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thornfield13713 · 2 years ago

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KIRKWALL REUNION 🥺

The people have spoken! Let's see if I can do the idea justice.

...I'm not sure I did, to be honest, and the ending is definitely rough and will need improvements before this series is ready to post on AO3, but...here we are.

Lirene’s Fereldan Imports was a small, shabby sort of place, not much more than a hole in the wall - though still leagues above the conditions in which most of Marian’s countrymen had found themselves. There but for the Maker’s grace went they, Father would have said, but Marian had never been much of a believer in the Maker’s grace to begin with, even before the Blight. Anders had always been the believer, between the two of them, and now he was gone. There but for one slip, one chance, one lucky brawl in the Gallows when they were fresh off the boat. It was easy to forget, in all the grief that had attended their flight from Ferelden, just how soft a landing they’d had by comparison.

Marian rapped her knuckles surreptitiously on a wooden table, and counted out five sovereigns for the donation box sitting out conspicuously near the door. Carver caught her doing it, and scowled a little and, yes, all right, Marian knew why. But Marian was superstitious enough to want to leave a tithe for fortune, and this seemed a better place for it than the Chantry poorbox, which was always overflowing and yet never seemed to get used.

They had to elbow their way through a crowd of other refugees to get to the front of the queue - attracting no small number of dirty looks on the way, only to stop directly behind a skinny woman whose brown hair was already streaked with early grey, though she couldn’t have been very much older than the twins.

“My mother’s in labour,” she was saying, the words tumbling over each other in their haste to get out. “The baby’s come early- Can anyone help her?”

The woman behind the counter nodded. “I’ll send word to the healer, but-”

“My son’s hurt bad,” another man cut in, “Cart overturned on him in the blasted Bone Pit-”

“Everyone in your turn. I promise, we have donations coming in. There will be food and medicine for all of you-”

Somehow, in the heaving of the crowd, the three of them had ended up at the front of the line. The shopkeeper turned to them, looking frazzled.

“If you’re seeking aid, leave your name with my girl. We serve everyone here - no-one came from Ferelden without trouble.” She folded her arms, and fixed them with a very stern look. “But I can’t give priority to anyone who’s already found work and lodging.”

“That’s fair,” Marian said quickly. “But that…isn’t what we’re here for. I hear you know where I can find a Fereldan Grey Warden?”

The woman - presumably Lirene - snorted. “Only Fereldan Grey Warden I’ve heard of is sitting on the throne. We’re out of the Blight’s path now. Why would you need a Warden?”

“The healer was one of ‘em once, wasn’t he?” the girl with the mother in childbirth cut in excitedly. “A Warden?”

Lirene turned on her like a- well, like a hawk. “Well, he’s not now, and busy enough without answering fool questions about it.”

“Who are you protecting?” Marian asked, as gently as she could manage.

Lirene’s mouth firmed into a hard line. “You see what our people face in Kirkwall. They have no jobs, no homes. Most can barely buy bread. This healer, he serves them without thought for coin. He’s closed their wounds, delivered their children…he’s a good man. I won’t lose him to the blighted Templars.”

Something ached in Marian’s chest at that. Back in Ferelden, she wondered, would Lirene have even looked twice at a mage being dragged away, healer or no? Somehow, she doubted it. Certainly, no-one in Lothering would. They’d had their share of near misses, before the Blight.

“I understand,” she said, a little hollowly. “But he’ll come to no harm from us.”

“R-right,” Carver agreed. “Perfectly safe if he cooperates- Ow! What was that for?”

“What my brother means is, we would never give someone up to the Templars. Never,” Bethany said, the steel coming into her voice now. “Isn’t that right, Carver?”

“Ow- Yeah. That. That is what we mean. I guess.”

Lirene looked between them, then sighed.

“I suppose it isn’t my secret to keep. Anders has certainly been free enough with his services-”

For a moment, Marian could not believe she’d heard right. But then-

A wild, irrepressible, agonising flood of hope welled up in her, in a place she’d thought had long run dry.

“I- I’m sorry, did you-” she swallowed, her mouth dry. “Did you say his name was Anders? You’re certain that was it? Definitely ‘Anders’?”

Lirene’s brow furrowed. “Yes. Unusual, I know, but-”

“I- Is he-” She couldn’t- It couldn’t be true, it couldn’t- More than a year now, he’d been gone. He couldn’t have been returned to her like this. The Maker was not so kind. And yet-

How many could there be? A Fereldan, a mage, a healer by that name-?

“Maker,” Carver muttered. “Marian, you can’t keep torturing yourself like this-”

“I’m not sure I follow…” Lirene said, in a dangerous sort of tone, and Marian forced herself to calm, her fingers white-knuckled where they still gripped the fox-head amulet about her neck.

“I- Is this healer of yours a- a tall man - taller than me - with light hair and amber eyes and-” The image of his face flashed into her mind again, just as it had been that day in the woods. “...and the most ridiculous smile you’ve ever seen? Who loves cats, and…and laughs at his own jokes, even when they aren’t particularly funny?”

It had driven her mad sometimes, those jokes. Now, she would have given almost anything to hear them again.

Lirene’s eyes narrowed.

“...he is a tall, fair man,” she allowed. “But I’ve never seen him smile. Let alone laugh.”

It could be him. It could still be him. It was almost worse than an outright denial.

“Here, is this him?” Bethany asked, reaching up to unclasp her locket, and flicking it open under Lirene’s unimpressed eyes.

The little portrait inside was maybe a bit too small to get the fine detail, but- there he was. There they all were. Mother and Father, in the days when Father had still been alive and Mother’s hair had still had some black in it, Marian and Anders, wrapped up in each other the way they had been all of that first year they’d been married, and the twins, gawky adolescents still growing into their coltish limbs.

Lirene peered down at it, and then looked up sharply.

“...that…does look like him. Who are you, exactly, that you were looking for a Warden in general, and not him by name? His sister?”

“His wife,” Marian corrected, without really thinking about it. It cost real effort to keep her voice steady. “I- I thought he died at Ostagar - we were both there, he- we were separated during the retreat…please, if you can tell me where to find him-”

“Of course.” Lirene looked relieved. “I…suppose this explains it. He always seemed like he must have lost even more than the rest of us, but he never spoke of- Well. I hope I have this right. Refugees in Darktown say to look for the lit lantern. If your need is great enough, Anders will be within.”

Marian didn’t hear her own reply. She wasn’t altogether sure she’d said anything at all. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears.

Alive, he was alive. She wanted to laugh and cry and dance and also, incidentally, strangle him for making her grieve so long.

She felt Carver’s hand settle on her shoulder.

“It might not be him,” he said, a bit gruffly.

Bethany, on her other side, snorted. “What, another Fereldan apostate healer named Anders? Who just happens to look exactly like his portrait?”

“That thing’s tiny, anyone tall and blonde would look about the same in it-” Carver gave Marian’s shoulder another squeeze. “Let’s just…let me keep my hopes up that it isn’t that unbearable prick come back from the dead?”

His voice was a little strained from the effort of pretending to be jovial about it, but Marian appreciated the effort.

“Well,” she said, a little unsteadily, glancing around the shop. Far too many eyes on them, too many eyes on Bethany, it wasn’t safe- “Whether- Whoever he is, we need to speak with him. We should…probably pick up our new business partner, too. He’ll want to- That is, if this healer is- isn’t who we- who I hope it is…”

“I’ll get him,” Carver promised, “We’ll meet you down in Darktown, then?”

Marian managed a jerky nod.

Alive, he was alive. He was alive and…a Grey Warden, somehow, which was- that was new. Did Wardens even marry? Or was the symbolic death of joining up enough to cancel that out as well?

“It’s him,” Bethany said, as soon as Carver was out the door. “I’m sure it is - who else could it be?”

“...I don’t know.”

But she couldn’t- Hoping had been a torment, all the weeks and months they had spent in Gwaren, waiting for a ship or for word from beyond the Brecilian Passage. Even now, she found herself reaching cautiously out for it, as if afraid she’d get her fingers burnt if she seemed too eager for it. It would be so much worse to let herself hope and then-

She forced a smile for Bethany, and straightened her spine, squaring her shoulders.

“Come on, then. Let’s see if you’re right.”

Of course, they were intercepted almost as soon as they were out of the store, and only a hasty reassurance that they meant Anders- meant this healer no harm let them get away without bloodshed, their would-be assailants apparently not having heard the tail end of the conversation.

And now they were here. Darktown. The first time Marian had set foot down here since she’d left Athenril’s employ. She couldn’t say she’d missed it.

It could hardly be said that the place didn’t live up to its name, either. The place was even more of a maze than Lowtown, a warren of cramped tunnels, almost pitch-dark, so that nothing could be seen of anyone or anything but deeper shadows against darkness. Marian could almost smell the chokedamp in the air, but…only faintly, here, not the killing mist that had left Mother confined to her bed for more than a month, and from which she was only just now starting to recover. And if it got any worse- Well, that was what the handkerchief trick was for.

Varric and Carver were waiting for them by one of the tunnel entrances, and neither of them looked happy.

“Well, I brought him,” Carver said gruffly. “And I really hope that’s actually you this time.”

“Little Hawke’s said that to four or five different people already,” the dwarf put in. “Had a bit of a misunderstanding there for a minute with a couple of old friends from the Carta.”

Marian didn’t need to be able to see his face to know that Carver was scowling.

“How was I supposed to know people around here’d be willing to fight me to save your neck?”

“I’m likeable, little Hawke. You ought to try it sometime. Nice to see you again, Foxy,” he added, nodding at Marian. “But…uh…any particular reason it had to be down here?”

Marian paused, trying not to breathe in too deeply, or through her nose.

“Carver didn’t tell you? A- Your Grey Warden is down here.”

“We’re to look for a lit lantern, whatever that means,” Carver put in.

“Easy, then,” Bethany said quickly. “Just follow the light. If there was any light, I mean.”

“We should stick together,” Marian cut in. “Everyone, get a hold of the person next to you on either side. Let’s really ruin the day of anyone trying to get past us.”

“Do I have to?” Carver protested.

Marian shrugged. “I mean, if you would rather get lost down here in the dark, I suppose it is your decision, but-”

“Maker! Fine, fine, I’m doing it. Not one blighted word about this, dwarf!”

“Now, would I do a thing like that? We’re all following your lead, Foxy!”

No pressure at all, then.

It was times like this that Marian missed her father most of all. If he’d still been here-

If he’d still been here, they’d never have fled to Kirkwall at all, she reminded herself sharply. Their first plan had been to make for Amaranthine or Denerim, still in Ferelden but not as directly in the path of the Blight. It wasn’t until after- after he was gone that Mother had set her heart on Kirkwall.

Father wasn’t here now. It was just Marian. So she would just have to try and be enough.

She put a hand to the nearest wall, grimacing in the dark at the awful, slimy, slippery feeling of it under her fingers. “...all right. Let’s see if I remember the way around. If I’m right, we should be going…this way.”

Directly into a dead end, as it turned out, and the less said about the moment she’d put her hand on something warm and furry and shrieked, the better, but eventually they got turned around in the right direction, enough to find a set of crudely-carved stone stairs, and start making their way up into more-travelled areas, where the lichen glow was enough to see your hand in front of your face by.

There was a faint glow coming from somewhere up ahead that promised they were heading in the right direction, not the gold of lantern-light, but something stranger, an odd blue-green light almost, but not quite, like lyrium glow. And, as they stumbled up onto a higher platform, Marian could see it. The walls here were alive with something blue-green and glowing, casting an eerie, sickly light over the tunnels, and over tents and bedrolls, low smoky cookfires, and people. Far more people than Marian had ever expected, some sitting hunched around the fires, some just standing, waiting, some lying apparently where they fell, curled up in nests of rags if they were lucky, or just lying prone on the hard stone, sleeping or dead.

There were others, too - well-armed shadows in armour, human or elven or dwarven, marked out by the way they moved as much as by their armour as they pressed purposely through the crowd, and everywhere they went, the rest of the people scattered before them, shrinking into the shadows as if afraid to draw notice. The stench was well-nigh unbearable - raw sewage, too many bodies too close together, fear and desperation, piss and vomit.

And this was where Anders had hidden? Fastidious Anders, who had fussed over his hair and clothes and whined about all the mess involved in farming? Anders, who had hated the dark, and enclosed spaces, so much that some nights even their room at home had seemed too tight for him, and they’d slipped out into the fields to lie under the stars and talk until he could breathe easily again. Marian couldn’t picture it, couldn’t- It might not be him, she reminded herself. She would not let herself believe it was him. Not until she saw his face with her own eyes.

At the back of the line, Varric was complaining again.

“You know what I love about the Undercity? Absolutely nothing!”

“I can’t imagine the people who have to live here like it very much either,” Bethany retorted.

“Oh- You know what I mean, sunshine! Just because other people are miserable down here doesn’t mean I have to come down and be miserable as well.”

“You were the one who wanted a way into the Deep Roads, we’re getting you a way into the Deep Roads,” Carver said flatly. “Stop whining about it.”

“I am not whining, Junior, I’m just pointing out that if I were a Grey Warden, I’d find somewhere a lot cooler than this to hide.”

The people were scattering in front of them, too, Marian saw. No doubt taking them for more Carta or Coterie here to cause trouble. They weren’t even that far wrong. Back in the day when she was with Athenril, they’d have been right to scatter. She’d always thought it was Athenril and her men’s reputation doing the work. She hadn’t quite realised that she herself must be almost as frightening.

The entire Undercity left to hunt for, and only the sign of a lit lantern to guide them. It wasn’t much.

“...asking around might lead to more trouble,” she said, more to herself than the others. They couldn’t rely on any other refugees being as willing to take her at her word as those they had met outside Lirene’s place. “Okay. Everyone keep an eye out for lantern-light…”

She had been prepared for it to take days. In the end, though, it was only hours. Hours of wandering dark tunnels, a piss-stinking handkerchief tied over her mouth and nose to filter out the worst of the chokedamp. Hours of arguing herself out of hope - Carver was right, any tall, fair man would look much the same in a portrait the size of the one in Bethany’s locket, even without five other people, a dog and two kittens to share the frame - but not quite being able to stop the hammering of her heart, the thrum of her nerves as tunnel after tunnel came up short.

And then-

They had come into a new section of the tunnels, and the far wall was gone, just a few haphazard boards and pillars between them and the sea.

“We must be right up against the cliff-face,” Bethany said, wondering, the smell of salt rising to mingle with all the rest of the smells of Darktown, as Marian screwed up her eyes to squint against the sun.

“And there’s the lantern!” Carver’s hand thumped down against Marian’s shoulder. “We found him! If it is him,” he added hastily. “It might not-”

“I know.”

“Well, we have to try, don’t we?” Varric put in cheerfully. “Unless you weren’t serious about wanting in on this expedition after all, which…I mean, I’d understand why two weeks down in the dark with Bartrand wasn’t exactly your idea of a fun time, but…”

Marian wasn’t listening. Another flight of stairs, across a low half-flooded platform, water soaking through her boots, up again, and then-

The lantern burned overhead, hanging on a low post in front of a pair of makeshift driftwood doors. Marian swallowed, tasting sea air, her heart in her throat.

“...well, are we going to go in, or…” Varric prodded.

“She’ll do it when she’s ready, dwarf,” Carver snapped. “Do you need a moment?” That was Bethany, stepping up to put a hand on Marian’s shoulder. Somehow, Marian had never quite stopped being surprised they were almost of a height now.

“No. Let’s have this done.”

The door swung open easily when she pushed it, and then-

A large, airy, open room, apparently carved straight out of the stone, full of makeshift cots and the smell of elfroot and- and a little cluster of people, over by one of the beds, a man in a heavy feathered coat stooping over a small body, blue-white light shining from his hands. Anders, Anders, Anders.

As they watched, the child on the cot arched up, and then sat, breathing heavily but easily, breathing, and Anders stumbled away, half-collapsed, leaning heavily on a pillar as one of the men who had been gathered around the child - now being embraced by two grey-haired women who might have been his parents - reached out to steady him.

Marian couldn’t help it, she moved forward, wanting to do the same, just as she always had back in Lothering, when a healing took a lot out of him. And then-

He must have heard them coming, a moment later, the staff was in his hands and he was rounding on them, one hand raised as if to cast - or ward them off.

“I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation! Why do you- Marian?”

“Anders.”

It was all she could say, the word punched out of her along with all the breath in her lungs. A moment later, she was across the room and in his arms. She felt the weight of that new staff against her shoulder, his face pressing into her hair.

“You cut your hair,” she said, muffled against a mouthful of feathers, and heard his shaky startled laugh in answer.

“I did, I- Maker, I can’t believe- How are you here? How-? I thought everyone died at Ostagar. I thought-” His voice cracked.

“So did I.” She felt the tears well up in her eyes again, when she had thought that well had run dry long ago, in the long weeks at Gwaren, or on the ship to Kirkwall, or in all of this last year of trying to step into her father’s shoes alone. “I’ve never been so pleased to be wrong.”

He squeezed her a little tighter, her fingers digging in deep at the leather of his new coat as his buried themselves in her red hair, pulling her closer still. He felt just the same as he always had, warm as a furnace. Thinner, perhaps, but so was Marian now, and the smell of him was still the same beneath the universal Darktown stench - elfroot and feathers and the cool scent of a coming snowfall. Marian buried her face against his shoulder and just breathed it in.

“Uh- Not to break up the moment,” Varric said behind her. “But could someone please tell me what’s going on?”

Anders startled, a full-body thing, and looked around. Marian did too, twisting as best she could to look over her shoulder without pulling away.

Varric looked absolutely poleaxed, Carver somewhere between pleased and resigned, and Bethany was beaming.

“I…ah.” Marian coughed. “Anders, this is Varric. He’s…we’re business partners. Varric, this is Anders. My husband.”

Varric’s eyes very nearly jumped out of his skull.

“Your- Wait, you’ve been married to a Warden this whole time and didn’t say anything? You’ve been married this whole time and never said anything?”

“Was it any of your blighted business?” Carver snapped, crossing his arms.

“Everything is my business, Junior! Foxy, I’m wounded - aren’t we friends?”

“...we are,” Marian said cautiously, though that was, perhaps, overstating the case a little. She’d known Varric less than a week at this point - that wasn’t really long enough to call anyone a friend, in her experience. Well- hardly anyone, anyway, she amended, glancing back at Anders just to check he was still there.

“If it helps,” Anders said, shifting a little against her to adjust his grip on his staff. “I wasn’t a Warden when I- when we were separated. They didn’t get me until later. I- I got swept up with Teyrn Loghain’s retreat,” he explained, returning his attention to Marian, a little crease forming between his brows. “It was all…very chaotic. I thought you’d be there with the rest of Bann Bryland’s men, but I couldn’t find you, and when I tried to sneak away once we got to Lothering I got caught at it. Nearly got hanged as a deserter.”

Carver snorted. “Five times escaping the Circle and you couldn’t manage getting away from the army?”

“They were watching the medics and herbalists like hawks. I couldn’t get clear until Denerim - and even then, only by…er…borrowing some armour and ‘going out on patrol’.” He swallowed. “I thought…maybe when the refugees started flooding in I’d find you, but- Why Kirkwall? I mean…I know you have family here, but Malcolm always said he’d never come back to this place-”

“He did.” Marian swallowed. “And…he didn’t. He- There was an ogre, on the road…Father…Father didn’t…”

She didn’t want to picture it. The broken body lying in the dust, the way they had been forced to abandon it with no pyre, no grave. Just bones on the roadside at the very edge of the Korcari Wilds, and nothing to say whose they had been or all he had done.

“I’m sorry,” Anders’ voice was thick and raw. He had loved Father too, Marian knew - had found in him the mentor he never had in the Circle tower. “I’m so sorry- How- How is Leandra taking it?”

Marian’s eyes dropped. She didn’t- She’d always sort of known that once Father died, it would be up to her to lead. No-one had ever said it, but…somehow it had always been known. Still, she hadn’t been prepared for the way Mother had collapsed under the weight of that grief, so that Marian had had to take all that weight alone, without a guide or a word of advice. She’d always expected to be older, too, but-

Well. Things were what they were.

“I’m sorry. I should- I should have been there, I should-”

“You’re here now,” Marian interrupted. “I’m glad enough of that.”

A shadow passed behind Anders’ eyes.

“You…may not be, once you know everything,” he said, very softly. “But- If you weren’t…if you didn’t know I was here, why were you…”

“Oh, are we done with the family drama now?” Varric asked. He sounded almost disappointed. Marian half-expected him to have whipped out a quill and started taking notes. “Don’t feel like you have to stop on my account…” he paused, and then, when it became clear nobody was going to get back to providing him amusement: “We’re interested in getting into the Deep Roads. Rumour has it you were a Warden, which…you kind of just confirmed, so…do you know a way?”

“The Deep Roads,” Anders repeated hollowly. “I- I will die a happy man if I never think of the blighted Deep Roads again. You can’t- Marian, please, tell me you’re not thinking of going down there.”

“Mother’s had two bouts with the chokedamp this year already,” Marian said quietly. “A third might carry her off, and so long as we’re in Lowtown, that’s as good as inevitable. This is our only shot at getting out.”

Anders still looked faintly sick. “I…have some maps of the depths in this area. And if you’re going, I- Well, it’d be a shame to follow you all the way to Ostagar and then turn back now, if- if you want me to come with you, that is. You might not, once you- once you know everything that’s happened this last year. And there’s…” he paused. “I- I have something I need to do in the city. Tonight.”

“We’re not threatening to leave at once,” Marian reassured him. “What- What is it you need to do? Do you need any help with it?”

She didn’t want to leave him alone. She didn’t want to be parted from him just in general terms. It felt like the moment she looked away he’d be gone, and the miracle would be over, and the grief all the worse for being renewed.

Anders looked hunted for a moment, but then:

“I came to Kirkwall to help a friend. A mage. A prisoner in the wretched Gallows.”

“Karl,” Marian said softly, realisation dawning. “...well. That seems like the sort of job that would go easier with two than one. Are we breaking him out of the Gallows proper, or-” “Marian,” Carver hissed. “You can’t do that! What about Bethany? D’you want to bring the Templars down on her-”

“It’s not in the Gallows,” Anders said hastily. “I- I’ve been exchanging notes with Karl through a maidservant in the Gallows. She’s agreed to help him get out, at least as far as the Chantry. Probably a trap, but it’s the best chance we’re ever likely to have.”

#dragon age #handers #marian hawke #anders #handers in lothering au

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