The Truth Sets You Free

Title: The Truth Sets You Free

Characters: F!Amell, Anders, Nathaniel Howe, Oghren Kondrat, Velanna

Words: 1,039

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Dragon Age universe but my games and strategy guides. This is just me making a mess in the sandbox.

Summary: Elena Amell and Anders have a long conversation involving her and Alistair’s child…that slowly resolves into one involving them and one single encounter in the Tower that they both recall fondly.

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“You cannot go out in your condition!” shouted Anders as he stormed into the office. Elena looked up calmly from her paperwork and leaned back in her chair, folding her hands demurely over the now nine month swell of her belly. She let him stand there, breathing hard for a moment, before she spoke.

“I don’t intend to, Anders. It is my full intention to send a party out under Nathaniel to try and find this opening into the Deep Roads. Oghren and Velanna will go with him.” Shaking her head, she asked, “What made you think I was going to go out myself?”

Her fellow mage deflated a bit and shrugged. “I don’t know…I just…I’m used to you not listening to me.”

Sighing, Elena pushed herself up out of chair and pulled her voluminous robes about her before she walked up to him. Reaching up to touch his face, she said softly, “I’ve been listening for the past two months, Anders. I haven’t left the grounds of the Vigil except to go to Amaranthine since we recruited Justice.”

“I’m glad you listened on that,” he grumbled as he lifted his hands to touch her belly and she felt healing magic across her skin, assessing her state and the state of the child. “You nearly had him early because of that jaunt of ours in the Fade.”

She merely hummed in acknowledgment of his words then blinked as she found him leaning in close to her.

“Anders?”

“I…I’ve never forgotten that time in the library, Len.”

“Oh, Anders…I…I can’t.”

He pulled back, looking affronted. “Can’t because you’re still in love with him? With the King who doesn’t have the balls to tell the world he loves a mage?”

Elena frowned at that and said sternly, “Anders, it’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like, Len? Why’d he leave you to raise a child on your own? Why won’t you…” He lowered his voice as he realized he was started to shout. “Why won’t you let someone that wants to be there, be there for you?”

She stared at him for a moment, utterly surprised at this revelation, then said, “Anders…this child…it’s not just Alistair’s.”

“What does that mean?”

“The Warden that kills the Archdemon isn’t supposed to survive, Anders. This child…he’s the product of a spell that a friend who died during the Blight was going to do. I had her grimoire after and I couldn’t…I couldn’t let him die because I know Alistair would’ve taken that blow. And he couldn’t let me die.”

She realized that she was crying now with telling this story because she realized that part of her had always wanted more with Anders than what she’d had in the Tower. It had taken her a long time to warm to Alistair because Tower relationships were so…flippant…and she’d been raised on thinking that. As Anders pulled her into a careful hug, she continued talking.

“This child…he has Urthemiel’s soul. Uncorrupted by the taint. And I don’t know what’s that’s going to mean for me or him.”

“It means you’re going to need even more help than I originally thought,” muttered Anders. “The Archdemon’s soul in the King’s bastard. You still don’t do things by halves, Len.”

Elena managed a choked laugh at that then tilted her head back to look up at him, jumping slightly when her nose bumped against his chin. “One day the Chantry is going to hear about him and they’ll send templars to try and take him from me. You know they will.” As Anders tightened his grip around her, she continued, “I’ll have to run then, leave everything I know, and I can’t…I can’t fall in love and lose it again. Not like that. I don’t have it in me to do that again, Anders.”

He sighed into her hair then breathed, “I do know how to run away and not get caught if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“Don’t. Maker, Anders, don’t…don’t tempt me.”

One of his hands  – free of Alistair’s sword calluses but still rough and scarred from escape attempts and mishaps – rose to touch her face and Elena twisted her head slightly at the same time Anders lowered his head. Now they were face-to-face and she could see the seriousness in his hazel eyes and with his hand touching bare skin, could remember that one short tryst and their many long times so much better. She closed her eyes as she breathed in the scent of him, the Fade and lyrium and stone scent of the Tower mixing with the fresh air and winter grass scent that was their freedom as Wardens.

“The Wardens won’t protect us if we run,” she whispered, still trying to resist, still trying to convince herself that she could do this alone. Part of her knew, though, that she couldn’t, had known deep down since the ritual itself that she couldn’t.

And that little shred of the younger her that remained, who had agreed with Anders and loved him that little bit that the Tower had allowed her to feel, shouted that she wanted this, needed this.

“Then we’ll just have to protect ourselves and him, won’t we?” he asked. Anders pressed a quick, gentle kiss against her lips and added, “I always wanted more than that little moment with you, Len. Give me a chance?”

Elena felt torn between ‘yes’ and ‘no’. Then she frowned and asked, “Can you really do it? Can you run again and raise another man’s child?”

“I can always run. And what’s the boy to know? I’d be his father, you’d be his mother, and we might even give him a sibling or two if we get lucky.”

She stared up at him for a moment then lifted one hand to stroke his cheek, laughing a little hysterically as she nodded several times. “Okay,” said Elena when she was able to choke down the laughter, “okay. A chance, Anders. A second chance, you and I. We’ll see where it takes us.”

Anders smiled broadly at that and leaned down to kiss her as he breathed, “Hopefully a long way.”

And, to her own surprise, Elena didn’t think of Alistair at all as his lips met hers.

A Different Awakening

Title: A Different Awakening

Characters: F!Amell, Mhairi, Anders, Oghren Kondrat, OC: Marcus, Teagan Guerrin, Alistair Theirin, Rylock

Words: 3,180

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Dragon Age universe but my games and strategy guides. This is just me making a mess in the sandbox.

Summary: Six months after the defeat of the Archdemon, Elena Amell receives news of her promotion to Warden-Commander and is ordered to go to Vigil’s Keep. Of course her efforts to retain the Vigil, rebuild the Wardens, and survive the future are unaided by the child growing inside of her.

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Elena Amell rested a hand on top of her swollen belly as the wagon carrying her and her belongings rocked its way towards Vigil’s Keep. She could see its towers in the distance now and a feeling of dread settled over her, straightening her spine and causing her to slide a hand back along the seat towards where her staff was laying across the packs in the back.

“Something is wrong,” she whispered.

“Did you say something, Commander?”

Turning her head, Elena looked down at Mhairi, the recruit who’d come to retrieve her from where she’d been living in Rainesfere. Teagan Guerrin was one of the few who knew that she carried Alistair’s child as they had both told him after the defeat of the Archdemon when Alistair had called the younger Guerrin to his office. He has asked the other man to protect her then, as they had planned, because she couldn’t stay in Denerim and refused to go back to the Tower.

Plus, given his past with Eamon and events with Isolde, neither of them trusted her staying in Redcliffe.

Before she’d even met the young woman walking next to her wagon, Teagan had come to her home.

“Apparently you’ve been officially proclaimed Warden-Commander of Ferelden.”

“I can’t say I didn’t expect it, Teagan. They want me to rebuild the Wardens now I imagine.”

“According to the young woman they sent, you will already have a few waiting for you but that is the assumption I made as well. That isn’t my concern, though. What are you going to do about the child?”

“The same thing I’ve intended to do since we left Denerim.”

“Maker preserve, Elena, I’m not my brother!”

“I know that, Teagan, and I’m very grateful for it. That’s the only plan I have anymore, though, with this thrown at me.”

“You could refuse.”

“I could.”

“But you won’t.”

“No, Teagan. I’m not ready to refuse the Wardens and run just yet. That won’t happen until the Tower tries to come for me, because they will.”

“Well then, just…just be careful, Elena.”

“Of course. But think, after the Archdemon, surely we’ve earned a break. Everything will be fine, Teagan, you’ll see.”

Elena lifted her head away from Mhairi’s direction and nodded towards the Keep ahead of them. “Does it not feel like something is wrong?”

“No, Commander.”

“Hmm. Marcus, stop the cart, please.” As the plainly dressed man pulled the horses to a stop on the side of the road, he reached out to grab her arm before she could get down from the wagon. Elena turned back to look at him and said quietly, “I fully intend to return you to your Bann, Marcus.”

“And I fully intend to follow my Bann’s orders as a sworn man of the Guerrins to protect you, m’lady,” answered the man just as quietly. “Even if that means joining the Wardens.”

Pursing her lips, Elena silently cursed Teagan then growled, “Grab your sword then, Armsman, and follow me.” Marcus nodded sharply and released her arm, allowing her to slide carefully down from the wagon. She then marched to the back of it and pulled down her staff, leaning it against the wagon as she dug for another object specifically packed near the back for easy access.

The lightly armored coat she pulled out was the product of a collaboration between the blacksmith Wade and Alric, the Tranquil proprietor of the Wonders of Thedas. Alistair had had it commissioned specifically for her with the cloth enchanted for protection first and then given to Wade so he could add dragon scales to it as armor. Not just any dragon scales either; specifically scales taken from the hide of the Archdemon itself.

According to the speech Wade gave her upon presenting it, the cloth was enchanted to be stronger as well as have a chance to turn aside attacks and give a boost to her magic. Other than adding armor and a slight resistance to fire, he claimed he couldn’t know what properties the Archdemon’s scales added to the coat. It was light, though, far much more than it should be and every time she put it on, Elena felt an odd lurch in her belly. Like the soul of her child knew she was wearing its former hide.

As she finished buckling the coat on and grasped her staff, Elena called out, “Let’s go!” and started walking up the road towards Vigil’s Keep. Marcus was quick to catch up, now wearing a lightly armored coat like hers but one more fit to a soldier with Redcliffe’s tower on the front with his sword belted around it. It took a little longer for Mhairi to reach them given her heavier armor and by the time she did, Elena could sense the darkspawn ahead of them.

“Darkspawn ahead of us,” she warned then held up a hand as Marcus moved to draw his sword. “Not yet. They’re still some distance away and probably won’t have sensed me yet given their preoccupation with the Keep. We probably won’t meet any until we’re right outside the gate.”

Her words proved to be true. As soon as they caught site of the walls, a genlock turned and spotted them, shouting something in the guttural language the darkspawn had before it charged at them. Marcus and Mhairi drew their swords but Elena beat them both to the attack by lashing out with a stroke of lightning that took the genlock on the forehead. The wild energy tore through its corrupted body and it fell to the ground dead as the others noticed them.

“Maker,” breathed Mhairi and Elena sucked in a short breath herself, resisting the urge to touch her belly. She wasn’t sure whether it was the child or not but her magic had gotten stronger as the child grew within her. Before it would have taken several lightning strikes to kill that genlock instead of just the one.

She had to be careful or she might kill those around her with magic she wasn’t used to controlling.

As the rest of the genlocks rushed at them, she shouted, “Don’t ingest the blood!” Then she gripped her staff and brought down another bolt of lightning that struck one before bouncing to two other genlocks around it. Behind her Marcus called out, “Clear!” and she nodded, silently thanking Teagan for sending a soldier with her, then pushed on forward into the Keep’s courtyard.

By the time they made it into the actual interior of the Keep, Elena for working hard to fight some mild hysteria. She had known her magic was strong from using it around Rainesfere but those had been simple spells and minor healings, no battle magics or anything complicated. Now she had taken out several darkspawn, including a charging ogre with a single fireball, with little effort and could sense that she had just barely dipped into her mana pool.

She tamped her hysteria down, though, and resigned herself to the thought of working hard on control of this new magical power of hers once all of this was over.

And then Marcus opened a door for them to find several dead templars and a mage she knew. She nearly started laughing right then and there at the sight of him then sobered as she wondered if she had known these templars, if one of them was Cullen.

“Anders!”

The blond mage whirled, his eyes wide, and then recognition set in. “Amell! Fancy meeting you in a place like this! How’d you get out of the Tower?”

Elena smiled gently, remembering a younger her and a tryst under a library table with a much younger version of the man in front of her. Before Alistair, that had been the most memorable of her encounters with anyone. “One of the legal ways,” she answered, preferring not to go into details about Jowan or her alternatives then. “How did you get out this time?”

“Been out since Uldred went crazy. They let me loose before the Tower fell and I ran.”

“Loose?” queried Marcus, eyeing Anders cautiously.

Anders flashed a rakish smile and answered, “Year of solitary confinement. Anyway, so, Amell, how about we go on our separate ways and you don’t say anything to the templars about me?”

“Why don’t you join us instead?” countered Elena. When he flashed her a dubious look, she pointed out, “Anders, you’ve escaped the Tower at least seven times and the templars have dragged you back every time. How long do you think it will be before Greagoir and Irving get fed up with you?”

Hazel eyes narrowed at her. “What’s your point?”

“My point is I’m Warden-Commander of Ferelden now and I’m free from the Tower.” Taking a step towards him, she lowered her voice and continued, “I remember talking to you about being free to be who we are in the Tower, Anders, not chained and locked away. This is as close to that freedom as you and I will ever get.”

Anders pursed his lips at that then commented, “Quite the recruitment speech, Amell.”

“I thought so. And maybe I also want an old friend at my side again, not dead somewhere in a ditch because a templar got angry with him.”

He stood there quietly for a moment then rocked on his heels as an explosion – one of the dwarves they’d seen earlier, obviously – shook the Keep. Looking down at her, he said, “I’ll help you through this and think about it, Lena. That’s all I can promise.”

Elena smiled. “That’s all I want, Anders. Now…I believe we have some more darkspawn to kill.”

If Anders was one kind of surprise, finding Oghren was another. As soon as the darkspawn he’d been fighting were dead, he wiped black blood from his face and grinned up at her.

“Glad to see you finally decided to join the party, Warden.” He then leaned forward, peering at her, and laughed. “Got yourself a nuglet in the oven too! Whose is it?”

“Nuglet?” queried Anders then he frowned, looking at her again. Elena felt his hand grip her arm lightly and healing magic wash over her, inspecting her before he exclaimed, “Andraste’s flaming knickers, they let you come here with child!”

Marcus grunted and flicked blood off of his sword as he growled, “We weren’t exactly expecting darkspawn on our arrival.” He then looked to her and said, “M’lady, we need to keep going.”

“We do,” agreed Elena, pulling her arm away from Anders. When he grabbed her again, she laid a hand over his and met his eyes with a hard gaze. “I am a Warden first, Anders. And I am not yet at the point where I’m willing to lie down and let other people do my job.”

An emotion she couldn’t describe flashed across his face then he nodded sharply before growling, “Fine. But after this is all over, you’re letting me examine you.” She merely nodded her consent, knowing that despite all of his attempts to escape the Tower and his carefree attitude that he was one of the best healers in Ferelden, and he released her.

By the time they reached the top of the Keep and found a talking darkspawn there, Elena was nearly shaking with angry realizations. The Wardens in the Keep – her Wardens – were not anywhere to be found, except for the few dead ones. And the number of the dead was far too few to be the amount that had been there according to the information she’d pulled from Mhairi. So her only conclusion was that the darkspawn were taking them.

Taking the Wardens that were supposed to be hers to command and protect now.

She perhaps enjoyed taking apart the darkspawn calling itself The Withered a bit too much because of that. It had seemed rather surprised when her final Crushing Prison had choked the life out of it. When its corpse dropped to the floor, Elena breathed a sigh of relief before turning to the older man The Withered had captured, who had introduced himself as the Seneschal.

“Varel, Oghren, try to get together all of our survivors. If there are any injured, take them to the main hall – Anders will meet you there. Mhairi, Marcus, you’re both with me and we are going to comb this Keep from top to bottom and root out every darkspawn possibly still lurking. I want none of their taint left in this building in a few hours. Understood?”

Various comments answered her and Anders responded with one particularly jaunty salute before he disappeared. As she turned towards Marcus, he asked, “Shouldn’t you rest, m’lady?”

Elena shook her head slightly and answered, “I’ll rest when I’m certain we’re safe and right now I’m not sure of that. Now draw your sword, Armsman. We’re going hunting.”

By the time they had finished combing the Keep and Anders had healed the last of the wounded, one of the surviving soldiers in the Keep came bolting up to Elena with the surprising news of seeing the royal banners coming towards them. It had taken her exhausted mind a moment to catch up with what had been said then she growled, “Alistair,” and made for the gate with Marcus on her heels. Anders, Oghren, and Varel joined her along the way and she came to a stop in the courtyard as the King came up the hill with a crowd of templars behind him with the rest of his entourage…and her wagon.

“Commander, I believe you lost something,” commented Alistair with a grin as soon as he saw her. As he waved for the man driving her wagon to move past them, his eyes flickered over her and lingered on the swollen belly hidden under her armored coat before rising to meet hers again. “We marched as soon as rumors reached us of the Vigil being attacked.”

“The darkspawn have been pushed back from the Keep,” said Elena shortly, all the while thinking, Why did you come here? “Your Majesty shouldn’t have marched here yourself. Isn’t the Queen with child now?” It was harsh of her, perhaps, but it was a reminder to both of them of what they were now.

Alistair flinched only slightly at her jibe and not enough to be noticed by anyone but her. “She is and is hoping for it to be a boy, as well,” he answered. “As to my being out, one always needs a breath of fresh air every once in a while. Given that you seem to have everything under control, we’ll be heading back…”

“Not before dispensing justice!” snapped a female voice and one of the templars strode forward. She pointed a gauntleted hand at Anders and continued, “This mage is a murderer!”

“Murderer?” repeated Anders, looking around in confusion. “I’ve never murdered anyone, Rylock!”

The woman glared at him and Elena could see the slight madness in her eyes. “What happened then to the templars that reported they were bringing you back to the Tower?”

“They died fighting off darkspawn!”

“A likely story,” snarled Rylock before taking a step forward. “I hereby take this mage into my custody!”

Elena straightened and said firmly, “Anders has volunteered to join the Wardens.”

“I have?” exclaimed Anders and she turned her head to stare at him. “Oh, yes, I have. Got to, uh, save the world, y’know.”

The templar started to open her mouth and Elena snapped, “I will evoke the Right of Conscription if you continue, Ser.”

“Your Majesty!”

“If the mage has volunteered, the mage has volunteered, Ser Rylock,” said Alistair. “And if the Commander says she’ll invoke the Right if you challenge her, then she will invoke the Right. I should know, I traveled with her through the Blight. Now…I believe we should get out of the Commander’s way.” He then nodded to Elena, smiling slightly, before he turned and left. Rylock and her company stood there for a moment, the woman staring angrily before she turned to follow.

As they left, Oghren grunted and asked, “So…nuglet’s the boy’s then?”

“Oghren,” growled Elena, not particularly wanting to talk about the subject, “weren’t you going to go back to Felsi after we killed the Archdemon?” She apparently hit a nerve because the dwarf went quiet. Part of her felt bad about prodding what was obviously an old wound…but he had just done the same for her. And a particularly sorer one given the high possibility that one day she was going to have to leave everything she knew.

Angry with herself now and even more exhausted, she turned to head back into the Keep and bumped into a tall body that she just knew was Anders. “Examination?” she queried.

“Examination then bed,” he answered. “I think everything else can wait till morning.”

“Agreed. Varel, see to the last of things, please. Everyone else…find a bed and get some rest. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

She didn’t have a clear memory after that of where she went but when Elena refocused on her surroundings, she was in a nice apartment and Anders was struggling to unbuckle her coat as she sat on a plush bed. As she gave him a confused look, he said, “Varel said that these were meant to be your rooms. Apparently they were that old Howe bastard’s when he was still alive.”

“What a pleasant thought,” she murmured, “sleeping in the same bed as Rendon Howe. I killed him, you know, in the Arl of Denerim’s estate.” As he cursed, Elena reached for the buckles for Anders lightly slapped her hands away. “I could have you thrown in the dungeons for that.”

His hands paused in what they were doing then Anders jibed, “And lose the pleasure of my company?”

That pause brought Elena back to herself a bit and she lifted one hand to touch his face, saying, “Solitary. Oh, Anders, I’m sorry. They should never have done that to you, not for wanting to be free.”

“Hush, Len. It’s in the past. Besides, I’m to be a Warden now and have my freedom, aren’t I?” He grinned at her then finally loosened the last of the buckles, pushing the armored coat back to reveal her long sweat-soaked tunic. “C’mon, let me get this off before I look at you.”

Exhausted as she was, Elena pretty much let him do most of the work then lay back on the bed, her hands rising to frame the sides of her belly as he put the coat away. Then she felt Anders larger hands come to rest on her belly and tears welled in her eyes before rolling down her cheeks.

“Andraste’s flaming knickers, the King is the father, isn’t he?”

“Oh, Maker, Anders, don’t say anything. Don’t..”

A wave of soothing magic rolled over her and Anders softly said, “Your secret is safe with me, Len. Now rest. I promise I won’t let any templars get you in your sleep.”

Elena could only nod and let exhaustion take her moments later.

A Battered Old Journal, Chapter Five

Title: A Battered Old Journal, Chapter Five

Series: Dragon Age

Characters: OC: Mathis Hawke, OC: Tara, Varric Tethras, Cullen, F!Hawke, Merrill, OC: Elena Hawke, Carver Hawke, OC: Naris, Aveline Vallen (Hendyr), Donnic Hendyr, Isabela, Fenris, Sebastian, Anders, Gamlen Amell, Charade Amell

Words: 1,025

Summary: The fifth entry in the journal, written on the thirtieth of August in 9:56 Dragon.

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Y’know, if you’re someone who isn’t family that’s reading this, you’re might be a bit confused as to who exactly I or my family am. Well, here’s the rundown.

Mother’s name is Treva Hawke, daughter of Malcolm Hawke and Leandra Amell, sister to Carver and Bethany Hawke. She came to Kirkwall when the Blight was ravaging Ferelden and…well, a lot of hardship followed. I’m sure I haven’t heard all the stories of what happened (though I think next time Isabella’s in town I can talk a few more out of her) but she ended up being declared the city’s Champion. Saved it twice too; once from the Qunari, earning her title, and once from tearing itself apart after my father blew up the Chantry.

Now that’s a trickier subject…my father. On the one hand there’s the man who helped bring me into the world: Anders or Mathis Baur as was his name before he was taken to the Ferelden Circle. And on the other hand there’s the man who helped raise me, married my mother, and is my baby sister’s father: Cullen. A revolutionary and a sworn templar, there could be no greater difference between these two men that Mother loves. They are both, though, my father’s – one by blood and one by action.

Speaking of Cullen, there’s my baby sister: Elena Hawke. I know, I know, we both have Mother’s name but that’s because Cullen doesn’t have a last name that he recalls and it would be useless to try to contact that Chantry orphanage he was raised in. She’s a few months shy of being eight and is as much of a troublemaker as I’m told I was at her age. Though that’s mostly because I give her pointers but no one needs to know that.

That covers the immediate family but there’s also my uncle Carver Hawke. He married Merrill Alerion two years before Mother and Cullen were but the eldest of my little cousins is a year younger than Elena. They’ve been busy bees too, my aunt and uncle, and have all-together added three crazy rug rats to the crowd that seems to be constant around the Gallows. And, yes, cousins mine, you are, were, and always will be rug rats to me so don’t be making faces at this if you’re reading. That means you don’t pull Uncle’s annoyed face, Ceindrech, don’t you set the pages on fire, Eithne, and don’t either of you let Bran drool on it. Yes, I mean that even if he’s my age while reading this.

‘Course there’s Gamlen Amell, my great-uncle, but we don’t really see much of him except on mine, Elena, or one of our cousins’ birthdays. His daughter, my Cousin Charade, though, is a frequent visitor to the Gallows and I think she has her eye on one of Cullen’s templars.

As for the other names I mentioned, I never got to meet them. Grandmother apparently died in Kirkwall, a victim of a blood mage. Grandfather died years before they even left Ferelden, brought down by a disease. And my Aunt Bethany, who Uncle sometimes says I remind him of (in temperament at least), was killed by an ogre while they were fleeing from Lothering.

That’s immediate family…now there’s extended. Whew, this is going to be a list!

Aveline and Donnic Hendyr of the Guard are practically mine, Elena, and the cousins’ aunt and uncle. She’s tried for forever to pretend she doesn’t like to be called ‘Aunt’ but Donnic gave her away and told me she does. Obviously I call her that all the time now.

Of course there’s Varric Tethras, who gave me this journal. I’ve loved listening to his stories about Mother’s escapades in the city for years but, as Uncle cautioned me, I always take them with a grain of salt.

Now, the more elusive of the extended family exists in Fenris, Isabela, and Sebastian Vael.

Uncle was gone for the first few years of my life helping Sebastian reclaim Starkhaven and we haven’t really seen much of him since. He helps supply us with what we need while the world goes mad around us, though. Oh, and Mother got an invitation to his wedding; apparently he’s marrying the daughter of the Warden King. Mother finds that highly amusing considering King Alistair’s opinion of mages and how he gave the Ferelden Circle its freedom long before my father sparked his revolution.

As for Fenris and Isabela, they have this weird love-hate relationship that they both claim isn’t a relationship at all. Like Mother says though, “Everyone knows they’re knocking boots, they just don’t have the balls to say it out loud.” We see them every time Isabela decides to blow into port or whenever Varric manages to wrangle one of his out-of-nowhere lyrium shipments through her.

Oh, and of course there’s my friends Naris and Tara.

Naris is half-elf like my cousins and lives with her mother in Lowtown. She only really ended up with us as kids because somehow the Gallows became the place to bring we littles when the rest of the city was busy rebuilding. Not quite sure how that turned out but apparently with Mother and Cullen both there, everyone thought it was the safest place. She’s brash, pushy, and really mouthy but she’s a damn loyal friend, I’ll tell you that. Packs a mean wallop with a waster too – I’ve got the bruises to prove it.

Now, if anyone can be called my best friend, it’s Tara. Her father was one of the templars Cullen banished from the city because they were too steeped in Commander Meredith’s views and her mother abandoned her. I remember the first time I saw her she was crying and I took her to Mother, who assured her that she was wanted after William told her she wasn’t. Yes, the same William I accidentally killed. We survived his bullying together, studied together, played pranks together…Maker, we practically do everything together. She’s the sweetest person I know after Aunt Merrill, if a bit of a perfectionist.

Anyway, that’s it. That’s my family, blood and extended, and my friends.

It All Comes Tumbling Down

Title: It All Comes Tumbling Down

Series: Dragon Age

Characters: Alistair Theirin, F!Brosca, Carver Hawke, Nathaniel Howe, Zevran Arainai

Words: 4,163

Summary: It began as a wonderful day for Carina Brosca and it seemed like it would be just like any other at the Vigil with her doing paperwork and then helping Alistair train some of their recruits. Then her two Wardens that had gone off to Kirkwall returned with a surprise guest in tow and news that brings her world crashing down.

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“Rise and shine, recruits! It’s a beautiful morning for training!”

Carina Brosca smiled as she lifted the cup of hot tea to her lips, able to hear the groans drifting up from the Warden recruit barracks a few floors below her balcony. She was certain they and every batch before them would agree with Oghren’s statement that her lover was mad to have them all up at the ass-crack of dawn.

Alistair had a reason to be overly exuberant in his training though. Now, six years past the defeat of the Architect and the Mother, the Wardens had the numbers that Duncan had always wanted but had never been able to achieve. The Vigil was packed full of Wardens, which had forced them to start the task of readying Soldier’s Peak for being inhabited again. And with their number of recruits and Wardens, they had the opportunity to properly test them and cull the numbers before the Joining. Better to discover in training that one of their recruits was likely to go crazy or do something foolish than after they had drunk from the chalice.

Like Anders.

She sat her cup down on the wall surrounding her balcony at the thought of the apostate mage she’d stumbled across the day of her bloody arrival at the Keep. He had been a comfort during the months she’d known him as Alistair had been in Weisshaupt trying to explain how they’d survived without mentioning Morrigan (which consisted of a lot of nodding and looking stupid as he put it later). With his similar appearance and timbre of voice that matched her lover’s and vein of flirting that reminded her of Zevran, she’d felt like she had had both of them back with him by her side.

Then, after the darkspawn were dead and the Vigil in the process of rebuilding, she’d taken Oghren as well as two of their latest recruits to go on her first official recruitment trip around Ferelden. Only when she’d returned months later to find her Wardens harried and lost looking as well as the sight of over a dozen new pendants hanging on the wall that had become reserved for their dead in the main hall. An even more somber than usual Nathaniel had then informed her that Anders had disappeared after he’d killed – killed – several fellow Wardens, including the templar they’d been forced to take in by a mix of Anora and the Chantry. Kristoff’s body had been found not far from the site of the massacre days later and the rapid decomposition showed Justice had been gone for some time.

Having been witness to the closeness of the mage and spirit as well as recalling the spirit that was still keeping Wynne alive, she’d had a sickening suspicion as to what they’d done. Her thoughts then – and still – were that if only she had been there and not gallivanting around Ferelden, she could have stopped him. Could have pointed out that he had too much anger in him to not avoid corrupting the spirit into something closer to a demon. Could have…oh, there were so many could haves and should haves.

Careful messages sent out to her neighboring Warden-Commanders in Orlais and the Free Marches had revealed that he was in the city of Kirkwall. A bit of pressing inquiry on the Commander there had gotten her the information that he was running a free clinic in the area under the city called Darktown, helping refugees and the poor. While that warmed her heart to know he was helping, there were darker rumors about him that had been sent on with that news. He was still one of her Wardens in her heart and she felt responsible for him.

She also felt like she had failed him.

Three years ago, Alistair had told him just that when he’d run into the mage in Kirkwall. Part of her wished that she had been there but she would have insisted on dragging Anders back to Ferelden, intent on having him home. She knew though – better than anyone thanks to Anora and the Grand Cleric’s yearly reminders – that he could never come back to the Vigil to stay.

Sighing, Carina stepped up onto a footstool positioned in front of one of the two chairs always positioned out on the balcony. Alistair had once suggested getting her a ‘proper’ chair more suitable to her height and she’d offered to cut him down to her size so they could keep matching chairs. He’d laughed merrily at that – having long ago grown accustomed to her threats – and had spent the next few hours reminding her why she’d fallen in love with him.

Seating herself, she picked up her cup and looked over the balcony as their latest recruits stumbled sleepily into the training yard. Some were still buckling on armor and one of the mages was still in his smallclothes, robes hastily gathered in his arms. The sight brought a lump into her throat, recalling Anders’ total lack of propriety.

Then every sad thought vanished at the tall form striding along behind their raw recruits, reddish-blond hair standing out from the dragonbone splintmail he wore. From where they were now, she couldn’t make out the exact words but the boisterous grin on Alistair’s face told her that he was informing them of how ‘fun’ their lessons were going to be. And she could clearly hear the recruits groan in unison.

Looking down at him now from her vantage point over the Vigil, Carina was once again filled with pride in her ‘prince’. He absolutely loathed the title and anyone that came calling at the Vigil asking for the ‘prince’ was turned away immediately. The callings had become more frequent in the last few years as Anora still hadn’t remarried and Arl Eamon had written several times insisting that Alistair do his duty for the kingdom. She had watched every one of those letters burn from where she curled up in her lover’s lap, his strong arms wrapped around her and his jaw tense with anger. When the last one had come a year ago, he had finally written back with three sentences: if you want a child of Theirin blood on the throne, it will be Carina’s or no one else’s. If you wish me to do otherwise, then let it be known that breeding a new King for you isn’t my duty. I am a Grey Warden, not a King, and I will do my duty to them and the woman I love before all else, Eamon.

From the letter Bann Teagan had sent them after that one had arrived in Redcliffe, the Arl had turned a marvelous shade of purple. Teagan had also promised to stop any more letters from coming to them before either of them saw the need to personally make a visit. Carina had warmly written back saying that she could kiss him for keeping them from any more of Eamon’s pestering and had laughed when Alistair had grabbed the piece of vellum to add that a kiss was all his almost uncle was going to get from his lady.

So ‘prince’ Alistair may have hated being called but she thought of him that way in her own mind. She never called him that, of course, not even in the confines of their room because she knew better than anyone that he didn’t want to claim his blood right to the throne. She had never dreamed of being a noble hunter and rising above her caste in Orzammar – never wanted to after watching what Rica went through – but she’d always dreamed of it happening by accident. There had been a story Rica had told her when she was small, about a dwarven prince who found love with a casteless warrior and made her his wife, that she had always loved. The dwarf had never become King since he was the second son but he had loved his wife and Carina had been in love with the idea of someone saving her from the dark for a long time. Even when she and Leske had done things she’d hated, things that had stained her hands forever, she had held on to the sliver of hope that someone would save her.

Alistair had done just that from the moment they’d met with his brand of humor and whatever had told him there was something more behind the masks she had carried with her out of Dust Town.

Laughing a little at herself, Carina finished her tea and watched the recruits for a moment before she slid down from her chair. As she tugged her leathers on and settled a dagger at either hip, there was a sudden cheer from outside. Rushing back to the balcony, she peered over the edge to see a pair of dark haired men and several others striding in through the gate, Alistair moving to greet them with a wide grin. As soon as he noticed some of his recruits were trying to escape, he waved them on and began barking orders that had them come sprinting back without hesitation.

Oh, yes, he would have made a good King but no matter how noble her heart could be, she was still a duster. That made her selfish and on what would have been their last night together with his large body curled protectively around hers, she’d made the split second decision to keep him. He was the best thing that had come into her miserable life and she’d said just that when he’d fallen to his knees as soon as everything was done at the Landsmeet and asked why. Alistair had thanked her many times that night with his hands and lips, making her certain that she had made the right choice.

Even later, that decision with Morrigan, to ask him to do that with her friend, her sister…that had been because she was selfish too.

Carina shook herself from the memory and turned away from the balcony to leave the room. She knew every shortcut through the Vigil by now so, despite her shorter stature, she still ended up beating Nathaniel Howe, Carver Hawke, and the other Wardens in their party to the main hall. “Commander,” greeted the young man and she noticed that his blue eyes were shadowed by something other than exhaustion. A glance at Nathaniel showed the same in his and she knew something was wrong.

Then she looked behind them and there, amongst her Wardens, was a certain blond elf. “Zevran!” she exclaimed and when she earned only a tired smile instead of the over-the-top exclamation she’d expected, her breath caught in her throat.

For something to stop Zevran from flirting…

“You all go eat in the kitchens,” she ordered the other Wardens and then crooked a finger at the trio. “You three. My office. Now.”

Technically the breakfast waiting in her office and hers and Alistair’s but he’d have grabbed something from the kitchens since it was a first training day. After seeing the exhausted group arrive, he wouldn’t mind giving up his food despite whatever token complaints he might make later.

Her Wardens dug in with the fierce gusto of a recruit fresh from the Joining and the assassin wasn’t far behind them. Carina managed to pluck a biscuit and a few slices of bacon from a plate for herself and munched on them quietly as she regarded the three men in front of her.

Nathaniel looked even more somber than ever, which was a feat for the Howe. Given that his sister Delilah, her merchant husband, and his nephew had gone to Kirkwall with the expedition to help settle a deal for Amaranthine that would, in turn, help the Vigil, she’d have expected him to be less so.

There was something haunted hanging around Carver Hawke and she had the sickening feeling that whatever had happened involved his brother, Nicolas. The look in his blue eyes was an expression of loss she found all too familiar. She could remember seeing it in the mirror after she’d had to kill Leske, in Zevran’s when he’d revealed the sordid tale of being tricked into killing his lover, and in Alistair’s when she’d come back after seeking Morrigan to tell him nothing more than that he had a son and he was safe.

As Carina shifted her gaze to Zevran, she found the assassin looking at her. It had been a long time since she’d seen her friend and he looked a lot leaner, with harsher angles to his face, than he had years before. What sent a jolt of terror lancing down her spine was that he wasn’t hiding. He was watching her with his defenses open, letting her see his confusion and trauma from whatever had went on in Kirkwall.

Tearing her attention away from the elf, she focused on the more senior of her two Wardens.

“Nathaniel. What happened?”

He frowned for a long moment then answered, “We found the thaig easily enough. Carver remembered the way quite well considering how long it’s been since he was down there.”

Blue eyes darted up and Carina forced herself not to flinch at the emotion in them. She knew that emotion even after the long years away from Orzammar and Dust Town. That was knowing you’ve escaped death once only to stumble into another and part of her wanted to hug the young man.

Instead she focused back on Nathaniel and pressed, “And?”

“I got separated from the others. Thought I was going to go to my Calling early and then here comes this mad-cap group around a corner.” He turned his head towards Carver and the young Warden shook his head without looking up. Nathaniel nodded and continued, “The man leading them introduced himself as Hawke only but I’d already guessed who he was as Anders was with him.”

Her senior Warden shook his head then met her gaze across the desk. “He recognized me but he seemed…distracted. Looked like he had been through that nightmare with the Architect again only with much less sleep than we got getting out of that mine.”

Carina bowed her head at that, her fingers clenching into fists. “You think the rumors of his madness are true.”

It wasn’t really a question and Nathaniel knew it. He simply leaned back in his chair as Carver lifted his head, haunted blue eyes seeming to look somewhere beyond her.

“We know they are now,” he rasped. “News probably hasn’t come yet from Kirkwall.”

“News?” repeated Carina, looking between the three of them. “What news?” When none of them answered, she leaned forward and slapped a hand down on her desk. “I’m the commander of two of you and good friend to the other. Tell me!”

Zevran shifted in his chair, rolling his shoulders with that languid grace of his, and answered, “Your wayward soul destroyed a Chantry, mí amiga.”

For a moment she wasn’t certain than she had heard correctly and blinked at him. When he leaned forward and laid his hand over hers with a sad smile on his face, Carina sank back into her chair.

“A Chantry,” she repeated. Then she bowed her head and covered her eyes with one hand as she muttered, “Oh, Anders. Why would you do that? Why would Justice convince you to do that?”

“Freedom for mages,” came Carver’s voice and she lowered her hand to find him looking at her now. “That was his excuse because the Grand Cleric wouldn’t take a side between the templars and the mages.”

He bared his teeth then and a wild look came into his eyes as he growled, “And Nicolas let him live. After all he did, all the blood that was shed, Nicolas let him live. The templars killed nearly every mage in the Gallows, Commander, because of what Anders did and my brother just let him walk away!”

“He won’t walk away,” said Carina, her eyes focused on the ceiling as she recalled all the terrible decisions she’d made in her life. “Not from himself. You can’t ever get away from yourself, Carver. You always – always – remember what you’ve done.”

“Rina,” breathed Zevran and she focused on her friend, forcing a smile.

“You know all too well that I’ve made terrible decisions, Zev. What else happened?”

“The Knight-Commander as well as the First Enchanter went mad,” answered Nathaniel. “We were there for the last but only heard about Orsino. He apparently used blood magic and turned himself into a monstrosity down in the depths of the Gallows.”

Carver cut in then, saying, “Meredith had the idol from the thaig and forged a sword with it. It…it made her powerful. She brought the Gallows statues to life with it before she turned into one herself.”

Carina just blinked at that, wondering how exactly the lyrium idol the younger Warden had nearly died for had done that, but shoved it aside. Finding out what had happened to her former Warden and after the battle was more important.

“What about after the battle?”

The three of them looked at each other then Carver growled, “They left.”

“Just like that?” asked Carina, looking to Nathaniel and Zevran for confirmation. At their nods, she continued, “Without supplies or anything? All of your brother’s companions?”

“Aveline stayed,” answered the young man. “She married one of the Guardsmen and she’s Captain. Said without anyone else to lead the city, she said she needed to stay, to keep order. I think Varric and Fenris may have stayed too.”

He shrugged one shoulder and continued, “Everyone else left with Nicolas. He barely even said goodbye or thanks for helping save our asses before he was off.”

Carina sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose, then said, “That’s enough for now. Go get some sleep or, if you can’t, go bother Finn for one of his knockout potions. You all look fit to collapse and I’m not picking anyone up off my floor.” Looking at Zevran, she added, “We don’t have any spare rooms at the moment but there’s a cot set up behind that curtain that you can bunk on.”

She gestured at the heavy, Warden blue fabric hanging behind them and the elf nodded, silently making his way over and disappearing behind the curtain without another word. As she leaned back and laced her fingers across her belly, Nathaniel and Carver rose to leave but the younger man paused in the door, looking back at her uncertainly.

“He asked me to come with him,” he blurted suddenly and she arched her eyebrows in silent question. “Nicolas. Said he wanted to maybe try being brothers again.”

Carina waited for the span of a heartbeat then said, “You told him no.”

Carver smiled bitterly and nodded. “Too little, too late, more like it. I’m a Warden now…he made me a Warden.”

“I would have understood if you’d gone, Carver.”

“I know,” he said as he turned to go, “but I wouldn’t have forgiven myself for leaving the only home I’d got left. Atrast tunsha, Commander.”

“Atrast tunsha.” Carina waited until the door had closed then she called out, “Zev?”

“I am still awake, mí amiga,” came the elf’s disembodied voice from the behind the curtain, low enough for her to know that while the other two were leaving, he had gotten out of his gear and collapsed. Or merely collapsed, who knew.

“How long do you think we have, before the repercussions hit us from what happened in Kirkwall?”

There was a long paused then Zevran answered, “Months. Perhaps a year if we are lucky. You believe the Circle will revolt despite what the Queen has done.”

“Anora isn’t as favorable to mages as Alistair or I am.” Carina didn’t mention that Alistair had gotten a lot more favorable towards them when he’d found out his actual birth mother was one whilst in Weisshaupt. “Finn keeps in touch with people he knew in the Tower still so we hear about what’s happening. It isn’t enough change to keep them from revolting when that news hits.”

Dropping her head into her hands, she continued, “Damnit, Zev, what happened to my Warden? What happened to my friend?”

Warm, bare arms wrapped around her and she leaned towards him, tucking her head underneath his chin, not even bothered by his silent appearance next to her chair.

“He has made his choices, Rina, and now he must deal with them on his own or with those who will take him. You need to worry about your Wardens.”

“And you?” asked Carina with a slight smile.

“There is no need to worry about me, mí amiga. I am the best, remember?” As she prodded him in the ribs, Zevran swiped her hand away and added, “Take care of your Wardens, yourself, and that silly templar of yours. I will be where I always am, watching your back.”

“How do you always know what to say to make me feel better?”

“It is nothing but a part of my charm. Is it working? Would you care to join me behind your luxurious curtain?”

The flirt didn’t have the usual spark behind it but it still made Carina laugh. She pulled herself out of his arms and hugged his neck since, on his knees next to her chair it was at the perfect height. “You know better,” she murmured as she pulled away. “And you need sleep more than sex. That was a terrible effort at flirting.”

Zevran shrugged, flashing a shadow of his usual smile, then grasped her hand to press a kiss against her fingers. “I cannot help but try until you say yes, bella.”

“Zev. Sleep.”

“As the lady commands,” he whispered as he bowed slightly. She watched him as he rose fluidly and disappeared behind the curtain again. Waiting until he had settled onto the cot and she heard him honestly sleeping, not just pretending to, she crept out of her office and locked the door behind her.

Alistair found her hours later on the top-most tower of the Vigil after he’d finished with the recruits training and used his status as Second to grab one of the first baths. Dressed in one of his shirts and pants only, she sat with her feet dangling off the edge of the tower and as he slid in behind her, he commented, “You should be more careful.”

Carina merely hummed as he pulled her back against his chest and wrapped his arms around her. Leaning her head back against his shoulder as he bent over her, she asked, “Is the rumor mill running?”

“You mean do I know what Anders did? Yes. I told the recruits and staff to keep it to themselves because he was a Warden, which makes it Warden business until we say otherwise.”

“Thank you.”

She started stroking his arm and he twisted his hand to capture hers, bringing it up to his lips. “Rina,” he breathed, “what happened wasn’t your fault.”

“I recruited him, Alistair. If I’d known…”

“You would have recruited him anyway to keep him from whatever those templars were going to do to him,” interrupted Alistair in a stern voice. She couldn’t argue against that because she would do it again in a heartbeat just to see the pissed off look on that woman’s face. Oh, and Anora’s look of annoyance.

Looking out towards the lands surrounding the Vigil, Carina said, “Part of me hopes he comes here for help.”

“Carver might just kill him. He’s…two mage siblings makes him sympathetic to mages even if he doesn’t show it much. Anders forcing the issue, letting all those mages get killed, has him in a bad way.”

“He came and talked to you,” she noted and he nodded before pressing a kiss against her temple. “He’s conflicted about his brother. I think he thinks he agrees with what Anders did.”

Alistair shrugged and said, “Part of me agrees with the freedom bit after what I’ve seen mages and read about mages going through. Anders’ needs a bit more subtlety in his methods though. I’ve been suspecting it has something to do with Justice and the city since I heard about it. Kirkwall…there was something wrong with it. You could feel it, taste it in the air.”

“Whatever it was, it doesn’t matter now.” Carina shook her head and closed her eyes, savoring the soothing presence of his body behind hers. “The Chantry will want him dead now instead of whatever they wanted to do before. And I can’t protect him from that.”

“You never could, love,” breathed Alistair and the tears she’d been holding back since hearing what her friend had done spilled down her cheeks. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and rested his chin on top of her head, there for her as she cried for the man she could no longer save.

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?”