HSE: Having played through Inquisition, I can tell you that I've made a few adjustments to my initial outline for this story for the sake of the universal narrative. :)
21. When All Else Fails, Go to the Bar
The Hanged Man was loud and crowded, neither of which were things Kazar was particularly comfortable with. He stayed tight to the dwarf's heels, hoping that nothing happened to stir the demon still shifting restlessly under the surface. He was inundated by whispers of what each patron's greatest Pride was, and how he might twist that to his advantage.
Varric hadn't mentioned anything about glowing red eyes or flaring demonic auras, nor was he giving Kazar any wary looks or turning him into the Templars. Maybe Kazar had gotten lucky and Varric hadn't noticed anything?
The dwarf wove his way through the crowds toward a staircase leading up into the back, but he paused and changed course as Isabela waved him over to a big round table in the corner. She had three empty tankards in front of her and an unhappy man on either side of her. On her right was Fenris, who had his hand wrapped around a bottle, the metal talons of his gauntlets clinking against it idly as he glared daggers at anyone who dared to meet his eyes.
On Isabela's left, Anders sat stiffly with a single, still-full tankard in front of him. He looked about as comfortable in this environment as Kazar was.
"What are you doing down here, Rivaini? I know you can get into my rooms just fine without me."
"She's up to something." Isabela nodded toward a smaller, two-person table up near the front of the tavern. There, Hawke was trying to talk to an awkward-looking man in the armor of the Kirkwall guard. "I, for one, fully intend to watch."
"My my," Varric chuckled, slipping easily into the chair beside Fenris. "If I didn't know better, I'd say our dear Hawke was..."
"On a date? Exactly!" Isabela sat back, shamelessly surveying their fearless leader from across the tavern. Merrill sat quietly next to Varric.
The only free table was a tiny one directly adjacent to the group, behind Merrill. Kazar reluctantly slipped into it, leaning his staff against the back of his chair. He didn't intend to eavesdrop, but they were right there.
"This is ridiculous," Fenris growled. "And none of our business." His eyes, however, were locked squarely on the woman in question. "We should go elsewhere."
"She's out in public," Isabela said. "As far as I'm concerned, that makes ogling her fair game."
"I still refuse to think this is a date," Anders mumbled. "She's never shown any interest in that kind of man before. What need does Hawke have of a combat-savvy romantic interest?"
"Plenty," Fenris hissed, his glare spinning to Anders. "Far more, certainly, than she has any need of a mage."
Anders returned the elf's glare. "Say that loud enough to be heard at the Gallows, why don't you?"
"They already know. It's only Hawke's protection that saves you, because your ability to lay low is abominable."
Merrill stifled a snicker, making both men scowl at her.
"Sorry," she mumbled. "But… abominable. That was pretty good, don't you think?"
Fenris made a face and Anders dropped his head to the table, and the group resumed observing their leader in companionable silence.
Kazar wasn't really sure how to take the ragtag group, now that they were all gathered together like this (minus the large red-head, but close enough).
It made him a little nostalgic, to be honest, seeing the eclectic collection of races and professions… a Dalish mage sitting next to a dwarven crossbowman, sitting next to an elven fighter, sitting next to whatever Isabela was. Given her outfit, he was tempted to go with reformed streetwalker.
His thoughts paused as his eyes landed on Anders.
Was what Merrill had said earlier true? Was Anders a Warden?
He could kind of see it. The Anders who was notorious around the Fereldan Circle for his numerous escape attempts (some of them even successful!) had been a jokester, a flirt, and utterly, completely insufferable.
Kazar had crossed paths with him occasionally (because in the closed environment of a Circle Tower, everyone crossed everyone's path occasionally). Kazar vividly recalled one time when he and Jowan were skipping their lessons by hiding out in the kitchen storage room. Kazar, who had been nine at the time, was taking the opportunity to practice his ice spells by freezing the various rats that always got into the grain (an act of initiative that Irving would later simultaneously praise and scold him for).
The door opened, and in stumbled Anders and Regina, the two mages giggling and with their hands invading one another's personal space. Teenaged Jowan flushed the color of a cherry at the sight, but Kazar was mostly annoyed about having their solitude interrupted.
The mages didn't see the apprentices at first, so Kazar gave a growl and tossed a puff of ice magic at the pair of them. They yelped and sprang apart, and only then noticed that they'd interrupted something.
Regina at least looked embarrassed, her hand going to her mouth, but Anders just grinned.
"No no, little guy, you've got it all wrong. Lightning is the one that makes things interesting."
Jowan went from cherry to plum, but Kazar just stamped his foot. "Go away! We were here first!"
Anders just grinned wider. "Well, if you're up for it, I'm not averse to sharing the space. You might learn a thing or two, kiddo." He wiggled his eyebrows.
Regina slapped his shoulder. "Anders, that's awful! He's just a baby!"
Kazar hated being called that. He yelled and zapped out a lightning bolt in their general direction. He hadn't gotten the hang of aiming those yet, unpredictable as they were, so it just cracked harmlessly into the wall to the mages' right.
He neglected to consider that lightning was very loud, and that there was usually a Templar patrolling nearby. Cue the thunder of footsteps and all four of them getting dragged before the First Enchanter to be reprimanded like the naughty schoolchildren they were.
Anders spent the ensuing lecture making faces at Kazar behind Irving's back, and Kazar, being nine, had no choice but to make faces back.
Still, that was a long time ago and they'd never really known one another all that well. Anders, a healer and full mage for most of Kazar's time at the Tower, had traveled in completely different circles than the elementally-inclined apprentice. If Kazar and Jowan counted as a circle, anyway. But Kazar distinctly remembered the mage's loud, "witty" personality.
This Anders was like an echo of the old one. He was worn down, something about him tired beyond just the deep circles under his eyes. There was no flippancy to his manner, and his smile was fleeting and dulled.
This was what being a Warden did to people. So, yeah. When Merrill said Anders had become a Warden at some point, Kazar could believe it.
Kazar noticed a moment too late that Fenris was looking around, and the taller elf caught him watching them.
"What is he doing here?"
Cue the entire table turning to look at him. Kazar pretended to be to busy accepting the mug of… something… a barmaid had just plunked in front of him.
"He came for the free drinks," Varric said easily. "What else?"
"That was not the question and you know it. What is he doing in Kirkwall?"
"We went to the Dalish," Isabela said, "and he followed us home like a lost puppy. Didn't you, sweet thing?"
Kazar mumbled wordlessly into his mug, opting to choke down the sharp, bitter whatever-was-in-there instead of talking to them.
"So there is yet another apostate loose in the city."
"Hey, don't worry," Varric said. "You know Hawke has it under control."
The elf sighed and went quiet. He then went back to glaring bloody murder at the armored figure awkwardly sharing a table with Hawke. Kazar valiantly did not make a face at the taste burning its way toward his belly as he set his mug down. Ugh, how could people like Garott and Oghren stand this sort of stuff? Maybe dwarves had a stunted sense of taste or something.
"So," Merrill said. "How have things… um… been? The past few weeks?"
"Eventful," Anders said wryly.
"Exciting," said Isabela.
"Interesting," said Varric.
Fenris grunted noncommittally.
"So when can we expect you to start going out with us again, Kitten?" Isabela said.
"I don't know." Merrill slumped forward onto the table. "Ever since the whole thing with the Varterral, I haven't really felt much like adventuring with Hawke."
Varric said, "Don't think of it as 'adventuring with Hawke.' Think of it as 'keeping Hawke out of trouble.'"
"And if in the process," Anders said, "we keep you out of trouble, more's th-OW. What was that for?" He turned a glare at Isabela, who whistled with overdone innocence.
"Well," Merrill said glumly, "you don't need to worry about my little project anymore. Hawke's gone and stopped it in its tracks."
"What?" Anders leaned over to peer at her. "Are you serious? You're not…" A quick glance around the crowded tavern. "…doing the thing the rest of us don't approve of anymore?"
"Well, I very well can't without the tool Hawke's holding hostage, can I? Despite the fact that it's an ancient artifact of my people."
"Good for her," Fenris mumbled, still staring across the tavern at Hawke's table.
"What?!" Merrill's voice was rising now. "Fenris, you're an elf, and she took an ancient elven artifact! Doesn't that bother you even a little?"
Fenris turned a cool look to her. "If the alternative was to let you have it and use it for blood magic, then no, I approve of Hawke's decision wholeheartedly."
Merrill tapped the table irritably a couple times, then spun to look at Kazar. "Kazar, back me up! You even admitted that Hawke keeping a Dalish artifact is wrong!"
"Hey, keep me out of this."
"Actually, I'm curious, Kazar," Anders spoke up, watching him carefully. "What is your take on Merrill's… practices?"
Kazar gripped his mug and used all his Dalish-fostered habits not to show the brief spike of terror at the question. Did he know? "Why would you ask me a question like that? It's not like I have a unique perspective or anything; I was raised in the same environment you were."
"Yes, but you never seemed to speak out on either side of the issue." Anders leaned farther over the table to see him better. His expression was still light, but there was an intensity in his eyes that hadn't been there before the Blight. "In fact, rumor had it that of all the apprentices in our Circle who the Templars thought might turn blood mage, you were always at the top of the watch list."
That had Merrill and Fenris both turning to stare at him, and Kazar stubbornly met them with a glare. "Well, fuck them and fuck you. I don't like her using it anymore than you do." He caught Merrill's eyes and held them. "Dealing with demons is a sure road to self destruction. Only a moron knows that and still lets it taint their soul and conscience." Merrill's eyes widened, hurt, and she looked away.
That seemed to satisfy both Anders and Fenris, though, because they sat back and returned to nursing their drinks (or not, in Anders' case). Kazar swore he saw Varric watching him from the corner of his eye, but when he glanced at the dwarf, Varric was simply considering his hands.
Kazar buried himself back in his mug as the companions returned to blatantly spying on their leader. Kazar found that each sip was going down a little easier than the last. Maybe he was getting used to the taste, or something?
He found his eyes wandering over to Hawke, because that just seemed to be the place attention naturally went. Hawke had a way of filling up a room, and Kazar wasn't the only one sucked into the spell, because other patrons and even the bar staff seemed more prone to glancing at her than not.
Whatever she was doing, it looked like it was excruciatingly awkward. She was now resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand, looking thoroughly bored. No… not bored… expectant. Like she was waiting for something, and that something was failing to deliver.
The man she was with kept his long face schooled into polite neutrality, with an occasional lift of an eyebrow or tilt of the head revealing that he was just as confused about the situation as the companions were.
No sooner had Kazar noticed that his mug was empty than a second one appeared as if by magic at his elbow.
He found his eyes traveling back to the companions as they broke out a deck of cards and started playing a betting game. Soon enough, the sounds of laughter and good-natured ribbing rose from the table, where not so long before had been real arguments about blood magic and heritage. It surprised Kazar to see Merrill gleefully place a few cards down, evoking a sputter from Anders and genuine chuckling from the other three.
Kazar found his eyes stuck on Merrill as she did a ridiculous little victory dance in her seat. He hadn't seen her like that in years. He'd practically forgotten how silly she could be.
Some of the other Wardens had tried to teach him a couple card games during the Blight, but the fact that the rogues all seemed to make a game out of out-cheating each other and the fact that Kazar was a sore loser had put an end to those attempts pretty quickly. He wished he'd stuck through a lesson now, because maybe then he could join them. Or at least understand the game he was so blatantly eavesdropping on.
Shit, he should probably get back in contact with the other Wardens at some point. He'd sent out a quick note via bird a couple years back, but that was just to warn a certain noble that his ex-girlfriend's dead evil not-mother wasn't so dead after all.
Maybe it would be nice to let Garott know he was alive. Or Felicity. Or Fin. Shit, so much for the Warden bond of brotherhood. He was the worst brother ever.
And where'd his second mug go? It was full a minute ago.
He was halfway through his third when Isabela interrupted the table's banter with a hissed, "Hey, hold up! Look at that!"
The red-headed warrior woman, Aveline, had just ducked into the tavern, and was holding a silent exchange with Hawke over her tablemate's oblivious shoulder. As Kazar watched, Aveline shook her head and left, and Hawke threw her hands in the air in a gesture of exasperation.
"Well, now," Varric said. "That was an interesting exchange."
"HA! I knew it!" Anders said, grinning. "I knew she wasn't on a date!"
"Of course she wasn't," Fenris said, his lips also quirked upward. "Hawke has far better taste than that."
"Have someone else in mind, do you?"
"I don't see why it would matter to you." The pair exchanged a hard, intense look.
Isabela, caught between the two, put her hands to both faces and pushed them away. "Easy, boys. There's no need to fight. You're both pretty."
Kazar glanced back at Hawke's table, only to see that the man had apparently excused himself and left, and now Hawke was heading toward her companions. Her lips were drawn in some weird combination between anger and amusement.
"Hawke," Varric greeted smoothly as the woman in question reached the table and loomed over it with her hands on her hips. "How do you do?"
Fenris and Anders both returned to nonchalantly considering their cards, as if they hadn't just been squabbling like a cat and dog.
"Oh, you know," Hawke said, her light tone scored with undercurrents of frustration. "Trying to fix everyone's issues, only to have them blow up in my face yet again. Why can't any of you be normal, I ask you?"
"Because then you'd get bored of us, love," Isabela said easily, putting a card down on the table. "So what was that all about?"
Hawke pulled up a chair, taking the vacant spot next to Anders (who practically glowed, and Fenris glared). "Alas, I'm afraid I have been sworn to secrecy. I will not betray my honorable vow of silence on the matter."
"However…" Varric prompted expectantly.
"However," Hawke snatched the still-full mug from in front of Anders and took a sip, "and of no relation to what we were just talking about, Aveline has the most abhorrent flirting techniques I have ever seen. How she ever snagged her first husband, I will never know."
"Maybe the first husband did the flirting?" Merrill asked.
"Oh yeah. Wesley was just the most charming of Templars. Especially the part where he was a dick to my baby sister." Another swig.
"Best not to pick at old scars, love," Isabela said gently.
Hawke shrugged with forced nonchalance. "I'm fine. You all know it's Carver who goes ballistic at the mention of Bethany. More so now… he's gotten so suppressed that it might just make his head explode, and I'd so hate to be forced to go back home and explain that to Mother."
Anders tilted his head thoughtfully, unperturbed by the blatant mug-snatching. "It might be worth it, just to watch Carver's head pop open." He made a motion of an explosion with his hands and matching sound effect. Merrill giggled.
Hawke rolled her eyes. "You'd say that about any Templar."
"Yes. Yes I would."
"So is that it, then?" Varric asked. "Show's over? Or do we have an encore?"
"That's it for tonight," Hawke said, "but this is most certainly not over if I have anything to say about it. Anyone willing to march up to Hightown tomorrow morning and help drill the Captain of the Guard about her romantic ineptitude is welcome to come."
Isabela immediately raised her hand. "I'm in!"
Fenris nodded. "You know I've got your back, Hawke. No matter the… frivolity of the circumstances."
"I don't know about frivolous," Hawke said. She put a hand over her heart and, with exaggerated passion, said, "For what are matters of the heart… but the greatest adventure of all!"
As one, the entire table burst out laughing. Kazar, who was beginning to feel a little woozy, laid his head down in his arms and just listened to the ruckus next to him.
"What about you, Merrill? You up for a little meddling in Aveline's love life?"
"I don't think so, Hawke."
"Merrill…"
"No, Hawke."
There was a sound like a dog whimpering, and a sigh.
"Look, maybe next time. I'm just… not in the mood right now."
"But next time? You promise?"
"…yeah."
"Wonderful!" And just like that, Hawke's voice was boisterous again.
Something thunked, like someone's head hitting the table, and Merrill's slightly muffled voice said, "I swear, it is the least fair thing in the world that it's impossible to say no to you."
"I know," Hawke said cheerfully, "and it's an ability I exploit shamelessly." There was the scraping of chairs across the floor. "Well, we've got an early morning harassing the guard captain. All of you, to bed with you!"
"Mm," Isabela said, "I've been waiting a long time to hear you say that, love."
"Down, girl. Go on, shoo. Don't make me pull out the bed-time stories."
"Will you promise to tuck me in?" Isabela purred, then yelped and burst out into laughter. Her footsteps retreated up the stairs that led into the back rooms.
"Come, Hawke. I will escort you back to Hightown."
"You're such a gentleman, Fenris! I am swooning. Varric, look at me swoon!"
"So I see."
Anders' voice mumbled something unintelligible. There was more movement, and soon the sounds of Fenris and Hawke faded away into the tavern's general din.
"All right, Daisy, let me walk you back to the Alienage."
"Thanks, Varric, but I don't really need an escort."
"Maybe not, but I think he might." Kazar heard scuffing next to him. He turned his head in the pillow of his arms to blink at the murky sight of Varric at his elbow.
"I think you hit your limit there, Sparky."
"'M fine," Kazar mumbled, and then yawned.
"Only three mugs, huh?" Anders said, and the loudness of his voice indicated that he'd wandered closer, too. "I always somehow figured you for a lightweight."
"Bite me, Anders."
"You know, if you keep giving me the invitation, I may have to take you up on it."
And that line was just enough like the old Anders to make Kazar raise his head off the table to glare at the other mage, who was leaned in close on his other side, staring at his… arms? "What's that supposed to mean?"
He shrugged, though his flippancy seemed ironically forced. "You grew up well."
"And you've known me since I was four. Don't be creepy."
This earned a laugh from the dwarf and a stifled giggle from Merrill, and it took Kazar a moment to remember that they were still there.
"Do you have him, Blondie?"
"Yeah, I can take him down." Anders dropped the fakey flirty thing as he glanced at Varric. "I have some things we need to talk about."
Kazar's throat constricted at that announcement, but he wasn't exactly in a position to protest with how the room was gently spinning.
"All right. Take care, both of you." Varric nodded and, despite Merrill's protests, started out to escort her back home. Kazar watched them go, thinking that he'd have much preferred the dwarf's company to that of fricking Anders.
Kazar wasn't sure what the other mage wanted to talk about, but he had a few suspicions, and none of them particularly good. Had he heard about Kazar's little incident during the Battle of Denerim? Was he about to get blackmailed?
Kazar refused to let his nerves show, though. He stood up and shoved past Anders to head outside.
Cool night air rushed over him as soon as he was out the door, chilling his skin and helping clear the cobwebs out of his head. Apparently, while he'd been eavesdropping on the next table over, sunset had come and gone. Even though he'd only been here a couple weeks, Kazar knew that night in Kirkwall was not the most hospitable of times. This was when thieves prowled in the alleys, waiting for the night patrols to pass before they ambushed their unsuspecting prey.
Not that Kazar necessarily had anything against thieves on principle. Some of his best friends from the Wardens had been thieves. He just didn't want to meet any of those who regularly killed people just for their coinpurses.
Thus, he found himself waiting for Anders to slip out into the night behind him. Only then did he start the short walk back to the Alienage, because having another person with him, no matter who, made the shadows in the alley seem slightly less intimidating.
Then, Anders said, "So when was the last time you used blood magic?" and Kazar decided he'd rather be mugged.