Chapter 2. We're not quite at Fenris yet, but we're getting there! As always, much love for our Arquen for the the Ever PATIENT beta-goodness. DA2 and all characters belong to bioware. Chapter 3 should be much faster in coming along. LESS PROCRASTINATION ON MY PART. Enjoy, and please review - good or bad, so long as its construtive!
"There are many ways to augment our powers. The most commonly known two are with Lyrium..." He says and hefts a small bottle full of blue liquid. "The other, with Blood."
Bethany squeaks, pulling her skinny, 9 year old knees up against her chest. I just frown, "But Pa, you said that only Maleficar use blood magic."
"Exactly. What else did I say?" He asks, his voice level and slightly stern.
"No Hawke is Maleficar." Bethy pipes in, excitedly
"That's right, Sweetness. No Hawke is Maleficar. We serve what is best in us, not that which is most base. Always remember that." He smiles. It was that amazing Malcolm smile that was all liquid warm approval pouring out of his golden eyes. It's gone in a flash, "Blood Magic is the easiest route... to everything. The temptation will test you. Your entire life. Do not ever give in. The easiest route is never the best. Anything worth having is worth working for."
"Like our freedom?" I ask, curiosity lighting my voice.
He flashes me that smile again. "Just so, Demon. Just so."
The sun's up. It's an evil thing and I try to drag myself back to that place for a moment or two. That place, warm and safe, in our barn in West Hills. Back before Bethany had been scared by the giant spiders and set the neighbor's crops aflame. It's a futile attempt. The fade is fading from me, for lack of better words while still half asleep.
I blink hard a few times, trying to get my bearing. After a moment or two it dawns on me that I'm still sitting in Varric's suite. There's lunch sitting in front of me, and Maker these stone chairs are not exactly the most comfortable things to sleep in.
Speaking of the bowl of Hanged Man stew and the day old bread sitting on the table in front of me... I'm suddenly amazingly not hungry. In fact, if I ever eat again it'll be one day past never. I fling myself out of the chair and fly, because I doubt my feet ever actually even touch the floor, towards the privy.
I hear Varric chuckle, which makes the retching of all of my insides into the privy bucket slightly less horrible. "I warned you not to drink the dregs," he clucks from around the corner.
"Fuck you!" I shoot back. He chuckles again, completely unfazed by me. I, on the other hand, learn fairly quickly that talking is not going to help my situation. My voice echoes inside my already throbbing head. A hung-over me has even less control over my mouth though, so I keep talking. "What time is it?"
"Three Thirty, Give or take," he says, his voice suddenly much louder. I know this because my head revolts at the sound. He hands me a glass with something that smells suspiciously like Whiskey. I shy away from it and eye him warily.
"Drink it, Hawke. Trust me." Varric's amber eyes are warm and amused as he says this. Fuck him and his Whiskey. I take the glass from him and swallow about six times before I manage to get it down. Warm and tingly spreads through my limbs, and my stomach stops trying to turn itself inside out. It's a fucking miracle.
"That's amazing. How'd you know..?" I ask as I struggle up from the floor. Norah seems to appear out of thin air, muttering curses as she scoots around my wobbly ass. She grabs the bucket and says, "Next time listen to him." Then she's gone again. I wonder for a moment if I imagine it.
"Ugh, lesson learned." I mutter, and drape my arm around Varric's shoulder, which is an amazing feat, seeing as how he's breast-height and I have to stoop. I don't fall over though, and he leads me carefully back to the table.
"First time getting drunk?" He asks as I sit down and carefully push the poor excuse for food away from me with a single fingertip.
"No, I've been drunk before," I say simply. My head not really allowing my mouth to self-elaborate.
Varric, on the other hand, isn't convinced, "Uh huh. I smell a story. We've got a bit before your Brother comes back with Blondie and Aveline. Start talking."
I groan, "Carver knows I spent the night here?"
"He does. I called on him this morning to bring you a change of clothing. Don't worry, I didn't tell him why." Varric winked. I felt myself panic for a moment. What in Andraste's tits did I tell him?
"Now quit deflecting. You already told me about walking in on Jr. and that friend of yours.. what was her name again, Apples?"
I bark a laugh, because that is my favorite story. "Peaches. I'd hardly call her a girlfriend, just some drab farmer's daughter who had it bad for Carver. She attached herself to my skirt in the off-chance she'd get to spend time with him." I shudder.
He chuckled, "So you said. Now out with it. first time drunk."
I groaned again. "My first time drunk was also my first.. time." I say this with a cringe. "Not that I remember it, but Ser Thomas definitely did."
Varric spits out his tea. I just notice that he's drinking tea. It's now covering most of his paperwork. "You're shitting me!"
"Maker's honest truth." I cringe.
"Wait, Ser as in a Knight?" He asks carefully. the curiosity pouring off of him in waves.
"No, Ser as in a Templar." I think I might be sick again.
"Andraste's flaming ass, Hawke! Your first time was with a Templar?" You know I really am a sicko, or maybe I'm still drunk. I am actually mildly enjoying the look on his face right now.
"At least so far as he told it, yes. It was during the Harvest Festival. I was full on rebellious. Besides, he was cute. I'd had at least a half dozen mugs of hot spiced wine, and despite the fact that there was food everywhere I was far too busy making Ser Thomas blush to think about actually eating any." I pull the blanket, that seems to have appeared in my chair, probably at some point during my drunken sleeping, around my shoulders.
"And?" Varric has his quill and book out. I want to kill him.
"You're not writing this down, are you?" I ask warily.
"What, me? I'm offended by the accusation, Hawke." He skips a beat, "Keep going."
I sigh heavily, but oblige, "I have always had this... well Bethany called it a death wish. I would have been dead if my father had ever found out. I like Templars. So many of them become Brothers first. Swear all sorts of celibacy oaths. So, you know.. I sort of.. made it a game to see if I can corrupt them." I say weakly, because its horrible, and I am a horrible person.
I quickly add, "Not that I ever slept with any of them.. at least not until that time, at any rate.. and never again... but.."
Varric laughs. Not a Varric chuckle, but a full on barrel chested laugh. I bury my face under the blanket to hide my blush. It makes him laugh harder.
"Maker, Hawke. This is why I keep you around, you know. I can't make this shit up if I tried." He's back to chuckling again.
A voice behind me causes me to jump out of my chair. "Make what up? It better be steamy."
"Ah, I was wondering when you were going to come sauntering up those stairs to see me, Rivaini." Okay now I'm officially curious. I turn my whole body, because there's no way my head is going to comply by itself, towards the direction that Varric is looking.
Standing in the doorway is the most beautiful woman I have ever had my eyes upon in my life. No, not beautiful. That's not strong enough of a word. Sensual? In any case this woman is all mocha flesh and curves. Many of those curves are mocha flesh. She isn't wearing very much. She's got boots up to her thighs and a corset that's just barely covering her breasts. Barely, and not much else. Also, no pants.
"Why Varric! I didn't know you were into Humans. I'm hurt," this woman says, shifting her weight to one hip and planting a gloved hand upon it. She pouts at him. Who was she?
Varric chuckles, surprise surprise, and shakes his head, "This, Rivaini, is Serah Hawke." He gestures towards me, and I find the need to stand and.. I don't know, bow?
I'm an idiot.
I stand, carefully, because my head is still trying to run away screaming from the rest of my body. "Angel," I say, and extend my hand in traditional Ferelden greeting. This woman who Varric keeps calling Rivaini just eyes my hand as if it's a piece of meat.
"Ferelden then?" She says. Holy Maker even her voice is sultry. "I was in Ferelden not too long ago, actually. I even met the Hero of Ferelden, if you catch my meaning." And I'm blushing because I totally get it, and she laughs. She takes my hand and shakes it firmly.
"Varric tells me you're good at solving problems, Hawke." She says, completely ignoring the fact that I have a first name. I'm not bothered. I'm starting to get used to being called Hawke all the time.
"Interested?" Her mouth is curled mischievously.
"In you, or your problem?" I ask, because I'm an ass. She laughs. Apparently my mouth is a good thing for a change?
"Maybe both?" She wiggles those dark eyebrows of hers and continues right on with the sultry grin. Then she puts away the playful. Suddenly all business. "I've a problem with a man named Hayder. He works for someone who's not too fond of me right now, and won't get off my back about it. I've arranged for a duel to settle things... but if I know Hayder, he won't play fair."
"Why a duel?" I ask. I'm sure it probably could have been worse, but my brain isn't exactly up to par just yet.
She giggles. It's an amazing sound. I'm going to need a drink. Which, being as I'm still partially drunk from last night, not really a stellar idea. "I like duels. It's what I do... and if I win, problem solved!"
I like her, saying it even as I think it. "Oh, I like you." Somewhere from behind me I hear Varric chuckle.
"Mmh, and I haven't even given you my name yet." She purrs, "I'm Isabela, formerly Captain Isabela. Sadly, the title rings a bit hollow. I recently lost my ship to .. a storm."
I raise my eyebrow. It sort of does it by itself. I don't ask about the pause. She's moved on already. "So you'll help? The duel is supposed to take place tomorrow night, in the Viscount's Way."
"I 'spose I could manage watching your back," falls out of my mouth. It causes her to bring that smirk back.
"Mmh, I'll bet," she says with a wink. She tips her head in the direction that I can only assume is Varric, winks again, and saunters back from whence she came. Which is apparently the bar.
On her way down the stairs, which I am watching intently, she bumps into someone. Someone, who is apparently my brother. He stammers and turns red from chin to hairline. Isabela winks at him the same way she just winked at me, and continues on her way.
I chuckle, doing my best to channel Varric. If this Isabela woman had me thinking dirty thoughts, she would probably give Carver a nose bleed. It takes him a few moments before the blush disappears and the scowl comes back.
He tosses a bundle at me, grumbling as only Carver can, and grabs a spot at the table. I don't bother to tell him that it had been where I was sitting not more then twenty minutes ago. I just don't have the energy right now. I grunt a thanks and head back into the semi-private privy to change.
The bundle turns out to be a linen bag full of clothing. The first thing I find is a clean set of smalls. I thank the Maker, and my mother, because Carver wouldn't have been the one to think of it. I slip the old pair off and the new pair on. Blissful. I'm insane, but clean smalls make my head stop pounding a little. They make me feel a little more human. It's wonderful.
I pull my solid robes over my head and toss them in the corner. Gooseflesh erupts on my skin because it's kind of cold in here, but I don't really care. I sort through the rest of the bundle and.. oh. I feel my throat close. My eyes threaten to betray me, stinging and protesting my attempt to fight off tears.
"We serve what is best in us, not that which is most base."
Tucked into the cloth bag is a leather jacket. Not just any leather jacket. Malcolm Hawke's leather jacket. Malcolm Hawke's Leather Duster that should have been in the family storage in Denerim. The Denerim that had been sacked by Darkspawn.
"Carver?" I sort of half sob, pulling the jacket free of the bag and pushing it under my nose. I don't even think. My mind is full of Malcolm Hawke, and his smell of Elfroot and smoke.
He flashes me that smile again. "Just so, Demon. Just so."
I call out for Carver again. Louder this time because I really need him to hear me. I need to speak to him. Never in my life have I needed my stupid, thick headed brother so much. I clutch my father's leather duster to my chest like it's a life-line that someone tossed me at sea. I'm over-reacting. I know this. I hate it.
I hear someone come up to the privy door and knock. I reach out and grab at whoever it is, hoping desperately that it is in fact my block-headed brother. "Maker's breath Hawke!" It's not Carver.
I'm doing my best not to cry. I'm just breathing in my father's musty old jacket, clinging to it. It's awful and I can hear his voice so clearly in my mind. "Just so, Demon. Just so." Malcolm called me Demon. A joke of my name. Angels were supposed to be the opposite of demons. Another word for Spirit.
Hands are around my shoulders, and the voice, which I've managed to conclude is male, is muttering calming things. Words, I suppose, but I can't really hear them. I'm to busy trying not to sob into this bloody coat and the strong shoulder that seems to have materialized beneath me. Those hands are around my hips now, and in my hair. Not in any sort of threatening or sexual way. Just comforting.
"Hey, hey.. shh. Hawke.. Angel, it's alright. What's wrong?" The voice asks, and my throbbing head yells at me to look up at the person currently holding me. So I do, and it's Anders's warm amber eyes that greet me. I feel like right now would probably be the best time to die of embarrassment.
I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out because suddenly I'm being wrenched out of his arms. I catch a flash of angry blue eyes and dark hair. "What do you think you're doing to my sister." Carver. His voice is unmistakable. It's a statement, not a question. A statement full of all kinds of malice for the Apostate who not but a half moment previous was comforting me.
"I didn't do anything!" Anders protests.
"I'm fine." I plead through clenched teeth.
"What in Maker's name...?" Aveline. Great. Just bloody great.
Varric, ever my savior, brings his voice. "Why don't we give Hawke a moment to get dressed. AWhen she's ready she can explain this little scene to us."
"Thanf youh" I mutter into the duster, trying desperately to hide my face while simultaneously trying to keep my breasts covered.
"I'll go with her, "Aveline clucked, ever the mother hen. "Carver stop looking at Anders like that. If you kill him I'll have to arrest you."
So just like that, I am being escorted back into the privy by Aveline. I can hear Carver and Anders hissing at each other. It would have been so funny, if it weren't happening to me. A shame really.
It takes a few moments of Aveline just sort of staring at the wall behind me, her back turned to give me some privacy, before she asks. "What in the Maker's name happened, Angel?"
I sigh, "It's my father's jacket, Aveline. My father's jacket that's supposed to be locked up in the family storage in Denerim. You know Denerim, in Ferelden? The one sacked by Darkspawn not too long ago? Yea that one." I say, shaking the leather duster for emphasis. I swallow down a lump trying to cut off my air.
"I had them sent," Aveline stated blandly.
My mind froze. Anything I might just have been thinking just turned off completely. Did I hear her right? "What?"
"After what your family did for me.. I knew your family had a storage in Denerim, your mother told me. So, after I joined the city guard I used a portion of my salary to have what remained sent to Kirkwall., she says, the tone of her voice very matter-of-fact.
I have never in my life loved anyone as much as I love Aveline Vallen right now. So I hug her. "Oh, Aveline," are roughly the only words I'm able to conjure.
Aveline just lets me hug on her for a bit. Only a little bit though, "Hawke, do I have to remind you that you're still naked?"
I laugh and pull away, "What, don't think I look dashing this way? I hear its all the rage in Orlais."
She groans, "Hawke..."
I hold up one hand and laugh again, "Just kidding, Aveline. I'm fine, really."
"Are you sure? Not going to run through the bar downstairs, are you?" she asks, her voice completely void of humor.
"Aveline!" I'm impressed, was that a joke from Aveline?
Now she laughs, and I mock a heart attack. "I'm teasing Hawke, relax. I'll be just outside if you change your mind though."
I manage to get dressed, pulling the leather duster on over the linen tunic and breeches also stashed in the bag. I'm pretty sure I hate myself right now, because not only did I spend half the night crying, but I almost did it again this morning. In front of people. Like Anders. Maker.
I'm stronger than this. I am a force of nature. I am a Hawke.
I tell myself this about nine more times as I finish clasping the last of the metal buckles on my father's duster. Once that's done I rake my fingers through my straight black hair and replace the leather thong. I should wear it down once in a while, but I never do. It always gets in my face. I should cut it. I won't.
I take a deep breath, stuff my shit into my bag, and head back out to Varric's room. I'm a big girl, and big girls sometimes hug men while in their small clothing. They even sometimes do it with men they've only known one day. Over leather coats. Right? Right.
Varric is going over something with Carver, their heads low as they whisper. Aveline is glaring at Anders, who is adamantly talking, hands in motion. Whatever he is saying, Aveline doesn't look convinced. Which is completely not unexpected.
"So, now that I'm done being hung-over Hawke..." I start, and then stop. I swallow, and then just sort of crumple back into my stone chair.
Carver sneers a little and throws a letter in my lap. "It's from Meeran. He wants us to go talk to some guy named Anso."
I pick through the letter and nod. "Well, we won't have to go meet with Isabela for her duel till tomorrow night. So we can do this."