#it's a miracle anders was not made tranquil

[delicatefade]

Not me at 8am thinking about how weird it is that anyone turns to blood magic. From a writing/character motivation perspective, it's surprising to me that so many are willing to do so. Three reasons:

1. For the most part, Circle mages are Andrastian. The idea of becoming maleficar should be the greatest sin they can think of. See: Wynne

2. "But fade" you say "that's exactly what proves how desperate they are." Sure, but Andrastian or not, the very idea of being possessed by something evil is akin to gambling with your life. It's a form of suicide.

3. "But fade" you say "that's exactly what proves how desperate they are." Okay but they're LITERAL MAGES. Look at all the legal spells they know. Have a senior enchanter cast a mass paralysis, some miasma, a crushing prison. They have insane control spells. I basically only build control and healing mages and don't even look at the damage spells. A handful of senior enchanters and a few apprentices could do some serious damage without blood magic. Heck, from a purely game mechanics perspective (which is admittedly a poor one), mages are harder to kill than demons. In a fight with mages and demons, you target the mages first cause their spells can eff the whole fight up. Yea, templars have anti magic abilities, but those also work on blood mages! So now what? What's the plan here? As soon as you summon demons, there's really no great end game for a mage.

All of this to say, blood magic is a real lose-lose choice. I suppose if you use blood magic "just a little bit, no demon summoning", you might get away from the Circle and do alright? That must be the allure, the Jowan path, and it's a very narrow one to tread, but the only one that looks like it could have a happy ending. Things still caught up with Jowan, but he was sooo close.

Also, look at our boy Anders, Circle escape artist, no blood magic. Sure, he might be a once in a generation talent.

I have no point, just thoughts. Mainly: have you seen the legal mage spell list? Brooooooo. Blood magic might get you there faster, but paralysis works pretty well on elite and even some bosses. Might be all you need to escape! Don't forget to find your phylactery or it was all for naught, blood mage or no!

[suck-on-a-fire-ball]

Hi! Here it is! The first two paragraphs should be in cursive, but Tumblr is picking a fight with me... 🤪

The letter that arrives is written in a slightly messy handwriting. It becomes a little hard to read sometimes, as the writer is overcome with excitement or some other strong feeling. It is, however, clear that they have tried to reign themselves in and write a somewhat readable text! There are little drawings, clearly made by somebody who can’t draw to save their life. One cat, mostly consisting of two cricles on top of each other, with a pair of triangular ears, sits at the top. The writer has added a small description beneath, helpfully pointing out that this is, indeed, a cat. Not a bear.

Further down is a drawing of something that looks like a small, round object with wheels. The explanation below it reads: ”This is Roku, our little cleaning robot. He is about the size of a few large plates stacked on top of each other, and he sucks up dustbunnies and dirt through a hole in his tummy. Alright, he doesn’t acutally have a tummy, but… anyway, there is a container inside him that collects the dirt., and whatever else gets sucked up. He has been known to try to eat socks, but they tend to get stuck in his ’mouth’. After he is done, you pick out the container and empty it in the dust bin. And Roku goes to his little docking place and gets some well-deserved electricity.”

Dear Anders,

Thank you for your letter! You have been very patient with my questions, and I really appreciate all the research that went into it. If you have any questions in return, I would be happy answer them as well as I can!

You told me Justice can sense something within the varterral? Weird! And interesting! What does it feel like? Hehe, while the thought of you and Hawke dragging a huge varterral into Kirkwall is very amusing, I agree that it may not be the best idea, especially if you want to not draw attention to yourselves. What if that Meredith found out? She would probably start ranting about blood magic. Again. She seems excessively fond of doing that. Plus, poor varterral! I bet being dragged around and dissected is very unpleasant.

I hear that Kirkwall is not a ”happy place” for mages, and that it has become even worse lately. I am so sorry! That blasted Rite of Tranquility should not be allowed, nor should the Rite of Annulment. And why are they referred to as rites, anyway? To give them some form of legitimacy? Religious sanction? That’s just… I don’t have words for what that is.

You expressed curiosity about the constructs and machines I mentioned earlier, so I thought I’d tell you about them. It is a topic that fascinates me, but I don’t fully understand these things myself – which is why explaining them is a challenge! I shall do my best, however, because I do think it might be interesting to you. In addition, I get to ramble on about one of my favourite topics! I just hope this doesn’t get too messy and confusing!

The first thing you need to know, is that our society is more or less built on technology and science – or what we perceive to be science. Magic has no place here, at least not within most of the scientific community. Phenomena that we deem ”paranormal” are often not taken seriously. It could be that magic exists, but perhaps in a different, less obvious form? One of our favourite religious icons walked on water, resurrected a dead man and healed another man's eyes with spit and dirt! Hm… Did Andraste perform miracles? If so, do you think that maybe she was a mage? Hehe, I am certain the Chantry would loooove that! I can’t help wondering, though. What is the difference between magic and miracles? What do you think?

So, constructs. You spoke of statues and trees that are able to move about thanks to magic? I would have loved to see that! Preferably without being attacked, though… Our constructs are powered by electricity. They are at least partly mechanical, built of metal among other things. Most of them are used for one, single purpose. One construct/machine may be created to clean floors, another to lift heavy objects or carry dangerous chemicals. But over the last fifty years or so, things have become less mechanical and more dependent on what we call AI; Artificial Intelligence.

So, what is AI? I suppose you could say that an AI is a man-made spirit, placed inside a construct or device. The spirit in question is given very precise and detailed instructions as to what to do and how to do it. This is called programming. A construct cannot perform tasks for which it hasn't been programmed, nor can it refuse to do what it has been created to do. Like a golem, it has to perform its function.

This is how we get machines that can make complicated calculations in a few seconds, dance, sing, answer questions, help healers perform surgery... But they are still often limitied to a few tasks. One goal is to create AIs for whom you don't have to write programs for everything, but who are capable of independent learning - much like us. This would make them more versatile.

There are some problems with all of this. How do we teach a machine about right and wrong? Constructs are ruled by logic, and they are often very intelligent, but they have no emotions, no empathy. (At least, that is what we think. Programming emotions is not something we are capable of, although I suppose they could be a biproduct?) Some constructs may look almost like people, and they can often mimic facial expressions, making it appear as though they have feelings. The question is perhaps if we would even be able to tell if one of them had genuine emotions? When does a construct become a sentient being? Or capable of feeling pain or unhappiness? This is something that worries me, because I don't want them to suffer. If we create a new race of beings, we are responsible for how they are treated. There is more than enough of cruelty and oppression here, and I understand it is the same in your society.

There is also the fact that development of AI has… speeded up. A great deal. We may be able to soon create AIs who are much more intelligent than us. How do we prevent them from just saying ”That’s it! You are a mess. We’ll take over now. Maybe keep you as pets, if you behave…”

In the story of She-Ra you may encounter constructs that are referred to as robots. Perhaps you already have? We use that word, too. It was first coined in a play about one hundred years ago ("R.U.R. :Rossum's Universal Robots" by Karel Čapek). Until then, the word automaton was common. It referred to a completely mechanical construct - all cogs, gears and levers. They had no will, no spirit, no intelligence.

The word robot is derived from the word "rabota" which means forced labour or slave. Delightful, eh? In the play mentioned, the constructs look like people, and were created out of flesh and blood, or similar substances. Because they have no emotions, they simply obey. Even if it kills them. Until they, one day, get ”souls”, namely self-awareness and emotions. This is when they decide to rebel. Which of course leads to genocide. Not depressing at all!

It is interesting how similar concepts, like slavery and abuse of power, are prevalent in so many cultures. As if that is just the way people are. Where I live now, an awakening is happening. People are becoming aware of the different forms of oppression that are taking place in our societies, and many are trying to make things better. The problem is, of course, that we may have very different opinions of how to make this world better! And there are people in power who want to keep things the way they are, which includes oppression of many different groups. It drives me crazy, to be honest. Please excuse me while I groan dramatically and bang my head on the table...

Please be careful! The thought of you or Merrill being caught is unbearable to me. Take care of each other, and be as safe as you can.

And I really hope that you get the chance to have a cat of your own soon!

Friendly regards,

AidanTheCryptid

PS: Why is the Fade so… green? I have been wondering this for a while!

An envelope arrives. Its wax seal has no symbol stamped into it this time, having been sent through more private and secure channels this time - as if there are thoughts and ideas in this letter that have to remain private. Inside, a letter is written with curved, beautiful letters, but with a handwriting that is uneven in size, spacing and even style (though it remains pretty). You can tell some of the writing was rushed, as if someone’s thoughts were moving quicker than their hand could write. Toward the end, the letters became significantly smaller. Someone almost ran out of parchment…

Hello again, AidanTheCryptid

I hope you’ve been well since sending your letter. I’m aware that it’s been a while since I received it. There were a lot of questions though and I wanted to give them all equal attention and research! I hope it’s okay, and that I’ve done them justice!

You’ve added some quite interesting descriptions and illustrations here on these creations that exist in your society. I thank you! It’s been a pleasure learning about them! You said I could ask questions,  and I can honestly say I have a million. They all, however, root in the same issue – why would electricity make them work? Is it like blood to them? Would it… not hurt?

Alright, let’s crack on with your questions!

Continuing on the topic of the Varterral, explaining what Justice feels in its presence is… difficult. It’s not a singular feeling but it also is not a collection of feelings. I don’t think it’s a feeling mortals can feel? If it was something mortals could feel, the closest description for it would be ‘suspicion’. It is the voice in the back of our minds that bring paranoia to us when bending down in the dark to wash our face; the fear that something is behind us when our eyes are closed, that something wants to harm us only to see nothing there. Whatever spirit is summoned into the being of a Varterral is evidently not on good terms with Justice. He, however, doesn’t want to comment on it.

And yes! Now that you mention it, it would be a little weird dragging the entire body of a Varterral to Kirkwall… if not just because Meredith would most likely use this as the one excuse to evade any protection I still have within the city and capture me, but also because it would be highly awkward when the creature came back to life. My clinic is not big enough to house it as a pet! And it would make a rather poor pet too…

Indeed, Kirkwall is not a safe place anymore but if you ask me, and plenty of other people (including Guard-Captain Aveline), Kirkwall was never a particularly safe place. This doesn’t just include crime rates, which are pretty high, but also its history and heritage. Although it was only on the outskirts of the ancient Tevinter Empire, it was chosen as the heart of the slave trade in order to keep the large influx of new slaves away from the Archon (who many a slave had tried to pull an assassination on). The slave trade has coated Kirkwall’s history in blood, a heritage which is still evident in the many depictions of pained slaves within statues and street art here in the city (still present because even on this subject, the Chantry enjoys taking a laid back approach)… On top of that, the societal classes’ importance is extremely evident in the city’s layout. Darktown being basically on the same level as sewers says a lot when you remember this is where slaves were kept. Each layer within the city houses a different class of people. Even the Alienage is lowered down within Lowtown. And then high up on the rocks, as far away from Lowtown and Darktown as possible in both altitude and distance, you have Hightown (and funnily enough also the Red District! It always makes me laugh how lust is on the opposite side of Hightown from the Chantry). It’s not a safe place because there is no equality. Slavery still reigns, but just in the dark. The Gallows have turned from one slave trading area to another, openly approved by the Chantry. It is a mess… The only reason I stay here is because Hawke needs me… and some other, more personal reasons, I suppose.

As a mage in Kirkwall, though, times have never been more dangerous than they are now. This Rite of Tranquillity you ask of is indeed the main reason. As you suggested, the name derives from the Circle and the Templar’s religious foothold. It is, of course, a rather big procedure, and it is named a holy rite from those who offered the knowledge within the Chantry hierarchy. But the name is most certainly offered that of a holy one in order to rectify it in the eyes of the public, especially, perhaps, the part of the public which is less educated. If the public reads something religious, something within their minds immediately justifies it as good – I wish the Chantry could be so good that we can live with the purest of childish naivety and blindly follow their orders... That would be a good world indeed.

I have no doubt in my own mind that this is purely to make it marketable and justify the usage of such barbaric treatments. What if we were to treat mentally ill people the same? The brother of a templar knight suffering from melancholia and forced to be electrified to silence his mind from any thoughts, both good and evil, just so no one has to suffer treating him, mushing his brain into nothing so he becomes calm – all to avoid execution of a difficult patient… Or doing such a thing to a poor bugger suffering from PTSD from war… No… That is inhumane. But a mage who gets unruly? Whatever ‘unruly’ might mean in Kirkwall… No, let’s mush their brains to keep control over them.

I cannot say what the right treatment is for someone who suffers from temptations by demons, just as I as a healer cannot say what the right treatment is for someone with a split mind. There are things too difficult to treat even with magic… but by the Maker, at least a possession can be cured albeit it difficult.

I shouldn’t place the plight of mages on the same level as the plight of the mentally ill though. No one plight can be compared. That would treat them unfairly and assume one is worse than the other, or has more importance within society. All plights are important. Justice is deserved for all. The only reason I compared here, is to make a point because I do believe that those who aren’t born of magic cannot fathom what we are put through. But we all, in some way, have suffered from mental illness and can draw understanding from it.

I digress… we should continue with your questions.

Your following questions are about Andraste… It’s interesting to hear of your religion which differs quite from ours (spit? … seems a little unhealthy). As an Andrastian myself, I of course am a little biased, but although the elf is annoying and rude at times, there is one thing to learn from Fenris’ approach to people: all cultures are equal. I’ve learned over the years that religion stems from miraculous events that happened in our pasts, and who is to say that any one is wrong or right? I think they all are right, somehow fitting into a puzzle that together tells more about what happened in the past than any one artefact does. My comfort, however, comes from Andraste, and so I was happy to hear you mention her. Do I personally believe that she was a mage…? Perhaps… The Imperial Chantry believes she was, and of course that makes them the enemy and not just people who realize that sometimes miracles are just… magic. The miracles that we are told Andraste managed are rather big ones, nothing as personal and important as healing injured ones as far as I know. The Chantry explains them as being natural disasters, despite people thinking them to be miracles at the time. Perhaps this is done because in reading that people thought they were miracles we can assume one thing: Andraste was not a mage. But whether this is nothing more but one way to read the legends, or whether the Chantry does not want to admit Andraste had magic and the Tevenes have it right… I can’t say.

I personally think it would be great if Andraste was a mage so that we had some stories of mages that did not conclude with them being the reason for something bad in our lives. But it would also be great if she indeed had such a connection with the Maker that she could perform miracles without magic. After all, to answer your other question on this topic, I believe miracles and magic are both intertwined and not, as a miracle can be with or without magic. A miracle is a meant-to-be good fortune to one, or a group of people. Does magic play a part? It can. But it can be as simple as a person being where they needed to be for something good to happen, or a healing spell to work better than expected. The intervention of Gods can be this small, or as big as earthquakes summoned by Andraste. The line is fine, if you ask me, but it’s an interesting subject to think about!

You proceeded to talk about these creations feeding off of electricity that exist in your world, and I was so transfixed reading this that I missed my assistant calling for help until she tapped my shoulder and scared me. Truly, again, thank you for writing about it as… difficult it is for me to wrap my head around it. I will endeavour to add some comments to some of the very interesting discussions that exist in your society, despite having 0 knowledge of anything… so take this all with a pinch of salt, please:

You mean a goal concerning these… AIs… would be to have them be… birthed as a biological creation with a mind and soul of their own? What an… interesting concept. A little frightening, of course, as most of us become versatile and socialised from the people we’re surrounded with. Surround such a newborn AI with the wrong people, and you might indeed stumble upon an AI with negative views on life – not to mention that each culture has their own variations on right and wrong, so how would one choose which culture it starts out in? Would you have to choose which culture is the more ‘right’? That seems highly unlikely to be fair. But letting them stay in a completely neutral zone is impossible too as someone has to choose what is neutral, and there will still be a bias. This is indeed a very intricate issue. I don’t envy you have this in your society, I must admit.

On the subject of then creating emotions and the limit of pushing them to potentially get hurt… I once had a patient here in Kirkwall who came in claiming to want me to take a look at a bruise. As I examined them, I found out this was not just a bruise, but three broken ribs. They had also dislocated their shoulder, upon which they declared “I was wondering why my arm felt off”. No pain. No matter what I did, poked and prodded (without pushing what I know to be human limits, mind you) the patient did not feel any pain. It’s uncommon, but it happens. The question on suffering physically therefore seems easy – if you have these… beings… mimic the bodies of those with these rare conditions, they will never feel pain – but then how will they know where their limits are? This patient would have happily continued to live with broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder, causing irreversible damage to his body over time. The same can be said for the mind. How do you know something is wrong without feeling the repercussions in terms of sadness, stress, anger, depression? We might not want out children to suffer, but if they never express or feel pain, how do we know they have not reached a limit of their own? Or that we have pushed their limits? The beauty of life cannot be felt without knowing the other side too. Light doesn’t exist with dark – as Hawke loves telling me when I feel down. I do hate them for it, but it is true. The true fear, I think, is in having to rely on mankind to listen to these AIs expressing their pain. That, I think, is the difficult part, as pessimistic as it sounds.

Of course, though, these are just my thoughts completely biased on the knowledge I have from my own society – which seems a little limited now that I have heard of yours!

As I am running out of parchment (perhaps this is a sign for me to shut up), I will have to stop this here before I write an entire novel on this AI topic.

I thank you for your worries. We will all endeavour to be as careful as we possibly can under the watchful gazes of the Templars. And, you know, I set aside some milk and have officially already seen some cats sneaking around for more. I might not own one officially, but I can pretend I do this way!

Now, you stay safe too. Keep healthy and hydrated. Kind regards, Anders

PS.

Your question on the Fade was quite interesting… It is the weakened Veil which has the characteristic green hue, but even when in the Fade, there is an unmistakeably green aura to everything around you – but it is easy to miss if you are not actively aware you are in the Fade, or if a demon’s temptation is blinding you. I have been acquainted with the Fade for so long now that it has become the norm to me, and I can’t see it being any other colour. Scientifically, I have no idea why the Fade is green, nor have I read any scholars of the Fade write about it. Maybe spots of weakened Veil enlightens the Fade? But then the question remains why that doesn’t illuminate our world too...

On a personal level… the colour speaks of despair, nausea and temptation to me… as well as a grief of something that once was. Justice has no answer either, offering only the rather useless comment of “I had no idea what green was”. Studying the Fade is difficult without entering, dreaming and wandering. Justice forbids me to do so. He doesn’t trust I have the resistance to come back… ☹ Rather rude.

[blazingmovement]

High in the Circle Tower

A short story about the Hero of Ferelden and some thoughts about her time in the Circle Tower. 

Trapped in the high Circle Tower, like a bird in a gilded cage. Sometimes, she would look out the large windows from high up above and wonder, what would it take for her to fly away from there? If she should leap, would she fly away from there, sprout wings and let the wind take hold of her, carry her as she swiftly flew away from her prison? But, ofcourse, the templars had made sure they couldn’t escape through the windows, someone had tried before and succeeded. The success was, however, not that long winded since it ultimately ended in death. I think they aimed for the lake, but to be fair, it is kind of hard to make a perfect dive from the higher floors of towers. Others had made other attempts at escaping and succeeded before. Take Anders for example, I don’t think there is an escape route he HASN’T tried. But as usual, he always gets caught and sooner or later brought back to the Tower. It’s a miracle that he hasn’t been made tranquil yet. If he would’ve been in the Kirkwall Circle, he would have been made tranquil just by thinking of escaping. Those poor mages. It should be a comfort to know that at least it isn’t as bad as it is in Kirkwall, but it is hard to be grateful for one's cage no matter how much space it holds. A bird in a big cage is still, nevertheless, trapped. Her friend Jowan felt the same way and they often discussed it. Recently, however, Jowan had seemed to gain new motivation in regards to life in the Tower, it probably had something to do with his “mystery woman” he recently started seeing. Seeing that it was forbidden to form such “attachments” one could say that Jowan was brave, but seeing that Anders basically fucked anyone that came close and was willing. Goddess, everything seemed to relate to rebellion when it came to Anders. One time, he even tried to fuck a templar. Mind you, it’s not the first time someone has fucked a Templar, it was just that Anders went after Knight-Templar Gregoiar. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Anders run so fast in his life. After that, he spent time in solitary confinement for almost a whole month.  

[5lazarus]

Hurt / Comfort prompt list: 6 and/or 17, please!

so you and Verdi inspired an entire story! these prompts provoke catharsis, and I was thinking of DA characters who desperately need that emotional catharsis, so here we go. Might make more sense if you read these two first, but I think it stands alone. Basically, after escaping Kirkwall, Hawke and friends are stuck in a cave, waiting for a storm to pass. Now they have to figure out how to weather each other. I put it up on AO3, titled Catabasis.

6. “I can’t breathe.” Isabela says, “Can you all fucking chill? I can’t breathe with this shit.” She throws her cards down. “Anyway, I win.” She pulls at her necklace anxiously. Everyone is on edge. Hawke bites back a response. Arguing with Isabela is never worth it, somehow she always wins, just out of pure intransigence. “We’re playing Go Fish,” Varric says, “not Wicked Grace. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Rivaini. You haven’t won shit.” Hawke is surprised at his vehemence. “Don’t give me that look, Hawke. You know how much I hate caves.” He drops another card. “So we’ve literally blown up our lives. Blondie’s in a fucking coma. Aveline’s finally lost her job, and I’ve wasted all the money I spent bribing the guards to keep the only woman with principles on payroll. Which, in light of the whole city being burned down and invaded by our favorite choir boy, doesn’t seem the worst of my losses. We’re all pissed off. So? What are we going to do about it?” “We could talk,” Hawke says petulantly, sitting down cross legged. Varric hands them a few random cards. Hawke blinks at them. They aren’t quite sure if they are playing Go Fish, or Wicked Grace, or some unholy game Isabela and Varric have concocted just to mess with Bethany. They’ve done that before, made up a card game and rules on the fly. “What’s there to talk about?” Isabela says. She puts two cards down. “Hit me.” Varric slaps her hand and moves one of the cards sideways. They are definitely making up the rules as they go along. “We’re all pissed off. We’re on the run. Again. And I’ve lost my ship. Yet again. But what does it matter? Just pieces.” “What’s that?” Hawke asks. “Qunari philosophy. My mother was viddathari, you know this.” Isabela puts down another card. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t like the Qun, that’s obvious. But it has its moments.” Merrill slinks out of the shadows and curls around Hawke. They put their arm around her and plant a kiss at the edge of her hairline, right above her ear. Merrill shivers, in a good way. Isabela smirks at them. “Anyway, it’s just--none of this shit matters, in the end. You just have to keep moving. Let the waves take you where they will. So Kirkwall’s behind us. Well, at least we know where we’re going. When the rain clears up, we’ll head to Wycombe. I’ve got some friends in the Rivaini merchant community there. We have options. Llomerryn isn’t that awful. Rainy, but smells better than Lowtown, at least. And we’re different about magic, about--well--elves. We won’t be turned away from taverns anymore, I’ll tell you that. If you want to stay with me.” They all fall quiet at that. Hawke wants everyone to stay together, but to what end? What’s the point where they’re falling apart like this? Take them out of the Hanged Man, without a common enemy, and immediately they are all at each other’s throats. Hawke catches Bethany’s eye. They want to try, but they are tired of trying and failing. They stay silent. Fenris says, “The Qunari don’t like magic, and you’re a fool to think Rivain can stay neutral when Tevinter inevitably drags Orlais into their war. And you’re a fool to think the Chantry won’t try to punish the Circles, for what Kirkwall did. You remember what Leliana said. The mages are stuck in a war for their own survival. We will find peace nowhere.” “Always a ray of sunshine,” Varric remarks. He throws his hand into the air, and the cards rain down like confetti. Merrill giggles. He says the unthinkable: “What if we split up?” “Don’t say that,” Hawke says immediately. “We stay together.” They cannot lose them and Kirkwall both. They’ve lost Carver and Leandra and Lothering, that awful mansion, their uncle and cousin too. Kirkwall will never welcome its champion home, not with Starkhaven’s army occupying it, not with the Divine’s Seekers crawling through Darktown tunnels for any hint of rebellion. Hawke has lost their home. They cannot lost their friends too. Bethany and Merrill are not enough. They look helplessly at Isabela, who smiles sadly. Isabela, who has never had much at all: she puts a stop to that though. Isabela fans her cards out in front of her lap. She taps a queen, then looks at Hawke. “We’ll have to keep running, for a long time. Especially if the Divine is after us.” She does not need to say it: I will follow you. She came back even after the Arishok killed the Viscount. She will not abandon them now. Hawke smiles, heartened. They know where they will go, now: Wycombe, then Llomerryn, and onward. “How much further ‘til Wycombe?” they ask. “Fenris? You’ve clearly been there before. What are our next steps?” Fenris says, “We don’t move on until Anders can move. It would be safer to split, but I am reluctant to risk missing a rendezvous.” There it is again, unspoken: I followed you from Kirkwall, and Anders too, and I will not leave me now. Do not leave me now. Fenris takes Anders’ hand into his own and his face twists. Hawke shifts, uncomfortable. Everyone has their tragedy, but it is harder to synthesize and react when the stage itself has been removed. Kirkwall is gone. What is the next act? Varric says testily, “We can’t live on the run forever.” Bethany snorts. They have, from the Marches where their parents met, to Denerim and the Hinterlands back out to Lothering, across the Waking Sea and Kirkwall again. The Hawke siblings can. Varric, though, hates moving. He is as solid as the Stone that birthed him, though he would never admit it. Kirkwall is their home, but for Varric, it is part of him. Hawke feels guilty. They cannot ask him to leave. They cannot ask him to go. Bethany, though, is irritated. “We can. I can. I don’t like it, but it’s better than letting the templars make me Tranquil.” She picks up the cards they have put out and shuffles them anxiously, fans them out, then shuffles them again. “We all have had to run, Varric. All of us except you.” Varric is taken aback. “What’s that supposed to mean, Sunshine?” His tone is less testy and more surprised. Bethany gets bitter, Hawke knows that better than all of them except maybe Anders, but she tends to keep that anger to herself. Merrill murmurs, “Oh, don’t start.” “Maybe I should,” Bethany says. “Maybe we need to be honest about what the next week is going to look like.” She turns around. “Aveline! Come back here. We all need to talk.” Isabela says, “I think you and I define ‘need’ differently, sweetling. Is there really anything more that needs to be said?” Aveline stalks over. She stares at Fenris warily, but pushes herself between Merrill and Varric.  It’s weird to see her without her armor, her hair unkempt, and tired. Even after they buried Wesley, Aveline kept herself clean. “What?” she says. “What now?” Bethany says, “We need to decide now if we’re going to split up.” “No,” Hawke says immediately. “Hawke,” Aveline starts, but Hawke’s heart is pounding in their chest, and they feel like their sister has punched them in the stomach. They cannot think to lose them all. Merrill and Bethany aren’t enough, not after fleeing Kirkwall. They need more. They want their friends around them like a bulwark against the storm. The rain picks up outside, thunder shaking the woods, and Hawke feels momentarily reassured. They cannot split up just yet. “Ma vhenan,” Merrill says, “calm down. We’re here, right now.” Hawke looks at her. She looks so weary, so deeply sad. She left Clan Sabrae behind, or they left her, and who knows what they will face, with Sebastian occupying the city? Andrastians don’t like the Dalish, however hands-off and kind Sebastian’s missionary approach is. “Bethany, go on.” Bethany’s eyes flick to Hawke, then to Varric, and then to Avelien. Staring at Aveline, Bethany says, “We’re three mages, two elves, a dwarf, a pirate, and the Champion of Kirkwall. Aveline, you’re the only one of us who can move relatively...unmolested. And together we stick out. When we’d have to pack up, we were able to pass because we were a family, and Andrastian, and Mother was always good at talking to guards and templars. But everyone knows who the Champion is. Everyone knows they travel with a Dalish elf and the apostate who set the mages alight.” Hawke says, “When did you become a poet? Is that what they teach you in the Circle? And here I thought it was just blood magic.” Bethany scowls. “You know I’m right. Stop deflecting. You always do that, since Father died. I wish you wouldn’t. You can’t laugh this off this time. Our house has been destroyed. Our parents are dead. And there’s a warrant for your head, and mine too. And I don’t think that dragon lady is going to save us this time.” Hawke pushes Merrill off and stands up abruptly. “Then what do you suggest, Bethany?” they snap. “I got us out of Lothering, I got us into Kirkwall, I got us fucking out! With the help of a few miracles. So what do you think? Can you conjure something up?” “Hawke, sit down,” Aveline says. “Oh, come off it, Aveline,” Hawke says, exasperated. “You had your tantrum earlier, it’s my turn now.” They laugh at the sour face Aveline pulls. It is all utterly ridiculous, and they rejoice viciously as they make it all worse. “Stop joking? We’re a bad joke. A pirate, two apostates, and the Champion of Kirkwall get stuck in a cave. Got a punchline?” Aveline pulls herself up, and Hawke laughs again. “What? What are you going to do? Hit me? I thought you delegated that to your subordinates. Anybody know what happened to those elves who killed that guard who raped their sister? Aveline? Any guesses?” They step closer, staring right up in Aveline’s face. “Come on, it’s a helluva punchline!” And then Anders croaks, “Enough.” He paws at the collar of his robe. “I can’t breathe.” Fenris hurriedly unbuttons it for him, and Anders smiles at him. Fenris caresses the edge of his jaw, and Anders grabs his arm to level himself upright. Hawke deflates, relieved that he has woken up, and that it is him staring sternly at the lot of them, not Justice. Perhaps they can make it through this after all. “Well,” Aveline says, smiling despite herself. “The revolutionary himself. And not possessed. For once.” Anders grimaces, and gestures. Bethany gets up and pours him a glass of water. He downs it and clears his throat. “Din’mean to interrupt a good screaming match. But.” He rubs at his chest, over his heart, where the templar raised his Smite. “Hi?” He smiles awkwardly. None of them have planned this far. None of this saw this coming, except, perhaps, Anders--and Hawke knows for a fact he was hoping he was going to die in the battle, that fucking fool. Hawke swallows hard, tears springing to the edge of their eyes. These fucking fools: they all thought they were going to die before they got this far, didn’t they? “Don’t be cute,” Hawke says, voice breaking. “I’m mad at you. You were going to fucking let them kill you, you asshole.” They wipe at their eyes, cursing themselves. Bethany is looking at them in shock. Hawke musters a smile, casts about for a joke. “None of us planned this far, did we? None of us thought we were going to survive what Kirkwall was going to throw at us. But we did. And I for one think it’s more a miracle than that dragon dropping out of the sky to save us from the Blight. That we made it out alive. So let’s not throw that away. I don’t want us to separate.” They look at them all, their friends. “You lot are all I have left. All I want. And I don’t want to leave you behind.” Isabela bites her lip anxiously. “Aw, Hawke! And here I was going to sell you all to the Blind Men.” “Shut up and stop ruining the moment, Isabela,” Aveline says wearily. “Can we salvage this?” Varric offers, “Group hug?” Fenris says flatly, “No.” 17. “Hey, don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself.” With that, the tension dissolves, and Hawke begins to laugh. They throw themself down next to Fenris and pull him into a hug, messing his hair. “Gimme a hug!” they say. “I deserve it, I saved your sorry ass.” Fenris says, “Ugh.” He scowls but does not pull away. Aveline huffs and moves to Varric. Hawke can feel Varric glaring at them. They purposefully turn away from the two of them, grinning a tad maniacally at their other friends. The fissures are obvious. Hawke thinks, maybe it’s like the Fade, and they’ll go away if I don’t look at them. Merrill gets up and begins moving around the shelter, pulling together a meal. Bethany follows. Isabela creeps closer to Hawke, Fenris, and Anders, watching the others fondly. “Damn, Anders,” Isabela says. “I didn’t think you were going to be there when you woke up.” Anders winces. “I wasn’t so sure either,” he says quietly. Fenris tightens his grasp on his hand. Hawke worries that he is hurting him. They aren’t quite sure about the two of them, though they had almost felt themself falling off the precipice into love with both men. They have that intensity, that fervor, that adoration that feels akin to worship--but Merrill’s love is calm like the surf lapping at the shore at low tide, and Hawke is not yet another ship to wreck in the storm. Anders and Fenris seem tender, anyway--desperate, but tender. Hawke says, “So. Still alive then?” It comes out more sour than they intend. “Despite your best efforts.” Anders looks guilty. “I didn’t want to die,” he claims. Fenris looks away sharply, hair hiding his face. Anders bites his lip. “It wasn’t--well, I made it. You got me through. The wardens always said I’d go out with a bang.” Hawke starts to laugh, which is better than crying. “Wait until they hear about what you did in Kirkwall!” “Which was not a suicide attempt,” Fenris says meditatively. “So you say.” “It wasn’t. Fenris, you know it wasn’t.” “I do not want to discuss your propensity to self-destruction right now,” Fenris says, voice strained. “But we will.” Anders looks irritated. “It’s not self-destruction, it was basic self-preservation and you know I had no other option--” “Maybe I should leave you two alone,” Hawke suggests. “Somehow. Because we’re stuck in this cave until the rain lets out. And it’s the sort of situation where we need to rappel down, so we’d need to do it together.” “No,” Fenris says. “Hawke, back me up in this.” Hawke really does not want to get involved in this, but they have never been able to tell their friends when to learn some emotional continence. They sigh. “You let us know you were planning something. You told me we needed to prepare to flee. You did not tell me you were planning to blow up the Chantry!” Hawke shrugs. “To be fair, it was a little obvious, with the sela petrae.” Fenris gives them a dirty look. Hawke spreads out their hands. “What? Come on. Sela petrae, drakestones, all those dark murmurings in the sewers--I just thought it was more than a one-man show.” Anders smiles slightly. “Well, you know me. I like to hog the stage. I didn’t want to bring anyone down with me.” “Don’t I know it!” Isabela snorts. “And you were only three drinks in, too….” One day Hawke will have the bravery to ask exactly how the two met, and what they did. Today is not that day. They love their friends, truly, but they are so much, and today is too much, and they do not want to know. Fenris says, “I take exception to that.” He is very still. “‘Bring anyone down with you’--who do you think we are, then? Mere incidental acquaintances?” Isabela bumps Hawke’s shoulder. Hawke blinks. That means she wants them to make a joke. “Acquiantances to murder, you mean,” they try. “Uh. Accessories.” Isabela rolls her eyes. Everyone’s a critic, especially when your friend has tried to kill himself. Anger lights itself in the pit of their stomach. They swallow it, it isn’t productive, but testily, they say, “I helped you find the materials to make the bomb. You should have just told me, instead of trying to be a martyr. You’re my friend. I care about you. If we hadn’t done anything to stop Meredith, Bethany would’ve been made Tranquil too. I thought I made it obvious I supported you, we could’ve worked in tandem with the last of the Viscount’s family--it didn’t have to end like this. There could’ve been another way.” “No there couldn’t!” Anders stands up suddenly, eyes flashing blue. Merrill and Bethany turn around simultaneously from the mouth of the cave, and everyone’s attention is glued to him. Hawke notices Aveline’s hand drift to the handle of her sword, Varric fingers a bottle of knock-out powder he keeps at his waist, even Isabela already has a dagger in her hand. Anders wrestles Justice back. “There wasn’t,” he repeats. “I tried all other ways. Orsino too. Endlessly. When the Left Hand of the Divine came, I knew it was over. The Chantry would rather kill us than let us go. And I wasn’t going to sit down and let them brand me--” “I’m not disagreeing with that!” Hawke snaps. “I just--I’m your friend, Anders. We all are. I’ve known you for almost a decade. You did not have to do that alone. We’re just as implicated as you were ever going to be.” “Leliana used to be better,” Isabela says. “Before the Chantry got its claws in her again. But--we’re here now, aren’t we? Together?” She looks at them all pleadingly. “So do we have to fight? The decision was already made, why talk about it now?” Anders’ eyes flash again, but Fenris grabs his arm in a bruising grip, and Hawke winces. Isabela tends to agree with them, she hates anything that restricts herself and has enough empathy to hate prisons for other people--but Isabela hates conflict, and hates being trapped into defending a position. Anders and Fenris both need clear lines. Hawke puts their head in their hands, frustrated. Varric shakes his head angrily. “Because some of us didn’t want to be driven out of town,” he says. “Because some of us think killing a grand cleric is a fucking stupid way to try to convince people you’re not an evil abomination. Because some of us believe in using our words.” Hawke thinks, well that’s not where I wanted the conversation to go. They open their mouth to disagree, to defend, to protest, but Merrill gets there first. “Varric, please,” Merrill says. She is vibrating with tension. Hawke reaches for her, but Merrill brushes them off. “If it wasn’t going to be Anders, it was going to be me. Or Feynriel. My clan. That lyrium. Or even Hawke, you know Meredith was trying to push them out since they killed the Arishok. Varric, don’t do this. Please.” Varric’s face twists. Hawke is terrified again. He comes across as easy-going, but he disagrees with Anders on most things. Hawke had been afraid Varric and Aveline wouldn’t have fought with them against Meredith; both of them knew she was crazy, but neither of them like risks. They love Kirkwall and its structures, oppressive or not. But both of them are the reason why Hawke has made it thus far, from Lothering to a hole in the wall in the Free Marches, as it pours outside. Aveline got them to Kirkwall, Varric got them out of Lowtown. They’ve only made it this far because of them, and they don’t want to know how far they can go without them. “The pillow,” Varric says. “The fucking pillow.” He laughs shortly. “That’s what gets me, every time. You gave me it. And why? Because you didn’t want to deal with the fucking consequences. Your little revolution, your fucking lover, your clinic--you were ready to give it all away. Because you were done. You wanted your blaze of glory--and now we have to deal with it. Kirkwall, Kirkwall’s gone. The Hanged Man? Probably burnt to the ground. I know they went for your clinic. And Blighted Prince Charming’s seized all our assets and is tracking us like a bloodhound. Because you were pissed at the grand cleric. At the Chantry. So you decided to burn it all down, and leave us in the ashes.” Hawke says, slightly impressed, “Damn.” It is slightly better than what they were expecting, and at this point they are just relieved no one has hit anyone yet. Next to them Merrill relaxes slightly, and she slides her hand into theirs and squeezes it comfortingly. They are upset Anders prepared to die. They are upset he treated his revolution like suicide. They are so utterly relieved Varric is angry about that too, and not that he is still alive. Anders closes his eyes and sags visibly. He hugs himself, nails digging into his arms. Fenris says, “Don’t do that, you’re hurting yourself.” Anders gives him a wretched look. “Isn’t that all I do?” he murmurs. “No,” Varric says. “It isn’t, you asshole. You hang out with me, and that was a good choice. And I suppose Broody was a good idea too. How old are you know? Past the fucking age to know that when you hurt yourself, you hurt the people around you. Us. And I might not agree with you, I might really want to hit you right now--” “Varric,” Fenris says warningly, and Varric puts his hands up. “I didn’t say I was going to do it,” he says. Hawke shoots him an amused look: while Fenris is around, they finish silently. “But, anyway--I don’t actually want you to hurt. Else I wouldn’t have sunk so much cash into keeping the Carta off your back. Especially when you helped out with the strike. You owe me your fucking life. Live it.” Anders says, “I didn’t know you cared.” Varric says, “Fuck you. Hawke, I have terrible taste in friends.” “Don’t look at me,” Hawke says mildly. “I’m terrible too. I’m the one who went digging around in shit to get the explosives for him.” “So what now?” Isabela says. “Are we all good? Because the rain’s stopped, and we should get moving. Anders? You’re not going to blow yourself up? And Fenris, you’re not going to tear out Aveline’s throat? And Bethany--” “What?” Bethany calls from deep in the storeroom, where she is packing their bags with Aveline. “I’m staying out of this!” “You do that, carry on,” Isabela says. “Keep doing that.” They pack up, Fenris and Merrill fretting quietly over exactly how to write the apology in Elvhen and what wall on which to pin it up. Fenris speaks the dialect the clan whose storeroom they borrowed uses, but doesn’t know how to use their alphabet, and while Merrill knows the characters, she puzzles over the words. Hawke has managed to pick up over the years that Elvhen and its dialects are based on intent, and change according to the context. The two of them can’t seem to decide on how to convey the context of the situation, and disagree on what they are enmeshed in anyway. As the others bustle about packing, Varric walks to Hawke and gestures at the two arguing elves. “If I write about this,” he says, “I’m skipping over this part. Because I have completely lost the plot.” Hawke heaves their pack onto their back and whistles for their mabari to join them. “We’re all fucking pissed at each other, but we know that’ll pass. We’re not separating.” They smile. “We’re getting through this together, somehow.” Varric says, “I hope you’re right, Hawke. Because I’m not so sure anything is resolved.”

[poweredbycoffeeandwine]

“Please don’t be mad at me.” for your favourite pairing! Cheers :)

Oh Jaws, you have written a few lovely prompts for me when I worked up the courage to ask for them. Thank you for sharing your fics. Just thinking about your fics is causing some serious fangirling over here! I hope you enjoy this fic!

Mercedes Hawke x Anders - Dragon Age 2 - Post Game - TW: Language - Angsty Beast

What’s Done is Done

“Don’t care if he’s guilty, don’t care if he’s notHe’s good and he’s bad and he’s all that I’ve gotOh Lord, Oh Lord, I’m begging you pleaseDon’t take that sinner from meOh don’t take that sinner from me”

- Devil’s Backbone - The Civil Wars

Her ears still rang.The sounds of metal clashing, shouts of anger, cries of the dying, and the shattering of glass and solid rock reverberated through her soul. Each breath was torture, her body exhausted, heart sore, the scent of blood and ash mingling to turn even the most iron of stomachs.  Events from hours before swirled around, an endless loop of could have beens. How had everything gone so wrong?

Sebastian left, furious, threatening her with Starkhaven soldiers, looking every bit as regal as she thought he could be. At least he finally knew who he was, the thought entered her mind fleetingly. She would be proud if she wasn’t worried he would follow through on his threat. Kirkwall’s people shouldn’t suffer, especially when they planned to be long gone before he could hope to return.

The rest of her friends rallied around her, if they disagreed with her decision they kept their own counsel, helping them escape the city now in flames. Once aboard Isabela’s ship, Aveline pulled her into a tight embrace, unshed tears threatening to come undone. They had been like sisters for so long, Hawke almost couldn’t leave. Hating for Aveline to once again stand between her and her enemies. Mercedes prayed to the Maker for her safe keeping.

Isabela begged for Mercedes to stay. She and Fenris would fight to keep them safe. A miracle that Fenris only nodded, no barbed words about the abomination leaving his lips. He had come to respect her, and care for her in his way, he wouldn’t try to dissuade her. Hawke wouldn’t let them risk their lives, when they had a chance to live Sea-Captain and her lover, free from any imagined obligation to her.  Bela argued, but knew a lost cause when she saw one. In the dead of night, two lone figures slipped silently off the ship, traveling light and fast. Ship gliding back into the sea, hopefully to provide distraction for a time.

The sun began to descend behind distant mountains, and for the first time since their mad flight from Kirkwall, she risked stopping. A small cave nearby would provide shelter for one night, an opportunity to rest weary muscles. They worked silently setting up a small camp, hardly a glance between them. There would be no fire, a sure sign to any lucky enough to track them, no hunting, at least not yet. How easily they returned to life on the run, as if the years of semi-stability never took place.  

She foraged and set traps for small prey, Malcolm’s lessons easy for her to recall. The night chill took residence inside the cave, and she was able to relax to the sounds of the nocturnal forest. No sound was dangerous, the silence foreboding. From the back of the cave, Anders cleared his throat, “Are you…were you hurt? I haven’t asked, and I’m sorry.”

She considered for a long moment, worried at the hollow sound of his voice. “I think I’m fine. Are you alright?” She sat near him, speaking in low careful tones unsure of his state of mind.

“I’m uninjured.” He stared silently off into the distance, haunted look in his eyes.

“Would you like something to eat?”

“You don’t have to do that, Hawke.”

“Do what?”

“Coddle me. I deserve what I get. You should have left me to the wolves.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Hawke.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Her voice wavered, “How could you even think that of me?”

“Leave me here, it was my decision, and you were right. I implicated you without giving you a choice at all.” He touched her cheek, fingers trailing lightly over her skin. “I don’t deserve your kindness.”

She shot up, pacing the small area, anger filling her, “How dare you! Do you think that if I hadn’t supported you, I would be here? Everything I said in the Gallows is true. Damn it, Anders I am yours, and you are mine. Why are you pushing me away?” Lightning crackled along her arms, as she fought for control of her emotions.

“Mercedes, I’m only good for dragging you down. Think about all you’ve accomplished. You’re the Champion of Kirkwall, proving that a mage could be more than what they see. Someone to trust, to respect. And I’m the monster who took all of that away from you!” Anders ran his fingers through his hair,  turning away from her, disgust evident in every move.

“Whatever you think you are,” she said in a broken whisper, “you are wrong. More than that, you are also all I have left. I won’t lose you.”

“You can find someone better, more worthy of you,” he sobbed, fists clenched at his side.

She hugged him from behind, pouring every ounce of love she could into the embrace, “You know as well as I that Meredith was paranoid. Soon she wouldn’t have cared if she had a good reason to haul me in and force Tranquility on me.”

He made a choked sound, but she forged on, “We could have found another way, but what’s done is done. We can’t have that moment back.” She turned him to face her, fingers lacing with his, held between their chests, “But we still have each other, and we will find a way to survive. It’s what we do.”

Anders kissed her then, carefully, slowly savoring the moment between them his lips tasting like salt, “I love you, Mercedes Hawke.”

“And I you,” she whispered, holding him tightly.

[newkate]

The Cure

For @teamblueandangry Kandersgiving event - Day 4: AU/Free

AU where the touch of Justice cures Karl permanently. 

(I’m not saying that would have changed the whole plot of DA2 and DAI but yes it would have. I kind of want to write 40K of this but here are the bullet points.)

1.

When they were free and safe, catching their breath on the narrow bed after a messy, shakily desperate reunion, Anders offered to remove the brand from his forehead.

Karl traced the raised ridges of the sunburst with his finger. He’d not seen it in the mirror yet, not since he’d been cured, but he’d already made up his mind.

“No, love, leave it,” he said. “It’s fine. It happened, no point pretending it didn’t. You have plenty of new scars too.”

He ran his hand over the recently healed sword wound over Anders’ heart and leaned in to kiss it.

“Love, my love,” Anders sighed, and then the spirit that had mended Karl’s sundered mind was looking at him from his lover’s eyes, its voice coming from the familiar lips. “They’ll never take another mage. We won’t let them.”

2.

In those half-formed dreams he had, before his dreams were ripped from him altogether, Karl had imagined they’d run away together. They’d hide in some village, never again do magic to avoid any suspicion. They’d have a little farm, a cow and a goat, and they wouldn’t need anything else.

Things were different now. Anders, for all that he still was every bit Karl’s Anders, had become something new: more than human now, indestructible, unstoppable, burning with one purpose: to make this world a just one, a safe one.

And Karl himself was changed, new, bare, tender, like a thin pink skin that’s revealed when a scab comes off.

“I’m just… emotional,” he told Anders’ friend Bethany the next day. She came to visit while Anders saw to his patients, likely because Karl seemed too unstable to leave unsupervised. Even just thinking about that brought him near tears, and he had to bite his lips to stop them from trembling.

Bethany, a sweet little hedge mage half his age, patted his shoulder comfortingly.

“Emotions are good,” she said. “Better than not having any. I was like this all through puberty, I remember. Even now if I hear ‘Andraste’s mabari’ at the wrong time of the month, I’ll bawl my eyes out. But you’ll get used to it. Just cry whenever you need, it really helps.”

He wasn’t going to, would hate for Anders to see him like that. But that same night as soon as they kissed again the tears spilt out, burning and abundant, and Anders held him tight while Karl wept on his shoulder.

“I’m not sad, I’m just - too happy,” he sobbed out, and Anders kissed his hair and said it was all right, and soon it really felt like that.

But, whether he was fine or not, they had work to do.

3.

Samson’s name had been passed around Gallows in whispers, from one trusted friend to another. Before he was given the brand, while he’d still been planning to escape with Anders’ help, Karl had counted on Samson to get them out of Kirkwall, provided they could find the money.

“Apparently, if an escaped mage can’t come up with coin, Samson sends them to some unsavoury people,” he explained. “Some of them could be slavers. We need to make sure this doesn’t happen.”

Anders promised Samson any treatment that could ease the pains of Lyrium withdrawal, Karl promised not to burn him alive, and just like that, Samson was now working for them. Soon he brought them their first mage runaways, Feynriel and Olivia, and Karl had students again. Olivia’s father tipped them about the escaped Starkhaven mages, and with their friends’ help they brought them in, too. They all spent some weeks turning the sewers into a decent enough place to live, for themselves and other refugees. Between them they could provide clean water and safe fire, they could reshape stone and light darkness. They diverted the sewage away from the living spaces, widened the gaps in the rock to let in more light, and began trading their skills and knowledge for food and necessities.

The plan was coming together.

4.

A few weeks later Karl felt strong enough to talk about what had happened to him, and asked Anders to take him back to the chantry. There he prayed before Andraste’s statue for courage and then approached the Grand Cleric and pushed his hood off to show her the brand.

“I am a Harrowed mage,” he said. “I was illegally made Tranquil, against my will, by Ser Alric. With, I suspect, Knight-Commander’s full knowledge and approval.”

“This seems highly unlikely,” she said calmly. “You don’t sound like a Tranquil. Are you sure your brand isn’t a fake, child?”

“I… got better,” he said, already trembling, overcome with anger and frustration. “Will you bring them to justice?”

“The misdeeds of the Templars are the Knight-Commander’s domain. You should speak to her.”

“As I said, I believe she had a hand in this.”

“You seem to be here without templar escort,” she said. “Am I to understand I’m speaking to an escaped apostate? If you wish me to start the investigation and have a chance to take this to trial, you must turn yourself in. That’s the proper way to see the justice done.”

“I’m not going back to the Circle. I’m not safe there. That’s where I was illegally made Tranquil.”

“There’s little I can do on a hearsay from an apostate, I’m afraid.”

He stumbled away from her, weeping in strange, inexplicable, helpless shame, and Anders put his arms around him and led him outside, into the light.

“I want to ask your spirit,” he said when he could speak again. “Can murder be justified? Am I consumed by my anger?”

Anders had killed many templars to save him, Karl knew. He’d killed before, too, in his time with the Wardens. Perhaps even earlier, if he was cornered during his many escapes. But for Karl that would be a new line to cross.

“Justice isn’t vengeance,” Anders said. “It’s not about an eye for an eye. It’s about creating a better world. I believe this particular murder would go a long way toward that goal.”

They ambushed Alric the very next day on his way from the brothel. Karl forced him to his knees and pressed his fingers to Alric’s forehead, and set his brain on fire.

He was ill for days afterwards, unable to keep anything down, his hand sore as if his own fire had harmed him. The catharsis had brought some measure of solace, he supposed.

5.

Hawke was about to head out on his daredevil expedition, and Anders declined to go and leave Karl behind.

“Well, without the Warden and the healer this enterprise just became a lot more dangerous,” Hawke said. “I understand, it’s just that I wanted to take Bethany with me, to make sure the templars don’t snatch her while I’m away. Now I’m not so sure.”

“She can stay with us,” Karl offered, and she did.

While they waited they took her, Merrill, a few Strakhaven mages and Fenris all around Kirkwall, trying to dig deeper into the grizzly matter that was brought to Hawke by Ser Emeric.

“If we are to live free among other free people, we have to do our part in fighting those who use magic for evil,” Karl said. He knew Fenris still had reservations about their little commune, and it seemed important to show him their dedication. Karl’s right palm still itched a little, but he mostly ignored it. Solving this crime would be the comfort he needed. “We know a mage is involved. We will find and stop them.”

They kept digging, and eventually came to the end of their search. The dead murderer’s secret room held some remnants of his horrific experiments, and a shrine to a woman who looked disconcertingly like Bethany’s mother.

“Imagine if this creep met her and became obsessed with her,” Bethany said and turned the portrait to face the wall. “Well, she’s safe now.”

6.

Orsino stared at Karl, fascinated. They’d arranged the meeting in the Darktown, and the old man’s huge eyes were watering, perhaps from the stench, perhaps from the same emotion that had Karl on edge of tears too.

“Unbelievable,” he said again. “Karl, I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you. But this, this is a miracle.”

“It’s a simple enough cure,” Anders said. “I can do it with a single touch, but summoning a spirit isn’t difficult. Anyone can do it. We can cure everyone, and we don’t have to be afraid any longer. The templars have lost their best weapon.”

“This changes everything,” Orsino agreed. “I will make sure the other Circles know. This can not be silenced.”

“I’ll cure everyone I can get my hands on,” Anders said. “Anyone you can send my way. Afterwards we’ll take care of them right here, in this sanctum we’ve built, among our people. We’ll nurture them through their recovery, help them face the horrors they might have been put through. Make sure they heal, the way they’d never be able to if we send them back to Circles. This is what we’ve been working toward.”

“That’s very good,” said Orsino. “A good start. Let me talk to other First Enchanters. I understand you’re overjoyed to be free and together, and you might not be seeing the bigger picture yet.”

7.

Later that year the conclave had voted for separation of the Circles from the Chantry, and the uprisings were on the way. Grand Cleric Elthina left Kirkwall, fearing for her safety. The Nevarran accord was broken, but the Templars and the Seekers both were in disarray, a lot of them opposing the order once the truth of the Rite of Tranquility was known.

The Gallows stood empty, following a swift uprising of mages fully supported by the new Viscount. Dumar had retired to rebuild his relationship with his son, and named Hawke his successor. Hawke, friend of the mages, darling of the nobility after all the favours he’d done for them, a close friend of the new Starkhaven king and even a trusted ally of the Arishok, ruled well and fair, even though there were rumours that his friend Varric did most of the work. Once the Kirkwall mages rebelled, Hawke sent in the city guard to fight on their side. After a short siege, with the mages who’d not escaped by then holding the Gallows and keeping the templars trapped in the courtyard, the templars ran out of lyrium and surrendered.

For a few happy years Karl and Anders lived and worked side by side, teaching the children, curing the Tranquil, building a community that accepted mages as their own. They penned a few papers together arguing for the rights of mages, outlining their ideas for peaceful coexistence.

“What would I do without you,” Anders kept saying. “I swear, without you, without your love, I’d given up a long time ago.”

“I know you too well,” Karl said. “You’d never give up.”

Still, it was good to know he was helping. It was good to be alive, to be able to love, to be loved. His unruly emotions had mostly settled down, except for one: he was still as overcome by tenderness and desire whenever Anders touched him, looked at him, smiled at him. But that they could certainly live with.

There was a call for help from a rebelling Circle, and they gathered a fighting force of battle mages and set off. Halfway into their march the forward scouts brought back an elf in tattered clothing. He seemed weak and confused, he refused to talk, and he was clutching a strange dark orb to his chest.

“Friend,” called Justice to him as soon as he came near. “I know, this is strange. Like you, I didn’t want a body, but you will see, you will understand the beauty of this world. You will love it. I will help you.”

“What?” Karl asked, but Justice only kept beaming at the man, and didn’t explain. Karl could sense the man’s power, though. Definitely a mage, in need of shelter, food, probably healing. “Well, he’s right, anyway. You’re among friends now. You’ll see, we’re good people.”

[araglas1989-writing]

The long journey

This story containts some Flashbacks which are not in their chronological order. So to know what happenes in which order I made a fixpoint (the day the chantry blows up) and counted from there. At the beginning from each flashback stands a shortcuts. for example 1y6 b.ch.b.u. means 1 year 6 months before chantry blows up

Chapter 1

"So it begins", Meredith stated icily, "I must gather my forces at the Gallows - meet me there as soon as you can Champion. I'll leave this... murderer for you to deal with. He's your companion. Do as you see fit."

Hawke nodded to her as she left, turning to Anders who sat motionless on a crate, his back to the other mage.

Anders seemed to sense his approach. "There is nothing you can say that I haven't said to myself. I took a spirit into my soul and changed myself forever to achieve this. This is the justice all mages awaited."

"Did the spirit tell you to do this?" Asked Hawke, attempting to give Anders a loophole. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt any of his companions after all.

Hawke still couldn't process what had happened. Couldn’t accept that this was really Anders’ doing, that he himself had helped to blow up the chantry.... But small glimmer of hope he had had was crushed by Anders next words.

"No. When we merged he ceased to be. We are one now. I can no more ignore the injustice of the circle than he could. The world needs to see this. Then we can all stop pretending that the circles are a solution." Anders’ voice was cold, so devoid of emotion that it hurt to hear it.

"So it's up to you to decide how things should be?" Hawke's voice trembled slightly in disbelief.

"It's obvious how things shouldn't be. And if I pay for that with my life... then I pay. Perhaps then justice would at least be free."

Hawke sighed and turned to his other companions. He would not decide this on his own.

"Opinions?"

Sebastian’s raged filled voice was first. "If I'd been in that chantry today, would you wailing? You know what must be done!"

"Bold plan. Well I thought so." The pirate stated next, not really being of any help at all.

Aveline's voice sounded strained. "Belief is no excuse. Sincerity does not justify this." As always, she demonstrated nothing except strength, but those who knew her could see that this wasn't easy for her.

"I think I'm sick of mages and templars" Varric spat in disgust, aonce again not being of any help insofar as the decision that Hawke had to make in respect to Anders.

~~~~

After the threat of the mages was resolved, Fenris stood a apart of the others. The warrior still felt the buzz of magic leftover from the fight in his markings, still tasted the metallic taste of it at the back of his tongue. He couldn't believe what just had happened. Or rather he couldn't believe that Anders hadn’t told him what he had planned. After all they had been a couple for one and a half years now...

Somehow Fenris' thoughts wandered to their first touch… the first that wasn't meant to hurt. It was after Anders took care of him while he had the flu.

The warrior hadn't wanted to the help, but the Mage had been patient and came by every day with soup, potions or salves to help the headaches and take care of him regardless.

First the blonde left as soon as he had made sure that Fenris took everything he had brought, but later, after Fenris settled in with the routine, Anders stayed longer.

(2y2 b.ch.b.u.)

 The warrior was finally back to full health. Anders had come one last time to check up on him, to make sure he was fully healthy. When once the Healers presence felt natural, it now felt...strained, awkward.

 "I just wanted to check, if everything is alright..."

 "It is"

 "That's good... uh... yeah stay healthy, yes? Okay I... will just go now..." Anders fidgeted a little, brushing away a non-existent mote from his robe and turned to leave.

 "Mage?" Fenris took a step closer at the exact moment that the healer turned back around, standing now in his personal space. "You look tired. Stay a while."

   Without thinking he had reached out to touch Anders' shoulder, but when the mage's gaze shot to his hand, he hastily removed it. Fenris' eyebrows went up in surprise, when Anders’ own hand shot forward, caught his hand and entwined their fingers. Judging from Anders’ facial expression, the healer was also surprised at his own actions. Fenris squeezed Anders’ hand gently to reassure him, glad that he wasn’t wearing his gauntlets.

   A small smile appeared on Anders' lips "I would like to stay"

Gradually, little by little, they began to trust each other...care for each other. It was nearly one and a half years ago that they had decided to give a romantic relationship a try.

Without the spite, their arguments turned into normal (if sometimes heated) discussions. But being intimate with each other helped them to understand each other, to learn to see things with from the others point of view. Fenris now believed that Anders might be right, mages deserved to be free. But they also agreed, that when the magic first manifests, the children needed to be separated from the rest and be schooled by older mages in order to learn to control their magic. AND, most importantly, that the parents should be able to visit them. They further agreed that as soon as the young mages learned to control themselves and learned their specialities they should be free to go where ever they wanted.

This is why Fenris couldn't understand what had just had happened. Why would Anders destroy everything he had fought for? and why would the healer destroy what they had? Why would he betray Fenris?

The Warrior had noticed that Anders had been behaving a little strange these days, but he had thought it was because Anders wanted to separate himself from Justice. He’d been wrong. Now Fenris knew that Anders had lied to him, and that hurt so much more than Fenris would have believed possible. Still, with the hurt also came burning fury and that was an emotion that Fenris greeted like an old friend. Fury he could comprehend. Fury he could handle.

~~~~

Merrill watched Anders for a moment, thinking about what to say: "He should come with us. Do what he can to put things right. "

"And fight side by side with templars? That's insane! I would rather die than do that!"

It was the anger in Anders‘ voice that brought Fenris back to there here and now, hate filling his entire being as he snapped.

“I will show you why Mages are feared' " he snarled with disgust "is this not your battle cry? Because that is exactly what you just have done, fool mage! Do you not see what you have done? You have thrown every mage into war! Do you think the templars will stop when it comes to the untrained children? To the Tranquil? To the weak you wanted to protect? They will all die. And what about the innocent non magical people? They will be caught in the crossfire! There is no way for the mages to win this. Even if they eliminate every last templar all non magic people will fear them. You pathetic fool doomed all of your kind!"

"Better they die in the war for freedom than as no better than a slave in the Circle. You of all people should understand this!"

"And it is up to you to decide how they should die? Congratulations, you are just as bad as the templars. You...." Fenris shook his head in disbelief. "You know what? You are dead to me. You destroyed everything. Not only the future of the mages but also ours."

Anders opened his mouth and shut it, then opened it again just to shut it once more, shaken by his own rage. He even glowed slightly, but his eyes were still honey coloured.

"So... your vote is for killing him?" Hawke turned at Fenris, an eyebrow raised. He paused in surprise when Fenris actually nodded at him. He turned back to Anders, drawing his dagger and stepped close. Anders was just staring at him, deflating again ready to surrender his fate.

With his fade step Fenris was next to Hawke, holding his dagger hand at the wrist. "Stop." He stared at Anders. "Go. It is my fate to kill you and I will, if I ever see you again. GO!" He screamed the last word with all his hate, his hurt, his fury, his despair.

Anders swallowed visibly, before he turned and started running.

Fenris felt his heart break, but he turned around his face blank of every emotion other than his want to kill. "Let us get this mess cleaned up."

~~~

A fight this big without a healer was more than just a bit messy. Hawke knew a little about healing magic but he was no spirit healer. So it was a small miracle that none of their party were mortally wounded.

After order was restored, Hawke made certain that no mage was killed who surrendered and stopped countless assaults on those mages from the templars. Every one of his companions went back to their homes and treated their wounds.

Fenris stayed for four weeks to recover properly from several nasty injuries, long enough to see Hawke become the new vicomte.

The surviving mages were brought back to the circle. But not before Hawke came to and understanding with Cullen that they were treated much better than before. When Fenris was sure that Hawke had everything under control, he decided that his time with the former champion (now the new vicomte) was over.

Everything here reminded him of Anders. He could not stay. So, he bid his goodbye to everyone, promised to keep in touch through letters and took his leave.