Carastes. Once a gleaming jewel in the crown of the Tevinter Imperium, the gateway to the east and to the Arlathan forest. Now, like so many other things it was but a shadow of its former self, filled with refugees from the Qunari wars. It reminded him of Kirkwall, Hawke thought to himself, except here slavery had never actually been outlawed, and thus the bustling markets were filled with human flesh as well as fish, poultry and trinkets from around Thedas. Oh, sure, there were wonders as well; the aqueducts carrying water from the distant hills, the magnificent buildings slowly crumbling around its inhabitants, and statues of heroes he never even knew existed. Everything that could be smuggled on a ship was sold in the streets here, changing hands for further transport within the Imperium. Not everybody chanced the longer sail to Minrathous itself, not through an ocean infested with Qunari dreadnoughts. It was a safer option to dock here and have things transported by caravan on the Imperial Highways, even if the profits became slightly less. Not for the first time Hawke gave Varric a grateful though, the dwarf had explained economics to him when he got a share in that accursed mine. Supply and demand. Here, the demand was endless, but the supply did its best to keep up. Something that suited him and Anders just fine.
"You're smiling again," Hawke remarked to the mage, who seemed to be in as sunny a mood as he had ever seen him.
"Oh, thank you for the heads up," Anders replied, tearing himself away from the seller of staves and magical artifacts whose wares he had been browsing through. "I wasn't aware that was why my cheeks hurt. The regularly scheduled glower will resume in minutes."
"Oh keep the glower safely packed away for now," Hawke laughed, patting the mage's shoulder. "I only pointed it out because it has been a long time since I saw you smile like that."
"It has been a long time since I could walk down the street and be myself and not be afraid to be judged for it. In fact, it is the first time ever, apart from a few chaotic months as a Grey Warden, and most of them were spent fending off Darkspawn and Brood Mothers and crazy ghosts. Not exactly the best admiring audience, and don't even let me get started on their sense of interior decoration." Anders shivered visibly and ran a finger across the length of an elaborately carved staff, awaking glimmers of blue lightning within. Here things like this were commonplace, not dangerous contraband, and vendors competed for the attention of passing mages, eager for their patronage.
"You always did like to strut your stuff," Hawke mused. He should be more worried about their surroundings, but Anders enthusiasm was just so very infectious.
"And who are you to talk," the blonde replied with a roguish grin. "I saw the way you preened when people called you Champion."
"I don't preen," Hawke scoffed, trying to look annoyed.
"You do. And worry about your receding hairline." The mage tossed the words out innocently, like caltrops wreathed in flowers.
"I do not have a receding hairline," he protested, the annoyance coming easily this time around.
"Isn't that why you keep your hair that short?" Anders was all sweetness and light, innocently picking up a different staff, this one straight and military-looking.
"I keep my hair that short because it's easier to keep clean," Hawke explained, running a hand over his shorn head, looking worried. "You try cleaning blood from long hair, things tangle. I'm not sure how Aveline deals with it."
"No blood would have the nerve to try to stick to her hair," Anders pointed out, reaching for a different staff, adorned with crow feathers and beaded braids of... Maker, was that human hair? The mage frowned and put it back. "And if you're that worried, you could always get a bow and fight from a safer distance, like Sebastian. Andraste's knickers, he was an ass, but he sure kept his armor nice and shiny."
Having found nothing that fulfilled his standards, the mage left the vendor with a dismissive wave, nearly managing to trip over a redheaded elf as he stepped out in the street. His stammered excuses to the angry apprentice made Hawke smile to himself, extracting the mage before things could escalate. There had been something faintly familiar about the woman, or perhaps it was just that her scowl reminded him of Fenris. To be fair, every glowering elf reminded him of the former slave, and of the look he had given Hawke when the rogue shoved the dagger in his side in the Gallows courtyard. He shook his head, trying to put that nasty memory out of his head, happily allowing himself to be dragged along by Anders as they cut through an alley towards the distant docks.
"I think that white and shiny armor was the doing of Andraste herself," Hawke said, trying to get back on track, wondering when Sebastian would come back to bite them in the ass. The prince was stubborn and stuck to his schemes of revenge, that much he had learned over the years. But this was not a day for brooding. "He kept her face on his crotch after all," he continued lightly. "But alas, bows are not for me. I like the close personal touch too much." And he was not afraid to prove it by copping a feel.
"Hey, no groping in the street," the mage protested, but the smile that played on his lips spoke differently.
"Technically we are in an alley," Hawke offered, pushing Anders up against one of the grimy walls, never minding if he got dirt on the mage's new robes.
"Oh, alright," the mage breathed, voice husky with want. "Resume groping then."
Hawke did better than that, he kept the mage trapped, one leg shoved between Anders', kissing him deeply, both hands pinned against the wall. Maybe it was the fact that he was feeling bad about not telling the mage the entire truth. Maybe it was relief that they had gotten here safely. Maybe it was guilt over Fenris. Maybe there was just something so very enticing about manhandling a mage in Tevinter of all places. Or maybe it was just that damn, goofy infectious smile that was getting to him. He'd missed that smile.
"And," Hawke said, once he finally managed to break off from the kiss, feeling a bit lightheaded and more than a little horny. "I am not losing my hair."
"You just keep on telling yourself that," the mage smirked in reply.
But, an alley was neither a safe nor a comfortable place to conduct any illicit dalliances, so reluctantly they had to get on with their quest of finding Anders a staff he could be satisfied with. A staff wasn't just a weapon here in Tevinter; it was a sign of status. A sign that the bearer was a mage, someone to be reckoned with and respected. Some were too showy, some too tall, some overly elaborate to the point of making them less than useful in a fight. Hawke rolled his eyes and followed, doing his best to look interested as the mage debated the virtues of various kinds of wood. Maker's breath, was this how he and Isabela had sounded, crooning over their daggers? If so it was no wonder that Anders tended to excuse himself and be the one to get the drinks. He had always suspected the mage of being a bit jealous, but now he realized he had probably just been bored. Luckily, after meandering all the way down to the docks, they finally found something that seemed to fit both Anders sense of style and purpose, carved in sleek black walnut, with a jagged blade on top. Back in the south it could easily be passed off as a spear, but here it simply marked the mage as a practical and dangerous man. Not as the goofball he presently acted like.
"So how does it feel?" Hawke asked as Anders kept running a hand over the haft of his new weapon.
"Got a good heft to it," Anders mused, making a few sweeps that made the beggars rush out of his way.
"Not the staff, silly, being here." Hawke wondered if the mage was even aware of how he was being treated. Even the beggars left them alone, and he thought he had seen more than one pick-pocket turn around for easier prey once they got wind of what the mage was. Or what they feared he was. "Surrounded by blood mages."
"I try not to think about that bit too much," Anders confessed, eyebrows arching in their familiar worry-wrinkle. "It's not like they're prancing around cutting themselves in the streets, bleeding hapless slaves in the town square."
"Templars kept their oppression under wraps too," Hawke shrugged. "All I'm saying is; don't get too comfortable."
"Don't do this Hawke, please." Anders sighed, giving the rogue a tired look. "It's hard enough trying to keep Him from being roused as it is. Don't make it worse."
"I could manage to get some other things aroused instead," Hawke offered lightly. But he had to wonder how much of the mage's reluctance to talk about these matters was fear of Justice, and how much was just him avoiding the situation.
"You could," Anders agreed, and from the look it wouldn't be that hard. "But that wouldn't help end our involuntary threesome."
"You've managed to get permission to view the Archives then?" Hawke tensed a little as he saw a line of slaves being led ashore from a one of the slaver ships. The smell was always what got to him; human despair had a special acrid stench to it. Or, well, elf despair too for that matter. He was glad to feel that Anders had tensed up beside him as well.
"Not yet," the mage grimaced, answering both Hawke's asked and unasked questions. They couldn't change the entire world. Not at once. Slavery was a travesty, on that they could both agree, but for now a travesty out of their hands. "They're not going about giving out access to every mage that travels here on a wing and a prayer."
"You're not every mage though." Hawke wished that wasn't true, but it was.
"I'd rather keep that bit under wraps," Anders said with a wince, scratching the back of his neck.
"Uncomfortable with the thought of being viewed as a hero in Tevinter?" The words were half teasing, half truth.
"Maker, yes," Anders confessed. "Besides, we still have a lot of coin left from the things you stole from the Qunari."
"Yes, stole..." Hawke said, grimacing a little. The lie was for a good cause he told himself. The mage didn't need to know how he had been manipulated, how his revolution had been used for other purposes. "Just remember that we have to live too. It's not a cheap town to stay in."
"I have other things to trade than coin if need be," Anders said, cutting off Hawke with a glance before the rogue could interject. "And no, not my ass, that's all yours. I'm talking about knowledge. Facts about the Deep Roads for one thing. The Archivists seemed very interested in that. I'll work something out with them."
"You... mentioned that you were a Grey Warden?" Hawke gave Anders a disbelieving look.
"I might have let something slip, yes. They said that they might be able to give me what I needed when I returned today." Anders sounded eager to get to their destination, as if he couldn't wait for the good news. They were almost back at the Archives by now; the large, whitewashed tower was located right at the edge of the harbor.
"Anders..." Hawke cautioned.
"What? What now?" The mage gave his lover a confused look.
"And just how many Grey Warden mages from the south do you think that there are who would be interested in researching spirit possession, and happen to share your good looks?" Sometimes the mage was woefully naive, Hawke thought to himself. No wonder the Templars always caught him.
"I don't see what..." Anders argued, falling silent as they came within reach of the massive copper doors of the Archives themselves. And within sight of the crowd that had formed there. The cheering crowd. "Oh, that," he said with a stricken look on his face.
"Yes. That." Hawke was trying his best not to smile. "Better get your best revolutionary hero of Kirkwall face on, the welcoming committee has finally caught up with you."
"Andraste's furry knickerweasel..." Anders cursed through clenched teeth. "Can we run? Please tell me we can run. I'm not Varric; I don't do that well with an audience."
"Suck it up and smile for the crowd," Hawke smirked, patting the mage on the back. "I'll be right behind you."
"Guarding my back or watching my ass?"
"You know me, what do you think?" came the innocent reply.
"I think you are enjoying this far too much... Champion." Anders hissed the last word, but Hawke shook his head.
"This is your show. Here, I'm just your bodyguard. Nobody will pay attention to me."
...
Hawke hadn't realized how prophetic those last words had been. After he had been named the Champion of Kirkwall he had been used to being the center of attention. Aveline had been annoyed with it more than once, they had many an argument over the fact that people turned to the Champion instead of to the Captain of the Guard when it came to the problems of the city. He hoped she had managed to get some semblance of a life back by know, and knowing the tall woman, she probably had. Even when she had been serving in Kirkwall she had offers to return to the Ferelden army, and from what he had seen of King Alistair, the man seemed to be a fair enough sort. Not as averse to mages as others of his kind, and with a sense of humor Hawke could appreciate. Though the latter would probably infuriate Aveline, but she was always at her best when she had someone to be annoyed at. He had no idea how she and Isabela had ended up such friends in the end. Opposites attracted he supposed. Maker knew he had been considering trying his luck with Fenris after he had just met the elf, and that would have been a match made in... well, he wasn't sure where. Probably not in a good place.
This was a better one. By far. Crazy possessed revolutionary mage and all.
…
As he had predicted, Anders had been heralded as a hero of the revolution. The mage might claim that he didn't want the attention, but by the Maker, he thrived on it all the same. Hawke hoped that nobody else was able to spot the small ticks when he saw how his fellow mages treated their slaves, or the reckless ease with which they shed the blood of others to work their magic. There had been more than one occasion when Hawke had to put a steadying hand on the mage's arm to keep him from lashing out, something that always gave them odd looks. But, he had been accepted as Anders' lover as well as bodyguard, and it turned out that a lot of the mages surrounded themselves with people who did not share their talents. Safe people. People dependent on their whims and protection. Hawke supposed he was one of them now.
It wasn't like what he saw didn't infuriate him as well, this was a dirty place built on the oppression of the less fortunate, but Anders had always felt a lot stronger about those things. Hawke had mostly been focused on his family and friends, on making that little piece of the world that he could see and grasp a better place. The world at large? Too vast. Too complicated. But Anders was different. He loved that passion in the mage, even if he sometimes couldn't understand where it came from. How did he keep from succumbing to despair? How did he manage to cling to some hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be changed for the better? His surety made Hawke feel like a fraud at times, now that he had been bereft of both home and family, what did he have left to fight for?
Maybe he was no different than the Tal Vashoth. But every time he felt the urge to actually take up a cause, he couldn't stop himself from thinking that he was already a pawn in too many plots. Did he want to help or hinder? Did he have a choice? That Witch of the Wilds had been right. He was falling. He had managed to find the strength to jump over the edge, but whether he could figure out how to fly was still up in the air. For now, Anders was his mission. Helping him find a cure. Helping him free himself from the spirit within.
There was progress on that front, Anders assured him. There had been vast experimentation with abominations in the past, and a fair bit focusing on how to separate demon from host once their usefulness was ended. Unfortunately the result was often madness or death for the mage in question, especially if it had been going on for as long as it had for Anders. And, worse, a lot of the methods for dealing with these things were tightly tied to blood magic. Which the mage still abhorred. More and more, his lover had taken to burying himself in his research, leaving Hawke free to explore the city on his own.
Not that he minded. There was a freedom in being able to prowl the streets as a nobody; watching from the shadows as mages dueled one another over slights real or imagined. It reminded him on his first year in Kirkwall, before Varric, before fame and fortune and friends. Just him and his blades, responsible for nothing but his own skin. And for the safety of those that awaited him when he returned. Then it had been his mother and sister, now it was Anders. Less lecturing and more sex, the hugs being about equal. Hawke smiled a little at that last thought, at least his mother didn't have to live long enough to see their downfall. To see their mansion being burned to the ground. To have to lose her home a third time. He was absurdly grateful for that, he would hate to let her down. Again.
"Excuse me?" came a quiet female voice, distracting him from his musings.
"Yes?" Hawke answered, smiling down at the redhead. Maybe it was the fact that he had been thinking about families, but this time the familiar features made something click. "Oh… shit," he managed to gasp before the world turned itself inside out and the ground rushed up to meet him in a sea of stars.
Then the stars went out.