DA2 Fic - Into the Deep

[miri1984]

Title: Into the Deep
Words: 1800
Characters: Anders, Saoirse, Carver
Summary: Anders' melding with Justice had other side effects.

Set obviously, just at the start of the Deep Roads mission.

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He thought he'd done pretty well, when it came down to it. The rickety stairs down to the cavern entrance were negotiated without incident. It was dark, thank the Maker, when they got there, and Bartrand thought it would be better to make camp inside rather than out considering rain was threatening, so there was no sudden loss of light to unsettle him. He kept a spell wisp going, in any case, as did Saoirse. It was embarrassing how much he relied on those two spots of light.

They set up camp and Anders busied himself with his bedroll. It was new, as was his pack. Saoirse had dropped them by for him a few days before they left. He'd tried to refuse them, but she'd put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm not taking you down there with sub-standard equipment, Anders," she'd said. He'd winced, remembering the gear he'd taken with him to the Wounded Coast, and nodded.

At least he still had Spellfury. The one thing that had managed to survive the trip from Amaranthine. Saoirse had eyed the staff with interest soon as she saw it. It wasn't the same as the one he used within the city walls - it was too obviously powerful, even a normal person could feel the itch of magic when it was in the same room as them. He had it locked in a runed chest in his room at the clinic - a chest he'd painstakingly enchanted himself when he first arrived. Having it with him made things seem more normal, somehow, even though he'd only had it for the last few months he was a warden. Alim had given it to him at the gates of the city when he'd been almost certain they were going to die. Well, he and Alim and Nate, any way.

Justice had already been dead.

He set the staff next to his bedroll within easy reach. The deep roads were never predictable, never safe. They would do well to keep their weapons close at all times.

It was only once they were sorting out watches that he started to feel the oppressive weight of the walls and ceiling as a kind of physical ache. It didn't help that he could sense lyrium in the walls too. There was a side effect to his melding he hadn't anticipated. When they'd decided the party to descend into the deep roads he'd been very pleased Saoirse wasn't bringing Fenris with them. He liked Carver a lot more than the elf, which if he was being truthful, wasn't saying a great deal. Still, the only headache he'd be getting from the younger Hawke would be because he was an ignorant blockhead with a chip on his shoulder, not from esoteric lyrium markings that buzzed in his head like chantry bells and made it impossible to concentrate.

He busied himself with making a fire for them. Saoirse came up next to him and laid a hand on his shoulder once the sticks were blazing and emitting faint warmth. "Do you sense any darkspawn?" she asked softly. He shook his head, clenching his jaw.

"There are some," he said tightly. "But they're far enough away for it not to be a problem."

She bit her lip, looking nervous, and he suddenly remembered that her sister had been killed by an ogre, not to mention her entire village destroyed during the Blight. It was hard to concentrate, though, hard to think like a normal person - far more than usual, with the darkness and the smell and the familiar scritching at the back of his consciousness he thought he'd never have to deal with again. It was very, very hard to remember that there were other people with him who didn't feel the same way he did - the deep roads was a warden place, somewhere he'd spent very few good times and many, many miserable ones and to be surrounded by people who weren't wardens was at the same time both a relief and a constant source of worry. The taint could kill any one of them. He truly hoped Saoirse and Bartrand together had taken proper precautions.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the almost-sound that was echoing through it. He cast a quick spell that left him lightheaded but more calm, cursing himself for not being strong enough. Maker, the lyrium was going to be more difficult to cope with than the sodding claustrophobia.

"Magic?" Saoirse said. He'd forgotten she was there.

He pressed his lips together, the disapproval of his mentors in the tower, the disapproval of… well the lack of disapproval from Alim which had somehow been worse…

"I'm sorry," he said, running his hand through his hair. "This is worse than I thought it would be."

She sat crosslegged next to him, the green skirt of her armour-like robes touching his leg. "Worse how?" she said. "The scenery? The smell? The darkspawn? Or the cheery company?"

He managed a smile at that. He was grateful he hadn't had to do any of the dealings with Varric's brother. Not having had siblings of his own, he was somewhat bemused that two people who had the same parents could be so different in personality.

There was a frustrated curse from the other side of the camp and he saw Carver struggling with his bedroll. Then again, maybe I shouldn't be so surprised.

"I… have issues with being underground," he said. "Or in a confined space. The magic helps dull that a bit. But I haven't been to the deep roads since Justice and I… and… well…"

"Justice doesn't like it either?"

He grimaced. "Precisely the opposite, actually. Justice loves lyrium… loved lyrium. The Commander gave him a ring made of it once. We had to leave it behind - too dangerous for me to carry."

She looked puzzled. "Loves lyrium? As in…" he could see her shrinking a little from him and he wondered at it, that his status as an abomination could cause her no fear, but the possibility that he might be drug addict made her wary.

"No. Not like that. He used to say it… sang."

She looked fascinated then. "Sang?"

Anders shrugged. "Let's just say if what I can hear is singing, the fade is desperately short of good music teachers."

She guffawed. He'd never seen a woman do that before - except Sigrun when she'd had too many ales. Saoirse's chortle sounded somewhere between a pig and a horse and he couldn't help the grin that spread over his face at hearing it. It was a laugh of someone who didn't care what her laugh sounded like. "So, the lyrium down here is… "

"Singing. Yes. And I imagine it'll only get worse. Most of the lyrium here is buried pretty deep - miners would have gotten to it otherwise, especially this close to Kirkwall. When you get deeper into the roads sometimes there's lyrium just lying about… "

"Singing at you?" she said.

"Singing to Justice, any way."

"What does it sound like?"

"It doesn't sound like anything I could easily describe. It just gives me a headache."

She got up suddenly and moved behind him, kneeling close enough that he could feel her breath on the back of his neck.

"What are you doing?"

"My father taught me some healing," she said. "I'm pretty good at it. Not as good as you, but I know sometimes someone else's magic is better than your own."

Before he could object he felt her cool hands on his neck and the tingle of her magic on the back of his tongue. Alim had healed him, many times as a warden, but once he had gone, Anders had been the only mage warden in Amaranthine. It had been over a year since he'd felt the touch of another's magic, and he felt his breath leave him in a rush as it started to come back to him.

Alim's magic had peculiarities to it that Saoirse's lacked. Completely. Saoirse's felt like sunlight, and warm water, and tasted like new baked bread. There was an edge of wildness to it that spoke more to him about how she had been trained than anything she had said could have clarified for him, something light and natural that made him want to stretch like Pounce in the sunlight. When her fingers started to knead at the muscles in his neck, however, he wanted to groan aloud in pleasure.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been touched by another person, when it wasn't a patient grabbing at him in pain or desperation, or an enemy trying to hurt him. It took all his willpower not to lean into her touch, shut his eyes and fantasise that this was something he deserved…

That way danger lay. But he couldn't bring himself to move forward, ask her to stop, not with the walls so close, not when what she was doing was muffling the screech of the lyrium and the constant itching of the darkspawn.

"Maker," he breathed. "That's good."

Her hands stilled briefly and he felt a slight tremble in them before he heard her take a breath and continue - firm sweeps down to his collarbone and back up, barely touching now, just letting a gentle pulse of magic sink into his skin.

I have to tell her to stop. It was very, very difficult to lift his hand and still one of hers. "Thank you," he said. Looking up and letting go of her hand, quickly - so much more quickly than he would have liked. Her other hand stayed at his neck and he could feel her trace the line of one of his veins and he had to stop her…

"I can do more…" she was saying, with a slight smile on her face.

"No, no," he shifted forward enough so her hand fell away from his skin. "Please. You've done enough," her eyes narrowed and he searched desperately for some way for this not to be a rejection but it is a rejection and found it in the looming figure of Carver Hawke, looking their way and obviously trying not to in that way he had that Anders knew was unique to boys under twenty.

Oh to be that young again and free to do precisely the things he knew Carver thought Anders wanted to do to his sister. Plus a few more besides. The boy didn't look like he had the best imagination in the world, "Any way," he said, "your brother is giving me that look again and I'd rather like to wake up with my head attached to my neck if you don't mind."

Her head whipped round and she focused her gaze on her brother with enough murderousness that Anders almost regretted drawing her attention to it. The boy was an arse, but he didn't deserve death by immolation for not wanting his sister to be involved with an abomination. "Carver!" she shouted, and started stalking towards him. Anders ducked his head, now buzzing pleasantly from the aftermath of her spell, and poked at the fire with a stick.

It was going to be a long trip down into the dark.