Last time: Anders begins to tell Hawke about his past and leaves off when he encounters Darkspawn as a child.

a/n: These flashbacks were seriously kicking my butt. I hope it turned out okay in the end.


The Scars that Made Me

Chapter 2

The Hurlock cranked open its mouth as strings of saliva blasted from the volume of its screech. The boy flinched when the moisture splattered against his face, far too scared to release his own cries and tried to fling his body upright. His legs collapsed instantly under the broken bone. Pain blurred his vision. Anders scrambled backwards, scattering snow, and dragged as much distance as he could with his arms. The Hurlock stalked forward, destroying all the boy's efforts in a single bound. His eyes widened, transfixed upon the weapon held above its head. The sword glinted, swinging down. Anders clutched his head and squeezed his eyes shut, but the blade never connected.

Flames engulfed the monster as it flailed and gargled inhuman noises that shivered the boy's bones. The smell of burnt flesh scarred Anders's nose as he watched the Hurlock plummet to its knees. A sword burst through its chest, only to quickly retract and swing across its neck, commanding its head to fly and scatter speckles of red across the pure white. But the boy paid no heed. He gasped as his eyes attached to his arms and a chocked cry struggled from his throat. Fire licked his limbs and the heat spilled downward, devouring his sleeves. He plunged his arms into the snow to no avail. Why wouldn't it go out?! Why couldn't it stop?! Why didn't he feel any pain?!

"Calm yourself!" the soldier, holding a staff tried to soothe, "If you panic, it only makes it worse."

"I can't! I-"

Ice encased Anders's arms, only to instantly shatter, leaving behind nothing but smoke and vapor. The soldier squatted down next to him, as his white and blue striped tabard soaked up what was left of the melted snow surrounding them. His leather gloves firmly gripped the boy's shoulders. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

The child didn't respond and instead stared at his palms, turning them over again and again.

"Poor thing mustn't know he's a mage," the other spoke, flicking the blood off his sword and slipped it into its sheath.

"How old are you, lad?" the one knelt down questioned and began to gently rub the boy's back.

"F-five sir." he stuttered, unable to remove his eyes from shaking fingers.

"I'm going to heal your ankle with magic," he informed, hovering his hand just above, "Is that okay?"

The boy nodded, still flexing fingers. He grunted as his attention turned to the white hot light that glided down his leg. He wasn't sure if it was painful or soothing as the bone knit together and set into place, but as soon as the discomfort presented itself, it disappeared. He glanced over at the healer that drew his arms upwards, beckoning the light back into his hands at the end of the spell's cast.

"Brent, take him home." The leader ordered and spun tossing his black cape, causing the griffin heraldry to seem to flap its wings. "We'll finish things up here."

The mage nodded and took the child's hand, guiding him in the opposite direction.

They arrived far sooner than Anders hoped, feeling reluctant to return especially in the care of authority. He really should have listened to mother. It's just she and father had told him so many stories about the Grey Wardens that he merely wanted to see them in person and maybe even catch a glimpse of magic. His chest tightened. He got to see magic alright. Anders swallowed watching the Grey Warden knock at the entrance.

The door burst open and his mother instantly swung her arms around him. She sobbed into the crook of the boy's neck, as fresh tears drenched the collar of his shirt. "Oh thank the Maker you're alright!" she exclaimed only to hold him at arms length, scanning for any injuries. Her eyes widened at the splatter of dried blood across his shirt.

"Don't worry. It's not his," the mage spoke, "Although I need to speak to you in private about him."

The woman stepped aside and gestured for them to come in. As soon as they crossed the threshold, Sabin caught sight of them, dropping his coat and hobbled over on one shoe, caring about nothing else but hugging his son. He dropped to his knees and crushed the boy against himself. "Thank ye for returnin' him to us. I was just 'bout to go searchin' for him."

"You're welcome." The Grey Warden replied and glanced over at the small wooden table and chairs. "Perhaps you should sit down for what I'm about to say."

"Why? What's wrong?" Anders's mother questioned as his father stood up.

The man clamped his mouth shut and held his forehead. He hated to break it to them if they seriously had no idea, especially considering he couldn't sense any magic in either of them.

"Is it the taint?!" the mother gasped.

"No! No...It's not anything like that." he alleviated. The man sighed, realizing he better just get it over with instead of suffering them through any more conclusions. "Your son is a mage."

Silence.

Anders's mother stood there, frozen. Tears halted. Breathing stopped. Eyes unblinking. She crumbled to the floor. A new onslaught of sobs wracked her body as she balled her hand into a fist and began to beat it against the ground. "Not my boy!" No... not my only precious boy!"

"You understand I will have to report him to the Chantry," the man continued, "I will do so first thing tomorrow morning. You have my condolences."

With that, the Grey Warden hastily made his exit. Anders stared at the wood as the door clicked shut and wondered exactly was so wrong. He glanced up at his father for answers and his stomach dropped. His father stared back at him, fear clearly etched across his face.

"Father?" the boy whispered reaching a hand out towards him.

Sabin's pupils dilated. He took a step back.

Tears threatened Anders's eyes as breathing became jagged. Why was he looking at him like that? Why was he backing away from him? What was wrong?!

"S-Stay away from me, mage!"

Hot tears seared the boy's face as they blurred his vision. His mother shot up and sprung in-between them. "How can you say that to him?! He's only a child! Our child!" she screamed.

"A mage is no son of mine!" he spat back.

Anders fled upstairs. He slammed the door to his room shut and dived onto his bed. Why? What was happening? What was so wrong about being a mage? Wasn't grandfather one? The boy clutched a pillow to his chest and tucked himself into a ball. He winced at the volume of his parents arguing and curled his fingers along the embroidery of the cover, wondering when they'd stop. The screaming went on for hours. It was his fault. All of it was his fault. Why did he have to be so stupid and sneak away? None of it was worth it!

The door to his room swung open. Anders snapped his head up. His mother brushed the moisture from her face and clutched onto his shoulders painfully. "I won't lose you!" she proclaimed, "I won't let them take you!"

"Mother, I don't understand."

"Listen. We are going to go somewhere very far away."


"I'm sorry," Hawke offered as she leaned forward in her chair, wishing to break the gap between them.

"There's nothing for you to apologize for." Anders replied with his eyes fixated upon the pages at his desk. He fanned them out with an open palm, revealing some notes he had scribbled down earlier. "It's more unfortunate that it's so commonplace of a response. I hope my efforts will do something to be able to change that."

"I know it will." Hawke assured and squeezed his hand. She studied his face, ever turned away, and listened to his breath stop. Her own wavered as she relished the feel of his warm skin against hers, wishing he wouldn't withdraw it away from her so soon like he always did.

Anders closed his eyes. Hawke... He held the air in his lungs, willing his body not to tremble under her touch that drove him so many different kinds of mad. It was the innocence, the simplicity. She merely wanted to reach out to him, but he was too far gone for anyone's grasp now no matter how hard she tried. If they had met just a year earlier, before... No. He didn't want to think on that. That life, that part of him was over. His life no longer was just his and now belonged not only to Justice but all the mages whose cries for freedom were left unanswered. He couldn't involve her in all this. Between the Templars, Grey Wardens, and inevitably the Darkspawn themselves chasing him down, he only had time to focus on one thing and that time was very limited. What did he have? Twenty-five years at best? Five if he was unlucky? Tomorrow even? No...she deserved someone whose life and dedication wasn't already spent. He untangled his fingers from hers.

Hawke's brows furrowed, wondering if he'd send her away. Perhaps it was too bold of her to reach out to him physically, but after all that he'd spoken of, she just couldn't help but to want to touch him, latch onto him, and let him know that she was there. She had a feeling he'd been through much worse. "Do you want to tell me more?" She questioned. "What happened when you moved to Lothering?"

"Things...got out of hand," he responded.


The twelve-year-old struck the rock in the middle of the dirt road with his boot and watched as it splashed and sunk into a pile of mud. Mud. Mud. Mud! It was everywhere! He thought he'd been sick and tired of snow from The Anderfels but he found he somehow missed the endless white that now was exchanged for the brown gunk that seemed to stretch on forever and only ended in placement of crops or dirty stone buildings. It made him constantly want to take a bath, unsure if it really was always mud or perhaps something else with the constant smell of dog-shit wafting in the air. But it was home. And it was better than being inside. Inside only encouraged his chances of running into his father or mistakenly eavesdropping in on an argument that was almost always about him. It was unpleasant. He liked to avoid unpleasant.

Anders trudged forward, as the soles of his boots finally tasted grass and plopped himself onto a nearby rock. He gazed up into the blue sky, trying to discern recognizable shapes out of the clouds, as he waited for time to pass when it would be eventually safe to return or his mother would come fetch him. But until then, he'd rather remain out of earshot.

"Hey girlie, I thought we told you this is our rock," another boy amongst a group around his age shouted as they steadily approached.

Anders's brow twitched. Not these morons again. He didn't know who amongst them was the worst: their idiot leader Thomas, who just seemed to follow and harass him no matter where he settled outside in the fields, Peter with the short fuse, or Rowan that provided the muscle. It rather escaped Anders as to why they listened to Thomas in the first place, considering he was nothing but a loud-mouth bean-pole, but then who was he to judge? He just wished they'd leave him alone.

If it wouldn't get him punched in the face again, he'd tease them about how they had such a crush on him, ever so angry and confused as to how to deal with their feelings. That was a good one! The look on their faces surely was worth the week of bruising and the week of peace the comment brought, however today he felt rather attached to his teeth.

"Oh right! I'm sorry!" Anders apologized yet couldn't help the next sentence from slipping, "I always forget Mabari are territorial."

"Are you callin' us dogs?" Peter in the middle shouted as he reached over and yanked on Anders's collar.

"Wait, you're right I take it back." He held his hands up in submission as a smile curled upon his lips, "That might be rather insulting to the poor beasts."

"Shut up!" the boy shouted and shoved Anders to the ground. "Don't make us kick the sod out of you, like last time!"

"And here I thought we were just becoming good friends," Anders sighed brushing the grass and dirt off his elbows. "It's simply a miscommunication! Tell you what, why don't you just post where and when you'll be so I can avoid it. Although that does requires writing..."

Rowan gritted his teeth and replied with his fist to the boy's stomach. Anders coughed, doubling over only to be met with another blow to the face. His vision blurred as white flecks further distorted his view of the other two boys coming closer. Anders crashed his own punch into Thomas's jaw and swung to deliver another, but Rowan caught it. Peter grabbed him from behind and knocked his balance as he dragged him backwards.

"Oh how tough you lot are! Why don't you fight me one on one!" Anders taunted, thrashing his body as much as he could, to try and wriggle away from the boy's grasp. The hands around him clamped tighter.

"You just don't know when to shut up, do you?" Thomas snapped.

Anders opened his mouth to reply, but the punch knocked the words from his mouth and slapped him into unconsciousness.

.

.

He'd no idea how long he'd been out. Fingers tangled into bits of what felt like straw as he tried to drag his limbs to his aching stomach only for rope to bite his wrists and ankles. His jaw stung as a groan escaped his lips and the familiar copper tang of blood whispered against his tongue as he dragged it along his teeth to check if the bones were all still in place. At least that seemed intact, he mused and pried open his eyes.

"Well look who decided to wake up!" Thomas mocked, as Anders stared at his boots and then cranked his eyes up to look at the boy's ugly mug. His captor leaned down, a smile stretching across his face as lines of light overcast and shadowed his view from the barn's wooden walls.

Anders flinched as his ears registered a metallic clink and closed an eye at the sudden shine of the withdrawn object. He stared at the dagger and swallowed.

"We're going to teach you a lesson, girlie!" the leader declared, and gestured for the others to come closer. "Hold him down."

"What are you doing?!" he gasped as he struggled to kick his legs against Peter. Rowan snatched Anders's tied wrists and slammed face into the dirt, eliciting a cry at the snapped cartilage in his nose. He didn't expect this. Sure they were fools, but not violent fools. Were they honestly going to hurt him, kill him even?!

"I said hold him down!" Thomas snapped and ripped at Anders's generous length of hair, causing him to arch his neck back and expose his throat. No surely, no! The boy's heart shrieked as adrenaline burst through his veins. He thrashed, rocking the two boys, nearly off with new found strength but they held him fast. Thomas prepared the blade and swung.

"Shit!"

"Shit! Shit! Shit!"

"What in the void did you do?!"

"You were only supposed to cut his hair, you blighted idiot! You sodding stabbed him!"

"And you were supposed to hold him down! If you did your job this wouldn't have happened!"

"Oh Maker... did we-did we kill him?"

Talking. He could hear it, or at least he thought there was... Was there? He couldn't discern the difference in their voices. It all sounded the same. Muffled. Barely audible. The pumping in his veins screamed in his ears at each crash of his heart beating, louder, faster, deafening. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't feel anything except the thickening of the sticky warmth of his life free-flowing out of him and the icy intrusion of the blade jammed straight through his neck.

Ba-bump.

He stared, transfixed upon the planks of the barn unable to even summon the will to alter his gaze.

Ba-bump.

His vision faded, failing...

Ba-bump.

Screaming! The ropes on his wrists snapped. The power! Oh Maker so much power... he couldn't... where...? Fingers latched onto the handle of the blade. Heat. Heat. Screaming. Maker, was it even human?! Where was it coming from? Make it stop! Make it stop! Rip. Pull. Snap...! The dagger clattered to the floor. Air! He could breathe! His lungs filled with smoke. Anders coughed, doubling over, wondering when he started to stand in the first place. His hand stroked his throat as his eyes shot wide. All of it perfect. Smooth. Where was the puncture?

There wasn't time to think. His eyes stung and watered at the clouds of gray, surrounding him. His feet faltered as he stumbled backwards against the blast of flames. The fire threatened his ankles, commanding his retreat as he choked and hacked jagged air. His back hit the wall. Anders spun. His fist slammed into the wood. The fire spilled, engulfing the floor. His boots began to smoke. NO! Kick. Kick. KICK!

He splattered to the grass. A gush of cold air whooshed through his hair and froze the sweat on his skin. His hands pushed flat upon the ground between the splinters and he sprung himself froward. He sprinted and propelled straight into Rowan, causing him to bounce backwards onto the dirt.

Rowan's face desaturated of color. He retracted a step. "You...should be dead! What in the void are you?!"

Anders's lips parted, his voice lost to him. His gaze slipped past the boy to the villagers gathered, witnessing the sight of the building being swallowed up in the flames. Peter's mother held a hand to her mouth as she tore her eyes away and her husband soothed a hand across her shoulders. Sabin parted through the crowd. His eyes attached to his son and the roof collapsed. Anders turned around.

"No!" he shouted and snatched Rowan's collar. "Where are the other two? Are they still in there?!"

His silence answered him. Anders's mouth fell along with his grip on the boy's shirt.

"Ye killed them."

Anders snapped his head up at the accusation. His father stared at him, jaw clenched, eyes hard.

"I-"

"Ye killed them!" he shouted.

"I didn't! I don't know what happened! I-"

"This boy is a mage!" he announced, a finger of accusation pointed straight at him. The crowd gasped. Their eyes widened as they stared upon him and their prattles of inaudible whispers crawled beneath Anders's skin. The boy tore his gaze away, unable to take the sight of their fear, hate, disgust.

Why?! He stared directly at his father. What was he doing? Why did he betray him?! Mother had done so much to protect this secret and now he just threw everything away! The Templars were going to take him! He'd be locked away forever! He didn't cause that fire... did he?

Anders threw his vision to his hands, smeared with blood and grasped the red soaked shirt draped upon him now moist and cold. He sucked in a breath. The wound from before was gone but the evidence was clear. Rowan was right. He should be dead.

Iron gauntlets seized his shoulders. Anders shot his gaze up. Templar.

"I didn't mean it!" he screamed and struggled against the man's grasp. "Mother! Help me, mother!"

"Relax now, boy. We're going to take you somewhere safe," he replied.

"Liar! Liar!" he accused over and over as another Templar withdrew a set of shackles. The one behind him forced his arms forward and the metal latched onto his wrists that were so small, so fragile, they almost slipped off.

"Why father?! Why!" Anders cried, chest heaving.

"I can't do it anymore, son." Sabin exhaled, moisture threatening to fall from his lids, "I can't keep goin' against the wishes of our Maker, of Andraste. Look at what I've allowed to happen. I won't harbor a monster any longer."

Monster. Monster... The condemnation echoed inside of Anders, coiling around his throat, sucking the air from his lungs, worming its way inside of his heart. Monster. The tears tumbled as his knees did the same. He stared blankly, devoid of anything and everything. He couldn't feel. The chaos around him felt miles away, surreal. He saw his mother dashing towards him out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't move. He couldn't.

She was crying. She was saying something. The Templars and her were arguing. None of it mattered. Nothing could be reversed or changed. He was going to be taken to The Circle and right now he wasn't so sure it was something he should even be running from anymore. Maybe his father was right all along. Perhaps the fear and hate he received from him daily had all been justified. He didn't mean for this to happen. He didn't try to summon the flames this time or the last. He had been able to suppress it. He thought he was okay, but when the blood started flowing the mana inside of him magnified and the power completely overwhelmed his ability to stifle it. He couldn't control it. If he could, then everything would be okay. Everyone would be safe. There needn't be a reason to lock him away. He just needed control!


Control. It meant everything. It was the number one reason why the mages were allowed to be imprisoned in the first place without question. People were afraid and they had reason. Anders knew that more than anyone. The power inside him could kill, intentionally or unintentionally but at the same time it had the potential to save, to help, to heal. He tried to dedicate his life to that, to show people that magic wasn't always all bad. The problem was that people were afraid. It was the fear that forced mages to hide, to not understand how to control themselves because they couldn't ask for help without being locked away. If they could stay in control, they could coexist, but no one was willing to relinquish that kind of trust and responsibility. In the end, they were only human, but it was all the more reason to allow them that chance, that right, to live free.

He ought write that down, he mused, as his hand itched for the quill. He turned his gaze to Hawke and flashed her a smile. "Thank you for listening," he began, "But perhaps I've kept you too long. I'm sure you've got better things to do and I should get back to my manifesto."

"You're welcome," she exhaled, not really feeling like she'd helped him at all, but his mood had lightened significantly she noted. Her brows furrowed as she followed him towards the exit and watched him unlatch the lock. He cracked open the door with a heavy yank, causing a gush of the sea-breeze to flood inside.

She looked up at him, watching the wind stir his hair and gazed into his eyes, overcome with the urge to say something. She couldn't undo his past, but she couldn't get over all the things his father had told him. Things she was sure others had echoed in turn and still continued to say with the constant prejudice surrounding him. It bothered her that people thought those things and even spoke them out loud, but what ate at her more was the fact he probably believed it partly himself.

"You're a good man, Anders."

His brows shot up, taken aback by the sudden statement. What was she on about? Her blue eyes clung onto him, narrowed in sincerity. His hand slipped from the door frame and outstretched towards her, tracing the line of her smooth delicate jaw, until his fingers settled upon her chin. He cupped it between his fingers and thumb, gently guiding her to tilt it upwards. He stepped forward and merely gazed down at her. This woman...

She didn't seem real. He'd never met anyone who wasn't a mage offer him such acceptance and understanding. It made him crazy. She flooded, his thoughts, his dreams, his desires. So many nights he agonized and tortured himself upon the idea of feeling her, touching her. He yearned to press his mouth to hers now and put an end to the sweet torment, finally making the fantasy a reality. He lowered his face close to hers and shuddered. Her breath heated the parched skin of his lips and he nearly pushed forward to devour everything she allowed of him.

However he remembered his place. With a long, stuttering sigh he stepped back as fingers slid their length away against the tiny area of skin he dared to touch. So little seemed to burn him so much.

"Goodnight," he rasped.

Hawke shakily bid her farewell and Anders closed the door behind her. He pressed his back against the wood and slid to the floor. He was never going to sleep...


a/n: Hope you guys like it so far. Any suggestions or comments are welcome :)