The Usual Stuff:
All Dragon Age 2 characters are copyright (c) BioWare – many thanks to them for creating a complex and engaging fantasy world and allowing me to play in it's sandbox.
Author's Note:
Welcome to the new subscribers! As of this installment, I'm bumping up the rating to "M" for content. You have been warned...
Shameless Plug:
(Psst...I've also just finished work on a complete, long-ish oneshot in the humor/romance category called "Here Storms the Bride", based on Aveline and Donnic's wedding. Hope you'll check it out!)
Mood Music: "What a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong
Anders
"And what, precisely, do you find so funny, spirit?"
"You, of course. That Marian Hawke is quite the clever rogue,"
"Well, ha ha. Enjoy it while you can."
I had no idea that Justice was even capable of laughter. Whatever the case, he promptly stops as soon as he realizes that my highly...arousing close encounter with Hawke provokes the need to run to the solitude of my cot and practically tug myself raw. I swear, that damned woman must really enjoy making me squirm. It's sadistic, is what it is.
"Regardless, Anders, you must not give in,"
"...'because there's too much at stake and it's a waste of time', blah blah blah."
"Because you have a higher calling to pursue and cannot be distracted by your baser instincts,"
"You know, Justice, these so called 'baser instincts' are actually a natural part of being human."
"Indeed, they serve their purpose. But be that as it may, it is one that you are no longer able to fulfil since you transcended being merely human. That was the sacrifice you made in order to become...more than you were. There is now a greater purpose to fulfil: the reason for that sacrifice."
He's right, of course. I just hate to admit it. But I don't think I could stand the thought of not being near Hawke, while Justice can't stand the thought of not being involved in the cause. During the next few days spent in the clinic, we're positively itching. Thankfully, she doesn't keep either of us waiting long for more information about Varric's contact and the mage escape route.
"She goes by the name of 'Selby'," Hawke says.
She's invited us over for breakfast at her estate to share the news - 'us' being me and Merrill. As Hawke's remaining apostate friends, we also happen to be the only ones eager to help out. So we're being rewarded in advance with platefuls of fluffy pancakes, eggs, fried potatoes and smoked sausage (homemade, I understand, from an old recipe of Bodahn's mother's – Maker bless her thick and hairy little soul). It's the most mouthwateringly delicious meal I've had in a very long time.
Merrill sits beside me, happily sipping from a cup of freshly-squeezed orange juice. (I'm pretty sure the oranges must have been imported from Rivain or something. Where the heck do you get oranges around here?) Which now makes our enjoyment of the meal one of the few things she and I have in common.
It seems that Mistress Selby has a bit of a grudge against the Circle – something about her sister being a mage made tranquil. Terrible story. But it sounds like she and Hawke hit it off right away. Selby's taken it upon herself to organize a bit of vigilantism on behalf of the Kirkwall mages. Stuff mostly involving the framing of corrupt Templars and such. Just the sort of thing that's right up my alley.
"Our 'alley', you mean," Justice reminds me. Lately, he's been a lot more sensitive about his identity – he'll often pipe up randomly just to assert that he's there. Maybe he's annoyed at being ignored so much? I'm not sure. It's been getting tougher to keep track of whose thoughts are whose sometimes.
"Right. How could I possibly forget you? You're in my bloody head, 24-7, for crying out loud,"
"And how do you know, Anders, that you're not actually in mine?"
"What the heck is that supposed to mean?"
"Cranky today, are we?"
I admit, I'm a little on edge. And not just about this whole 'mage underground' thing. The fact is, Hawke has now been made even more adorable by sitting across from me in her dressing gown, hair still sleep- dishevelled while talking with a mouth half-full of food.
After she tells us about Selby's sister, I take a bite of meat before starting on a bit of a mini-rant and happen to gesture with my fork for emphasis. Hawke gets that funny quirk in the corner of her mouth and snickers, "You shouldn't wave your sausage about, Anders, unless you're willing to use it,"
Merrill makes a noise like her drink went down the wrong way and suddenly snorts out a plume of orange juice...which sprays all over me. As she and Hawke laugh, I wipe my face with a napkin. Yuck.
"I-I'm so sorry, Anders," a red-faced Merrill gasps in between spurts of laughter. "I couldn't help picturing you casting spells...with a giant sausage instead of a staff,"
Hawke deepens her voice to mock mine. "Destructive forces of pork fat coming right up!" she gruffly declares, making Merrill giggle even more.
"Oh, come on," Hawke gently kicks me under the table, "You know if Varric or Isabela were here, it would've been much worse."
She's got a point there. Still, I decide to take my frustration out on my meal and promptly pile on seconds, then thirds.
As we're greedily stuffing our faces, in strides an older woman dressed in a fine purple gown. Beneath the grey hair and careworn creases upon her face lies the same inexplicable look I've seen in both the Hawke sisters. Definitely the mother. Best to turn on the charm.
Remembering my manners, I briefly stand to bow to the lady. "Good morning,"
Merrill sees me do this and bolts upright, but nervously hovers there like a convulsive hummingbird.
"Good morning," she echoes, stammering.
"Good morning. Marian dear, would you please chew with your mouth closed?"
"Yeth, Muthhrr," Hawke replies, mouth defiantly open.
"Daughter, I don't believe your friends and I have been properly introduced," she tries not to stare at my coat and Merrill's ragged sleeves with overt disdain.
"Merrill, Anders - my mother, Leandra,"
"Pleased to meet you," says Merrill, attempting a curtsey.
"Mistress Hawke," I bend down and bring the woman's hand to my lips. She politely smiles in response, but as she pries her hand from mine, I realize that my fingers are still somewhat sticky with juice residue. Smooth one, Anders.
"You're both...mages, I presume?" Leandra eyes us warily, along with our staves, which lean against the table next to us.
"Anders and Merrill helped me in the Deep Roads," Hawke says. She seems to enjoy seeing her mother's slight discomfort. "Merrill is also a good friend of Bethany's. And Anders is the one who saved Bethany from the taint,"
"Is that true? Oh, thank-you!" her mother clasps my sticky hands (evidently now less repulsive) in hers and bows deeply. Then she gives her daughter a look that could peel the bark off trees. "Marian, why haven't you told me before?"
"You never asked, Mother."
Leandra turns back to me. "Truly, Messere, our family is in your debt,"
"Please don't say that," I reply, feeling a little embarrassed for some reason. "Really, I did no more than anyone else would have in my position,"
"Anders is being overly modest," Hawke leans away from the table, done with her meal. "But if it weren't for him, we would never have thought to seek out the Grey Wardens,"
"And don't forget: even if we did, we would never have found them in time," Merrill adds.
"Right."
Leandra's eyebrows shoot up in curiosity.
"He's a Grey Warden," explains Hawke. The eyebrows come up another notch.
"Former Grey Warden," I am quick to clarify, narrowly preventing her mother's eyebrows from leaping off her head entirely.
"Anders is also a healer, Mother,"
"Oh?"
"It's nothing, really..." I mumble, trying to catch Hawke's eye with what hopefully comes across as a look pleading for her to stop. Not that I'm not flattered to hear her talk me up in front of her mother. I just hope it's not too obvious.
"Nothing? Don't be absurd," Hawke scoffs, not at all picking up on my hint. "I can't even begin to count how many times this man has saved my life, Mother."
With every compliment, Leandra's eyebrows have arched higher and higher and I can feel my cheeks get hotter and hotter. So much for not being obvious.
"You know, he also runs a free clinic in the undercity for the Ferelden refugees, too," Merrill declares, probably thinking she's being helpful.
Hawke proudly beams at her mother. I think my head is going to explode. At this point, I'd welcome anything - even Merrill's orange juice – just to extinguish my burning face.
"I thought you looked familiar," Leandra muses. "I could have sworn I'd seen you around somewhere... in town perhaps?" There is the barest sign of a very familiar looking quirk in the corner of her mouth. And suddenly I remember the shadow in the window and Varric's warning about my "late night visits" to the estate. Oh, crap.
"Perhaps," I reply, hoping that my voice doesn't betray me. The woman gives me this look. It's so brief, so subtle that no one else seems to notice. But my instinct – or more likely my nerves – are telling me that it is unmistakably a "My daughter may think you're a nice guy but I know you've been stalking her and if you make one false move, I'll have you strung up by the short and curlies" kind of look.
Maker help me. Hawke really is her mother's daughter.
Within hours, we're running through the undercity, chased by no less than six Templars. Time to earn that breakfast.
Mistress Selby's task: help two star-crossed lovers, Mira and Galen, escape the Circle together. The plan was perfect. Hawke, Merrill and I would sneak into the Gallows to secretly make contact with the couple and trade clothing. Hawke and I, most closely resembling the couple in height and build, would serve as decoys while Merrill leads the real Mira and Galen to safety. That part was easy. As for the rest...
It takes a little more strength than I bargained for to compel Justice to agree with running from the Templars. He's dead set on wanting to stay and fight. I constantly have to remind him that it's all part of our mission to save the couple. It feels like trying to swim through molasses with my mind.
In the meantime, Hawke seems to be a little less coordinated than usual, which is odd. Between the two of us, I doubt we'll be able to keep going for much longer. But if we let the Templars see our faces, the jig will be up.
I can hear our pursuers closing in, just steps behind us, armour clanking heavily.
"How in The Void do you mages do it?" Hawke hisses at me as we sprint around a corner.
"Do what?"
"Run in these blighted robes!"
After a few more quick turns past several corridors and down a dim, labyrinthine passageway, I think we've almost lost them. Hawke grabs me by the arm. Before I realize what she's doing, she leads me into a small trapdoor hidden in the ground behind some tall crates.
Darkness engulfs us in the tiny pit; the last sliver of light disappearing as the door closes above. I feel my heart begin to race at the thought of the walls closing in, tighter and tighter. This can't be happening. Not now.
"Great. Now how am I going to get out of this without looking like a complete coward?"
"You cannot. Get over it, human." Justice has absolutely no sympathy for such phobias. He says they're a sign of weakness.
But then he has second thoughts. "Yes, we cannot stay here. We must get out. We must fight."
"Hawke," I whisper.
"Shh!" she keeps perfectly still, listening for the Templars. No sound. Maybe they're still searching the other corridors.
But I can feel it. The thick, stodgy air. The throbbing in my head growing stronger and stronger.
"I have to get out of here. Now."
She must hear the tremor in my voice or perhaps my now-laboured breathing, for I can feel her grope through the darkness to seek me out.
"What's wrong?" she whispers back. Just a touch of her hand and she can feel that I am curled up into a ball, legs pressed up tight against my chest.
"I-I can't stay here, Hawke. It's too small."
"What?" she chuckles softly, "Trust me, Anders you haven't put on that much weight since-"
"It's not that. It's – it's...the space. I can't do it,"
"You're...serious, aren't you?"
"I'm sorry," I gulp, "You must think me such a fool. It's just the only thing I can't stand,"
I feel her shake her head, "No, I honestly had no idea. Why haven't you ever told me?"
"Because it's sodding embarrassing, that's why. I'm a grown man, for Andraste's sake..."
"But you're only human. And so am I. You do know you can tell me anything, right?"
Anything? I ask myself. Anything...that's a first. Most people I've known either can't wait to shut me up or only suffer my presence because they want something from me.
"Look," she whispers, "I'll even tell you a secret. Something I've never told anyone else before."
A shiver runs through me, ending in the tips of my ears. Somewhere, I know a door to something beautiful has been opened, and I have to look inside. Don't think about the space. Just focus on her voice.
"Bethany's angry at me. For saving her. I know it."
"I'm...sorry,"
"She refuses to write to me. Just Mother." There's a small tremor in her voice. I don't know what to say.
"Anders," Hawke gulps, "is it wrong that now that Bee's with the Wardens, I feel almost...relieved? It's like everything I've done my whole life has been to protect her. It's all I know. Now that she's gone..." her voice trails off. "But enough about me," She says quickly, closing that door abruptly with regret in her voice. But now that I've seen what lies on the other side, I desperately want – no, need it open again.
So far, Justice has been the only one I've ever really confided in. But then, it's not like I've had any choice in the matter. And he doesn't like the idea of me exposing my weakness. But I don't care anymore.
"It was...in the Circle. They once put me in solitary confinement. As punishment for running away," I whisper. "But it was more of a box than a cell. Just barely bigger than Varric. It was the worst nine months of my life,"
"Maker. Nine months?" she breathes, "The bastards!"
"Nine months is what they told me when I got out. I'll be damned if I really know for sure. All I remember is one long day of unending darkness, and silence and -" I slowly begin to gasp for air again.
"Hey, it's okay," Hawke puts her hand on my back. We can hear a harried thudding reverberate nearby, growing stronger and stronger. The Templars are almost here.
"Shh," I can feel her lean in, her breath upon my ear. "You can do this, Anders. I'm here with you. Just close your eyes and imagine you're somewhere else. Somewhere with wide, open spaces."
I hold my breath. Somewhere else. Wide, open spaces. Somewhere else. Wide, open spaces.
And then there is the sound of shuffling boots and metal above us, accompanied by muffled male voices. Hawke must be able to feel me tense up again, for her hand is on my back again and she rubs it in a gentle circle. Her other hand is on my arm, giving it a comforting squeeze.
I close my eyes. My muscles slowly relax when Hawke places both her hands on my shoulders and silently works her way up and down my neck and back, firmly kneading as she goes. When she pauses to linger on the knots from years of built up tension, it's all I can do not to give us away with a barely-stifled groan.
How long has it been since I've let another human being touch me like this? How long since I've known affection? I have only faint memories now, but they may as well have been a lifetime away. I had forgotten what it felt like.
"Don't let her do this, Anders," comes Justice's ever so predictable warning.
But I am no longer in a dark little hole in the ground with a second voice in my head and Templars chasing after me. I am lying under a large, shady tree in the middle of a flowered meadow. It's a bright, sunny, summer day – just blue skies and white, fluffy clouds and not a patch of grey, blighted land to be seen for miles. The air is fresh and green and sweet and I can feel the warmth of Hawke's body close to mine as she massages my back. And somehow, I know that all's right with the world.
Maybe those sodding Templars have caught us. Maybe they've even killed me. Right now, I wouldn't put up much of a fight.
Maybe I've died and passed beyond the Veil. Right now, I couldn't care less. I've wanted freedom for so long. But maybe this is what freedom really feels like.
"Anders?" Hawke's voice, no longer a whisper, jolts me back to reality. She's getting up.
I open my eyes to the darkness of the pit and the stench of sewage and chokedamp around us.
"I think the Templars are gone," she says.
Damn.