Days went by and Hawke still had trouble getting to sleep each night. It wasn't as if his mind wasn't ready to succumb, quite the opposite really. He sat in the library day in, day out, bent over thick, dusty tomes and studied the Fade and its powers. He did it because what was there else to do? Already through his Harrowing, he had discovered that most mages could do whatever they pleased, as long as it was supervised by templars. For now, Hawke was pleased that he could read up on his interests. Nearly constantly on the run, his father had only taught him the basics about how the Fade functioned – and only because Hawke showed an unusual affinity for the realm of dreams. He was quite sure that Bethany had never been told anything about it besides how to recognise demons.
So it wasn't his mind that was the problem; it was his body. There was no physical effort whatsoever involved in anything going on in the tower. Reading certainly didn't exhaust his muscles and Hawke longed for a good run, for a bow in his hands and a deer in his vision.
That night, however, what he wished for most of all was for any other neighbour. Preferably one who didn't enjoy their fellow mages every night or at least one who with a little more subtlety.
As the woman moaned yet again, right into the sound of skin slapping against skin, Hawke blew up his cheeks and let the air escape in a none-too-quiet, annoyed sigh.
It wasn't jealousy that made him irate about it. If he wanted to, he knew he could have his own "adventures" easily enough, judging by the looks of young females around him.
Eventually, finally, the sounds of sex died down and there was hushed speaking, the rustling of clothes, footsteps, a door that was opened and closed as quietly as possible.
And there she goes.
It was in the early hours of morning that Hawke finally fell asleep.
-DEAR TO ME-
"I've heard many things about you, you know. It's impressive how fast the gossip travels around here."
Hawke looked up from his usual cup of tea just as another mage sat down across from him. Hawke could say with certainty that he hadn't seen the other around in the time that he'd been here. Hair a blonde colour that couldn't quite decide whether it was just dark blonde or a very light brown, long enough to be caught in a little ponytail at the back the head, quite handsome face and brown eyes that Hawke was certain many a girl had swooned over. Seemingly indifferent to getting evaluated in return, Hawke didn't take his eyes from the other's face and took a sip of tea.
"Oh? What do they say?"
A smirk appeared on the blonde's face, though it was good-natured. "You don't know? I thought that by now even the Grand Cleric would have heard of great Hawke Amell, champion of the Harrowing."
The line was delivered with enough sarcastic adoration that Hawke found himself smirking in return.
"I'm no social butterfly," shrugging, Hawke watched as the other dug into a bowl of porridge with great appetite, "But do elaborate. This sounds fascinating."
"Apparently his Harrowing was over before it even began. According to reliable sources present during the whole thing, he put his hand into the lyrium and withdrew it only seconds later, cool as you please."
Those eyes met his once again and then the man offered him his hand.
"You may call me Anders, reluctant mage of the Circle and master-escapee."
Hawke let go of Anders' hand after one squeeze and quirked an eyebrow.
"Curious. I would think that a master-escapee wouldn't be around his prison while calling himself that."
"Well, I might not have succeeded in actually staying away," Anders admitted grudgingly. "But at least I've got the hang of the whole 'getting-away' thing."
Hawke snorted, amused by the other man's antics.
For a few minutes, they sat in oddly comfortable silence, continuing their breakfast.
"So what about your family, Hawke?"
It was an innocuous enough question but Hawke stiffened nonetheless. He was aware that Anders noticed at once.
Blast.
Although it was already too late, he loosened his muscles and leaned back in his chair, glancing at the other fleetingly.
"What about them?"
Anders laid down his spoon and interlaced his fingers. There was a small frown on his face as he regarded Hawke cautiously. "No need to get defensive, my friend. I simply asked if they know what's happened to you… if they care." In the beginning the mage had asked that, sure. But the glint in those eyes told Hawke that the other was onto him now. So much for trying to stay low. Brilliantly done.
"My apologies," he said finally, "Family's a touchy subject."
That did the trick. Anders backed off immediately, his sharp eyes softening into a kind of bitter understanding and apology.
"As it is for most of us. I didn't mean to pry, I'm sorry."
Hawke waved it aside, effectively dropping the subject.
When he left the Great Hall this time, Anders kept him company and somehow, despite his reluctance to encourage any kind of relationship with the Circle mages, Hawke found it easy to talk to him.
"So do they mention my stunning good looks in those rumours of yours?"
Anders sent him an amused glance. "They aren't quite that far yet, sadly."
"You just talked to me and hoped that you got the right guy?"
They swerved out of the way to let a group of enchanters pass by, arms heavy with countless spell tomes and pergament rolls. Anders snorted, picking up the pace a little to catch up.
"I've lived in this blighted place since I was twelve, so I know most of the people worth knowing. Also, you stand out. You, and I say that with the utmost admiration, just look like an apostate."
Hawke quirked an eyebrow. "Why, thank you."
"You're quite welcome."
The templars they passed sent them a withering glance and they just stared right back, though Hawke noticed that most of the venom in their looks was directed at his companion. "They hate you."
Anders made a strangled little sound between a snort, a sigh and a derisive laugh. "Completely mutual, I assure you. I've escaped the tower three times now and they think that I'm a blood mage but until they find evidence they can't do anything and it drives them mad."
They passed a few chatting, giggling apprentices. Hawke spared them no mind – but Anders certainly did. Hawke came to a stop next to him and one of the girls smiled at him enticingly, seemingly unconcerned that he didn't return the gesture.
After a few minutes in which it became obvious that Anders didn't plan to move on very soon, Hawke left without another word.
-DEAR TO ME-
It turned out that he wasn't the only one fascinated by the intricacies of the Fade and the complex involvement in each mage's power.
Her name was Neria Surana and she was as compelling as she was intelligent. Which was to say: very. When he'd first laid eyes on her messy, auburn spikes, tanned skin colour and big, expressive hazel eyes, she just wanted to know if he was planning to "hog" the "only worthwhile book" in the library "some more".
In the end, they both had their noses stuck into the thick tome, discussing the endless possibilities and problems of the Fade in hushed, passionate voices.
The templars sent them sharp, suspicious glances but left them alone. Weeks went by and Neria sought him out quite often.
"So it would be possible to weave a ward with primal energy, yes?" Her big eyes stared at him intently, looking for approval. Hawke scratched his chin, mulling the idea over.
"Theoretically that's true. But it would require a very powerful mage. One that could weave the Fade, interlace primal energy and keep it up without a breach of concentration. It would be fatal if one lost focus."
"True. If successful the result would be outstanding, though. Think about it, Hawke: Constructing a ward that sets off its elemental power if someone crosses through it."
Hawke considered her silently for a few moments, then turned his gaze on the page that had brought Neria's idea on. "It's a fascinating concept. Especially if one succeeds in powering the ward through the Fade instead of just using it as a frame to work around."
They sat in silence, not breaking eye contact and pondering the idea carefully.
Eventually, Neria smiled brightly. "Maker knows it's not as if we hadn't enough time on our hands."
Hawke leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head, eyes darting over the templars he could see from his position at the hearth. "I'm guessing we'll have to be very subtle about it."
Neria's face hardened and there was a harsh light in her eyes. Her hate for the templars was greater than his was but Hawke didn't know the reason for it and wouldn't pry.
"Fade studies have often been mixed up with blood magic in the past." Neria turned a page over. "Fools."
Wisely he said nothing on the subject and Neria dropped it with a sigh.
"It's nearly time for dinner. We should get going."
Hawke shrugged apologetically as she got up. "Anders wanted to meet up here."
Since the other mage had found out that Hawke knew absolutely nothing about Healing, Anders had made it his mission to teach him. It was pointless, as Hawke had yet to show any talent for it at all but Anders didn't give up.
He didn't mind either way: He'd never say it out loud but he enjoyed the company of the chatty cat-lover. And love cats Anders did. The time Hawke found out about it, the healer had already dumped two of those beasts in his lap and began cooing ridiculously. Hawke had not been amused about his lap full of fur. He had never liked cats and the feeling was mutual. The whole thing ended with scratches in his face and on his hands and an entirely too amused Anders who wasn't all that amused anymore when he found out about Hawke's complete inability to heal.
Neria smirked knowingly. "Oh, right. Well, have fun studying absolute basics, Hawke."
With just a tired wave he bade her farewell.
Sinking deeper in the plush chair, Hawke closed his eyes and soaked in the warmth of the fire. Despite the comfortable and sleepy state he was in, he would never fall asleep here. Templar eyes bored into him and made him want to fidget.
His father had taught Bethany and him to be wary of them, to respect their powers but as time went by and he was locked up, constantly under templar supervision, he felt himself slowly adopting the resentful feelings most of the mages felt towards their guards. Not that being near Anders and Neria helped, seeing as neither one was particularly quiet about their opinions. During a conversation with Esanne and Jowan a few days before, Hawke had found out about the fraternities in the Circle and he had to say: Except for the Libertarians, none appealed to him. If Esanne could be believed, Uldred – head of that fraternity – was a very unpleasant fellow but close to Irving nonetheless.
"Sorry for the wait. I... got ambushed."
He opened his eyes lazily as Anders flopped down into Neria's abandoned chair. The healer chuckled. "You know, for all your hate of cats, you're remarkably like one."
Hawke cleared his throat and sat up straighter. "You take that back." Then- "Ambushed?"
"Life's short, my friend," Anders had the decency to look embarrassed, "So when opportunity provides itself, one should take it, yes?"
Hawke couldn't help the slight grimace as he thought back to the sleepless nights he'd endured, caused by the other's 'opportunities' – because yes, Anders turned out to be the very neighbour who had company every night. Male or female.
"If you keep it down tonight because of that, then do whatever you like," he replied gravely and smirked when Anders blushed. "I told you I was sorry."
"Sure. But I haven't seen pigs fly yet."
"You're such a sweet thing, Hawke."
Just ten minutes into the lesson, Anders sighed, thoroughly exasperated.
"Andraste's tits, you're acting like a simple healing charm is harder than any offensive spell."
"That's because it is," Hawke felt like whining but decided against that level of immaturity. Anders snorted, pulling the still open book about Warding closer. After a moment of pondering the page, the blonde mage shook his head exasperatedly. "Look at you, getting through the Harrowing in a matter of seconds, debating about things with Neria that I barely even understand the theory of and not even close to getting a small, easy healing spell right."
Hawke chuckled at how ludicrous it sounded. "What can I say, Creation is my weak point."
A cat padded nearer and jumped into Anders' lap without so much as a greeting 'meow'. "Oh, poor Mr Wiggums," Anders cooed, immediately distracted, "You look awfully thin, you fine mouser."
Hawke identified 'Mr Wiggums' as one of the pair of cats that had whetted its claws on his face those faithful days before and recoiled slightly.
"Keep that beast on yourself, Anders," he warned. Anders pretended to not have heard him.
Mr Wiggums fixated its yellow eyes on Hawke and hissed at him. Hawke had a good mind to hiss back but opted for giving the tomcat the evil eye instead.
"No, no, no, Mr Wiggums, stupid Hawke won't hurt you today," Anders petted the animal lovingly.
"Oh I don't know," Hawke said loudly and without thinking, "It's been ages since I've had cat ragout."
And with that he stood up, fully aware of Anders staring at him, gathered the tome and stalked past the pair, wondering what the hell had gotten him to slowly but surely letting his true colours show.
Next chapter will probably start with a scene that requires the 'M' rating. Also, there'll be a time skip of three years.