Disclaimer: Dragon Age and its characters are not mine. Neither is the song included in this fic.
Prompt #5: Song fic
Heretical Sun
The singer was Rivaini, that much was obvious. Under the thick, dark hair that hung down in long, messy locks, colorful scarves, and the loose, baggy tunic cinched by a simple leather belt, it was impossible to tell what gender the entertainment for tonight belonged to. Varric assured that it was a woman, but Hawke was still skeptical. "She" wasn't a local sensation, otherwise Hawke was sure she would have heard of her before, especially if she played dives like the Hanged Man.
Of course, Varric had heard of her. The dwarven scoundrel had heard of everyone.
"You once asked me why I like telling stories so much?" Varric had asked, "I gave you some answer along the lines of making sure it's my stories history remembers. But the reason I tell them instead of singing . . . it's because I can't sing like her."
Such high endorsement coming from Varric was usually reserved for when he told significantly exaggerated tales of Hawke's bravery, but for some reason she couldn't fathom, he sounded more sincere than she had ever seen him. Considering she'd been there when the dwarf put down his own brother, that was saying something. Varric's earnestness was more than enough to catch Hawke's attention, so it had taken little prodding to get her to come, her pet blonde apostate in tow.
They weren't the only ones here, either. The singer had come in on a ship with many Rivaini sailors aboard, and it seemed none of them had grown tired of her music yet, for the bar was so packed with dark hair and skin that Isabella for once looked more commonplace than Hawke did. In fact, if Isabella was actually musically inclined, Hawke could almost say she was looking into the pirate's future.
It was also obvious that the sailors were not here for regular rowdy tavern music. None of them had hit their drinks hard so far. They were here for her. This was going to be a concert, and by whatever gods they worshipped, they'd be sober for the beginning at least.
"Maker, will you look at that thing?" Anders breathed into her ear so she could hear him over the din of the talkative sailors. Hawke had seen plenty of lutes (and variations thereupon) in her years in Kirkwall, but the monster that the singer pulled across her lap had more strings on it than any portable musical instrument had any business possessing. As she began strumming it, the vibrant sound from the instrument cut across the room like a slow bleed across a clean shirt, inevitable and inescapable. When the susurrus had settled, she started to sing.
Two men walked on the beach in the sun.
One left footprints, the other left none.
One was a man who no man obeys;
The other a god from the ancient days.
The voice was deep, grizzled, and strident at the start, a low alto, if Varric was to be believed, aged and experienced, but indicated her gender no better than her appearance had. As she progressed in the verse, though, her incredible vocal range became apparent, verging on soprano before dropping to lower pitch than it had started. In its own way, the voice was mysteriously alluring and reminded Hawke no little bit of Flemeth, age, experience, and meaning crafted into every syllable. Hawke couldn't help but listen intently to the song as it continued, barely noticing Anders tense beside her.
"Look," said the man, "how my kind make war.
I summoned you here to ask what for."
"For wealth or land," the god replies,
"For life, or freedom, or some king's lies."
The sun is also a warrior.
Knowledge can also destroy.
Nor can the kindest will,
Preserve you from the kill.
Not all of wisdom brings joy.
At the chorus, most of the tavern's clientele picked up the tune, the predominantly male audience complimenting the singer's range, but not sharing it, before she started the next verse.
"Four of those five," the first one said,
Are not enough to appease the dead.
To save my world all this strife must cease,
So now I bid you to conjure peace."
The god said "Yes. Though it grieves me sore,
For I was also a god of war,
And I remember what you forget,
Four of those five you may still regret."
More patrons joined in this chorus, and somewhere behind her, Hawke could swear she heard a lilting female voice pick up the tune from somewhere near the bar. Isabella. Of course she'd be here. Maybe she bought into the music-loving pirate stereotype after all.
He raised his voice and he raised his hand.
All strife stopped at the god's command.
No voice ventured an angry word,
No hand struck and no weapon stirred.
In time, the man called the old god back.
"Look," he cried, "what my people lack!
One lord rules over all the earth,
And we're all his slaves from the hour of birth."
The chorus rang out again, yet more voices joining in this time. It was almost infectious, but Hawke didn't yet feel confident enough with the lyrics to join as the others did. Glancing to the side, she noticed even Varric had taken up the chant. He may even have been singing along under his breath the whole song.
"Look, he owns all wealth, and he owns all land,
We starve and die under his command.
He speaks the truth and he gives us peace,
But all that I hope for is our release."
The old god said, "This is what you willed.
For only thus is your wish fulfilled.
War's five sources I took away,
Yet I will give four of them back today."
The sun is also a warrior.
Knowledge can also destroy.
Nor can the kindest will,
Preserve you from the kill.
Not all of wisdom brings joy.
He raised his hand and his voice once more,
And all the world overturned in war.
And when the last of those fires let fall,
There was no lord in the world at all.
"Go rebuild now," the old god said,
"Feed the living and bury the dead,
And remember this when you speak of war,
And think upon what is worth fighting for."
The last chorus ended the song, and after a hefty swig from her complimentary ale while the audience clapped and cheered her on, the singer started in on a lighter tune the sailors around them enjoyed just as much as the first. It was only then that Hawke glanced over at Anders and her concentration on the entertainment was broken.
Scowling and looking at nothing in particular, the blonde apostate was completely lost in thought. It wasn't until the performance was over and they were making their way back to Hightown that Hawke's verbal and occasionally physical prodding produced something akin to a response.
"That was borderline heretical, you know," it wasn't merely an observation, but at least the door to Anders' mind had opened a crack.
"What, my poking you, or the first song from that bard?" Hawke couldn't help but poke fun at the fact he hadn't paid much attention past the first bit of the evening, "Since you were completely off in your own little world after that one."
"Huh?" Anders looked confused for a moment. "The song. I'm sure she would have been arrested on the spot if there had been any templars in the audience."
"I doubt her fans would have let them," Hawke chuckled, "Besides, I don't think she cared how heretical her song might have sounded. Rivainis seem to be like that."
"Or maybe that's what she was aiming for," Anders mused.
"Something special about that song, I take it?"
"It was . . . profound." Anders smiled softly, a rare enough occurrence nowadays, but he looked in her eyes as he did so. Hawke had to suppress the sudden urge to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him forcefully there in the street. "I . . . identified with it. And I think I got the message. That minstrel is someone who knows what it is to fight for a reason." He rearranged the fur on one side of her armor. To look at her, one would never suspect the sheer destructive magical mayhem the half-armored woman could do.
Hawke looked down, gently taking his hand with her own and brushing her fingers along it, as though it was the most precious trinket in the whole of her Hightown mansion. "I think I know what you mean."
Two apostates, standing in the street.
Each only one of the other's reasons for fighting.
AN: Never done a song fic before, and I tend not to read them, so I put a song in a fic instead. The song involved is "The Sun is Also a Warrior" by Leslie Fish (c) 1986. Look up her stuff, if you haven't heard of her before. She's amazing! This song is on the album Chickasaw Mountain which you can find nowadays at Prometheus Music.