Disclaimer-Much as I might wish otherwise, I do not own DAO, DA2, any part of Thedas, or any character there-in. I greatly appreciate Bioware allowing me to play with them for a little while.
Notes-Takes place after Bait and Switch, but before Fenris and Hawke have met again. I think. May take place after the first time he's accompanied her on some task or outing.
For now, this is a stand-alone fic. It does deal with the same Hawke as my stand-alone Stalemate, and I suspect I will eventually compile a collection of fics and snippets as I tend to do. If anyone has title suggestions for such an eventuality, I'd like to hear them. I can't see how it matters, but in case it does, at this point, I envision this fic as taking place in the same universe as the DAO Fragments Fics.
For any readers familiar with my other stories, I would like to assure you that while progress may be infrequent, none of my fics have been abandoned. Reader interest and reviews do tend to help keep me writing. *hint, hint*
His blindness toward her nature bothered him.
True, the long dark leather jacket she wore looked misleadingly like the robe of a priestess, particularly with those weathered golden suns blazoned just under the neck and just over the hem that lapped about her leather-clad calves. An effect she no doubt knew full well was heightened by the soft, rich draping of the vibrant red scarf wrapped about her hips. Perhaps the give-away should have been her staff, but even that, old gold, topped with a sleek and shining image of a woman-Andraste he supposed-burning with arms outstretched upon a pyre, had seemed no more than a symbol of her office.
He wanted to resent the misdirection his thoughts had taken. In retrospect, it had been foolish to think the strong-arm of smuggler and her associates might be a priestess... nonetheless, he was quite sure the woman knew the impression her appearance created... and knew how to use it to her advantage...
He disliked having himself used against him, though it was no less than he had long since learned to expect from a mage... from her kind.
And yet... in spite of her advantage, she'd asked nothing of him. Demanded nothing.
And when some strange compulsion he couldn't quite explain... some left-over remnant of an idea that his nature and his destiny was to serve mages... had prompted him to offer her his services-against his better judgement, no less, as if her power over him was as absolute as it was inevitable-she had asked him something. She had asked him... if he would be bothered by her presence. By her nature. Or that of her friends. Such consideration...
was something he had rarely experienced.
The Fog Warriors had asked about his thoughts and wishes... no one else ever had. Before or since.
It wasn't only about consideration, of course. He knew that. Experience told him as much. Even if it hadn't, the look in her eyes would have explained it. She was weighing him, evaluating the dangers he might pose against the advantages he might provide. He would have liked to resent that, too, but he couldn't quite manage it. It was the sort of thing he would do. The sort of thing the Fog Warriors had done. It was a mark of person who had learned to control impulse in favor of tactical advantage.
Mages, in his experience, did not bother with such things. Who had need of intelligent evaluation and planning to win a battle in which they were armed with raw power? It was the difference between a dragon and a hawk.
There had been no mages among the Fog Warriors during his time with him... and yet... he had never thought on it, but he suddenly realized it might well have been possible...
There were mages among the Qunari, after all. In fact, he had seen Qunari mages, what they called saarebas at work in that last battle in Par Vollen... their work had left him injured, had led him into the arms of the Fog Warriors who had saved him... from himself, even more than from anything else.
The saarebas who injured him had followed the Qun, but some of their fellows might welll have escaped the chains which bound them... just as those who save him had. Just as...
He had escaped his.
They would have been marked, still, obvious outsiders... but... could they not have had children, just as other mages did? Children who lived unmarked among their people, as free and open as any other?
He could picture such a thing, and he was more than a bit surprised to find the mental image didn't immediately fill him with blind, unthinking rage.
And their magic... the magic of the saarebas had been very much like hers. A wild and whipping frenzy of air and power, a whirl of energy, sparking in the air about them, a swift and sure strike of lightning, raining chaos down upon the unsuspecting.
Yes, her magic was very like theirs... and it brought with it not only a frisson of fear, but also an odd sense of familiarity. She was a dangerous thing... but, then, he could recognize and respect that. After all, so was he.
Perhaps that familiarity paired with his distraction, his single-minded need to follow Danarius and seize him in his hands... to tear him limb from limb... perhaps that was what had prevented him from immediately recognizing her for the threat she was.
What unnerved him even more than his initial ignorance was that the image of a saarebas, free and unchained, among the Fog Warriors kept recurring in his thoughts... it hunted him until it haunted him... and, somehow, the image seemed to wear her face.
He could picture her among them, the Fog Warriors... imagine her fitting in among them as easily as he longed to do, as he never could.
The thought burned like bitter bile... and, yet, in spite of himself, he found it rather comforting.
Somewhere, in some particle of his being, close enough to his thoughts he could sense it, but far enough away he could pretend it didn't exist, he seemed to have a memory of the oddest impression when he first caught sight of her... a strange sense of recognition, of acceptance... of relief, almost, as if he had finally, finally, found the one thing that could save him...
Which left him wondering what that made her. What that made them.
He had completely taken leave of his senses. There was no them.
Better, surely, that he should leave. Now. Immediately. Before there was.
Magic was the destructive force that had deprived him of his own life, his own memories. It could have no role in building new ones.
He wanted no ties binding him to anyone, particularly to any mages, however well-meaning.
They were never harmless.
They could not be.
And, yet, he wasn't at all sure he was ready to leave.
He wasn't sure he knew what it was he wanted.
Which was strangely intriguing after all this time of wanting nothing but Danarius dead.
He suddenly understood the mage may have had a point when she'd answered his inquiries about her own desires, her own intentions, by telling him that to know such a thing would spoil all the fun...
And yet the memory of her words made his hackles rise still.
He could sense danger hovering nearby, gathering like lightning in the wind.