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peopleofthedas2013-03-05 10:33 am
i_paint_the_sky) wrote in peopleofthedas2013-03-05 10:33 am
Get the Moonlight Out of Your Hair (PG-13)
Crossposted to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
knickerweasels, dragonage_fic, and fandomfic
Title: Get
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Anders/Female!Hawke
Summary: Anders meets Hawke for the first time and begins to realize how in
over his head he is with her.
It was an itching on the back of his neck that first told Anders he was in trouble. And then there was the sound of many footsteps travelling together. In Darktown, a group usually meant a gang but he'd never had any trouble with them here; the clinic had been accepted as a neutral place for all who needed it. But if it wasn't a gang then there was only one other option ...
TEMPLARS! THEY'VE FOUND ME.
He had to agree with himself – no, agree with Justice, an inner voice to be sure but still not him, not quite, not yet – and so he spun around, ready for a fight despite being dizzy and drained.. However, the scene before him was surprisingly lacking in templar helms and swords and shields; instead a young woman walked in, flanked by an even younger man, a dwarf, and an elf. It seemed more like the beginning of a joke than an attack but something about that woman caught his attention and ensnared it, making his hair stand on end while Justice pushed against the seams of consciousness. He reached for his staff and raised it before him.
“I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation,” he told them, his voice doubled at first but thankfully lessening with each word. “Why do you threaten it?”
The dwarf and elf may have been older but everything about their body language told him that it was the human woman he had to watch, that she was the one in charge. As she stepped closer, he suddenly realized she had a staff strapped to her back. A mage. No, not just a mage, a free mage. Then this must be the one he had heard of, the woman called ... Hawke. Yes, he had heard her name on the lips of many this past year.
All of this should have made him more at ease, since at very least she was unlikely to turn him in to the templars, but the way she was eyeing him only made unsettled his soul more – both of them.
“Strange occupation for a Warden,” Hawke said finally, the blithe tone of her voice like nails running down his spine. “Aren't you more about taint and death and not healing and salvation?” She glanced over towards the dwarf, who only shrugged.
Damn it, how did she know about that? Unless ... “Did the Wardens send you to bring me back? I'm not going.” After what he'd done, it was too much to hope that they would just leave him alone. And the worst part was, he couldn't blame them – at least not for that.
NOT FOR ANY OF IT.
Anders shook his head, trying to focus on something else, anything else, anything but that day. Suddenly a familiar face bounded past his mind's eye. “Those bastards made me get rid of my cat. Poor Ser Pounce-a-lot, he hated the Deep Roads.”
Hawke raised an eyebrow at that. “You had a cat named Ser Pounce-a-lot? In the Deep Roads?”
On second though, perhaps that wasn’t the best subject. There was very little Anders hated more than having to defend Pounce, though at least that was one opinion his knew was solely his. “It was a gift. A noble beast. Almost got ripped in half by a genlock once. He swatted the bugger on the nose. Drew blood too. The blighted Wardens said he made me too soft. I had to give him to a friend in Amaranthine.” The rush of memory was a powerful thing and it wasn't until after he said it that Anders realized he'd told more than he intended.
Hawke looked back at her companions again, with a sigh of exasperation. The dwarf and young man seemed calm, perhaps a touch apathetic, but they were not the ones that drew Anders' attention most, as he instead looked to the elf, who was scowling, his body turned half towards the door. For the first time, Anders noticed the markings on his body and something in his body hummed at the sight. Lyrium. But how? And why? When Anders' gaze moved back up, he found that the elf was staring at him with an expression that could only be called loathing. Anders looked away.
By this time, Hawke was speaking again and, when he looked back at her, the strange, soul shivering feeling was back. “So you came to Kirkwall just to escape the Wardens?”
He shook his head. “You say that like it's a small thing. Yes, I'm here because there's no Warden outpost, no darkspawn, and a whole host of refugees to blend in with. And some reasons of my own.” Again, he cursed himself for saying too much. Why was he doing that? Was his self-control really so lacking or was it just his anger at everything going on bubbling to the surface, another sign of the changing face of Justice?
Hawke frowned, the brow between her eyes furrowing. Anders' eyes could not help be drawn towards her tattoo, an odd marking, like a brush of paint across her face. Then she spoke again.
“I always heard that joining the Wardens was for life.”
For someone supposedly not sent by the Wardens, she seemed to know an awful lot about them. And he knew the Warden-Commander was not adverse to recruiting mages on the run. Add to that the Fereldon accent and it was only natural that she was putting him at such ill ease. “That's only partly true,” he finally said. “The hopelessly tainted by the darkspawn and plagued by nightmares about the archdemon parts don't go away. But it turns out if you hide well, you don't have to wear the uniform or go to the parties.”
“But then you miss out on the little shrimps and sausages rolled up in pastry,” the dwarf said with a chuckle. “And, of course,” he added, grinning at Hawke, “the booze.”
Hawke smiled at that slightly. “I'll remember that for my next party, Varric,” she told him.
Varric ... that name rung a bell as well. But Anders didn't have time to think more of it, as he attention was drawn to another of the company, whose hand looked like it was itching for the longsword on his back.
“Hawke,” the elf said, his voice deep and dangerous, “are we going to stand around here all day?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head slightly and taking a step forward, her stance wide. Once again, he could feel Justice just on the other side, ready if needed. “I need to know how to get into the Deep Roads. You will tell me, willingly or not.”
NO, WE CAN'T AND SHE WILL NOT MAKE US!
Anders didn't need Justice's warning, because already he was stepping forward himself, using his height and the bulk of his robes to as best an effect as possible. “Don't threaten me, little girl,” he told her and he saw her eyes widen, her short exhalation. And at the sight, he felt ... something he didn't have time to give a proper name yet, though if he had to call it anything now it would be a thrill, strange as that sounded. “You can't imagine what I've come through to get here” he continued. “I'm not interested ...”
He paused, as Karl's face suddenly appeared in his mind – a frequent occurrence these days. His plan was still only half-formed but he knew he'd gain a considerable advantage if he wasn't alone. “Although ... a favour for a favour ...” he said, his voice trailing as he gave himself one last moment to stop himself.
NO!
“Does that sound like a fair deal?”
YOU CANNOT!
“You help me, I'll help you?”
The woman seemed just as impressed by this as Justice was and she began to turn away. “We'll get to the Deep Roads ourselves.”
“Wait,” he called back and she stopped, though the expression on her face was far from promising. “I have a Warden map of the depths in this area. But there's a price.”
STOP THIS NOW.
Justice went ignored as he began to pace. This was a terrible, desperate idea but these were terrible, desperate times. “I came to Kirkwall to aid a friend, a mage. A prisoner in the wretched Gallows. The templars learned of my plans to free him. Help me bring him safely past them, and you shall have your maps.”
While her companions resumed their walk towards the door, Hawke remained, watching him carefully. “You want to make your friend an apostate?” Looking again at that staff on her back, Anders was easily able to hear her unsaid words 'like me.'
Like us.
“That's such a weighted term,” he said finally. “Yes, Andraste said magic should serve man, not rule him, but I've yet to meet a mage who wants to rule anything. It goes against no rule of the Maker for mages to live as free as other men.”
The elf's hand twitched at that but a look from Hawke kept him silent. “I doubt the Divine would agree with that.”
“The Divine is only a mouthpiece for the Chantry, the Maker does not speak through her,” Anders said, his voice sounding much calmer than he felt. There was no holding back now; either she would agree with him, or she would become even more of a threat.
“What, you'd teach the templars their own faith?” the man with Hawke said, his face the very picture of disbelief. “They seem pretty devout.”
Anders noticed Hawke move just slightly, swallowing visibly and reaching back towards her staff. He looked at her face and back at the man's. Ah, why hadn't he seen it before? “Never mind,” he said to Hawke's brother. “I do not seek to bait, only your aid.”
The man looked away but his sister's eyes were fixed on Anders. “Tell me about your friend,” she said.
Nodding, Anders began, looking directly at Hawke as he did. “His name is Karl Thekla. He was sent here from Fereldon, when Kirkwall's Circle required new talent. His last letter said the Knight-Commander was turning the Circle into a prison. Mages are locked in their cell, refused appearances at court, made tranquil for the slightest crimes.” He barely suppressed a shudder at this – if he didn't trust Karl implicitly, he would never have believed even the templars would go so far. “I told him I would come.”
“Are these accusations true?”
He eyes Hawke carefully, wondering if she asked for herself or for those with her. “Ask any mage in Kirkwall, over a dozen were made tranquil just this year.” He paused, shaking his head. “The more people you ask, the worse the rumours become.”
Hawke now showed no signs of leaving anytime soon. Her companions noted this as well, with all but the elf resigning themselves to staying longer.
“What do the templars know of your plans?” Hawke asked.
“I don't know,” Anders admitted. “I have been exchanging notes with Karl through a maidservant in the Gallows. Then the letters stopped coming.”
Hawke turned to her companions. The elf said nothing but displeasure was written all over his face. Varric, well, Anders had managed to remember a bit of what heard about the dwarf and doubted that he cared one way or the other. And then there was the brother, who just shook his head.
“Better make this good,” the young man said. “We're risking a lot if we anger the templars.”
There was a long pause, before Hawke nodded slowly. “I would help any mage in such circumstances, map or no,” she said, to no one in particular and everyone.
Anders paused, listening for that other voice to chime in.
I DO NOT LIKE THIS ... BUT I WILL ACCEPT.
“I welcome your aid. I have already sent word for Karl to meet me in the Chantry tonight. Join us there and we'll ensure that, no matter who's with him, we all walk away free.”
“When and where do you want to do this?” Hawke asked.
“Karl won't be able to get away until it's dark. Meet me at the Chantry at nightfall.”
Hawke nodded before turning once more for the door, actually leaving it this time. Anders caught himself watching her go and wondering exactly what he had just agreed to.
IF YOU DO NOT KNOW THEN-
“Not now,” he muttered to that voice, glad that the clinic was empty now his patients had fled when Hawke first appeared, a sign that they had far better sense than he. He shook his head, what was done was done and it had the potential to be either a great boon or an even greater disaster. But he would not know for sure until later so for now he concentrated on making any and all preparations necessary.
Long hours passed and even though he'd checked and double-checked all the supplies, triple-checked the plan, he still could not calm his nerves. There was so much that could go wrong, not the least of which was the very good chance that Hawke and her lot had gone straight to the Templars. He wanted to trust what she'd said about helping mages but he'd be burnt by misplaced trust before. The more he thought of it, the more he wished he could take it all back. But even with those misgivings, there was nothing he could do now and so once it was dark, he began to walk to the Chantry.
As he neared the steps, he could see three figures waiting. Hawke was in the middle, staff in hand, along with Varric and her brother. The elf was nowhere to be seen.
Hawke turned as he drew closer, her dark hair shining in the moonlight. “We meet again.”
He nodded. “I wasn't sure you would come.”
“I wasn't sure either,” she said with small shrug. “But as I told you, I can't resist a mage in need.”
Anders found his mouth suddenly becoming dry at that statement. “Good,” he said finally. “Are you ready to go now?”
Hawke smiled, raising her staff slightly. “No day but today.”
Oh Maker, he was in so much trouble.
knickerweasels, dragonage_fic, and fandomficTitle: Get
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Anders/Female!Hawke
Summary: Anders meets Hawke for the first time and begins to realize how in
over his head he is with her.
It was an itching on the back of his neck that first told Anders he was in trouble. And then there was the sound of many footsteps travelling together. In Darktown, a group usually meant a gang but he'd never had any trouble with them here; the clinic had been accepted as a neutral place for all who needed it. But if it wasn't a gang then there was only one other option ...
TEMPLARS! THEY'VE FOUND ME.
He had to agree with himself – no, agree with Justice, an inner voice to be sure but still not him, not quite, not yet – and so he spun around, ready for a fight despite being dizzy and drained.. However, the scene before him was surprisingly lacking in templar helms and swords and shields; instead a young woman walked in, flanked by an even younger man, a dwarf, and an elf. It seemed more like the beginning of a joke than an attack but something about that woman caught his attention and ensnared it, making his hair stand on end while Justice pushed against the seams of consciousness. He reached for his staff and raised it before him.
“I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation,” he told them, his voice doubled at first but thankfully lessening with each word. “Why do you threaten it?”
The dwarf and elf may have been older but everything about their body language told him that it was the human woman he had to watch, that she was the one in charge. As she stepped closer, he suddenly realized she had a staff strapped to her back. A mage. No, not just a mage, a free mage. Then this must be the one he had heard of, the woman called ... Hawke. Yes, he had heard her name on the lips of many this past year.
All of this should have made him more at ease, since at very least she was unlikely to turn him in to the templars, but the way she was eyeing him only made unsettled his soul more – both of them.
“Strange occupation for a Warden,” Hawke said finally, the blithe tone of her voice like nails running down his spine. “Aren't you more about taint and death and not healing and salvation?” She glanced over towards the dwarf, who only shrugged.
Damn it, how did she know about that? Unless ... “Did the Wardens send you to bring me back? I'm not going.” After what he'd done, it was too much to hope that they would just leave him alone. And the worst part was, he couldn't blame them – at least not for that.
NOT FOR ANY OF IT.
Anders shook his head, trying to focus on something else, anything else, anything but that day. Suddenly a familiar face bounded past his mind's eye. “Those bastards made me get rid of my cat. Poor Ser Pounce-a-lot, he hated the Deep Roads.”
Hawke raised an eyebrow at that. “You had a cat named Ser Pounce-a-lot? In the Deep Roads?”
On second though, perhaps that wasn’t the best subject. There was very little Anders hated more than having to defend Pounce, though at least that was one opinion his knew was solely his. “It was a gift. A noble beast. Almost got ripped in half by a genlock once. He swatted the bugger on the nose. Drew blood too. The blighted Wardens said he made me too soft. I had to give him to a friend in Amaranthine.” The rush of memory was a powerful thing and it wasn't until after he said it that Anders realized he'd told more than he intended.
Hawke looked back at her companions again, with a sigh of exasperation. The dwarf and young man seemed calm, perhaps a touch apathetic, but they were not the ones that drew Anders' attention most, as he instead looked to the elf, who was scowling, his body turned half towards the door. For the first time, Anders noticed the markings on his body and something in his body hummed at the sight. Lyrium. But how? And why? When Anders' gaze moved back up, he found that the elf was staring at him with an expression that could only be called loathing. Anders looked away.
By this time, Hawke was speaking again and, when he looked back at her, the strange, soul shivering feeling was back. “So you came to Kirkwall just to escape the Wardens?”
He shook his head. “You say that like it's a small thing. Yes, I'm here because there's no Warden outpost, no darkspawn, and a whole host of refugees to blend in with. And some reasons of my own.” Again, he cursed himself for saying too much. Why was he doing that? Was his self-control really so lacking or was it just his anger at everything going on bubbling to the surface, another sign of the changing face of Justice?
Hawke frowned, the brow between her eyes furrowing. Anders' eyes could not help be drawn towards her tattoo, an odd marking, like a brush of paint across her face. Then she spoke again.
“I always heard that joining the Wardens was for life.”
For someone supposedly not sent by the Wardens, she seemed to know an awful lot about them. And he knew the Warden-Commander was not adverse to recruiting mages on the run. Add to that the Fereldon accent and it was only natural that she was putting him at such ill ease. “That's only partly true,” he finally said. “The hopelessly tainted by the darkspawn and plagued by nightmares about the archdemon parts don't go away. But it turns out if you hide well, you don't have to wear the uniform or go to the parties.”
“But then you miss out on the little shrimps and sausages rolled up in pastry,” the dwarf said with a chuckle. “And, of course,” he added, grinning at Hawke, “the booze.”
Hawke smiled at that slightly. “I'll remember that for my next party, Varric,” she told him.
Varric ... that name rung a bell as well. But Anders didn't have time to think more of it, as he attention was drawn to another of the company, whose hand looked like it was itching for the longsword on his back.
“Hawke,” the elf said, his voice deep and dangerous, “are we going to stand around here all day?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head slightly and taking a step forward, her stance wide. Once again, he could feel Justice just on the other side, ready if needed. “I need to know how to get into the Deep Roads. You will tell me, willingly or not.”
NO, WE CAN'T AND SHE WILL NOT MAKE US!
Anders didn't need Justice's warning, because already he was stepping forward himself, using his height and the bulk of his robes to as best an effect as possible. “Don't threaten me, little girl,” he told her and he saw her eyes widen, her short exhalation. And at the sight, he felt ... something he didn't have time to give a proper name yet, though if he had to call it anything now it would be a thrill, strange as that sounded. “You can't imagine what I've come through to get here” he continued. “I'm not interested ...”
He paused, as Karl's face suddenly appeared in his mind – a frequent occurrence these days. His plan was still only half-formed but he knew he'd gain a considerable advantage if he wasn't alone. “Although ... a favour for a favour ...” he said, his voice trailing as he gave himself one last moment to stop himself.
NO!
“Does that sound like a fair deal?”
YOU CANNOT!
“You help me, I'll help you?”
The woman seemed just as impressed by this as Justice was and she began to turn away. “We'll get to the Deep Roads ourselves.”
“Wait,” he called back and she stopped, though the expression on her face was far from promising. “I have a Warden map of the depths in this area. But there's a price.”
STOP THIS NOW.
Justice went ignored as he began to pace. This was a terrible, desperate idea but these were terrible, desperate times. “I came to Kirkwall to aid a friend, a mage. A prisoner in the wretched Gallows. The templars learned of my plans to free him. Help me bring him safely past them, and you shall have your maps.”
While her companions resumed their walk towards the door, Hawke remained, watching him carefully. “You want to make your friend an apostate?” Looking again at that staff on her back, Anders was easily able to hear her unsaid words 'like me.'
Like us.
“That's such a weighted term,” he said finally. “Yes, Andraste said magic should serve man, not rule him, but I've yet to meet a mage who wants to rule anything. It goes against no rule of the Maker for mages to live as free as other men.”
The elf's hand twitched at that but a look from Hawke kept him silent. “I doubt the Divine would agree with that.”
“The Divine is only a mouthpiece for the Chantry, the Maker does not speak through her,” Anders said, his voice sounding much calmer than he felt. There was no holding back now; either she would agree with him, or she would become even more of a threat.
“What, you'd teach the templars their own faith?” the man with Hawke said, his face the very picture of disbelief. “They seem pretty devout.”
Anders noticed Hawke move just slightly, swallowing visibly and reaching back towards her staff. He looked at her face and back at the man's. Ah, why hadn't he seen it before? “Never mind,” he said to Hawke's brother. “I do not seek to bait, only your aid.”
The man looked away but his sister's eyes were fixed on Anders. “Tell me about your friend,” she said.
Nodding, Anders began, looking directly at Hawke as he did. “His name is Karl Thekla. He was sent here from Fereldon, when Kirkwall's Circle required new talent. His last letter said the Knight-Commander was turning the Circle into a prison. Mages are locked in their cell, refused appearances at court, made tranquil for the slightest crimes.” He barely suppressed a shudder at this – if he didn't trust Karl implicitly, he would never have believed even the templars would go so far. “I told him I would come.”
“Are these accusations true?”
He eyes Hawke carefully, wondering if she asked for herself or for those with her. “Ask any mage in Kirkwall, over a dozen were made tranquil just this year.” He paused, shaking his head. “The more people you ask, the worse the rumours become.”
Hawke now showed no signs of leaving anytime soon. Her companions noted this as well, with all but the elf resigning themselves to staying longer.
“What do the templars know of your plans?” Hawke asked.
“I don't know,” Anders admitted. “I have been exchanging notes with Karl through a maidservant in the Gallows. Then the letters stopped coming.”
Hawke turned to her companions. The elf said nothing but displeasure was written all over his face. Varric, well, Anders had managed to remember a bit of what heard about the dwarf and doubted that he cared one way or the other. And then there was the brother, who just shook his head.
“Better make this good,” the young man said. “We're risking a lot if we anger the templars.”
There was a long pause, before Hawke nodded slowly. “I would help any mage in such circumstances, map or no,” she said, to no one in particular and everyone.
Anders paused, listening for that other voice to chime in.
I DO NOT LIKE THIS ... BUT I WILL ACCEPT.
“I welcome your aid. I have already sent word for Karl to meet me in the Chantry tonight. Join us there and we'll ensure that, no matter who's with him, we all walk away free.”
“When and where do you want to do this?” Hawke asked.
“Karl won't be able to get away until it's dark. Meet me at the Chantry at nightfall.”
Hawke nodded before turning once more for the door, actually leaving it this time. Anders caught himself watching her go and wondering exactly what he had just agreed to.
IF YOU DO NOT KNOW THEN-
“Not now,” he muttered to that voice, glad that the clinic was empty now his patients had fled when Hawke first appeared, a sign that they had far better sense than he. He shook his head, what was done was done and it had the potential to be either a great boon or an even greater disaster. But he would not know for sure until later so for now he concentrated on making any and all preparations necessary.
Long hours passed and even though he'd checked and double-checked all the supplies, triple-checked the plan, he still could not calm his nerves. There was so much that could go wrong, not the least of which was the very good chance that Hawke and her lot had gone straight to the Templars. He wanted to trust what she'd said about helping mages but he'd be burnt by misplaced trust before. The more he thought of it, the more he wished he could take it all back. But even with those misgivings, there was nothing he could do now and so once it was dark, he began to walk to the Chantry.
As he neared the steps, he could see three figures waiting. Hawke was in the middle, staff in hand, along with Varric and her brother. The elf was nowhere to be seen.
Hawke turned as he drew closer, her dark hair shining in the moonlight. “We meet again.”
He nodded. “I wasn't sure you would come.”
“I wasn't sure either,” she said with small shrug. “But as I told you, I can't resist a mage in need.”
Anders found his mouth suddenly becoming dry at that statement. “Good,” he said finally. “Are you ready to go now?”
Hawke smiled, raising her staff slightly. “No day but today.”
Oh Maker, he was in so much trouble.