Three weeks. It's been three, Makerdamned, weeks. The ship was caught in a bad storm and it took us off course, so we had to reroute and find another way to Kirkwall. I'll say it now, I hate crowds. The ship is full of people, some still trying to make ends meet after the Blight, and some going out for vacation to Kirkwall, which is understandable. I ended up stuck with the refugees; the sick, the weary, the frightened, none of these folk could look each other in the eye, let alone look at me. Not even a day into our voyage, I accidentally stabbed myself with the blade. Therefore, I have a new bloodstain on my trousers. I refused to have a doctor look at it. It is a perfectly wonderful start,
I am no healer, but I do have the basic knowledge for it. I grumble to myself for an hour while people panicked at the sight of my bleeding leg. There are a few other mages on board who offer their assistance instead, which I begrudgingly allow. The ships' captains voice echoes over the intercom, wishing us all a Blessed Holiday.
It is a blessed holiday for those who actually have families to fall back on. I don't. I take another pull of my cigarette, that had somehow survived getting rained on, and look around. People were already coughing, sick with a cold, but the anxiety of being surrounded by so many people had me think twice about when I'd use it. Some man, who looked a few years older than me, stood before me, barking at me for how rude it was to smoke in such a crowded space—so I blow smoke in his face.
He starts yelling. I stand up, towering over him, with an acidic glare to match.
"Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do?" I growl.
This man sure has balls. He points and jabs at me, continuing with his berating tone.
"This ship is full of people sickly and otherwise—you should know better than to smoke in a tight place-!" Keep rambling, buddy, I really enjoy it.
I sneer at him, adjusting my staff against my shoulder with a soft crack of my neck.
"You really want to do this? That's the only one I had and it went fast—so kindly sod off." He shoves me against the wall. The crowded space starts to open up a bit. I want to slug him. Whatever energy I had fails the second I hit the wall and slide back down. I'm already exhausted. I let out a huff and the guy freaking kicks me.
I'm about to protest, and maybe throw a punch, when a guard brushes past us. He moves the other guy off in another direction, telling us to break it up, then turns to me and tells me not to smoke anymore or they'll let me off at a different stop. I grumble an apology and sink back into my coat, hacking up a lung into the fabric. Breathing's getting harder, and I think my fevers' getting worse. The conditions of this ship are below par at best. I just want to get out of here.
People are still staring at me. It's not comforting. Please just stop looking at me.
I want to say, but there's no strength left in me so I tuck into myself and fall asleep.
Someone wakes me up. I don't know who, my vision is blurry, all I can see is a vague figure. The help me to my feet and I hear them mention that we've finally docked.
It is two days after Christmas and there is no cheer on this ship. Grumbles followed by excited squeaks as family members greet family members. I, however, disembark and immediately get through the crowds, as soon as I can. I'm having even worse trouble breathing than I did before I went on this damned voyage.
I groan internally, rubbing my stomach, and then my head. A headache is all I need. The building in front is where crowds of people gathered to greet their familiars or otherwise.
I have no form of identification other than my name. Everything I own is back in Gwaren. Or was.
Of course registration asks.
"Name? Age?" and various other questions.
And I respond aptly, and without coughing on the poor woman.
"Garrett Malcolm Hawke. I'm…" I have to think for a second, "26?" It shouldn't have been a question, but it was. I answer the remaining questions with little hesitation.
"Welcome to Kirkwall, Mr. Hawke."
Mister? Lady, of everything I am, a mister I am not. That is my father and his father before him. I shrug and wave at the greeting anyway with a muddled thank you in its place. She points me over to another place where refugees are supposed to fill out forms. I don't want my name back in the system—that'll only make it easier to track me…
However I do need to get in this city as fast as I can. I stumble over, tripped by some gangly teen with his legs spread out in front of him, and I'm barely able to catch myself with a forced click of my "claws" against the table. It startled the large woman behind the desk. She tips her glasses down and just gives me a look.
Don't sass me, woman. I bite my tongue before I even utter a word and just hand her the slip I was given. She takes it and ignores me for a few minutes before she gives it back and waves me on, pointing out the door. I hobble away as fast as I can without the ideal of eyes trailing on me.
Once outside I take a look around. The city is bigger than I thought. Most of the entrances are barred off from the public, though that doesn't seem to stop tourists from trying to get in through to see whatever forbidden arts are behind it. The guards don't care much for it. I see two folk get taken away in the next minute.
I come to find out this place is called "The Gallows", a sort of gateway into the city. So I'll have to take another damn ship to get into the real deal. I can see it off to the far shore. A silhouette of skyscrapers and lights hangs just below a foggy horizon. It's almost romantic. This part of the city is lacking in the Christmas cheer. Let's be honest, it's a pretty dismal place to come to on your first day in Kirkwall.
Home…
I already miss my home. Short lived as the moment is, I look up at the concrete walls surrounding this part of the city. Ahead of me stands Kirkwall's Chantry; an obscenely large building that iwas/i in fact decorated with all sorts of shining lights and emblems of the holiday season. It looks more like a prison than a place of worship, but I suppose it matters to those who worship the Maker. They decked it up pretty nicely.
I lean against a building, steadied, and just stare off into the fog. An exhausted sigh escapes and I card my fingers through the rats' nest that I call hair. It seemed too long for me to linger in this spot as a cop passes me by and just glares at me.
I absently ignore him before I decided to get moving. It's easy to say I am relieved I hadn't been arrested for carrying a staff. Much less one with a blade attached to the bottom. I use it as a walking stick, as much as I hate the sound of the tip pinging against the cobblestone roadway. Magic was not so highly tolerated back in Denerim or Gwaren.
I found myself caught in the rush of people pushing their way through the gates and onto the next ferry bound for Kirkwall. I would have panicked, or been trampled—either one would have been a horrible experience in my first day in this super weird city—but a firm hand yanks me out of the crowd and pulls me off to the side. I see flashing lights, and a black uniformed woman standing right in front of me.
Now I panic.
Cops
I rip myself out of her grip and wheel back, running into a building with my chest already heaving and my staff in front of me in defense. She holds her hands up in ease, an officer behind her has his hand on his weapon, but she talks him down pretty quick without dismissing her gaze.
She's calm and collected. That's admirable, I'll admit, but it still scares the piss out of me.
The officer is shorter than I am, but as I look at her it is painfully obvious she makes up for her size with the sheer aura of intimidation, she has these bright green eyes that have this look of semi-permanent disappointment. She has a red braided circlet wrapped around her ginger head. Freckles too. I look her over once, then twice before her hands slowly return to her sides.
"Drop your weapon." She says with authority harsh in her tone.
My guard is still high, but I relent and I lower my staff. In my time under Danarius, I have learned to never pull your weapon on a cop, but this woman's expression and aura are saying I'm not going to hurt you, and, put your weapon down or I'll do some real damage to you.
Can we not send the confused giant mixed signals, please?
"What have you got in your coat there?" She asks, motioning towards the square shape in my jacket. I immediately look around, confused, and pull out the CD case that Zevran gave to me.
"CD?" I ask. She takes it from me and opens it, eyeing the contents warily before returning it to me. I put it away when she sighs. Is she relieved about something?
"Are you alright?" She surveys me, which feels more like she's judging me. "Got yourself in a bad way? You look horrible." Now I have familiar-strangers judging me. Great. Perfect even.
"I'm fine." I snap. I swear I know this woman. But I don't say anything towards it.
She, however, does.
"Have we met before? You look familiar" Shit. She just looks at me with intense confusion at first. Then I move my hair out of my face, because my hair is getting in my eyes and I can't see for shit. Her eyes go straight to the scar across the bridge of my nose. I can automatically tell whenever someone looks at it.
It's the staring that really starts to bother me. Fairly certain her partner is just as creeped out by someone of my current stature looming over her with a confused look on his face. I'm actually starting to get creeped out (and anxious) with how hard she stares at me.
"…"
There's a longer, far more awkward moment of silence to which she folds up her arms and tilts her head. She's thinking. I don't move. I know better than to move suddenly around cops. Some people decide to stop and snap pictures and are immediately dismissed by the other officers.
Nothing like getting a snapshot of a disheveled man being detained by the local law enforcement. The perfect first memory of Kirkwall!
"I remember you—from Lothering, before the Blight." Double shit. She points at me with a fist on her hip and a smirk on her lips. She snaps her fingers again and makes a half-assed attempt to point at me. "Hawke wasn't it?" my breathing halts.
Her accent is Ferelden, like mine.
"I remember you—quite well actually." Triple shit. She finally backs up, touching her chin in thought. This is not going where I want it to, I'm already breathing harder than I should and I'm no doubt giving them a distrustful glare, I'm firmly backed against the brick wall. "I arrested you—twice in fact." Oh, so that's why she looks so familiar. Great. A cop who knows me. Just what I needed.
"What brings you to Kirkwall?" Now I remember her. Her name's Aveline Vallen. And yes, she did in fact clap me in irons twice when Lothering still stood. It was not a good couple of months for me. Those are a few months I'd like to forget. Danarius was not happy with me when I was released from jail—and it really sucked. In lieu of my time in, she was actually pretty cool to talk to—at least after I was let out the second time and I promised her I'd go straight. Which was a total lie but I didn't let her in on that.
"My business is my own." I say, I lower my gaze and I inch away to the corner of the building, watching her eyes follow me even after I manage to pull away a short scuffle of a distance.
Aveline immediately grabs my arm, effectively halting my movement.
"Not so fast, Hawke." I don't look at her.
"If you've come here to start trouble again, it will not be pleasant for you. I have no problem throwing you in jail again." I hold my hands up rather quickly (and unfortunately dropping my staff) in defense and shake my head.
"Trouble is the last thing I need. You can see my condition, right? You're not blind." I sneer. I immediately look over my shoulder at the docks. The ship has abandoned port, so there's no turning back now. I shouldn't be acting like this. I can't be arrested again.
I just can't.
The officer just sighs and shakes her head, putting her hands firmly on her hips. She makes the same disappointed sound as a mother does. I swear. It's a wonder she doesn't have any kids. There's a tickle in my throat. I immediately double over and fall victim to another coughing fit. I drop to my knees and violently shake. She's next to me, a hand on my back. I push her back with a snarl.
"I don't need your help, Aveline!" I snap. I nearly choke on my own throat, which I hastily grab hold of with my armored hand (it did not help at all). I feel like I'm going to throw up. The criticism in her glare is enough to get me to stop, briefly, and return an equally angry glare back.
"I did not come here—" I choke again when I stand, burying myself into my sleeve, "to be lectured by you. Hell, I didn't even expect to find you here. I came here to get away like everyone else."
Her interest is piqued and she won't let me go. I'm growing more and more panicked (I should be agitated, but I'm more scared than anything) and I can feel my pulse pick up the pace again. I clench my fists, shaking. I look over her shoulder at the other cops, but they're occupied with tourists asking questions.
"That's a quaint story." Fuck. "Last I saw you, you said you had it good with your boyfriend and had no worries left over from the Blight."
Boyfriend.
Oh Maker, the word absolutely stings. My knuckles go white and my breathing decides to shallow. She struck a nerve.
I need an excuse to be here?
Hey, Aveline, I lied. My "boyfriend" wants me dead and has people out for me back home so I'm currently running for my life and that's why I'm here?
Right, like she'd believe me. The worrying thing is she iwould/i believe me and there would be a massive investigation onto my personal life that could dig me an even earlier grave.
She waves me off and turns back to her comrades.
"Everyone came through customs correctly, right?"
"Yes, ma'am." One responds.
"Good. See to it that these people get through safely."
The two men nod and head off through the crowd, weaving through like it was nothing.
However, they left me alone with Aveline. This is not working in my favor. I glance around in hopes for an escape route but there are none to be found. Instead, Aveline motions for me to follow her.
How quaint. I'm going to be shepherded about by the law? Wonderful. Just wonderful.
Well, it's not like I have anything better to do. I walk next to her along the sidewalk, her gaze caught between me and the dissolving wave of people.
Maybe I can convince her to let me go. She can't be that strong-minded, can she?
"So." I start, catching her attention with brief eye contact. I crack a smile, but the look in her eyes gives me reason to pause, hesitate, then regret trying to start up a conversation to begin with. In the brief second she's distracted, I try and pull at her mind.
There's a barrier in her mind. I can't get through. I have to try.
Once again her attention is grabbed by her comrade calling to her, shouting some nonsense. I try again with no luck.
What I need is something to distract her for longer…
Hmm…
Her companion looks dim-witted enough. We've stopped and she's talking to him. I mutter a single spell under my breath and immediately feel the pull. The brunet officer stops talking almost instantly with the blankest of blank stares.
"Donnic?" Aveline seems worried. Good. He started sputtering, blinking rapidly.
I make a single motion, something easily disguised as scratching the back of my head for instance, and Donnic is off running.
"Donnic!" She shouts, jolting forward then looking at me quickly.
"Stay there!" Off she flies after him.
I wait there for a moment, smirk, and book it down the street, completely ignoring the searing pain racing up my legs.
Luck has not been on my side. I've managed to evade Aveline and her crew, but unfortunately the ferry to the inner city is late.
By an hour.
Revelers for the festivities have stood outside this damned station for far too long with their cheerful songs, crying out to the heavens with praises and joyful joyfuls.
It's irritating. They are so freaking loud.
Thankfully, though, people did leave me alone.
I'm sicker than a mabari stricken with the taint. I'm beaten and bruised and I've been hacking up a lung for the past I don't even know how long. I'm surprised I haven't passed out yet—or died. Dying would be much worse. Actually, having a panic attack in the middle of a busy yard would be much worse. And that's what happens!
I don't have Theron or Zevran near to help me. I huddle alone on a bench and hum to myself, hunched over with my fingers aching against the fabric of my jacket. It's a simple lullaby. One my parents had always sung to me—the memories sting, but the melody helps with my nerves.
I hum again and again, shutting my eyes tight and burying my face into my hands. I finally calm down enough to level my breathing. It's so hard to believe that I'm here; that I'm not in Ferelden anymore. I've spent my entire life in Ferelden, granted more than half of it being at Danarius's side, but still. I miss everything and…
I'm scared.
I'm truly scared for what will happen to me. I've scarcely been out of Dan's care, or even away from his side with no hope of going back, while I always had independence. I always counted on him to have my back. My heart aches to be back there. But I can't go back. Not if I value my life. I do.
I look up to the sky.
It's clear out.
It's the afternoon, and it's not freezing even though there's snow all around. The wind picks up and carries wisps of snow up and about, twisting them like they're dancing. Each flake glitters beautifully in the light… and that brings about a smile to my tired face.
Perhaps it won't be so bad.
While fear still holds my heart captive, I'm finally free.
~.
Folks are not too pleased with me being around. The outbursts of small children shouting out how horrible I smell does not help that matter. Self-conscious mode activates. I catch sight of myself in a reflection. I'm absolutely mortifying. I'm disgusting. I haven't bathed in Maker-knows-how-long. These brats shouting out that they don't like how I look and smell does not help! Make it stop!
I audibly growl when another child screams out—and their parents do not appreciate that. They hide behind their parents the second I turn towards them.
"Keep your brats silent." I snarl.
People move away from me as if I'm plagued with some kind of disease. I may as well be, considering the decreasing intervals with which I break down into a coughing fit. I dry heaved twice and ended up collapsed against the wall until the ferry finally arrives. To which I get my ass on there as fast as I can.
I stay away from everyone. I don't look at anyone, I don't listen to anyone. I just want to get there, and find a new place to call home… I'm on top deck, mostly because people kept me from going down into the hull with them.
Sick stay up here, away from the healthy. They had said.
Bastards.
I lean against the open railing and sigh into the chilled air, letting the breeze tug through my matted hair. It's refreshing.
Up ahead I can see the city's main port. Huge ships are docked. Mostly for cargo from what I can see. Beautiful ships. But that's not what catches my interest. Even as I look over towards the city, I can see people moving along the docks, into the city, along the bridges. It's… Magnificent. In the distance the mountain range is still visible, and that's blessing enough for me to press on with determination wrought in my heart. The city is covered in a thin layer of snow, which only adds to the whole 'grand city in winter' aesthetic.
It's working. I'm stunned by how pretty it is. It's not often I'm able to admire such beautiful things. For long periods of time, that is.
The ferry takes fifteen minutes to dock at port again. Everyone disembarks.
The city is magnificent up close. I pause short of main-street and just gawk to the heavens. From down here you can't even see the tops of the skyscrapers. The entire city just fills with holiday cheer, there are strands of lights linking lamp posts, wreaths, baubles and, as I actually start moving along, there's a great tree in the middle of a large intersection. This city is far more along with the growing societal standards than I'd have thought. However my basic knowledge of the city flutters through my mind like a lazy butterfly.
This is Kirkwall, the City of Chains, a city that used to be ripe with slavery. That is no longer the case and I'm sure the vast majority of folk are perfectly content with it being this way.
I certainly am.
My attention is redirected to the bustle of people across the road. All bundled up in their coats with bags upon bags on their arms or in buggies. Children follow their parents like obedient pups and I see several teenage couples holding hands and laughing together. I shoulder my staff uneasily and readjust a loose strap on my gauntlet. The hum of the city already has me on edge. While I'm glad to finally be here, the sheer size of the buildings is rather intimidating. Nonetheless, I'm eager to explore. I crack my wrists and knuckles, and make my way down the street.
I see other mages with staves of all different sorts, wisps of magic flutter down and around their arms from the tops, dancing around—flighty. One of them has a rare-looking staff, made of onyx and some other dark wood. I followed that particular group for a good couple of blocks before I turn down another road—I can't be considered a creep by too many people in one day, and I don't want the cops knowing where I am right now.
Along the sidewalk I find an abandoned black glove that goes halfway up the forearm. It's sort of fingerless, with only up to the first knuckle cut off. There are three stones sewn into the back of the arm, and two upon the knuckles. I've never seen anything like this in stores before, but it's warm, so I take it. I will wear it proudly. I flex my fingers in the new glove and nod to myself. It's perfect.
I have no idea where I am. I've settled in an alleyway a few blocks away from a tavern—have been for about a week—and I've made good use of my heat spells but my wounds need tending to and my health is not improving. If anything, I've gotten worse. I've keeled over twice, and have taken to absently turning my ring about on my finger with worry of whether or not I'll survive the next few hours.
I can't lose this ring.
I've been attacked twice by thuggish teenagers thinking that they could get some coin out of me, but I was able to stay them off. I've sustained more new cuts and bruises than I'd like but it's a sign of my victory. My jacket is in tatters and there linger the constant feeling like the bitter fingers of death are culling me over and over every single night. I'm starving. I haven't eaten properly since I came here. The odd scraps I find discarded are not enough. I've truly become just another helpless wretch on the streets.
People have tossed an odd coin in my direction, taking pity on the large bedraggled man on the streets. It's disgusting. I don't thank them; hell, I don't even look at them, except maybe when they haphazardly throw it at my head. From this "charity" I have acquired enough coin to buy myself a coffee—if I could get up.
I would like a coffee.
Alas, I can't even move. My legs have fallen victim to the numbing sensation that is sitting on a frozen fucking sidewalk for hours on end. I close my eyes and concentrate on getting some rest. I have to. My fingers are tight against my ring as the emblem faces me once again.
"But, Dan, this was my fathers' ring! Give it back!" I reach out to him, sixteen year old me; a gangly teenager who looked almost too thin for his age with sparse facial hair and unruly long black locks tied back in a ponytail, grabbing at the ring in his fingers. He holds me back with his other arm.
He didn't say anything in protest to my grabs; he just held it far behind his back, and taunted me with a smile.
"Give it back!" In truth, I'm smiling too, begging him with delighted laughter. He'd already taken my dog tags, which I thought was a joke but it was not. Now he took my ring. But he is teasing me!
"Does your father know you have it?" He chuckles and I pull back.
"No! But that's not the point! It's mine now! I earned it!" We dance about in my vain attempts to snatch the ring back.
"Oh, Garrett," His words kept me on edge. But he soon started laughing again and wraps his arm around me and looked at me with the same adoring smile. I smiled back up at him, my eyes bright with wonder as he slipped the ring back on my finger. "What do you say?"
"Thank you, Dan." I rest my hands on his chest with a smile and he kisses my forehead.
"You're welcome, my pet."
The moon has risen when I wake up. I remain in the alleyway, chest heaving and still curled up against the wall with my sustained heat spell being the only thing keeping me sane and warm. Snow falls in soft flecks along the paved roadway, shining under the lamplights. It'd be a romantic night. I watched people pass by, hand-in-hand, giggling between their twosomes.
It leaves a hole in my heart, and frankly, I miss him. I miss being cuddled up to, being told that I was good for warmth; I wrap my arms around myself and tuck in again, shuddering a breath. I can't keep reminding myself of him. It's not healthy. What's done is done. And he's not a part of my life now…
Stop thinking about him! Just stop! You're not supposed to be emotional! You're not supposed to-
My back pressed to the brick wall and my staff tucked below my form, I huddle there, shivering, sniffing at a running nose and wiping away watering eyes, my hand firmly over my mouth. No, I'm not crying.
I'm not crying.
There's a cough in the direction of the street. I look up through glassed over eyes and what I see starts my heart up in a beat that I haven't felt in a while.
He's an elf.
True, I've seen plenty of them pass by the alley without so much as a glance but this one—I stare at him after I caught a flash of white hair amidst his shadowed person, and he looked my way—well I suppose he was actually looking down the alley as all sane folk did.
I couldn't get a good look at him even when I flop over onto my side and stare listlessly past the opening of the alley. He's stopped in the lamplight, checking something, his phone perhaps, and tapping the toe of his boots against the sidewalk, kicking away loose snow. He casts another glance my way again, his eyes glow an eerie color in the dark. It has become clear that I need to swallow my pride, no really; I should have done this a long freaking time ago. I wouldn't be in such a horrible position if I had!
To the Void with my pride, I'm going to die!
I've been sitting here for hours, but I'm freaking exhausted both mentally and physically, and it's just about early morning, and I mean it's still pitch black out but I can sort of see the sun rising, when the elf passes by again in the opposite direction. I watch him for a moment, and it's at this time that I've actually managed to stand. He stops near a sign with phone in hand. He's talking to someone. Or yelling. Arguing? I can't tell but he doesn't sound happy. His voice though, deep, surprisingly so for one of his size. I step up from behind him and clear my throat, or something.
"E-excuse me. C-can you-?" My throat is so dry so it's more of a croak when I speak, but the elf is tense and whirls around almost instantaneously as I reach out to touch his shoulder. I didn't see it in his hand. A shock racks through my body and I convulse then collapse in a heap at his feet. I hear something buzzing above me then stops as it drops to the sidewalk. I hear the person on the other end of the conversation shout 'what did you do?!' when the elf shouts a quick oh shit.
"I just tazed a hobo."
Why is it always dark?
I realise that something is over my eyes. I would have panicked. I should have panicked, but nothing reacts. I feel unusually calm. The air around me smells sterilized. Clean. There are the sounds of people around, crying, talking, and shouting. Desperation hangs in the air. Okay, time to go. My mind screams for me to get up and run, but my body does not respond. Now, something, or someone, is next to me—hovering over me. A hand firmly presses against my side.
Alright, no touching!
I let out an audible growl and the hand shoots back so fast that its owner topples backwards and lands with an oof. The sound of grumbling is greeted by a snort of laughter from elsewhere.
I'm left alone for a few minutes, probably to wait for me to calm down or something, but it's only making me more anxious. This is not working. I need to leave. Let me go! I honestly hope that- there's a tingling sensation running all throughout my body. It's the tingling of magic and someone is hovering over me again. Their hands hover only inches over my body, sweeping back and forth, and with each pass and the sensations of warmth grow stronger and stronger. It's highly welcomed warmth.
I grunt again, but this time the hands do not shy back. They remain where they are, concentrated over my more major wounds.
I haven't been captured- that's relief enough on my behalf, but I don't want to stay here any longer. If this guy thinks he can keep me locked down by spells, he has another thing coming.
There's a violent pressure against my chest and I swear to the Maker and His Bride if I could move I'd have strangled this person. My legs twitch in a vain effort of me trying to kick them. I feel my muscles tense and I manage to make a fist.
"Oh, calm down," a flighty voice responds. "I'm not going to hurt you."
There's a tight pull of energy down my center, then a relapse. His fingers are flighty over my skin and it tickles beyond belief. I do not like this situation. The pull of magic is strong where his hands linger, and soon he's at my wrists, which is probably the most painful spot as of yet.
He holds my wrists in hand, roughly, and turns them over. His breath hitches and his grip tightens. I let out a hiss at it.
"He's been branded?" a gruff voice perks up from somewhere nearby, footsteps making it obvious that he's moving closer. The other man lifts my other wrist.
"Multiple times, it seems." The lighter voice says, "You can see where the markings overlap and where they've been settled against his veins." He slid his finger along my wrist as he explained.
"I thought only slaves were branded."
"They usually are."
The gruff voice lets out a groan, and rushed footsteps announce his departure.
"Goodbye to you too." The lighter voiced man is left with me, grumbling still. There's a pulling sensation at the brands, which actually brings out a pained groan, I hear his breath hitch, and it doesn't resume until I'm calm again.
"Let's try get rid of these…" he grumbles to himself. There's a jolt, the smell of burned flesh, and a hiss and he pulls away. "No luck…"
"Time to wake you up then…"
The tingling sensation returns and arcs up through my veins, converging at my chest before splaying out through my entire body. The first thing I do in recoil is to lash out. I make contact with something hard. By the way it felt; it was his jaw. I tear away the cloth over my eyes and blink away the blurriness. This man is on the floor, massaging his face. My hand is on fire.
Maker it hurts.
"Nice arm." He groans and returns to the chair that's beside me. I sit up quickly, wincing at the building knot in my gut, but sitting up all the same. I look around, ignoring this man for the moment.
There's no doubt about it. I'm in a clinic. Not one of those fancy, expensive hospitals that they have in the big city, but one that's well-worn and almost has the aura of a well-loved place.
Even though being in a clinic or hospital in general terrifies me. I look down at my arm. There's an IV and I'm strapped to some kind of machine.
It then comes to my attention that this man is watching me. My brow furrows and I just stare at him. Speaking is not going to happen. I refuse to talk to him.
He asks me another question, which is promptly ignored as I rip the cords out of my arm and hand, hissing at the tears and hearing the doctor… nurse… person, whatever the hell he is, yell in protest.
I ignore him and try to get up. A massive strain runs through my spine and I cry out and flop back onto my side, clutching my stomach and curl into myself.
The man that I punched pushed me back into the hospice bed and gives me the "doctoral" overlook.
"If you keep doing this we're going to have to restrain you again. Just calm down and you'll be fine—"
"I don't want to be in here!" I shout. He flinches back, looking almost surprised.
I can barely see and I swear I'm seeing double of everything. I force myself to sit back up again and he's still next to me with a look in his eyes.
"What?" I snap.
"I need to check your eyes."
A brow is raised in question. No flinching? No arguing back? Man, I had him pegged for a coward.
"To see if there's any coronary damage." He sighs. I open my mouth to protest but instead shut it and allow him to do his checkup. I can't always be ungrateful for people assisting me but I tense when he reaches into his pocket. Relief when he pulls out a small light. Aside from being temporarily blinded by said bright light, I'm feeling better than I was before.
My immediate reaction is to blink when the bright light near blinds me while he checks.
"See? You're fine."
He pats my shoulder. I want to strangle this man so badly- but he… Saved me, didn't he?
I wince at another shock through my body. Oh, Maker, the pain! Augh! Make it stop! I look at him- and the bastard is smiling at me.
Don't mock me!
The longer I stare, the more agitated I get.
I started to sway and his hand is on my back, holding me up, his other is checking the new tears from me ripping out those damn needles… My jaw twitches and I ball a fist again.
"Stop. Touching. Me." I actually yank his wrist away and hold it in a near death-grip. He does that scared sound iah-ah/i thing and tries to pull back. But I don't let go. Not yet. Not until he pulls on his own arm. Then I let him go, and I watch him fall back into the machine. He's wide eyed and hissing at his new back pain.
I scowl.
That is, until an ungodly painful prickling sensation lingers around my wrists. I sit there, stunned and wide eyed, gritting my teeth against the jolts that rush through my body. My brands shimmer in an uneasy light.
"The fuck did you do to my markings?" I clench my jaw, massaging the sore spots. The doctor holds his hands up and rapidly dismisses any wrongdoings.
"No, no, no, I swear I didn't try to empower them I promise you! I tried to neutralize them!" He smiles again, uncertainly. Okay, he really needs to stop smiling. It's creepy.
"You're not helping your case, mage." I quickly scan him over, having not really paid any mind to his appearance.
He's in that awkward white coat that doctors wear, and he has a badge with his name clipped onto his pocket. I look at it. Anders Fjalt. His hair is messy, blond too, tied back in a messy bun (which would have been completely appealing had I not wanted to strangle him). He has a thin face and a look of over-exhaustion held within his brown eyes. He has a thin, almost bird-like nose.
The doctor finally moves away with his back to me. I watch him, warily.
"You were in pretty rough shape when the elf brought you here. Those brands are sapping your energy and your mana pool." He says, fixing his coat.
I roll my eyes. Tell me something I don't know.
"I know someone who can help you, though. Someone who has knowledge of how to remove runes like these."
Oh?
"His name's Malcolm. He's an old friend of mine, and my father-in-law, actually." I pause in my thoughts.
"I always thought people had surnames to follow." I smirk.
"Hawke." He nods, rather proudly, I pause in both breathing and thinking. "But anyway, he's really good with magic, see, he's one of the top surgeons in the city, and there's no doubt that he can't fix those brands for you." He has his hand on the bar next to me, supporting himself while he leans over.
So the clan is in Kirkwall now? Great. I roll my eyes and look away towards the rooms' door. They're all here.
I sigh.
"Uh, hello?" I am snapped back to attention with a hand waving in my face. I look down over the other side of the bed, and realize there's nothing holding me back from leaving.
"No." I reject his suggestion with a bitter taste in my mouth.
"No?" He's surprised. "Don't you want to be able to cast your spells to their fullest power?"
Ignoring him is easy, getting out of bed is not. I swing my feet over the side and push myself away from this Anders with less than half a thought.
He sputters to get me back in bed but I absolutely will not stay here any longer. After a moment he relaxes and sits back in his chair. I suppose he's observing.
The second I put all my weight on my feet. The very split second. I collapse to my knees. Why am I so dizzy!?
"Makers' balls!" I curse. He's next to me, helping me to my feet and settling my down on the bedside again.
"At least wait until the anesthetics wear off." He shakes his head with an exasperated smile. His hand is on my shoulder and I look at him. I grumble under my breath and just—I can't be horrible to him. He helped me.
"I-…" I swallow and nervously rub the back of my neck. "I'm sorry."
Anders's smile doesn't fade and he nods.
"I understand the fear of being in a strange place, with strange people. Don't worry, friend. You're in safe hands."
I suppose I can trust him.
So many scars.
I leaned back in the bed against the wall, tracing my fingers along each scar on my arm. The scarring is most prominent near my wrists for obvious reasons. Several of which were cut in line with my veins. I shudder a breath when I trail back up to my bicep. There's one running the length of my arm. A painful reminder to never disobey. Dan had inflicted this upon me when I just turned twenty for refusing a "gift". The scarring disperses as it climbs up higher past my tattoos.
I have a lot of tattoos, especially on my left arm. I was originally planning on getting a full sleeve, but one thing lead one thing to another and I gave up on ever being confident enough to reveal my arms in public. So far I have a tattoo in the similar to that of a heroic figure from a video game I used to play when I was a kid. I don't remember what it was called (Dragon Era or something along those lines) but I was so obsessed with it that when I turned 18, Dan paid for me to get it. (It's literally just a few thick lines of red of some rune that the hero carves into himself to save his ass in a battle.)
Once I was able to make enough coin, Dan took me to get some work on my shoulder and my left pec. I wanted tribal designs, but after much convincing, I decided to go along with a heavily detailed dragon that looked like it was made out of some kind of liquid material while it formed. Its tail wraps just around my upper bicep and sometimes it moves when I flex. This tattoo is by far my favorite one, only because—well, dragons, I still think it is pretty badass.
My hand stops at the tip of the dragons' tail and I sigh. Everything I've ever done has always fallen back to him. It's like there's no escaping his existence. I had no real experiences of living.
Not before I turned sixteen. Before I knew he existed. Before I left to chase him.
…I miss him…
Anders had left me to myself while he went to get food for me, and I decided to take a nap. I've not felt at ease in a long time. But the nap is short lived when he comes back. I can't smile, but I nod and don't actually try to rip his arms off again.
The blond settled into the chair next to my bed while I eat and he asks,
"What is your name?"
I swallow the mouthful and breathe.
"Hawke." I take another bite of this sandwich. It's really freaking good.
"Can I get a surname to follow that?" he leans to the side, my eyes follow him.
"No." I scowl.
"How about I call you Birdie?"
"You can call me Hawke. That's it."
"Alright, alright, Hawke it is." He pauses. "I was told that you've been on the streets for some time?"
"That would be correct." My response is immediate and I look down at my knees. I have no real use in lying to him right now. So why bother?
"I hope you're okay with a bit of hospitality. A friend of mine is willing to board you while you find your way in the city."
I look up. Just like that?
"Just like that? She's willing to board a h- someone like me? Just like that? What's the catch?" Something's up and I don't like it one bit.
"What's her name?" I lean forward.
"Aveline." I fall back against the bed and drawl out a groan.
"I take it you've met her." He chuckles.
"We have history." I run my hand over my face.
"Then you won't mind?"
"Of course I fucking mind, fool!" I snap and sit up again, knocking my cup over onto myself.
"Well, you can't stay here, and you can't go back to the streets so…" He rolls his eyes thoughtfully, too comfortable around me. I don't like that. Unfortunately I don't really have a choice. If I'm to get away from… him… then I need to make a new life for myself in this city.
"Fine. I accept." I look at my hands again. Aveline at least knows me… Well, knows a little about me. It's probably going to bite me in the arse with this agreement but it's better than nothing and I don't think I'll be able to survive another week on the streets.
I turn the ring about on my finger, looking Anders in the eyes.
"She'll be coming to retrieve me then, I am right to assume, yes?"
Anders had eyed my ring and dog tags with growing interest after I showed them to him. He didn't say anything, except an odd hm when I put the tags back on. He seemed more suspicious of me than he was when I first… I guess when I first arrived in his clinic? I still have no idea how I came to be here, but that doesn't matter anymore.
I'm feeling better and I don't hurt as much as before. So he eventually decided that it would be smart to give me my staff back, which he had confiscated and kept in his office.
Therefore, now I'm here and dressed (mostly) and I guess I just have to wait for Aveline to show up. They gave me my gauntlet back after an exchange of unkind words and empty threats. The waiting room is packed with poor folk waiting. I can see why he's so busy.
However, I don't understand why he didn't upgrade to a bigger building. Too expensive maybe? I don't know how this economy works, but judging from the crowds, he's doing well for himself. I'd offered to pay him with the small amount of coin I had, but he refused it, saying that I could just repay him when I got back on my feet.
Here's to hoping I remember. I roll my eyes and sigh into my hands.
People are staring. I clench my jaw and breathe slowly. I keep my head in my hands. Maker, get these people to look elsewhere. Most of them aren't looking at me, but tell that to my anxiety.
Anders is next to me for the moment, we talk back and forth about health. What I can and can't do for a few weeks or so. I twist the ring while we talk and I can see it catch his gaze more times than not.
"Fancy ring you got there." He says with a raised brow, completely stopping his lecture on mental health. The suspicion is high in his voice. I tense up and stop twisting my ring.
"Yeah?" I look down at it, hiding a smirk. "What about it?"
"It just seems fancy for someone of your… financial situation."
That raises some questions. "Well excuse me." I sit up straight, clawed fingers tapping against the metal of my weapon. "I don't think the owner of a clinic is allowed to question someone's financial means."
He straightens up but doesn't respond and instead he turns away and struts to the door just as the ginger officer walks through.
Oh, Aveline, why so many disappointed frowns?
"Thank you for calling me, Anders." She says to him as he lightly pats her shoulder, he leans over to her ear and mutters something that throws her glance my way with a quirked brow. The exchange is almost awkward to view.
"He's willing to go with you so there shouldn't be too many problems."
She motions to me and I stand up, fixing my staff to my back. At any rate, I'm going to finally be able to see more of the city. And finally have somewhere to rest.
"Come on, Hawke." Aveline sounds tired. I move past her and she follows me out. Of course the second I see her car is when I actually panic. I halt in my steps, with her bumping into me from behind.
"Calm down, I'm not arresting you."
Could've fooled me.
She shepherds me through the doors and down the steps.
It's still daylight. I think it is about noon. Outside is a crummy place. This must be the ghetto. I sigh inwardly and push my way past her. There are a few ragtag groups of folk lingering outside, some of which move off to the side as we pass by. I catch few words in between the murmurs but other than that, they're ignored.
Aveline leads me to the car and I'm allowed in the front seat, which is more relief on my nerves. I set my staff carefully in the back seat and buckle up. She looks at me again and nods slowly, examining me.
She starts the car and we're off into the better parts of the city.
This city is beautiful. I don't even know what day it is, but Christmas decorations are still up and active, people are still enjoying the snow, and everything looks peaceful. I hum again, tapping my clawed finger against the grip of my staff.
"So." I start, my lips quirking up into a grin.
"Home already? We haven't even gone on a date yet." I snicker and bang my head against the window when the car makes a sharp turn. Ow.
Her jaw tightens and she groans.
"Look, Hawke, I know you—I know what you're capable of. And you're not safe on the streets. No one is safe with you on the streets."
"No one is safe—What—Aveline, I stole a car! Twice! I didn't kill anyone!" I look at her quickly, confused.
She smiles, lightly tapping on the steering wheel and humming along to the song on the radio.
"I'm only teasing you, Hawke." Your teasing leaves much to be desired, Aveline.
"So where does that leave us?"
"I'm taking you back to my flat. You're going to stay with me."
"Really?" eyebrows raised. I nervously laugh again. "You truly want to have a 'criminal' in your flat?" Air quotes are essential to preserve 'innocence'.
"I'm doing it to keep an eye on you, Hawke, not just because you have history with the law." The authority in her voice makes me laugh even harder. "I thought Anders went over this with you."
"He didn't say much other than that you're taking me to your flat. Are you sure that that won't cause problems in your line of work?"
"I'm straight-forward enough to know the rights and wrongs of the law. I don't have to worry about you trying to seduce me to the dark side."
I chuckle but try to disguise it as a cough. The outside looks more inviting that staring at Aveline the entire trip, so I let my mind drift away to small daydreams.
Aveline drives like an old woman; an old woman who turns too sharply and cusses at other drivers from her seat. I'm scared for my life, and I have a firm grip on the oh shit bar. She doesn't even go the speed limit most of the time and it's driving me crazy. Just drive the Makerdamned speed limit, woman!
Whatever high I was on at that point had worn off and I go mute, only replying to her questions with grunts or nothing at all. I roll my shoulder uneasily, occasionally looking at my blood dragon tattoo, watching it move with my muscles. I can't smile. I don't want to smile, but I am on the inside.
Some colorful song plays on the radio, "Cool Kids" no idea who it's by but it's enough of a bubbly song that I can get lost in the scenery with it as background noise. The buildings move by quickly while we traverse the city. I don't recall which part of the city I was hanging around in, but I pay attention at each intersection to where we go.
The buildings appear to have a more modern and worn down look about them. Elves become the more prominent residents the further we go. There's a couple of Qunari here and there but they're far and few, which is far more than I saw in Denerim. Dwarves and humans seem to outnumber these lots the longer I stare.
"We're heading into Lowtown." Aveline says, turning to me while we're stopped.
I jitter a little in my seat. My leg bounces, rubbing against the seat, and I can barely stifle an exhausted breath. I've resigned myself to this fate. I might as well calm down…
Defensive mode activate.
I can only give her an occasional sideways glance and nervously tug at the tags that hang on my neck.
We're here. The apartment complex is quite nice, all things considered. Aveline pulls into a parking space and I look up at the high-rising building. We step out.
Staff in hand, I move ahead of her towards the building. The door is locked, obviously, but I still try to open it. Aveline clears her throat. I step aside and she unlocks it.
Now we can go in. She moves before I do. I hesitate, swallowing at another lump in my throat before she drags me in.
"First things first." We walk up three flights of steps before we come to her door. Her neighbors are being rather noisy next door but the officer ignores it, and she unlocks her door.
Inside this room is by far one of the cleanest rooms I've ever seen. It smells really good too. Like cinnamon.
I look around, taking it in. I'm actually somewhere warm and forgiving.
"First things first," she says again, "You need to shower. I will not have you looking like you're fresh off the streets while you live with me."
I give her a look but she points past my face when I take off my boots. "Bathrooms' down that way." My gaze follows her hand down the hall. It's dark but I can make out the door.
I grunt in response.
"There's a towel in the closet." She tells me what to do, and I let her. She pushes me in that direction. I let her.
The bathroom is clean—so clean that it's almost scary. It must be brand new or something.
"Guest room is to your right." She calls from the kitchen. "Make yourself at home."
I close the door and look at myself in the mirror. I still look like shit. But it could be worse.
Stripping down is easy once you get past the minor aches and pains and bandages sticking to your skin and hair.
It feels like a rage demon is licking my back just from the waters' heat alone.
A good half hour or so and I'm finally clean.
What a relief.
Luckily the hallway is empty and the TV is going so Aveline is probably watching TV. I scurry past into the guest room and close that door behind me.
So far I have no clothes to change into and I'm in an unknown household.
The room is empty. There's a bed, dresser, closet, and a few other necessities for a bedroom. I set my staff against the side of the dresser and nod. The bed is rather comfortable once I sit, but I don't linger for long when I pull my jeans on.
I think I'll go commando. Yeah, that sounds fun.
I wrap a towel around my upper half, being the kind of person who doesn't want all his scars out for viewing. I step back out into the living room and lean against the wall, looking the tired officer over. She's dressed down. Off duty, I suppose.
"We need to get you some new clothes." She states, raising a brow.
"Obviously."
"I'll take you out. We need to get you presentable too."
"Again, obviously. Do you have a shirt I can borrow?"
She's uncomfortable for a second, shifting in her seat.
"Yes." She stands, she moves to her room. I follow.
However I don't linger for long in the doorway when she pushes me back out with a white t-shirt with some obscure logo on the chest thrust into my arms.
I raise a brow to her but don't question the size. It looks like it'll fit me. Once I put it on, it does. It's a bit loose around the torso but I'd prefer this.
"You don't look like someone who wears men's clothes for fun, Aveline." I look past he into the room, then stretch and pulls back to the front door.
"Are you married, or?"
She pushes past me to the door.
"That is none of your business."
Alright, fine. Don't tell me.
Her phone buzzes from the counter. She goes over to it, opens the message, and shakes her head.
"Several of my friends are going to be up at the mall in an hour once Isabela gets out of work, since we're going that way I think we might as well meet up with them."
She won't let me answer, but I'd readily reject the offer. I only want new clothes. She hands me a jacket, again being a questionable size.
"Don't bring your staff. You won't need it." She warns as I put it on.
"Any particular reason why not?" The sleeves are a struggle without pulling on these damn bandages.
"You don't need it." She repeats.
"Alright." I hold my hands up. "Your house, your rules." I can't cast spells anyway so there's no problem with that.
Suspicion is high in her eyes. But she nods all the same and heads through the door. A longing glance cast back to the guest room and I follow her out, skipping on my heel and kicking at the toe of my boot and follow her down the stairs.
I guess this won't be so bad after all.