Hawke was born the (victimofaname) wrote in valloic, @ 2020-01-18 11:32:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log |
WHO: Hawke and Anders
WHAT: There's no Reunion then one involving strange creatures with sword arms
WHEN: Their arrival
WHERE: Outside the DOA, then a Restaurant, then the streets
WARNINGS: Violence, vague mentions of some of the events of Dragon Age: Inquisition and Dragon Age 2, Language
STATUS: Complete
If Hawke was anyone else, she'd wonder about how this had all happened. And granted the exact why of it all was something she was considering, but honestly finding herself in an entirely new place was one of those things she took as just another stroke of her infamous luck.
She took whatever comfort she could out of the fact that it could be worse. For one, nothing was on fire and considering that Weisshaupt had been one giant mess, the one that kept following her around, it wasn't too awful. Still bad, considering she'd been on her way home, and she was rather put out she was being diverted but she'd learned to take the small mercies.
She wasn't going to trust those who had given her the basics yet though. Kirkwall had taught her to be wary. She'd listen, and learn, and then make that decision. But they’d given her a place to stay that wasn’t Gamlen’s little shack, and some coin. It’d come with strings of course, but what didn’t these days? And while she hadn’t liked the information they’d asked, they had also not pressed either. And she’d done worse for less coin, even if she didn’t quite understand how these worked.
She set the device away, she’d figure it out later, and tucked the money they’d given her somewhere it wouldn’t be stolen from and then tried to figure out what in the Maker’s name she was supposed to do now. Out of habit she crossed her arms, and took stock. When she spotted the familiar figure her arms dropped in surprise. Maybe the Maker did smile on her sometimes. With half a laugh she crossed the distance, going to throw her arms around him.
----
The light was wrong here. That, in itself, was not especially remarkable, though it should likely have worried Anders more that at some point the Fade had started to feel more like home than Thedas. The sense of confusion and disorientation, the gaps between “Now” and the last “Then” he could clearly remember, those too were familiar enough to him - had become more so, in recent weeks, since the whispers had escalated to commands and his skin began to itch whenever he sat still for more than a moment. That Justice seemed equally confused, however, was a new and unwelcome development.
They had tried to explain, and he'd nodded along and accepted the gifts they offered without hearing a word they said, too busy fighting the urge to cut a bloody, smoking swathe through to whoever had the audacity to bring him here (wherever 'here' actually was) and demand he be sent back. With neither him nor Hawke to guide the faithful who remained - the ones who hadn't been picked off by beasts and bandits, or decided it was better to be warm and fed and Tranquil than suffer through their freedom - how long would the rebellion endure? How long before the Exalted March caught up and-
Someone grabbed at him as he stood, silently seething, where they'd turned him loose after the Induction, and Anders tensed, sparks beginning to coalesce at his fingertips, his words a low growl. "You picked the wrong- Hawke?"
He stopped, the spell faltering, recognition beginning to dawn. His expression disbelieving, at first, then shifting to something nearer shamefaced apology, horrified at what he'd almost done. The Maker had a strange, even cruel, sense of humour.
---
Honestly, Hawke ought to know better. Startling anyone could be bad enough, and normally she'd give Anders plenty of warning. But she'd also not seen him in ages, and there were times she acted rather than thought. She let him go after a moment, and grinned. "Maker but it's good to see you." She was as much to blame as him so she didn't say anything about the sparks. She would go to let her hands rest on his shoulders, urge to wrap him up and not let go fighting with the urge to ensure that he was alright.
The latter won out, only because the amount of nonsense she’d had to endure with the Wardens was ensuring that she’d make sure neither him nor Beth would be going anywhere near them for as long as she could manage it. But it was a balm to see him. It always was.
“We should probably talk. Weisshaupt was a bloody mess.” She’d been unable to send many letters with the whole view of not letting the Wardens know about anything, but she had been able to at least let him know she was coming back. “But you’re alright, yeah? That fake Calling ought to be gone now.”
---
He had almost certainly looked better; it had been all too easy to slip back into burning the candle at both ends since leaving Kirkwall, especially given that Justice’s priorities tended to place glorious revolution several places above such mundane concerns as eating and sleeping, and that had been before the Calling set fire to said candle’s middle and the person keeping him grounded left. But if Varric were to be believed then ‘tortured firebrand’ was supposedly a good look on him, at least, and ‘ill-rested and hungry’ was far from the worst fate could have inflicted in Hawke’s absence.
“... you made it to Weisshaupt already?” That… didn’t sound right, though Anders would have been hard pressed to say exactly why, days having blurred together, periods watching from within himself while Justice took the reins mixed with those where the voices screamed until he could almost feel his ears bleeding, and the less-frequent but more worrying moments when he found himself far from his tent headed towards the deep, dark places. “How long were you… What did…?”
He sighed, bringing one of his hands up to cup hers where it rested on his shoulder, thumb stroking the back of her fingers. “I think you’re right, love, we should probably talk. I’ve missed that. Also you, in general. Though this wasn’t exactly the reunion I had in mind.”
---
Hawke noted how he looked, and honestly it wasn't unexpected. Justice named her a distraction, and she lived up to it. She'd done what she could to get a few others willing to make Anders stop and eat, but she also knew she was maybe the only one he'd actually listen to. But it had between leaving, and watching him, and hearing of Beth doing the same, slowly going mad. And she has lost enough. Even if it had been a true Calling she'd still have left. At this point she would fight the Maker Himself to keep the last of her family safe. "You need to eat, that's step one."
She wrapped her fingers around his, taking it as usual that he wasn't too sure when he was. It wasn't uncommon. "It isn't mine either. That involved an actual room. And you know, surroundings I recognize." Bad jokes were her staple in how she dealt with things, even as anger sometimes replaced it. "At least it's not the Fade." Which was the benchmark now.
She looked to the building, then back to him. While she wasn't too willing to trust she was fairly sure no one was paying much attention. "I wrote." It wasn't like she was blaming. Letters could be lost. Or unread, in Justice's case. With a smile she went to set her free hand in his cheek. "We can relax a little, you know. Things are getting better. And you know me, making friends in high places. The Inquisitor owes me a favor or two.” Varric had gotten her more or less caught up. “They even have pull with the new Divine. It might not be done yet, not entirely, but no one’s going to end up in Circles again.”
---
“I’d be a lot happier ‘relaxing a little’ if I knew where we were, and how we get back home. Being dragged Maker-alone-knows-where, when we should be-”
He stopped. Exhaled. Tried to chase the tension out of his frame, to concentrate on the feel of her fingers on his and not on the building sense that all this was deeply, offensively wrong and therefore needed to be torn down and burned to ashes. Flashing her a slight smile, he spoke again, this time without the edge to his tone that suggested Justice had Opinions that needed sharing.
“If you’re right then…they’ll cope, without us. Andraste’s knickerweasels, if you’re right then we’ve won. At long last, we’ve actually won.” A burst of laughter, giddy and disbelieving, escaped; he turned his face to press a brief kiss to the palm cupping his cheek. “Trust you to put the right words in the right ears, you magnificent creature. At least one of us was pulling our weight.”
---
It was good, really good, to actually see him smile and laugh. She wished she could take full credit, but that had never been her, no matter how Varric might have painted it. Still, she returned his smile, brushing her fingers over his cheek. “Not all me, and you did more than you think.” No matter how the Conclave had turned out, it had started because people were finally willing to listen, and not in small part because he’d made them listen. “More the Inquisitor then me, to be fair. Apparently being named Herald of Andraste does something. Maybe I should have followed that trick.” She didn’t want laurels that didn’t belong to her, and she didn’t want any of the heavy burdens the Inquisitor had to carry either. “But yeah, as far as I know we have won.” She did grin brightly at that because it was good, even great, to know that no matter what something had gone right. So she went to kiss him. “Told you it wouldn’t even be a hundred years. Or even ten.”
But it wasn’t all good and despite how good it was to see him actively happy she also didn’t want secrets. It was the one thing she’d set down, after Kirkwall. Complete honesty. Even if she knew it would have Justice have Opinions again. “There’s not great news. About what the Wardens were actually doing.” It was always hard to guess how much time he was missing, so she felt it best to start from the beginning. “Like I said, Calling wasn’t real. It was something made by a demon, something called Nightmare.” She shivered because even here and now she still heard the demon’s whispers. As with anything that actually frightened her she tried to pass it off with a joke. “Don’t recommend that one. He was...big.” She frowned, before getting back to her actual point. “The Wardens decided that the way to fight it would be to go into the Deep Roads and kill all the Old Gods before they woke up. Lovely idea. In theory.”
She’d let him go only because even two years later what she found out made her want to throttle someone. He wasn’t the only one with his anger. Hers was a lot less explosive though, but she was no less deadly. “It was a trick. Tevinter made. They told the Warden mages to kill their brethren, usually types like me, because somehow that’d make them stronger. Because they said the demons would help.” She ran her hands through her hair because it still frustrated her. She’d rather wanted Justice at her side when she’d learned all that. “They trusted Tevinter, and it enslaved their mages. Turned them into puppets. Which,” she lowered her hands because she did not need him going off to try and fix it, “was solved. Justice was served. I saw it happen.” Apt words, chosen specifically. She was never sure if Justice actually liked her, but the spirit did trust her word and she knew he listened. She’d not begrudge either Justice or Anders their anger, Maker knew she had plenty about it, but she wanted both of them to know she’d at least helped make sure that things were put right.
---
He’d missed this - missed her; when she’d left for Weisshaupt he’d feared she wouldn’t return, whether because she fell against whatever horrors had triggered the false Calling or (more likely, given this was Hawke, she of the infamous and mostly-infallible luck) because she finally saw sense and wanted something better than hiding in a maker-forsaken wilderness with a bedraggled band of apostates and their half-mad abomination. He told himself he’d made peace with that, welcomed it even - Hawke had always deserved better, hadn’t she? - but having her back, their fingers entwined, her lips on his, exposed that particular lie in a matter of heartbeats. When the kiss broke a frustrated and entirely human whine escaped him, though the way her expression shifted put paid to any notion of trying to prolong the moment. So Anders listened, his brow furrowing more the more he heard.
“Tevinter? No. That doesn’t sound right. The Imperium exalt their mages, they don’t enslave…” His hand strayed to his neck, to the ornate amulet of the Tevinter chantry hanging beside a heavy metal key, both worn smooth from many hours of such anxious fidgeting. “You’re certain? I can hear Fenris laughing from here, the bastard.”
He sighed, free hand balling into a fist, the tell-tale faintly glowing cracks beginning to form. “Tevinter next, then. Or the Qun next, and then… Maker, it never ends, does it? The Circles were the first step, but… A hundred years? More like a thousand.”
---
She would much rather enjoy the noise he’d made then tell him what she’d found, but he deserved to know. Ought to know, more like. She might not agree with how Justice pushed him, but this cause was burned into Anders. And she both loved him enough to join him, and truly believed in it too. She’d seen too much to just sit idle.
But she’d go to set her fingers over his fist. She was tired of hiding, and wouldn’t make him hide either but she didn’t know this place. They were strangers in a strange land, and while she’d stand between anything harmful and him she’d always been of the opinion that it was better to find a direct target to hit at. And she’d known his sentiments about Tevinter. So she nodded. “Very certain. And it’s their mages I think, along with that there might be two Tevinters.” she hadn’t known the details, but the Inquisitor did have a Tevinter companion who had joined the organization. “There’s the one Fenris speaks of, and the one that did this to people, and there’s the other one. I think there’s someone the Inquisitor knows who’d give us a lead there. It’s a start.” And she knew Fenris was doing his own hunting. Combine the two and it would lead to finding the people no one would miss.
“Love,” she gave gently and held his eyes. She’d not tell him not to go, because it would defy everything he was and stood for (and one day he’d believe he was stuck with her). “Step one is getting you something to eat, alright? Second step might be finding out more about this place.” Some would think there was a reason to all this. She just took it as her own bad luck she was in a place like this. “If anything, let's take the opportunity to regroup.” They both could use the rest. Besides she’d long ago learned that when something brought you to a place, you had to make the best of it. “And I promise you,” she’d go to raise his hand to her lips. “If there’s anyone behind this you’ll have to beat me to get to them. But plan first. Last time I went in charging it involved an angry Qunari, and I’m told I shouldn’t duel Arishoks anymore. At least not alone.”
---
"You wouldn't be alone. I'd… No. You're right. Of course you're right. We can't just start kicking in doors without knowing who we're looking for." He smiled, wearily, almost visibly deflating without Justice's rage to sustain him, reduced to the tired and all-too-mortal man instead of the terrifying eldritch force of nature. "This definitely isn't any part of Thedas I'm familiar with, which suggests it's probably not Thedas at all…"
He huffed, resuming fiddling with his pendants while he thought, though leaving his other hand wrapped in hers, reluctant to break the contact. "It's almost enough to make one miss the good old days, isn't it? At least back then you could rely on whatever son-of-a-hurlock had decided to screw with us to have the decency to monologue about their evil scheme."
---
She knew he would have her back, just as she had his, but she was glad he was seeing things her way. “As much fun as that is, we’d have eyes on us.” Along the other various things Kirkwall had taught her was how to slip into the cracks. “Let me just make some friends alright?” Her habit of finding the odd ones would suit her, and it’d help in sorting things out. And even if it didn’t, it never hurt having more people in your corner.
She would go to tug him along. There’d be places to find something to eat around at the very least. Every place had those. She wasn’t sure how long the coin they’d given her would go, but she’d learned how to make anything stretch. She’d just think of it as gold and she was sure the principle would be the same. “I actually don’t miss the monologues.” Everyone seemed to have a habit of it, and every one of them seemed to be the same brand of stupid. “I’ve also been around Wardens, who do nothing but. It’s like they want to talk the Blights away.” then she recalled something and brightened a little, “but they won’t find you. You or Beth.” she’d made sure of that at least. It would still be awful, next Blight, but the two people most important to her would be safe.
---
He allowed himself to be tugged, following in Hawke's wake (because really, what other options were there once the Champion set her heart on something? They were both as stubborn and headstrong as each other, and without the spirit-shaped Ace in the Hole she definitely had the edge where strength and persistence were concerned), laughing at her suggestion they 'just make some friends', his tone affectionately mocking. "Five minutes we've been here, and you're already looking for strays to adopt."
Perhaps this wouldn't be quite the nightmare he'd anticipated. Neither of them were strangers to having to build a new life, after all, nor unaccustomed to making do with little more than a handful of coin and their own wits. This new world was certainly strange, but…
But what, exactly? There was still, would always be, The Cause. It wouldn't do to get too comfortable and stop looking for a way out (not that he thought Justice would allow that to happen), or to assume that the problems of home wouldn't have followed.
"... do I want to know how you intend hiding us from them, love? You never really leave the Wardens. Maker knows, I tried."
---
Now she was less concerned, and more had a goal (even a small one) she took stock of their actual surroundings. The city itself was vastly different than anything she’d ever seen. Not even the Chantry had been as big as some of the buildings.. But she knew better than to keep looking up. A city was in its streets, and she was half sure someone would drop from somewhere. At his comment she smiled, “worked out well enough for me so far.” There were always people who needed looking after. But she was also coming to terms with the fact that she was going to get lost. Not unusual really. Not knowing where she was going had been more or less the norm, even after all those years in Kirkwall.
She spotted something that at least smelled of food, even if she recognized exactly none of it. She stopped and looked at Anders. Long life on the road, and poverty for more than half of it, had made it so she hardly turned her nose up at anything. “Doubt it’s Oriana’s soup but I’m already not going to find my way back to that building, never mind actually finding where they put us so this might do.”
Then she smiled but it wasn’t her usual. This was more the type of thing she gave people a moment before her sword would find them, too. “I had words with them. I set their bloody keep to rights, and helped them sort out their problems.” And Weisshauppt had been awful even to her standards. “They owe me. So I had a long talk with the few higher ups who were still left. I can’t do anything about the other parts, but they’ll leave well enough alone.”
---
"I don't know. That Apostate you picked up is pretty terrible". He grinned, squeezing her hand, before the topic turned from her rag-tag band of miscreants to the more serious topic of Weisshauppt.
"Right. Well. That's definitely… something. Thank you. Again. I don't know what I'd do without you." Likely still be rotting in Darktown, or shambling mindlessly towards an Archdemon. Neither option held a great amount of appeal. The latter could, of course, still happen, but they'd deal with that particular dreadful bridge if-and-when they came to it.
He'd given up trying to memorise the streets - things were too bright, and loud, and full of motion - and settled on merely following her lead. There were far worse people to be lost with. "They could serve us a scabby mabari, love, and it would be a step up from anything the Wilds had to offer. If I never see another frogleg I'll die a happy man - abomination - whatever, thing."
----
"Rude, she had missed this, and hadn't known how much until they'd fallen back in the old habits. Like all the time hadn't passed. "Merrill is a delight." Usually when he talked down about himself she'd correct him, but this was meant in fun.
Getting the Wardens off both his and Beth's back was, to her, the least she could do so she offered him a smile. At the comment about Jabari she gave him a look though. "Telling Dane you said that." She suddenly, and awfully, missed her dog. But she had to take comfort in that he was looking after Beth.
When she stepped into the place the looks they got were curious. And it was instinct now to take the lead. The more people looked at her the less they looked at the others. "Lovely place," she gave cheerily to the person who looked like they took orders. It looked easy enough, and despite how she played it she was somewhat clever. So she gave them her best charming smile. She hadn't lost that part of her just yet. "Tell us your specials, would you?"
---
"Merril is more than a few cards short of a full deck. I meant the other one. The human with the stupid name." It was reassuring, how easily the two of them fell back into step, a rhythm they both knew by instinct. "And you can tell Dane whatever you like. I don't know what you Ferelden barbarians see in the wretched creatures. All they do is drool, and shed, and stare at you with their big gormless eyes and lolling tongues. Absolutely dreadful."
They merited a few stares, but less than he'd expected, and when people looked away it wasn't with the shamefaced, downcast glances Hawke's 'don't mess with me' demeanour usually inspired, but because they no longer registered as interesting. Curious. Did that mean they had seen citizens of Thedas before? Or was it simply that they themselves were as interesting, if not more so? Anders thought he'd spotted the arching horns of a Qun'ari in the crowd, but the bearer was much too small and slight and he could have sworn their legs ended in hooves. Another patron had a smaller figure riding on their shoulder - a perfect miniature human, save for the delicate wings sprouting from their tiny shoulders. To say nothing of the venue itself; every surface seemed to be made of polished and impossibly-perfect mirror, and the lights! He had never seen such livid green or vivid pink. Not for the first time he felt the need to check, and check again, whether this was actually the Fade, but Justice felt just as lost, and that was perhaps the most unnerving part.
He tore his attention away as the… what would one term them? Barkeep? Host? Whoever they were began their spiel. Not that it helped. They might as well have been speaking Dalish, for all the sense it made, and he shot Hawke a hopelessly-confused glance before asking "... was any of that food?"
---
"Oh him. I think I know him. Dashing and handsome? Good with his hands?" The last had a smirk to it. But considering that she'd also flirted with him within moments of almost having had lightning thrown at her when they’d met, it wasn't unusual. "And I'll have you know Merrill's off leading her clan, keeping them out of trouble." She was rather proud of her for that. In her own way, Merrill was fighting for justice too.
Normally, in new places Hawke would not be so open. But they were not the only odd ones out, and when no one really looked up it made her wonder. And like him she was wondering what was up. She noted the different people while the host, for lack of a better term, was explaining things.
At Ander’s comment she shared a confused look with him before turning to the host. “Whatever’s your favorite.” That was always the safest route. Once that was settled, she found a place to sit. Still more confused than anything. Not even the old estate had mirrors half as fine as what was on the walls. She did spot two men having an apparent lively debate, which wasn’t odd. What was was that one of them was floating his drink over his hand. She held Ander’s gaze for a moment before nodding to it. “Alright. Well. It isn’t the Hanged Man.”
----
“Nostalgic for Lowtown? Maker, things must be dire.” He grinned, sitting opposite her in the booth, before following her gaze over to the casual display of telekinesis, brow furrowing slightly. “... huh. Well. That’s… a thing. An oddly brazen thing. Although,” - he looked back to Hawke - “I’ve not seen anything vaguely resembling a Templar yet. Which is bloody weird. Maybe there… aren’t any? Maybe their mages don’t have to live in fear.”
A beat passed. Then he shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s much too soon to be making assumptions. What do we actually know?”
----
“I liked The Hanged Man. And at least I knew how it worked.” She couldn’t make heads nor tails of this place and it put her off balance. At his question about Templars she frowned. Even during her visit to the Inquisition there’d always been a few, just lurking about. “Maybe.” It would be nice to know that one place had gotten it right. That it was safe. She just wanted to know because now she had no idea who to look out for.
She missed her sword. She’d feel better if she had it. At his question she shrugged. “City’s name is Vallo. The exact why of everything isn’t someone knows, or if they do no one’s sharing.” Her voice was low, for just the two of them. “How is those what they call waypoints.” They’d given her a directory so she pulled it out. “Apparently you touch it, say where you need to go and you’re there.” Which sounded like serious magic even to her. “S’also the how. They’re what pulled us here. And we’re not the only ones. The place with the questions also had answers so.” She ended it in a shrug and took out the device. Others had a similar thing.They’d also given her a little journal that she set down too. Anders knew more about magic then she did. “They said that’s how we’d talk to the others. Which,” she pointed to the book, “more people to read my journal. That’s almost normal. That’s what I know, so far anyway.”
---
“At least one of us was paying attention. Alright. That’s a starting point.” He pinched his brow, exhaling as he tried to think; ending up somewhere strange because forces beyond their control had taken an interest in Hawke wasn’t especially new and unusual, but ‘strange’ there usually meant ‘in the Fade somewhere’, which at least gave him a starting point and a set of rules he (or more accurately they; it had been more than a little humbling to realise quite how short his own knowledge fell, once it coupled with that of a creature native to the realm) understood. Teleportation - actual, bodily teleportation - ought to have been impossible, or at least Impractically Costly in terms of lyrium and lifeblood. Which meant that either someone really, really wanted them here, expenses be damned, or things didn’t work right. Neither option was especially comforting.
“So first priority - sorry, third priority” - he corrected himself, giving her an apologetic smile to forestall any protest - “after food and making friends, is getting a look at one of these Waypoints. If I can figure out how it works, then we can make it send us back.” The alternative, where it defied any understanding and they found themselves stuck here permanently, hung unspoken, because clearly it wasn’t an option; nobody ever succeeded at keeping the Champion of Kirkwall somewhere she didn’t want to be, right?
His attention turned to the book, picking it up and leafing idly through, as if it could be persuaded to give up its arcane secrets on a simple examination. “It’s impressive, I’ll give them that. The sheer number of Cardinal Rules being broken is… mildly terrifying, to say the least.”
---
She returned the smile because really it said how long they’d known each other where he knew how to forestall the argument. “That’s what I thought too. But it’ll have to be quiet. Don’t think they appreciate it too much if we go sticking our nose into things.” But they could use the excuse of figuring it out to linger a little. “There’s one near, or near enough, and they’re supposedly bright orange. Doubt even I can miss that.” Getting lost was her other skillset.
“Might be the rules don’t apply here. Or there’s a different set all together. Besides the people setting down those rules were the Chantry. Tevinter broke those on the regular and the Rivaini go right around flaunting them whenever they can.” Normally Hawke pretended at not understanding magic. If people only saw a woman that could only swing around a sword almost as big as herself, they were more inclined to talk like she couldn’t understand them. But her father had been a mage, and she’d sat right alongside Beth when she’d had her lessons. “That’s not even counting what the elves know and aren’t telling anyone. Maker you’re not supposed to be able to go into the Fade physically and yet that was a sidetrip I never intended to make,” she shrugged not knowing if she’d mentioned that at all. “And I’m fine. It’s very green there but I’m not Tainted. Didn’t think bringing back another Blight would go over well. Lots of water there.” Which, casually mentioning that one had broken the one thing everyone said not to do was probably not the greatest thing to just make conversation about. But she had the occasional habit of saying things that were probably not perfect at that time.
---
“Cardinal Rules, love. We’re not talking about the ‘foul and corrupt are they’ false doctrine of Transfigurations, this is ‘magic cannot do this thing’. Granted, Tevinter have a tendency of throwing lyrium and slaves at said rules until they bend, but-”
- a beat passed, what she’d said having sunken in a few seconds after he had started pontificating about magic.
“... right. No, hold on. You were actually in the Fade? Not dreaming, not… Andraste’s arse, nobody’s pulled that off since the assault on the Golden City, and we all know how that ended.” He regarded her almost warily, admiration warring with a brief flicker of something akin to fear. That Hawke was remarkable he had no doubt, but this was more than remarkable. “Was this part of the whole Nightmare thing, or just another of the Champion of Kirkwall’s wacky adventures?”
----
She gave him a grin at the look. She couldn’t blame him. Had it been her hearing it she’d have given the same. Not that she didn’t have that look, whenever she remembered. “More the Nightmare thing, and actually not my fault I object to that.” She was only mildly joking there. Strange and unusual had followed her around ever since she’d stepped foot in Kirkwall. Before, actually with the whole Flemeth thing. “Actually there’s someone with shittier luck then me out there, which, small miracle they’re still alive at this point but I suppose when you’re Andraste’s Herald miracles come with that.”
It was hard to believe really, how the Inquisitor had managed to outdo her on those parts. “I’m not sure how it happened, you’ll have to ask the Inquisitor for more details, but one moment we’re fighting on Adamant, the next we’re falling. And I’ve a moment to curse Flemeth because haha right she was being literal and the next we’re in the Fade.” She spread her hands. “And I’m upside down. Closest I can recon is because the Warden Mages were trying to draw the Nightmare demon out of the Fade, and because somehow the Inquisitor has closer ties there we loopholed into it’s realm. Which turned out to be beneficial. Inquisitor got their memories back. I got to hit a very big spider demon thing.” She couldn’t quite suppress the shiver at the memory of everything. The manifestations it had thrown at them, and then the whispers. “Somehow the Nightmare was causing that false Calling too.” She would raise her eyes to his because she know both him and Justice knew more about the Fade and it’s residents then her. “That’s how big the damn thing was. It was literally tapping into the Warden’s fear.” She frowned, “what happens when you kill a demon in it’s own realm? When you’re there, not just dreaming? Does it die?” If anything, maybe her Warden friend wouldn’t have been left behind for nothing. She’d still carry that though, because she felt it her fault. She’d never had to leave anyone behind, and granted it hadn’t been her call but still. She felt responsible. Corypheus was her fault, after all.
At least the arrival of the food was a bit of a diversion. At least it smelled good. And there was plenty of it.
---
“That’s an… interesting question.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to figure out how to phrase the answer. “They - spirits, that is, and by extension demons - don’t really grasp the distinction between ‘alive’ and ‘dead’ the way we do. I suspect - and it’s a suspicion only, not a confirmed fact - that it would end that incarnation of the energy fairly definitively. Whether it would then reform as something different, and whether that form would be shaped by what happened before… well, as I said. Interesting question.”
He glanced over at her. It was easy (far too easy, now he and Justice were quite so tightly intertwined and human concerns at times felt distant and alien) to assume that the Champion was the untouchable behemoth of legend and therefore obviously fine regardless of what fresh hell she’d just crawled through.“”Do you… want to talk? About Weishauppt, the Fade, how you’re friends with the Herald of Andraste now, all that. Or should we just shut up and eat?”
---
That wasn’t exactly the answer she’d been hoping for. She’d hoped that it would be as simple as ‘stab them where they live, and they die’. Not for the first time she wondered what kind of awful end the Warden had to face. He’d gone off all glory and fierceness, embodying the very thing the order stood for but she’d seen how huge the thing was. And it had had enough power to effect not just a mild case of bad dreams, but trigger the feeling of a Calling. That sort of thing sounded like it played with its food.
“Not here.” Her voice was a little hollow, and then only because even now there were only two she’d allow to just be ‘Marian’ with. Everyone else saw Hawke, or The Champion, which is how she liked it. Titles and legends didn’t feel the need to scream. They didn’t feel awfully tired.
Her fingers raised and touched the side of her neck, where the tattoo of her namesake sat. “Eat something,” she gave with a small smile as she lowered her hand to eat herself. It was more automatic than anything. Weary was just about her middle name at this point. “You’ll never guess who I ran into in the Inquisition though.” She could pretend at lightness, at ‘I’m fine’. “Only our favorite Knight Captain. Or, I should say former.” She added with another shrug.
---
“Alright. Not here.” He reached across to squeeze her hand, briefly, an unspoken promise that later, somewhere ‘not here’, they could pick things back up. Eating, though, that he could do. And probably should do, given the difficulty he was having recalling the last proper meal - had it been before she left?. After an experimental first bite he grinned - “It’s no Pig Oat Mash, but it’ll do. At least we’re not going to starve while we try to break back through to Thedas”
The mention of a ‘favourite knight captain’, however, had his expression souring, his nose wrinkling in distaste. “Small world. Still kicking magical puppies, I presume?””
---
The touch on her hand brought her back to herself. She could put it aside for a little, until it was safer. At his comment she smiled. To her, it was pretty good, now she could actually focus on it. Different, for sure. She nodded to his comment and made sure to remember to look for a market. And something to do. The coin wouldn’t last, and she wasn’t sure how long it might take.
Pretending everything was normal was better, and the look on his face was pretty adorable. “I think his reaction was ‘oh no’. And less of that, shockingly. Turns out he left it.” She didn’t know details but Varric had told her that much. And they’d had a bit of a chat. “Changed his mind at least. It’s something. Told him that it changed very little and he said he knew that.” Which, for her, was something at least.
---
“Forgive me if I trust him as far as I could throw him.” He picked up a fork, prodding irritably at the spread. Perhaps it was a simplistic and unkind view, but Justice wasn’t inclined to think in shades of grey, and you didn’t climb as high as Cullen had within the Templars by being reasonable about the plight of captive mages. “I guess the Inquisition will take anyone, regardless of how many-”
He could feel his skin begin to prickle, which meant it was time to take a deep breath, relax his grip on the silverware before it bent, and quickly change the subject, flashing Hawke a tight smile and reaching for the first thing that came to mind - an old game, one Varric had used to delight in playing back when they’d been able to joke about such things, before The Cause had consumed every waking moment. “Boiling in oil. For the person or persons who dragged us here. Your turn.”
---
She hadn’t expected him to take to it, had always understood how he (and by extension Justice) felt about things but to that she always tried to be a counter. And even if they disagreed on the shades of grey, he’d still listen. She knew how much people could change. “Not expecting trust. Don’t worry I might have nicked a few things, told a few of his recruits just exactly how bad he can be made to stutter just by mentioning how he’s shy of brothels of all things. Can’t have him having it easy now can we.” It had been petty, and small, but she’d never gotten over the whole ‘mages aren’t people’ spiel.
But the old game was a welcome enough distraction, “Oh, alright.” She hoped no one was paying too close of attention but honestly it was harmless enough. “Giving them The Bone Pit and letting them handle that for a spell or two.” Because that place had been utterly cursed as far as she’d seen it. It’d had everything from spiders to dragons.
---
“A crash-course in draconology? Unpleasant, certainly. But they’ll probably just throw more captives at it.” It was a stupid game, and one that might have served to highlight exactly how much they had lost as, one by one, Hawke’s other companions had fallen away since the Rebellion. But it was also a distraction, and another easy rhythm to fall into. And since Varric wasn’t here, that left his staples free for the taking. “Trapped in a bear cave at the spring thaw? Or is that letting them off too easily?”
---
“Far too easily. Bears are awful, but you can run away from them if you’re quick enough.” It was the silliest of distractions but she didn’t have any of the others handy. And she was half sure Varric would appreciate it, given how he’d been the one to start it. “Chucked into the Deep Roads,” because why not use her own experiences, really. “With Sebastian lecturing them all the while.” He was one she’d still need to deal with, really. “Maybe that’d solve two problems at once, and someone will shut him up permanently for once.” She’d heard about what he’d tried to do, after, and one way or the other she intended to see he got his come uppance for that.
---
“The Deep Roads is far too good for-” - and that line of thinking was another one to avoid, clearly, given the shift in his tone. Warranted though that hatred most certainly was, because Sebastian had proven himself to be no friend to the downtrodden masses and a stalwart agent of the oppressor, flipping out here would have been the exact opposite of helpful.
He exhaled, rolling his shoulders. Probably his own fault for suggesting the game, given its emphasis on retribution, but it could be steered back to flippancy and away from the Prince of Starkhaven and his hopeful inevitable comeuppance. Probably. Hopefully.
“Find the biggest, meanest Fereldan we can, and tell them the bastard kicked their dog.”
----
Maybe she shouldn’t have brought up Sebastian of all people, but it was easy enough to get it all back on track. “We’d get the entire country on them, which honestly suits…” she trailed off after she heard some commotion outside, then a scream. She had just enough time to think ‘oh, that’s familiar’ before noting what had caused it.
And whatever it was, it wasn’t normal. Or practical. Or even familiar. “What in the Maker’s name is that” There were three of them outside, going after people. And Hawke did what she always did in those cases. Without really thinking of it she was up, because one of them had cornered someone.
“Get me a weapon,” was all she was really able to say before she was out the door. It didn’t much matter, right now, she didn’t have one. There was someone in danger, and that overrode things like sensibilities. She was just in time to grab the creature’s arm before it came down once she was outside, and then followed her instinct and punched it. Thankfully carrying around a bunch of steel kept her fit enough, and it made the creature reel. It also got their attention. “Alright, and here we go again.”
---
Perhaps it had been naive to assume they could have a pleasant meal and an opportunity to catch up without something monstrous interrupting proceedings. The screams started, and he was on his feet almost as swiftly as she was, eyes flaring as he scanned for their source. Not Templars, Maker be praised, but… at first glance he’d taken them for shrieks, but they lacked even that pale resemblance of living elves, their bodies bending at impossible angles, their face little more than a gaping maw, their limbs ending in wicked-looking blades. Some sort of demon, perhaps? A creature of terror seemed the most likely. Its exact origin was unimportant, given that Hawke had - with her typical impulsive desire to help, magnificent and ridiculous woman that she was - naturally decided to charge in and start punching.
Her instruction - to find a weapon - was easier said than done, though the host showed no hesitation in handing over their largest knife at his demand (being confronted by a flaming avatar of vengeance tended to have that effect), which would be better than nothing. Then he was out of the door behind her, lashing out with a raw burst of telekinetic power at the second creature as raised its blade-arms to lash at the woman audacious enough to punch its companion, sending it stumbling.
“Hawke!” he shouted, Justice’s deep timbre lending the words a resonance that masked a measure of his own, too-mortal fear at seeing the woman he loved beyond all reason put herself in danger, again. “Watch your back!” A swift shove sent the borrowed knife skittering across the road’s surface to arrive near her feet, his attention shifting to trying to spot the third whatever-it-was.
---
For a while there, she’d been fighting without her usuals companions at her side and it had thrown her a little. The Warden, then Inquisitor, had been decent enough but they hadn’t been Hawke’s. It was all too easy, now, to slip back into the habits of old, and knowing that, without doubts, Anders had her back.
Good thing, that, considering.
She noted the knife, it would do, and the creature she was tangling with had enough time to get back on its feet. Before it realized it had two of those weird sword arms she let it go. It stumbled, hardly for a second, and ducked down just in time to let the second arm sweep over head. She grabbed the knife, stabbing up and heard a squeal like noise. That was...different. She’d been fighting things that were a little trickier.
It was still fast, even wounded, and caught her in the shoulder. It had slowed, but it still bit like nothing else. “Alright. Ow.” Not wasting the moment she was quick enough to remove the arm. It was gross, and there was that awful noise again. “Mine now, you shit.” After that, it was easy enough to dispatch of it to go after the one Ander’s had send away. “Step three is definitely getting a weapon. Oi!” She called to the creature and set her feet, “over here.”
---
There had been three, he was certain of it. Hawke had two - soon to be one, no doubt, her competency a reassuring constant - but the third? The third had to be somewhere, and yet he couldn’t see it. It didn’t help that they… ‘sang’, was the closest word he could think of, though it fell short, the ‘tune’ something felt as much as heard, the three sets of notes impossible to separate. Like standing too close to raw lyrium. What on Thedas (or elsewhere, given they were fairly certain this wasn’t Thedas) were they?
Hawke’s cry as the blade bit home, however, cut through the melody, and he glanced back at her. That moment was all the hidden creature needed, moving impossibly fast, and within a few scant heartbeats it was upon him; it was luck, more than skill, that he managed to conjure a shimmering arcane aura before it tore him to ribbons, the blast of cold air that followed freezing it in place, granting him a moment to catch his breath.
“Fine. Monsters second, weapons third. Waypoint still fourth.” He regarded the crimson slash left by the blade’s passage, a long streak running across his forearm, with detached curiosity. It should have hurt more, the physician in him knew, but since merging with Justice anything short of a greatsword through the sternum felt, at most, like a minor inconvenience. It would keep. “You good, love?”
----
While she wasn’t like him in that she could shut injury out she could put it to the side for a few moments. A long life of being hit with swords was somewhat valuable there, and once she knew she could still use the arm the injury was put to the side of ‘later’. It wasn’t critical. But had the thing that had hurt him not been a block of ice, she’d have torn it to shreds. Right now, she could focus on the second one.
“Right as rain,” The second one seemed to get angry at the fact it’s friends had been dispatched, torn between the two of them. But she’d long learned the art of making herself a target. When it came at her she angled the blade, ready to use a trick she’d learned from Fenris, but she’d barely had time to set her feet before it was on her. Skill mixed with luck made her catch it’s arms...swords...sword arms. She’d never, and this included Fenris who could move faster then anything, seen anything move that fast. It took all she had just to keep it from slashing at her.
Had it any tactics in it, she wasn’t too sure how well she’d look. But it was anger and speed, and few else. It let her kick at it’s legs, which made it make that sound again, but it let up just enough so she could stop being on the defensive and strike back at it. Even as she caught it though it still kept trying to strike at her, only stopping when she caught it in the chest. “What.” When she heard more screams she looked up, trying to place them. “No put your sword in your quarters. Things will be fine.” She was more complaining to herself before she looked to the ice cube of a creature, then Anders. “Alright?”
---
The ice would not hold it forever; already the limbs were beginning to quiver, the frost sheen to crack. It would not be long before it broke free. While being without a weapon was less of a hinderance for him than her - magic levelling the playing field magnificently in that regard - he couldn’t help but wish he had a staff to smash the bloody thing with. Another unformed blast would have to serve, shattering the creature into small shards.
He crossed to her side, nodding as he ran an assessing gaze over her - “I’ll live. You?” - concern writ clearly across his features. “So much for keeping a low profile.”
---
“When has that ever been the case?” She gave the shattered creature a look. Whatever they were they were wicked fast, but clearly suffered for it. And by the sound of it, weren’t alone either. And she could not sit idle, but neither of them had weapons on them. Anders had it easier, but he had no lyrium either.
“They got me in my shoulder,” she gave after a moment idly feeling the pain. “Fast little shits. Whatever they are.” She noted the bloodied sword arm she was still holding and dropped it, making a face at the gore covering her hand “Ew.”
It was only then she registered the people looking from where they’d just been, including the person who’d given the food. “Shit. Oh Void save me.” Almost reluctantly she picked up the knife. The host came out for it, bless them really, and gave her what was left of the food, wrapped up, in return for the knife and some of the coin. And directions to where they might get something better than a knife.
It was different. No one was looking in a way that screamed inherent danger or ‘I’m calling Templars on you’. Still. ”Alright. I think it’s time for step three. I don’t like the sound of that,” she motioned to the distant screams, “one bit. We should leave.” She was still bleeding and awkwardly holding the food and feeling a bit shocked really. “Varric’s never going to believe any of this.” She looked at Anders then, “You’re bleeding.”
---
“Hey, one of us used to be pretty good at it. It’s not my fault you’ve never heard of discretion.”
He tried to keep his tone light in spite of the way he bristled under the onlooker’s scrutiny, waiting for the moment one of them would start hollering about abominations or apostates, or the point where whatever passed for law enforcement here took an interest. That it took longer - far longer - than usual for the shoe to drop did little to relieve his paranoia that at any moment that might change. Neither did it help that the more time passed, the more he felt the strain of the fight weighing upon him. Anders made a mental note to try and hold something back - not knowing how magic worked here, or what manner of Fade lay across the local Veil, there was no guarantee he’d recoup as fast, or (Maker forbid it should be so) at all - though he knew full well such notes would mean exactly nothing in the heat of the moment; Justice had no reservations when it came to pushing him beyond his limits, burning blood and bone as readily as mana should the need arise with little regard for consequence.
Speaking of blood… his gaze followed hers, and he grimaced - “So are you. You think we’re losing our edge?” - placing his unbloodied hand on her uninjured shoulder. To say it never got easier, watching her get hurt, would have been a lie - the gutrenching fear that had seized him the first few times had dulled (as long as she remained awake and talking, at least), and the lack of an obvious surviving target stymied some measure of his rage - but it was still far from pleasant. That he would spend some measure of his remaining mana fixing it was never in question, for all Justice might have considered her an irrelevant distraction; a surge of restorative energy coursed from him to her, knitting the rents (both his and hers) back together. Anders swayed on his heels as the spell ended, head spinning.
---
No matter how many times he healed her, it always felt odd. It was like all the sensations of a wound closing naturally, but swiftly. And yet it never hurt. She knew, without looking, the wound had closed. But not without cost. She reached forward with her free hand to steady him. “Alright you’re done. It was just a cut.” She tried, as often as she could, to deal with things that didn’t require immediate healing on her own. Especially if there was no lyrium direct at hand for him. She knew rest might help, but it’d mean letting these monster things go.
It was selfishness warring with her desire to protect, and selfishness was winning out. She’d not be the only one, not like she’d felt she’d been in Kirkwall surely, and she knew damn well he’d not let her go off alone. “C’mon.” Gently she went to set her free arm around him. “I’ll have you know I took one with it’s own arm. Not my fault they’re fast.”
A quick glance and an even quicker word with a passerby and she was at least steered in the semi right direction towards the waypoint. She didn’t like leaving things unfinished, but there was too much she didn’t know, and she wasn’t nearly as prepared as she felt she ought to be for these things. “Just so you know, step three is now officially rest. Everything else can wait.”
---
“You can’t keep pushing Prod The Waypoints further down the list in the hope I’ll forget, love.” He grinned wearily, accepting the support she offered and letting her steer them away from the battlefield. “As much fun as inhumanly fast, inherently magical whatever-those-things-were are, we’re still getting out of here.”
Was his vehemence for her benefit, or his own? A little of both, perhaps. Neither of them needed much provocation to latch onto a cause and stubbornly insist on solving a seemingly insurmountable problem, though he at least had Higher Concerns pulling him back to Thedas. He tried to focus on that, and not on the niggling suspicion that these creatures were, in some way, their fault; the confusion and panic suggested this wasn’t something the locals were in any way used to encountering.
---
“Trust me,” she gave as she walked. She kept it at a steady but calm pace, a bit of a difference to the crowd who either seemed keen to get away, or foolishly trying to figure out what had just happened. “That’s still part of the plan.” She would go where he went really. There were still things to do back home, and she had Beth to look after but she had nothing as dire. Her last mistake had been solved, and things were in more or less the same state they’d always been. But that didn’t mean she didn’t want to go back. “But when was the last time you actually slept for an actual decent time?” Considering he’d seemed to get winded from what wasn’t too much, she suspected it had been a while.
Thankfully, the Waypoint was obvious enough, and following the crowd paid off in this instance. They weren’t the only ones trying to leave and it gave her enough of an example how to go about it. “Why does it remind me of Meredith of all things?” It was probably the worst joke to make, but it also set her at ease. When it was their turn she had to remove her arm from him and raised it to the crystal. “I better not end up in the Fade again,” she gave with a sigh before she set her hand on the crystal and said where she needed to go.
---
“... pass. How long ago did you leave for Wieshauppt?” It was easier to be flippant than to think too hard about what that uncertainty meant, how little of him - actual, mortal him, and not whatever his eldritch union with a creature of the Fade had spawned to wear his skin - might actually be left, and how closely tied to her presence his keeping a hold on that part was. “I’ll be fine, love. I’m just… out of practice. Glorious revolution has a lot more bureaucracy and a lot less monster-punching than either of us expected. That’s all.”
He found it disconcerting, even without her summoning the unwelcome shade of Meredith, to come across a human-sized orange crystal that, like the creatures, seemed to resonate with a power both familiar and subtly wrong. Things crystalline were rarely a good omen, in his experience. But Hawke, being Hawke, showed no hesitation, vanishing the moment the words were out, and that left him with the option of following suit or… well, there really weren’t any alternatives worth considering, were there?
With a resigned sigh, he placed his hand on the stone and spoke, and the world shifted.
---