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peopleofthedas2011-09-11 12:41 am
Twin DA2 Stories
So here are these two silly sort of stories, the first ones for DA2 that I'm really posting publicly. The cannon relationship is male mage!Hawke/ Anders. Also, CAUTION for some Sebastian aggro. Not my favorite character, so maybe skip if you like him. Also also, the first story might have been slightly (or utterly and completely) prompted by
miri1984 's version of how it might have gone down. /bowandworship MiriTitle: Bow and Balance To Me
Rating: t (some violence, some cussin')
Characters: M!mage!Hawke, Varric, Fenris, Sebastian, Sebastian's mouth
Summary: If you're going to call the secret police on a person's loved ones, make sure he's walking a little further ahead.
Elliot Hawke had overheard his friends say some pretty bizarre things when they thought he was out of earshot. And some pretty funny things. And some aggravating things, which was why his current party consisted of Varric, Fenris and, so Fenris would keep the bitching to a minimum, Sebastian.
Sebastian was a bit of a wild card still, someone Hawke wouldn’t have really trusted yet. But Aveline was busy and Isabela was… Isabela, so that meant Sebastian could tag along with their little group and he and Fenris could just agree with each other about mages until they were ready to pick out rings and curtains.
Varric was talking almost non-stop, supposedly bouncing story ideas off of Hawke, but the day was warm and long, and they had been walking since six bells in the morning. Hawke found himself nodding and making agreeable noises keyed by Varric’s vocal inflections, while the rest of his brain turned over the questions of the ages: Do these robes make my ass look enormous? Was that man looking at my staff? That’s a portrait of my mother, you son of a… ew… Do they realize I have a nude portrait of my mother strapped to my back? Fenris, why do you say such mean things? Do you know how it makes me feel? Maybe Orana will make cheese soup if I ask nicely? Is Anders home and will he be in any condition to bend me over his desk? I could use a good, hard—
“… and an abomination walk free. It’s not right.” The word “abomination” was one of the many that would immediately grab Hawke’s attention. In a moment of pure instinct, his stomach tightened, his magic damped down and his hand was on his belt knife.
“Ah,” Fenris said dryly, “so you won’t have to take the responsibility for betraying Hawke’s friends.”
“So,” Sebastian answered, oblivious, “should we draw lots?”
“As much as I dislike the other two mages,” Fenris said stiffly, “If you want to turn them over to the templars, work it out with Hawke.”
Them? Meaning Anders and Merrill? His husband and his sister? Even Varric had turned and was staring at Sebastian with murder in his eyes. Sebastian tilted his head at Hawke and began to say, cheerfully, “Is there somtu… gerk…” The priest made a funny little noise as Hawke grabbed him by the gaudy breastplate and jerked him forward. He stared at Sebastian with wild eyes for a moment before releasing the archer abruptly. Sebastian staggered for a few seconds before the angry mage backhanded him into the wall. He fell back with his head turned, gasping with shock, and then Hawke was hauling him up again, this time backhanding the man to the ground.
Hawke knelt, Sebastian flinching as he did so. “Are monsters real, Sebastian?” The prince sputtered at the strange question and Hawke hauled his hand back again. “Are. Monsters. Real?”
“Yes!” Sebastian cried, holding one hand out to fend off Hawke. “Yes, they’re real!”
“How about the ones under your bed when you were a child? Were they real?”
He shook the cowering man warningly and Sebastian stammered out, “N-no, they weren’t real.”
“Your father would come into your room, or your mother or some servant, I’m sure. They would look under the bed, in the closet, out the window, and they would tell you that it was all your imagination. Am I right?”
“Y-yes! Yes, you’re right.”
Strangely, Hawke looked closer to tears than Sebastian. He hauled the prince closer and hissed, “So you’ve never had to hide in a crate in the false cellar, running out of air in the dark, curled into your father and baby sister while the monsters snapped at your mother and tromped on the floorboards just feet from your head. You never had to learn at age seven that if the monsters found you, they would kill your mummy and daddy and take you away to a place where you would be beaten everyday and never see the sun or your family again. That’s what it is to be a mage, Your Highness. And I am still terrified of templars, more so now that I have seen the atrocities they can get away with. The monsters under my bed are real.”
Hawke was burly for a mage and was at this point pressing Sebastian into the ground. The archer grabbed Hawke’s wrist ineffectually and huffed out, “But blood magic… your mother…”
“Don’t. Don’t dare mention my mother again.”
“The Chant says—”
“Yes, what a good little Andrastian you are. Do I ever see you coming down to lend a hand in the clinic? No, like the Maker’s good little whore, you just sit up here in your tidy Chantry and pass judgment on the rest of us without getting your hands dirty. You know, I put up with Fenris saying all manner of things that make me cry and feel like shit, but I love him like my brother. You, I barely know.” The furious mage pulled back a fist. “Maybe I should give you a reason to hate me.”
Sebastian was staring fearfully up at the other man, but a thin, lyrium-veined hand caught Hawke’s arm. “Hawke – Elliot – I’m sorry. I did not realize…” Fenris’s voice uncharacteristically cracked on the apology and it penetrated through Hawke’s red haze. The elf pulled the human to his feet. “Let him go, Elliot. You and I should talk somewhere, privately.” He lifted his chin in Sebastian’s direction. “That one has learned his lesson, I’m certain.”
“It’s okay, Fenris,” Hawke muttered wearily. The fight drained from him and he seemed to weave on his feet. “You don’t have to apologize.” Varric took advantage of the distraction to usher the suddenly forgotten priest to his feet and got him quickly out of sight.
“Varric,” Sebastian said, his speech a bit mushy from bruising, “I was only trying to help. Certainly you can see—”
“Choirboy, I know I must be short, because I damn well couldn’t see any help. You just threatened to take away the last family Hawke has, and you want thanks?” Varric shook his massive head with a bemused smile. “Nice of the Chantry to look after the simple. Go on, get out of here before Hawke thinks lightening is a good teaching tool.”
Sebastian’s eyes hardened, glancing back and forth between the dwarf and the mage’s back. “I’ll pray for you,” he muttered. It sounded like a threat.
“Save your breath,” Varric laughed. “And Choirboy? If Hawke, Anders or Merrill ever find themselves in the company of templars, abominations and blood mages will be the least of your worries.” He chuckled again, coldly, under his breath as Sebastian fixed him with one last glare before he fled.
Title: And I'll Be True To My Love, If My Love Will Be True To Me
Rating: M (violence, !!!Character Death!!!)
Characters: Varric, Sebastian
Summary: Varric ties up loose ends before leaving Kirkwall.
A whistle pierces the searing air as Sebastian stares at the negative space where the outer walls of the Chantry once stood, his mind as broken, scattered and confused as the rubble. He really needed to try to make sense of the epic task of searching through the debris for the living or the dead, but the instant he focuses his thoughts, all he can think of is revenge. So here he crouches and shifts stones from hand to hand, glancing about with streaming, empty eyes. At the whistle, he stands and turns toward the source automatically, frowning in confusion at the bright bloom of pain in his thigh. He looks down at the strange little bolt standing out from his leg. He tugs it, and the tip has gone deep, but its not barbed. When Sebastian pulls, it slides easily free of the muscle. The sharp whistle sounds again and snaps the priest’s attention to the blocky figure standing atop a partially collapsed archway.
He smiles in recognition, shock making him strangely calm. Varric nods to him, holding Bianca to one side side. “Hiya Seb.”
Odd to see the dwarf here, Sebastian has never quite gotten on with him. The prince had always felt a bit like an outsider in Elliot Hawke’s throng of followers, but they’d always been friendly toward him aside for the brief argument or two. Tonight, though, they had shown their true colors.
Anders shouldn’t have been a surprise. Truth be told, part of Sebastian’s rage had been fueled by the fact that the abomination had nearly pulled the wool over his eyes with his little healer act. Sebastian should have followed his gut and brought the templars down on the whole lot as soon as he had known what they were. Elliot had hurt him the worst, going over to hold his lover around the shoulders, face buried in the abomination’s neck as he wept tears of joy! Of gratitude! He had whirled around to answer Sebastian’s tirade with a shriek of, “I dare you! I fucking dare you to try and take him!” And then dear, reasonable Aveline was there between them, shoving Sebastian back with her shield up. Even Fenris, who had been calling for Anders’s blood, reluctantly drew his greatsword and chased him from the scene.
But Varric was here now, showing a change of heart. At least Sebastian’s sermons had not fallen on deaf ears. “Are you here for me?” he asks, his tongue strangely heavy.
Varric watches him for a moment with impassive eyes and nods; he pulls another of the odd arrows out of a pouch on his hip and taps it there, thoughtfully. “You could say that. What you said to Anders…”
“Yush,” he slurs, unable to work up the head full of steam that gave him such purpose earlier. Instead, his head is full of stringy little clouds, and his tongue is changing to lead in his mouth. He says carefully, “I wilth take an army an’ find him and hack him aparth in pief…peth… pieces an’ send one to eath Circle an’ I’ll croosh… crusief… crucify hith catamite…”
“My best friend,” Varric finished for him. “Kind of my little brother.”
“Yush. Hawke.” He smiles. It’s not a nice smile, he knows. The thought of vengeance still fills his stomach with a warm, bitter glow, shoring up the empty spaces, soothing his mind like a mother’s touch to a fevered child. He would find the two maleficarum, he would torture Elliot Hawke while Anders watched. He would make the erstwhile Champion Tranquil before Anders’s eyes and leave the empty shell of his lover to witness Anders’s turn. Hawke had lain down with dogs and gotten up with fleas. After all the chances Sebastian gave him, all the times he had tried to reach out to the lost apostate only to be turned away. To think that Sebastian had once seen a seed of goodness, had thought Elliot noble, beautiful, had spent all those nights scourging himself in his barren cell cursing Elliot’s name as a byword for temptation…
“Sebastian,” Varric says in a clipped version of his usual warm tone, “you told Elliot that you would -- what was it?-- take his ‘precious’ Anders from him. Was that right?”
“He shaid he did… it fer… fer…”
“For him, right. Blondie said he did all of this for Hawke. Poor fuckers. Anders went off the deep end and Hawke jumped right in after.” Varric shakes his head sadly and Sebastian knew distantly that he should be angry that his friend would show such undeserved pity, but he couldn’t quite remember exactly how to express that emotion. “But you see,” Varric continued, “as much as I want to knock Blondie into the middle of next year, he’s all that’s anchoring my Hawke to reality right now. Once the fighting was done, your outburst sent Hawke into one of his famous panic attacks when we really need to be moving along. So…” He raises the crossbow again, and Sebastian’s eyes can’t track the movement it takes to fire the second bolt anymore. When it hits his shoulder, it feels like a punch and he goes down on his back.
He stares into the night sky, the toxin in his system turning the smoke and screams into mist and crickets. When Varric kneels over him, he cracks an infantile smile through the foam flecking his lips and chin. “I never liked you, Seb,” Varric confesses, lifting Sebastian’s belt buckle in order to saw at the leather on either side, Andraste’s own face a stone cold proof of death that will hopefully make Hawke manageable for the foreseeable future. “Doesn’t mean I won’t put you down easy, though. I’ll show you more mercy than you would have shown my pet apostates. They’re a hell of an odd excuse for a replacement family, but they’re all I got.
“Here, pal. This shouldn’t hurt any more.”
By the time the razor-sharp belt knife whispered across his throat, Sebastian’s mind was swaddled in gray silk and the dwarf was absolutely right.
OH!
Yeah. LOVE.
Varric! You captured him so beautifully - as I always imagine him - he totally looks out for Anders all through the game and apart from Isabela he's the only one who really cares, and I LOVE that you've interpreted it this way, it really makes me want to grab that hairy dwarf and snog the hell out of him.
Sebastian CAN BE EVIL and you did it SO WELL.
Also. I MISSED YOU :D :D. YAY!
ALL THE HUGS.
Re: OH!
Missed you too. I have no idea whatsoever how you write that much with two little kids!