A Battered Old Journal, Chapter Two

Title: A Battered Old Journal, Chapter Two

Series: Dragon Age

Characters: OC: Mathis Hawke, Carver Hawke

Words: 1,053

Summary: The second entry in the journal, written on the twenty-seventh of Solace in 9:56 Dragon.

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So, yeah, took me a bit to figure out what to write first. I mean, there are lots of things I could write about but I figure if this gets read later it should be important stuff. The sort of things people want to know – or that Mother would want to reread if I, you know, die or something. Seems like the thing to do.

Okay, okay, so I asked Varric for his advice on where I should start. He told me to not write anything about mage equality because he’s sick of it (I’m really not sure what that tirade was about) and to start at the beginning.

So...the beginning.

Well, I can’t say that I remember everything from birth but I have recollections: flashes of sounds and images and smells. The stone-wood-metal-Fade smell that permeates the Gallows is home. The brush of feathers across my cheek is safety. Mother crying is terrible gut-wrenching sadness.

Beyond those I have kept few memories from before I was about nine years old. There is one, however, that I will never, ever forget for however long I may live and that is the day I discovered my magic.

It was the Satinalia after I turned six and Kirkwall had turned itself upside down in celebration of the festival. After the things the city had seen in years previous, they took their partying very seriously (and still do). Anyway, Uncle managed to convince Mother to let me leave the Gallows and see the city early in the day before the celebrating turned into the sort children weren’t allowed to see. It took some begging on both our parts – given she was and is still convinced someone might mistake me for my father – but she allowed it.

I don’t remember much of the actual day other than Uncle asking my opinion on a ring for Aunt Merrill. Yes, little cousins, if you’re reading this, I helped pick out Auntie’s wedding ring! As Uncle said, “Six year olds are painfully honest so you’ll tell me right off if you think it’s stupid.” And that is exactly true because I’ve helped raise all of you.

Well, there was the ring and the visit to the family estate in Hightown. Uncle and I didn’t do much more than just sit on the steps to eat our lunch but he told me stories. Talked about visiting Grandmother in the estate and checking in on Mother.  He even told me about the slavers that had taken over the estate because of Uncle Gamlen and how he, Mother, Varric, and my father sent them fleeing with their tails between their legs.

Sitting on the estate steps leads me up to my magic.

The whole of the square in front of the estate was bustling with people looking around or dragging carts trying to get ready for later in the day. It was busy; so much busier than my six year old eyes had ever seen before. So I was watching everything, trying to take it all in.

That was when the mother cat darted out of hiding with two kittens in her mouth.

Me, I love cats. Cullen brought several into the Gallows before I was born and taught them to mouse for us since there was an infestation of vermin after all the fighting. I named them all when I was little and left bowls of milk everywhere that I possibly could for them. Mother cried sometimes when she found them and I didn’t understand until later that it was because my father had done the same thing around his clinic in Darktown.

Anyway, this mother cat darts out, obviously trying to get away from all these crazy noisy humans that have suddenly surrounded her. There was this one cart moving at a fast clip – one of the few with a mule to drag it around since it was carting some heavy looking stuff – and she had the unfortunate luck to bolt in front of it. She spooked the mule, which kicked out at her and caused her to drop one of her kittens as she tried to dash away.

The cart ran over the kitten. It was so swift a moment that I nearly missed it but once I realized that little body was limp on the ground, there wasn’t any stopping me. I was up before I could clearly think, before Uncle could grab me, and I darted into the crowd like a mad thing. Snatching up that warm little body, I then turned to head back to my Uncle only to be stopped by the realization that I could feel so much more than just the kitten’s warmth.

I could suddenly feel the blood speeding through its veins, the heart hammering wildly in the tiny chest, its lungs fighting for one more gasp of air, and the agony of broken bones tearing into fragile skin. The kitten’s pain was suddenly my pain and I drew in a deep breath in that moment, reached blindly for something that would help it, and found life. My magic knitted it back together and by the time Uncle shoved through the crowd to me, I was cradling a terrified mewling kitten in my arms with a look of shock on my face.

Uncle may be a templar but he grew up in a home that had three apostates. So he knew what had happened from just the look on my face without having to even sense the magic. He walked me right back to the Gallows and straight to Mother, telling her straight off that – word for word – “for all I may have disliked him, Anders’ healing ability bred true.” I remember she froze, staring at me in something that was a sad sort of pride, and then started crying.

Six year-old me comforted her and tried to show her my kitten (who I later dubbed Valiant because he later had no fear of anything), not knowing what was wrong. It wasn’t until recently that I even learned that my own mother had hoped that her magic and my father’s would pass over me.

So, anyway, that’s it. That’s the story of how I discovered my magic, which is proof that not every mage comes into their power violently like so many think.