself about. Giggling, she drapes her arms around his neck. Her warmth sends shivers up his spine. "C'mon Anders," she murmurs, leaning close enough that he can smell the grain on her breath. "You've hardly touched your ale,"
He turns his head away as she leans in even closer and feels her soft lips graze past the stubble on his cheek. It takes every ounce of willpower in him not to touch anything else, either, as she straddles him in the rickety chair.
"Let's say we call it a night, gang," Varric says, standing. "Would someone care to escort our Champion back to Hightown?"
"I'll take her," Anders pipes up, "home, that is," he is quick to add as Isabella raises an eyebrow. "Up we go, Hawke," He reaches up under her arms, pushing her off his lap and onto her shaky feet again. He pulls one of her arms over his shoulder.
"Whatchu doin'?"
"I'm taking you home,"
"Oh my," she giggles, "your place or mine?"
Varric gestures towards Anders as they hobble their way over to the tavern door. "Let's get something perfectly straight, Blondie," the dwarf lowers his voice into a growl as Anders leans down to hear. "If you take advantage of Hawke in any way, I promise you that Bianca will gladly skewer any offending body parts of yours within an inch of your sorry life. You hear me?"
"Loud and clear, Varric," Anders replies gravely. "I'll be a perfect gentleman. Mage's honour."
"Hey, I heard that," Hawke detaches herself from his neck to poke at the dwarf's hairy chest for emphasis. "I can take care of myself, I'll have you know." To prove her point, she attempts to stand upright on her own. She manages to do so briefly, but not before needing to grab at the door frame for support and trying to pretend that she meant to lean on it in a casual way.
"See?" she says triumphantly with a wide grin. "You should worry more about him," she points at Anders, then squints at him. "Uh, both of them,"
"Oh, believe me, I do," Varric replies, giving the mage a knowing look. "Both of them."
As they slowly make their way through the dark streets of Lowtown, Anders is lost in thought as Hawke stumbles along at his side, occasionally petting the feathers on his coat and loudly humming an off-key lullaby. He smiles to himself, admiring how lovely she looks – her cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling in the moonlight, giddy when she looks his way.
But he also can't help but notice how she's started drinking more and more since her mother died and wishes there were something he could do to comfort her. He wonders if all this time, she's been closing herself off just to maintain the image of a strong, confident leader by day – only to drown her pain in whiskey by night.
At the foot of the bridge to Hightown, Hawke stops all of a sudden. "Anders," she turns to him, "you're awfully quiet. You're not...mad at me, are you?" she leans onto him heavily and he can feel the weight of her body pressing him back against the stone railing.
"Of course not,"
"Good. I don't think I could stand it if you were. You're always so grumpy," she pouts.
Before he can stop her, she tucks her hands under his coat, wraps her arms about his waist and presses her cheek into his neck. "But mmm...you're so warm." He's never been so close to her before - so close that he can smell her hair, soft and sweet, against his lips. He resists the urge to breathe in every last bit of her.
Reluctantly, Anders wiggles out of her embrace. "Well, let's get you out of the cold, then. You're almost home," Suddenly, he has an idea. He unbuckles his staff, turns away from her and gets down on one knee, gesturing towards his back. "Okay, hop on. It'll be faster this way than just staggering about."
"You can't be serious," she giggles.
Anders rolls his eyes. "Trust me, Hawke, you've done far less dignified things than this tonight," he laughs, "Come on, already! Your chariot awaits, oh great Champion of Kirkwall,"
She climbs on, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Giddy up!" she says as he hikes her up onto his back.
"Mage-powered transportation, hmm..." She murmurs behind him, "What will they think of next?"
Hawke settles into Anders' broad back and sighs contentedly as she feels it rise and fall, his rough chin brushing the back of her hand with each step. Her breath causes a feather from his shoulder to curl up and tickle her in the face. After a couple of moments of trying to twitch her nose out of the way, she gives in to a loud sneeze.
"That's what happens when you don't dress appropriately for the weather," Anders declares, only somewhat regretting that he's allowed her to wrap her bare legs tightly around his waist. He can feel the warmth of her core pressed against him, his keen awareness of it almost boring a hole into his back.
"It's your blighted coat, silly - it tickles,"
"At least it's warm," he shrugs.
"Um, Anders..." Hawke says, shifting uncomfortably as they reach the other side of the bridge, "can we stop for a minute?"
"Sure. What's wrong?"
She slips off the mage's back and grins sheepishly as she wavers on her own two feet again. "I...all this moving about, um...makes me need to use the privy,"
Anders lets out a tired sigh. "It's more likely the seven tankards of ale and four mugs of whiskey talking,"
"Since when do you keep track?"
"There's nowhere to go around here, Hawke. Can't you hold it?" he asks, ignoring her question.
"If I could," she says, knees squeezed together and hopping in place, "I wouldn't be asking,"
He looks around. They're on the Hightown side of the bridge now, and all of the streets are wide and open – no winding, out-of-the-way alleys or dark corners to be found like in Lowtown. Plus, if one of the city guards caught the Champion of Kirkwall relieving herself on public property, well...he was pretty sure he didn't want to be the one to have to explain.
Thankfully, he spots a narrow path just around the corner from the bridge, leading down onto the banks of the river below. "That'll do," he takes her hands in his and tentatively leads her down the rocky embankment, praying all the while that she doesn't fall on him and send them both into the water. After what seems like forever, they're under the bridge.
Anders turns away from her, "Okay, so do your business,"
"Hold on," she says, grabbing his back with one hand for support. He can feel her leaning on him, teetering there for a few moments as though she's trying to balance on one leg.
"What in blazes are you do-" he looks over his shoulder to see Hawke bent over, a flash of white cloth and bare skin, and quickly looks away again. He gulps.
"Here," she thrusts something towards him.
Anders looks down at the crumpled linen underpants in his hand. He closes his eyes and seriously begins to contemplate leaving out the part about "mage's honour" from his manifesto.
He takes a deep breath. "And what, exactly, am I supposed to do with these?" he says in a measured tone.
"Hold on to them for me," she says over her shoulder, "I don't want to get them dirty,"
He shoves the smallclothes deep into his pocket and imagines that he is pushing his desire somewhere down with them, begging the Maker that this nightmare will soon be over. He leans on his staff, listening to the strong, steady stream of liquid flowing to the ground as she sighs in relief and wonders how long it will be before he can have some release of his own.
"All done," Hawke cheerfully declares, leaning on him again.
"Your hands are freezing," Anders exclaims as he leads her back up the steep path. Once they reach the top, he lets go of her long enough to unchain his coat and drape it over her shivering shoulders before lifting her onto his back again. He can't help but grin at the thought of having seen her small frame engulfed in his clothing, as adorable as a fledgling sparrow.
She resumes her absentminded humming as they plod across the cobblestone streets. Before long, they reach the Hawke estate, but the lady of the house fumbles with her key and drops it twice, just barely managing to unlock the door with a great deal of help from the mage. They stumble into the foyer, almost tripping over each other in a tangle of legs and arms. This elicits no end of giggles from Hawke.
"Shush, you fool woman," Anders hisses, "Do you want to wake the whole house?"
But she's staggering around the hall now, and he has to chase after her as she nearly knocks over a side table and vase on her way to the staircase. It's when she stumbles into a large plant in the corner and practically gets stuck there that he finally decides to hoist her over his shoulder and carry her upstairs in exasperation.
"Whee!" Her head dangles behind him, "Nice view,"
He unceremoniously drops her on the bed and kneels down to remove her boots in silence.
"You're sweet, you know that?" she murmurs, leaning over him and resting her chin on the crown of his head.
"And you, my friend, are inebriated." he forces all of his concentration on undoing the laces.
In the meantime, she playfully twists her fingers through his hair. The sensation makes Anders' scalp tingle with pleasure. Just untie the laces, man. You can do this. Why must her boots have so many sodding laces?
"Oops!" the ties holding his hair back gives way in her hand.
He looks up at her in surprise, long hair falling around his face and she smiles, whispering, "You look good with your hair down,"
She runs her fingers across his cheek and he is completely disarmed by the gentleness of her touch and the mysterious glint in her eyes, shimmering at him in the firelight. This time, he does not turn away when she brings her lips to his.
Her mouth is warm and moist, teasing his with soft kisses. He lets her tongue slip inside to meet his own, stunned that the night he once thought of as a nightmare was suddenly becoming a dream come true. Gently plying at his bottom lip, he lets out a small gasp as she pulls away to murmur, "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"
Hawke slips off the edge of the bed to kneel on the floor in front of him and as she does, Anders feels his hand slide up the back of her leg and over her smooth, bare bottom. He gives it an impulsive squeeze and she squirms under his rough palm. She lifts a hand under his loose shirt to explore the bare flesh of his chest. His skin quivers along the path of her caresses.
"I wonder, however, what is..." she smirks, covering his mouth with hers again before he can protest. Her curious fingers travel in lazy circles, lower and lower, trailing over the muscled ridges of his belly. Once they find his belt buckle, he has little time to question how easily the drunken woman manages to undo it before her hand has sought out his stiffness. She curls her fingers around the hard, throbbing shaft and he moans in response.
"I'm going to a cold, dark, place when I die," he sighs, as Varric's threats are quickly dismissed to the back of his mind.
In one swift movement, Anders scoops her up in his arms. They tumble back together upon the bed, limbs entwined, lips searching each other desperately as though for something precious, something lost.
Hawke's hands are grasping at his hair; she brings her mouth upon his neck, and he reciprocates like a ravenous animal, tearing at her clothing. Legs wrapped around his waist like a vise, she pulls him even closer, rubbing her core hotly against him. He reaches down between her legs and they willingly open at his touch. He brings his hand up under her skirt, seeking out the soft folds there, stroking up and down the warm, wet slit that clenches tightly when he slips one, then two fingers, inside her.
She thrusts her hips against his hand as he slips in and out, pressing and curling them within her. He feels himself stiffen even more, the ache of his need growing as she swells beneath his fingers. She is panting, pleading, moaning his name as his thumb strokes her sensitive nub over and over until her eyes roll back in ecstasy, body arching up to tremble beneath him then relaxing completely into his embrace with a satisfied sigh.
By this time, Anders is ready to explode. He is harder than he ever thought humanly possible, and is not going to wait any longer. "Hawke?" he gasps.
Her eyes are closed, and there is a contented smile on her face. When it finally dawns on him that she has passed out and is lying limp and unconscious in his arms, he draws upon every profanity he knows to curse those four mugs of whiskey and every single one of Varric's dwarven paragons.
Then, like the perfect gentleman he promised to be, he gently tucks Hawke into bed and kisses her on the forehead before running home to his clinic as fast as he can to lock the door behind him and settle his unfinished business alone in the darkness of his room.
They agreed to meet in Darktown the next day to prepare for the Wounded Coast. Varric arrives at the clinic first that morning and receives a curt greeting from a haggard-looking Anders.
Just then, Hawke walks in, cheerfully humming and carrying Anders' coat. "Good morning! You left this at my place last night," she says, handing it back to him. Varric's eyebrows rise.
"Right - thanks," Anders flushes slightly as he puts it on. "I...don't suppose you recall very much, do you?"
"Hardly anything. Blacked right out. Though I swear, I totally slept like a rock and had the most amazing dream," her lips form a very familiar, very contented smile.
"Hey, there's something falling out of your pocket, Blondie," Varric reaches over to grab at the fabric but before he can figure out what it is, Anders snatches it away from him and crumples it up in his fist, turning a deeper shade of pink as he does.
"Um, I believe this is yours," he quickly shoves the balled up cloth into Hawke's hand.
For a moment, she seems confused until she opens it up. She holds it out by the waistband and laughs, recognizing her smalls, "I was wondering where these got to,"
Varric's trigger finger twitches. "So, Hawke...you made it home okay last night?"
"Absolutely. It was a lot of fun," she replies, "Anders let me ride him,"
And that is when Anders hears the click and windup of a crossbow loading.