Disclaimer:

Dragon Age I and II belong to Bioware.

All the copyrights associated with the world and characters of Dragon Age belong to them.

Only the ideas contained within this story are my property.

This is just for fun, not profit.

Synopsis:

Follows the events of Dragon Age II. Spared by Hawke after destroying the Chantry and hunted by everyone else, Anders flees to the only place that he ever called home... only to find himself in a situation that once again gets out of hand. Eventual AndersxOC. Yes, it's one of those fics.

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Chapter 1

They were getting ready to move past the hill when they were attacked; an arrow, barely missing his shoulder, lodged in the rotten tree trunk they had just been sitting on.
"Run!" She grabbed his hand and they took flight towards the forest outskirts, shrill voices running after them in the dark.
He was panting. "Let us face them!"
"No, we have no chance to-" she abruptly screamed. He turned his head and saw, to his horror, a black arrow lodged in her back. "RUN!"
Feet flying, he ran for the trees like a madman.

OoOoOoOo

The Merdaine loomed over the silent hills, bathed in the rosy light of dawn. The colossal ivory statue of Andraste, still capping the mountain, reached up to the sky, hands perpetually raised in silent prayer. The air was cold and clear. Anders shivered with in his linen robes and sat up, spitting straw.

"Guot morgan," said a gruff voice to his left, over the creaking of the old wooden vehicle. He hurriedly put on his coat and turned to face the carriage driver, replying in the language of his childhood, "How long have I slept?"

The old man's missing teeth showed as he grinned. "Your Anderfelian is horrendous, boy. Stick to what you know."

"Rest breeds rust, as they say, Herr. Are we close to Nordbotten?"

"We'll enter the city with the sun. Catch some sleep while you can. You've been twisting and groaning for a while now."

Anders groaned in answer and half laid down again in the small carriage, looking at the landscape, his aching muscles complaining.

The old villager had reminded him of what Varric used to tell him. "Catch some sleep while you can, Blondie. Dream happy dreams of templars boiling in oil."

He found it hard to believe it had only been two months since he last saw the dwarf, or lost at Wicked Grace to Isabella at the Hanged Man. Damn it, he even missed Fenris. As for Hawke... he tried to avoid thinking about the last time they spoke. "Just go," he'd said.Anders had never dared hope he'd still be alive, not after what he did. And now they were all as good as dead to him. So many lives lost… for what? He felt Justice -no, Vengeance- stir in him and shivered again, gazing at the bleak hills. They held no answers.

OoOoOoOo

He had been but a boy when he last saw Nordbotten. He remembered clutching his mother's hand, wide eyes drinking in the market stalls, the air full of the tantalizing smells of spices and roasted meat. As an adult, however, he was less than impressed. This was a city full of sun baked streets, filthy beggars and gray, forbidding walls. Well, the constant threat of famine and darkspawn might also have something to do with the dampening of the general mood, he mused as he entered the inn the old driver directed him to.

Once again in an unfamiliar place, yet he was greeted by the too familiar sight of blood. An injured boy was lying on a table, his breast rising in uneven staccato breaths. His left shoulder was a mess. A woman with curly dark grey hair was clutching his hand and crying her eyes out. Anders sighed and went close. "I'm a healer," he said to the room, "how can I help?"

OoOoOoOo

They forced everyone but the boy's mother out and closed the heavy pine door, while Anders rolled his sleeves and got to work. Treating the boy without revealing his magic would be a challenge. He bade the innkeeper, a thin-lipped older woman, to boil water in the hearth and bring clean sheets. While applying pressure to the shoulder, he felt for any disturbances in the boy's energy signature. Ah, there it was; he could see something in his mind's eye, a foreign object, appearing as a sickly green blot, stuck close to the boy's clavicle. He would need to remove it as fast as possible in order to properly clean and dress the wound. He placed his dagger over the fire and grabbed a bottle of cheap wine, seemingly forgotten at a nearby table. He poured some over the wound, wincing when the boy screamed. Muttering under his breath, Anders sent him into a state of semi sleep, saying to the woman, "He's fallen into shock." Using the dagger as a prop, Anders willed the foreign object to come out through the least resistant path, praying the innkeeper wouldn't understand the deception. He held his breath while digging as little as possible with the tip of the knife, until a small piece of metal fell in his lap with a plop. He wrapped it with a piece of cloth and put it in his pocket to examine later. He could feel the silent innkeeper's eyes on him.

OoOoOoOo

"He will recover," he told the boy's mother in Anderfelian while washing his hands.

She nodded, soft sobs shaking her shoulders.

"The wound was thankfully shallow, but he will need to rest and let his shoulder mend in time. What's his name?"

"Albert, Herr." The boy was coming around. "Rest for how long? I need to work."

Anders studied his patient. His ribs were painfully visible. "How old are you, son?"

"This will be my fifteenth summer, Maker willing."

Poor thing, the mage thought, forced to be a man already.

"How did you get wounded? Darkspawn?" Blight or not, the Darkspawn was an ever present threat at the Anderfels.

"No Scatoloch, thank the Maker!" the boy's mother added rather hastily.

"It was the strangest thing!" Albert said. "I was trying to catch up with Siburg, when suddenly I saw a bright fire and felt a burning pain in my chest-"

"Siburg? Fire?"

"Yes, fire! Siburg's my cousin." He paused and frowned before continuing. "Although I don't know if you could really call it a fire. Strangest thing I ever saw, blue and purple and gold, like a spell-"

"Now now, son!" interrupted his mother, eyes slightly widening. Turning to Anders, she hastily said, "We're Maker fearing people, having nothing to do with Mages! My boy's still hallucinating, is all!"

"Sounds like it. Regardless, you need to lay down a while more so I can properly tend to your wound. And remember, you need your rest. Your family needs you to be strong for them. Healer's orders!" Anders said, forcing a smile. Quiet, Justice. They are not our enemy.

OoOoOoOo

The boy told the whole story later, holding a cup of steaming tea. He was on his way to the mines at the Merdaine when that "troublemaker", Siburg, had raced him to their destination and Albert was left back. It was then he saw the bright light and felt pain flare close to his chest. He remembered little more after that; Siburg came back to find out what had been taking him so long and carried him, unconscious and bleeding, back to town. The other boy had seen nothing of import. Anders rummaged his pockets and finally found a few silver coins to spare.

The mother had been reluctant to accept it. "You have already done enough."

"I insist. It's not much, but it should help a little." He pressed the coins in her hands.

"Maker bless you, Herr. We have little enough in the world, but I will never forget your kindness." She squeezed his hand and helped her son get up.

He had one sovereign left, enough to spend a night or two until he found what he came for.

The innkeeper led him into his room, closing the door behind her.

He made to take out his money bag and pay, but she raised her hand.

"No money, zoubarâri ," she said.

Anders stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about, lady."

She scoffed at him, leaving the room key on the bed. "I've treated wounds before. I know a mage's work when I see it. That, however, was my dead brother's boy you helped." She laid a small tray of food on the nightstand and turned to face him. "Your secret is safe with me, but watch your step. Others may not be as forgiving to your kind." She opened the door to leave. "If there is anything else you need, let me know." And she was gone. After standing for a while, Anders laid on the bed, his trembling fingers kneading his temples and stared at the ceiling, shadows drifting and eventually lengthening, filling the room as he rose again. As he washed his hands and face in the dim light, he thought about the metal piece he had removed from Albert's shoulder. After taking it out of his pocket and cleaning the dried blood in the basin, Anders lit a lantern and studied the thing, feeling for any magical properties. It was cool to the touch, with a strange burnt smell he couldn't quite place and cylindrical in shape, although seemingly distorted from the impact. An engraved glyph was still partially visible. It was not a symbol he recognized. He traced it with his fingers and heard a soft clicking sound. Strange, he thought. It still didn't explain the fire the boy spoke of, however.He placed the strange object in his pocket again and reached for the now cold bowl of soup the innkeeper had brought. He would have to wait until tomorrow morning to head to the farm. Setting aside after a while his finished meal, he reached in the small sack holding everything he owned and took out the only memento he had of his mother, fingers softly tracing the embroidered flowers on the pillow.

OoOoOoOo

He set off at the first light of dawn, disguising his staff as a walking stick and affecting a slight limp to pass through the city guards. Even though he had been away for most of his life, his feet still remembered the path and took him there, seemingly on their own. As the sun finally broke over the drowsy clouds, he saw the small brown hut he had once called home. His pace quickening, he walked towards the door, finding it ajar. Anders frowned. No one in the Anderfels ever left their doors open if they could help it. He knocked. "Hello?" he called out. No one answered. Pushing the door open, he looked in.

There were clear signs of struggle in the empty house; broken chairs and knick knacks littered the floor. Clutching his staff, Anders tried to make sense of the situation. Darkspawn? But his Warden sense felt nothing of the Taint. The fire in the hearth had recently died out and no dust had settled in. Next to the table, wooden bowls full of porridge were left untouched. On closer inspection, he found they were still warm. They were caught by surprise then, the mage thought, and I just missed it. Caught by whom? There was little of value to be found. It was then his eyes fell on the untidy bed and he saw the embroidered flowers on the blanket. A sob escaped his throat. What happened? I must find her, save her—

The door creaked and he whirled around. Had he been followed?

It was then he heard the scampering of feet.

He ran back out and saw someone running across the field, fully cloaked.

"Halt!" he yelled, running after him. "Halt!"

The figure ran even faster, ignoring him completely, but Anders would not be ignored.

"You brought this upon you, fool!" he muttered and raising his staff, he cast a spell of sleep.

As his target fell unconscious in the dirt, a feral grin split his face.

"Time to get some answers!" Finally reaching him, he pulled the hood of the cloak and paused momentarily; well, well, he thought, and I thought I was done chasing after girls.

OoOoOoOo

Anders had just finished tying her to the chair and was sitting in front of the fire, studying the dying embers, when he felt her jerk awake, her breathing coming out in short gasps.

"It will do you no good", he growled in Anderfelian, as he heard her trying to break free of the bonds. "You better start talking, little girl."

"Fuck you!" she spat and he turned around.

"Not from around here, I take it, sweetheart?" he said, a sneer touching the corners of his lips. "I may just do that, if you don't talk." An empty threat, but she didn't need to know that.

Her dark eyes widened and she went very still.

"Talk, or else." He drawled.

"Where is she? What did you do with her?" she blurted out.

Anders hesitated momentarily. That was his question to ask, not hers. "What game is this?"

"Andrea, you sick bastard! Did you bully her as well?"

"Who in the Black City is Andrea?"

"Don't pretend you don't know! You lured me here! Where is she? What did you do with her? Are you responsible for this mess?" By then, she was yelling at him, pulling against her bonds, as if he was the one restrained.

Normally he would have been amused, but his head was beginning to hurt. Pinching his eyebrows, he said, "How in Andraste's name did I lure you here, girl? Are you wrong in the head? Or just lying? What happened here?"

"How the hell should I know?" she snapped, her high-pitched voice ringing through his ears. "I followed the tracking device, thinking I would find Andrea. I don't even know where we are. If you're to blame for this… accident, you better let me go and help me find her or God help me, I will make sure you are sued within an inch of your life when we get back."

Anders blinked. "Tracking device? Sued? What are you talking about? And what do you mean by 'back'? Back where?"

And just like that, he saw a horrified change come over her face. She spoke, thankfully in a lower voice. "You mean you... you don't know."

"Know what?" Anders was losing his patience. "Either tell me what I need to know or by the Maker… people's lives are at stake!"

She was at a loss for words, it seemed. Finally, she said, "I... there has been a misunderstanding. We are both looking for answers in the wrong places, it seems. I am looking for someone, too. I fear for Andrea's life! Please… please untie me and I will do my best to help with your search."

He was torn between trusting her and leaving her in the place to rot, for all he cared. In the end, caution won over. It would not do for her to be found bound here, he thought. Stories of the rogue mage would spread like wildfire.

"Try anything and you'll regret it," he said and raised his hand. The rope binding her fell to the floor.

She stared at him, mouth open. "How did you do that?" she breathed, rubbing her wrists.

He was stunned. Was she daft? "What do you think? Magic. And if you even think of letting the Templars know, I will blast your empty head into the Fade."

"The Templars?"

That did it. "I have no time for this!" He turned around and walked out of the house.

He was halfway through the fields when he heard her shout, "Wait! Wait, dammit!" He continued walking, but she kept on running, finally reaching him and grabbing his hand.

He turned around and snapped, "Every moment I waste with you could be my mother's last. Either help me or begone!"

She ran her fingers through her rather short hair as a determined look crossed her face. She asked, "How long ago did your mother go missing?"

He stewed for a minute before answering. "No more than the first light, I think. There were still embers in the fire when I arrived."

"Were they taken by foot?"

He glanced about him before muttering, "Probably. I see no wheel trails."

She nodded and said, "I may be able to help you, then." She took out a strange thing out from a pocket, a small box of sorts with a glassy looking cover and buttons and pressed something, apparently waiting for something to happen. After a second, Anders was shocked to see the thing flare to life, green symbols and dots blinking on the glass. "What—"she raised her hand and stopped him, evidently focused on the flashing lights. She finally looked at him and said, "There seem to two groups of people, one larger than the other, moving away from us on foot. Their speed is relatively slow. I think we may be able to reach them one of them if we cut a shortcut through the fields and run. There's no sign of anyone else around."

Anders gaped at her. "How did you—"

"No time," she said, "I can show you later. Which group will we follow?"

He thought fast. "The smaller one."

She started running and he followed. As they ran towards the scant forest, she turned around and actually smirked at him. "I'm Rhys, by the way. You know, in case you need a name to threaten along with the face."

Chapter notes:

Guot Morgan = Good morning.

Scatoloch = Darkspawn.

Zoubarâri = Wizard.

Rhys is using a very updated version of a sonar range finder. The ones currently in use are very limited in turns of range, so this is not realistic at all. Same goes for the "tracking device."