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Author: SurelyForth
Title: Maps & Legends
Game: Dragon Age 2
Character pairing: F!Hawke/Anders
Disclaimer: Rated T for language, violence and some sexual content.
"This place looks different during the day," Wil, suddenly the one who feels vulnerable, stays close to her sister as they traverse through the wide main hall of the Hightown chantry. "Even tackier, if that's possible. Although...a refreshing lack of corpses."
Bethany gives her a meaningful glare, forcing Wil to re-examine the likelihood that one of them might be adopted, or a changeling. They've lived together their entire lives, yet Bethany can find a peace in the chant that has always eluded Wil. Perhaps it was Malcolm's attitude that shaped Wil's cynicism, and now it's her own unwillingness to seek comfort in words that have been twisted to condemn the ones she loves that keeps her away.
Not that it's entirely her father's fault...even if she'd been a devout child, at some point she'd have noticed how Bethany's faith has worsened her struggle to come to terms with both her magic and the nature of her freedom, being as it is an affront to the order of the Chantry and, thus, another mark against her. Wil refuses to feel guilty for much, and she's definitely not going to fret about anyone who'd tell her to turn against her own family because of something that not a soul could predict nor do any humane thing about.
So Wil's irreverent at the best of times, borderline sacrilegious most. Bethany, meanwhile, knows the Chant by heart, and she knows which of the robed women in the atrium get polite smiles, and which get tiny, dutiful nods of respect. She knows where to stop ahead of the altar so she's not entering a place meant only for those who have taken vows, and she knows where confessionals are located.
And not because they made perfect hiding spots for impromptu kisses and other, fumbly, lust-fueled endeavors.
"Please excuse me, sister," Bethany is confident here and the blonde priest to whom she speaks offers both Hawkes a false but pretty smile that fixes itself for the duration of their conversation.
Creepy, Wil thinks. Her attention wanders while Bethany asks the clergy about the man they'd come to see. Wandering pays off, as Bethany's about to get an earful of chantry horseshit, and Wil's spotted their target on the mezzanine, lounging against the railing and observing the altar below.
"I've found him...I think." She leaves without securing her sister's presence and isn't surprised when Bethany stays behind to be polite and continue the conversation between herself and the priest.
"Does she belong to you?" The man against the railing asks as Wil approaches. He's tall, his skin slightly darker than her own and his hair a shade of auburn she hasn't seen on many people since they'd left Ferelden. Most striking are his sky colored eyes. They're...bright, and lend him a strangely cheerful appearance.
If she's being honest, he's bright. His armor is glossy white trimmed in gold and it reflects the sunlight that streams in through the windows over the altar, even up here where it's kept dim for those who come for contemplation and solitude.
"Belong to me?" Wil leans forward and regards the two women below, Bethany talking animatedly now.
"Does that word choice offend you?" He smiles, his teeth doing nothing to undermine her impression that he might be the cleanest person she's ever met. "If so, I apologize. I only meant that you seem watchful...not possessive. Even when you're the one who's ill at ease."
It's assumptive, to say the least. But also true.
"Is it that obvious?" Pushing up from the wall, she darts her away eyes from his and lands on the precise spot where Anders had killed Karl...with her support. Perspective is gained; the handsome man in the shiny armor is a much better point of focus. Less tragic. "It's true that I don't come here often. Well, not when there are chantry folk about. I'm more into clandestine midnight meetings and shady dealings. That sort of thing."
His eyes widen, and Wil realizes that she'd be better off not joking about using the chantry for anything, especially considering the number of people she's participated in killing here.
"Kidding!" She smiles as charmingly as she can, in the hopes that it's enough. "I am...kidding. It's a thing I do."
Relief floods his face and comes out as laughter.
"I'm glad to hear it," his eyes are positively aglow. "So you never attend services?"
It's gentle curiosity, and not condemnation.
"Oh, no," she cringes. "I could be forced to when we lived in Ferelden, but I saw some purpose for it then. In Kirkwall...," she trails off, fairly certain that she shouldn't mention how her possessed friend in the undercity puts the chantry's non-existent charity for her fellow refugees to shame. "My sister comes, though. She prays for me."
He's been watching her with genuine interest, her response and what she omits clearly of some importance to him.
"Does she pray on your behalf, or does she ask the Maker to watch over and guide you, that you might arrive at Him someday on your own?"
Assumptive again. It sends one of her eyebrows up in suspicion. "If he's guiding me...than am I really arriving on my own? And wouldn't that be a miracle, considering...well. You know."
That whole turned his back on us episode. She doesn't say it. She has serious doubts that there's anything about her that would interest any deity enough to want to start paying attention after a millennia of noted apathy.
"We're having this discussion, and I don't even know your name," he smiles indulgently, as if he can read her thoughts and he wants her to know that he cares. "Although I realize this goes both ways, so I'll introduce myself. My name is Sebastian Vael, and I am the Prince of Starkhaven," his eyes gleam. "Although Her Grace would probably prefer that I introduce myself as a brother in the chantry."
Wil ignores the brother in the chantry part, although it explains a lot. She's merely glad to know that she has the right man. "Sebastian Vael? So...will anyone smite me if I admit that I killed the men that went after your family?"
"Excuse me?" This time his entire face registers shock. "I...you mean my posting on the Chanter's Board was allowed to stay? I had no idea. And you kill- took care of them?"
"Yeah," Wil glances away, uncertain why she feels suddenly and vaguely ashamed. He's the one who'd ask that the mercenaries be eliminated. He couldn't very well judge her for doing what he wanted done, could he? And what would it matter? "Also something I do."
"I...see," he exhales. "You have my eternal gratitude, serah. My parents might be able to rest easily in their graves now, thanks to you. It is...comforting. And now those assassins are no longer a danger to me."
It seems an interesting perspective for a chantry brother to have. There are no overt signs of bloodthirsty need, but having the entire group of mercenaries disposed of blurs the line between justice and vengeance. Never mind the blatant self-preservation.
"Do you know who sent them...who could be behind the slaughter?" While she asks, her hand slips into her pocket. Since she'd relinquished Flemeth's amulet, the amethyst locket she'd found at Sundermount has taken its spot at her hip. She'll miss it. "Also...I thought you might want this..."
Fingers trembling in a mixture of sorrow and relief, Sebastian touches the locket as it sways from her fingers.
"Meghan," the corners of his mouth turn down. "She was a beautiful young woman, who posed no threat to any usurper. I...this only strengthens my resolve to find who is behind this." His hand falls to his side before finding his belt to free a small leather pouch that he then offers to Wil. "Here is what I have for now. Once I have reclaimed my lands, you will be royally rewarded."
Ooooh. She won't be holding her breath.
"And I think you should keep the locket," Sebastian scoops it up to press into her palm, his fingers calloused and warm against her own as they linger several seconds beyond what is strictly necessary. "Wear it if you want, or sell it and do good."
"I don't know if you'd approve of what I consider doing good." Even she can admit that there's a tenuous link between a well-fed apostate and the happy refugees that depend on him. "But thank you." Then, although she doubts it matters much at this point, "The name's Hawke. Wilhelmina."
Sebastian relaxes, going back to lean against the railing. "Yes. It suits you. Strong...almost noble," he returns upright. "I'm glad that we met, Wilhelmina Hawke. You've helped me more than you can possibly know, and I'd be happy to return the favor one day. Unfortunately now I must seek an audience with the Viscount. Starkhaven needs allies." He inclines his head forward in a small show of respect before his face blooms into a wide smile. "Maker watch over you, Serah Hawke. I hope to see you here again someday, and not merely because I'm supposed to."
With powerful and confident strides, Sebastian leaves her alone on the mezzanine, looking down over the main hall that now contains only the blonde priest.
"Mina?" Bethany's beside her now and they both follow Sebastian's progress out of the chantry, although one of them watches with far more undisguised interest. "Was that him? He looked princely enough...and he was smiling!"
"That was him," Wil frowns. "His armor was out of control. Also...I think he might have been flirting with me?"
Beth giggles. "That would be something, wouldn't it? Just don't tell Mother!"
"Maker!" Wil begins towards the stairs. "Could you imagine what she'd say?"
"There was a handsome prince indebted to you, Wilhelmina, and you didn't ask for his hand in marriage?" Bethany has on her best Disappointed Leandra Face. "Instead you smarted off and now you'll never find a suitable husband."
"I actually handled myself pretty well," Wil's just as surprised as her sister. "Aside from joking that I use the chantry for illicit activities...it was a remarkably adult interaction."
"Maybe we should tell the Grand Cleric that a miracle happened here today," Bethany sasses.
"Let's keep the Grand Cleric out of this, and pray that my streak continues through Bartrand," Wil makes a disgusted face. "All I need to do is ruin this for us when we're so close, especially after everything Varric has done to get us this opportunity in the first place. I think even his generosity has its limits."
Anders' hands smell like his poultices, earth and astringent and honeysuckle. Wil's mentioned his scent before, and it's almost entirely because of the time he spends mixing batches for her and his clinic.
He also smells like the Fade, Justice having recently asserted himself in the middle of a...daydream...that was mild at best. And innocent. Those could have been anyone's hands...
They weren't anyone's hands.
And they hadn't been doing anything, the hands that could have been anyone's hands. The small shiver that traces along his spine like a gentle fingertip tells a different story, but he forces himself to ignore what he can't bring himself to confront. Instead, he focuses on corking and cleaning the dozens of vials and jars that he's spent the morning filling. These will be left behind for Lirene, who's agreed to dispense them along with other remedies while he's gone.
There's so much to be done before he leaves, but he's having trouble focusing on anything. Between Justice pulling him to sit and finalize a final final draft of his appeal to the Viscount to intervene in Knight-Commander Meredith's recent revision of the Circle's outreach policy and...hands, he doesn't think he can accomplish anything besides mindless tasks like making poultices.
We have so much more we could be doing.
"I know," Anders murmurs, reassuring himself as much as Justice. "But this afternoon..."
He's not certain what he's expecting today. Wil suspects that the note she'd received the night before is a plea from Ser Thrask, the templar who'd been trying to help Feynriel. Although Anders has not met the man, Wil seems to consider him trustworthy enough.
Why leave these things to her discretion?
Anders sighs, digging his fingers into his forehead. Wil could literally stroll in here with a notarized edict from the Divine herself declaring all mages in Thedas free and Justice would probably go off and do the spirit equivalent of pout in a corner. Even the few times she'd managed to evoke something approaching respect from Justice had been undermined by what Justice sees as her ultimate, and self-interested, goal of wealth and status.
But that's not all she wants. Anders knows, but can't get it through. No matter what he tries, and he's even written down all the ways that she's proven herself to have the best interest of mages at heart, Justice considers her a slippery distraction. An annoyance at best, outright manipulative at worst, and there seems to be nothing that she nor Anders can do to sway him from his narrow view.
It matters not, Anders. She matters not. There is a world...there are children on the verge of magical discovery, of being taken from loving arms and placed in cold, confining steel and stone.
You're using my memories against me, Anders accuses in silence, although there is no real heat behind it. Now is not the time to get angry at his inability to hide from his past, as he can hear them coming, Varric's low voice and Bethany's unmistakable giggle. If Wil's taking her sister with us, then I don't think Thrask is a threat.
You'll find out soon enough.
"Anders!" From the flush of Wil's cheeks and the way she says his name like she's never been happier to know someone with a name, their meeting with Bartrand had gone well. "Guess who just accomplished something of minor import?"
"I'm guessing..." Anders hesitates as she stops close to him. As always, it's too close yet not close enough. A paradox of proximity. "Uncle Gamlen."
"Ha!" Wil knocks the back of her hand against his shoulder. "I said minor, not miniscule."
"You almost impressed my brother, Hawke. I think that earns you a step or two above minor," Varric is relief, everything about him a little bit loose now that this final barricade has been removed.
"I don't think I was the one who impressed him," she smirks at Anders. "You weren't even there, and you stole the show." Her voice lowers to gruffness and her accent slips into one similar to Varric's, "By my ancestors...where did you find these?...Look at all those entrances...who did you have to blow?"
Anders fights to keep his blood where it belongs, and Bethany picks up where her sister left off, oblivious to his struggle.
"The best part is what Mina told him," Bethany adjusts her face to appear as aloof yet self-possessed as Wil and manages to nail her inflection perfectly... "A wizard did it."
"Actually," Varric interjects before Anders can praise her for saying he exact right thing. "The best part was that he was too excited to do anything but welcome her to the expedition. No suspicions, or accusations. Just...Andraste's ass, now I'm starting to doubt that was even really Bartrand."
"He was still a jerk. So it's safe to assume it was Bartrand...Thedas wouldn't be able to handle two of him," Wil demurs the flattery with a joke and a genuine flush of embarrassment. "And it's not a huge deal. I made friends and saved money. Not exactly the trickiest."
"Says the girl whose only friends before were her brother and sister," Bethany pokes lightly, but Anders can see the flash of discomfort that ignites in Wil's eyes. She catches him watching and that only makes it worse, her gaze diving to the floor as Bethany nudges Varric's shoulder so that they can share some private joke.
"Fine then. I'll claim more than I actually accomplished," her smile when she looks up is tighter than he's ever seen, and it's a reminder of the evening before, when she'd been so terse, so intensely frustrated and jagged. "I demand the Hanged Man's best once we get back tonight..." she cuts to Varric, a sly expression overtaking the tension. "And again before we leave...we might as well indulge. Something tells me there aren't too many taverns in the ruined Deep Roads."
Anders bites back an involuntary rise in bile. The Deep Roads. It brings to mind sharp sounds in the darkness, shrill cries cutting their way from billowing heated mists that reeked of refuse and decay and ancient horribleness. His first journey down had been in Kal'Hirol, where they'd found Sigrun fighting for her life and an assortment of monstrosities that made the Void seem an endearing and cuddly place to spend an afterlife.
Andraste's ass. Broodmothers. The Mother herself had put him off breasts for...well, the duration of the walk back to the Keep. So not that long, but still a personal record. And he'd not been so much enthused to see the ones that brought him back as he was happy to be holding the person to whom they belonged...
...who'd kept him sane that time, in Kal'Hirol. The gentle pressure of her hand on his elbow had anchored him, her tales of survival in worse places and awesome fearlessness enough to keep him from slipping into panic when the tunnels they crept down would narrow and feel for all the world like a noose tightening around his own neck.
Inside him, Justice settles and it feels like contentment for the way Anders' blood stirs for the right woman.
In front of him Wil is alone and watching, eyebrows up in bewilderment and concern that she doesn't quite know how to act upon.
"You all right?" From her immediate wince, she realizes it's an idiotic question to ask a man who's newly coated in a sheen of nervous sweat.
"Yes," he lies, trying in vain to squelch the murmurings of remorse that have somehow made their way past Justice. The existence of guilt in this situation is troubling and doesn't he have enough troubling him already? Yes. Yes I do. "I take it they're ready to go?"
She looks to the doorway of the clinic, where Bethany's turned the tables and is enthusiastically regaling Varric. Sensing their attention, she leans into the clinic, raven hair tumbling around her white shoulders, eyes bright. "I'm telling Varric about the handsome prince."
Wil gives her head a few quick shakes to dissuade her sister.
"What handsome prince?" Anders' curiosity isn't all innocent, but it is a nice distraction. Although from Bethany's mischievous smile, it's supposed to serve an entirely different purpose.
"Sebastian Vael...he's the one who wanted all those mercenaries dead," Wil's mouth twists halfway through the explanation. "He's also a brother. Or he was before his family was killed."
"He seemed quite taken by Mina," Bethany's eyes meet his and there's a remarkable amount of knowing in them.
"Not really," Wil sighs. "Maybe a little. In retrospect, I think he was trying to lure me to the Maker and not, you know, into his pants."
"I don't think it's supposed to be so difficult to figure out which of those he wants," Anders responds with a forced laugh. "Although a prince slash chantry brother might just be confused on his approach."
"But, if I might flaunt my knowledge of perverse activities one might get up to in a chantry," Wil straightens her shoulders and assumes an arch scholar's tone. "There are so many practices, symbols and rituals that could cause confusion. Kneeling to render praise has several interpretations, and I won't even get into swords of mercy and dark, secretive boxes where anonymous exchanges of sin and punishment are made away from the prying or judgmental eyes of others."
"Holy Maker, Hawke," Varric sags in resignation that no matter how good she's proving at getting things done, she's still...off. "Let's get out of here before we draw any unwanted attention. Of the smiting variety."
Wil shrugs and follows behind the dwarf, pausing to help Anders lock up the clinic. "If I was ever going to be smitten? smote? it would have happened already," she gives him a significant look. "Trust me on this, Tethras."
"You never know. It might be accruing over time," he contemplates. "You're just going along until one day you make a joke about having a miter fetish and, next thing you know, zot! straight from the sky. From what I've heard, smitings don't discriminate between those who deserve them and handsome dwarves who don't even believe in the Maker."
"Fine, fine," Wil rolls her eyes in mock exasperation and dryly agrees. "Then I'll keep the details of my miter fetish to myself, lest I end up getting you accidentally struck down."
"Such a good person, Wil," Anders jokes. It earns him a strained and crooked smile.
"I'm just trying to do the right thing," it comes with an almost amusing amount of forced sincerity. "Remember that later if it does turn out to be Thrask who sent that letter."
Indiscriminately helping templars...they are not the ones in need of her support.
"Of course," Anders ignores Justice and smiles because, joke or not, he believes what he said to be true.
Now if only Justice could get over himself...and her...to accept it.
It's close.
At some point after Anders jumps in between the red-haired man and Wil to assert that they will absolutely not go in and kill any mages on behalf of the templars, which garners him a startled expression from Thrask and something closer to what kind of monster do you think I am? from the widening of Wil's green eyes, she states that she is going to help the escaped mages from Starkhaven.
If she can do this, they can no longer be traced with their phylacteries...they can be examples of what well-trained mages can be when allowed freedom.
Yes, Anders agrees, his attention still on her and a small smile holding his lips. While most people wouldn't hear I don't want this to turn into a massacre and be anything more than Oh, good. Non-psychopath confirmed, coming from her and in this situation is...
"Good luck, my friend," Thrask speaks to Wil, but he's staring at Anders and the mage is on the verge of giving in to the slow rise of paranoia when he realizes why he's staring...I am still smiling like a lovestruck fool.
"We don't have long," Wil leads the way into the cavern, making certain that Bethany is close behind. Varric and Anders remain in the rear in case Ser Kerras, the templar Thrask has warned them against, arrives sooner than anticipated. Although it comes after a great deal of hesitation, Wil agrees that Kerras can be eliminated should he try to confront them down here. "Hopefully it doesn't come to that...if nothing else, Meredith might pin the blame on the Starkhaven mages and redouble her efforts to capture them."
"And she wouldn't even take them," Anders snarls, every scrap of relief he'd felt moments earlier now pulled away to expose the black pulse of anger within him. "They'd be tranquiled or ordered executed where they're found...templars can get away with entrapping and killing mages," he flashes back to a certain templar who'd attempted both on him, Rylock with her eyes like dark fire boring accusations into his soul. "Mages aren't even granted the right of self-defense."
Wil turns as if to respond, but a snap interrupts their fledgling debate as they abandon talk for drawn weapons. Besides Anders the soft whirr of Bianca is a strangely reassuring sound, and the surge of magic that Anders casts to imbue the crossbow, and Wil's blade, seems to bolster the dwarf. Ahead of the two men, the Hawke sisters are similarly poised- Wil's sword angled back at the ready and Bethany's fingers tipped in subtle flame.
Although he knows Wil favors having someone fighting alongside her, Fenris her preferred partner as he can distract and directly engage large numbers of opponents, Anders has come to like this configuration in particular. In the Wardens, he'd gotten used to fighting alongside an archer and although Varric lacks Nathaniel's physical presence, his eyes and sense of battle placement are impeccable. He and the dwarf have become accustomed to each other's fighting style and spend most of their time back to back in the heat of things, Varric spotting while Anders casts.
As for Wil and Bethany...it's almost distracting if he lets it be. Never is the difference between the two women more apparent than it is when they're surrounded by enemies, and yet the work together brilliantly. Wil throws herself into a fight, her long, athletic frame gracefully insinuating itself, as it is now amongst a horde of skeletal archers. At close range, there's not much that they can do to her, and she manages to topple most of them with one controlled swing on her blade.
"I've got it, Mina!" Bethany is at her usual guarded position at the edge of the fight, but closer than Anders or Varric. After pausing long enough for Wil to dive away from the fallen archers, she hurls flame towards the center of their cluster.
Wil does not flinch as the fire rushes by her head, nor does she cower when Bethany begins raining more fire down on a group of shambling corpses. Instead she deftly avoids injury, dancing amidst the flickering orange in her drive to attack the apostate responsible for the necromancy around them.
Anders holds his breath, watching the confrontation between Wil and the maleficar, who is attempting to summon another demon.
Hurry, Wil. If she can get to him before the spell is finished, the fight should not be a difficult one. He's wearing nothing but his Circle robes and Anders senses no other defensive spells around him. Come on...
She's not quite made it when the mage stops summoning and throws his hands out towards her, loosing a wave of energy that shows itself as a growing edge of distortion. It staggers Wil, but only for a second.
The mage...clearly not anticipating such a quick recovery. He's barely able to raise his hand to cast another spell when her blade finds his stomach and buries itself to the hilt. It's gruesome but effective, the apostate collapsing as life drains out of him. Then, in a move Anders doesn't expect, Wil yanks the sword clean and brings it back down to cleave the man's head from his shoulders, turning away from his corpse before it's completely fallen.
"What was that for?" Bethany's hands are curled against her stomach, her chest heaving from adrenaline. "Is decapitation necessary?"
Wil shrugs and examines her gore covered weapon. "My guess is that we're going to encounter a few more blood mages as we go...I'd rather they not be able to call on their fallen mates," she hesitates, eyes going up in thought. "That makes sense, right? It was sort of a spur of the moment decision."
"You better hope that's enough to stop them," Varric's entire face is twisted in disgust. "Because if it's not? Disgusting."
"It should work," Anders' head is now throbbing. This situation is worse than he'd anticipated. "These poor fools are summoning the dead. Their desperation...we can't send them back to the Circle, Wil. If that Ser Kerras is half as bad as Thrask says..."
"They're also practicing blood magic, and attacking us," frowning, she kicks at the smoldering remains of a reanimated corpse. "I need to talk to someone before I can decide anything. Just..." she looks beyond Anders in the most disconcerting way. "Just know what I want to happen."
She's talking to Justice. His tongue darts out to moisten dry lips and his thoughts grow momentarily chaotic before calming to a simple... our goal is their freedom.
It repeats as they traverse through the cavern, encountering two more blood mages and defeating them and their dead easily.
It repeats when they encounter a nervous young mage who looks barely Harrowed, his narrow shoulders poking through the torn fabric of his robes. Anders is not surprised to hear that there is one apostate leading and urging the use of blood magic, but he is slightly taken aback at the boy's insistence that he himself be returned to the templars.
Why would he want to return?
Anders knows why. If he'd not been abused, or been refused meals or a bed or access to a hot bath, the Circle is like a home...certainly better than a cave full of madmen and corpses. He knows, but he's not happy when Wil points the boy to the mouth of the cavern, directing him so that he can turn himself over to Thrask.
"It was his choice," she doesn't even need to see Anders' expression.
"Yes, but is it really a choice when he has no idea what true freedom is?" Anders falls into step beside her. "Being trapped in a cave with maleficar is not the only other option besides the Circle."
"But I can't promise that he'll ever be able to do any better...that he won't be hunted, or he won't be turned over or enslaved. He's not comfortable out here and, frankly, he sticks out like a busted thumb," Wil glances over, frustration clear in her eyes. "Not everyone thrives in the world, Anders. I can't force him to go back to someone who scares him, or stay with us and risk getting eaten in here or captured out there. At least Thrask will show him mercy."
"You actually believe that?" It's barely a question, although it's not quite an accusation, either. His voice is kept low as they approach a series of makeshift bunk rooms left behind from when this was a mining facility. Murmurs are echoing from the high stone ceilings in the chamber ahead of them, which means they're approaching the apostate camp proper.
"Of course I believe that," Wil's face is near his own...he can see the subtle web texture of her eyes and also a ghost of confusion, despite her certainty. "Why else would he have called on me to help him?"
It's said with self-mocking arrogance, but for Anders it only justifies an unbidden swell of admiration. Justice does not resist this time.
Nothing resists this time, and it's only Wil moving slowly forward, her head lowered and her eyes restlessly scanning the cavern that prevents him from...
I sense power beyond a mortal's.
Anders grabs her elbow and gestures for Varric and Bethany to halt behind them.
"Demon," he mouths, waiting for Wil to nod before he releases her arm only to watch helplessly as she straightens up and clatters down a series of wooden steps, whatever advantage they might have possessed ruined as she does so.
What are you doing, Wil? He hurries to catch up with her, barely able to stop as they round a corner and see...him.
It is a him, the beard gives that one away. Beneath the wild blond growth is a world-beaten face, mottled crepe skin that clings to the bones of his skull like lantern paper to a wire frame. Pale eyes glow with hatred and something altogether unearthly, narrow slits of verve in an otherwise soulless visage.
"Templars," he rasps, twitching as he regards them all in turn. "The templars have come to take us back to the Circle!"
Despite the fact that none of them are, in fact, templars. Or even dressed like templars.
One of his fellow mages is trying to make him see this fact, a young woman who speaks to him in desperate yet intimate tones.
"These are not templars, Decimus," she shoots Wil a wildly beseeching look. "Please...do not-"
"I care not what shield they cower behind...only that they will fall," his hands are engulfed in crimson mist and he raises them in a gesture that causes the shadows edging the cavern to come alive with corpses.
"I'm starting to think they chose this cave on purpose," Anders edges back towards Varric, Bethany moving closer to Wil.
Wil has only one intent, and that is to kill this Decimus. Once he's fallen, whatever enchantment he's cast should broken. As it is now, Anders counts quickly, there are close to fifty skeletal beings staggering from the back of the cave, and probably more in the passages that branch off of the main room.
Varric and Bethany keep the dead at a distance while Anders throws lightning at two apostates who have joined the fray. With the presence of whatever demon it is powering Decimus, Justice is pushing hard for control of Anders.
Work through me, Anders finishes the mages with two precise bolts from his staff and he can feel his muscles tense with resistance and then...something like buoyancy. Every movement is quicker, sharper. When a skeleton appears at his elbow, he reacts immediately to snap his staff against its throat, knocking its skull loose from its spine with one solid blow. Always before when Justice would manifest himself, Anders was all but lost within him. Now they feel like one being of unwordly strength, power and-
"Blondie...something's wrong!" The crack of Varric's voice over the fray breaks him from his what was I thinking? His eyes fly to Hawke because that's the only reason why Varric would be so panicked, and he sees her, caught and twitching in a cocoon of red-tinged light. Her sword has fallen from her hand, her head is thrown back in agony, neck muscles corded and straining through tan skin, and he even at a distance he can see her chest shuddering as it struggles to draw breath.
Bastard. Decimus' hands are locked together; Anders can see him gathering every last scrap of his energy to use against Wil. Whatever he does next will likely be gruesome and fatal.
"No," he cries brokenly, his own mana coalescing at his finger tips. It's been so long since he's used this particular spell, one that he's always hated because of the way it turns magic against its possessor. But it has its practical applications, mostly against darkspawn emissaries and certain Fade spirits. And fucking maleficar.
With an forceful mental shove, he allows his mana to blast out of him, pouring from his hands. His focus is so precise that he doesn't worry about catching any of the other apostates with it. Only Decimus matters, and only Decimus is sent staggering back, arms flailing, before he goes completely rigid. For a long second, his eyes flicker violet and from his mouth plumes a matching wisp. Finally, he collapses and the cavern echoes with the clatter of bones falling to stone as every spell and corpse fueled by his blood is simultaneously depowered.
Wil collapses before Anders can reach her. She's able to remain on her hands and knees, albeit unsteadily. He can tell by the way her body spasms that there's internal damage and she does not resist him when he joins her on the cavern floor and pulls her closer.
"Here, turn over," his hands are searching along her abdomen, seeking specific injuries. He doesn't need to know in order to heal her, but it makes the healing more efficient. What comes back is...nothing. She gasps and he feels pain darting along his skin almost like heat rash but more intense. "Andraste's...Wil."
"What?" Her back arches suddenly and this time it comes with a wave of agony that knots his stomach and nearly causes him to lose his meager breakfast.
"Dammit," he begins healing madly, praying that it will get past whatever's preventing him from feeling her injuries. Were this purposeful, she would know how to slip back into a place where her body reacted normally to his magic. But now...the discomfort intensifies and Wil grits her teeth to hold back a cry. That's when his thoughts grow faint and weakness over-
"Come on, Anders!" Wil's commanding him now, her arms tight around his shoulders and her mouth next to his ear. He has no idea how long he's been unconscious, but he does know that his mouth tastes like a terrible mixture of elfroot and honeysuckle and his chin is stiff from where the concoction was forced past non-compliant lips. "Maker's breath," it's an almost sob of relief as she continues to cling to him. "I thought I'd killed you and-"
She cannot finish...Anders raises one hand to fumble against her cheek in reassurance and, for a moment, things feel strangely right. Strangely, considering she had nearly killed him and is completely fine because of it.
"I'll survive," he struggles to an upright position, and misses the press of her chest against his back when he does so. "Although...you owe me at least one drink, Hawke."
He half turns so he can see the relieved grin that unfurls across her face, despite the concern that remains etched between her eyes. "I thought Justice didn't allow such indulgences."
"As long as I don't get drunk, he shouldn't protest too much," his strength is returning and he's able to make it to his feet unaided, Wil coming up beside him. "Although..."
"You killed him," the accusation cuts across the cavern to where Anders and Wil are standing, Bethany and Varric nearby. It comes from the same pretty young woman who'd try to keep the man from turning against them in the first place. "Oh, Decimus," she croons to his body. "You should have listened to me, love." She lowers him to the ground, gently, before her mood turns back to anger and it brings her stalking forward, blue eyes locked on Anders. "You...you are one of us but you wear no mark of any Circle. How is it that you side against other apostates?"
He bristles at this. "Maybe your lover should have tried saying hello. We're friendlier than you think."
The woman frowns, her gaze going back to Decimus' body. "He gave us the courage to face the templars. Without him, we would be prisoners still."
Wil is even less sympathetic than Anders, if the scowl that's twisting her mouth is any indication. "Well, if he taught you any of his secrets, you could have him up and walking in no time. Then you can be reunited with your beloved...for as long as you can stand the smell."
Anders expects anger at this, but the apostate seems almost apologetic. "I warned him. I told him, once he marked himself as a blood mage, that was all anyone would see...but, I swear to you. I have had no truck with demons...none of us have. Please, serah. We only want our freedom. Without your help, the templars will execute us all for Decimus's crimes."
Sigh. Her head tilts forward and Anders can see the wheels turning. Wil wants to give them freedom, but it's clear she's not entirely convinced of their innocence. While he can't blame her for doubt, she has to see that it's only the templars pressing after them that drove most of them to use blood magic in the first place.
"You know what?" Her eyes come up, resolve hardened. "I don't have enough people trying to kill me, already. I might as well add all the templars in Kirkwall."
"Mina," Bethany cautions under her breath, but the apostate woman is already accepted Wil's offer, if it can be called that, and is scheming.
"We must first throw off pursuit," she paces a few steps and then returns, her lips dangerously curved. Along with the faded tattoo gracing her cheek, it makes her look almost fearsome. "There is a templar guarding the cavern entrance. He needs to be eliminated, otherwise he'll order us captured."
Anders is caught up in the idea, or rather Justice thinks it's a sound strategy. "Thrask is still a templar, Wil. He'll more than likely order them taken in. And she's right when she says they'll all be executed for the actions of a few. Better the death of one templar than so many innocents, don't you think?"
He asks cautiously, trying to rationalize this course of action the best he can. From the way Wil's eyes darken, he's failed.
"I can't kill a man because of what he might do, especially since he's here to prevent a massacre," her lips press together in thought, and she turns her gaze onto the apostate woman, who seems only a few seconds from making a smart comment about Wil's true priorities.
She is not with the mages.
"Other templars have been killed down here...yes?" Wil asks and the apostate nods, pointing to a pile of armor just beyond Decimus' corpse. "Excellent. All right," she strides ahead. "Leave it to me. By the time I'm done, these templars will swear the sky is green."
They watch as Wil discards her old armor and replaces it with chantry issue, throwing the templar garments on over her hose. The mage shakes her head. "Your confidence almost makes me believe you. But I spent two weeks traveling with these templars. They strike first and think after. They are far easier to kill than to fool."
"Killing Thrask is not an option," this is an absolute statement. "If he can't be convinced, then we'll find another way."
The mage's eyes narrow in disagreement, but she nods her acquiescence. "I think we're ready to head up, serah."
Wil snaps a gauntlet into place. The armor is slightly too large for her, but not unreasonably so. It also doesn't sit well with Anders or Justice to see her in it.
"Follow me and stay together," Wil points to the front of the cavern. "Who knows what we'll encounter on our way back, and I don't want to lose anyone else."
She's looking at Anders when she says it and he feels somewhat guilty for being too eager in his support of killing Thrask.
He is a templar.
But a merciful man, Anders can't believe he manages to think it.
"You look...confused," Wil falls in beside him. "It's the armor, isn't it?"
"Something like that," he mumbles and looks away.
Light breaks the darkness, and Wil orders the apostates to stay in the main room just inside the cave entrance. The woman leading them, Grace, will wait by the square door cut in the stone for a signal to come out, or retreat.
Anders and Bethany position themselves in the shadowed edge of the mouth. From here, they'll listen for any signs of struggle. Wil's confident that everything will turn out fine, but she's not about to risk their safety if it turns out that Kerras has brought a small army with him, or can't be placated.
Once the mages are settled, Varric and Wil continue out into the sunlight where a muffled argument is taking place. Anders recognizes Thrask's voice, and he assumes the higher pitched of the others belongs to the mage they'd sent ahead on their way through the cavern.
"Who is this?" It's a vicious sort of growl, no doubt aimed at Wil. Anders feels Bethany tense beside him at its roughness. Kerras is a friend of Meredith's...definitely a threat.
"Pardon?" They can barely see the top of Wil's head, but her voice echoing back to them rings with unearned authority. "Tethras...tell them who we are."
Varric's throat clears, and he launches smoothly into a lie that even Anders can almost believe. "I'm astonished Ser Thrask didn't mention that Ser Hawke, knight-lieutenant of the Order in Ferelden, was here at the Knight-Commander's personal invitation."
"Uh...," and Thrask might ruin it all. "Yes. I was just about to tell him."
Varric snorts contemptuously. "We've completed our investigation of the mages in those caverns, Ser Kerras. There is no one left inside."
"Really?" Kerras is skeptical. "They're all...dead."
"Actually," Wil interjects smoothly. "One of them couldn't handle us and ran out the back. You should go after him."
Smart girl. Anders smiles to himself.
Varric picks up the thread immediately. "Right...their leader fled the battlefield ahead of us. Bloody coward. He left his own people to die. It looked like the back passages led out to the coast."
Smarter dwarf.
The next to speak is Thrask, his tone urgent, "We can still catch up if we go around the caverns. That's the faster route."
"The coast, you say?" Kerras sounds excited...perhaps he's not a fan of spelunking for apostates. "Men! Search the shore!" Then, with more restraint. "We will retrieve these corpses later. And I will commend you to the Knight-Commander, Ser Hawke."
"For what? Doing her job?" Varric's almost disappointed.
"Well...good point," he pauses. "I find it strange that you travel with a dwarf, Knight-Lieutenant."
Uh-oh.
"And I find it strange that you don't," Wil responds audaciously. "So consider us strange."
"Yes...Ser Hawke," it's Thrasks turn to jump in. "I thank you once more, my friend. You have been a great help to me in this endeavor."
"I am always willing to do the Maker's work," Wil ends their conversation with an innocuous, and ironic, touch. It's a few minutes before her hand comes up to signal Anders that Grace can start coming out of the cavern. He and Bethany remain in their positions while the Starkhaven mages file past, ensuring that they're all accounted for.
Ahead, Grace pauses to thank Wil.
"I didn't think you could do it," she's pleasantly surprised. "You're quite skilled...I thought we were all dead for certain."
"I'd thank Varric, were I you," Wil shrugs off the praise. "And, if it makes you feel better, officially you were 'killed during escape.'"
"I will do my best to seem cold and rotted, then," Grace glances back at the mages gathered behind her. "Decimus had arranged for us to meet with a friend of his...he has a boat. I know the way, but we must flee as far as we can before nightfall while avoiding the templars." She returns to Wil, her lower lip pulled between her teeth, suddenly nervous. "Thank you again...you did not have to help us. Not many would...I can see why he lo-" her breath catches when she sees Wil's eyes widening and it prevents her from continuing.
Maker's breath. Anders begins trekking back towards Kirkwall before the others have had the chance to gather themselves. His strides are long, his staff, which is actually Wil's father's staff and a gift a temporary gift, strikes the ground with every step.
But he cannot keep up this pace, nor does he want to. More than embarrassment, he's feeling strangely euphoric. Well, he is once he stops to wait for the others.
Those mages will know freedom...it is a small step.
It's an accomplishment...in Kirkwall, Anders smiles to himself and it stays when he sees Wil and Bethany's heads poke over a crest in the path.
"I didn't realize how bloody you'd gotten," Wil nods towards his jacket. She's apparently moved past Grace's near slip, and the way Anders all but confirmed it by running away like a child. "Also...you have corpse chunks in your feathers."
"I know," he sighs. "You'd be surprised at what I've learned to ignore. Between being a Grey Warden and my clinic...disgusting is everpresent and my appearance just isn't a priority."
Varric smirks at this, and gives Bethany a sideways glance.
"You're a man, you don't have to worry about your appearance," Bethany toys with her sleeves. "Just look at Decimus and Grace. He was practically a corpse himself and she was..."
"Beautiful," Varric finishes.
"Hot," Wil supplies.
"Pretty enough, I suppose," that's as far as he'll go. "Although...I used to have quite the fondness for tattoos on women."
"Really?" Stroking his chin, Varric gestures Bethany to come down so he can whisper something in her ear. From the way she blushes, it's not something she's completely comfortable repeating.
"Let me guess...another wager?" Wil smirks.
"But not what you think, Hawke," it's said with sly smile. "Everyone knows that you already have a tattoo."
Anders chuckles at that and then guffaws when he sees the furious shade of pink that renders Wil's ears practically incandescent through her mop of hair as she fumbles for an invective affectionate enough to direct at Varric. He expects for Justice to push back against his amusement, to intervene when his gaze lingers on the smile that brightens Wil's face moments later when her arm goes around Bethany's shoulder and she begins the story of the fox tattoo.
You shouldn't look, Anders, his eyes go to the water, but the image remains. He holds onto it, because it's nice and this afternoon has ended up being the same...
A small step.
No, an accomplishment. He squints and turns to see the Gallows still distant but crouching like a bad omen on the harbor. In Kirkwall.

Description

Author: SurelyForth
Title: Maps & Legends
Game: Dragon Age 2
Character pairing: F!Hawke/Anders
Disclaimer: Rated T for language, violence and some sexual content.
"This place looks different during the day," Wil, suddenly the one who feels vulnerable, stays close to her sister as they traverse through the wide main hall of the Hightown chantry. "Even tackier, if that's possible. Although...a refreshing lack of corpses."
Bethany gives her a meaningful glare, forcing Wil to re-examine the likelihood that one of them might be adopted, or a changeling. They've lived together their entire lives, yet Bethany can find a peace in the chant that has always eluded Wil. Perhaps it was Malcolm's attitude that shaped Wil's cynicism, and now it's her own unwillingness to seek comfort in words that have been twisted to condemn the ones she loves that keeps her away.
Not that it's entirely her father's fault...even if she'd been a devout child, at some point she'd have noticed how Bethany's faith has worsened her struggle to come to terms with both her magic and the nature of her freedom, being as it is an affront to the order of the Chantry and, thus, another mark against her. Wil refuses to feel guilty for much, and she's definitely not going to fret about anyone who'd tell her to turn against her own family because of something that not a soul could predict nor do any humane thing about.
So Wil's irreverent at the best of times, borderline sacrilegious most. Bethany, meanwhile, knows the Chant by heart, and she knows which of the robed women in the atrium get polite smiles, and which get tiny, dutiful nods of respect. She knows where to stop ahead of the altar so she's not entering a place meant only for those who have taken vows, and she knows where confessionals are located.
And not because they made perfect hiding spots for impromptu kisses and other, fumbly, lust-fueled endeavors.
"Please excuse me, sister," Bethany is confident here and the blonde priest to whom she speaks offers both Hawkes a false but pretty smile that fixes itself for the duration of their conversation.
Creepy, Wil thinks. Her attention wanders while Bethany asks the clergy about the man they'd come to see. Wandering pays off, as Bethany's about to get an earful of chantry horseshit, and Wil's spotted their target on the mezzanine, lounging against the railing and observing the altar below.
"I've found him...I think." She leaves without securing her sister's presence and isn't surprised when Bethany stays behind to be polite and continue the conversation between herself and the priest.
"Does she belong to you?" The man against the railing asks as Wil approaches. He's tall, his skin slightly darker than her own and his hair a shade of auburn she hasn't seen on many people since they'd left Ferelden. Most striking are his sky colored eyes. They're...bright, and lend him a strangely cheerful appearance.
If she's being honest, he's bright. His armor is glossy white trimmed in gold and it reflects the sunlight that streams in through the windows over the altar, even up here where it's kept dim for those who come for contemplation and solitude.
"Belong to me?" Wil leans forward and regards the two women below, Bethany talking animatedly now.
"Does that word choice offend you?" He smiles, his teeth doing nothing to undermine her impression that he might be the cleanest person she's ever met. "If so, I apologize. I only meant that you seem watchful...not possessive. Even when you're the one who's ill at ease."
It's assumptive, to say the least. But also true.
"Is it that obvious?" Pushing up from the wall, she darts her away eyes from his and lands on the precise spot where Anders had killed Karl...with her support. Perspective is gained; the handsome man in the shiny armor is a much better point of focus. Less tragic. "It's true that I don't come here often. Well, not when there are chantry folk about. I'm more into clandestine midnight meetings and shady dealings. That sort of thing."
His eyes widen, and Wil realizes that she'd be better off not joking about using the chantry for anything, especially considering the number of people she's participated in killing here.
"Kidding!" She smiles as charmingly as she can, in the hopes that it's enough. "I am...kidding. It's a thing I do."
Relief floods his face and comes out as laughter.
"I'm glad to hear it," his eyes are positively aglow. "So you never attend services?"
It's gentle curiosity, and not condemnation.
"Oh, no," she cringes. "I could be forced to when we lived in Ferelden, but I saw some purpose for it then. In Kirkwall...," she trails off, fairly certain that she shouldn't mention how her possessed friend in the undercity puts the chantry's non-existent charity for her fellow refugees to shame. "My sister comes, though. She prays for me."
He's been watching her with genuine interest, her response and what she omits clearly of some importance to him.
"Does she pray on your behalf, or does she ask the Maker to watch over and guide you, that you might arrive at Him someday on your own?"
Assumptive again. It sends one of her eyebrows up in suspicion. "If he's guiding me...than am I really arriving on my own? And wouldn't that be a miracle, considering...well. You know."
That whole turned his back on us episode. She doesn't say it. She has serious doubts that there's anything about her that would interest any deity enough to want to start paying attention after a millennia of noted apathy.
"We're having this discussion, and I don't even know your name," he smiles indulgently, as if he can read her thoughts and he wants her to know that he cares. "Although I realize this goes both ways, so I'll introduce myself. My name is Sebastian Vael, and I am the Prince of Starkhaven," his eyes gleam. "Although Her Grace would probably prefer that I introduce myself as a brother in the chantry."
Wil ignores the brother in the chantry part, although it explains a lot. She's merely glad to know that she has the right man. "Sebastian Vael? So...will anyone smite me if I admit that I killed the men that went after your family?"
"Excuse me?" This time his entire face registers shock. "I...you mean my posting on the Chanter's Board was allowed to stay? I had no idea. And you kill- took care of them?"
"Yeah," Wil glances away, uncertain why she feels suddenly and vaguely ashamed. He's the one who'd ask that the mercenaries be eliminated. He couldn't very well judge her for doing what he wanted done, could he? And what would it matter? "Also something I do."
"I...see," he exhales. "You have my eternal gratitude, serah. My parents might be able to rest easily in their graves now, thanks to you. It is...comforting. And now those assassins are no longer a danger to me."
It seems an interesting perspective for a chantry brother to have. There are no overt signs of bloodthirsty need, but having the entire group of mercenaries disposed of blurs the line between justice and vengeance. Never mind the blatant self-preservation.
"Do you know who sent them...who could be behind the slaughter?" While she asks, her hand slips into her pocket. Since she'd relinquished Flemeth's amulet, the amethyst locket she'd found at Sundermount has taken its spot at her hip. She'll miss it. "Also...I thought you might want this..."
Fingers trembling in a mixture of sorrow and relief, Sebastian touches the locket as it sways from her fingers.
"Meghan," the corners of his mouth turn down. "She was a beautiful young woman, who posed no threat to any usurper. I...this only strengthens my resolve to find who is behind this." His hand falls to his side before finding his belt to free a small leather pouch that he then offers to Wil. "Here is what I have for now. Once I have reclaimed my lands, you will be royally rewarded."
Ooooh. She won't be holding her breath.
"And I think you should keep the locket," Sebastian scoops it up to press into her palm, his fingers calloused and warm against her own as they linger several seconds beyond what is strictly necessary. "Wear it if you want, or sell it and do good."
"I don't know if you'd approve of what I consider doing good." Even she can admit that there's a tenuous link between a well-fed apostate and the happy refugees that depend on him. "But thank you." Then, although she doubts it matters much at this point, "The name's Hawke. Wilhelmina."
Sebastian relaxes, going back to lean against the railing. "Yes. It suits you. Strong...almost noble," he returns upright. "I'm glad that we met, Wilhelmina Hawke. You've helped me more than you can possibly know, and I'd be happy to return the favor one day. Unfortunately now I must seek an audience with the Viscount. Starkhaven needs allies." He inclines his head forward in a small show of respect before his face blooms into a wide smile. "Maker watch over you, Serah Hawke. I hope to see you here again someday, and not merely because I'm supposed to."
With powerful and confident strides, Sebastian leaves her alone on the mezzanine, looking down over the main hall that now contains only the blonde priest.
"Mina?" Bethany's beside her now and they both follow Sebastian's progress out of the chantry, although one of them watches with far more undisguised interest. "Was that him? He looked princely enough...and he was smiling!"
"That was him," Wil frowns. "His armor was out of control. Also...I think he might have been flirting with me?"
Beth giggles. "That would be something, wouldn't it? Just don't tell Mother!"
"Maker!" Wil begins towards the stairs. "Could you imagine what she'd say?"
"There was a handsome prince indebted to you, Wilhelmina, and you didn't ask for his hand in marriage?" Bethany has on her best Disappointed Leandra Face. "Instead you smarted off and now you'll never find a suitable husband."
"I actually handled myself pretty well," Wil's just as surprised as her sister. "Aside from joking that I use the chantry for illicit activities...it was a remarkably adult interaction."
"Maybe we should tell the Grand Cleric that a miracle happened here today," Bethany sasses.
"Let's keep the Grand Cleric out of this, and pray that my streak continues through Bartrand," Wil makes a disgusted face. "All I need to do is ruin this for us when we're so close, especially after everything Varric has done to get us this opportunity in the first place. I think even his generosity has its limits."
Anders' hands smell like his poultices, earth and astringent and honeysuckle. Wil's mentioned his scent before, and it's almost entirely because of the time he spends mixing batches for her and his clinic.
He also smells like the Fade, Justice having recently asserted himself in the middle of a...daydream...that was mild at best. And innocent. Those could have been anyone's hands...
They weren't anyone's hands.
And they hadn't been doing anything, the hands that could have been anyone's hands. The small shiver that traces along his spine like a gentle fingertip tells a different story, but he forces himself to ignore what he can't bring himself to confront. Instead, he focuses on corking and cleaning the dozens of vials and jars that he's spent the morning filling. These will be left behind for Lirene, who's agreed to dispense them along with other remedies while he's gone.
There's so much to be done before he leaves, but he's having trouble focusing on anything. Between Justice pulling him to sit and finalize a final final draft of his appeal to the Viscount to intervene in Knight-Commander Meredith's recent revision of the Circle's outreach policy and...hands, he doesn't think he can accomplish anything besides mindless tasks like making poultices.
We have so much more we could be doing.
"I know," Anders murmurs, reassuring himself as much as Justice. "But this afternoon..."
He's not certain what he's expecting today. Wil suspects that the note she'd received the night before is a plea from Ser Thrask, the templar who'd been trying to help Feynriel. Although Anders has not met the man, Wil seems to consider him trustworthy enough.
Why leave these things to her discretion?
Anders sighs, digging his fingers into his forehead. Wil could literally stroll in here with a notarized edict from the Divine herself declaring all mages in Thedas free and Justice would probably go off and do the spirit equivalent of pout in a corner. Even the few times she'd managed to evoke something approaching respect from Justice had been undermined by what Justice sees as her ultimate, and self-interested, goal of wealth and status.
But that's not all she wants. Anders knows, but can't get it through. No matter what he tries, and he's even written down all the ways that she's proven herself to have the best interest of mages at heart, Justice considers her a slippery distraction. An annoyance at best, outright manipulative at worst, and there seems to be nothing that she nor Anders can do to sway him from his narrow view.
It matters not, Anders. She matters not. There is a world...there are children on the verge of magical discovery, of being taken from loving arms and placed in cold, confining steel and stone.
You're using my memories against me, Anders accuses in silence, although there is no real heat behind it. Now is not the time to get angry at his inability to hide from his past, as he can hear them coming, Varric's low voice and Bethany's unmistakable giggle. If Wil's taking her sister with us, then I don't think Thrask is a threat.
You'll find out soon enough.
"Anders!" From the flush of Wil's cheeks and the way she says his name like she's never been happier to know someone with a name, their meeting with Bartrand had gone well. "Guess who just accomplished something of minor import?"
"I'm guessing..." Anders hesitates as she stops close to him. As always, it's too close yet not close enough. A paradox of proximity. "Uncle Gamlen."
"Ha!" Wil knocks the back of her hand against his shoulder. "I said minor, not miniscule."
"You almost impressed my brother, Hawke. I think that earns you a step or two above minor," Varric is relief, everything about him a little bit loose now that this final barricade has been removed.
"I don't think I was the one who impressed him," she smirks at Anders. "You weren't even there, and you stole the show." Her voice lowers to gruffness and her accent slips into one similar to Varric's, "By my ancestors...where did you find these?...Look at all those entrances...who did you have to blow?"
Anders fights to keep his blood where it belongs, and Bethany picks up where her sister left off, oblivious to his struggle.
"The best part is what Mina told him," Bethany adjusts her face to appear as aloof yet self-possessed as Wil and manages to nail her inflection perfectly... "A wizard did it."
"Actually," Varric interjects before Anders can praise her for saying he exact right thing. "The best part was that he was too excited to do anything but welcome her to the expedition. No suspicions, or accusations. Just...Andraste's ass, now I'm starting to doubt that was even really Bartrand."
"He was still a jerk. So it's safe to assume it was Bartrand...Thedas wouldn't be able to handle two of him," Wil demurs the flattery with a joke and a genuine flush of embarrassment. "And it's not a huge deal. I made friends and saved money. Not exactly the trickiest."
"Says the girl whose only friends before were her brother and sister," Bethany pokes lightly, but Anders can see the flash of discomfort that ignites in Wil's eyes. She catches him watching and that only makes it worse, her gaze diving to the floor as Bethany nudges Varric's shoulder so that they can share some private joke.
"Fine then. I'll claim more than I actually accomplished," her smile when she looks up is tighter than he's ever seen, and it's a reminder of the evening before, when she'd been so terse, so intensely frustrated and jagged. "I demand the Hanged Man's best once we get back tonight..." she cuts to Varric, a sly expression overtaking the tension. "And again before we leave...we might as well indulge. Something tells me there aren't too many taverns in the ruined Deep Roads."
Anders bites back an involuntary rise in bile. The Deep Roads. It brings to mind sharp sounds in the darkness, shrill cries cutting their way from billowing heated mists that reeked of refuse and decay and ancient horribleness. His first journey down had been in Kal'Hirol, where they'd found Sigrun fighting for her life and an assortment of monstrosities that made the Void seem an endearing and cuddly place to spend an afterlife.
Andraste's ass. Broodmothers. The Mother herself had put him off breasts for...well, the duration of the walk back to the Keep. So not that long, but still a personal record. And he'd not been so much enthused to see the ones that brought him back as he was happy to be holding the person to whom they belonged...
...who'd kept him sane that time, in Kal'Hirol. The gentle pressure of her hand on his elbow had anchored him, her tales of survival in worse places and awesome fearlessness enough to keep him from slipping into panic when the tunnels they crept down would narrow and feel for all the world like a noose tightening around his own neck.
Inside him, Justice settles and it feels like contentment for the way Anders' blood stirs for the right woman.
In front of him Wil is alone and watching, eyebrows up in bewilderment and concern that she doesn't quite know how to act upon.
"You all right?" From her immediate wince, she realizes it's an idiotic question to ask a man who's newly coated in a sheen of nervous sweat.
"Yes," he lies, trying in vain to squelch the murmurings of remorse that have somehow made their way past Justice. The existence of guilt in this situation is troubling and doesn't he have enough troubling him already? Yes. Yes I do. "I take it they're ready to go?"
She looks to the doorway of the clinic, where Bethany's turned the tables and is enthusiastically regaling Varric. Sensing their attention, she leans into the clinic, raven hair tumbling around her white shoulders, eyes bright. "I'm telling Varric about the handsome prince."
Wil gives her head a few quick shakes to dissuade her sister.
"What handsome prince?" Anders' curiosity isn't all innocent, but it is a nice distraction. Although from Bethany's mischievous smile, it's supposed to serve an entirely different purpose.
"Sebastian Vael...he's the one who wanted all those mercenaries dead," Wil's mouth twists halfway through the explanation. "He's also a brother. Or he was before his family was killed."
"He seemed quite taken by Mina," Bethany's eyes meet his and there's a remarkable amount of knowing in them.
"Not really," Wil sighs. "Maybe a little. In retrospect, I think he was trying to lure me to the Maker and not, you know, into his pants."
"I don't think it's supposed to be so difficult to figure out which of those he wants," Anders responds with a forced laugh. "Although a prince slash chantry brother might just be confused on his approach."
"But, if I might flaunt my knowledge of perverse activities one might get up to in a chantry," Wil straightens her shoulders and assumes an arch scholar's tone. "There are so many practices, symbols and rituals that could cause confusion. Kneeling to render praise has several interpretations, and I won't even get into swords of mercy and dark, secretive boxes where anonymous exchanges of sin and punishment are made away from the prying or judgmental eyes of others."
"Holy Maker, Hawke," Varric sags in resignation that no matter how good she's proving at getting things done, she's still...off. "Let's get out of here before we draw any unwanted attention. Of the smiting variety."
Wil shrugs and follows behind the dwarf, pausing to help Anders lock up the clinic. "If I was ever going to be smitten? smote? it would have happened already," she gives him a significant look. "Trust me on this, Tethras."
"You never know. It might be accruing over time," he contemplates. "You're just going along until one day you make a joke about having a miter fetish and, next thing you know, zot! straight from the sky. From what I've heard, smitings don't discriminate between those who deserve them and handsome dwarves who don't even believe in the Maker."
"Fine, fine," Wil rolls her eyes in mock exasperation and dryly agrees. "Then I'll keep the details of my miter fetish to myself, lest I end up getting you accidentally struck down."
"Such a good person, Wil," Anders jokes. It earns him a strained and crooked smile.
"I'm just trying to do the right thing," it comes with an almost amusing amount of forced sincerity. "Remember that later if it does turn out to be Thrask who sent that letter."
Indiscriminately helping templars...they are not the ones in need of her support.
"Of course," Anders ignores Justice and smiles because, joke or not, he believes what he said to be true.
Now if only Justice could get over himself...and her...to accept it.
It's close.
At some point after Anders jumps in between the red-haired man and Wil to assert that they will absolutely not go in and kill any mages on behalf of the templars, which garners him a startled expression from Thrask and something closer to what kind of monster do you think I am? from the widening of Wil's green eyes, she states that she is going to help the escaped mages from Starkhaven.
If she can do this, they can no longer be traced with their phylacteries...they can be examples of what well-trained mages can be when allowed freedom.
Yes, Anders agrees, his attention still on her and a small smile holding his lips. While most people wouldn't hear I don't want this to turn into a massacre and be anything more than Oh, good. Non-psychopath confirmed, coming from her and in this situation is...
"Good luck, my friend," Thrask speaks to Wil, but he's staring at Anders and the mage is on the verge of giving in to the slow rise of paranoia when he realizes why he's staring...I am still smiling like a lovestruck fool.
"We don't have long," Wil leads the way into the cavern, making certain that Bethany is close behind. Varric and Anders remain in the rear in case Ser Kerras, the templar Thrask has warned them against, arrives sooner than anticipated. Although it comes after a great deal of hesitation, Wil agrees that Kerras can be eliminated should he try to confront them down here. "Hopefully it doesn't come to that...if nothing else, Meredith might pin the blame on the Starkhaven mages and redouble her efforts to capture them."
"And she wouldn't even take them," Anders snarls, every scrap of relief he'd felt moments earlier now pulled away to expose the black pulse of anger within him. "They'd be tranquiled or ordered executed where they're found...templars can get away with entrapping and killing mages," he flashes back to a certain templar who'd attempted both on him, Rylock with her eyes like dark fire boring accusations into his soul. "Mages aren't even granted the right of self-defense."
Wil turns as if to respond, but a snap interrupts their fledgling debate as they abandon talk for drawn weapons. Besides Anders the soft whirr of Bianca is a strangely reassuring sound, and the surge of magic that Anders casts to imbue the crossbow, and Wil's blade, seems to bolster the dwarf. Ahead of the two men, the Hawke sisters are similarly poised- Wil's sword angled back at the ready and Bethany's fingers tipped in subtle flame.
Although he knows Wil favors having someone fighting alongside her, Fenris her preferred partner as he can distract and directly engage large numbers of opponents, Anders has come to like this configuration in particular. In the Wardens, he'd gotten used to fighting alongside an archer and although Varric lacks Nathaniel's physical presence, his eyes and sense of battle placement are impeccable. He and the dwarf have become accustomed to each other's fighting style and spend most of their time back to back in the heat of things, Varric spotting while Anders casts.
As for Wil and Bethany...it's almost distracting if he lets it be. Never is the difference between the two women more apparent than it is when they're surrounded by enemies, and yet the work together brilliantly. Wil throws herself into a fight, her long, athletic frame gracefully insinuating itself, as it is now amongst a horde of skeletal archers. At close range, there's not much that they can do to her, and she manages to topple most of them with one controlled swing on her blade.
"I've got it, Mina!" Bethany is at her usual guarded position at the edge of the fight, but closer than Anders or Varric. After pausing long enough for Wil to dive away from the fallen archers, she hurls flame towards the center of their cluster.
Wil does not flinch as the fire rushes by her head, nor does she cower when Bethany begins raining more fire down on a group of shambling corpses. Instead she deftly avoids injury, dancing amidst the flickering orange in her drive to attack the apostate responsible for the necromancy around them.
Anders holds his breath, watching the confrontation between Wil and the maleficar, who is attempting to summon another demon.
Hurry, Wil. If she can get to him before the spell is finished, the fight should not be a difficult one. He's wearing nothing but his Circle robes and Anders senses no other defensive spells around him. Come on...
She's not quite made it when the mage stops summoning and throws his hands out towards her, loosing a wave of energy that shows itself as a growing edge of distortion. It staggers Wil, but only for a second.
The mage...clearly not anticipating such a quick recovery. He's barely able to raise his hand to cast another spell when her blade finds his stomach and buries itself to the hilt. It's gruesome but effective, the apostate collapsing as life drains out of him. Then, in a move Anders doesn't expect, Wil yanks the sword clean and brings it back down to cleave the man's head from his shoulders, turning away from his corpse before it's completely fallen.
"What was that for?" Bethany's hands are curled against her stomach, her chest heaving from adrenaline. "Is decapitation necessary?"
Wil shrugs and examines her gore covered weapon. "My guess is that we're going to encounter a few more blood mages as we go...I'd rather they not be able to call on their fallen mates," she hesitates, eyes going up in thought. "That makes sense, right? It was sort of a spur of the moment decision."
"You better hope that's enough to stop them," Varric's entire face is twisted in disgust. "Because if it's not? Disgusting."
"It should work," Anders' head is now throbbing. This situation is worse than he'd anticipated. "These poor fools are summoning the dead. Their desperation...we can't send them back to the Circle, Wil. If that Ser Kerras is half as bad as Thrask says..."
"They're also practicing blood magic, and attacking us," frowning, she kicks at the smoldering remains of a reanimated corpse. "I need to talk to someone before I can decide anything. Just..." she looks beyond Anders in the most disconcerting way. "Just know what I want to happen."
She's talking to Justice. His tongue darts out to moisten dry lips and his thoughts grow momentarily chaotic before calming to a simple... our goal is their freedom.
It repeats as they traverse through the cavern, encountering two more blood mages and defeating them and their dead easily.
It repeats when they encounter a nervous young mage who looks barely Harrowed, his narrow shoulders poking through the torn fabric of his robes. Anders is not surprised to hear that there is one apostate leading and urging the use of blood magic, but he is slightly taken aback at the boy's insistence that he himself be returned to the templars.
Why would he want to return?
Anders knows why. If he'd not been abused, or been refused meals or a bed or access to a hot bath, the Circle is like a home...certainly better than a cave full of madmen and corpses. He knows, but he's not happy when Wil points the boy to the mouth of the cavern, directing him so that he can turn himself over to Thrask.
"It was his choice," she doesn't even need to see Anders' expression.
"Yes, but is it really a choice when he has no idea what true freedom is?" Anders falls into step beside her. "Being trapped in a cave with maleficar is not the only other option besides the Circle."
"But I can't promise that he'll ever be able to do any better...that he won't be hunted, or he won't be turned over or enslaved. He's not comfortable out here and, frankly, he sticks out like a busted thumb," Wil glances over, frustration clear in her eyes. "Not everyone thrives in the world, Anders. I can't force him to go back to someone who scares him, or stay with us and risk getting eaten in here or captured out there. At least Thrask will show him mercy."
"You actually believe that?" It's barely a question, although it's not quite an accusation, either. His voice is kept low as they approach a series of makeshift bunk rooms left behind from when this was a mining facility. Murmurs are echoing from the high stone ceilings in the chamber ahead of them, which means they're approaching the apostate camp proper.
"Of course I believe that," Wil's face is near his own...he can see the subtle web texture of her eyes and also a ghost of confusion, despite her certainty. "Why else would he have called on me to help him?"
It's said with self-mocking arrogance, but for Anders it only justifies an unbidden swell of admiration. Justice does not resist this time.
Nothing resists this time, and it's only Wil moving slowly forward, her head lowered and her eyes restlessly scanning the cavern that prevents him from...
I sense power beyond a mortal's.
Anders grabs her elbow and gestures for Varric and Bethany to halt behind them.
"Demon," he mouths, waiting for Wil to nod before he releases her arm only to watch helplessly as she straightens up and clatters down a series of wooden steps, whatever advantage they might have possessed ruined as she does so.
What are you doing, Wil? He hurries to catch up with her, barely able to stop as they round a corner and see...him.
It is a him, the beard gives that one away. Beneath the wild blond growth is a world-beaten face, mottled crepe skin that clings to the bones of his skull like lantern paper to a wire frame. Pale eyes glow with hatred and something altogether unearthly, narrow slits of verve in an otherwise soulless visage.
"Templars," he rasps, twitching as he regards them all in turn. "The templars have come to take us back to the Circle!"
Despite the fact that none of them are, in fact, templars. Or even dressed like templars.
One of his fellow mages is trying to make him see this fact, a young woman who speaks to him in desperate yet intimate tones.
"These are not templars, Decimus," she shoots Wil a wildly beseeching look. "Please...do not-"
"I care not what shield they cower behind...only that they will fall," his hands are engulfed in crimson mist and he raises them in a gesture that causes the shadows edging the cavern to come alive with corpses.
"I'm starting to think they chose this cave on purpose," Anders edges back towards Varric, Bethany moving closer to Wil.
Wil has only one intent, and that is to kill this Decimus. Once he's fallen, whatever enchantment he's cast should broken. As it is now, Anders counts quickly, there are close to fifty skeletal beings staggering from the back of the cave, and probably more in the passages that branch off of the main room.
Varric and Bethany keep the dead at a distance while Anders throws lightning at two apostates who have joined the fray. With the presence of whatever demon it is powering Decimus, Justice is pushing hard for control of Anders.
Work through me, Anders finishes the mages with two precise bolts from his staff and he can feel his muscles tense with resistance and then...something like buoyancy. Every movement is quicker, sharper. When a skeleton appears at his elbow, he reacts immediately to snap his staff against its throat, knocking its skull loose from its spine with one solid blow. Always before when Justice would manifest himself, Anders was all but lost within him. Now they feel like one being of unwordly strength, power and-
"Blondie...something's wrong!" The crack of Varric's voice over the fray breaks him from his what was I thinking? His eyes fly to Hawke because that's the only reason why Varric would be so panicked, and he sees her, caught and twitching in a cocoon of red-tinged light. Her sword has fallen from her hand, her head is thrown back in agony, neck muscles corded and straining through tan skin, and he even at a distance he can see her chest shuddering as it struggles to draw breath.
Bastard. Decimus' hands are locked together; Anders can see him gathering every last scrap of his energy to use against Wil. Whatever he does next will likely be gruesome and fatal.
"No," he cries brokenly, his own mana coalescing at his finger tips. It's been so long since he's used this particular spell, one that he's always hated because of the way it turns magic against its possessor. But it has its practical applications, mostly against darkspawn emissaries and certain Fade spirits. And fucking maleficar.
With an forceful mental shove, he allows his mana to blast out of him, pouring from his hands. His focus is so precise that he doesn't worry about catching any of the other apostates with it. Only Decimus matters, and only Decimus is sent staggering back, arms flailing, before he goes completely rigid. For a long second, his eyes flicker violet and from his mouth plumes a matching wisp. Finally, he collapses and the cavern echoes with the clatter of bones falling to stone as every spell and corpse fueled by his blood is simultaneously depowered.
Wil collapses before Anders can reach her. She's able to remain on her hands and knees, albeit unsteadily. He can tell by the way her body spasms that there's internal damage and she does not resist him when he joins her on the cavern floor and pulls her closer.
"Here, turn over," his hands are searching along her abdomen, seeking specific injuries. He doesn't need to know in order to heal her, but it makes the healing more efficient. What comes back is...nothing. She gasps and he feels pain darting along his skin almost like heat rash but more intense. "Andraste's...Wil."
"What?" Her back arches suddenly and this time it comes with a wave of agony that knots his stomach and nearly causes him to lose his meager breakfast.
"Dammit," he begins healing madly, praying that it will get past whatever's preventing him from feeling her injuries. Were this purposeful, she would know how to slip back into a place where her body reacted normally to his magic. But now...the discomfort intensifies and Wil grits her teeth to hold back a cry. That's when his thoughts grow faint and weakness over-
"Come on, Anders!" Wil's commanding him now, her arms tight around his shoulders and her mouth next to his ear. He has no idea how long he's been unconscious, but he does know that his mouth tastes like a terrible mixture of elfroot and honeysuckle and his chin is stiff from where the concoction was forced past non-compliant lips. "Maker's breath," it's an almost sob of relief as she continues to cling to him. "I thought I'd killed you and-"
She cannot finish...Anders raises one hand to fumble against her cheek in reassurance and, for a moment, things feel strangely right. Strangely, considering she had nearly killed him and is completely fine because of it.
"I'll survive," he struggles to an upright position, and misses the press of her chest against his back when he does so. "Although...you owe me at least one drink, Hawke."
He half turns so he can see the relieved grin that unfurls across her face, despite the concern that remains etched between her eyes. "I thought Justice didn't allow such indulgences."
"As long as I don't get drunk, he shouldn't protest too much," his strength is returning and he's able to make it to his feet unaided, Wil coming up beside him. "Although..."
"You killed him," the accusation cuts across the cavern to where Anders and Wil are standing, Bethany and Varric nearby. It comes from the same pretty young woman who'd try to keep the man from turning against them in the first place. "Oh, Decimus," she croons to his body. "You should have listened to me, love." She lowers him to the ground, gently, before her mood turns back to anger and it brings her stalking forward, blue eyes locked on Anders. "You...you are one of us but you wear no mark of any Circle. How is it that you side against other apostates?"
He bristles at this. "Maybe your lover should have tried saying hello. We're friendlier than you think."
The woman frowns, her gaze going back to Decimus' body. "He gave us the courage to face the templars. Without him, we would be prisoners still."
Wil is even less sympathetic than Anders, if the scowl that's twisting her mouth is any indication. "Well, if he taught you any of his secrets, you could have him up and walking in no time. Then you can be reunited with your beloved...for as long as you can stand the smell."
Anders expects anger at this, but the apostate seems almost apologetic. "I warned him. I told him, once he marked himself as a blood mage, that was all anyone would see...but, I swear to you. I have had no truck with demons...none of us have. Please, serah. We only want our freedom. Without your help, the templars will execute us all for Decimus's crimes."
Sigh. Her head tilts forward and Anders can see the wheels turning. Wil wants to give them freedom, but it's clear she's not entirely convinced of their innocence. While he can't blame her for doubt, she has to see that it's only the templars pressing after them that drove most of them to use blood magic in the first place.
"You know what?" Her eyes come up, resolve hardened. "I don't have enough people trying to kill me, already. I might as well add all the templars in Kirkwall."
"Mina," Bethany cautions under her breath, but the apostate woman is already accepted Wil's offer, if it can be called that, and is scheming.
"We must first throw off pursuit," she paces a few steps and then returns, her lips dangerously curved. Along with the faded tattoo gracing her cheek, it makes her look almost fearsome. "There is a templar guarding the cavern entrance. He needs to be eliminated, otherwise he'll order us captured."
Anders is caught up in the idea, or rather Justice thinks it's a sound strategy. "Thrask is still a templar, Wil. He'll more than likely order them taken in. And she's right when she says they'll all be executed for the actions of a few. Better the death of one templar than so many innocents, don't you think?"
He asks cautiously, trying to rationalize this course of action the best he can. From the way Wil's eyes darken, he's failed.
"I can't kill a man because of what he might do, especially since he's here to prevent a massacre," her lips press together in thought, and she turns her gaze onto the apostate woman, who seems only a few seconds from making a smart comment about Wil's true priorities.
She is not with the mages.
"Other templars have been killed down here...yes?" Wil asks and the apostate nods, pointing to a pile of armor just beyond Decimus' corpse. "Excellent. All right," she strides ahead. "Leave it to me. By the time I'm done, these templars will swear the sky is green."
They watch as Wil discards her old armor and replaces it with chantry issue, throwing the templar garments on over her hose. The mage shakes her head. "Your confidence almost makes me believe you. But I spent two weeks traveling with these templars. They strike first and think after. They are far easier to kill than to fool."
"Killing Thrask is not an option," this is an absolute statement. "If he can't be convinced, then we'll find another way."
The mage's eyes narrow in disagreement, but she nods her acquiescence. "I think we're ready to head up, serah."
Wil snaps a gauntlet into place. The armor is slightly too large for her, but not unreasonably so. It also doesn't sit well with Anders or Justice to see her in it.
"Follow me and stay together," Wil points to the front of the cavern. "Who knows what we'll encounter on our way back, and I don't want to lose anyone else."
She's looking at Anders when she says it and he feels somewhat guilty for being too eager in his support of killing Thrask.
He is a templar.
But a merciful man, Anders can't believe he manages to think it.
"You look...confused," Wil falls in beside him. "It's the armor, isn't it?"
"Something like that," he mumbles and looks away.
Light breaks the darkness, and Wil orders the apostates to stay in the main room just inside the cave entrance. The woman leading them, Grace, will wait by the square door cut in the stone for a signal to come out, or retreat.
Anders and Bethany position themselves in the shadowed edge of the mouth. From here, they'll listen for any signs of struggle. Wil's confident that everything will turn out fine, but she's not about to risk their safety if it turns out that Kerras has brought a small army with him, or can't be placated.
Once the mages are settled, Varric and Wil continue out into the sunlight where a muffled argument is taking place. Anders recognizes Thrask's voice, and he assumes the higher pitched of the others belongs to the mage they'd sent ahead on their way through the cavern.
"Who is this?" It's a vicious sort of growl, no doubt aimed at Wil. Anders feels Bethany tense beside him at its roughness. Kerras is a friend of Meredith's...definitely a threat.
"Pardon?" They can barely see the top of Wil's head, but her voice echoing back to them rings with unearned authority. "Tethras...tell them who we are."
Varric's throat clears, and he launches smoothly into a lie that even Anders can almost believe. "I'm astonished Ser Thrask didn't mention that Ser Hawke, knight-lieutenant of the Order in Ferelden, was here at the Knight-Commander's personal invitation."
"Uh...," and Thrask might ruin it all. "Yes. I was just about to tell him."
Varric snorts contemptuously. "We've completed our investigation of the mages in those caverns, Ser Kerras. There is no one left inside."
"Really?" Kerras is skeptical. "They're all...dead."
"Actually," Wil interjects smoothly. "One of them couldn't handle us and ran out the back. You should go after him."
Smart girl. Anders smiles to himself.
Varric picks up the thread immediately. "Right...their leader fled the battlefield ahead of us. Bloody coward. He left his own people to die. It looked like the back passages led out to the coast."
Smarter dwarf.
The next to speak is Thrask, his tone urgent, "We can still catch up if we go around the caverns. That's the faster route."
"The coast, you say?" Kerras sounds excited...perhaps he's not a fan of spelunking for apostates. "Men! Search the shore!" Then, with more restraint. "We will retrieve these corpses later. And I will commend you to the Knight-Commander, Ser Hawke."
"For what? Doing her job?" Varric's almost disappointed.
"Well...good point," he pauses. "I find it strange that you travel with a dwarf, Knight-Lieutenant."
Uh-oh.
"And I find it strange that you don't," Wil responds audaciously. "So consider us strange."
"Yes...Ser Hawke," it's Thrasks turn to jump in. "I thank you once more, my friend. You have been a great help to me in this endeavor."
"I am always willing to do the Maker's work," Wil ends their conversation with an innocuous, and ironic, touch. It's a few minutes before her hand comes up to signal Anders that Grace can start coming out of the cavern. He and Bethany remain in their positions while the Starkhaven mages file past, ensuring that they're all accounted for.
Ahead, Grace pauses to thank Wil.
"I didn't think you could do it," she's pleasantly surprised. "You're quite skilled...I thought we were all dead for certain."
"I'd thank Varric, were I you," Wil shrugs off the praise. "And, if it makes you feel better, officially you were 'killed during escape.'"
"I will do my best to seem cold and rotted, then," Grace glances back at the mages gathered behind her. "Decimus had arranged for us to meet with a friend of his...he has a boat. I know the way, but we must flee as far as we can before nightfall while avoiding the templars." She returns to Wil, her lower lip pulled between her teeth, suddenly nervous. "Thank you again...you did not have to help us. Not many would...I can see why he lo-" her breath catches when she sees Wil's eyes widening and it prevents her from continuing.
Maker's breath. Anders begins trekking back towards Kirkwall before the others have had the chance to gather themselves. His strides are long, his staff, which is actually Wil's father's staff and a gift a temporary gift, strikes the ground with every step.
But he cannot keep up this pace, nor does he want to. More than embarrassment, he's feeling strangely euphoric. Well, he is once he stops to wait for the others.
Those mages will know freedom...it is a small step.
It's an accomplishment...in Kirkwall, Anders smiles to himself and it stays when he sees Wil and Bethany's heads poke over a crest in the path.
"I didn't realize how bloody you'd gotten," Wil nods towards his jacket. She's apparently moved past Grace's near slip, and the way Anders all but confirmed it by running away like a child. "Also...you have corpse chunks in your feathers."
"I know," he sighs. "You'd be surprised at what I've learned to ignore. Between being a Grey Warden and my clinic...disgusting is everpresent and my appearance just isn't a priority."
Varric smirks at this, and gives Bethany a sideways glance.
"You're a man, you don't have to worry about your appearance," Bethany toys with her sleeves. "Just look at Decimus and Grace. He was practically a corpse himself and she was..."
"Beautiful," Varric finishes.
"Hot," Wil supplies.
"Pretty enough, I suppose," that's as far as he'll go. "Although...I used to have quite the fondness for tattoos on women."
"Really?" Stroking his chin, Varric gestures Bethany to come down so he can whisper something in her ear. From the way she blushes, it's not something she's completely comfortable repeating.
"Let me guess...another wager?" Wil smirks.
"But not what you think, Hawke," it's said with sly smile. "Everyone knows that you already have a tattoo."
Anders chuckles at that and then guffaws when he sees the furious shade of pink that renders Wil's ears practically incandescent through her mop of hair as she fumbles for an invective affectionate enough to direct at Varric. He expects for Justice to push back against his amusement, to intervene when his gaze lingers on the smile that brightens Wil's face moments later when her arm goes around Bethany's shoulder and she begins the story of the fox tattoo.
You shouldn't look, Anders, his eyes go to the water, but the image remains. He holds onto it, because it's nice and this afternoon has ended up being the same...
A small step.
No, an accomplishment. He squints and turns to see the Gallows still distant but crouching like a bad omen on the harbor. In Kirkwall.