I REMAIN AT YOUR SIDE
ACT FOURTEEN: ACTS OF DESPERATION
His mind snapped to full awareness, snatching him back from the Fade where he had been lulling pleasantly. So often his sleep was plagued by nightmares of a life he had left behind, except for those nights when she lay curled in his arms. Only then did he find a quiet in his rest he could not attain alone.
Yet now the bedroll at his side lay empty and cool. She had been gone for some time. Strange that he had not awaken when she had risen…
His thoughts immediately shifted towards guarded bewilderment, for he knew himself well enough to understand that had he been able he would have roused with her. With a brisk flourish Fenris tore the remaining covers from his body as he took to his feet, hesitating only long enough to take note that Hawke's pack and weapons were nowhere to be found. Headless of his state of undress he quickly exited the tent; the flaps if the canvas shelter parting to reveal the sun just peaking to the east and the horses dozing on their tethers.
Three horses. Only three, where there had been five just last night.
Curiosity gave way to alarm as he crossed the small encampment and burst into the Wardens' tent. Within the matching structure the dwarf and the boy slept on, oblivious of their visitor. If there had once been a third occupant of the dwelling all traces of him had been erased; bedroll, supply pack, and mage's staff had vanished with their owner, just had been the case with Hawke.
One mineral striped foot struck out - consciously restrained in spite of the rage that grew within him - and met with the dwarf's thick shoulder. "Wake up," the dark man snarled, ignoring the guttural curses the drunkard flung at him and the groggy murmurs from the boy who woke with the commotion. "Your mage is gone, and he has taken Hawke with him."
"Warden Anders?" The boy warbled pathetically as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. "Gone? Where? Why?"
"I do not know his motives, nor do I care," the warrior growled, "he is dangerous. Yet he is also a fool if he believes that I will not pursue him."
The stable boy shook his head, perplexed. "There must be some mistake. He would never-"
"You do not know him as I do," Fenris growled fiercely, baring his teeth as his hatred swelled within him, "if you did, you would know what he is capable of - as well as what he has already done."
It was what Fenris knew the apostate to be capable of that concerned him most. Hawke's former lover was more than capable of placing a sleep spell over the camp so that he could spirit her away in the night. For she would never go willingly with the mage; not mere hours after she and Fenris had planned a life together. A life she had asked him for, and one he had agreed to gladly.
No. His betrothed had been taken against her will, of that Fenris had no doubt. And while he doubted she had been harmed, the lengths that the abomination must have gone to in order to steal her away infuriated the warrior.
Driven on by a sickening mixture of rage and concern, Fenris stalked back to his tent to don his gear and retrieve his weapon. He had tracked her before; he would do it again.
And this time his beloved's words would not be enough to spare the abomination. Too long the mage had been allowed to carry on unchecked in spite of his transgressions. He would answer for his crimes now…
And pay for them in blood.
XXXX
Her view had not changed this passed quarter hour, since she had woke to find herself sitting astride Horse with her hands lashed to the pommel of her saddle; her mount plodding along a narrow path that could only be somewhere within the Frostback Mountains. Horse's bridle had been tethered to the mount she now followed, her pack hanging from that beast's saddlebags - complete with her daggers.
She would not be cutting herself loose, then.
Knowing now that she would have to rely on guile to win her freedom, Hawke stared silently at the feathered shoulders swaying before her, and as she did she could feel the anger within her swelling; purposefully ignoring the way her stomach turned beneath her ribcage, and how her breasts were bouncing uncomfortably at the motion of the animal beneath her.
Clearly they had been riding for at least a few days, though not more than a week yet. They were climbing further into the mountains, not descending from their peaks. Her deduction of their location, combined with how sore her rear felt from riding, told her that they must have stopped infrequently - likely only long enough to rest the horses. How many times had Anders cast and re-cast his sleep spell upon her to keep her quiet, she mused. A dozen? More? Absently she wondered how many mana potions it had taken to keep her under, but quickly cast that thought aside. He could regenerate mana over time if he did not use his abilities, she recalled.
So it would come down to quick thinking, she decided. Well, there was no time like the present.
"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" She asked, her voice deceptively bland, though it took effort. "Or were you just planning to cast spells on me indefinitely?"
The honey colored head before her swiveled and she briefly caught sight of an unshaven jaw and handsomely tapered nose, until he turned his attention back to the path before them.
"Forgive me," he said quietly, not bothering to turn and face her, "but I couldn't in good conscience leave you with him again."
"Is that so?" She drawled, her brow arched angrily in spite of being lost on the man whom she addressed. "Yes, I can see how I'm so much better off here with you."
"He's poisonous, Hawke," Anders pressed, his head tilting down and off to one side slightly before her. "You have to see that."
Hawke scowled, unwilling to allow her fiancé to be the reason she was in this predicament. "And yet I don't recall Fenris killing hundreds of innocent people in a single attack."
A scornful exhalation escaped the mage's lips before his words. "He admitted to destroying an entire clan of Fog Warriors!"
"A slave killing armed warriors at the command of his master is not quite the same as an apostate deciding to blow up a Chantry filled with hundreds of frightened, unarmed people, Anders," she countered. "But that debate could go on for days. So I'll just come right to it instead. When are you going to release me?"
"As soon as you remember what it was that you were fighting for."
"What I was fighting for?" Hawke parroted incredulously. "I was the Champion of Kirkwall. I fought to keep its people safe. But in case it escaped your notice, Kirkwall isn't too fond of the idea of my return."
"And what of the mages? Have you abandoned them as well?"
"The mages don't need me, Anders. I doubt they ever truly did. At any rate, they've joined up with the Inquisition."
"The Inquisition. It's like the Circle all over again," she could hear the contempt in the apostate's voice. "When the King of Ferelden ordered them from his lands the mages had little choice but to accept the Inquisitor's offer. She may call it an alliance, but the Inquisitor has made them nothing more than her tools. They fight for her, or they're considered renegades and hunted wherever they go. And when this battle is done they will be no better than what they were with the templars."
"And what exactly is it you think I can do for them?"
"Convince them to stand on their own!" Anders cried, drawing in his reigns so he could wheel his horse about and face her. She could see then that he was exhausted, and wondered absently if he had bothered to sleep at all since taking her. "You have no idea how you inspire others, Hawke. If anyone could make the mages see that they can survive without the Inquisition, without the Circle, it's you!"
"But at what cost?" Hawke demanded. "Do you even know what it is the Inquisition fights against? Have you bothered to learn? Of course you haven't. Because you've grown so wrapped up in mage freedom that you have lost sight of the greater threat."
"That's his influence talking," The apostate scowled. "The Hawke I knew would never have dismissed the mage plight so easily."
"You leave Fenris out of this." She growled quietly. "You speak of freedom and basic rights, and yet here I sit tied to a horse riding off to the Maker knows where against my will. Meanwhile the cure for the Taint is in that bag and in my veins - a cure that could save countless lives. Yet you ignore it in favor of dragging me off so that I can give a speech to a group of mages convincing them to abandon their posts, when they are likely a large part of Thedas' last line of defense. Can you not see where your actions may border on fanatical?"
"You don't-"
"Turn me loose, Anders." Her voice was a hard command, carrying the razor's edge of the hostility she felt slipping from her control.
"I can't." The apostate admitted. "This is why I came to the Deep Roads."
"What - to abduct me?!"
"No!" Anders barked angrily. "To regain you as an ally. It's not just the mages that need your support," his voice was softer, lower, "I need you, Hawke. Your support meant everything to me. Whenever I felt like giving up you were there, giving me strength where I thought I had none left. I've come to rely on you over the years. Without you that strength, that belief that I can make a difference, it slips away."
Hawke felt her skin crawl with apprehension. This was not a matter of delivering a simple speech to the mages. What he said hinted at a strong possibility of permanence. "Perhaps that's as it should be," she grated. Yet the man before her shook his head, his hand gesturing emphatically.
"Don't you see? This is exactly why I must take you away from him." Anders pleaded. "Fenris has poisoned you against the cause you stood for all of those years. I listen to you now and I shudder to think of what could happen to the mage cause if you continue to slip down this path. If you grow vocal against the mages, others will follow. You have that power, Hawke, whether you choose to believe it or not. I cannot allow you to turn against the mages. You are either with us or-"
"Or what, Anders?" She demanded, her eyes narrowing as her stomach flipped. "Dead?"
"No," his voice was barely a whisper, nearly lost to her in the mountain's winds. "Maker forgive me, but even if you were to turn against the mages completely, I could no more kill you than I could Justice. In the end, you are as much a part of who I am as he is."
"That is where you're wrong, Anders," she replied vehemently, "you nearly did kill me. Two years ago in Kirkwall, when you blew up the Chantry you destroyed a piece of my soul with it. For so long I blamed myself; hated myself. But no more. I will not turn against the mages, but I will not help you, either. Your battle has gone far beyond mage equality. You are consumed by your need for vengeance against the world, and I'll play no part in that."
"I wish I could believe you, Hawke," Anders moaned quietly, "I wish I could believe that you will continue to support the mages. But your actions, or rather your willingness to not take action, gives me reason to doubt your word."
An angry smirk split her features - one she could tell unnerved him from his reaction. "Between the pair of us, I am not the liar here, Anders."
"People change," he replied softly, "you know this better than most." Pulling gently on his horse's reigns, the apostate turned his mount back down the path. "I'm sorry, Hawke. But I cannot let you go. Not until I figure out a way to make you see reason again. Please. Please just… try to remember why it was you fought with me."
And with that Hawke knew that the conversation was over. Her heart thrummed angrily in her chest for a time, as she searched for something - anything - that would get this man to see reason. But as the sky began to change hues with the coming evening, despair crept up upon her, and with it the nausea that she had been using her ire to successfully battle down. She could find no argument that would make him see reason. Logic no longer worked with her former lover.
Without her anger to distract her, Hawke felt her stomach twisting and roiling again; her mouth watering and her throat constricting in familiar threat.
"Anders," she moaned at last, "let me off this horse."
The golden head before her shook slowly. "I'm sorry, Hawke, but I can't-"
"It's the pregnancy sickness," she croaked around a spasm in her throat, "let me off now, or I'll fall out of this saddle!" The desperation in her tone must have convinced him, because the mage's head whipped around and in no time he was beside her leg, untying the strap that held her to the pommel - if not completely freeing her hands - and helping her to crouch down beside the rocky ledge of the path so that she could heave miserably over the pebbled incline. She had not eaten for days, but her stomach had already proven to her that being empty would not prevent it from revolting, and for several miserable minutes it reminded her that she still had other concerns beyond her capture.
At last her body's fruitless attempts ended and she was finally able to catch her breath. "Water?" She panted weakly, feeling parched. Anders rose and quickly returned to his horse, where the water skin was affixed to his saddle bag -
- and Hawke suddenly found her opportunity. Mad though it may be, it was the only chance she could think of to escape, and so she gave no further thought to her attempt as she pitched herself over the side of the path and slid down the steep slopes on her rear; her tender flesh bruising on rocks and fissures as she passed. Anders' voice followed her for a time, until the roar of wind in her ears and the hiss of her leathers against the rough stone drown out his calls.
Her speed increased steadily and she felt her concern at not being able to escape shift into an even greater concern - the fear that she would not be able to stop her descent. With her hands bound before her she could not reach out to either side to grab at an outcrop, and in her condition flipping over onto her stomach so that she could claw at the stones she slid over was out of the question. Instead she dug her heals into the ground, finding the task difficult, though, when so much of the ground refused to yield to her leather soles.
And then pain lanced abruptly through her shins and her shoulders lurched forward when at last her heals caught on a small raised ledge of stone, and for a moment she remained where she sat, taking stock of her situation. Her legs were unbroken, though one continued to experience shooting pains through the bone - perhaps a slight fracture, but nothing so severe that she could not use it in an emergency. And while her rump burned with the friction of her passage, her armor remained mostly intact.
Her next concern brought her attention to the top of the incline she had just slid down. High above her, a diminutive man and two miniature horses stood, and while she could not see his face from this distance, Hawke was certain his attention was still on her.
Rising up onto legs weakened by their disuse and the assault she had just put upon them, she began the slow process of climbing and slipping down the slope, for she knew that this would now become a race. If she couldn't reach the base of the mountain before Anders she would not get another opportunity to escape him.
Half expecting bolts of lightening or gouts of flame to come rushing at her from above, she was slightly surprised to find that at least part of what the apostate had told her had been true; Anders could not bring himself to kill her.
It came as less of a surprise to her, however, when she realized that she could no longer make the same promise on his behalf.
XXXX
Four days. Four days of bringing the horses and his incomprehensible companions to the point of exhaustion had at last brought Fenris to the road which took travelers through the Frostback Mountains. The mage was taking Hawke into Orlais, it seemed. And while it had been their intent to deliver the cure to the Grey Warden Commander at a small inn in the town of Velun, Fenris could not imagine the abomination shared that intent. If he had it would have been far simpler to remain in the larger party.
No, the mage had other reasons for taking Hawke into the empire, and yet Fenris could think of nothing that would prevent him from ripping out the man's still-beating heart when next they met.
"Ser Fenris," the stable boy called from his saddle, shivering in the evening chill, "it's nearly nightfall. Shouldn't we stop? You won't be able to see their tracks in the dark, after all."
Fenris growled, his teeth flashed from between straining lips, and while his first impulse was to spit out an obscenity and order the boy's silence, he quickly thought better of it.
"Make camp in those trees," he barked after a moment, pointing to a small thicket a short distance up the road. "I will ride on a while longer and circle back at dark."
Behind him the dwarf hooted a low sound of amusement. Fenris had found himself half convinced early on that the man followed to watch the abomination meet his end, while the other side of his reasoning believed that the Warden followed Fenris to prevent the mage's death - for it seemed that the dwarf had an odd affinity for verbally assaulting the mage whenever the moment struck him.
If the dwarf's intent was to bear witness to the spectacle, Fenris would allow him that small privilege. But if it was to intervene, the warrior found that he would likely be able to dispatch the vulgar fighter as well with little remorse.
With a wordless shout Fenris ordered his mount into a gallop, paying heed to the path before him as he passed over it. The tracks were not always present, but the mage had not enough forethought or skill to cover them as Hawke frequently had. It had made pursuit that much easier these past few days, Fenris found, and not once had the elf had to backtrack to find the trail he had lost. It was one small comfort in a situation that had his stomach twisting and his spine as rigid as tempered steel.
It also helped that the horses he followed could not break into a full gallop - not when one carried an unconscious woman upon its back. It would be too easy for her to be thrown in such a case. The tracks her lover followed showed that Hawke and her abductor traveled at a caravan's pace. Fenris, however, was bound only by his need to keep to their trail, and had spurred his horse into short sprints whenever the way was clearly laid out before him for a time, or when there was only one logical path to tread.
Such was the case here for, as he suspected, the tracks of the pair of horses took Fenris exactly where he knew they would; passing through the stone archway signifying the point of entry to the Frostback Mountains. Their travel would grow even slower the further they ascended, but Fenris held none of the same concerns. if necessary he would walk beside his horse through the mountains if it meant outpacing the mage.
But the boy - Wilhelm - had been right. The hoof prints were all but lost in the cover of darkness now. Irritated, Fenris cursed viciously under his breath and turned his horse back to where the others had made camp. He loathed the idea of leaving Hawke to that madman for another night, but there was little choice in that. If he tried to press on further he could very well pick his way along the correct path, but the risk of slipping and falling from a precipice was too great. He would be of no use to Hawke if he ended up dead at the bottom of a gorge.
With an angry kick of his bare heals he spurred the animal back to where the Wardens were making camp; the evening air doing little to cool his temper. Sunrise would come sooner for Fenris than the mage, for the warrior and his followers were still on the eastern side of the mountains. He would see their camp torn down before dawn and would use the advantage to the fullest.
Wait for me, Hawke. I will find you. I swear it.
XXXX
She pressed herself low into the underbrush, shivering against the cold; her efforts at cutting through her ropes with a jagged piece of stone temporarily stilled. The hoofbeats that had just thundered by had come from the mountain path, not more than ten paces from where she now lay. They had passed quickly, and she wondered if Anders had abandoned Horse in the mountains so he could catch her up, for it sounded like it had only been one horse. The thought pained her enough to prickle her eyes anew. Horse had been a loyal companion to her these past weeks, and in her need to be away from her captor she had not thought about what she would be leaving behind until it was too late.
Now her horse, her weapons, her supplies, and the cure to the Taint were all lost to her, for she was in no position to face Anders and reclaim them alone.
Hawke held her breath, listening to the clatter grow quieter as horse and rider raced down the road. Once they were barely audible she rose and turned north, picking her way through the trees as quickly as her injured leg would allow. Anders would turn back eventually, once he reached a point where he knew she could have gone no further. She had to be out of sight by then, and Ferelden forests were most often the Maker's own mazes.
Her stomach tried to force her to heave once more and she gagged as she stumbled along, tears of exertion and misery and dread painting lines down her cheeks. She cursed Anders and longed for Fenris in the same thought.
A breeze caught her shoulders, bringing forth a violent shudder; and from that tremor the sliver stone she had been using to work at her bindings suddenly slipped from fingers that had grown numb with cold. Hawke signed an exasperated Tevinter curse, feeling closer to her beloved in the small act, but no less lost. Stooping, she ran her restrained palms over the dirt and brush, trying to find her makeshift tool. She knew all too well that if she abandoned it she'd never get free, for there were only smooth, weathered stones in the forests.
Several minutes passed with her searching and swearing when a sudden prickling at her senses had her holding her breath while remaining utterly still. She waited where she was, crouched in the foliage on her haunches, when she heard it again - the distant sound of something or somethings moving in the brush. Nothing as large as a horse, but just as confident.
Wolves. Not yet close, but if the winds changed she would not last long. Not with her hands bound and her leg partially lame. Slowly she moved to stand before halting the effort immediately when the motion rustled the leaves at her flanks.
Horrified, Hawke realized that she was trapped in place.
A moment passed and then, through her lips, the barest of whispers emanated; words she had not spoken in years scarcely reaching her own ears.
"O Maker, hear my cry:
Guide me through the blackest nights.
Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked.
Make me to rest in the warmest places."
For now, once again, she feared for the life of her child. And this time there was no Fenris to steer her towards salvation. No Aveline. No Varric. She was alone. Alone, and the only person with the power to keep her child safe. And, stripped of allies, of weapons, of guile, and all of the other tricks she had used to secure her life over the years, now she returned to that long-abandoned faith, abandoning her pride and crawling back to the Maker's sight if only for the sake of her babe.
"Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,
I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm.
I shall endure.
What you have created, no one can tear asunder."
Picking her verses deliberately, Hawke breathed them into the night air, hoping that somehow, in some way, they would see her to the next sunrise.
XXXX
A/N
First off, I am sooooo sorry this took so long to get out. Between a very awesome family vacation, and then coming home to find my dad in the hospital - and have him there for the past two and a half months - I've had a lot going on, and unfortunately writing had to wait. That much stress can really kill your muse's motivation, you know?
But now that things have calmed down we're baaaaack! The muse is still struggling a bit, but she finally found an idea that she could really sink her teeth into. ;)
Poor Hawke. She just can't catch a freaking break.
And as for our favorite apostate, my theory is that this is sort of cannon for him. Over the years in DA2, we watch him grow more and more paranoid; more secretive and mistrustful of everyone - including Hawke, to an extent. His convictions become more fanatical, and eventually it ends with that famous 'bang'. I think that, if you let Anders live at the end, this is the natural progression for his story line. His whole life has been wrapped up in Hawke and his rebellion for the passed ten years.
He's one of those people who are so desperate to do the right thing, that in the process they lose sight of what makes it the right thing, and slowly they become the enemy. Not out of malice or intent. But just because they can't see that all of those small (and not so small) sins add up.
For those of you Anders lovers out there, please don't hate me...