The Dragon Age world, plot, and their characters aren't mine but belong to Bioware. I get no money for writing this sequel.
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-- Kirkwall, the Hawke estate Aldera Hawke: I felt so tired after that many battles, like a guttering candle, as I tried to make a half dozen plans at once: escaping the city, helping my friends get away safely, disguise, supplies, my non-combat dependents, vengeful archers and Templars, destinations... Most of all was my worry about Anders and his Fade-blasted spirit.
On entering the mansion proper we were close enough to the ruins of the Chantry. I was glad the servants I never really felt comfortable with had fled during the fighting. I knew Bodahn was already planning to go to Orlais with Sandal, but I worried more about Orana as getting her to even go out or meet other elves in the Alienage with Merrill had been an uphill struggle. I could only pray to the Maker that some Tevinter slaver gang didn't find her in this chaos. She didn't hunger for freedom the way Fenris did and I never knew how to help her.
“I will see what kind of food might travel well,” Merrill said practically as she quietly padded towards the kitchen.
“Hawke and the guardsmen need to either lose or pack away their distinctive armor and weapons for a time,” Fenris warned, heading for the cabinet where I'd kept extra equipment packed away.
Quiet for a change, Varric moved to where I'd kept extra travel gear, it was a mixed blessing that everyone knew where I stored everything.
I couldn't even look at Anders as I felt like I had a gaping wound in my chest from his actions today. Everything I'd said before the battle was true, but seeing the light from the Chantry's destruction again and that odd smell when we came above ground in my home kept reminding me of the day's costs.
So many deaths. Too many innocents among them.
Who wasn't innocent? Meredith, definitely. Orsino partly, he didn't act enough against people like Mother's killer. But that didn't make him wrong about how his mages were being treated. Elthina? Not as much as most people thought. Only we saw her turn her back on Patrice's murder. How many knew she refused Orsino's requests for help for so many years? What should be the cost when good people do nothing? How many cared? The Templars were supposed to be under the Chantry's command. Always follow where the money flows, Varric had mused often enough. They didn't actually fight enough people with money to pay for good armor and weapons. If she couldn't control Meredith I would have been happy to deliver that message to the White Divine myself if she was willing to swallow her pride and ask.
Wasn't Pride one of the five kinds of demons? Along with Sloth. Rage was supposed to be weakest. All fire and violence... much like Justice has become inside my Anders, merged into one. What he did was as dark as the black city, and few could forgive him for what he did.
Or was I the idiot to think he still was a good man?
Maker, I wished I hadn't believed that a potion could cure him. He'd often seemed so desperate in trying to control his rage. Only needing an exotic potion seemed like a gift from the Maker.
I shied away from that thought, even if I felt again like a golem had just gut punched me.
Donnic was glaring at Aveline, he must have guessed that I would not have much in the way of extra armor for her. It was often a balm to see them together, and I'd be willing to bet he was insisting she take the leather armor, replacing her plate. They were quiet enough I couldn't hear their talk, but he was really good at getting his way for some things, despite her rank. Actually I had sold some extra things a few days ago for more potions and grenades at the Emporium.
The Emporium, Xenon'd never deal with Templars, he's be burnt to ash right away. I'd never seen any other customers when I was there so we'd have no witnesses and should be safe. That had to be our first stop leaving the city, and hope he'd have some new equipment we could afford.
“Dera?” Bethany asked, sounding like she'd said it before, but she continued when I made eye contact. “We'll leave the city now, there's always plenty of missions for wardens for many years around a Blight. The Deep Roads might be safer for you also.”
I should consider that, though Anders seemed to hate it underground. I didn't know how long I could avoid getting tainted if I went again, and I didn't want to have to put anyone else through the mercy that was needed for Ser Wesley. Twice was enough, and I really doubted the wardens would want either of us that much. Wardens were heroes, not us.
Forcing a smile, I hugged my sister and told her, “I don't think so, unless as a last resort. I wouldn't put anyone through what happened to you.”
“It's not all bad,” Bethany said with a smirk and glance at Nathaniel. “I don't really have to worry much about Templars or Chantry for the most part. It's just nice to be able to breathe free.” She looked sad for a moment, and then said with a smile, “I never did get the chance to tell Mother there are more men than women as Grey Wardens, that would have made her happy.”
Remembering her unsubtle attempts a matchmaking I had to smile too. She'd worried about my friendship with Anders, having heard his angry ranting a few times when he was working on early drafts of his manifesto.
Since then, Anders had been closer to losing control for months, more if I was badly hurt. That would have made the long search for enough of his dried dragon crap worth it.
I stomped on that thought, yet again as I had for hours, trying to return Bethany's smile. It would have been far, far easier to forgive him a lover, or ten.
More hesitantly, Bethany suggested while gripping my arm, “Dera, you should take a moment to take a memento from Mother's room. You should remember her better than how she died.”
I jerked back, like I always did when remembering the dark hole she died in. I didn't want to think of what had been done to her. Mothers' deaths. I'd really felt for Sebastian's similar pain earlier, as I'd felt the need for vengeance too. Mother's death was still too recent for me not to sympathize. I'd find it hard to... assassinate Vael if he did come at the head of an army seeking us. A weakness he could exploit if he ever calmed down enough to realize it, and to find me without an army at his back. Then he could easily get within bow shot.
I found I'd closed my eyes and taken a deep breath as I shuddered at remembering all the deaths and losses I'd had since the army at Ostagar.
For a wild instant I considered if I could fake one of those Ferelden reinstatement commissions, like that Aveline had gotten. I hadn't been anything but a raw recruit, though, and Aveline had been a sergeant or something. I rejected the idea from wherever it came from, Anders couldn't fake being a soldier.
A warm and strong arm slid around me from the side in a familiar way, and I sagged against Anders, wishing the last day had never happened. That today had been some horrible nightmare. But I could smell the smoke in the air.
Some part of me was still planning and I spoke again to Bethany, saying with my eyes still shut, “Thanks, Bethany. I'll need to pack quickly. I will try to send a message through the Wardens if I can, using Papa's favorite pet chicken's name.”
He'd hated our flock of chickens, even if we'd started naming them all as children. That should send anyone else off course, even if I was being a little too paranoid. I hated speaking cryptically with my friends around, but I still hoped to make like contact arrangements for everyone before we parted and I didn't want one capture to doom us all. Papa's favorite bird was his mabari Maggie, short for Magpie, dam of my Bigpaws.
I'd have to change his name too, I guessed.
A hand took mine, and I opened my eyes. Bethany looked so sad, but we fell into another hug. Would I ever see her again? We kept parting like this with blood and death hanging over us. And years of danger in between. She was the only other one I knew of who knew in her bones that a mage and non-mage could have a long and happy marriage.
For all it was one of Anders' goals, he didn't really believe it was possible, here, now, or for him. And now it was so much harder. I still wanted to slap him upside the head for stupidity. And Justice for being a bad general.
Bethany and I ended our hug, and I could see the tears in her eyes this time. She'd been so angry in the Deep Roads when I'd met her with Nathaniel, so I was the only one restraining tears that time when we parted. I'd had to hold Bigpaws from following her after they left us; he was puzzled. This time she smiled weakly and ran up towards Mother's room taking the archer with her.
Aveline and Donnic had moved to another room, to make their own plans and maybe sample from the collection of liquor she'd found for me. This left me alone with Anders.
Finally, I looked at him, and saw my pain in his eyes too, before I had to look away again. I just didn't know what to say.
If cruel insanity was what defined abominations, he still wasn't truly one, whatever he was. Those deaths were very quick, more a human violence than indifferent spirit. I'd seen too much insanity and cruelty to completely miss it. He'd been monumentally stupid, like Orsino, but he knew he'd face the Maker for it and was willing to pay that cost. Even to her end, Meredith refused to admit she'd pay for those people harmed in her wake. She may have said she cared, but there was precious little proof over the last decade. She must have thought the Maker would reward her for failing to protect her charges.
I didn't want power; I couldn't live with causing pain like that. For those I killed, they were some flavor of self defense or defending others, not to gain or hold power over others. To plan Harrowings, make people tranquil, or send people to their deaths was beyond me. Killing Sebastian might have been a good idea earlier, but he'd been my friend even if he didn't consider me his any longer. I didn't ever want to be so coldblooded as to send people to die at my word.
Turning to face Anders, I put both arms around him and laid my cheek against his chest, holding tightly. Sending him away would have only been a delayed death sentence, and I'd only be waiting and worrying until I heard. I could feel him take a deep breath and relax a little, his lips grazing my forehead. Maybe I was the insane one to feel safe like this.
Varric interrupted after only a couple of breaths, saying, “Haw... Hardy, we don't have time for that now.”
Suddenly I wished we'd taken the opportunity to kiss, but the moment had passed and I ran up to our room. Minutes later, I was shaken when I realized I was sorting things from my chest onto the bed into trash and keep piles.
Anders had clattered into the room while I was doing this, and saw it too. Stepping quickly over to where I now looked at my possessions in bewilderment, he pulled me against him for some searing kisses, saying between them, “I still can't resist you.”
“I never wanted you to. Never. Teasing about... verse or sandwiches... should be all in fun,” I managed to reply.
Pausing at hearing what I'd said, he sadly looked down at my face to admit, “I know it... Justice has no sense of humor. I wish I still did.”
Reaching up to brush a tendril of hair away from his eyes, I suggested, “Sometimes you do still. Maybe you should practice more between rescues.”
Anders smiled a little at that, but this time someone sent Bigpaws to remind me time was passing. He jumped up on the bed, and it wasn't worth the effort to convince him to get off anymore. Standing on the bed he was taller than we were.
Looking around the room, it already seemed emptier. Pulling a knife, I offered it, saying “Start cutting fabric into bandaging after you pack, looking injured might be safer.” I wanted to make sure he realized that I still trusted him in many ways.
Bleakly, I thought if I couldn't, I wanted to end it now.
So, for maybe half an hour we went through the chests and cabinets in the room. I collected equipment, extra clothing for my pack, and sell-able stashed trinkets from chipped gemstones to what looked like a carved serpent. I refused to think about the symbolism there. I grabbed my journal, Aveline's wedding note, Mother's shawl and jewelry from her room, Papa's quill pen and my ink set, and Carver's whetstone... all for my soul.
I added three books with a Chantry one on top of the pile, but when Anders looked angry I told him, “We will need to know the Chant of Light better than the typical sisters and mothers, including as much detail about how Andraste made allies as we can find.”
His brown eyes flashed briefly with the energy of Justice's presence, but neither of them objected further. His pile was much smaller, I saw just a some clothing, healing supplies, a case with messages and my correspondence, and blank parchment, along with his pillow that I'd overheard Varric refuse as a gift recently.
When we met downstairs, I wore the plainer leather armor I'd worn before the flashier Champion armor was completed. I dug in my night-side tools too. The others only had whatever they'd left here, which oddly enough included most of Aveline's shield collection. Merrill began to help Anders with cutting bandages, so everyone would have a good supply. Aveline and Donnic were sitting together on a bench, and I envied them their certainty in each other. Would I ever be as certain as them?
Fenris prowled the mansion, looking for intruders, ghosting in and out of the shadows, his tattoos appearing before he did in the darkness. Varric was polishing Bianca, still unusually quiet for him. I thought he was mostly keeping watch on Anders. I wouldn't deny him that.
We'd gathered in one of the smaller interior rooms with fewer windows, where only embers of the usual fire were now burning in the fireplace. Bethany stepped into the room, her Warden armor having a better meaning than mine did anymore in Kirkwall. “We're leaving now, while there's still some people out and about, our safehouse should have others there too.” She stepped over to where I was trying to arrange a few more items in a pack. “You have to go now, sister. There's no one still here you can help anymore.”
“Have a care for yourself too, Hawke. You cannot help those who don't want it. You told me that yourself after my Keeper...” Merrill scolded me, too.
I looked around. No one objected to what they'd said, I
was dawdling too much. Getting a sack to tie to my pack with as many extra weapons as I thought we could safely carry. They'd be worth good money wherever we went. In those few minutes Fenris returned and gruffly offered to take a bit more of the weapons. Anders looked momentarily frustrated and Bigpaws went over to him, to his usual annoyance.
We left my home then, the only one that had been mine and the longest one in my life, like thieves in the night. I was a fugitive again.
Nathaniel and Bethany moved off towards the harbor, again disappearing into the lands of darkspawn and dwarves, while I watched for a moment too long. It felt so final this time.
All the entrances for the Dark Emporium were subtle and hidden, so stopping there was low risk for now. A brief visit for some common appearing armor, weapons, tools and dyes cost more than I wanted, I finally sold the daggers I'd bought for Isabela before I realized she wasn't coming back. Giving up that hope hurt as well.
But now many of us had different clothing or armor, even if it wasn't as good as what we'd worn earlier and had packed away. I didn't sell mine, as I thought I might be able to use pieces of it once enough time had passed.
For the rest of the night we kept moving, and I was exhausted when we'd made it to a smugglers' cave I remembered from my first year around Kirkwall with Athenril's gang. Those days finished my the slippery slide into the illegal side of how I lived and earned my coin. I tried to be careful, but I'd already gotten started when my family moved from place to place before the Blight. I'd also heard too much from the elves we'd worked with, both exiled Dalish and those who needed freedom more than the joys of slightly safer living in an Alienage. After a year of smuggling and more years in the shadier parts of Kirkwall and I knew plenty about the unseen ways in and out of the city, even if we'd usually stayed well away from the Gallows.
Setting up some simple snares at the cave mouth, I was losing my fight to stay awake soon after I drank some water. I wasn't hungry and couldn't even face food after this day. Everyone settled into a quiet camp. Bigpaws lay down in front of me when I'd curled onto my side to rest. In the faint morning light that reached us in here, I could see a few gray hairs in his fur. Suddenly I realized I'd lose him soon enough too, like everyone else.
My mabari war hound Bigpaws was the most important memento of Ferelden, the last gift from Papa before he died, from before the Blight, from when everyone was alive and life seemed so full of promise. Years later and so many deaths, not even counting today's horrible pillar of lovely, shimmering light and so many statues that smashed people into sprays of blood and pulp.
Then I felt awful that I was mourning one dog's coming death with more tears than I shed when the Chantry was destroyed. Bigpaws licked my face and I threw my arm over him as I tried not to make any noise as I wept.
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A/N: Thanks to several beta readers who have been kind enough to read this and point out stupid flubs. Any typos that remain are not intentional... Reviews or a PM to let me know what you think would be very appreciated.
