Chapter 58: Bumps in the Road

Amaranthine

It was a night of revelry and celebration, due to Andraste's Day having approached upon the denizens of the Coastlands. Every tavern was filled beyond what each structure could safely hold its occupants and thus some people milled about drunkenly around the perimeter, their behaviour closely monitored by stoic guards.

With the guards watching the drunkards and not the surroundings, all failed to see a gentle green light emanate into being on a broad hillside nearby before disappearing softly into the dark night.

Two figures sat on the cold, snowy ground while the third kept a careful watch, standing protectively over the two.

"Why did you transport us here of all places?" The third figure whispered hoarsely to the figure still huddled over another man, his pale hand trembling over the man's heart. "Stop that! You're killing yourself trying to heal this blood mage!"

"Who is also my friend!" The mage responded hotly while still continuing his healing of the unconscious man. "Jowan may be a blood mage but it is my fault that he became one."

Brown eyes narrowed dangerously at the admission and the blonde figure's hand itched to draw his sword and cut Jowan down. Instead, he merely clenched his fists and glowered angrily at the healer; the anger dissipated suddenly at the healer slumping over the other man.

"By Andraste!" Cullen cursed. Here he was, stuck in a foreign city more famously known for the templar extremists it houses than the dreadful history of slavery and magic, with his lover and the man he hates the most. How was he going to carry two mages by himself without arousing suspicion?

Apparently the Maker saw his predicament and sent in the most unlikely help, a group of well-armed individuals who were just on their way to one of the taverns.

"By the Black City, is that...is that who I think it is?!" A familiar voice exclaimed loudly in the cold air. The familiarity of the speaker startled Cullen, who did the only thing he could think of when confronting armed men. He charged at them and shouts of surprise and pain would have been heard if the tavern's denizens have not been so inebriated in drink and celebration.

-o0o-

"Carver! He's a templar!" Arren shouted out and the templar targeted him first, seeing the tallest mage out of all three present as the greatest threat. However, what shocked the tallest sibling the most was that the charging templar didn't think to cast a holy smite spell first. It was the bread and butter for all templar hunters – to stun any mage with that effective spell and then strike them down. Also, the templar was clearly out of his mind for he attacked a diverse group of mages and warrior. It was suicide for a lone templar to outright assault a group of mages without backup. Thus, as he watched Carver knock him back with a vicious backhand, Arren had to paralyze his own brother before the killing blow could be dealt.

"Andraste's knickers! It is him!" The blonde cried out as he approached the still templar, furious dark brown eyes staring into his own. "Let him go, Arren. I know who it is,"

"He's a templar, Anders. I don't think we should..." Arren paused at the way Anders implored him and there was a sigh followed by the sound of a spell being dissipated. Carver cursed at his brother but stayed his hand. Instead he merely scowled at the other templar, who hadn't moved from where he landed. Blood trickled down the side of his mouth and Anders moved to his side in his effort to heal that small hurt. The blonde mage was not entirely surprised by the templar's brief flinch from him, seeing as Anders heard through rumors about the Circle's former predicament.

"Don't touch me, mage!" The other man cried out and he swiped a dagger at the blonde mage, successfully drawing blood from Anders' shoulder. Anders cried out in pain and clutched at the new wound. Someone roared out his name and before he could stop it, he saw Arren run forward and deck the man across the jaw. The move caused the man's head to snap back and the templar fell limply against the grass, unmoving and unconscious.

"Great," Carver grumbled, "we're stuck in the middle of nowhere with a templar. Now what?"

"Just for that comment, Carver, you get to carry him," Arren replied a little caustically while he motioned for his sister to grab hold of one of the mages.

"Somehow I imagine myself back here," Anders gibed, trying to lessen the tension between the brothers, "but not to help templars..."

"C'me on, we didn't travel two thousand leagues from Kirkwall just to stop here," Arren continued but he gave Anders a relieved smile. "Good thing we left mother back in Amaranthine...she would be absolutely horrified to see another templar after this..."

The Hawke siblings had indeed left Kirkwall, with a reluctant mother in tow. Gamlen, their ever so hospitable uncle, actually begged them to stay and he even attempted to blackmail Arren to stay by threatening to tell the Knight-Commander herself of their mage status. Needless to say, Arren wouldn't stand for that and Gamlen sported a bruised jaw for several days at least. Even Carver scowled at the sleazy uncle and that was saying something in Anders' opinion.

The blonde mage listened to the voice in his dreams and he knew that it wasn't a demon seducing him to its will. It felt as if it came from inside of him, another piece of his conscience perhaps that was freed by Arren's presence. He certainly had never heard of it before or maybe he did in his most desperate hour, like in solitary confinement.

The soothing whispers that comforted him in the cold darkness of his tight prison, that helped him get past through the sudden violence of his templar jailors who often slaked their lust by using his body. All he had to do was close his eyes and shut off the jarring pain of being violated, the coarse gauntlets scratching his hips as he was pinned down underneath his rapists. However, even in the aftermath, Anders was helpless to prevent the events from occurring again and again. The voice didn't do anything physically to stop it and the blonde mage had often wondered if perhaps he was going insane from the loneliness of his prison. It wasn't until he met this mysterious tall man of similar status that the voice inside of him cried out in jubilation and Anders paused for a second, his hand clutching at his chest. It almost hurt to feel the voice, as if it was trying to escape from Ander's body in its bid to join the handsome man. Then that dream...of the dragons that called out to him and beseeching him to get out of Kirkwall and look for one of them.

How in Thedas was he going to look for one of the Old Gods when, according to the Chantry, they were all but banished underground, imprisoned for all eternity by the Maker Himself.

"Anders?" The low, soft murmur of his name drew Anders' attention from himself to the mage standing in front of him. Gentle golden eyes gazed at him in deep concern and Anders, not used to the full attention of someone who fully desired him, blushed slightly before clearing his throat.

"I'm fine. Just a flesh wound, see?" A slender finger dragged over the minor scratch and once it withdrew from his shoulder, the wound was gone. Appeased by the wound's disappearance, Arren nodded and squeezed the opposite shoulder before heading out to Bethany's side. With the two pulling up one mage, Bethany managed to gently drape the stranger over her brother's shoulder.

The other one mage, unlike his other counterpart, drew a reaction from Bethany and Arren swiftly turned, the weight of another man clearly not bothering the eldest mage at all.

"It's him, Arren! It's our cousin!"

"Not the best time for a family reunion, Bethany," Arren gently hurried his sister along and Anders offered to take their cousin.

Slowed by the presence of three more people into their company, the foursome's trek to a hidden house near the city took even longer than normal and it was by mere chance that they were not accosted by bandits along the way.

"So, how did you find this place?" Anders asked as the door closed behind him and all three men gently laid down their burden on the cots available.

"Actually, my father once used this as a safe house...in case..." The dark-haired mage's sentence trailed off and Anders understood why. The family has always been on the run from templars and from what Arren told him of their father's history, it wasn't always so successful. Thus, safe houses had to be erected for emergencies such as this and Anders didn't want to ask if such a safe house couldn't be reached in time.

"Come on, brother," Carver interrupted them, "we can't take care of these strangers just standing here." Bitterness laced his tone but no one could blame him really. The quest, or rather Anders' quest, was going to be hard enough with just the four of them. Now, with two mages, one of them a cousin to the Hawkes, as well as a templar, it would no doubt put a strain on their dwindling resources and time. Anders could only hope that his decision in listening to the warning of his last dream wouldn't lead to their deaths.

-o0o-

Ostagar

The stench of their last kill followed the group of two men and an elderly woman all the way from Flemeth's hut to the snowy bridge of Ostagar. Winter was harsher than normal, even for the Kocari Wilds, and Wynne did her best in keeping everyone warm with her spells and greater warmth balms. Thankfully, Morrigan had the foresight to include the latter in great numbers in the small pouch Alistair now carried underneath his breastplate.

Not wanting to bring all the darkspawn down on their heads, the threesome had camped near the bridge, where Alistair judged to be the area with the least number of darkspawn patrolling about. Killing Flemeth had taken a toll on them, as did the journey, but the few days of convalescing improved their conditions greatly, especially Hadrian.

Zevran found it rather amusing and quite arousing to see the handsome Prince of Ferelden hover over their fearless leader like a mother hen. The complaints and shouts followed by soft laughter, not giggles according to Alistair, should have alerted every darkspawn in the area to their presence but miraculously the tainted creatures had left them alone, for now at least.

Hadrian had apologized profusely to both Zevran and Wynne, obviously feeling guilty about assaulting his trusted friends without warning. Both waved off the apologies and forgave the Warden; the ease of their forgiveness still could not stop their leader from showing remorse at his unexpected assault.

"Stop skulking so much, my dear Warden," Zevran said when the elf finally had a chance to speak with the man without Alistair nearby. "Your constant need for self-mutilation does you no good when killing darkspawn, yes?"

"I know, Zev," Hadrian sighed and his hands shook a little while they attempted to buckle the side straps of his armor. "It's just...I can't believe I fell for that...I wore the Litany of Adralla and still that damned witch took over."

"The what?" Zevran had no clue as to what the dark-haired Cousland was talking about and Hadrian explained it to the elf that it was a manuscript that gave the wearer resistance to the lure of blood magic spells.

"We got it from the Circle, after a pain in the ass chase in the Fade," Hadrian finished his tale but the annoyance of that trip into the Fade still showed in his scowl.

"So, how was the make-up sex?" Zevran just had to ask. He couldn't help himself and the images of the two Wardens tangling themselves in rough sex certainly aroused his senses. Too bad Fergus was not here for him to provide a physical outlet for his libido.

"We...uhh...that is..." Hadrian's usual confidence evaporated underneath the abrupt attention of the assassin. He was about to say something when Alistair suddenly appeared, his eyes fierce and fixed on the elf.

Zevran chuckled then and he rose up from his sitting place, idly brushing away the snow that collected on his leather pants.

"I perhaps should see if the lovely Wynne needs my help in anything," he bowed to them and then turned away, humming to himself.

Once the elf left the pair to their own devices, Hadrian let out another sigh, this time of exasperation with Alistair.

"Why do you always do that?"

"Because it's not his place to question what we do in our own tent," Alistair growled back, all the while sharpening his longsword with a whetstone, a gift from Leliana for his birthday.

"It's not as if he doesn't already know what we do; he could probably hear us grunting and moaning every time we are in camp," Hadrian yawned and he stretched out on his bedroll. Unfortunately, it was the wrong move to make for Alistair straddled his hips and then pinned his hands above his head.

"Whatever sounds you make is for mine to hear, no one else's," Alistair snarled at him, apparently none too happy with the levity of his remark of being overheard.

"Al-" Hadrian began to say but his words were lost in a kiss. Despite the roughness of Alistair's words, the kiss was remarkably gentle and the Cousland groaned as Alistair deepened the kiss by letting their tongues dance with each other. It literally took his breath away and when Alistair drew back, Hadrian found himself panting heavily, sounding as if he had just run several miles.

There was an odd look to those dark brown eyes and Hadrian couldn't fathom why it was there. Immediately upon awakening from whatever spell Flemeth had cast on him, he was extremely submissive to Alistair, much more than usual, and the memories of that night still aroused him even to this day. He had been licked and bitten pretty much on every piece of skin that was exposed to Alistair's hot tongue and sharp teeth. More than once Alistair denied him release, despite his continued teasing of Hadrian, until they were finally joined and Hadrian felt sorry for both Wynne and Zevran. Wynne had wanted to cast a silencing spell around their tent but she wanted to reserve her mana for battle and unexpected surprises.

"You are mine," Alistair growled in his ear as Hadrian was penetrated quite roughly, the only lube being his lover's tongue. "Not your family's...not Flemeth..." Each pause had been punctuated by a sharp thrust that hit his prostate mercilessly.

Hadrian's cries were muffled by the soft cloth in his mouth, to dampen his loud screams of passion.

"If anyone takes you away," Alistair continued though a little out of breath this time as the blonde took his lover again and again, this time on their sides. "I will rip their throats out myself,"

The blonde warrior had quickly learned his role of Alpha and he had no problems dominating Hadrian now. Gone was the stumbling fool, the unsure Prince of Ferelden who couldn't even string together a confession of love for him. Now, Hadrian has a strong Alpha and, while the Cousland was proud that Alistair was taking a stand for himself, he wasn't sure if he could survive the sexual fallout of that. No doubt it would be a willing death that Hadrian would submit himself to.

"Never do that again," Alistair warned him or was the blonde beseeching him instead? He could never tell with the way the blonde is all over him, pinning him down with his heavier weight. "I do not want to see another take you, whether it be body or mind. Both are mine and mine alone."

His lover's voice cracked slightly and Hadrian kissed him, knowing that action spoke more clearly to his lover than words. Seeing as how either Zevran or Wynne could suddenly stumble upon them, both men decided to climb into their tent and continued what they had started, much to Wynne's annoyance.

The elderly witch threw her hands in the air and finally risked announcing their presence to any darkspawn by casting a silencing spell. She has to get at least one solid night of sleep.

-TBC-

A/N: Yay! One chapter for the new year! I really want to finish this story now so it will be more fast-paced than usual. Any comments/complaints are welcomed. Thanks again! :D