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rhiyahSeries: Emergence: The Sum of All Parts
Game: Dragon Age 2
Pairing: Warrior f!Hawke, Fenris (eventually)
Characters: Warrior f!Hawke, Carver, Varric, Aveline, Anders
Rating: T
Wordcount: 4501
Summary: Hawke and Carver join up with Varric, and then Aveline, in a late night excursion to the Kirkwall chantry. Hawke has agreed to help the apostate Warden, Anders, with a favor in exchange for some maps of the Deep Roads.
Warnings: Minor Act I spoilers.
Major adulation to my dear comma corralling angel
analect “No offense to your uncle, Hawke, but this place smells like cabbage.” Varric held a leather clad hand to his nose.
“Only cabbage, Varric? I thought it smelled rather like rotten eggs and spoilt milk.” Hawke looked over her shoulder at their new compatriot, a wide grin on her face.
They had just returned from Darktown. Varric’s Grey Warden rumor had led them to a clinic there, and to an apostate from Ferelden named Anders. The mage had maps that the expedition could use, but naturally wanted something in return for them. A favor for a favor, as it were.
After hearing him out, they agreed to a late night rendezvous at the chantry, to help his friend Karl. They’d decided to wait at the tavern until Aveline would be off duty, hoping to enlist the guard’s aid for their impromptu mission.
While passing through Lowtown, Hawke decided to stop by Gamlen’s to fetch something she’d picked up for Aveline.
“I’ll be just a minute; I want to grab something from the stash. Why don’t I catch up with you two at the Hanged Man?”
Carver hesitated, narrowing his eyes slightly, then nodded and continued past her. Hawke felt Varric’s tawny gaze on her and she feigned a bemused expression, and then shrugged. He continued to watch her interestedly for a moment longer, his eyes shifting occasionally towards her brother, before he turned away, following after the younger man.
“Carver, tell me, do they serve flip in Ferelden?” Varric asked as they turned toward the tavern.
“Flip? What is that?”
The dwarf laughed merrily. “Flip, my young friend, is a delightful mixture of Corff’s worst beer, a finger of rum, and a lump of sugar. Finish it off with a hot metal poker to warm the brew. It’s the only beverage served at the Hanged Man that is actually worth the copper. The rest of that sodding swill is rot gut.”
They had moved out of earshot so she did not catch Carver’s response. Shaking her head wryly, Hawke knocked her boots against the door frame before entering the dwelling. Mother worked hard to keep the place clean and she tried not to add to the problem by tracking in the dirt of Kirkwall.
~~¤~~¤~~¤~~
“I’m not your blasted secretary, Hawke.” Uncle Gamlen churlishly greeted her from his perch on the table in the front room. His gray brows were drawn into a tight frown over amber eyes, so like Carver and Mother’s. So like Bethany’s. “Some urchin dropped off a note for you. It’s over there on the desk. I’ve a mind to charge you for services rendered, what with all the comings and goings on.”
“Gamlen! You’ll do no such thing. Ignore him, daughter, he’s been in a foul mood all day.”
Leandra Hawke bustled around the fireplace, tending to an iron pot hanging from the hearth crane. The hearty smells of a meat and vegetable stew were in the air. Her mother had a thin apron tied around her waist, and sweat had darkened her graying hair, plastering it to her neck and cheeks.
“Where is Carver?” Mother looked up from her labors to peer at her. “Please do not tell me you have left your brother in the company of that scurrilous dwarf.”
Hawke glanced up from the missive in her hand, a thoughtful frown on her face.
“Who? Varric? Oh, Mother, stop worrying so much about Carver. He’s no longer a boy in swaddling. Varric is harmless, well… mostly harmless. And besides, perhaps he’ll teach Carver how to grow some hair on his chest.” She laughed heartily at her own jest, catching Gamlen clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle his own laughter. She soon fell silent as Leandra cast her a quelling look, clearly not amused by Hawke’s repartee.
She tossed the folded parchment onto the desktop then bent to sort through the storage chest kept on the floor nearby. After tucking a handful of silvers into a pouch hanging from her belt, Hawke hefted a steel longsword from the motley collection of items within. Being careful not to hinder the swift removal of her own weapon, she secured the blade to her scabbard. Satisfied with the fastenings, she slung the baldric onto her back once more, and then stood.
“Don’t wait up for us, Mother. We’ll be home quite late tonight. Though, leave the stew pot banked in the coals, if you will. We’ll eat when we return.” Hawke turned to leave, walking back to the door.
“You can’t be serious, Greyling. The streets are not safe at night. I worry when Carver is out there with you and that rabble. I thought you were done working for that scoundrel, Meeran. What business are you getting your brother mixed up in now?”
Her shoulders stiffed, but Hawke didn’t bother to turn around. This was an old argument, and one that would never end. Her mother would insist on coddling Carver until he finally did something rash to escape the bonds Leandra used to leash him. Hawke was resigned to the inevitability of it, just as she had accepted that the blame would ultimately be laid at her feet. Again.
“If you must know, Mother, we’ll be at the chantry tonight. Hardly the danger that the battle of Ostagar was, which, I might add, we both managed admirably. Compared to escaping the darkspawn, I’m certain the evening prayers will be uneventful.”
She was reaching a hand up to push open the front door when she heard Leandra draw in a quick breath. Clenching her jaw, she braced for the tongue lashing that she knew was only a moment away.
“Escaping the darkspawn is how I lost Bethany. You weren’t capable of protecting your sister then, why should I trust Carver to your care now, Greyling?”
It always came back to that day, to her failure to save Bethany. A year’s time had done nothing to lessen the guilt she felt nor did it diminish Leandra’s propensity to throw it back in her face. Nothing she had said in the past made a difference. Nothing she could say now would, either.
“Now, Leandra, that’s hardly fair to the girl…”
Whatever admonition Gamlen was dolling out, it was lost to Hawke as she slammed the door behind her. Taking a deep breath, she stomped down the steps, out into the Lowtown evening, her armor jingling as she moved.
~~¤~~¤~~¤~~
The Hanged Man was bustling with the various day laborers wandering in for an evening drink. The tavern was a seedy piece of work, and again Hawke wondered what the appeal was for Varric. She knew that his brother Bartrand had relatively decent lodgings in the Merchant Guild’s quarters, but Varric insisted on keeping rooms here. He claimed the amenities were highly underrated.
Weaving between crowded tables, she made her way up the stairs to the private quarters Corff offered. She could hear Carver regaling Varric with tales of their flight from Ostagar. Smiling slightly, she hung back in the hallway a moment to listen to him boast about their battle with the darkspawn.
Once, a long time ago, he had followed her around like a lost puppy. She didn’t know how or when, but somewhere along the way she had become his rival. After she left for Redcliffe, to become a guard, he’d been different. He’d been too young to understand why she left, but apparently old enough to form a lasting resentment over it. Sighing softly to herself, she planted a carefree smirk on her face, and walked into Varric’s suite.
“What do you know about a dwarven explorer named Anso, Varric?” Hawke asked as she rounded the corner. Shifting her weapon to the side, she took a seat, and helped herself to a drink from the pitcher on the table.
“Anso?” the dwarf frowned slightly as he looked at her. “He’s from another expedition bound for the Deep Roads. From what Bartrand says, they haven’t found a reliable entrance yet. They’ve been about in Lowtown, doing odd jobs and the like. Why do you ask?”
Pulling out the note she’d tucked into her belt, Hawke nodded at him and tossed it onto the table. Setting down his tankard, Varric picked up the paper and, after a cursory glance, passed it to Carver. Nonchalantly, he shrugged at her, his golden earrings twinkling in the firelight.
“Sounds like an easy enough task, Hawke. They’re small time players, can’t imagine that they’ve gotten mixed up with anyone we couldn’t handle. It would make for some fast coin too. Want to head by there when we’re done helping Blondie?”
“Blondie?” Carver asked, his eyebrow arched in confusion.
“You know, Junior, that warden mage fellow, Anders.” Varric chuckled when the young man’s face grew dark at the moniker.
“Don’t call me that!” Growling in annoyance, the young man lurched to his feet and stalked out of the room.
“Touchy much?” Varric asked rhetorically.
Hawke chuckled softly, and then rolled her eyes at him.
“Don’t pay any mind to him, Varric. He’s always butt hurt about something or another. Though, I’ll admit, it’s nice of you to deflect some of that angst away from me.” She raised her drink to him in thanks.
“That’s what I’m here for, Hawke. I live to serve,” he quipped, making a courtly gesture with his hand.
“Ha! You don’t fool me, you scoundrel. I know your motives are by no means altruistic or even charitable. I may not have spent much time around dwarves in Ferelden, but if the last year in Kirkwall has taught me nothing else, it’s that Merchant Guild dwarves are always in it for the money. You included, Varric Tethras.”
Varric raised his hands in mock query, doing his very best to look confused and innocent. The roguish twinkle in his eye could not be hidden, though, and Hawke just continued to smirk at him.
“Your wily ways will not beguile me. You may be the handsomest dwarf in Kirkwall, but I’ve got your mark.” With that she winked at him then leaned back so that she could see into the tap room below, scanning the patrons, looking for Carver.
“Quit checking on the pup. Go back to telling me all about how I’m the handsomest dwarf in Thedas.” Leaning forward, he leered at her.
“Thedas, huh? I seem to recall it was Kirkwall. I’m sure there must be plenty of handsome, manly, hairy chested dwarves lolling around in Orzammar.” Unable to maintain her nonchalance, Hawke broke down into giggles. “Though I doubt I’d be able to tell unless I lifted up their beards.”
“Yet another reason to shave on a somewhat regular basis.” Varric replied archly, and then laughed raucously with her.
~~¤~~¤~~¤~~
Varric and Hawke were sitting near each other, in low conversation, when Aveline and Carver came up the stairs some time later.
“Hawke, what’s this about getting involved with chantry and templar business? Carver was telling me that you’ve agreed to some late night assignation with an apostate?” Aveline raised one coppery brow, and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Wow, Aveline. You make it sound like I’ve planned some tawdry tryst between the pews.” She laughed at the expression that crossed the guard’s face. “Peace. Aveline, I tease. Though, you know I’m not one to ask too many questions when involved in a venture of a… somewhat dubious legality.”
“And don’t I know it, Hawke! The lengths I go to just keeping you out of the gaol.” The exasperated guard scowled at her and then stomped over to an empty seat. “Only the Maker knows why I let you get me involved in these misadventures.”
“Oh, give over, Aveline.” Varric pushed a full tankard down the table in her direction. “They’re only misadventures if someone has to be revived, or… well, dies.”
“Or there’s breaking and entering involved. Don’t forget assault and battery. There was that smuggler job when we had to run from the guard, with which I’ll remind you, I’m employed! It hardly looks good for me if I’m seen about in the company of you miscreants, not to mention being caught up in whatever endeavor of dubious legality you’re involved in at the time.”
Only Carver appeared to be chastened by her diatribe. He leaned against the wall behind Aveline, legs crossed at the ankle. His head was hanging down, as if he was very interested in his boots, face suspiciously hidden by the cascade of dark hair over his brow.
Hawke and Varric struggled to remain straight-faced, all the while nudging each other conspiratorially, as the fierce woman glowered at them. Varric started to clear his throat quietly, but instead it sounded like a croak. Carver looked up then, and she could see the laugher dancing in his amber eyes. It was her undoing, and then she was rocking her head back and forth on the tabletop. Howling with laughter, she pounded her fist on the table in merriment.
“Ow! Aveline, you kicked me!” Hawke had stopped laughing when her leg was struck, but Carver and Varric were still giggling.
“Yes, I kicked you, snotty brat. This is serious, Hawke!”
Hawke leaned forward and blew a kiss to her friend. “Enough. I relent and repent, Mother Aveline. Please, spare us mere mortals of weak character your wrath. Oh! If it helps any, I brought you a present.”
Aveline looked at her with eyes narrowed. Hawke just smiled and pulled off her baldric. Carefully, she untied the weapon bound to the scabbard, then handed it over to the other woman.
“Should I bother to ask how you came to have such a well crafted sword in your possession?”
“Typical.” Shaking her head at Aveline, she chuckled softly. “Actually, if you must know, I bought it. I even paid real coin, to a legitimate merchant. Do you like it? Sword and board isn’t exactly my thing, or Carver’s, but we both thought it was balanced nicely. The haft has a good grip. He’s the one who spotted it.”
Hawke looked up to find Carver smiling at her slightly. He nodded once to her and she returned the gesture. The Hawkes thought of Aveline as a part of their family. Even Leandra doted on her, which sometimes made the guard uncomfortable with all the attention.
Affection for Aveline was one of the few things she and Carver had in common. The three of them had helped each other get through the long journey to Kirkwall, but most importantly, Aveline had also helped with Leandra.
“I don’t know what to say, Hawke, Carver. Thank you. This is a fine blade and a great improvement over my current weapon.” Aveline smiled broadly.
“So does that mean you’ll help us at the chantry?” Hawke looked at her expectantly.
Sighing resignedly, she just nodded. “You didn’t need to bribe me though.”
“That wasn’t a bribe, it was a present. However, I have your bribe covered. Varric’s agreed to come out with us to the coast tomorrow to check on your ambush situation.” Standing, Hawke shouldered her baldric then jerked her head towards the door. “Talk on the way? I don’t want Anders to think we’ve reneged on our deal. We need those maps.”
~~¤~~¤~~¤~~
Hawke couldn’t decide if they should consider themselves lucky or inconvenienced by the several groups of carta thugs attempting to waylay them while en route to the chantry in Hightown.
On one hand, the extra coin and gear would help further her preparations for the expedition. Not only could one usually find spare change amongst the thugs, but there were always people willing to reward those who “cleaned up the streets”, as it were.
However, as they rushed through the empty streets of Hightown, the distractions were an inconvenience to the scheduled meeting time with Anders. Any extra money would benefit them little if they lost out on obtaining those maps.
Aveline was muttering to herself about the state of the security, or rather, lack thereof, in the streets. “Varric, is it always this bad at night?” she finally asked the dwarf.
“More or less, yeah. The guard all but disappears once the sun sets. Then the streets, even in Hightown, belong to the Coterie, Carta or whichever gang has a strangle hold on things at the time.” He shrugged indifferently.
“This is ridiculous. I do not understand what Captain Jevan is thinking with his management of the guard.” Aveline huffed angrily.
“Look on the bright side. It gives us independent… entrepreneurs… the opportunity to do a good deed for the city and earn some coin in the process.” The moonlight glinted off Varric’s blond hair as he looked up at her. “Surely this isn’t just about the street gangs, Aveline. What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“Huh? Wha…? Oh, I’m sorry, Varric, I just keep thinking about this ambush mess on Sundermount, Sergeant Melindra and those Andraste’s Ashes swindlers from earlier today. And now I see how absent the patrols are at night. Something just doesn’t sit right with me about it all.”
Hawke stopped and turned to look at them. “Don’t worry, Aveline. We’ll help you get to the bottom of it, but there is nothing we can do about it tonight. We’re almost to the chantry. Let’s get in there, take care of whatever this favor is for Anders, and then get the hell out of here before we get jumped again.”
Hawke jerked her head towards the passageway connecting the Viscount’s Keep courtyard and the chantry common way. “Let’s go, then. He’s supposed to be waiting by the door.”
~~¤~~¤~~¤~~
She could see him silhouetted, the torchlight shining behind him. The ridiculous feathers of his coat showed in black, pointy abstract, giving the appearance that he sported some sort of spiked shoulder piece.
Fashion sense aside, he did have a handsome profile. She wouldn’t kick him out of bed, if he’d managed to find his way there. Though he did seem like the jumpy sort, and had barely reacted to her attempts to flirt with him earlier. He probably favored men anyhow. The tragically lost looking ones usually did. Shame.
Maker’s balls, she needed to get laid, and soon. It must be pretty bad if you start sizing up clients as potential bed partners. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she walked up to the mage, who was squinting, peering into the dark shadows of the chantry yard.
“Anders.” Hawke nodded at him in greeting.
“I saw Karl go inside a few minutes ago. No templars so far.” He licked his lips quickly, and then looked around again. “Are you ready?”
She met his soft, brown eyes, and noted the light of excitement in their depths.
“Yeah, we’re ready. I didn’t see anyone suspicious out here.” Hawke held an arm out, gesturing towards the door. “Let’s do this fast.”
“All right, I’ll handle the talking. You watch for templars.” Anders opened the door after taking another brief look around.
The chantry was mostly dark, the only light visible cast from the candles burning at the feet of the many statues of Andraste. The feeble flames caused shadows to dance along the surface of the sculptures, casting Andraste’s face in darkness. A shiver coursed down her spine at the ominous visage.
Hawke reached out a hand to grasp Anders’ arm. Shaking her head slightly, she motioned for him to wait. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but she merely squeezed his arm firmly and, frowning, she shook her head again.
Varric crept through the foyer, looking first into both stairwells, and then moving forward into the vestibule. After another perfunctory look about, he gestured to Hawke, indicating the area was all clear of any hidden traps.
Pulling slightly on Anders arm before releasing it, she followed after Varric.
“Hawke?” the mage said quietly.
“Traps.” Then she saw understanding come over him, and he nodded.
“When we find Karl, just let me talk to him.”
~~¤~~¤~~¤~~
They climbed the stairs to the second floor balconies. A quick perusal turned up nothing more than a vial of holy water in the first loft. Varric signaled her as they were approaching the other loft. Hawke raised her brows in question, looking at him closely.
“I don’t like this, Hawke. Stay sharp.” Then he was slinking back, into the shadows, pulling Bianca from over his shoulder.
~~¤~~¤~~¤~~
A lone man in robes was facing away from them, appearing to look at something on the desk before him. Anders started talking with him, and Hawke presumed it to be Karl. She was paying scant attention to their conversation until Anders cried out in dismay.
Turning quickly to see what had distressed the mage, Hawke deftly freed her sword. That’s when she noticed the flaming sun mark on the other man’s forehead. Tranquil. Too late, Andraste’s tits, they were too late to help the man.
Anders started screaming at the templars blocking their escape from the loft. There was a burst of blue light blazing out of him, from his eyes, and even his skin. With a gesture, he struck down a templar that was charging towards them.
It was over as quickly as it had begun. Aveline wore an expression of horror as she surveyed the bodies strewn on the floor. Carver stared at Anders, valiantly trying, and failing, to hide his fear of the mage. Varric was the only one who seemed to be taking the strange turn of events in stride.
Karl was free of his previous trancelike state. He and Anders were talking quietly, and then the older man was begging his friend to kill him. Hawke glanced at Carver, and saw that he was looking at her as well, a grimace on his face.
“Anders, my sister… Bethany, always claimed being made Tranquil a fate that was worse than death. Give him peace.”
Stepping forward, he leaned close to Karl. She could not hear what he was saying, having stepped away, intentionally giving him privacy. She saw him embrace his friend, placing a gentle kiss on his branded forehead, and then a flash of metal.
Karl slumped forward, a soft sigh escaping his lips. Anders lowered his body to the floor, reaching down to close his eyes. When he stood to face Hawke, his face was emotionless and blank. Even his gaze was shuttered, eyelids lowered, hiding whatever he was thinking.
“We should leave before more templars come,” was all he said, walking past them, and then taking the stairs two at a time.
~~¤~~¤~~¤~~
They walked back to Darktown and into Anders’ clinic in silence. Once inside, he closed and secured the doors. Calmly, he fetched clean cloths and a basin of water. Handing out the linens, he began to methodically wash Karl’s blood from his wrist and hand. Once everyone had cleaned up as much as possible without taking a proper bath, Anders stood patiently by a cot in the back of the clinic.
“I’m sure you...” he started at the same time she uttered “That wasn’t normal…”
Wearing a sad smile, he motioned for her to speak first.
“So… that wasn’t normal magic you did, was it?” She tried not to sound accusatory or judgmental.
“I… uh, this is hard to explain…” His gaze was focused somewhere between her knees and feet.
They continued to talk, she asking questions and he answering them patiently. Admittedly, it was all rather confusing for her to understand. It wasn’t the first time she wished Bethany were still alive. She’d have known all about what Anders was telling her.
Somehow Hawke knew that he wouldn’t appreciate pity from her, but listening to his explanation made her feel quite sorry for him nonetheless. He was suffering because of this… possession, for lack of a better term, and yet he still was doing whatever he could to help the other refugees. He’d ended his friend’s life to save him from the hollow existence of living in a templar-induced stupor.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Anders?”
Surprised, he blinked at her for a moment before answering. “You’re the first one I’ve ever told this to. Thank you, for not running away.” He swallowed audibly. Then a shy grin played at the corners of his mouth. “My maps are yours, as am I, if you wish me to join your expedition.”
Hawke reached out an arm towards him, and he grasped hers firmly. “Thank you, Anders. You will be all right here tonight?”
“I… yes…” He seemed genuinely surprised at her concern. “I am a stranger to you, and yet you worry for me?”
She shrugged casually.
“Get used to it, Blondie. Hawke here collects strays.” Varric grinned at the mage. “Come find me at the Hanged Man if you’re in need of drink. I’ll make sure they don’t water it down.” He winked at the bemused mage. After another few awkward moments, they bid farewell to Anders.
~~¤~~¤~~¤~~
“Hawke, did you still want to catch up with Anso tonight?” Varric asked, as they turned into Lowtown.
“Oh, that’s right…” Hawke groaned. “No. This errand took far longer than I had anticipated. Not to mention it was more arduous as well.”
She could hear Carver sighing in relief. Aveline, no doubt, was exhausted as well.
“Perhaps tomorrow night we can meet up with him, after we sort out this ambush situation. Aveline, we’ll see you tomorrow. Meet at the Hanged Man?”
The guard just nodded tiredly and waved her goodbyes to them, heading back to her barracks. Wordlessly, they parted ways with Varric.
The siblings trudged up the stairs to the Amell residence. Hawke rolled her eyes when she spotted Leandra, her head resting on folded arms atop the table. She was asleep. Carver picked her up effortlessly and put her to bed.
Thankfully, the stew pot was still warm from the dying embers in the fireplace. Quietly, Hawke served up two portions, and then cut a large section of bread from the day old loaf.
They sat, brother and sister, in rare companionable silence. Sopping up the cooling stew with thick pieces of bread, each lost in their own thoughts. Afraid to ruin the moment, Hawke was content to remain silent.
Once the wooden bowls were emptied, the siblings both sat with elbows propped up on the table. Carver stared at her for a long time. Then she noticed the skin around his eyes starting to crinkle in amusement, and she was startled to see how much he looked like Father in that moment. A smile spread over his face and he chuckled softly.
“What?” she asked, curious about what had amused him.
“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking of our… friends.”
“What about them?”
“We need to find some normal ones.” His shoulders were shaking with his mirth. She just stared at him blankly for a moment and then fell into a fit of giggles herself.
