Chapter SIX
He had read the same passage at least a dozen times by now, but he wasn't seeing the words. Instead, he was replaying last night's events in his head. Karl's death angered him and left him full of the perpetually growing hatred and sorrow. It was all so pointless. Karl had passed his Harrowing. He'd never consort with demons. He used his power for the betterment of all and the Circle had made him Tranquil anyway. The templars had committed yet another atrocity against a mage and he hadn't been able to save the man. His friend. Countless friends had perished at the hands of templars. Countless more still would. Would it ever end?
Anders sighed and turned the page, skimming over the text with his fingers. It was a Tevinter account, the story of how a couple of magisters devised some healing techniques for wounds inflicted by a particularly nasty poison that rotted the flesh when it encountered it. Most rudimentary healing spells and salves wouldn't work on it. He sighed, finding his thoughts turning to the woman who'd made it even possible to save Karl. Or at least, try.
He'd seen her fight through Justice's eyes. She was a dynamic whirlwind, full of fire and life. Her amber eyes crackled with mischief and mirth, but there was bitterness as well. A bitterness borne of grief and despair. She'd been slightly cross at first, then afterwards, he'd felt she was much a kindred spirit. Her sister was an apostate, and from what he'd gathered, so was her father. She knew his fight all too well, having magical blood in her own veins.
Add to all of that the fact that she was absolutely lovely. Graceful for one of her stature—she was tall for a woman. Not too tall, but not in any way petite. She was quick-witted and had the same sense of humor he used to have—before he'd willingly become an abomination of sorts. She carried herself with an honesty he found damnedly appealing and she instantly captivated him. He found himself replaying their conversation over and over, especially the part where she expressed interest in him.
At least, that's what he thought anyway. He could be wrong, but it seemed like she'd called him handsome, in a roundabout way. Their eyes held just a little too long for etiquette's sake and the brief touch he'd managed to impart... It had sent fire through his blood and put a song in his heart. It had been nearly two years since he'd been interested in a woman. That in itself was sad—he used to be quite adept at romance. Until Justice came, at least.
He smiled as he remembered many a night spent engaging in the lowest, most beautiful forms of passionate debauchery. So many willing beauties had been at his side. He loved them all, he told himself. Appreciated them for their candor, for their pleasure, for their mirth. But Amaranthine had been the end to that. And now—this Aria Hawke.
She was not a beauty in the common sense. She didn't flaunt her body—her usual wardrobe consisting of leather and mail armour that existed for protection and utility, rather than to compliment curves. She kept her hair up in a tight, ornate bun so that its length and nature couldn't truly be determined; the brightest, stardust hair that seemed to glow in the lowest of lights. Practical style that served a purpose. She was lithe of form and surprisingly pale, despite enormous amounts of time spent in the sun. Most of the Fereldan refugee women had skin darkened by long hours working under the scorching, unforgiving sun. She was as radiant ivory as any of the Hightown noblewomen and carried herself with the same proud grace, except she had earned it. And then there were her eyes. Maker, he could have lost himself in them for days. Beautiful, almond-shaped, with surprisingly dark brows and lashes. They were a sort of amber, sometimes darker, sometimes lighter, but always full of life.
He heard the soft thud of approaching footfalls and looked up, surprised to see her standing there. It was if his thoughts had summoned her to him. This…warrior goddess. But she was not garbed as such this evening. Tonight she was every bit the fair, enchanting maiden he had dared dream her to be, and her appearance stole his breath away.
Not wanting to sit idly in an empty house, she returned to the street and found herself drawn to Darktown. Aria garnered many curious stares as she worked her way through the gloom, many people glaring at her. Their plight weighed heavily on her. These were her people; forced into a city that hated them, exiled to live among the filth that Kirkwall heaped upon them.
Inevitably, she found herself walking up the steps to Anders's clinic. The lantern was lit. Smiling to herself and swallowing the lump of nerves that rose in her throat, she entered, finding him stooped over his little desk reading something.
He turned when he heard her enter and his warm, dark caramel colored eyes brightened when he took her in.
"Aria? I hardly recognize you," he said, standing and almost unsettling his chair.
"You mean without the gore and stench of battle clinging to me?" she quipped, her tawny eyes sparkling.
"Well, there is that. You're beautiful even then," Anders replied. "Is there anything you need?"
"Actually, no. I was just stopping in to visit for a bit. See how you were faring after…last night. And I brought this," she said, producing the wine from her satchel.
He smiled appreciatively. "I'll fetch some goblets. Are you hungry?"
It dawned on her that she had only eaten a small bit of bread today. With that realization, her stomach rumbled. She laughed and placed a hand over her belly. "Famished, to be honest."
He softly chuckled and moved to the table, pulling out a chair. He indicated for her to sit, and she readily complied. He set a plate of various fruits, cheese, and some wafers in front of her. She waited to eat until he made his own plate and sat across from her. She poured wine into the two goblets he'd set on the table and they commenced eating.
"I suppose I should thank you for what you did last night. You had no reason to stick your neck out for me like that, and given your own precarious situation—"
"No need to thank me, Anders. You did your part in helping me, too," Aria gently cut him off, popping a grape into her mouth. It was surprisingly delicious, perfectly sweet, and she savored the taste.
Anders chewed his own food thoughtfully, his chin resting on his palm as he studied her for a moment. She cocked her head to the side, curious as to what it was he was thinking.
"What?" she finally asked.
"You seem…different somehow. A lot—nicer."
Aria laughed, genuine mirth bubbling forth from her throat as she threw her head back. "You caught me at a bad time. Last night was a very long one and I was in a right foul mood."
"You mean you didn't go home after that mess in the Chantry?"
"Ha! That was only the beginning," she said, stuffing her mouth full of a cheese and fruit-laden wafer. She chewed it slowly, enjoying how he watched her.
"Do elaborate," he said once she'd finished chewing.
"My friend Aveline required my help. It too, was messy business."
"The dour guard who accompanied us? How so?" he asked, taking a long drink from his goblet. He smiled, impressed with the quality.
"She was chasing a lead on corruption within the guard. There was an ambush and a fellow guardsman almost lost his life. We got there in time, luckily. Now I'm just waiting for her to get back to me about the results of the ensuing investigation," Aria said, loading another wafer with fruit and cheese.
"Corruption in the guard—imagine that," Anders bitterly laughed.
"Mmm. The Guard-Captain, no less."
"Absolute power corrupts absolutely," he said, filling his own mouth.
They ate in comfortable quiet after that, just watching each other. He smiled a lot, an expression that suited him much better than his haunted somberness. She couldn't help the grin that graced her own lips. She rather liked the way his eyes warmed when they rested on her. It sent a thrill through her pulse that she hadn't felt in a long time.
He couldn't get enough of watching her. He loved the way she chewed, not the pristine noblewoman, but not a pig either. She seemed to approach everything with a gusto and vitality that emanated from her like a beacon to a ship in a storm at sea. She just radiated life—he'd never been stirred in such a way before, not by anyone.
Maker, but she was lovely tonight. Her hair was twisted and folded ornately, secured on both sides of her head with the most beautiful amethyst and jet-studded combs. Her ocher eyes flashed with life and joy. Her cheeks flushed the loveliest of dusty pinks. Her radiant skin bore the sweetest aroma he'd ever breathed. The simple black dress she wore fit perfectly on her lithe frame, clinging to her trim, warrior figure in all the right, feminine places.
He cleared the table and she poured them some more wine before they resumed conversation.
"So you're a Fereldan too?" he asked, resting his chin in his hand again, his head politely inclined towards her.
"Yes. From Lothering," she answered, smoothing her skirt and swiping away the crumbs that had landed there.
"Lothering? I'm so sorry. You were right at the heart of it," he said, referring to the beginning of the Blight.
"We wouldn't have made it, if not for the Witch of the Wilds herself," Aria relayed, enjoying the spark of curiosity that lit his dark eyes.
"The Witch of the Wilds? Flemeth?" he asked incredulously.
"The one and only. She turned into a dragon and charred the horde, keeping us safe. Then she bore us to the coast so we could sail to Kirkwall."
"That was awfully generous of her," Anders suspiciously stated.
"Mmm, it wasn't without a deal being struck," Aria replied, acknowledging his suspicion.
"Of course. What were the bargain's terms?"
"I haven't yet fulfilled them, actually. I haven't had the means. I will tell you when the time comes," Aria hedged, heeding the warning her conscious laid out to her.
"I will help you, whatever the task. You need only ask," he said, reaching for her hand. He was pleased when she did not withdraw, but rather grasped his in kind. Heat sparked in his veins and he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat before continuing. "But answer me this: Why on earth did you come to Kirkwall? Surely Amaranthine or the coastlands would have been sufficient. Especially for an apostate."
Her smile was bitter and he feared he'd touched a nerve. He didn't like how she seemed pained by the question. Before he could retract the statement or apologize, she replied.
"Ah, that. Well, my mother's family used to be nobility in Kirkwall," Aria answered, averting her eyes.
"Used to be? Ah, the mage blood. It ruined them?" he surmised.
She looked up to meet his gaze, for a second forgetting what she was going to say. His eyes had the same effect on her that Ser Devon's used to. She wasn't quite sure how to handle it. She was badly out of practice with flirtation and romance.
"Not exactly, though I suppose that is part of it," she slowly stated after a few moments. "My family has magic on both sides. My Mother—was engaged to a nobleman. The Comte de Launcet. But she fell in love with a Fereldan apostate. My Father, Malcolm Hawke. She fled to Ferelden with him and left her noble birthright behind."
"Your grandparents—are they still alive?"
"No. They died many years ago, when I was still a child. I never knew them. However, my Grandfather left it all to my Mother. This fact outraged my slippery, useless Uncle Gamlen. He squandered the fortune, gambling it all away."
"Bastard," Anders cursed. "And yet you live with him now? In Lowtown?"
"Unfortunately," Aria said, taking another sip of her wine as Anders finally, and reluctantly, released her hand.
He sipped from his goblet, studying her for a moment. She took the time to also study him. He seemed much more relaxed. Much more open. The caginess he'd exhibited last night was gone. He was far more still, far more…tractable. There was a slight blush to his cheeks and she realized then that he was as enamored with her as she was with him.
"I am sorry. Fate has been most unkind to you," he said at last, his now dark eyes compassionate.
"Mmm," she said, swallowing the wine. "Don't be. I'll get it back, and my family's reputation will once again be in good standing. I don't believe in fate, in any case. I believe in action."
He sat back, his expression intrigued. "You don't believe in fate?"
"No, I don't," she firmly stated, her amber eyes holding his, the fires within them roaring to life. "Fate is a coward's excuse for succumbing to defeat. I make my own path, and it is determined by my actions."
He broadly smiled, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in the most intriguing fashion. She returned the gesture, finishing her wine.
"That—is an interesting philosophy. But what about the Maker's hand? Do you not believe he has a plan for us all?"
"Do you?" she countered, her eyes sparkling flirtatiously.
"I feel that is a baited question," he laughingly hedged, the attraction he felt deepening. She was a breath of fresh air. A rebel. A revolutionary. And the voice that lingered in the back of his mind warned him not to fall.
"Then let it suffice to say that I have no use for any institution that seeks to govern every little intricacy of everyday life. You are a champion of freedom. Do you not believe that everyone is free to decide their own fate then? Good or ill? Maker be damned?"
"Were I of the Chantry, I would accuse you of blasphemy," he said, his tone mockingly serious. He suggestively arched a brow.
"Still you hedge. And then I could point out a thousand ways you yourself, Revered Mother, are a hypocrite," she giggled.
Anders threw his head back and laughed, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, but you are refreshing to speak to!"
"I'm glad I amuse you," Aria replied, also sitting back in her chair, a benevolent smile on her lips.
"You more than amuse me," he huskily stated, his eyes darkening. It sent her pulse skittering for a few seconds.
"I'm glad of that, too," she softly said.
He chuckled, a low rumbling from deep in his throat. "I find I much enjoy you. It's nice to speak with someone who has their own mind about things. Who isn't easily bullied or afraid to think outside the popular schools of thought."
"Normally, people who bully me end up pushing daisies," she teased, folding her arms on the table in front of her. The movement drew his eyes to her shoulders, then her collarbone, and he hazarded a brief glance at her chest before his gaze met hers once more.
"I've borne witness to that," he said, also resting his arms on the table and leaning toward her slightly.
She sighed, then stretched her arms above her head, stifling a yawn. "I really do hate to say it, but I fear I must be headed back to Lowtown. There are a few—things I have to do," she said, slowly getting to her feet.
His pulse raced. He wasn't at all ready for her to go yet. He felt he could talk to her all night and not broach the same subject twice. He wanted her in his arms, to touch her hair, her skin, to see if it was as soft as it appeared. He wanted to hear her thoughts on every taboo subject polite company wouldn't allow. He wanted... Her.
"Must you?" he asked, kicking himself mentally for the desperation that cracked his voice and gave him away.
"Well, perhaps you could accompany me. I'm going to go to the Hanged Man and have a drink and a chat with my business partner, Varric." Aria could sense he was trying to bait her into staying longer. She was both afraid and excited to learn what would happen if she did. But she had promised to meet with Varric, and she couldn't shirk that duty. Besides... The night was still young, was it not? Perhaps there was time. What she would do with it, she couldn't guess. She just knew that she wanted to spend more with Anders, and his actions were showing her he was of the same mind.
He sighed. He didn't want to leave the clinic for fear of missing someone in need. But tonight, he wanted to put his own needs first for a change. And he couldn't let her just... Leave. Didn't he deserve it? Just a little happiness? A little indulgence?
"Varric? The rather quiet dwarf?" he asked, seeking to stay her a little longer.
Aria burst out laughing, the sound ringing through the small room like the song of birds in a spring meadow and sending his pulse aflutter again. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes glittering with impish merriment. "You don't know Varric well yet. Eventually, you'll be shouting at him to shut up."
"Well, now I have to come," he said. "But why the Hanged Man?"
She shrugged, picking her satchel up from the floor. "It's where he lives. He has a room there."
"I'll gladly accompany you. Just allow me to tidy up a few things before we go."
"Certainly," she allowed.