Author's Note: So…in it's uncut version, this is a fifteen page chapter. Derp. Don't know how that happened. So I've cut a few things out, revamped, reworked, reworded. There is a cameo appearance by Mahariel(If you squint, there's even a sideways reference to the Tabris family in Denerim), more Hawke/Anders bonding, some mention of Fenris ;) . Enjoy! :D And don't forget to check out zee tumblr, if you are so inclined, and leave me a review. Really. You have no idea the dance I do when I get a review. XD :D
"Fear is another emotion that is strongly suppressed. We cannot afford to be afraid, and so we don't allow ourselves to sense and feel the fear within us. We lower our brows to deny it, set our jaws to defy it, and smile to deceive ourselves. But inwardly we remain scared to death." ~ Alexander Lowen
They walked for hours ahead of the main body of the expedition, relying mostly on the crumbling torches and vast lava pits to lend them the light to see by. When it got too dark for even Hawke to see properly, she raised a hand and called a bit of fire to it, the glowing orange a spot of brightness imprinted on the backs of his eyelids. The way the flickering light cast shadows, warped them; was unsettling. It made him feel like there were darkspawn he couldn't sense everywhere but if he just focused on her…darkspawn became a secondary concern. There was a bit of gray down-from my coat-which had tucked itself into the snowy hair on her nape. With each draft of stagnant air, it's little fibers fluttered. He wanted to reach over and pluck it out to show to her but then…well, he felt a certain amount of mad pride that she had one of his feathers in her hair, even if it was only an accident.
"Anders. Anders." She was talking to him. He started and shook his head, moving to come up beside her-and stopping when she struck out a hand, one finger pressed to her lips.
"What? What is it?"
"It's not darkspawn?" She was slowly backing towards Carver and Varric, the pair quickly following her example and taking up positions on her flank. Anders did the same, drawing his staff and reaching for the place inside his mind, the place where the Taint whispered and writhed. He let the wordless voices surge for a moment, a black, terrible moment, and listened.
"No. There are darkspawn close, but they're not interested in us. Did you hear something?"
"A scratching sound," it was Carver who answered, looking pale as he slowly lifted his great sword. "And a smell-"
The spider landed within their protective circle. Hissing and scritching, it went straight for Hawke's younger brother. Then suddenly they were everywhere. A nest, Anders thought, we've blundered into a bloody nest of them. A fireball caught in some webbing and a thousand, hairy black legs the length of his body seemed to swarm towards the killing light. Varric let out a shout as a spider ran at him and earned a crossbow bolt between the eyes for it's assault. Carver was fending off three of them, so purple they were almost black and with the odd, telltale tumoural growths and glittering blood red eyes that meant they had Blight corruption.
Anders wanted to shout, to warn the warrior to be bloody careful, to not get a mouthful of blood but by then the hoard was upon him and it was all he could do to keep from being overwhelmed. A swathe of frost magic froze three of the smaller spiders, trying to come up on his flank. His stave swept aside the spider coming from his right. He heard Carver's cry of pain, called the magic to remotely heal him-
"ANDERS! Move!" Hawke hipchecked him so hard he stumbled back against the wall. The giant spider fell on her, the claws at the ends of it's legs raking at her as it tried in vain to get around the staff she was holding lengthwise against it's abdomen, going to her knees with the force of the creatures assault. The attack happened so fast, all he could do was watch in horror. The thing was too stupid to back off and try to go for her unprotected belly, it's carapace clacking as it smacked against the wood again and again. It scrambled, got a third leg up over the staff and slipped…it's fang plunging into the juncture between Hawke's shoulder and her neck.
"HAWKE!" Blood spurted from the wound as Hawke reeled backwards with a jagged cry of surprised pain. The creature's massive body fell on her, screeing gleefully as it's fangs clacked off the stone, trying to reposition and rip her head off.
"SISTER!" Carver was covered from head to toe in black blood, too far away to do anything. Varric couldn't get a clear shot, Anders summoned a bolt of ice-
"Everyone…shut…UP!" The creature sailed backwards on a pulse of force magic, hitting the ceiling of the cavern with a wet crunch and falling back to earth, twitching and hissing it's last. There was a moment of breathless silence, punctuated only by Hawke's soft whimper of pain as she dropped her staff and collapsed sideways.
"Hawke!" Anders jumped to help, only to get nearly run over by Carver as he rushed to his sister's side. Hawke pushed at her brother with her right arm, trying to squirm into a sitting position against a bit of rock, blood sluicing down her left arm. Maker, that's definitely going to need healing. There's no way she can refuse and expect to keep standing. Anders knelt beside her, peeling back the torn robes. The wound was shallow considering how large the spiders fangs were, but the creature had bitten to the bone of Hawke's clavicle. Streyga's face was gray, the blue of her tattoos standing out starkly against her pale complexion.
"Stop fussing, Little Bother. I'm fine." Hawke's voice broke and she clamped a hand over the wound, her teeth gritted. She looked up at Anders with a gaze full of pain. "In…ah!...Injury kit?"
"If you want to be able to use the arm again, it needs a proper healing. For Andraste's sake, Hawke, why did you do that?" Because that spider surely would have killed him with that blow, that was why she'd done it. Anders felt…impressed, maybe even a little touched by the gesture. A gesture that easily could have been Hawke's last…
"Teach you…to pay attention to your…flank. You healers…can't tell your tight, shapely arses from your elbows. Carver, go…" Hawke shoved at him wearily with a bloodied hand. The catch in her voice made Anders nervous, and he couldn't get enough access to the wound with bloody Carver hovering over protectively.
"And leave you with this idiot? Not a chance."
"Carver, go take care of Varric. You're not…just go, brother." The Hawke siblings traded sulfurous looks before Carver stormed away, casting Anders his best killing glare. Hawke watched him go and Anders couldn't tell if it was the pain of her wound or guilt that made her look so sick.
"I'm…ah! Going to have to pay for that later…" Hawke's sigh hitched as he examined the wound. Not poisonous, just bleeding. A lot. Hawke coughed and blood spackled her bottom lip. With any luck, that just meant she'd bitten her tongue…
"Hawke, I need to close this up. It shouldn't hurt too badly but if you want-" Hawke shot him a pained look and made a faint waving motion with her fingers, dismissing his suggestion of a brief sleep spell before he could make it.
"Go ahead and…heal it. Before I…lose consciousness." He placed his fingers around the wound, reached deep inside himself and tugged at the Fade strands, knitting them, tying them, picturing Hawke's shoulder hale and whole. He pictured how it would move, how the pale skin would strain and shift over bone and sinew and muscle. He felt the beat of Hawke's heart, the way it pounded too quickly in her breast. The deep breaths, sharp with pain as her intercostal muscles caught on the wound. Mend. The flesh knitted perfectly, the only evidence of the wounds existence was the copious amount of blood soaked down one shoulder of her robes.
"Better?" He asked, watching the colour come back to Hawke's pallor gradually.
She was still lying very still against the rock, her chest heaving beneath the blood soaked robes. There was a sheen of fresh sweat across her skin, tinged pink as it ran trails through the blood. Her hands were shaking as she fumbled with something on her belt, fingers trembling so badly-Hawke curled them into fists and sucked in a tremendous breath.
"Hawke? Hawke, is there something wrong-" Anders felt his heart jump into his throat. I missed something, the spider was venomous, she needs-"N-n-no. I just…I can't…"
"Hawke, breathe." She did, in large, hiccupping, hysterical gulps. "Breathe normally."
"I…I am." She glared at him, sucking three breaths in rapid succession. "I…I…don't need your h-help-"
"Breathe with me." He grabbed one of her shaking hands, alarmed when she didn't try and rip it out of his grasp, and pressed it to his chest. "Feel that? Easy, even, steady breaths."
Hawke stared at him with wild eyed panic for a moment, fingers arched like claws and her wrist rigid in his grasp. Scared. Again. Why? Justice perked up, a clinical air to his query. One of these days, I'll make her tell me. Anders exaggerated even breaths, never breaking eye contact. Then, abruptly, there was a vial of lyrium in his line of sight; the shimmering blue liquid quivering in the shaking hand that held it.
"Take it."
"Hawke, it really wasn't that-"
"I'm not asking. T-take it." Hawke's eyes were still wide with a blank, mindless sort of panic, but her mouth was twisted down into a stubborn line. If this was what it took to get her to take even breaths and stand up before the spiders came back, so be it. He plucked the potion from her grip, steeled himself for the taste and quaffed it straight down in one gulp.
"There. Happy now?" Hawke heaved a sigh of relief, clutching her healed shoulder in one hand and slumping back against the rock. A breathless, uneven chuckle sputtered from her lips.
"I…oh. Better. Thanks." She clawed at the rock behind her, ignoring his hand and struggling to her feet under her own power.
"Easy, go slowly-"
"Can I have some elfroot?" He passed her a small vial and she finished it in one swallow. Blood had spattered one side of her face and there was some in her hair, but Hawke didn't seem to care. She also looked inexplicably embarrassed as she picked up her staff. "What, Anders? Do I have web in my hair? Stuck to my arse? What are you ogling?"
"You…you could have just let it bite me." For a moment, Hawke was silent as she struggled to answer him.
"I…look, don't get all sentimental; the only void spawned creature who gets to chew your head off is me. " Hawke hiked warily up the steps ahead of him, stepping over darkspawn corpses and spider carapaces alike.
"And yet you haven't snarled at me yet…"
"You want me to? Fine: Next time, watch your own arse and focus on Varric and Carver. I want your back to the wall and if anything gets close to you freeze it solid. Leap into the middle of the fray like that again and I'll beat the fear of the Maker into you, I swear on Andraste's sanctified tits." Anders smiled at her flinty glare, feeling smug despite the jibe.
"Why Hawke, is that concern?"
"No, it's frustration. If I'm busy saving you, Varric and Carver are exposed to the elements. If you die, there's no one to heal them or safely get them out of here." Anders thought of the three corrupted spiders, the black blood soaking into Carver's sleeves…no, he's fine. You're just being paranoid. Don't panic Hawke because you're over-reacting. The thought that Hawke cared about something was a revelation, however.
"It is concern." But if you're so busy looking out for Carver and Varric and I, who watches out for you? Anders thought to himself, watching Hawke tug at her bloody robes and glower straight ahead. Something she'd said weeks ago came back to him then: This stopped being my family when the last mage blood member died. No one did, the way she saw it. Anders cleared his throat. "Carver was fairly protective-"
"Are we going to go through this every single time I accidentally stumble upon a selfless act? Leave it, Anders. Let's catch up with Varric and Bother before they poke something that pokes back, shall we?"
She stormed off ahead of him, staff in one hand and a fireball in the other. Small triumphs with Hawke were to be had, little baby steps towards understanding. That's what it would take for them to be able to stand each other without the constant bickering. Without Fenris there to stand behind her and glare, Hawke was almost tolerable. Anders winced at the thought of Hawke and the elf…maybe he'd talk to Hawke about it? With only Carver and Varric there, it was possible that he could without worrying about too much reprisal.
A few days later, at the abandoned thaig, he attempted to casually broach the subject with her:
"So…you like elves?" Hawke shouldered her pack and nodded to an obsequiously overjoyed Bodahn before giving him her full attention.
"Varric told me you were going to do this eventually. Yes, I'm rather fond of Fenris. No, I don't want your opinion." She carefully selected some elfroot potions from a crate, wrapping them in a spare set of robes and gently packing them away in her bag.
"I don't give my opinions because people want to hear them; I tell the truth." And you need to hear it, Maker help me for being the one to tell you what you cant see with your own bloody eyes. Fenris may have stood strong beside Hawke, but every little pulse of careless magic that escaped her made the elf grit his teeth and flinch. Hawke may have been rotten to her core, but no mage deserved to find out the hard way that 'normal people' were too horrified by the prospect of magic to ever return those feelings…Anders thought back to Earyn and Cullen and felt Justice snap about in his consciousness like an angry eel.
"Truth is costly and people prefer lies. Phrase your opinion as a lie and I'll take it better." Hawke shrugged, hefting her stave and testing it's balance.
"You want me to lie so that you'll know it's a lie?" The telltale flicker of Hawke's irritation, the tightening of her jaw, was warning enough that the next thing she would say would be insulting.
"Sure, I like pretending. Watch, I'll do it too: all mages are strong and independent and they deserve freedom."
"I'm trying to help you!"
"When you merged with Justice, you were trying to help mages. Stop trying, it never ends well."
"If you get involved with that elf, you're making a mistake. He may love you well enough now, but a dragon cant change it's scales-"
"Flemeth can."
"Flemeth isn't really a dragon, so stop changing the subject. I had a friend in the Circle who used to do that and it doesn't work. Fenris might love you, but do you really want to be with a man who hates what you are so completely? I've seen it; how he looks when you light a torch for him with magic…All those little things. He looks like a spider scuttled across his face-"
"Fenris always looks like that-"
"Hawke, damn it, listen for once in your life-" She darted ahead, calling out to Varric as they descended into a magma lined hallway. The dwarf trotted by, giving Anders a consoling pat on the elbow as he went. And then someone slammed into him from behind and nearly sent him reeling into a pit of lava. "Ow!"
"Damn it, mage. Stop watching my sister's arse and keep moving, would you?"
Anders stepped to the side and allowed Carver to trudge along ahead of him. Of all of them, Hawke's youngest brother was actually the worst off. The damp/dry fluctuations that were a part of life in the Deep Roads were doing terrible things to him. They made his nose run and he twitched at night as he tried to fall asleep, rolling around and gasping for breath. For a moment, Anders thought back to the three blighted spiders…no, it wasn't possible. The Deep Roads just made Hawke unhappy, but they literally made Carver sick. Anders sighed and trudged onward, letting Carver stagger on ahead of him.
Bartrand betrayed them a few hours later. The way it happened…It reminded Anders of when the Templars had thrown him into solitary for the first time. When he was that young, back before he understood what the Circle was really like, he hadn't taken it seriously. They'd chucked him fighting and scratching into a cell and he thought they were going to give him a talking to, not shut him up in the dark forever. The threat of being locked up alone for so long hadn't seemed possible. Surely no one would ever do that to a child. Then, even as an adult…for three long years of nearly complete silence. No one speaking to him, no one caring but Earyn, who after that one confusing night he never saw again. Meals being missed and that knee jerk horror of wondering if he'd been forgotten down there in the dark and the damp. He'd vowed never to be shut up like this again, Bartrand's jeering grating on his eardrums. Hawke clutching at his wrist- The experience made his heart pound, his breath come in short gasps. He may have actually panicked if Hawke hadn't gotten there first.
"No! NO! No, Bartrand! I don't…no, damn!" Hawke flung her body at the stone and bounced off, staggering backwards. She leapt up again and drove her shoulder into the two foot thick stone, slamming a bloodied fist against it with enough force to break her hand. "DAMN IT! LET ME OUT! I'LL KILL YOU, I'LL RIP YOUR BLOODY HEAD OFF!"
"Hawke, sweetheart, it's-" She jerked away from Varric flung herself at the door again with a scream of rage.
"Sister, it's alright-"
"Has to be a way, has to be a way to open it-" With shaking fingers she tried to pry at the edges of the door, her finger nails breaking and ripping to the quick as she clawed and scrabbled like a wolf in a cage. Anders remembered how it felt, that desperation, that feeling of being trapped so completely and utterly that you would never get out. Your lungs in a vice and your head spinning and the urge to break every bone in your body just beating yourself against the door…Hawke leapt again, bouncing off the stone and then back in a crouch, the expression of fierce determination doing little to veil the panic in her eyes. If he didn't stop her, she would beat herself to death against it, or kill them all in her frenzy.
"Hawke, stop it! Come here, you use magic and you'll-" He feels her snatch for the Fade, like a child grabbing handfuls of pebbles to throw, and dispels it; pulls the strands from her still loose mental grasp and tosses them back as he grips her wrists and forces them to fold in front of her. "You'll cause a cave-in. Shush, quiet. Deep breaths."
"No-! You don't-! We can't be trapped-"
She struggled futilely for a moment more, bending over and trying to wriggle backwards out of his grasp. An impossible prospect, since she was coming up against his chest. He could feel the rapid, jack-rabbit pounding of her heart where his fingers gripped her wrists.. Maker, if she wasn't so scared this'd have been me. It seemed irrational to be so scared of something as passive as being stuck underground but it just felt…like a tomb.
It seemed like an age before she stopped gasping for breath and breathed with him. Her trembling lessened and he felt just the tiniest bit of strength seem to fill her. Like holding a shivering, gasping little fledging and then feeling it beat its wings and struggle against your hands. Hawke steadied, sucking in a heavy breath and letting it out in a weighty sigh. Then, just as Anders was content to experience the triumphant moment that was a becalmed woman in his arms, Hawke's head came up and she clunked him in the chin with it, not altogether on accident.
"Ow!"
"Let me go, Anders." He complied and she slipped out of his grasp, sniffing and wiping at her eyes. She wouldn't look at him, instead meeting Varric's solemn gaze with a drawn expression. "So?"
"So…there's a door on the other side of this chamber. Leads into a spooky hallway but hey, it's a start." Hawke's smile was thin as the dwarf patted her gently on the arm, somehow managing to make the gesture natural and not awkward. She took the steps shakily, meeting a grim-faced Carver and brushing off his shoulder pat.
"Well," Varric whistled, for all his bravado looking a bit unsettled himself. "that was unexpected."
"I expected it," Carver sniffled and cleared his throat. "Sister's never liked being underground. Something about a place they had to hide before Beth and I were born. Stayed down there for a long time, apparently. Being confined makes her…anxious."
"She should try being stuck in the Circle sometime." Anders muttered darkly, mounting the steps beside Varric. The dwarf pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Carver scoffed and ran a hand across his mouth, coughing.
"And there I was starting to respect you, magey."
Sister was up to something she shouldn't have been. That was life, of course, but still. Usually, whenever she talked to spirits or demons it was in the Fade, on her own terms. Seeing it, seeing an actual demon, was giving me the creeps. A bunch of rocks clustered around a disembodied ribcage type thing shouldn't have made me so nervous but it did. There aren't a whole lot of creatures in this world that can withstand being repeatedly struck by a greatsword. These things hardly even noticed. Maker's breath, we'd just had to fight our way through a small army of them to get here and my blade was never going to be the same.
"Sister, I don't like this-"
"Carver, you can wet yourself later. It's a talking rock." Damn her. Anders, blast the stupid mage, snorted at her comment. It was a dark day in the Void when she and Anders started getting along, of course it would be at my expense
"Shut up and focus on the rock demon, sister-" The words catch in my throat and I try to stop coughing. Damn cold…
"It's not a rock demon, you ignorant sod. It's a demon of hunger-" She turned around and glared at me, ready to get into it over something as stupid as this-
"I'm sure it'll do a bloody lot of good to know what kind of demon it is when it eats us-"
"It's not going to eat us, Bother. It's after the lyrium…something I can sympathise with. It's got a nice little glow, doesn't it?" Trust it to my fool sister to start chatting up a demon like this is some sort of freakish, under-ground tea party and not a fight for our lives. I swear this attitude is what killed Bethany. There really is no justice in the world.
"You seek to leave this place-" Good, at least the demon had the sense to ignore Sister's prattle. "-but you will need my aid to do so."
"Don't listen to it, Hawke. Demons will trip you up every time." Sister turns back to Anders with a twist to her lips that's just like Mother's on a bad day. She'd been tense since Bartrand sealed us in of course, but this was new. When she gets angry, she trembles with it.
" By all means, sit here and lick a vein of lyrium for the rest of your life if you want, but I am going to be home in time for Harvestmere, damn it. Make your offer demon, I make no promises and you'll have none of my blood."
It turns out that the demon doesn't want sister's blood, it wants us to kill something else entirely. Fine, whatever gets us out of the this misery…the dwarf's looking at me. Every time I turn around it's like he's sizing me up for something. One of his bloody stories, probably.
"What is it now, Varric?"
"Oh, nothing. Just wondering what you think of the Deep Roads Cutest Couple-" Who did he-? Oh. The mages were busy squabbling over the demon issue behind me, Sister with her feet planted and her hands on her hips(she looks the very picture of mother when she does that) and Anders waving his arms around like an idiot.
"-Damn it, Anders! We're not bitching about what gets us out of the Deep Roads-"
"IT'S A DEMON!"
"Only a little one! Besides, I hardly think you and Vengeance are in a position to discriminate-"
"It's not the same-"
"Who's the head of this expedition-"
"-it's not safe-"
"LIFE ISN'T SAFE! Deal! It's done! I'll kill whatever it is that's vexing you in exchange for the key!" Sister snapped, turning to the demon. She knew what she was doing…or at least, I hope she did. I coughed hard enough that I spit something up, black in the gloom. Sister glanced up at me, brows furrowed.
"Carver, are you-"
"Fine."
"Come on! Ah, thank the Maker…halfway there!" Streyga laughed and patted Varric on the head lightly, eager to be free and under the open sky once more. Anders was trudging along halfway between them and a staggering Little Bother. Maker, Leandra was going to be so happy to see them she might even forget to nag them for a week or so. "Hurry up, Carver…always dragging your knuckles…"
"Think we could…take a break? I feel…wrong." Anders stride faltered slightly and he glanced over his shoulder, then turned with an expression of alarm. Hawke felt her breath catch and a flash of panic at that look of wide-eyed worry. No, it's nothing. Just Anders being a fuss-budget. We're almost through this…
"Streyga-"
"Don't be a child, Little Bother. We're almost there. Just think…we can drink ourselves sick in the Hanged Man and-"
"Sister, I…" Carver collapsed to his knees, coughing and gasping. Hawke's heart stopped and fear prickled across her skin like a sickness. No, not now. We were so close. He can't be…it's impossible that he…
"Carver? Carver!" Her staff clattered as it rolled down the stairs, forgotten as she grasped her brother's shoulders, trying to keep him up. He slumped against her and she spilled to her knees, her teeth gritted as she dug in her robes for something, unstoppering a health potion. "Come on, Bother. Drink this and stop larking around. You're fine…just a bit fatigued-"
"Hawke. It's the Blight, I can sense it." Anders stood over them both, his expression grim.
"The taint…" Carver coughed wetly, sickeningly as he looked up at her in misery. His dark blue eyes had a glazy, grayish sheen, gelatinous like a few hour old corpse. Carver!
"Shut up about the taint!" Streyga swore as the vial dropped from her shaking, sweaty fingers and shattered across the stone. "Attention seeking arsehole, you haven't got the taint."
"Sister," One large, gray skinned hand wrapped it's fingers around her comparatively slender wrist. His tortured eyes, their irises tinged with gray veins gazed into her own sadly. "I'm going to die just like Wesley. I'll be just as dead, just as gone."
"Oh no, you wont. I'm the oldest, I get the most dramatic death." The lame attempt at humour fell flat and she struggled to support his weight, feeling the ache in her shoulders and ignoring it.
"Sister, you'll do it. Please. Won't you?" Carver murmured despondently, his voice hoarse.
"Carver, shut up. You're not…dying. AH! It's alright, we can carry you-" She tried in vain to lift his massive bulk but could not. Her feet scrabbled frantically against the weathered stones as she strained. "Damn it! Anders, Varric! Help me-"
"I wont last until the surface, Sister."
"There may be something we can do-" Anders's hand fell on her shoulder and she twisted to look at him, Carver's weight pressing down on her shoulders.
"What? Maker's breath, spit it out, Anders!" Hawke snarled frantically, her eyes wild with thinly veiled fear.
"I stole that map off a Warden who was planning on holding an expedition into the depths in this area. We could try and find them-"
"That's what we'll do, then." She nodded, more to herself than to acknowledge she'd actually heard him. "Help me carry him, please."
"Hawke, there's a price, though. He might not even-"
"Blight take the price-"
"Hawke. Listen to me: He could die anyway-" Hawke ignored Anders blithering as she wrapped an arm around Carver's muscle bound middle and tried to heave him to his feet. At least Varric was standing by to spot the massive warrior if he fell, but Anders was standing there like a disapproving parent counseling her on the dangers of whatever it was he wouldn't shut up about.
" 'Anyway' is better than 'eventually'. Carver, stand up before I beat the living daylights out of you. Here, arm around my neck-Maker, you way a ton." Hawke struggled to maintain her footing on the loose scree and rubble, every muscle in her legs and back trembling with the effort.
"It's muscle." He snapped defensively, sounding a bit more like his old self. Hawke rolled her eyes as Anders moved to allow Carver to put his other arm around his shoulder so they could support the weight evenly between them. Hawke felt a rush of gratitude, followed shortly by irritation when Carver nearly fell on her trying to move away from the healer. "Maker's breath, you two. I've got the taint, not a broken leg-"
"It's not for you, it's for Hawke. She can't carry you by herself, you ungrateful twit." Anders snarled with such ferocity Carver's mouth snapped shut and he swallowed, meekly allowing the mage to help him.
Staggering towards wherever the Wardens were was utter and unrelenting misery. They'd have to pause when they encountered Darkspawn and let Varric use Bianca to pick them off by taking potshots from the shadows. In addition, Hawke could feel Carver starting to worsen. Every step they took he got heavier and she got weaker. The few crumbling stairs they had traversed were an agony, made her muscles twitch and ache with pain. Every once and a while Carver's body would seize with coughs that wracked his frame and he'd choke up blackened, ashy phlegm. The first time this happened, Anders practically shoved her out of the way and clamped a hand over her nose and mouth. Now, she was walking with a kerchief of Varric's over her nose and mouth. 'Just in case' were Anders's words. Still, each time it happened, the healer cast her anxious looks over the top of Carver's head.
"Are we…are we there yet?" Hawke winced at the sound of her brother's pain-laced attempt to joke with them. Anders grunted as he helped heave Carver over a mountain of loose chunks of bedrock, breath catching as he took the full weight of her brother as Hawke struggled to do the same in her stiffened apostate leathers.
"Nearly. We're getting closer…they'll be near one of the proper roads, regrettably." Carver made a soft hacking sound of approval and Hawke frowned, steps faltering slightly.
"Why is that regrettable?" She asked, tripping and feeling the sharp edge of a jagged rock rip through the ruined leather of her boots and scrape her skin.
"Wider tunnels. More direct routes. It sounds wonderful by comparison to this…but it means more darkspawn, less cover. Easy to get-"
"Surrounded. We could get surrounded by darkspawn." Carver shuddered, scrunching his eyelids shut briefly and practically slithering down the gravelly incline and back into a wider corridor. Anders nodded grimly, rivulets of sweat trickling down his face. There was a heavy silence that stretched on into an infinity of stumbling in the semi-darkness and waiting and hoping.
It was at least an hour before Varric-who'd been humming tunelessly for the last ten minutes straight-threw up his hands and viciously cursed his Ancestors. Hawke sighed and sagged a little, Carver perking up beside her at the sound of the unfamiliar oaths issuing from the dwarf's lips. Turning to them, Varric scowled.
"You know what? I hate the Deep Roads." Anders chuckled blackly, helping Carver up the slight incline.
"Oh good, because I was starting to feel alone in that respect."
"Blondie, I haven't got a mind to listen to your bitching. You know what I want right now, what I'm really craving?" Hawke wearily trudged through a questionable looking puddle of water, too tired to try and step around it and ran her tongue over her cracked lips before she spoke.
"Survival? With a side of soft warm bed?"
"Yeah, but besides that." Varric gave her a moment, waiting for someone to guess. Clearly, the three of them were too tired to play this game. It even looked(not to mention felt) like Carver had actually fallen asleep between them. Varric sighed and rolled his eyes, moving to fall into step beside Hawke. "What I'm really craving right now is some Antivan Delight."
There was a moment of silence as the comment sank in and bounced about the exhaustion addled skulls of the weary foursome. Finally, Hawke cleared her throat and shot Varric a measuring look.
"Is that a sex thing?"
"No, Princess. I hate to disappoint you, but it's actually a confection. Made of…this semi-solid stuff? Coagulated jelly. kind of cube shaped with white powdered sugar on them? Any of that ringing a bell?" Varric sighed and rolled his eyes at their ignorance, throwing up his hands in disgust. Carver stirred slightly and coughed, perking up.
"The stuff that tastes like lemons and rose petals? They sell it in Hightown?"
"Yes! That! Really, when we get back to Hightown, I'm going to buy boxes of it. And foist it upon passer-bys." Hawke rolled her eyes and helped Carver over another pile of rubble, wincing at the ache in her shoulders.
"Coagulated lemon jelly with powdered sugar? Varric, don't be disgusting. If I had a lunch to lose, I'd be losing it right now." Anders muttered, his voice hitching with effort. The dwarf hopped over some rocks and looked annoyed, folding his arms over his nearly bare chest.
"Well, Blondie, I don't see you improving the silence-" Fed up and without much preamble, Anders looked over at her.
"Hawke…I know this isn't a brilliant time, but I've been wondering about your tattoos-" Carver's head fell between his shoulders and his lips pulled back over his teeth as he started to laugh so hard he broke off coughing, his shuddering sending pain ricocheting through her taxed muscles. Hawke gave Carver's wrist a tight squeeze as punishment as Varric sidled up to her, eyebrows raised.
"A story behind the ink, Hawke? Indulge us." Hawke sighed as they trudged along and tried to figure out the best way to tell the story and save face.
"It's really not much of a story. I mean-"
"She got piss drunk and went off to go chat up a caravan of Chasind Wilders at the edge of Lothering-"
"I wasn't piss drunk, Carver. You're telling the story wrong. I was fifteen and I'd never touched a drop of alcohol in my life. It was a poor choice to start with wilder brew, I admit-" Hawke caught her breath and helped heave Carver over a fissure in the cracked surface of the road.
"You admit? That stuff almost rivals dwarven ale when it comes to potency-"
"Varric, do you want to hear the story or not? I was fifteen, for the Maker's sake." Hawke snapped defensively, trying to keep Carver on his feet and focus on her story at the same time.
"I just can't believe Leandra and Malcolm let you go see them-"
"Ooooh, they didn't. Sister snuck out."
"Yes, I snuck out. Sadly, I don't remember much of the whole night. Except admiring their tattoos and talking to their…Elder, I think it was? I don't know. A hedge witch, though. Not very skilled. I got drunk enough that I showed her my fire trick. Back then, I wasn't so used to using battle magic. I had more focus because I had to work harder to get it to light at all. I could make shapes-animals and things-out of the flames. She found it fascinating, kept babbling about how I was 'dragon kissed'. Kept calling me that, too. I remember waving my arms and trying to insist that I was Hawke…you know, wing flapping. She just snickered and waved back and said 'Dragon!'. The long and short of it is that I danced, drank and passed out. Woke up in the middle of a meadow the next morning with a monster hang over and these-" Hawke turned her head this way and that to display the tattoos properly, feeling her cheeks colour with a blush. It was kind of embarrassing, to be completely honest. And stupid, she could have gotten herself killed. Anders was watching her with warm brown eyes, a small smile on his face. "-it's…well, I told you it wasn't much of a story."
"I probably would have done the exact same thing at your age." Anders supplied, kicking aside a lump of stone so Carver didn't trip over it. Hawke smiled back at him, even though his gaze was now focused ahead. She would have been furious if he'd started harping about how irresponsible she'd been. "And they're nice tattoos. I mean, they look good. Very…feral."
Feral? Streyga smiled…yes, feral. I can live with that as an adjective…
"She made Mother cry. Father sort of hung his head…I think he was just relieved she hadn't been nabbed by templars or something." Carver croaked, doggedly putting one foot ahead of the other. He raised his head and affected a high falsetto: " 'Oh, Maker's blood! Whatever have you done to your beautiful face! You look like some kind of street rat! Oh, Malcolm! Whatever shall we do? No man will want to marry you with these hideous marks on your face! And you smell like a brewery nah nah nah blah blah blah Maker preserve me!' Truly, it was one of the funniest things I'd ever seen."
"I like how her first thought was 'marriage'. I think that was when she started pinning her hopes for the Amell line on Bethany." Hawke muttered wryly, the conversation help take her mind off the fact that they were now on a widened road. Anders had perked up now, and was ushering them along slightly more quickly then was comfortable. Carver's brow furrowed and he winced.
"Right, then Bethy turned out to be a mage, too." Anders's head swung around at this and his expression darkened. Carver didn't seem to notice, sucking in a reedy breath. "I…feel bad for Mother. She loved Beth…but Maker, do you remember how much she cried when we found out?"
"I remember." I remember how much they both cried when they realised I was a mage. That had been awful. Father had stopped letting her play outside by herself. Leandra hadn't even been able to look at her without sobbing for weeks. And she hadn't had a sibling to share the misery with for three years. It was like she'd done something wrong and had no idea what it was. Hawke snorted and hung her head, feeling a heaviness in her chest. I was like a little curse, a reminder of the magic they couldn't escape.
"That's…awful. I never thought of it that way. I…" Anders murmured softly, as if he'd heard her internal musing. "I…my father couldn't stand the fact that I was a mage. He was the one who called the templars down on us…but neither he nor my mother were mages. It doesn't excuse them, but-"
"Yes, I was disappointing them from when I was very, very young. Nothing like an early bloom of magic to put a damper on that sense of childish wonder." She didn't want to talk about it. The memories, the feelings…they were too raw to share with Anders. Too close to the heart. And yet, deep down, she knew she'd never be able to speak freely about it to Fenris. Maker and Andraste knew she wanted to, but there were some things only another mage could ever understand. Fenris distrusted her magic enough already…
"Darkspawn." Anders stopped dead and Carver nearly plowed into the ground. Hawke felt panic seize her chest. They never should have started talking, never should have distracted him. Anders glanced over at her and his eyes were wide with alarm. "From all sides. At least twenty-"
A volley of crude black arrows came buzzing out of the red tinged gloom ahead of them. Anders jerked out from under Carver's beefy arm and threw up a barrier that sent the deadly storm skittering off in various directions around them. Something about the speed of his reaction was breathtaking, the ferocity of the sheer power of the Fade that she felt thrum in her chest as he cast. Before the alien presence of Justice seeped in like a sickness-Hawke struggled with Carver as his legs went out from under him.
"We've got company!" Hawke pulled her arm from around Carver's waist, helping him stagger to the floor and ignoring his frantic look.
"Sister, behind you!" Hawke turned with her staff in hand just in time to catch the rusted hack-saw like blades of her attacker. She snarled like a cornered wolf and let loose a blast of fire that wound around her staff like a serpent, lashing the darkspawn in it's twisted face. The creature stumbled back with a howl and Hawke adjusted her grip on the staff and stunned two more with a vicious sweep that ended with her burying the bladed ended in the first 'spawns skull.
"This isn't going well!" Varric shouted, rolling backwards to avoid the miasmic flask he'd used to stun his five attackers. Hawke coiled her magic and flung a fireball full of blistering heat at the incapacitated opponents, twisting so her back was to Carver and Anders.
Varric was right, there were too many. Without Carver, they were outmatched and tired as they were and low on supplies….it didn't bear thinking about it. But there was nowhere left to run- Hawke turned to see Anders looking over at her, a look of despair on his face. Hawke grabbed a combustion grenade from her hip pouch and chucked it into the writhing blackness beyond. Fuck dying in this pit, she was going to give life her best shot, damn it.
"How close did you say the Wardens were?"
"Less than a mile? I'm not entirely sure…Hawke, what are you planning? Hawke, don't-!"
"Watch Carver. I'll be right back."
"HAWKE!" She ran for where the rubble made almost a natural stair to massive fallen pillar blocking their way-always with the pillars, what was it with dwarven architecture? Clearly compensating for something.- and pulled on her mana as she leapt down on the other side and into the small hoard of attackers, force pulling them inwards so they all clustered in a screaming pile. Pull of the Void. She laced the pull with flame, making it big and flashy, then jerked both arms up in an abrupt movement and lifted a good fifteen or so darkspawn off the ground and then curled her fingers and twisted her wrist, slamming them back down so loudly she heard bones crack and necks snap. Maker's Fist. Before those that had survived could stagger to their feet, she sucked a deep breath in and slapped the bedrock with the flat of her hand, loosing a telekinetic burst that sent tongues of fire flaring up. She had enough mana left for one last trick-one that would hopefully alert the wardens and have them come running…
"Anders! Shield them or get out of the way!"
"Hawke, don't you dare-" Hawke held her palms a hand width apart, her magic stirring the stale air of the Deep Roads into a hurricane force gale as the kernel of flame bloomed between her hands, the remaining creatures closing on her with slavering jaws and crooked sneers. Drawing on the power of the Fade felt like biting into succulent, ripe fruit. It was glorious.
She sent the tiny ball of flame upwards, like she was tossing a ball. Held it there for a moment as it suddenly blossomed and grew to be ten times the size it had been seconds earlier-just a little closer-and unleashed the raging inferno of a firestorm. Magic channeled through her, fierce and sharp and powerful. Giant balls of flame rained down from the ceiling and lit the ruins of the Deep Roads in flashes of golden light, turning the darkspawn and their corpses to ash.
Hawke felt a strange, heady dizziness as the flames started to die. She struggled to remember how to stop the spell, how to…how to…A vision of a silhouette against the flames, a few silhouettes in armor. But one coiled in a graceful leap, knees tucked up to the chest, hands clutching daggers…a black shadow against the raging red of fire…Hawke was on her knees, falling forward…falling forever…
"-DAMN IT, HAWKE! Wake up!" Something stuck her hard across the side of her face and her eyes snapped open. She was lying on the sooty ground, booted feet all around her and her head resting in someone's lap. Hawke shut her eyes and tried to get her bearings. Nothing felt agonizingly painful so far…so nothing broken. She must have been knocked out…she felt exhausted, there was barely a drop of mana left in her. "That was by far one of the stupidest things you've ever done! You could have killed yourself-"
"Leandra-?"
"Oh Bugger the Maker. First I'm Fenris, now I'm Leandra-" Anders. I told Anders to watch Carver-! Hawke bolted upright so quickly she nearly smacked him in the face. Hands came down on her shoulders and pushed hard. "Hawke, stay down."
"No-! Ow, where is-" Hawke struggled and only managed to get herself into a sitting position with her head between her knees. Maker, she felt awful
"Here, Sister. I…what did you do?"
"Nearly killed us all is wha she did, shem." Hawke glanced between her brother and the pair of boots that was addressing her. The voice sounded Dalish but since when did the Dalish wear shoes? "We are lucky her magic did not bring this foul durgen'len death tunnel falling down atop of us like the wrath of the Forgotten Creators."
"I was trying to…get your attention…" Hawke told the toe of the boots, pressing her temple to her wrists and huffing a weary sigh.
"You have it. Be glad I didna find you skulking about any earlier, or I'd have your ears as trophies." Hawke swayed a little on her hands and knees and tried to riddle that last threat out, glancing at Anders in confusion. He shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes helplessly, pushing himself to his feet.
"Ears?"
"It's a Dalish thing. Listen, Mahariel-"
"Mahariel?" Varric boots went ambling by Hawke's line of vision and she gave up trying to stand and flopped over on her back. "The Mahariel? The Dalish woman who single-handedly slayed the Archdemon and saved Ferelden? Blondie, I have to say, when you claimed to know the Hero of Ferelden…well, I thought you were full of shit. A pleasure to make your acquaintance-"
"Quiet, Durgen'len. I dinna have time for your wagging tongue." Hawke saw the look of affront flicker across Varric's face and heaved a breathless giggle. "Anders-shem, Bor-assan shem. Pick up this…mage shem-"
"Her name is Hawke.""I dinna care what her name is so long as she is no longer rolling around on the floor like a legless halla. Now." Anders arm wrapped around her middle and she sagged against him, clinging to his coat. Another arm looped around her side and Hawke glanced over. A dark haired man with a handsome, angular face was looking at her with mild concern.
"My lady, if you need the support."
"I can take it from here, Bore and Ass." The man shot Anders a withering look and withdrew his arm, forcing her to lean heavily on the mage. Anders was too busy glowering at Bore and Ass to be bothered by it. Hawke grinned at the look of resentment on the men's faces and felt a little bit stronger for the comic relief.
"Friends of yours, Anders?"
"Of a sort. We used to have the most darling taint filled slumber parties together. Varnish each other's toe nails and tell scary stories-" The Dalish woman lunged forward and smacked Anders with her bow, hard enough to make him yelp.
"Quiet, shemlen. We havena the time for your whining when the boy is dying of Blight. You and your Hawke shem and the durgen'len-"
"If we're going to refer to me with slurs, I'd like to say the I answer to 'dwarf' just fine-" The bow lashed out and rapped Varric lightly on the forehead.
"-the noisy durgen'len are close to the surface. I sense no sickness in them. But the Carver shem is ill. I am surprised you didna sense it earlier, Anders shem-""He did. We know." Hawke blurted, struggling to find the energy to stand on her own. The Dalish woman regarded her with a measuring and mildly disgusted gaze.
She was a bit shorter than your average elf, but she had a way of standing that bespoke authority. Mahariel was used to being obeyed without question, comfortable in her position of command. Her eagle sharp eyes missed nothing, glittering a dark green hazel in the diffuse gloom of the Deep Roads. Extensive vallaslin traced her angular feature's, curling around the edges of her curt little mouth like thorny, winding vines. Long blonde hair was pulled back in a severe bun at the back of her head and one of her pointed ears had a nick out of it near it's curved tip. Two daggers were sheathed over her shoulder's, their handles as wickedly curved as the blades themselves. "We were hoping you could…cure him."
"Cure him? Do I look like a healer to you, shemlen? You are asking me to make your brother a warden. We are not a charity-"
"It wouldn't be charity! Carver is an extremely skilled warrior-"
"I dinna need another lazy shem-" Hawke felt her patience strain and snap at the words 'lazy shem'. Thank the Maker she didn't have any mana left to strike at this nasty little elf.
"My brother is not just some 'lazy shem'. He's…he was a member of King Cailan's army during the battle of Ostagar. He knows how to fight, he killed an ogre-" That was a lie, she'd killed the ogre. But Hawke was desperate, glancing at where Carver was grey as a corpse and slumped against a crumbled piece of pillar. Mahariel looked unimpressed, folding her arms over her chest and glancing at the lump of quivering muscle that was Carver.
"Carver-shem. Walk to me." There was a moment of silence as Carver lifted his head wearily. Hawke felt her breath catch and she pressed her face into Anders's feathered shoulder to hide her expression. Oh Maker. He looked like death.
"I…I d-d-don't think I can-" Carver murmured, pushing himself off the pillar and gasping with agony. Hawke felt the ache in the back of her throat that preempted tears. Oh Maker, maybe they should have killed him. He was in so much pain. Mahariel sniffed, glaring at him and calling back with her heavy, clipped dalish accent.
"Ah, it is as I expected, shemlen. Too weak." Hawke turned back to snarl at the woman, only for Anders to give her a harsh squeeze and shake his head. Carver coughed and stood a little straighter, taking a shaky step away from the pillar.
"I am…not." His sword made a grating sound across the stone, it's hilt hanging limply from his fingers. Mahariel glanced at him again, tight lipped and with her eyebrows raised. Hawke felt a growing fire of hatred for the elf stoke to life in her stomach, a rage so strong she wanted to spit with it. Mocking her dying brother. How dare she.
"Ah, and you fight with a steel great sword. That is clumsy, it teaches bad swordsmanship. Typical of shems to forge their blades like babes playing with heavy clay. Dalish make their great swords of ironwood. The Deep Roads are already full of clumsy shems who tried to play at war, we call them ghouls-"
"I am not clumsy!" The harsh criticism seemed to inject a little life back into Carver, and the taint gray of his eyes got fiercer somehow. A little brighter, like the Amell blue was trying to shine through the haze. Carver took three more steps, nearly pitching to the ground. You tell her, Brother. Tell her where she can shove her Dalish blades. "And I'm not a darkspawn…"
"Prove it, shem. Walk to me." Carver took another agonized step and Hawke cried out as his legs tangled-No! NO! Brother! Get up, you have to get up-and he went down gasping and sucking air like an aging plowhorse unable to take another step or it's heart would burst. The Dalish turned, a look of cool arrogance on her face.
"No, not yet. But soon enough. Ma halam, ir abelas." The woman sniffed and turned on her heel. "Nath-Annie-Yall shem, we are done here."
"No, you bloody damn well are not." Hawke lunged forward as Anders caught her by the elbows and she slammed back into his chest. "Anders, take your blighted hands off me-"
The damned Dalish woman was still walking away unconcerned, uncaring. Blight take her and her pride.
"Hawke, it's no good. I'm sorry-"
"No. Get off me-" The mind blast was small, but it was enough to knock him back. Hawke didn't even know what she was doing at that point, all she wanted was to grab this woman by her pointy ears and force her to help her brother. She couldn't lose Carver, too. She'd promised Leandra, she'd promised Father. She strode forward, past Carver who was trying to say something she was past hearing with the sound of the blood roaring in her ears. She could feel her magic surging as she stormed after the retreating wardens. "Stop! Hey, I'm talking to you! You can't just leave him to die and get away with it-"
It was an accident, really. The force magic pull. It never would have worked if they'd been prepared and ready for it. As it was, she was so distracted and drained she only managed to get a few of them. The Dalish leader was one of them, though. She'd yet to see a rogue who could evade a good magical yank on the collar. Anders yelled something incoherent and Hawke had a moment of sheer triumph as the Warden Commander skidded across the floor on her prim little Dalish arse and-used her momentum to recover and rolled to her feet not ten yards from where Hawke had cast, a snarl on her lips and her arm out as she threw her dagger. Quick, rogue's are quick-
"NO!" There was a clang and a clatter and suddenly Carver was lying at her feet, gasping like a fish, his arms outstretched and his fingers curled loosely around the handle of his great sword. A few feet from it lay the dagger he'd knocked aside.
"Shemlen'alas!" The Dalish woman spit viciously somewhere in the back ground as Anders rushed over. Hawke could care less.
"Mahariel, wait-"
"Carver! You great lug-headed, ninny fool, idiot…" Hawk fell to her knees, heedless of the angry wardens surrounding them. Carver flopped onto his back and grinned bitterly, lips peeled back from his teeth in a pained grimace.
"Saved your arse, Sister. Not that anyone'll ever believe it." Hawke stared at him and felt helpless. Carver was so young, it wasn't fair. He hadn't done anything yet; she was the one who should be dying of taint…
"You did, Brother. You saved my silly magical arse. You're always saving it. Every day." Carver rolled his eyes at the sentiment and his breath hitched, clutching tighter at her fingers.
"Yeah…yeah…" He murmured breathily, eyes losing their focus and breath slowing. Hawke felt panic knife at her breast as his eyes drifted shut.
"Carver! Carver, don't go to sleep. No. Carver, stay-" Hands fell on her shoulders and she felt someone yank her to her feet, away from her brother and pull her into a crushing hug that was just as much a gesture of comfort as it was restraint. She squirmed in Anders's arms and he turned sideways so that she could still see Carver's prone form. She blinked away tears and looked down at her unconscious sibling, watching the Dalish bend and check his pulse with a detached look on her vallaslin traced face. The elf glanced up and met Hawke's eyes, a look halfway between respect and displeasure in her gaze.
"We will take him. Nath-Annie-Yall, you and Stroud will carry him." In a liquid quick movement, the woman snatched up her dagger and sheathed it over her shoulders. "I will be along shortly."
Hawke watched the two men lift Carver unconscious form between them, his eyes fluttering open and seeking hers. She freed one of her arms from Anders's grasp and brushed her fingers ghostingly quick across her brother's shoulder.
"Carver-"
"Sister-"
"If you want your brother to live, there is no time for good byes. Nath-Annie-Yall, now." Carver's eyes met hers as they dragged him off, a tiny, weary little smile on his face. Anders and the dalish woman were talking, Varric's hand was gently patting her arm, but all Hawke could see was Carver's smile. How long had it been since she'd last seen Carver smile? Soon, he'd just be a memory that'd haunt her sleeping hours. Another body to add to the ever growing list of people her blighted magic couldn't do anything for. Maker, don't cry. You cant cry…he's bloody fine. She'd never see him again and Leandra- Hawke's breath caught and she sagged against Anders. Bitterly, she wished he was Fenris. The only reason Anders was still holding her was so that she didn't try to kill the Dalish. He shouldn't have bothered, she barely had the energy to stand, let alone kill a quick-footed elf.
"Commander-"
"Don't call me Commander, Anders shem. You know I am no longer your superior. An I thought a mage I helped escape Vigil's Keep would have better sense then to crawl back to the Deep Roads on his belly-"
"I didn't come back of my own volition, I owed-"
"You owe nothing-"
"Neither do you and you're back down here, what's your excuse?" There was a moment of silence where the two Warden's scowled at each other and then Mahariel sighed, shaking her head.
"I am getting too old for fighting with bothersome little shems. The circumstances are complicated. It doesna matter, Anders. An you, asha-shem-""You can call me Hawke." Whatever asha'shem meant, it certainly wasn't a deference or a sign of respect. Or an apology.
"Hawke shem: If you attack me again, ar tu na'din." Mahariel inspected the edge of her blade and made an exasperated sound when she spotted the nick Carver's sword had made in the metal, growling out the last between her teeth. I will kill you. Merril had taught her that one one night at the Hanged Man.
"Ma emma harel, tas." Mahariel's eyes narrowed, but she let the threat slide and sheathed her blade.
"Time is wasted by talk. Do you know the path to the surface, Anders shem?"
"Yes, Comman-Mahariel." The elf gave him an odd look, bird like as she cocked her head to the side. She beckoned with one tattooed hand and Anders hesitated before following her a short distance off. Hawke watched them go, trembling head to toe. With neither Carver nor Anders at her back, she felt strangely exposed…
"Hey, Princess. Is it just me or does Blondie have some 'history' with the Hero of Ferelden?" Hawke shook herself and looked down at Varric, feeling suddenly guilty. Frankly, with all that was going on, she'd forgotten he was there.
"That's the famed Hero of Ferelden? I heard she was a Dalish elf, but I didn't think-I mean, well…she's a piece of work." Hawke ground out, her hands on her hips as she glowered at the pair. Varric snorted and then burst out laughing, somewhat grimly. Hawke smacked him in the side of the head and he stopped, feigning offense.
"Ow, Hawke. That hurt. You calling anyone 'a piece of work'…it just makes me laugh, is all. Really, though. That's the look of an elf and mage who have been through something."
"Been through something? Maker's breath, now you're just grasping for straws…"
"Look." Hawke looked just in time to see the frigid little pointy eared wench stand on her tiptoes and murmur something in Anders ear. Hawke exhaled in a hiss of breath. They did have history, didn't they? An irrational quirk of jealousy surged in her chest before she tamped it down with reason. Anders shared history with this elf had probably been the deciding factor in the Warden's hauling Carver off. She should be grateful for it.
Anders. It was all Anders. Without him, Carver would have died; would have begged her to kill him before the end. He might still, but the ex-warden had given him a chance he never would have had. Anders turned from the little elf, who cast them one wary look before stepping back into the shadows and vanishing from sight.
Anders followed Mahariel a short distance off, the elf's delicate fingers hooked into his gauntlet as she tugged him aside. He stepped in front of her nervously as she pulled him to a stop, forest green eyes boring into his own with the ever-present intensity. She looked older than when he'd seen her last, some new lines of weariness in her furrowed forehead. There was a new tightness to her delicate little mouth a carefulness as she reached up to pinch the bridge of her vallaslin traced nose and then fixed him with a glare.
"I told the others you were dead, that I killed you and your spirit. Do you seek to turn me into a fool, shemlen?"
"I…no. I was coming down here to-! Because I…" Anders looked down into Mahariel's hard expression and swallowed his excuses. She wouldn't have listened to them, anyway. She folded her arms over her chest and shot a glance at where Hawke and Varric were standing, Hawke glowering in their direction.
"A wild shemlen mage? You have a bondmate now?" Mahariel's sharp gaze flicked back to his, her eyebrows raised.
"No! I mean we're just friends…hardly even that, really. Just…it's complicated." Tallesei Mahariel had not changed much in the year and a half since he'd seen her last. He'd fully expected that to be the last time he or anyone ever saw her again. She'd seemed dead set on finding her clan when they'd finally parted ways just outside of Denerim. "You came back?"
"I am their Commander. It is the closest thing you shem's hae to a Keeper." She muttered darkly, a derisive snort issuing from her lips at the thought. "Besides, I hae no clan an' I'm no use to anyone in the wilds."
"You do have a clan. I've met them…in fact, Merril's with us now." Surprise flitted across Tallesei's face and she scowled at him like he might be lying to her.
"Merril? I…how is Merril?" Obsessed with blood magic, that's how she is.
"She's well. She asks me to tell her stories about you-"
"You ha' better nau be filling her head with any stories of me. If she wants to know, she canna come ask me herself. An you can tell Marethari…jus' tell her I'm deid and see if she evfen sheds a tear. Na, tell them nothing. Save tha I hate them. Tha clan abandoned me a long time ago." Mahariel shook her head and spit angrily, crossing her arms over her chest and sighing. "You ha best be going, Tamle-Anders-shem."
The elven rogue took one step back into the shadows and vanished, the only sound was his own breathing and the soft near silence of her retreating footsteps. Not a goodbye, no. Mahariel never said goodbye. A personal quirk. That and calling him 'Tamlen'. For the longest time, he'd thought it was elvish for something. It wasn't. Velanna had finally told him the story once he'd harassed her about it repeatedly. Tamlen had been their Commander's closest friend, her lethallin, her sa'lath. You have his face…in a soft, pudgy, shemlen way. They'd all bet on Velanna and Tallesei getting along, but it didn't happen. The dalish mage was more than willing to spill the details about Mahariel's past. What happened to him? Velanna had regarded him coldly over her tankard of ale, with the typical Dalish disdain and swallowed before answering with a savage snap of her dagger sharp voice: His clan abandoned him for lost and he died of taint corruption. More or less.
"Be seeing you." He murmured to the emptiness, turning and trudging back to Hawke. He wouldn't, though. He'd be lucky to ever see Mahariel again. Or unlucky, as it were.
Hawke stood waiting for him, her arms crossed over her chest. Anders heaved a tremendous sigh…All I want is a nice girl, a good meal and the right to shoot lightning at fools. It seemed like an age since he'd said the words-That is not what you said. Nice. You misremember. Anders thought back, the spirit was right. A pretty girl. Anders looked up and met the stark sapphire gaze of the woman he'd re-entered the Deep Roads for.
"Are we going? Can we…please head back to Kirkwall, now?" Hawke's voice broke at the pause and she swallowed hard. After all that snarling at me, all that worry…she'd lost Carver anyway. But at least she hadn't had to kill him, or leave him to die of taint corruption. Anders swallowed and wet his lips with his tongue, trying to think of what to say. There was nothing.
"I…yes, we can leave." Anders murmured, setting a hand on Hawke's arm. "He's strong, he'll make it as a warden-"
"I know." Hawke hissed, yanking her arm out of his reach and storming away. "Let's get out of here."
Anders sighed and trudged along beside Varric, letting Hawke lead. Always letting Hawke lead.
"That's too much woman for you, Blondie. Trust me on this. You two together won't just cause waves, you two'll be the end of each other." The statement was so quiet for a moment Anders didn't even know if it was meant to be heard.
"The thought never crossed my mind. Wouldn't want to ruin your novel." He retorted, giving the bleak blackness of the Deep Roads an imploring look.
"I wasn't talking about my novel."
Author's End Note: Soooo it was long. Sorry DX but...it had Antivan(Turkish) Delight in it! :D Which, I'm thinking, might also be a euphemism for a sex thing. I'll have to ask Zevran, he'd know :P XD Also, Mahariel has a thick Welsh/Dalish accent, don't know how well I did showing it. Nath-Annie-Yall is Nathaniel Howe which every time I tried to speak it with the tradish Dalish accent it just came out garbled. She's also in the habit of calling him Bor'assan shem, which is Dalish for 'Bow human' or 'Archer' but it's always been an idea in my head that Anders would capitalize on the similar sounding, common tongue insults... any case, hope you enjoyed and review! :D