The Art of Inadvertently Trying to Fix What's Broken

Title: The Art of Inadvertently Trying to Fix What's Broken

Series: Dragon Age

Characters: M!Hawke, Alistair Theirin, Carver Hawke, Anders, Aveline Vallen, Fenris, F!Brosca

Words: 2,352

Summary: Alistair is sent to the Free Marches on a mission and not only takes Carver Hawke under his wing but also finds someone the woman he loves lost and dabbles in family dynamics.

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Alistair shoved the Qunari warrior back with his shield, silently thanking all those bouts he’d sparred against Sten years before for giving him practice at it, and then hacked downward with his sword. The blade sliced through flesh and bone and the warrior went down with a shout dying in his throat, the axe in his hands dropping into dirt stained with blood. He wasn’t watching that opponent fall however, instead sweeping his eyes around the small courtyard he and his Wardens had found themselves in to check if there were any more Qunari.

Well, not his Wardens, per say, as they were all Marcher based Wardens. They were under his command, though, as a Senior Warden and one of the few Ferelden Wardens that Rina had been able to spare.

Just the thought of her name made his heart ache for the months they’d been separated now but Alistair pushed it aside. Much as he might miss her, he had a rogue Warden to find and a job to complete.

“I think we’re clear,” piped up Keras, the only elf in their party. “It sounds like this group was the only one in the area.”

“Good,” said Alistair with a nod but he didn’t sheath his sword. Given how many Qunari or half-mad Kirkwallers they’d run into already, he wasn’t about to be caught without his blade out. Glancing around at the buildings, he then turned to look at the only Warden he had who was relatively familiar with Kirkwall. “Hawke! A word.”

Carver Hawke was almost instantly at his side and he couldn’t help but chuckle softly to himself. Upon their arrival at the Marcher compound, Alistair had had the surly young man pointed out to him as one of the worst Wardens their Commander had ever had under him. He’d taken one look, though, and seen a young man that he remembered well; one that wasn’t fond of his place in the world and who wanted out but was bearing up as best he could. Trapped as a templar initiate he’d felt much the same way…and then Duncan had saved him.

So he’d taken the young man under his wing as he’d done with plenty of the unsure young Wardens at the Vigil. The boy needed the same thing he had once upon a time – someone to believe in him. And he made it a point to never openly call him ‘young’ or ‘boy’ despite thinking them of him in his head. Something that was awfully funny really considering he was only a few years older than the younger man but dealing with the Blight as well as the Vigil had made him a lot older mentally.

“Ser?” queried Carver’s voice and Alistair glanced at him before broaching his question.

“You lived here in Kirkwall before you came to the Wardens, correct?” Blue eyes stared at him for a moment then he received a slow nod in response. “Where are we at currently then?”

“Lowtown.” There was a pause then a heavy sigh as the younger man lifted his arm to point at a battered door up a set of stairs. “That’s my uncle’s house, in fact.”

The last sentence had an undertone that was all distaste and Alistair knew it well. He tasted it every time he was in Denerim and saw his half-sister’s door. Ignoring Carver’s tone, he asked, “Is there a way to get out of the city from here?”

As Carver opened his mouth to answer, another Warden – Thomas, Alistair recalled – piped up, “We’re just going to abandon the city, messere?”

“Finding a rogue Warden running away with a woman turning Broodmother is more important than saving a city,” he answered harshly in the tone he’d heard none too few in the Vigil refer to as his King’s voice. He hated the term but Carina had pointed out that if she had her Commander voice then he had to have his King voice. Turning, Alistair fixed Thomas with a stare and said, “One band of Qunari can be put down far easier than a Broodmother that’s nested herself. I’d rather be staying here to take on the Qunari, believe me.”

He focused on Carver again, one eyebrow arched slightly in expectation of the answer he’d requested. The young man nodded and said, “We’ll have to go into Darktown. There are some passages that will let us out into the Marches there.”

Alistair nodded and started to gesture at him to lead on then whirled, snapping his shield up over his and Carver’s faces in time to block the descent of an arrow. “Wardens!” he bellowed out as an elf thumped down from above onto the closest set of stairs. Someone cried out in pain behind him after another arrow whistled down and he snarled before charging up the stairs at the elf.

Her eyes flew wide as he brought his shield down from protecting his and Carver’s heads in a blow that slammed into her unprotected throat. She choked, her windpipe crushed, and collapsed as another elf descended from above with a crossbow in his hands. Alistair sidestepped and in a practiced move Carver slide forward, bringing the ridiculous meat clever he called a sword down in a blow that took out the crossbow and split the elf’s head like an overripe melon.

Spinning together away from the dead elf, they pounded back down the stairs and into the fight in the courtyard. Alistair lost sense of everything in the blur of exchanged blows until magic washed against his senses and he came back to reality like a man gasping for air after nearly drowning. The pause almost cost him his life as a sword thrust past his shield but a bolt of lightning sizzled past him to fry the elf holding it. He stumbled back a step, practically tasting the magic on the back of his tongue and feeling his hair frizz from the static, then saw that his opponent had been the last.

Alistair glanced over his group, seeing that Keras had taken an arrow to the arm but no one else was seriously injured, then turned to face their aid. He had to blink for a moment as he saw familiar features looking at him from the man heading the small group and turned to find Carver next to him with a grim look on his face.

“Nicolas,” said the younger Hawke shortly.

“Carver,” answered the elder just as shortly. He then smiled at Alistair and said, “Sorry about the lightning getting so close.”

Alistair waved it off, saying, “You saved my life. I’ve learned enough in my life to not be picky about how people do it. Been saved enough in bad ways to know I can’t be.” Nicolas Hawke looked amused at that answer then lost the expression when the stern-faced woman behind him in the armor of the Kirkwall Guard made a noise.

The elder Hawke glanced over his shoulder and said quietly, “Give me a few minutes to talk to my brother, Aveline.”

“The city doesn’t have minutes, Hawke.”

“Okay, then give Anders a few minutes to heal the Wardens’ wounded.”

The Guardswoman huffed at that and stalked away across the courtyard followed by a grumpy looking elf in black, leaving Nicolas shaking his head. At the name ‘Anders’, Alistair focused on the blond-haired mage left standing with him and wondered if this was Rina’s Anders. There could only be so many blond mages name Anders in Thedas, right?

Anders looked after the other two and asked, “You’re sure about this?”

“They’ve got wounded,” answered Nicolas sternly. His tone then softened as he said, “I need to talk to Carver, Anders. Please.”

The mage nodded and moved forward as Carver growled, “What if I don’t want to talk to you?”

“Carver – ”

“No, Nic – ”

“Carver, talk to him,” interjected Alistair, sensing that the arguing between the two brothers could get as heated as conversations between Morrigan and Wynne had been. When the young man looked at him in betrayal, he added, “Don’t make me make it an order. Talk to your brother while our wounded get healed.”

He turned away from the Hawke brothers then and watched the mage that was fussing over his wounded. The magic rippled gently along his senses the way all healing magic did but there was something…other…about it. Perhaps the Fade spirit Justice Rina suspected he’d bonded with was the cause of that? Wynne’s spirit had never been visible to his senses except when she’d been using it to enhance herself but that was a rare occasion that exhausted the elderly mage. If Anders was constantly using the spirit –

Alistair shook his head, not wanting to go down that road. His own interest in the arcane had had him looking into Fade spirits once they’d had their own library, concern for the grandmotherly mage driving him. Nothing that he’d found was anything particularly pleasant when dealing with a spirit in the real world.

He waited until the mage was done healing Keras’ arm then grabbed him, hauling him to the side. There was a flare of blue-white light in brown eyes as fire crackled around clenched fingers and Alistair loosed just enough of a cleansing to clear the air of magic but not rob the mage of it. Anders’ eyes narrowed and he growled, “You aren’t the first former templar Warden that I’ve met.”

“Actually I’m probably the first former not-quite templar Warden you’ve ever met,” he snapped back. He then released the mage’s arm and said, “I’m also your former Commander’s second.”

Brown eyes went wide at that and the heavy pulse of magic that had begun to weigh against Alistair’s senses disappeared. “Carina?” breathed Anders, shaking his head as if he didn’t believe it. “I – she didn’t send you after me, did she?”

Part of Alistair wanted to laugh at that but he couldn’t. He knew all too well how guilty Rina felt about leaving this mage alone with the templar she’d been forced to take in. Instead he answered, “The Wardens aren’t a prison, remember?”

“Tell that to Rolan,” snarled the mage with pure venom, his eyes flaring blue-white again as cracks rippled across his skin. Quick as they appeared they vanished and, breathing hard, he asked in a quiet voice, “Does she want me back?”

There was some lost little boy in that desperate voice and Alistair answered honestly. “Were it possible for you to come back, she would welcome you with open arms.”

“But it’s not possible.”

“You killed fourteen Wardens and seven templars. The Grand Cleric has been demanding your head every year since on the day it happened and Anora would give you to her.” He paused, licking his lips, then finished, “Rina would protect you with her life, you know that, and the Wardens would probably be banished from Ferelden again. After the Blight that can’t be risked, no matter how much she might want you back at the Vigil.”

Anders looked away, blinking several times before letting out a harsh breath. Then he frowned and asked, “If you’re not here for me, then what are you here for?”

Alistair smiled and clapped the mage’s feathered shoulder as he said, “Warden business.”

“Secrets and death. I remember how it goes.” Anders then smiled and pulled something from under the neck of his clothes, extending it toward Alistair. He had been a Warden long enough that he could sense the corrupted blood in the pendant and knew what it was. “Here. For Carina’s memorial wall. Anders…the Anders she knew isn’t really here anymore.”

“Keep it.”

The mage blinked and Alistair shrugged. “She still considers you one of hers, Anders. Always will.”

Something haunted showed in the brown eyes watching him and Anders asked, “Even if I did something terrible?”

“Especially then. Rina takes her responsibilities seriously.”

That didn’t seem to comfort the mage but he chuckled. “She’s a one of a kind woman,” he said then looked hard at Alistair. “Take care of her.”

“Thank you for doing it for me once upon a time,” answered Alistair. He then turned his attention to Carver as the young man approached and asked, “All done?”

Blue eyes fixed him with a look as haunted as has been in the mage’s brown a moment before then he shook it off. Nodding, Carver answered, “Ready, ser.” He then looked at his brother as Nicolas stepped up next to him and said, “Nicolas,” but there was no harshness in his voice this time.

“Carver,” said the mage back, his eyes flashing an apology of some kind. He then looked at Alistair then at Anders before saying, “Well then…if you’ll excuse us, Wardens, we seem to have a city to save. Unless you’d like to lend us a hand?”

Alistair started to open his mouth but Anders beat him to it, slinging an arm around the elder Hawke’s shoulders, the pendant around his neck bouncing slightly with the motion.

“You know Wardens,” intoned the mage airily, “always gallivanting off to save the whole of Thedas. I should know, I was one!”

Nicolas chuckled and clapped the other mage on the back in a brotherly fashion. “Saving Thedas,” he repeated, “probably an easier task than saving this city. Well, c’mon then, Anders, we’ve still got an Arishok to deal with.” He moved away from the Wardens then, to where the elf and woman waited at the edge of the little courtyard.

Anders looked at Alistair one last time, nodded, then jogged after the elder Hawke. The Wardens watched the group as they walked away, off to try and save a city being assaulted from within, and Thomas sighed.

“We really should help them, messere,” he murmured.

Alistair tore his eyes away from the group then and clapped a hand on Carver’s shoulder as he said, “I think the Qunari will have more than enough in store for them with that group fighting on the lines. Now let’s go find this tunnel in Darktown. We’ve got to save the whole of Thedas, remember?”