Chapter 3

It took me a week to get my depth perception back and not accidentally overshoot my reach or to remember to duck down through the doorways a bit. A dark bruise on the top of my head was a constant reminder that Hawke was a few inches taller than me. His limbs were also a little longer and distinctly more toned than the lithe form I was used to.

Even his scars weren't my own. I looked for nasty, pale white scar tissue that lied over my heart where I had taken a fireball to the chest during an illegal duel when I was still a teenager who thought that a few fancy spells made me immortal. It only took one near-death experience to toss that idea away. There was no thin line on my elbow that was from me falling off my bicycle as a child; a similar one nearby from falling off a thirteen story building. The latter happened during one of my first attempts at shape-shifting and the wing of my animal form had clipped a lightning rod.

But there was one thing that assured me that I wasn't living in a dream. When my leather gloves were removed, my glyphs stood proudly out from pale skin. I had been worried that I would have to go through the painful process of carving dangerous runes into my skin again, but it appeared that wounds tied to my soul had transferred with me. It was a relief to know that I still had something that was mine and mine alone. I couldn't show off my personal artwork though, so I kept them hidden.

I bought a new pair of gloves that buckled tightly at my elbow to prevent them from ever slipping off; it also looked cool so that was a nice bonus. Also, away from prying eyes were several glyphs I burned on the inside of the leather that touched my skin. These special designs were relatively new back in my time and I made sure to take full advantage of them although they were originally meant for Templars to more easily control mages. As soon as the glyphs made physical contact with a person whom possessed magical talent it effectively acted like a cage for the mage's mana. Actually derived from the Tranquil mark that was burned onto a mage's forehead if found guilty of misuse of magic (such as murder, counterfeiting, or any other laws that convicted non-mages as well) it was meant to be temporary and in fact was carved into every pair of handcuffs the police carried nowadays. However, the reason I willingly confined my magic was to prevent other mages from sensing my power. All people with mana could sense another with similar talent and I couldn't risk anyone finding out my secret. I was lucky that my magic had been completely drained when Anders healed me.

It took me two months to become passable with a sword. Growing up within a family that had deep ties to magic and combat, I had picked up a sword sometime in my life. However, concealing a sword was a hell of a lot harder than hiding a gun so swordplay fell out of favor about, oh, 300 years ago. I knew the basics and learned from Hawke's memories, but I wasn't sure that it would be enough to fool Aveline or even Fenris.

I had met the Tevinter native personally for the first time only one month into my new life as Serah Hawke and it suddenly hit me that Fenris the elf was actually an elf. Pointy ears and everything. I had been on my way back picking up stuff from the market with my arms full of newly purchased books.

"Hawke," came the gruff greeting. I swear I had jumped about a foot into the air and managed to drop everything at my feet at the same time.

"Hey, Fenris," I grumbled as my mind recognized the voice and bent to pick up the now dusty tomes. I tried not to look at him as Hawke's more…intimate memories came into my mind. I felt a blush burn darkly on my face. Would I ever be able to see the swordsman without picturing how far exactly his tattoos went?

A dark-skinned arm tipped with deadly claws from his gauntlet came into my vision and I looked up to see him helping to gather my things. Elves were smaller than the average human, I noticed. They were petite, and had larger eyes. And damn, Fenris had the biggest green eyes I had ever seen and I felt my knees quake a little bit. I was a sucker for green. His ears! Don't get me started on his ears. They were actually pointy and me being the master of cool stared dumbly while he stacked the books I had stopped picking up. In fact his ears caught more of my attention than his tattoos. No, they were lyrium burns I corrected myself as the sweet siren call I heard at the edge of my thoughts registered. But his ears! I couldn't get over it. I had been a big Lord of the Rings nerd and to actually see with my own eyes that elves were real-! I had to rein in my inner freak-out when Fenris arched an eyebrow at me just sitting on the ground with a vacant look on my face. I quickly thanked him for his help, made up an excuse to get away from there as soon as possible, and high-tailed it back to the mansion. I hadn't noticed that he still had my books in his arms until he dropped them off on my front step the next day.

I made it a point to not actively seek Fenris out until I dealt with the whole 'elves were real' thing as well as to try and burn out the naked images that were seared into my skull. Nothing could happen with Fenris. The swordsman made it quite clear his views on mages were anything but positive and with my ability to light a candle without a match ever reached his rather pointed ears he would run his arm through my chest with that special ability of his. It was useful for Fenris to reach into an enemy's chest and crush their heart without even making a cut, but I would rather not have that happen to me. Even with Varric, I managed to make a complete fool of myself. Varric was a dwarf. My brain knew that. It had many memories of the close bond between myself and the dwarf, but I just couldn't make sense of one thing.

"Where the hell is your beard?"

Varric had looked taken aback in his seat at the Hanged Man from my sudden question that had blurted from my lips, but he took it into stride and laughed loudly at my embarrassed expression. What? It was a fair question. All dwarves had beards. Tolkien said so and so it is true. He then went on explaining how he wasn't born in Orzammar and how he identified himself outside of the narrow-mindedness of his clansmen. Of course the real explanation came only after he swore that he did have a beard but it one day just fell to his chest. I also suffered a round of teasing as I sat enthralled at his tales like a little boy sitting on his father's knee listening to old war stories.

Three months I've been travelling in the past, doing my best to play the role I've been thrust into. I've danced to Flemeth's tune with a smile on my face and my magic kept under a tight seal of control. Magic was not meant to be kept on a leash, but I understood the need for secrecy. I had strolled into the Gallows, the home of the mages. I saw the fear, the punishment for any whiff of magic on a person and I saw Templars. Never have I seen so many before. It made chills race down my spine. Just one spark of carelessness on my part was all it would take for them to hunt me down like an animal and kill me for just being born with powers they could not understand. However, I could not fault them. That one spark I could create might mature into a roaring flame that would devour innocent people.

I understood and yet I still travelled cautiously. I would not invite danger.

For three months I'd integrated myself so completely into Hawke's life that I saw it as my own. By walking in his footsteps, interacting with the people he held close, I had managed to fully anchor myself in this time period so entirely that I nearly forgot that I wasn't actually born here. I didn't hold onto any hope that I could return back to my own time, though. I was a trained mage. I knew the consequences of meddling with time and knew what happened when two souls attempted to inhabit the same body. The stronger one wins and the other is shred to pieces in the Fade. Since I was still here, I knew which one of us had won. Besides, I was sure that I had no body to return to. The memory was clear in my mind. That fall from the roof was at too great a height for me to have survived.

Flemeth had essentially killed Hawke and me to ensure that the future she desired came to bear fruit.

So because I knew that it was nigh impossible to return to my old life, I set my sights on a different goal. I was going to find Flemeth one day and I was going to show her what it meant to cross a mage.

I stared dumbly at the summons the messenger had just handed to me with a small bow.

"Hey, wait!" I called after the courier turned to leave, but he ignored my shouts for him to explain what in the world he left in my hands and continued to walk away. "What am I supposed to do with this? Hey! I was talking to you! Well, don't start running!" In amusement I watched as the messenger replaced his casual stroll with a sprint that nearly made me chase after him to see how desperate he was to get away from the crazy man in Hawke mansion. Geeze, people were as rude in the past as they are in future.

"Dear, must you shout loud enough for all the neighbors to hear?"

"Not my fault the architect who designed this city built everything so close together," I grumbled but nonetheless stepped back inside and closed the doors so that I wouldn't further wake the nobles from their beauty sleep.

I could now tick off half a year of living in Kirkwall and for the most part I've managed to acclimate myself well enough. There was one thing that I just couldn't get used to, though.

"Yes, what a shame that the view of the Reinhardt's daughter's bedroom window is ruined by those pesky mansions right next to us," my mother drawled with a roll of her eyes and a smile on her lips.

My mother. Now that I was Hawke I could actually call her that. Leandra was a unique woman who didn't take any crap from her son but yet loved him with her entire being no matter what that particular son did whether it coming home bloody and beaten up from practicing with Aveline's guards or using the Hawke family shield as a makeshift plate to sneak dinner out of the kitchens late at night. The woman was practically a saint. Nothing like the harpy that brought me into this world.

"Mother!" I gasped with mock surprise. "You would slander your own son's good name? I am deeply wounded, serah. I do not think I can continue on living and I shall die here on this very floor. Put on my gravestone, mother, that I passed away virtuously, and with the only regret of not telling my mother everyday how unbelievably beautiful she is."

"Well if you are going to die don't do it on the good rug, darling."

I laughed loudly and swept her into my arms to twirl her around a couple of times. She lightly laughed as I took her hand and walked through a couple of dance steps that I had been forced to learn with my tutors which I saw more than my parents. Imagine a ten year old learning to waltz with the attention span of a fly. My tutors were lucky that I managed not to blow up the extravagant house my father owned even though I desperately tried.

"Darling, when did you learn to dance so well?"

I shrugged. My hand twisted to spin her out of the waltz and led her back into a small dip that she smiled at. "You pick up a few things after a while."

"You should have told me that you are as splendid a dancer as you are at ignoring a Viscount's summons."

The non-existent music I had been keeping time with vanished. "Ah, so you caught me."

Leandra patted my cheek. "It was a good try."

She stepped out of my arms and held out her hand for the letter I had stuffed into the sash that kept my pants up as well as concealed a knife I kept there. With an extravagant sigh I handed it to her with a flourish.

"Is there any chance of this message going into the 'ignore' pile on my desk?"

My mother didn't pay attention to me as she broke the wax seal and scanned over the Viscount's secretary's neat scrawl.

"Dear, you can't set this aside. The Viscount wishes your presence without delay in his office. It doesn't say what he wants to speak with you about but I have no doubt that it requires your immediate attention."

"Mother, he's a politician. Everything including how to tie the Viscount's boots requires someone to attend to him with a snap of his fingers."

"Don't pout. You're just upset that it inconveniences you."

I crossed my arms and haughtily sniffed. "The nerve of the Viscount to make me change my shirt."

Leandra patted my arm in a patronizing way. "Make sure to pick one out that doesn't have bloodstains on it."

I threw my hands into the air and scoffed at the very idea. "All these things you're making me do, mother. Why, I don't know if I can take all this responsibility. I just may have to stop on the way home and hang myself in a back-alley, so don't be worried that I'm late."

She put the letter back in my hands then turned to leave. "If you're passing by the market remember to pick up that poultice I asked for."

"Your love is a cruel trick, my dear woman!"

"Have fun, dear," she called back from the top of the stairs on her way to her room.

Indeed I would find something to amuse me today for I knew the wash hadn't been done lately. I wondered how the Viscount would react to me showing up in his office in armor?

Unfortunately my plan to intimidate the man who ruled over the city didn't work out as impressively as it did in my head. Before I was even allowed to step inside the building I had been ordered by the guards to hand over any and all weapons. After relinquishing my broadsword and the knife I kept at my side I was allowed inside until a guard spotted the spare dagger I kept in my boot. My little bout of convenient forgetfulness inspired a thorough search of my person which required me to remove my armor. The entire time I wished the wrath of Aveline on the poor observant guard who refused to come near me with the glare I settled on his person. I knew he was just doing his job, but I still wanted Aveline to give him latrine duty or something. I intended on stopping by the Captain's office to suggest just that even though I knew the red-haired woman would simply ignore me or nod patiently with an indulgent smile.

"I assume the guard confiscated your armor?"

I glanced down at my simple appearance. I wore a russet tunic which covered up a "light" piece of chainmail that still weighed a ton, brown leather pants, knee high boots with thin silver metal that protected my shins to the middle of my thighs, and of course my now constant gauntlets which stretched from my elbows to my fingertips.

"Yeah, weapons too. I've got to fill out a form or something before I can get it all back. I figure I'd let Bodahn take care of that since I'm allergic to paperwork."

Varric smirked at me as he nursed his pint of ale. "So, what happened next?"

I leaned over the creaky wooden table that seemed to be permanently reserved for the dwarf and his band of merry/obnoxious men.

"Well, I'll tell you my good friend but I'm sure that you won't believe me."

He raised a skeptic eyebrow. "Try me."

"Well," I whispered and motioned with my hand for Varric to lean closer. "After my strip search-," I stopped when Varric snorted into his drink at the words I used to describe the pat-down I received. "What else would I call it? I was almost tempted to tell them I was circumcised to spare them the trouble of checking it themselves."

"I thought only nobles had that tradition?"

"Varric, please. I'm trying to tell a story here."

"Pardon me, Hawke. Do continue," he waved me on sarcastically.

I paused to take a quick drink to wet my throat, but then dove right back into my story. I explained what had taken place in the Viscount's office and how the man wanted me to appeal to the Arishok of the Qunari, which was what they called their leader, to find out what his people were still doing in Kirkwall.

Varric set down his drink to place a hand on his chin. "So what's the astonishing part? The part where you actually played nice with a politician or that he actually believes you capable of being a diplomat?"

I shrugged. "Both actually, but the real kicker is that the Arishok asked for me by name."

A low whistle. "Wow that is unbelievable."

"What's unbelievable?"

Turning around on the bench I sat on I saw Anders standing behind me with a questioning look as he had obviously just come into our conversation. I had only seen the mage a few times over the past six months and that was only briefly at the Hanged Man for games of Wicked Grace with Isabella and Varric. I found the card game to be similar to poker, but that didn't mean I was any good at it. Isabella still had claim over my first-born child that she said she intended to collect on. She was kidding…I think. The only thing that consoled me at my horrible record of winning at Wicked Grace was that Anders was worse than I was. Varric said it was because Anders' tells were too obvious and he couldn't lie his way out of a cloth sack; I didn't have any such excuse. I was just terrible.

"Oh, Blondie! Me and Hawke were just talking about his visit to the Viscount's office today."

"Really? Is everything alright?" Anders asked and sat on the edge of the bench next to me. What was with this Healer that he always had to ask me that? I didn't get into that much trouble, did I?

"I would say so," Varric said with a leer. "Since he and Hawke made passionate love on the Viscount's own desk."

Anders looked taken aback. "That's disgusting!"

Finally I put in my own thoughts on the subject. "I would say so! Varric, didn't I say to stop spreading lies about my promiscuity?"

"Good, I didn't think-," Anders began.

"The man bought me dinner first. I'm not some whore, Varric."

That sent the dwarf and me into fits of laughter which Anders didn't join. He simply sighed at our inability to act like the adults he wished we were. I wiped tears from the corner of my eye and quickly cleared my throat awkwardly at the glare that the mage was giving me. Feeling guilty although I shouldn't have for that little joke, I pushed away my tankard and stood up to stretch my arms out. The light leather and metal plating of the jerkin I wore rode up a bit and made my skin itch where the rough material touched. How did people fight in this sort of get-up?

"Anyway, I'm going to head home. Varric, I'll see you tomorrow at the docks."

The crossbowman nodded and got up to go over to the bartender for a refill. I wondered how many times he had done that tonight because he was already drinking when I came into the Hanged Man earlier in the afternoon. It meant that he hadn't heard any news about his brother, Bartrand. I waved goodbye to Anders and headed to the door.

I got about halfway home until I remembered the one thing mother wanted me to do today besides meet the Viscount.

"The poultice," I groaned out-loud in the middle of Hightown.

In vain I desperately looked around for any open stalls but I knew that it was much too late. Turning around with a sigh, I hoped that Anders was still in the Hanged Man. Perhaps he could help me.

The walk back through Lowtown was surprisingly a peaceful one and I was thankful for the reprieve from gangs wanting to cut my coin-purse and throat. It shouldn't have surprised me that people were so desperate for money that they would risk jumping an obviously armed man. I may have been born in a different time, but that didn't mean the people changed. Just the weapons were different. Same prejudices and fears blighted ignorant souls.

I ducked under the swinging grotesque doll that hung from its stuffed leg above the doorway that the Hanged Man received its name from. My eyes zeroed in to the back of the room where I sat just an hour ago expecting to see a familiar apostate in long robes but I found Varric and Isabella instead. Anders wasn't there. Quietly, I approached the table.

"Is Anders here?"

"No, but I am and ripe for the taking," cooed an obviously sloshed Isabella who tried to reach out for my arm but managed to miss and snag onto my belt. I shooed her wandering hand away from my coin-purse which most likely been her intent all along. She pouted but withdrew her nimble fingers to return to her drink.

"When did he leave?"

Varric shrugged. "Soon after you, I suppose. Why? Were you two supposed to meet secretly in an alcove under the moonlight and confess undying love for one another?"

I only listened to the first part of his speech and barely understood the last bit. I was confused as to why Anders left. He only arrived a few minutes before I went to head home.

"You know I would never cheat on you, lover-boy," I absently responded.

The barter between us was familiar and easy. Sarcastic comments and lewd jokes were our source of communication and I knew neither of us took it seriously.

"Oh, Hawke," the dwarf sighed. "And you know Bianca and I are in a committed relationship."

Isabella leaned over the table. "Would a threesome be out of the question?"

I left before Varric could respond as I didn't want to know any sordid details about his obsession with Bianca, his crossbow. The door of the Hanged Man shut behind me and drowned out the noise of drunken men and out of tune tavern ditties. It appeared I would have to head to Darktown.

When I arrived at Anders' makeshift clinic he built to help refugees and the less fortunate the heavy wooden doors were closed. Curiously, I pounded on the light oak for a few moments. No answer. I pulled on the handle to only find it firmly in place. Odd, but locked doors had never been an obstacle for me. Perhaps I could sneak in and leave a note for Anders with some money on it in apology for stealing his poultices since he wasn't home. I looked around for anyone and upon finding nary a soul prowling around this area of Darktown I unclipped both my gauntlets to free me from the containment glyphs and slipped them off with a relieved sigh. For six months my powers stayed hidden because of my increased sense of paranoia, but my tan suffered for it. There definitely was a lighter shade from my elbow down. Kind of like a backwards farmer's tan.

Oh well, it wasn't like I could fix it anytime soon.

Crawling up my fingers and spiraling down into the center of my left palm were all manner of spells that didn't focus completely on combat magic which were carved into my right hand. With a wave of my left I could actually make an exact copy of myself or any object I wished as long as no one touched it and expected it to move, increase my speed, and what I needed right now was the small glyph on my pinky finger that allowed me small bursts of telekinetic energy. I could move objects silently through the air but it wasn't my strong point which meant a lot of limitations on what I could lift with my mind. How I measured it was that the thing I wanted to move had to weigh less than a large goose. Weird, I know but that's how I marked my limits when I was practicing on my friend's grandmother's farm after escaping my tutors for the day. I could lift the orange tabby cat that prowled around the barn for mice but those damn geese at the pond seemed to have laughed at my attempts to disrupt their day.

It didn't matter to me though. All I wanted was to knock the lock's tumblers out of place that prevented me from opening the door.

The rush of magic after a six month dry spell honestly felt better than sex. I couldn't help releasing a sigh of relief and taking a moment to revel in the feeling of mana circulating in my blood waiting for me to shape it to my will. There was too great of a risk to manipulate magic in the open like this so I quickly got to work. With great concentration I pushed my magic into the lock of the door and meddled around for a second before I heard a click. A sense of accomplishment came over me and I slipped my gauntlets on with satisfaction at a job well done.

Not even embarrassed that my step had a little bounce in it, I pushed open the now unlocked door into Anders' little sanctuary of solitude. No lanterns were lit, but it was easy enough for my eyes to acclimatize to the dark. It would only take a few moments to prowl around for the right mixture that my mother needed. She'd been having a hard time breathing lately because of the extra pollen the plants released around the mansion so something labeled Breathe Easy, or Snitch This One Hawke would lead me in the right direction. Anders wouldn't have Nasonex or Afrin would he? I knew what those looked like. Allergies sometimes hit me hard too though it looked like I was spared this year.

Now to find…

"Can I help you?"

I swear I nearly shit myself. With an entirely manly shriek I whirled around with my hand on my furiously beating heart.

"For fuck's sake, Anders! The hell are you doing here?"

Nearly scaring me to death, the Healer with a lit lantern in his hand, only chuckled at my indignant expression until it exploded into full blown laughter when he realized how badly he had startled me.

"It's not funny! My heart nearly leaped out of my chest with your little stunt!"

Although I couldn't help but smile a bit too when tears gathered at the corners of his eyes as he laughed soundly at me.

"I-I'm sorry, Hawke, but just the look on your face!"

I let out a large sigh. "You almost kill me and you're chuckling like a mad man. Some friend you are," I mumbled.

Anders finally composed himself but didn't rid himself of that cheeky smile. "I hadn't laughed like that in a long while."

"Glad I could help," I responded sarcastically.

He leaned on the staff I didn't notice he had in his hands. "But I'm not sure friends sneak into other people's homes in the dead of night," he said with a raised eyebrow. "What are you doing here, Hawke?"

Now my idea to snag one of his salves seemed like a stupid idea. Bashfully, I rubbed the back of my neck and tried to defend my ingenious plan. "Well, you didn't answer the door so I just…let myself in."

He looked incredulous. "Why?" A simple question that required a lot of explanation behind it. Why, indeed?

"Okay, I was on my way back home after having drinks with Varric which you know since you were there."

Anders nodded. "Yes, but you left soon after I arrived."

"Yeah, well I remembered that my mother wanted me to pick up a poultice in the market and I headed back to the Hanged Man to look for you since all the stalls were closed and you weren't there," I hurriedly explained. "But why did you leave?"

At my question Anders looked uncomfortable. "I…I changed my mind. I decided a good night's rest sounded better than listening to Varric's drunken tales."

I nodded cautiously but let the issue go. "Anyway, like I said before you didn't answer the door when I knocked."

"So…what? You decided to come on in anyway? Couldn't you have come back tomorrow?"

Now he was making it sound like this whole awkward situation was my fault.

"Anders, I don't think you understand." He raised an eyebrow that clearly said 'try me'. "Mother has this look," I reluctantly admitted my fear.

"A…look?" He asked skeptically in a low tone.

I sighed and gestured uselessly with my hands. "Yes, a look. Alright it sounds stupid but I was gonna leave a note and some money for what I took."

I didn't like that indulgent smile he gave me. It was too closely related to the one Aveline had when she was just humoring me which she gave me more often than I liked. I wasn't brought here for other people's amusement, you know.

My eyes narrowed at Anders. "You know what? I'm just gonna go. It was a dumb idea anyway so I'll see ya later."

I turned to go but Anders stopped me. "Hold on, Hawke, come back. I'll give you whatever you need."

"Are you going to make fun of me some more?" I asked before turning around.

"Not unless it's really called for."

It wasn't exactly what I wanted, but it was good enough. "Deal," I said and meandered over to the shelves where I headed earlier before Anders scared me halfway to death. Full of unlabeled pots and jars, I stared dumbly until I felt the mage step behind me. He set the lantern down on a nearby sickbed for his patients.

"If you told me what you wanted I could get it for you," he offered.

I randomly picked a beige vase-like vial and twisted the cork off. The cream inside looked like an off-white with a smell that I couldn't quite place. Tears gathered in my eyes at the…potency of the odor.

I grimaced. "What in the world is this?" I asked Anders while peering into it.

He sighed and took the vial from my hands to gently place it back. "It's for an infection I'm quite sure you don't suffer from."

I faced him with mischievous eyes. "Oh? And you know that for sure?"

Brown eyes looked me up and down, slowly. "You don't have the right…parts."

"Oh." I didn't quite know what to say to that. I cleared my throat. "Soooo…what I need is something to help my mother breathe better. She said the pollen is preventing her from inhaling through her nose."

Anders nodded absently as he thought about what I wanted. I stepped out of his way as his hand hovered over mismatched pots. He picked one up and then put it back down after a shake of his head. I hadn't known Anders personally for very long, but I couldn't help respect him for what he did for the poorer citizens of Kirkwall. Selflessly exhausting himself day after day for practically strangers was something I wasn't sure I would do the same in his place. I didn't know how he did it.

"Do what?"

"What?"

Anders looked at me out of the corner of his eye as he still pawed around for the right substance. "You asked how I did what I did. What do you mean?"

Well, I didn't mean to say that out loud.

"I…nothing. It's nothing." How could I ask a question about magic if I was playing the part of ignorant sword-swinger? Non-mages never understood the exhaustion or consequences of taming the magic that sings in a mage's blood. I knew Anders wouldn't appreciate me asking. I wouldn't if someone sprung the question on me.

I looked around aimlessly to try and find something to entertain me while Anders looked for the correct poultice. Why didn't he just label the damn things? Oh right, there probably weren't label makers in the dark ages. My search turned up nothing so I turned my attention back to Anders to find him staring intently at me. It almost made me take a step back.

"Um…yes?" I asked in hopes he'd take his soul-gazing stare off of me.

"Is it my magic that bothers you so much?" He asked in a whisper and then when he didn't get a reaction he took a step forward and raised his voice. "Is it the fact that I'm a mage which makes it impossible to stand my presence for more than a few minutes? What do I have to do to convince you that magic isn't something to be feared?"

"Anders…"

"We shouldn't be locked away for the gifts that the Maker gave us and no man should have the right to place themselves above us! If our atrocity was so great in the Black City that the Maker would demand our extermination then why does He still allow mages to be born?"

"Anders, stop!"

However, the enraged Healer would not listen to me. Instead, he took another step closer and cracks in his skin began to show. Pure mana exuded from the sudden facial scars and pulsed an angry blue. I had forgotten. Anders was a vessel for a spirit of Justice that seemed to overpower Anders' conscious mind when his emotions peaked. Spirits were benevolent creatures and supposedly the Maker's first children that guarded mortals in their dreams in the Fade. Rarely did they ever make contact with a human. Certainly I haven't seen one before, but it seemed that not all the stories were true. This spirit was not one to sit back idly. It had plans of its own.

"No! I will not stop until you see why it is wrong for mages to be so feared!"

"I do not fear magic!" I finally exploded, unable to take any more of his accusations. "I am the last person to accuse of for hating magic! Where did you even get that idea?"

Fortunately, the glowey, scary Anders faded away to the normal Anders that was still scary but didn't give off nuclear radiation themed waves. Honestly, saying that I was scared of a little fire and sparkles? It was the furthest thing from the truth.

"What? But…of course you do! Why else would you leave the room whenever I entered or not tell me anything like I couldn't be trusted? I had to find out from Varric what happened this morning. The only time you're ever here in Darktown is when you need healing after a fight and even then you shy away when I try to use magic to close up your wounds. How can you say you're not afraid of magic when clearly your actions prove otherwise?"

Well, when he put it like that it really didn't cast me in a very good light. This conversation was quickly crossing into dangerous territory that I wasn't fully equipped for. I was sure that if Anders wrestled my secret out of me he'd probably take it to the grave, but there was no reason to risk him accidentally slipping it to the wrong person. I wasn't going to put myself in danger just to soothe hurt feelings. The events happening around me right now were too important for me to be locked up in a tower.

"Look, Anders," I began. "Do we have to talk about this right now?" His glare seemed to only intensify. I nodded. "Alright I guess we do have to." Slowly, I took a deep breath and released it through my nose. "If I've done anything to offend you, I apologize because it was purely unintentional. But what I don't understand is how you can think that I hate magic? My sister was a mage if you remember."

Silently, I shifted through Hawke's memories about his and Bethany's interactions. Hawke had loved his younger sister unconditionally, but I could see that he couldn't wrap his head around her gift. However, he never loved her less for it. Perhaps Hawke was a better man than I thought. His family really did mean the world to him.

Anders looked frustrated and clenched and unclenched his staff. "Yes, I knew about your sister, but you sent Feynriel to the Circle when you knew what they did to mages there! A boy as powerful as him couldn't take one step out of the line the Templars drew or he would be made Tranquil!"

Fine, he wanted to argue over every little detail? I could do that just fine.

"There wasn't any other choice!"

"You could have sent him with his mother's people, the Dalish!"

"And risk the Templars finding out that the elves were harboring a wanted mage? They would be hunted down and killed and Feynriel would still be dragged off to the Circle!"

It wasn't actually what Hawke had been thinking at the time and made that decision under a whole different set of pretenses, but I thought I would've made the same decision nevertheless. So maybe the Circle here was different from the one I was raised in, but I knew what hadn't changed was that the Circle knew how to handle demons.

"I…I hadn't thought about what might happen to the Dalish for helping the boy," Anders whispered with a little less fire in his eyes. I cut him off as he was about to open his mouth again.

"That happened three years ago. Has my decision been bothering you that long?"

Anders looked down at an interesting patch of ground while still worrying the staff in his hands. After a few long minutes of neither of us saying anything I decided to speak up.

"I know that I've been unofficially appointed leader of our little group of cutthroats and misfits but that doesn't make me infallible. Despite popular belief I don't actually know everything." Finally I got an expression besides anger out of the mage; a little smile quirked at the corner of his lips. "So if you want to say something to stop me from doing anything stupid, which I'm sure will happen often, don't be afraid to knock me down a peg."

Brown eyes connected with my own blue ones. He looked at me intently for a moment before nodding to some mental conclusion of his. "You aren't stupid as often as you think."

I smirked. "Thanks for salvaging a bit of my ego there."

"I do my best," he smiled. "But can I ask why you flinched from my magic when I was only trying to help you?"

The incident six months ago when I first landed in this world of sharp, pointy objects came freshly to my mind. Ah, I remembered that. My aversion to his touch wasn't exactly subtle.

"Yes, well I guess you can say that I don't really like Healing magic all that much. It has nothing to do with you but I've had…bad experiences."

"Can I ask what happened?"

Sure, he could ask that but the real question was if I would give him an answer. Instantly my mind flashed to scenes in my childhood where I had been cooped up in the Healer's Wing for the fights I continuously got into. I also visited numerous times on account of me trying something dangerous with my magic. During my first attempts at shape-shifting the Healers there actually reserved a bed with my name on it because they knew I would occupy it sooner or later. But there was this one Healer that despised every fiber of my being and I hated when she was the only one available to set a broken bone or soothe bruises and black eyes. Purposely she would forget to numb the area where she mended torn muscles and one time when the hag had knitted my broken arm back together she fused some muscle tissue to my joint that prevented me from even bending my arm without feeling excruciating pain. After that incident I had to wait a week before a new Healer replaced her.

With a sigh, I began. "When I was a kid I got into all sorts of trouble and there was a Healer where I grew up that didn't like me very much. After I visited her I would feel nauseous for days and my muscles ached."

Anders got angry again. Shit, what did I do to piss him off this time? "She shouldn't have called herself a Healer. For you to feel like that she must have pushed her magic forcefully into you which can cause irreversible harm to the patient. It's people like her that smear the reputation of mages." Oh, he was mad for me and not at me. This wasn't a situation that Hawke or I was familiar with. "I'm sorry that you experienced magic that way. Not all Healers are so careless," he told me with enough sincerity that it made me squirm uncomfortably.

"It-It's not a big deal. You don't need to apologize; it's just an unconscious reaction I get around that kind of magic, but that doesn't mean I hate it. Hell, I almost married a guy for the great hangover remedy he made."

Anders chuckled. "You're kidding."

"I don't know, I got down on my knee and everything, it was that good of a medicine and that bad of a hangover."

"Hawke, can you ever be serious?"

I shrugged. "Life's no fun if you can't joke about it." Without hesitation, I held out my hand. "So are we in agreement that I'm not traumatized by glowing lights or fancy fireballs and that you'll speak up when you think I'm being an ass?"

A warm, calloused hand gripped my leather covered one. I could feel the natural mana of this mage in front of me through my runes. The shiver that raced up my spine surely came from the runes recognizing mana and not from the intense gaze that paralyzed me. How could a man who held human lives so high above his own purposely plant a bomb in a church to make a point? Could the spirit's influence have changed this righteous, optimistic mage irreversibly?

I decided something right there and then as the two of us solidified our agreement. I would do everything in my power, physically and magically, to save this man from a fate that he did not deserve.