Chapter 36: Just Passing Through
The trip to Kirkwall was thankfully uneventful. To make their way into Kirkwall, however, was a different story.
The ship the group was in docked at a dismal-looking port and Anders felt a shiver go up his spine at the sight of the bronze statures hunched over in unseen despair and misery. He had heard the stories of this particular place and wondered what on earth Arren's mother was thinking when she wanted to come here. Kirkwall was known for being the power of the east for the Templars. That kind of power came at a cost, however, and already, when he stepped foot unto the ledge at the ship's side, he could feel the heavy depression of the city's denizens.
The port was largely crowded and Anders was not surprised to see so many of his fellow Fereldens all piled up near the gated entrance, with a guard standing and attempting to hold the growing crowd back.
A soft, pained groan drew his attention away from the mob of people and Anders peered down at his unconscious charge. He healed what he could and the bleeding stopped within a candlelight of being on the ship. He was glad that Arren was asleep or unconscious, for the rocking of the ship would have surely made him ill. His stomach rebelled at the sounds of the other Fereldens and foreigners retching in the cargo. Anders swore that his clothes would reek of the ship's mildew and of the refugees' vomits.
"Let me carry him, mage," Carver suggested in a careful manner. "My brother's heavy even when he's awake." Anders' arms involuntarily tightened around his patient, unwilling to part with this man.
"Carver, his name is Anders," Bethany sighed in expaseration. Anders couldn't but smile at the gentle banter between the twins. The weight of Arren was getting rather heavy and Anders' arms trembled underneath the limp body.
Carver didn't give him a chance to say 'no, I've got him' and gathered his brother in his arms, but with a tenderness rarely shown by the curt younger brother. Arren's brows furrowed at the jostle, no matter how gentle it was and he moaned. Carver's eyes, hard as diamonds when looking at Anders, softened immediately in concern. Both Bethany and the mother of the trio made soothing caresses on Arren's face, trying to ease him back into slumber.
Anders desperately wanted to heal this man, to soothe away his hurt and ease the furrowing of those dark brows. Unfortunately, knowing that the Gallows would be the last place to show that you're a mage, both Anders and Bethany restrained their need to heal Arren.
"Come one, we have to get him somewhere safe," Anders suggested finally. He didn't feel comfortable staying in this place. Even without having to look up at the people around them, he could feel the heavy stares of the Templars, who watched from afar with a suspcious eye. He wasn't the only to feel like this and Bethany trembled slightly, unconsciously getting closer to Anders
"Look," the mother said, her eyes locked unto a scene where the guards were slowly letting people in. "I think they're finally letting them in now. We should join them and see if we can find Uncle Gamlen."
"Yes. Let's hope he received your letter," Carver replied, but his tone indicated that he wasn't particularly looking forward to meeting this Gamlen.
The group of four made their way to the gates and unlike the rest of the Fereldens let in, the guard stopped them, raking a suspicious eye over them and his eyes strayed a little too long on the three mages, noting their loose robes and the covered staffs that were strapped to their backs.
"What's this? You mages or something?"
Anders' hands itched with nervousness. He wanted to say 'yes, we're mages, please don't report us' but the older woman stepped forward, saying, "We're in dire need of help. My son, he's badly injured. Please, he needs a healer." The pleading tone was honest and the frown lines on the guard's forehead smoothed away in pure concern.
"I apologize, milady," the guard bowed his head once and allowed them inside, blocking those that followed them.
"That was close," Bethany whispered to Anders once they were out of earshot.
"We need to get to Gamlen," the mother pushed onwards, her children plus one in tow behind her. They joined all the other Fereldens who were massed in the large area of the Gallows. Both Bethany and Anders took notice of the hunched statues, with their hands covering the faces. Neither had commented on that disturbing observation but they walked a little bit closer together, relishing in the support of the other's proximity.
The group found Gamlen waiting for them by the gates and Anders immediately disliked the man. It wasn't because of the tattered rags the man was in that made Anders upset. The healer had seen his fair share of those who had to make do by surviving just on a daily basis and fashion was not considered high priority to the peasants and the unfortunates. It was in the way he slouched against the wall, how he greeted them with a 'it's about time you got here!' in that nasal tone of his that got on the healer's nerves. Gamlen's obvious irritation at their late arrival didn't lessen at the sight of Arren's supine form being cradled in Carver's arms. On the contrary, he looked even more annoyed or exasperated at best.
"Leandra? What happened? I was not expecting this."
Leandra's perturbed expression told Anders that the way her brother expressed his concern was unsettling and she stepped back from his hug, her eyes slightly downcast and misty. However, she did not cry and Anders had to give her credit for appearing strong, even in front of her brother.
"He needs help, Gamlen. Please," her tone was pleading and Gamlen, despite his previous annoyance with her, just sighed and, like the guard, seemed to be taken in by her.
"I really don't have time for this, Leandra, but, alright. Just don't say anything when we get home."
If Leandra had anything to say about that particular sentence, she kept her tongue, although with great effort Anders noticed, especially when they were led through the opulent parts of Kirkwall and into the dirty part of Lowtown. The way she gazed longingly at one particular estate did not escape Anders' notice.
When they all settled into the dingy shack of two rooms, Carver immediately placed his brother on the only cot that was available to them. Anders' training as a healer immediately took over and he kicked everybody out except for the youngest brother. The blonde mage didn't want his mother to see the true extent of his patient's injuries and her distress would only distract him even further. Thus, he sent her out, along with Bethany, to keep Uncle Gamlen company. He tried to shoo out the Mabari too, but the way it stared at Anders told the healer that he wasn't going to move at all.
Arren's a mess was Anders' first thought as he and Carver undressed the unconscious man, occasionally drawing out a soft moan from him. Anders murmured something softly to him, the fingertips caressing the pale cheeks with care. This small display of affection unnerved Carver, but he kept his mouth shut for once. What disturbed the brunette even more was how easily Arren relaxed in the mage's presence.
When their patient was finally in his small undergarments, Anders gave them to Carver, whose eyes softened at how bloody the upper tunic was. The offensive item was damp and the smell of copper wafted into Carver's nose, making his nose wrinkle in disgust. Carver was disgusted with the sight of his brother's blood. It only reminded him that he couldn't save his older brother. Sure, they may have strong disagreements over topics of magic and the Chantry, but blood was blood.
Carver had always viewed his brother as an invincible figure of magic, untouched by worldly hurts and corruption. Well, perhaps he shouldn't mention the latter part to the healer. Blood magic was in of itself a death sentence and he didn't want to scare away their only healer. You must never tell anyone of this...swear it on our family's honor...His brother's voice warned him.
"Carver? Are you ok? Are you injured too?" Carver numbly shook his head and before the mage could get up and check, he stepped out of the room, leaving only Arren and the healer in one room. Everyone'll find out, Arren. They always find out.
Anders thought Carver was acting a bit strange, but perhaps it was due to the shock from recent events. When he came back, his face had more colour to it and his eyes didn't look as haunted as they were previously.
"I brought some lyrium potions with me," Carver said, and he reached into the small pack he had on his person. Anders graciously accepted it and he steeled himself before consuming the blue liquid. It burned like fire down his throat and he marveled at the fact that this burning sensation was always the same whenever he would take some lyrium.
"That's the same look my siblings would have whenever they had to take some," Carver's voice almost sounded bitter and Anders opened his eyes, only to see a fierce scowl on that broad face. "They couldn't buy any when we were in Lothering. Otherwise it would have alerted all the Templars stationed there."
It sounded like Carver wanted to go on, but he didn't and neither did Anders push him to. There was an awkward silence and Anders chose not to break it with some smartass comment he would always have on hand. Instead, he merely knelt at Arren's side, positioning his hands appropriately over his patient: a hand on the forehead and another on the stomach.
His eyes closed and his thoughts centered on himself and his patient. Everything else was shut out. There was only the quiet and the dark. Only him and his patient who had saved his life more than he could say.
He's the one. He is strong for us...our beloved...A voice growled from within and it startled the mage. His eyes snapped open, but there was nothing else that he could see. Only the gentle darkness.
Was he imagining things again? Focus, Anders...focus on your patient here. Anders didn't know if that was his own thoughts or maybe that crazy voice that had been talking to him ever since his escape from the Tower again. He hesitantly pulled on his magic, wary that the voice might return. When it didn't, he exhaled and then commenced drawing on his personal reserves of magic.
He never tired of how the magic seeped into his very bones, tingled at his fingertips and then gently flowed out to the world. It was a warm sensation, as if the sun's rays were shining down upon him and he felt at peace.
The blue strands of his magic weaved outward, like fingers stretching out to a loved one, and wrapped themselves around his patient's golden aura. It was a strange thing to Anders to find someone with this shade. Why was it golden and not blue like a mage? He hesitantly reached out for it and gasped when the tendrils weaved themselves around his own almost lovingly.
The way they caressed over his own sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine and he truly hoped that he wasn't giving any physical evidence of his arousal. The golden strands then did something very strange. They began to merge with his own and the mage gasped as the colour changed into a dark indigo. Just like before, the merging burned his mind and he let out a scream, unwittingly scaring Carver and everybody else.
Images of Hawke as a four year-old taking care of the twins, as a four year-old having come early in his magic abilities. The father's regret, the mother's despair. He could all feel it through this man who had rescued him so fortuitously from the Templars. In Arren's mind, he saw the village of Lothering and felt the hope that perhaps they could finally settle down, despite the presence of a chantry and its Templars. The same hope that gave way to a doomed realization that with Ostagar being overrun, Lothering would have to be left behind. It would just be a name of the many places the Hawkes have made a temporary settlement.
Another vision of him appeared before him, of a handsome blond mage crying out for help. He never thought of himself as a damsel in distress, but the way Arren saw it, he indeed was and that made him blush.
The burning sensation from before soon calmed until it became soothing and deliciously cool to the mage. He had never imagined he could feel this strongly about his rescuer. This strange and profound connection he had developed with him. It made him want to protect Arren, to soothe his hurts from having to run away so many times, to protect his family from both the Templars and other worldly predators. Protect my son, Anders as he has protected you.Another voice spoke out, this one sounding older and wiser.
He reached out and wrapped around the thinning indigo strands, willing them to strengthen themselves and connect with his own. Once they did, he heard a shrill cry of triumph and relief, one that sounded strangely like that of a hawk, a noble bird of prey that was the symbol of the Anders themselves. A sense of belonging rushed through him and he felt elated at finally having found his reason for living now, for tolerating the abuse of the Templars, of life itself.
Suddenly, exhaustion seeped into the crevices of his mind and, for once, he gave himself up to the sleep that hovered gently, knowing that this time, Arren will keep him from harm in the Fade...
-TBC-
Author's notes: Hello there! So sorry for the long update! This chapter was actually kind of difficult to write, considering how long it's been since my last update (looking very sheepish and apologetic). To all who left reviews, thank you so much! I always look forward to reading them. Also, as promised, the 150 fiftieth reviewer is: YoshisSuppport! Yay! Yoshi, if you are reading this, just pm whatever pairing in Dragon Age world you want to see in a short story and I'll get started on it right away!
Ok, onto to the next chapter!
Oh, and on a sidenote: Zevran won the poll! Rejoice all fans of Fergus/Zevran. For those who were wanting a Fergus/Leliana, sorry folks but the majority have won. But perhaps, as a consolation prize, she is willing to be a surrogate mother for the child...any objections?