A/N Some of you may have noticed that, except for Varric's reference at the very beginning, there hasn't been so much as a peep from Justice. There's a reason for this, because a lot of what Anders has bared to Hawke should have caused a serious outburst of Rawr! from our favorite Fade spirit. In my head, Anders has figured out a way to suppress him, but it gets less effective over time. I think it's high time for some BAMFyness from our couple. (Is it just me, or does Awakenings Justice look suspiciously like Origins Valor, who is also a bit of a stuffy prat? I'd rather lump them all together as Strife Demons.)
Chapter 11
After nearly half an hour of lying perfectly still and working to control the constant urge to kiss Anders, or stroke the planes of his chest or at least say something, Hawke gave up.
"Anders?" she whispered tentatively. After all, he might be sensibly asleep.
"Yes, Hawke?" he replied immediately.
"I can't just keep lying here next to you pretending to sleep. I'm not a cloistered sister. What do you think about going on to the cave now, instead of waiting for sunrise?" He chuckled deep in his throat, and her breath caught at the sound while her muscles tightened in the familiar clench.
"I think it's an excellent idea. I'm sure we can get a torch from one of the guards. I'm glad to know that I'm not the only one finding it difficult to sleep, and very thankful indeed that you are not a cloistered sister." He cupped his free hand to her face and kissed her softly, once, before holding his coat open so she could roll out from under his arm.
"Maker's arse but it's cold up here," Hawke complained in a vehement whisper. "The sooner we get moving, the better." She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders in a vain bid to keep some of the warmth she'd shared from Anders' body, but her teeth actually chattered a bit.
The mage sat up next to her and placed one hand on the smooth curve of her neck, sending a small pulse of healing heat coursing along her nerves. He smiled when she made an appreciative growl and leaned her head against his hand for a moment.
"And there's yet another reason to love you," she said as she scooted toward the open back of the aravel and swung her feet over the edge before hopping down to the ground and moving off in search of a torch.
Anders followed more deliberately, stopping to make sure he had his healer's satchel and looping the strap of her travel pack across his chest in the other direction. It wouldn't do to leave Malcolm's grimoire behind. What would she do without him? Hah. More importantly, what would you do without her?
Grinning, Anders went after Hawke. The central fire had finally begun to die down, but there was still enough light to glint off her crossed blades as she walked over to the guard post. As he approached, she nodded her thanks to the Dalish hunter and turned to present the mage with a torch - carved ironwood wrapped with pitch-soaked strips of cloth bound around tight-packed dried moss. It was a useful design, because the ironwood would not burn, and the flammable materials could easily be replaced. The torch itself was a thing of beauty, with carved vines and flowers worked into its surface - clearly Master Ilen's work.
"You know, Hawke," Anders said as they paused so he could light the torch in the fire, "something like this would be a perfect trade item to show Varric. And I bet if you replaced the sconces out front of your estate with a matched set, all of Hightown would kill to get their hands on some to stay even with the 'upstart Fereldan.'" He passed it to her as they headed back past the aravel and started climbing towards the first turn in the path, and she nodded in agreement as she studied it.
With a flourish, she whipped the torch around in a tight, whistling arc, rolling her wrist and snapping it forward in a low stab, then reversed her stance to thrust backwards with the butt of the torch, flames dancing with each move. She returned it to Anders with a smirk. "In a pinch, it would also be perfect for repelling all the 'suitable young men' my mother has been shoving at me, since she won't let me wear my blades inside."
Anders felt a sudden pang of jealousy. Of course there would be all sorts of young men from Hightown families trying to attract her attention now that she had money and position and the Amell name was returning to its former prominence. "Or I could simply freeze a few of them," he muttered to himself.
"Oh, would you please?" Hawke said drolly, placing her hand over his on the torch. "Honestly, Anders," she continued seriously, "haven't you realized by now you're the only man I'll ever want? I knew it that first day in the clinic."
All the old doubts surfaced at once and he stopped in the middle of the path. "Why, Hawke? What can you possibly see in me? I'm an apostate. The Chantry has issued a death sentence for me. I ran away from the Grey Wardens. I'm host to an intolerant spirit that seems to act more erratically every time it manifests. I live in the sewers. I don't even have a proper change of clothes," he finished plaintively, gesturing at his stained and worn coat and oft-mended shirt and leggings.
Hawke smiled softly and tightened her grip on his hand while she moved to stand in front of him. "Anders, the first time I saw you, you had pushed yourself to the point of collapse to heal that boy, and yet you were immediately back on your feet and ready to defend him and his family against a perceived threat. You refused coin for your maps and instead asked for help to save Karl. You risk yourself again and again to protect those who have nothing, who would likely kill you for your boots. Even the situation with Justice came about because you wanted to help." As she spoke, her voice grew more intense and unshed tears welled in her eyes.
"Your healing is love, Anders. You just need to accept that you deserve to be loved in return." She twined the fingers of her free hand into his hair, and pulled his head down. "I just thank the Maker that I'm the only one who's been smart enough to look past the unimportant things and lucky enough to find you," she breathed, and locked her lips against his in a kiss that was almost bruising in its vehemence.
After a moment's hesitation, the mage returned the kiss just as fervently. If Hawke believes in me this much, I can believe, too, I guess.
After the kiss ended, Hawke smiled lazily. "As for living in the sewers, you've obviously never stood downwind of me after a few days' adventuring when my leathers are coated in blood and ichor and whatever that foul crap is that the shades throw off when they're melting. Come up to the estate while I'm getting the supplies I promised for Lirene's store. We'll get you into some new clothes, after you've gone through a few baths with me. As long as you're clean, Mother can't object too loudly."
Anders sputtered in mock panic. "Hawke, be serious. If Leandra saw me coming out of your room she'd ...she'd probably - well, I'd be safer slapping Aveline on the ass and telling her she's got Captain's spread from too much sitting," Anders grinned at Hawke's delighted guffaw, and they continued climbing.
The torch light dimmed as they walked through one of the perennial patches of fog that spread across the mountain's flanks. The cold moist air clung to their skin and coated their hair with fine droplets, and Anders attributed Hawke's shiver to the mist, until she spoke.
"At least if you were coming out of my room, I'd be able to tell my mother that I was no longer suitable for a Hightown marriage," she said shyly, and glanced at him sidelong.
The mage stared at her, and even the torch light couldn't hide the blush that colored her whole face. "You've never...?" he questioned gently.
Her blush deepened. "No. Of course not. I was the oldest marriageable granddaughter of a noble family. My entire childhood was a constant reminder of who I 'really' was, and what I was 'meant to do' when we came back to Kirkwall. She loved my father, I know she did, but as the years went by and we kept moving to smaller and more obscure villages, it was easy to see Mother was starting to regret not staying in Kirkwall.
"And when Bethany first showed signs that she'd inherited the mage powers, Mother pinned all her hopes on me. By the time we settled in Lothering, I was of an age to start noticing boys as something other than sparring partners. The very first time I walked out with one of the local farmer's lads, mother found out - I'm sure Carver told her - and after that, she watched me constantly. 'An Amell should never consort with peasants' was her favorite lecture. I hated her for it - for throwing it into father's face like that."
They continued walking for a few minutes, uncomfortably silent in the face of Hawke's admission. Casting about for a way to get past the awkward memory, Anders finally said, "But, uh, well some of the things you've said made me think, well...earlier this evening..." Anders was surprised to feel himself blushing, too, remembering the aching need left in the wake of her hand.
Her face was crimson now, but Hawke managed to smile. "I've learned a great deal from Isabela's continual comments on the subject. Once you sort past the nautical slang and all the seamanly metaphors," Anders barked laughter, and Hawke nodded, grinning, "there's not really much left to the imagination. Plus, what with all the times we've had to go to the Rose to track down information..." She stopped herself. She'd sooner be lost to the Void than admit she'd asked Jethann for advice on how to please Anders.
"Anyhow," she continued hurriedly. "I meant it when I said we could learn together..." Again she trailed off. Something ...the hairs on her arms began to raise, and her breath caught. "Watch it!" she shouted, reaching for her blades, stepping back and whirling to face the edge of the path where it fell off into darkness.
Anders swayed backwards, moving quickly to get out of her way. He transferred the torch to his left hand and unlimbered his staff, scanning up and down the path for whatever danger she'd sensed. In a chittering rush they came, crawling up over the boulders along the path, descending jerkily on draglines from the trees looming from the mountain slopes.
With a single smooth gesture, the mage swept lightning along his staff, sent it humming into Hawke's blades. "I'll take the uphill side," he barked, and began drawing electricity down from the sky and channeling it into a deadly circle around several of the hulking spiders that were closing in. He then began firing individual bolts from his staff at any that ventured too near, glancing aside frequently to keep an eye out for Hawke.
Maker, but she was a joy to watch. Now that he knew what to look for, he could see how a few mincing steps moved her where she needed to be for a quick slash that severed legs and left a writhing body for him to finish with a crackling burst of energy. Next a curtsy that had been changed into a ducking slide which propelled her under and away from a rearing charge. So she danced and spun and created graceful death, and Anders danced with her, always a few steps away.
He risked a quick glance up the path and saw that his tame storm had cleared the threat from the uphill side. A sudden cry of frustration mixed with pain snapped his head around. The last spider - one of the black and red ones - had managed to stagger Hawke off balance, and it had spat a poisonous green cloud into her face at pointblank range. Blinded, she sank to one knee, flailing wildly in front of her with one blade, dropping the other and rubbing frantically at her eyes.
"Down," he yelled, and leveled his staff to deliver a withering bolt of spirit-fueled anger into its body. It struck at her again even as it died, and she cried out once more before going limp under its weight.
He sprinted to her side and levered the spider's body off her with his staff. He then dropped it and yanked his satchel over his head. Hawke's eyes were closed and already the lids were swelling from the sticky green venom. Worse still, a jagged bite from the spider's mandibles had torn a rent in the side of her leather cuirass, and blood mixed with ichor was dripping from the hole.
Anders fumbled in his satchel, found the lyrium potion and downed it in two swallows. The venom on her face and in her eyes was relatively easy to banish - the blue healing light bonded to the poison and swirled it away into the air.
But the wound over her ribs was serious. Even with the lyrium, Anders knew he'd need more energy. Justice. I need your help.
Why? Each time you perform a healing, it strains my being. My connection with the Fade is not as strong as it was. These healings weaken us both.
It's Hawke. She's been badly hurt. A healing potion won't be enough.
That one. She distracts you. They all do. Our purpose takes precedence.
Anders seized on that. Justice, she knows a way to get mages out of Kirkwall once we've gotten them out of the Gallows. Out of the Free Marches entirely. It was a route discovered by her father - he was a mage, too, you know. Without her knowledge, our purpose will suffer.
... Interesting. I will concede she has a use, for now. I will aid you.
Anders could feel the new pool of energy, raw and potent, that began to suffuse his own power. He gently worked two fingers into the wound and released the healing light in a controlled stream, seeking the ichor and poison, drawing it to the surface, separating it from her blood and spinning it harmlessly away into the night. He sent questing tendrils of power into her veins, searching whether any venom had spread further.
Praise Andraste and her knickers, he thought shakily. He'd worked fast enough. Now he began to draw his fingers out of the wound, knitting flesh together in their wake, until he was able to see the gash closing. Using his belt knife, he carefully slit the armor a little further in each direction, so he could place his palm flat over her ribs. He flooded the area with the last of the combined energy, and sat back on his heels with a sigh. With any luck, that's the last I'll be hearing from him for a good long while. I guess even bad things can bring some good.
He was pleased to see that she was still unconscious, lips slightly parted and breathing deeply and steadily. He was also pleased at the familiar way his muscles clenched, from his stomach all the way down to his toes, when he looked at her face. Every time he looked at her, it was the same.
Careful not to wake her, Anders pulled a soft clean cloth out of his satchel and soaked it with water from his travel canteen. Gently, he began to wash her face, cleaning her eyes, and eyelashes of the last traces of the venom. This way, he could simply revel in touching her without worrying about hurting her. She's like the sleeping Princess in a nurse's tale, he thought ruefully. And I'm the kennel boy who's fallen in love with her.
True - the skinny, almost boyish frame, the numerous scars from long-ago fights, even the unruly black curls that fell across her forehead - none of them matched the pampered and proper virginal heroine found in Orlesian courtly romances. But to his eye, those so-called flaws, when combined with the strength of her heart, made Hawke all the more desirable. She was imperfect, and that meant she was perfect for him.
All right, gentle readers. We're at D-Day (Disconnect Day). I'm going to do my best to find a way to get online again SOON to continue my little story. Hopefully this chapter was long enough to hold your interest until I get back. Bless all of you for the reads, the reviews, the alerts and the favorites.