One Year Later…

Dragon 9:31, Cloudreach 15

Hawke

Hawke jumped as Carver slammed two full tankards of ale down on their corner table. She watched the amber liquid slosh over the rims, and scowled at her brother. "That's a waste of perfectly good ale, you know."

Carver scoffed. "You and I both know very well that this is not 'perfectly good ale.' In fact, I doubt it even qualifies as 'marginally drinkable ale.'"

Hawke shrugged. "As long as it does its job, it's all right in my books." She drank deeply, swallowing quickly to avoid contact with the strangely metallic-tasting brew. She gave herself a shake. "But, you are right… it is vile."

Carver nodded, one eyebrow quirked. "We'd best enjoy it… this is just about the last of the coin we have to burn, unless we want to give up on food for a while."

"But," she interrupted, pointing a finger at him, "we are free, finally!"

"Hear, hear!" her brother agreed, raising his mug and tapping it to hers.

Their service with Athenril had finished about a week earlier, but the sly elf had offered them one last job—one last paid job—and so they'd gone along on one more smuggling run to a system of caves not far from Kirkwall.

"Not to put a damper on things, but we really should think about what we are going to do for money now that we actually have a choice in the matter," Carver said with a sigh. "If I have a vote, I'd say that we stick to something a little more… legal?"

Hawke chuckled. "Come on, where's your sense of fun, Carver?" She took another long pull from her mug.

"Oh, my sense of fun is perfectly fine at the moment. I'd like to keep it that way, though, and the only way I know how to ensure that is with regular meals. And, dear sister, we need coin for that." He grinned and swirled the remnants of his drink. "I suppose I could go to the city guard and offer to help them out on the occasional odd job. They did mention that those pop up every now and again, even if they don't have the space or funding to train anyone new, yet."

"That could be a good option, providing the jobs are regular enough to keep the coin coming in." Hawke turned and caught the eye of the bartender, holding up her glass to request a refill. "I suppose I could come along, too—"

Carver coughed on his last mouthful of ale, spraying it all over the table. "Absolutely not."

Hawke scowled at him. "And why not, may I ask? I'm sure that I'd be perfectly capable of scouting the outskirts of the city with you. Plus, I've gotten much better at fighting without, well, you know what," she whispered, wiggling her fingers for effect.

"That," Carver said, mimicking her motions, "is precisely why not! What in the name of the Void is going on with your magic, Mari?" he hissed in a low voice. His eyes darted around to make sure that nobody had taken an interest in their conversation.

Hawke widened her eyes in a show of faux innocence. "I don't know what you mean, Carver," she said sweetly, then smiled brightly at the bartender who had brought their second round.

"Oh, come on, Mari. You know exactly what I'm talking about." Carver rolled his eyes. "You caught my damned pants on fire last week!"

Hawke sipped at her drink. "So?"

"So… I was standing behind you at the time," he replied with a disgusted look. "Not exactly something as simple as bad aim."

She didn't say anything. Hawke knew her brother was right, but she didn't want to deal with that particular problem at the moment. The ale was finally taking effect, and she felt lighter and more carefree than she had in quite some time.

"Plus," Carver continued, oblivious to her silence, "people were staring, Mari! You burned away the entire left cheek…"

"Did I?" she asked in mock surprise. "Oh dear. Well, I suppose that we'll have to come up with a good explanation for the tailor. Hmm… do you suppose they'd buy that a mabari did that?"

"Sweet Andraste," Carver sighed, raking a hand through his unruly hair. "Mari, be serious for a minute, won't you? Honestly, now, tell me what's going on."

Hawke sighed. She'd been hoping that her control would come back before Carver pushed the issue, but there was no getting around it, now. "I don't really know, Carver," she said quietly. "I've been having issues controlling it lately… well, not even just recently. It's just been getting steadily worse since Bethany died."

"For an entire year?" Carver hissed. "And you didn't think to tell me before you set me on fire?"

"I thought I'd have things figured out by now! I think it's something to do with my guilt, though…" Mari said. "I've heard that major, emotional events can alter a mage's connection to their magic. Maybe that's what's happened."

"Maker's balls…" Carver breathed. "So, what can we do?"

"Well, about that," Hawke began, "I have one idea. I'd rather hoped you'd have a bit more ale in you before I mentioned it, but—"

Carver quickly gulped down his drink, then fixed her with a pointed stare.

"Very funny," she said with a wry grin. "Like I said, I think this whole issue has something to do with the guilt I've felt. I can't get over the fact that I think I could have saved Bethany if I'd been a better healer. The only spells I've been able to do with any sort of consistency are small healing ones. Everything else tends to, you know…"

"Burst into flame?" Carver supplied, barely suppressing a grin.

Hawke grinned. "Yes, as evidenced by your pants."

"Pants aside, though," Carver said, "what are you saying, exactly? You don't think you want to switch to healing, do you? I mean, no offense, Mari, but healing's never really been your strong point."

Hawke gave an unladylike snort that Leandra would have been appalled to hear. "You're telling me. But it's odd, isn't it, that of all spells, those are the only ones that I have been having any luck with lately?"

Carver nodded slowly.

"I really think I need to look into it more, Carver," she continued. The ale was starting to muddle her thoughts at a rapid pace, and she needed to get her point across now if she had any hope of convincing him tonight. "Plus, think of how helpful it would be having a healer in the family. We'd never have to pay for a doctor again!"

Carver stared at her, then reached around and scratched the back of his head. "Mari, I see your point and understand your reasoning—truly, I do. There's one little problem, though: just because you want to be a healer now doesn't change the fact that you've got next to no experience with it."

Hawke glanced up from her drink, and Carver narrowed his eyes. "Out with it, Mari. I know that look. You've got some half-arsed plan in place already, don't you?"

"Er… maybe?" She said, grinning despite herself. Carver cocked an eyebrow, and she giggled.

Maker, the ale must be stronger than I thought if I'm amused before even telling Carver about this plan.

"Well, remember a few weeks ago when Athenril sent me to replenish some supplies? While I was at the shop, I overheard some people talking about a healer."

"A healer?" Disdain laced Carver's voice. "Come on, Mari. This is Kirkwall. What makes you think that this healer the refugees are talking about is anything but another simple apothecary?"

"That's just the thing! I assumed so, too, at least at first. But the more they talked, the more it sounded like there was something more to him. They say that he's down in Darktown, and that his shop's pretty remote," Hawke babbled. "The person who had been there said that he'd seen a boy walk out of there who had been on his death bed the day before. I'm sure there's more to him than just a skilled physician."

Carver's look was unimpressed. "Are you sure you're not just hearing what you want to hear, Mari? Think this through. I mean, what if your interpretation is wrong, and he's not a mage? How exactly is that going to sound if you walk in there and say 'teach me your ways, oh great one,' and he's just some bloke who mixes herbs together in the right proportions?"

Hawke's ale-addled mind involuntarily created the scene in her mind's eye. She pictured herself prostrate on the ground in front of some grey-bearded man who sold fake remedies, and she dissolved into laughter.

Carver sighed. "Come on, Mari, I'm serious! If you're going down there, you need some sort of backup plan in case he isn't a mage. What are you going to tell him? You can't exactly wander in there and say you're just window-shopping. That's likely to get you stabbed in Darktown."

"Oh, I know!" Hawke said, her grin widening. "I'll tell him my brother's got a burn that needs ointment. And that it's in a terribly uncomfortable spot. That'll also explain why you haven't come along."

"Ha ha, that's terribly funny," said Carver, scowling. "And that won't work, because if you're insisting on this, then I am going along."

Hawke gawked at him. "Wait, are you saying that you actually agree with me going there?" She'd been expecting resistance from her brother on this particular idea.

"Maker's breath, you're going to be the death of me," he breathed, barely loud enough for Hawke to hear. He sighed, then spoke normally. "I'm not saying I agree with it, no. What I am saying, though, is that we need to figure something out to get your magic reined in before you accidentally set the knight-commander's britches on fire. Right now, this seems like the only option we have to move forward. I know better than most what could happen if you just try to suppress it, remember?"

Hawke laughed and slopped a bit of ale down her front. "Are you referring to that incident when I was, what, eleven or twelve?"

"Yes," Carver said, the corners of his mouth twitching as he fought off a smile. "You decided that you'd had enough of practicing magic, and didn't cast a spell for an entire week, despite Father's warnings. Then, one night, I was minding my own business, sleeping as soundly as can be, when it starts raining. In my room. Right on my bed."

"I'm telling you, that could have been anyone," Hawke said, unsuccessfully attempting to school her face back into a serious expression.

"Right, and Gamlen's the heir to the Starkhaven throne."

Dragon 9:31, Cloudreach 17

Hawke and Carver inched their way through the streets of Darktown, pausing now and then to dodge rank puddles that had to be more than muddy water. Rank air rose from the sewers, and Hawke determinedly ignored the glances of all the people they passed. Though she'd never admit it to Carver, she was beginning to second-guess her plan now that they were here. After all, what self-respecting healer—mage or otherwise—would willingly live down here? There were other places in Kirkwall for mages to hide… places far less unpleasant than this. These crumbling buildings slick with greasy stains and eroded with saltwater made their hovel in Lowtown seem like a palace.

Carver stopped, and Hawke bumped into him. He grasped her arm and pulled her up next to him. "See that?" he asked, pointing at a door up the next flight of moldy stairs. "Isn't that what the refugees described? Something about a lit lantern?"

There was indeed a grubby lantern fixed to the crumbling wall beside the door. Though the glass panes were etched and hazy with age, a candle flickered feebly within. "Yes," Hawke whispered. "They said that if the lantern is lit, he should be there. Anders, I believe his name is?"

"Don't ask me," Carver said, "I'm not the one who was listening in on those conversations." He nudged her forward. "Well, shall we get this over with?"

Hawke nodded and walked up the steps, toeing over a man who was passed out at the top, an empty liquor bottle held loosely in one hand. She walked to the door, and hesitated a moment. Carver nodded his encouragement, and she knocked.

"Enter."

With one last glance at her brother, Hawke pushed open the door and walked into a dimly-lit room. A desk stood in the corner, its surface overflowing with parchment, and ink pots littered the ground beneath it. There was a makeshift bed in the center of the room and was made up with surprisingly clean sheets compared to the condition of the rest of the building. The healer himself stood with his back to them, arranging dried plants on the table against the far wall. He was slightly shorter than Carver, his flaxen hair contained in an untidy tail at the nape of his neck. The light color shone in stark contrast to the dark pauldron of feathers stretched across his shoulders.

Hawke cleared her throat, trying to think of the best way to broach the subject of his tutelage. She scowled at Carver's raised brows, and said, "Nice night for healing, isn't it?"

The man turned around, his amber eyes narrowed in confusion. Her cheeks burned.

Very eloquent, Mari. Now he thinks you're a complete twit.

The healer cast his eyes quickly between her and Carver. "You two are in much better shape that the lot I'm used to dealing with."

"Oh? How so?" Hawke asked.

His lips quirked up in the ghost of a smile. "Well, neither of you appears to be dying, for one."

Hawke decided that the best thing to do for now was remain casual. She stepped forward and extended her hand. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Hawke."

"Like the bird, 'hawk'?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "I say 'yes,' are you going to pluck my feathers to add to your fancy coat, there? No, my family name is Hawke. Also, where I come from, it's customary to give your own name back when you're being introduced."

He laughed. "Right you are. I apologize. I am Anders. Now, I'm guessing that you came here with some purpose aside from matching wits with me?"

"Yes," Hawke said, and glanced at Carver. She needed to figure out some way of learning if he was a mage or not, but her brother only shrugged. Perhaps it was time to throw caution to the winds. "Anders, here's the thing—"

I want to know if you're a mage. But wait! I promise I won't tell on you if you are!

Her courage failed and she looked apologetically at Carver before speaking her next thoughts aloud. "My brother's got a nasty burn in a rather… compromising position. He's too embarrassed to say anything, though." She could feel her brother's eyes boring a hole into her back, and she reminded herself to buy him a new pair of pants to make up for this… and for ruining his other pair.

"Is that so?" Anders said, casting an amused glance at Carver. "Reminds me of the results of some of the pranks my friends and I would pull while we were at—when we were younger. You're not a templar are you?"

Hawke scoffed. "Me, a templar? Can you honestly tell me that I look like a brainless idiot who swings a sword about while singing the Chant of Light?"

Carver's lips twisted. "Oh, come on. They're not all that bad."

"Hmm, well, I guess that depends on who you ask," Anders said grimly. "Now, let's see about this burn of yours."

Hawke gave Carver a beseeching look while Anders' back was still turned. It was true that the burn wasn't that bad, but if her brother baring his bottom gave her a few more moments to come up with a plan, then it would certainly be worth it.

Carver glowered, but nodded tightly. His expression said it all, though: she was going to owe him for this one. He turned to Anders, who was already busying himself at his herbal table. "Yes. My sister is right… it hurts something awful right now."

Anders turned around with a jar of salve in his hand. "All right. Go ahead and lie down on the table and expose the burn."

Hawke stifled a laugh as Carver grudgingly dropped his trousers and flopped face-down on the cot. She turned around as soon as he reached to pull down his smalls. To keep herself occupied, she wandered over to the table of herbs. Barely listening to the conversation at her back, she traced her fingers over the dried stalks and leaves.

Embrium, spindleweed, deathroot…

She stilled. She'd only ever seen the three combined one other place: on her father's workbench, long ago when she was young. That could only mean one thing…

"So, Anders?" she asked lightly, "this pranking that you were talking about?"

He grunted in response, clearly intent on his ministrations.

"Did you happen to be doing those while you were in the Ferelden Circle?"

She glanced up in time to see him shrug, continuing to work on Carver. A few breaths later he stilled, his shoulders tightening. "Oh, shit," he breathed.

The candles sputtered and the air in the room seemed to impact all around Anders. Lines of iridescent blue streaked his skin, and the air crackled with power. He reached for a roughly hewn staff that was stashed under the cot, then looked at Hawke, his face a mask of hard lines and eyes cobalt and crystalline. Carver hastily pulled up his pants and backed away, reaching for his sword.

Hawke raised her hands defensively. "Whoa, calm down, Blue! I'm not going to turn you in!" She shook her head and gave him a patronizing look. "Maker's breath, don't you know another mage when you see one? And here they were saying you were smart, too."

The room lightened, and the wind in Hawke's ears died away. Anders lowered his extended arm, and his eyes faded back to amber. It seemed that he pulled back some part of himself with great difficulty. "You're a mage?"

Hawke coughed to cover her nervous laugh. "No, I just thought I'd throw that out there to a complete stranger in the hopes that they'd ship me off to be made Tranquil. Of course I'm a mage. Why in Andraste's name would I come here otherwise?"

"Oh, I don't know," snapped Anders, "for the same reason everyone else comes here, maybe? You know, world-class healing and all that."

"Well, we sort of did," Hawke quipped, pointing at her brother who was scowling at Anders.

"Speaking of which," Anders said, gesturing wildly with the cream he'd been applying to Carver's ailing hindquarters, "if you're a mage, why did you need me to ease your poor brother's flaming arse?"

"Well, it's actually got more to do with his arse than you think," Hawke replied, smiling despite herself. "You see, that might have actually been my fault."

Anders pressed the forefingers of each hand to his temples. "My point, Hawke, is that regardless of whose fault it was, I'm certain that as an apostate, you know at least rudimentary healing spells."

Hawke waved her hands irritably. "Yes, yes, I'm getting to that. I do know some healing, but that, Blue, is where you come in. I'm actually rather hopeless with healing, and could certainly use some help. I was hoping you could be convinced to teach me."

Anders looked at her, one eyebrow arched. "Did you just call me 'Blue?'"

Hawke shrugged. "Have you seen yourself when you get all..." she snapped her fingers, searching for the right word, "intense?"

"You have no idea," Anders laughed darkly, then shook his head. "But that's beside the point right now. You want me to teach you? Listen, Hawke even if healing isn't your best area, I'm certain by now that your talents are more obvious in other areas. Why don't you focus on that and leave the healing to me?"

Carver barked out a laugh. "And that brings us to our next issue. Remember that burn you were unfortunate enough to see just a moment ago? That was her fault."

Anders shot a questioning glance her way. "What, do you two not get along? Trust me, I saw my fair share of 'errant' fireballs from my time in the circle."

"Well… that's not exactly it," Hawke caged. "Carver and I actually get along just fine. I guess you could say that his pants getting set on fire was a sort of… accident?"

"Please tell me you just mean that you aimed your spell incorrectly," Anders growled. He certainly knew what she was implying, but didn't want to hear it out loud.

Hawke swallowed. "Not quite. It just… happened. He was standing behind me at the time, in fact." Anders started pacing again, and he gripped his staff until his knuckles turned white. When the smoky trails of blue began to illuminate his skin again, she hastily continued her explanation. "Listen, you're a mage—from your reaction, you've also heard of full mages losing control of their magic. I'm pretty sure the reason I've been having problems is because of… emotional strain." She swallowed hard, ruthlessly pushing the grief down again. "I feel led, somehow, to try out healing. I think that will help me regain control. I just need someone to help me."

Anders sucked in several deep breaths. He still appeared to be frustrated beyond all measure, but at least those strange, glowing marks had faded once more. "Hawke, trust me when I say that I am the last person you'd want to ask help from right now."

"Why?" Hawke asked before she could still her flippant tongue. "If it's got something to do with all that—" she waved her hands dramatically, "—blue-ness, it's fine! Go ahead and keep your secrets… we all have them."

Anders smiled tightly, his eyes burning. "Secrets… yes. Though some secrets are best kept to oneself, don't you think?" He paused, and then resumed his pacing.

Hawke glanced at Carver, wondering if this was Anders' way of dismissing them. Carver shrugged, then shook his head. "Come on, Mar—Hawke," he corrected. "He's not going to help us."

She looked once more at the pacing mage, then started to follow her brother back out into the streets of Darktown.

"Wait."

Hawke smiled to herself. She turned back to face Anders with her face smoothed back into polite curiosity.

"I at least need to see what I'm dealing with before I say no outright," he said carefully.

"Okay," Hawke replied. "So, what do you want me to do? Light a fire in here or something? Who knows, I might miss again and need healing for myself."

Anders grinned, but it faded quickly. "No, nothing like that." He took a deep breath and rubbed his neck with his free hand. "What if I agreed to help you on the condition that you help me with something—a favor for a favor?"

Hawke arched an eyebrow. "And what exactly would this 'favor' entail? Because I'll tell you right now, if it involves me streaking through the Gallows naked and setting fire to everything I can see, I may have to draw the line there."

"No flames, I assure you," Anders said, but his intensity worried Hawke. He hadn't rejected the Gallows part.

Maker, what have I gotten myself into this time?

"Meet me tomorrow evening in the chantry courtyard in Hightown. I'll explain everything then. If, at that point, you still wish to help me, I'll gladly tutor you in return."

Hawke looked to her brother for confirmation, then extended her hand to Anders once more. "Done. We will see you there."

She turned to leave, her mind whirling with the possibilities of what they might be doing the following night. Not sensing Carver behind her, she turned, only to see her brother hesitating.

"Carver?" she asked. To her immense surprise, he flushed red and turned back to Anders.

"Er, would you mind sending a bit of that ointment along with me?" he mumbled to Anders. "My sister really is complete shit at healing."

Hawke dissolved into a fit of laughter, holding on to the damp door jamb for support as a grinning Anders tossed the tub to her brother.

A/N: Hi all! Thanks first and foremost to my amazing beta and authority on all things Anders: Jaden Anderson. Many thanks also go out to my reviewers from last chapter: Danie-Dono, Marlene101, Lulu14168, Melysande, Candle in the Night, Miss Mahariel, FenZev, and Vorenea. Thank you also to those of you who added this to your favorites/follows lists! I believe I PM'd all of you personally, but if I missed anyone, I sincerely apologize!

I hope that you all enjoyed this chapter! If you'd like to leave me a little note with your thoughts, I'd love to hear from you!