~::Chapter Four::~

When Correm and Bethany returned to Gamlen's home in Lowtown, Correm was still on about cooking lunch for the dog. He maintained that the animal deserved it, and would be very happy to have something other than raw food to eat. When he first hit resistance from their mother Leandra, he had gone into one of his impassioned arguments advocating the idea. Unfortunately, he was not very coherent throughout, and even if he had heard himself say the same things later, he would have been confused.

Despite his rambling reasons, Leandra Hawke did not want any of their fuel for cooking to be spent preparing meals for the mabari. He would, she maintained, be satisfied well enough with raw food. She was gentle in her admonition, but she was also quite firm on that point. There would be no organ meats sizzling on the stove that day. She also made sure that Correm got himself back to bed, and chided him once more on his habits. She didn't approve of the time that he spent at the Hanged Man.

The warrior took it in stride. It was a common occurrence for his mother to give voice to her disapproval. You didn't used to stay out all night in Lothering, she'd say. While this was true, it was also true that there had not been anywhere to go at night, where a young man could appreciate being alive and virile and attractive. Nowhere as exciting as the Hanged Man, anyway, and certainly nowhere to find new girls regularly.

From the age he was sixteen, he'd been a horrible flirt. He had found girls to be quite enjoyable to have around. Although, after a point, they tended to tire of him, or get offended by some ridiculous thing he'd say that he didn't mean, usually while he was drunk. He'd gotten his fair share of slaps in the face. Which was why he kept the local girls more at arm's length—so to speak—physically, and saved his trysts for the occasional out-of-town girl who was willing to entertain such dalliances.

After coming to Kirkwall, even though there was a much larger pool of girls to fish in, there just weren't a lot of them that he felt like spending time with. Along with that, he was a "feral dog-lord" to any of the nice ones, who were also more likely to be put off by the dark reddish-brown tattoos around his eyes. He got the most attention from those who were frequenters of the Hanged Man, especially the ones who had heard of his exploits with Athenril's smugglers. They liked his sense of humor, and they liked his tattoos.

After all was said and done, he certainly did go out and party significantly more than he had back home. He figured it was with reason. When he and Carver had joined the army to fight the Blight, he had been more wild than he'd been back home in Lothering. It was just that his mother hadn't exactly seen him between... exploits.

That reminded him that he'd have to find Nivea again sometime. She had mentioned his "smoldering eyes" in the little poem she'd composed and written on his skin. That had been quite the surprise to wake up to that morning. It had taken a while to scrub off, too. He still had dark smudges on his nethers.

"What are you smirking at?" his mother asked him, interrupting his thoughts. They were sitting at their small dining table, having stew and Bethany's meat rolls for dinner. His mind had been wandering.

Correm stopped eating, his spoon poised halfway to his mouth, and gave her a sheepish look. "Nothing you want to hear about, I'm sure," he said. He could just imagine her reaction if he told her that some girl he'd barely met had taken a charcoal stick and written and drawn little hearts all over his penis.

"You really don't, Mother," Bethany said. "I can almost guarantee it."

Leandra shook her head. "How did I raise such a son? I thought I taught you better."

He grinned. "Don't worry, Mother. You tried. It's not your fault I'm a lost cause." To emphasize his point, he put the spoon in his mouth and slurped at it loudly. The terrible table manners made her wince.

"Please don't slurp like that, dear," Leandra said.

Correm huffed. "Well it isn't as if we're living in Hightown, is it? I'd think I could eat however I like here in this dump."

"Well, you could have at least acted like less of an idiot this morning," Bethany said. "That poor man was grieving for his friend, and you just blathered and blustered. Do you even know how far into your mouth you shoved your foot? I don't even know if he'd want anything to do with us after the things you said. And he could be a big help on the expedition. Wouldn't it be safer to bring a healer along, not to mention a Grey Warden?"

Correm's mouth was open to eat a chunk of potato off his spoon, but he put it down again. "Was I that much of a boor?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Bethany sighed.

Correm licked his lips. "I should go apologize, shouldn't I."

"I'm going to insist that you do," Leandra said, giving him a level look. "How could you? After such a thing happened to him? Bethany told me about it while you were sleeping."

"Ehhh..." Correm looked sheepish again. "I took another couple of swigs from Gamlen's private stash before we left the house this morning..."

"Brother!" Bethany dropped her spoon in shock.

"Sorry."

"Right now, if you please. Go apologize." Leandra frowned at him. "I know you don't take many things seriously, but you should have more sense."

With a sigh, he stood up, the chair scraping against the floor as he did so. "All right. You two terrify me too much to defy such a demand."

Not bothering to push his chair in or even put his bowl away, Correm fled the scene before the two of them could really start to gang up on him. He'd seen the look on Bethany's face, and he'd known that they were about to do just that. There wasn't much he could do in that kind of situation, either. They would throw guilt trips at him until he begged and pleaded for them to stop, and he would offer up whatever apologies they wanted.

Although he grabbed his sword and dagger on his way out, Correm didn't bother with his armor. He was just wearing his leather vest, and the fresh pair of pants that Bethany had insisted he purchase. He'd not wanted to spend any of their expedition money on it, but he couldn't deny that it was rather necessary.

When he arrived at Anders's clinic, Correm stood for a moment underneath that lantern that had guided him and his friends here in the first place. He looked up into it, some thought niggling at the back of his mind, defying comprehension. Was there even a chance that the healer would really come with them on their mission, considering his obvious dislike of the Deep Roads? There was only one way to find out.

He peered around the doorway. Anders was alone this time, puttering around his shelves. It wasn't clear if he was looking for something, or making a futile effort to neaten up. The warrior watched him for a few moments, trying to think of a way to word an apology that his mother and sister would approve of. Maker forbid he should bugger up again and they'd hear about it.

Well, there was nothing for it. Correm made the last step to enter. "Look," he said without preamble. "I'm not good at these apology things, but I have it on rather good and rather insistent authority that I was a complete ass this morning, and I should make the effort. Will you come with us to the Deep Roads?" Oh, they'll definitely approve of that rubbish, surely, he thought to himself sardonically.

Anders jumped and whirled, startled. "Oh, Hawke! What..." His brow furrowed. "Excuse me?"

Correm took a deep breath and crossed the breadth of the clinic to stop in front of the healer. "I was a drunken ass this morning. You won't hold it against me, will you? You'll forgive me, won't you? Because my sister will kill me if you don't."

"Well," Anders said slowly, "in the face of such a compelling argument, I can hardly say no, can I?"

Correm grinned. "Wonderful. So, will you come with us on our mission of daring-do into the Deep Roads?"

Anders raised an eyebrow at him. He put a hand on his counter and leaned on it. "You have a one track mind, don't you."

"Occasionally," Correm shrugged. "It's one of my more charming qualities. And when I'm lacking in charm, Bostrix helps me out. Some women love him."

"Bostrix?" Anders asked. He waved a hand toward one of the cots, offering Correm a place to sit. It was relatively clean. At least, it looked like it was. Correm didn't know, and didn't actually care, either, though his mother might have something to say about it if he came home with odd stains on his new pants.

He went ahead and plopped himself down, and slouched over with his elbows on his knees. "My mabari," he replied. "Charming fellow, when you get past the reek of dog. It was really awful on the ship from Gwaren."

Anders smiled a bit. "I'm more of a cat person, to be honest. I had one, once. A gift from a friend." He paused. "You remind me of her a little bit. She didn't take a whole lot seriously, either."

"Well, I'm not giving you my dog, if that's what you're suggesting," The warrior made a face, sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth.

Chuckling softly, Anders took his own seat on the edge of a table nearby. "No, I don't want your dog. But I'd like to offer my own apology." He frowned. "I just want... to explain myself a little. I didn't mean to sound selfish when I spoke of Justice earlier."

Correm raised an eyebrow. "Selfish? What are you on about?" He reached out to grab a nearby jar of something greenish and highly viscous. He lifted the lid and peered inside, shaking it side to side gently. It seemed to be more fascinating to him than anything else at that moment. It smelled funny, too.

Anders rubbed at his cheek, the stubble making a scratching noise. "I didn't merge with him to make myself stronger. I didn't know what would happen, and I thought that it would be better for him. I just... didn't want him to haunt a rotting corpse like some demon."

"So he got the short end of the stick," he said. After giving the mage another once-over however, he added, "On second thought, he may have become an angry bastard, but seeing that handsome face in the mirror every morning must cheer him up at least a little bit." He paused, looking contemplative. "If you have a mirror, that is. Do you have a mirror?"

"Do you think I need one?" Anders asked. Correm missed the curious look on his face.

"Hmm," Correm rubbed the back of his fingers over his own personal collection of facial fuzz. "Even if I did, like you said, I'd be one to talk. I don't even know where Bethany hides her mirror. My uncle definitely doesn't have one." He shuddered for effect. "He could use one though."

Anders smiled at that, and reached out to take the jar from him. Probably before he could break it or ruin its contents, Correm thought.

"Really," Anders said. "I wouldn't say that about you. You don't need a mirror. But I have to ask you... You're not bothered? That I'm..." Anders rubbed at his thigh nervously. "That I have a spirit inside me?"

Laughing, Correm shook his head. "Maker, no!"

"Even though you've seen what I can do? How dangerous I am?"

"Well, you're not dripping with pus and bulging out in strange places," the warrior shrugged. "Unless you save that for the full moon. Warn me please, if you do. Do you want to come with us to the Deep Roads? A Warden would be handy if we run into any darkspawn. Unless you're bulging and dripping; that would just be awkward."

Anders stared at him wide-eyed as he babbled on a bit more, then he cleared his throat and coughed into his fist. "Well, no guarantees..."

"What?" the warrior blinked.

"You know, Karl..." Grief shadowed the mage's features as he spoke the man's name. What had happened was obviously still fresh in his mind. He probably hadn't had time to properly process it. "Karl used to yammer on like that when he was drunk, back in the Ferelden Circle. When... we were young."

"You knew him in Ferelden? You've certainly been around. Do the Templars really let you get pissed in the Circle?" Correm wondered if he really was still coming across as drunk. He thought a minute, and realized that Anders had said something about knowing Karl from Ferelden. Something must be distracting him lately.

Anders smirked. "No. We'd have a servant boy smuggle it in for us." He sighed wistfully. "We paid him in healing salves for his sick grandmother, but sometimes he'd do it for a kiss."

"A kiss?"

"Yes, it was always worth it. He was rather cute. Except, one day... Karl and I were too drunk during one of our trysts in the root closet. We were careless, and we were found out. They sacked the poor boy," Anders lamented with a heavy sigh. "I don't know what became—"

"Wait," Correm interrupted. He'd been half-listening again, but he caught the word "tryst" and "root closet". He'd had a village girl in a root cellar once. She'd found some rather... creative ways to express herself in there. Sitting up straight he asked, "You... and Karl?"

Anders turned his head a little to the side. "You know, I have always wondered, what is wrong with loving someone for who they are as a whole person, rather than just a body? Why would you shy away from loving someone just because they're like you? Karl and I, though... we hadn't been together for a long time." He looked up at Correm again. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he licked his lips nervously. "Does that bother you? That I've... been with men?"

"Ah, well... no." Correm looked at him—really looked at him this time—and tried to picture the two men together, younger. Much younger. "I just had... never considered..."

Anders suddenly switched from melancholy to flirtatious. "Well, perhaps I'll give you time to consider, then," he said, smiling suggestively. "In as much detail as you fancy." Correm marveled at the transition.

"Oh." Correm had a bemused look on his face. How had that come up? he wondered. Then his imagination took a leap forward. He could think of some details that he'd fancy. He began thinking of the girl in the root cellar. Where had she been from again? The things she'd taught him, well, he hadn't exactly thought about them out of context. Now he was.

"I guess now's not the time or place. Not after Karl," Anders was saying. "It's hard to believe that he's dead. And... at my hand. It's left an empty feeling inside of me."

Correm wasn't paying attention anymore, though. His mind's eye was taking him to some interesting places, both from his memory and from his new speculations. He didn't notice Anders' tone of voice growing upset at first.

Anders stood up and began to pace. "We mages, we aren't even people to the bloody Templars. They don't care that Karl was somebody's son, somebody's lover," he was saying, "They'll hunt you down like animals, tearing you away from your family, from anything good and true in your life."

Finally Correm did notice. The healer's voice had begun to change pitch, and to fragment into what sounded like two voices in one. His eyes began to shine from within, blue cracks appearing in his skin and ominous wisps of black smoke puffing out from somewhere. It was the same look that he'd had when he had exploded into that terrifyingly powerful being in the Chantry the night before.

Correm wondered what it felt like to be in that state. Even though it seemed to bother Anders a lot, he thought that it must at least in some part feel like an incredible rush. Would it feel like like the kind of reaction that lyrium caused? Back home in Lothering, when he'd been a few years younger, he had sneaked into the Templars' barracks with a tiny vial and stolen a small amount of lyrium from a larger supply. He'd quickly gone back home and drank it behind the barn. It had certainly been a rush, but, unfortunately for him, his father had caught him at it. Apparently there were some obvious physical signs that occurred before tolerance was built up.

It was the only time that the man had given him a real beating. Correm had not repeated the experiment.

Correm brought himself back to the moment and pointed. "Ah, you're starting to glow again," he commented.

"Right... sorry." Anders took a deep breath. He looked both flustered and ashamed at the same time. "I... Since yours is the only head here, and I don't want to rip it off, I think I should stop. Yes." He frowned. "Sorry."

Correm grinned, getting up off the cot and brushing grime off his backside. "No argument here! I'm all for cheery banter instead of angry ranting." Why did he suddenly feel like vacating the premises? "But I think my sister might send my dog after me, if I don't get home again soon."

"Well, no wonder," Anders said, looking off to the side. Was he avoiding Correm's eyes?

"Good luck with your pregnant women," the warrior said with a casual salute.

Before he could leave completely, Anders called out, "To answer your earlier question, yes, I'll go with you into the Deep Roads. And I'll be here, if you need me for... anything else. It's the least I can do, to thank you for your help."

"Oh, you can count on me bothering you again" Correm nodded. He massaged his temples. "My sister won't be willing to magic away my hangovers all the time."