5.
Brona left the maps in the safety of Varric’s rooms, where he secured them with lock and key, but she didn’t stay. She was lost for what to do for a few moments after leaving, because she felt it wasn’t such a good idea to go to the Chantry so soon after their adventure the night before. As much as she wished to have the comfort of the Chant, and to speak to Sebastian, their safety was much more important.
Hawke ended up just going home to idle away the next few hours until nightfall. She spent that time mostly alone, since Bethany still wasn’t home, and her mother and uncle were out somewhere. She instead enjoyed the silence by spreading out all of Carver’s armour and gear on the floor of their room, cleaning, oiling, and maintaining it all after Anders had worn it.
Her mind was on the task, but it wandered the longer she let it, and the longer that she worked in the nearly suffocating silence. She remembered how often she and Carver had argued in the days leading up to his final battle, how they had argued over tactics at Ostagar, and then, even while trying to reach home at Lothering, he refused to let it go— any of the little petty squabbles and disagreements they had had.
Carver and her had actually gotten along well, all things considered. They had a shared interest in weapons and fighting, and he had made her sit and play strategy games with him when he was younger, and Bethany was off being trained by their father. They had never exactly had an easy relationship, but he was her brother, and she loved him.
She was still sitting there with his gear when Bethany came home with Anders. She called out to see if anyone was home, and Brona answered from their room. The door opened to reveal a very bright smile from the mage. “There you are! Are you all done with work for the night?”
“No, but I don’t have to leave for a while. Why?”
“She’s worried you’re overworking yourself,” Anders answered, leaning against the door to look down at her, arms crossing. “Do you have to work tonight?”
“I do, actually. You could join me, if you’d like.”
Brona resheathed the sword, and the sound seemed to echo through the both of them, remembering when Vengeance had drawn it.
“Could I? Two nights in a row, and people might start to talk,” he teased. Bethany rolled her eyes and left for the kitchen. “What’s the job?”
“Some sort of retrieval. Varric’s coming as well.”
“Retrieval?”
“Some dwarf had his lyrium stolen while in transport, or something like that. Meeran sent it, and Varric doesn’t know him, so that seems likely.”
“Lyrium for the templars,” he murmured, unhappy at the prospect. “If you’d like me to join you, of course I will.”
“I’m sure it’ll be easy, and you’ll have some coin for your clinic.”
“I’m already sold, Hawke,” Anders replied, his voice back to being light and almost teasing. She glanced up at him to throw him a smile, which he returned. “Would you like some help?”
“I was just about to put it all back away.” She stood with the first piece for the wardrobe, and he helped her by handing her things one at a time. The last was the sword, and she slotted the sheathe into the hanger she had made for it with a pensive expression. Anders came to stand beside her, hand to the top of the wardrobe as he followed her gaze.
“It’s a good sword.” Brona’s hands stayed on it, not quite ready to let go again. “I don’t know much about them, personally, but Justice does. I could feel the way he relished in the balance and feel of it. Well maintained, and it reverbates even into the Fade with all the war and blood its seen.”
“How can you tell that?”
He made a little noise, hands coming onto hers, touching her skin and the sheathe alike. His eyes closed, taking in a deep breath. “The Fade exists at the same time and place as this world, I’ll have you remember from your studies. Close your eyes.” She complied, hands tensing in their grip. “No, no, relax. This isn’t about your physical muscles. It’s just there, beyond your grasp, that threat of power. Follow that thread long enough from an object, and you can feel and see its history.”
“I can’t feel any of that.”
“You’ve suppressed it for so long, it’s like you’re cut off from an entire piece of yourself.” His fingers moved to forcibly loosen her grip, which she conceded to, trying to force herself to relax. “You have nothing to fear, not while I’m here,” he whispered. “You’re no longer a child, terrified of your own power, are you?”
“Anders,” she breathed. He repeated the question. “I’m not a child, but it still terrifies me.”
“I’m only trying to show you the memory the sword carries,” he replied in a soothing tone, right into her ear. “Breathe slowly, and listen.”
They took a few deep breaths together, and then his hands became warm over hers, much warmer than they were already. It was as if he was encompassing her, and then she could see it, little bursts of her brother while he was training at first. It switched to Ostagar, a strong memory, their first real large-scale battle together, with waves of the darkspawn, the soldiers in their company, and then her.
The memory tried to move on, but Anders paused on where she was violently defending Carver, and the longer he stayed on it, the more real it became. It was just the sounds of battle, Carver’s voice overlapping with her own, but even hearing his voice again, so akin to Malcolm’s, made her break away.
Anders let her go immediately, hands over his face for some deep breaths as he worked through all the emotions the memories had provoked— and what he had felt through her. He stood there, but Brona was away and to her bed, sitting onto it heavily with heavy breaths. Even without the connection, she could hear his voice like he was right beside her.
It was a few moments before he came to kneel in front of her, examining her with his head tilted. “Hawke?”
“I’m all right,” she promised, still-warm fingers to his arm gently. “That was intense.”
“It was,” he agreed, opposite hand rising to encompass hers in a reassurance. It was only then that she met his eyes. “Justice offers me a more visceral connection to the Fade than other mages, and I thought that if you could see or hear him again, then it might help.”
“It does, I think, but in the moment it was overwhelming. I have to be careful, because if I let…” she trailed off, biting her lip and suddenly feeling a wave of shame watching the shadow of judgement cross his features.
“If it were to ever happen, let it be with me. You’re not going to hurt me.” He made a displeased noise, and then, “I’ve heard the stories of child mages, afraid of their own powers, burning down their houses, or—“
“I’m not a child.”
“I know, but what if next time you can’t just escape by pulling away?”
“You’re the one that connected me to the Fade again.” Her eyes darted away.
“That was a lie,” he breathed. “This is the real reason you don’t allow yourself any romance or distraction, isn’t it? You’re afraid what might happen.” She said his name softly, but his hand kept her still and didn’t let her pull away. “Hawke.”
“They’re both truths. When my father was still alive, it was about this here, controlling the emotions. I focused on everything else, on Carver and training, and eventually it faded to the point that when it was my turn to step up and look after my family, it rarely even crossed my mind. You are the first time it’s even been briefly at the forefront, and you’re making it harder and harder to ignore that part of myself.”
“I would apologise, except that I am not sorry.” She frowned at him, and it caused him to laugh gently, moving closer. “I understand, but I also think that its good for you. You should let yourself feel things, process them, and your emotions on the past, too. If you’d like, I can resume your instruction, so you’re more sure of yourself.”
“I don’t want to use it—“
“I’m not asking you to. I just want you to be secure enough so that even under the most grueling conditions, you will not break emotionally. I know you won’t physically, but until you get a hold of both sides of yourself, you’re not whole.”
“I’ve known you for a day,” she mused, and he smiled an easy kind of smile.
“It’s been one very long day,” he corrected, which made her smile reappear. “Please, just think on it.”
“I will,” she promised.
He nodded, but his eyes fell over her features. They were very close already, mostly so that they were sure that no one else could hear their conversation, but he moved close enough so his nose brushed against hers. He swallowed, and she could hear it, and practically his heartbeat— or maybe it was her own—
“Bethany said that you’re going—“
Leandra’s voice cut off as she stood in the doorway and saw where the pair of them were.
The mage pulled back from her immediately with a clearing of his throat. He stood, carefully positioning himself so that Brona was blocked from her mother’s eyesight, allowing her to get herself back under control before she was to her feet herself.
“Yes, that’s right. Meeran sent me some work, so I have to go and take care of it,” Brona replied, stepping around Anders to offer her mother a little smile, though brief.
“I— I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Leandra replied, colour rising to her cheeks, looking from her daughter over to the mage. “It’s still a few minutes until supper, and you’re more than welcome to take it— or longer—“
“We were only speaking,” Anders cut in, offering the woman a real smile, trying to be reassuring. “She was telling me some of Ostagar, and I was about to share all about my own adventures in the Deep Roads.”
“You don’t need to coat it, Anders, I was young and in love once, too, you know.” His smile grew. “And he was quite a dashing apostate, much like yourself.”
“Mother,” Brona said quickly.
“She thinks I’m dashing,” Anders mused, looking over to Brona with a grin now. “Dashing.”
“Please, both of you, stop,” she pleaded, pushing past them to head to the kitchen. They followed her.
“Do you think I’m dashing?”
Brona ignored the question, and instead elected to set their table. Gamlen was already sitting there, looking as surly as ever, and noticed Anders finding an extra chair for himself.
“You’ve brought home a stray, have you? He was here this morning, and now again?”
“He’s helping me with my work.”
“And I’m helping him with his,” Bethany put in from their wood stove. “You’re going to see him a lot, so please be kind, Uncle.”
“Just what we need, another apostate. You know it’s bad enough we’re harbouring one, but if the templars—“
“They won’t,” Brona said sharply, eyes on Gamlen.
“You think that you’re going to get them to back off? You’re nothing to them, and you know it. If they decide to come for her, we are all to blame—“
“Gamlen, please,” Leandra pleaded, sitting down across from him. “We’ve been over this. She’s being careful, and I’m sure Anders is as well.”
“I know, Leandra, but still. We’re already stuffed into here as it is, and the gold that your girl brings in is good, but not enough to buy them off. It’s barely enough to cover food and expenses, coupled with my own, and so to have another mage…”
“I invited him,” Bethany said, cut at the end with the slam down of the pot of stew. “He fed me mid-meal, so we are feeding him supper, and that’s all there is to it.”
That ended the argument, and the five of them ate mostly in silence, unsure of what to say to each other. Brona left the table with a kiss into her sister’s hair, returning to her room to make sure she had everything she needed for the night, and nothing that she didn’t.
Anders joined her outside, his staff back into his hand, and looking like he felt more like himself with it. They didn’t speak as she led the way down through Lowtown to the Hanged Man.
“I thought we were going to a job, not for a drink.”
“We have to get Varric.”
His tone had been light, but hers wasn’t. He glanced at her, but she had already pushed the door to the tavern open and was stepping through. He followed without any further questions, shutting it back behind him.
“Hawke!”
Brona smiled at Isabela, waving at her. The captain was in the middle of dealing out a fresh game of Wicked Grace, but still found time to offer the warrior a real smile. She diverted over to say hello to her, watching the woman deal the cards to the mixed group of sailors and merchants and mercenaries.
“Oh, I see you have a friend. Hello there, Hawke’s friend,” Isabela purred, winking up at Anders. “I thought you said you were working tonight, and had no time to play with me,” she directed to Brona, pouting a little.
“I am working,” she replied, “but I told you I had to stop in, didn’t I?”
“Ah, hello,” Anders said, a little awkwardly, unsure of where precisely to look. Isabela was wearing less clothing now than she was before, and the mage was certainly noticing. “Perhaps an introduction?”
“Anders, this is Captain Isabela. Isabela, this is Anders.”
“Charming as always,” Isabela scoffed, setting down her hand of cards and gazing up at the pair of them. “See, now here’s a man that’s up to some standards. Much better than some drunk.”
“I’ve had plenty of fun with drunks,” Anders said with a smile for Isabela, who quickly returned it.
“I bet you have,” she purred, and then wondered, “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?”
“On occasion. I need a drink just like anyone else.”
“I thought you looked familiar. How did you ever get wrapped up with Serah Prude Soldier here?”
“That’s uncalled for,” Brona gasped, but it only made the other two laugh.
“Kitten, you’re not even showing a sliver of your wrist. Have you even seen her neck?” She wondered of Anders. “Ankle, perhaps?”
Anders leaned down so he could murmur, “yes, and she whispers in her sleep,” just for the captain.
Brona frowned at the pair of them, leaving for the stairs to retrieve Varric.
The dwarf looked to have been waiting for her. He stood and slung his crossbow over his back, and then followed her down the stairs without a word between them. She didn’t pause, but instead took Anders’ arm in her hand and dragged him away from Isabela and the card table and to the exit, while he offered only some light protests.
Brona said nothing until they were going down the steps towards their informant. “How dare you imply that?”
“As if it matters,” Anders returned with a scoff, spinning his staff idly. “Being the modest prude cannot be your reputation, Hawke.”
“The modest prude warrior,” Varric corrected.
“Yes, you’re right. That is better.”
“No, it isn’t. Even if it was true, why tell it to someone like her?”
“Would you have rather me say nothing, and not defend you?”
“I hardly need defending.”
“You know that’s not what I meant. And if you’ll be doing some work with her, we’re obviously going to see her again, perhaps together. I’d much rather establish that we’re both off the market, to avoid any confusion.”
Varric breathed out a laugh, looking between the two humans. “Are you off the market, already? Didn’t you two just meet?”
“No,” Brona growled. “He’s simply being ridiculous.”
“Am I? Isabela was looking at you as if you were her supper, and dessert, Hawke. Regardless of anything between us, it needed to be shut down. I was doing you a favour.”
“Maybe I liked it.”
Anders actually stopped. “What? You liked it?”
She sighed, but didn’t stop delving further into the bowels of the city. He followed before he got too far behind. “Supposedly Anso is around here somewhere, by the lower market.”
“You expect me to just ignore that entire conversation?” Varric wondered.
“Yes,” they replied in unison.
The dwarf frowned. “Humans.”
It was a moment more before they found a shady and jumpy-looking dwarven merchant, and Hawke stepped towards him, doing her best to step into his eyeline as to not frighten the fellow. “Are you Anso?”
The dwarf nearly jumped out of his skin, turning with a little yelp and clutching to the small table in front of him. “By the Stone— humans—“ He gasped out a breath, looking between the three of them. “Y-yes, yes, I’m Anso. Who are you?”
“Meeran said to meet you,” Hawke replied, holding out the letter from her bag, now very much crumpled. “You have a job for me?”
“Yes, and good, you look capable.” He grulped down a breath, not letting go of his table. “Some— some bandits took my cargo, when I was… bringing it in. And I need you to get it back.”
“Do you have any idea where they are?”
“Well, some. I think they are based down in the Alienage, I heard a few of them talking. There’s tunnels running all under this city, you know.”
“That’s true,” Anders noted. “Quite useful, actually.”
“Yeah, sure, for all sorts of— of well— smuggling,” he whispered the last word, head daring back and forth to ensure they were still alone. “So just, go and find it and bring it back, and I’ll reward you. Simple? Yes, simple.”
“Why not just go through the Coterie?” Varric wondered, and the other dwarf looked at him with wild eyes. “What are you smuggling that you don’t want them to know about?”
“Lyrium,” Brona and Anders replied, again in unison.
“Yes, yes! The humans have it,” Anso said, almost happily. “Now run along, I’ll be here, trying not to—“ He glanced up and then whimpered, pressing his back to the stone instead of holding on to his table.
“New to the surface,” Varric explained, mostly for Hawke’s sake. “Afraid he’s going to fall into the sky. You’re not,” he added to Anso. “Trust me on that one.”
“All well and good for you, you’ve clearly been here for a while— out here—“
“Born and raised here in Kirkwall. You’ll get used to it.” They left Anso to his stone and descended deeper into the city, heading towards the Alienage. “Have you been to the Alienage?”
“I have, actually. A few times for the Red Iron, and then once when I aided a Dalish elf into the city.”
“Now, why would you do that?”
Brona adjusted her sword at her side, and Varric looked to her as the silence continued. “I was just doing someone a favour,” she finally answered.
“I’m sensing a story.”
“How about you, Anders? Spent much time in the Alienage?”
“Yes,” he answered, and then realised that that wasn’t enough. “Well— not a lot of time, certainly, but Shae was born and raised in Denerim’s alienage, and so I found myself drawn here, and to their unique plight. There’s not a lot of mages down here, but there are plenty of elves who still need healing.”
“The Hero of Ferelden really spent that much time talking about her home?” Varric wondered.
“It’s not like she brought it up often, but it did come up, on occasion. Her father and cousins wrote to her while she was in Amaranthine, and when Loghain came to visit, the entire affair with— with the Imperium, and what he let happen, all that was brought to the surface. It was a rather nasty row of a conversation, but I took away that he has since made amends and sought to improve her home, with her support. They even let him visit.”
“At some point, Blondie, we’re going to have to sit down so I can get the entire story of your time with her out of you and into a book.”
“I probably make it out to be much more interesting than it was,” Anders mused, “but it might be fun to retell it all for you.”
“And I’m sure Hawke will want to hear all about Loghain,” the dwarf continued in a teasing lilt.
“Shut up,” she answered with a frown. Varric simply chuckled, but he didn’t say anything more. The two of them let Brona work once they reached the Alienage, as she was following a particular line of footsteps in the dirt that seemed heavy, and peculiar. The elves that happened to be about avoided them, sometimes with unbelieving glares, but for the most part, once they reached the back alleys, there was no one around.
The Alienage was a rather depressing place, and she really didn’t like coming down here. She didn’t know the streets or alleys well enough for her familiarity to be of any help whatsoever, so she relied solely on her investigation skills. If they were going to a hideout of some kind, then there would be signs, and she saw them. Little bits of copper, like they had fallen out of someone’s coinpurse while running. Drops of blood as someone returned to the base after an injury.
It all seemed too convenient, but it was the scattering of lyrium itself over a stone that made her pause. She crouched there, fingers hovering over it, but knowing better than to touch it. Anders was there beside her, crouching and using the end of his staff to move the dust with a very displeased noise. “We’re close.”
“Yes, but be on your guard. This doesn’t feel right,” she breathed, and he nodded, rising again.
She joined him, turning the corner, since there were no doors on the alleyway they were on, to find a single little hovel sitting before a rather large clearing. It had a clear view of the Tree, and Hawke studied that sight before she tried the door to the hovel. It was locked, so she glanced at her companions, and then put her shoulder to it and forced it open.
It nearly ripped off of its hinges, but it opened and left her just inside, hand to the hilt of her sword and at the ready for an attacker that never came. Her heart was racing, waiting for two more breaths before she worked through the shadows to ensure that no one was there. Anders helped with a burst of fire in his hand, turning around the room as well, and into the next.
“There’s a chest in here,” he called, and Hawke came to join him.
“That must be Anso’s. Why would they leave it in an empty house, unguarded?” She knelt down in front of the sad-looking trunk, beat up and bruised, then unlatched and threw open the top.
“Empty,” the mage said in surprise, and Varric came over to join them, as if to see for himself.
“Bloody waste of time!” He hissed. “There was never any lyrium, was there?”
“Well, maybe we’re in the wrong place,” Hawke reasoned, though she even did so much as to lift the chest to make sure it was empty, and nothing hidden under it. “But I was sure all the signs pointed to here. Let’s go check again.”
“There was lyrium on the stones, Hawke,” Varric muttered angrily. “We’re in the right place, but there’s nothing here. No side passages, no hidden trap doors, not even a fucking dead body. What a waste of a night, when we could’ve done something that actually made us some gold.”
“Let’s check again,” Hawke repeated, but her eyes did scan the rooms of the hovel before they left out the front.
And then they skidded to a halt.
“Well, shit,” Varric said in an undertone, but wasted no time in bringing Bianca into his arms and at the ready.
In front of the trio were a group of well-dressed and well-armed mercenaries, nearly twenty of them by Brona’s rough count during the ensuing battle. Well-funded, but not as thoroughly trained as they were, certainly. Varric took out more than his fair share with Bianca, and a few of the bodies were still burning from Anders’ handiwork when they regrouped. All three were out of breath, simply looking around them and then at each other. Confused.
“Okay, so—“ Varric began, looking up at the two humans. “Uh—“
“A set-up,” Brona guessed, rag out to clean the blood off of her blade. The red cloth was halfway down it when she heard the sound of pounding feet, and it dropped. She stepped to in front of the mage and the rogue, ready for whatever was heading their way.
Another mercenary!
“By the order of the Magister, you’ll hand over all stolen property—“ He began once he planted his feet just outside of Brona’s sword’s range.
“The Imperium has no authority here,” she replied evenly, taking a step closer, to which he responded by taking a step back.
“We only require the slave that put you up to this. Turn him over, and our business can be concluded.”
“No,” she stated in a ringing voice. “You get nothing, and no one. You will be lucky to leave with your life— luck that is running out swiftly.”
“Magister Danarius demands his property!” The mercenary screeched, losing all sense of his decorum.
Before Hawke could respond or even take a step to him, there was a burst of white light from his chest. A sickening kind of squish and crack followed, and then the sound of the man gasping for breath that he would never get. The white light faded, and the Tevinter fell to the ground without any ceremony.
Behind him stood a tall figure, dressed all in black, but still glowing faintly white. And then she saw that he, too, had white hair, and just as quickly, bright green eyes that were focused on her, and her alone.
“I am not a slave, and I am no one’s property,” he stated in a low voice, calmly, but somehow still full of emotion. It was dark in the Alienage, but he still had a light glow to him. He was an elf with deep-tan skin, but broken up by the source of that white glow, which appeared to be swirls and designs that disappeared under cloth. He wore all black, leather for his armour that was close to his skin, and then a cloak with a large hood that at the moment fell down his back. There was a tell-tale sign of some kind of scabbard there, too, but she couldn’t really see it, not in the dark.
She had expected him to have some sort of Tevinter accent, like the mercenaries, but he didn’t. He sounded almost Fereldan.
“They were after you?” Hawke wondered, sword falling a few inches, but not entirely. He nodded. “And he was the last one, I hope.”
“I believe so, yes. Though if my hunch is correct, the magister might have come here himself.” He raised up both hands to indicate he meant her no harm, and waited until her sword fell to continue. “Let’s see,” he murmured, kneeling by the man he had just murdered and going through his pockets and armour without an ounce of emotion. It didn’t take him long to find a sheaf of paper. “Come, please, read this,” he beckoned.
Hawke came to stand beside him, her sword over her shoulder, and taking the paper with her free hand. “It’s in Tevene.”
“Try to read it out. I can translate it.” She sounded out each word as best as she could, but then Varric was there to take it from her with a little annoyed muttering under his breath.
“Yeah, he’s here. It says he’s in some merchant’s estate up in Hightown. I know the place.” Varric looked up at him. “You’re rather tall for an elf.”
“Or perhaps you’re just short for a dwarf,” he countered. “How do you know Tevene?”
“Hazard of my job,” Varric answered. “Varric Tethras,” he offered with an imitation of a bow. “And that beside you is Brona Hawke, and the other human is Anders.”
“Does Anders not have a family name?” He wondered, looking to the mage.
Anders was frowning. “No, he doesn’t.”
The elf made an amused noise, but his attention came back to Brona. “I am Fenris, and I do appreciate your help— all of your help. I would like to explain more, but I would like more to find Danarius and end him once and for all.” She nodded an understanding. “Will you help me?”
“To kill a slaver? Yes,” she replied without any kind of hesitation. “Let’s go.”
“Woah, no, wait,” Varric argued, waving his hands to make them pause. “I still have some questions about all of this—“
“And I will answer them, along the way, if you are also coming,” Fenris replied, taking the paper back from the dwarf. “I apologise for the ruse, but even I could not take out such a group by myself.”
“You could have simply asked for our help. I would have fought by your side,” Brona said in a warm tone. “Even without pay. Slavery should not exist, and that it still does—“
He made a pleased noise to cut her off. “If I had known, I would have. But I will pay you, as promised— once we head to this mansion and find my former master.”
Brona looked to Anders, who nodded his acceptance, before her eyes fell to Varric again.
“Yes, fine. You know I’m a sucker for a revenge story.”
Toro Tokuda 