Chapter Text
Carver jumped as a heavy fist knocked on the door.
He’d been working with a piece of wood, carving out a new bowl for mixing herbs and poultices because Anders’s were ancient and stained from years and years of use, and cursed as he cut deeper than he meant to into the soft surface. He set his work aside and glared at the entryway; then he sighed and got to his feet.
“Who is it?” he called. No one replied. He frowned, and pulled the door open.
Behind it stood a Templar. His heart jumped in surprise, and instantly all of his senses seemed to go into overdrive. He tried to think back to everything in the clinic – was there anything to suggest a mage was living there, anything at all?
“Can… I help you with something?” He asked, swallowing thickly.
“We’ve gotten reports of an apostate in the area.” The Templar said slowly, looking him up and down with suspicion. “Have you seen anything?”
“Uh… nope. Just me, here.” He offered a really weak smile he was sure was more of a grimace. The Templar frowned him, clearly unconvinced.
“Right… do you mind if I take a look around?”
“Sure.” Carver shrugged, stepping aside.
He was… 98% sure there was no signs of Anders being there. Probably.
“What’s this?” The man walked over to where the knife set was lying open on the floor. Carver rolled his eyes.
“What does it look like?” he muttered. “I’m a carver.”
“I thought this was a clinic.”
“…It’s a hobby.” He said flatly. “Last I checked, woodworking doesn’t have anything to do with magic.” The man just raised an eyebrow and kept looking.
“And how do you heal people here, then?” the man asked. “I don’t see many supplies.” Carver crossed his arms.
“Clearly you already know what you believe.” He snapped. “Why even bother walking around, if you’re not going to use your Maker forsaken eyes?”
“Excuse me?” the man demanded. Carver glared at him, and then marched over to the table, throwing open the cabinets to reveal the rows and rows of bottles of elf root, and the other side, where the small bottles of stabilizing agent were stored. Then he walked to the drawers near the back corner, pulling them out to reveal the splint and cast supplies.
“Cuts, scrapes, minor illnesses, broken bones.” He shrugged. “What else do you expect a clinic to have? A bookshelf full of ancient black magic tomes? Or perhaps voodoo dolls in all the windows? Cat bones on an alter with some dragon blood, in the middle of the room?” He threw as much sarcasm into his voice as humanly possible. The Templar turned red with fury, marching towards him.
“If I find you are an apostate, boy-“
“This is a place for healing.” Carver snapped. “A clinic for people who can’t afford your expensive, good-for-nothing medics uptown. Last time I checked, that’s not something you want to prohibit.” He paused. “I am not a mage, and you will find no magic here. Now if you please excuse me, I was in the middle of making a mixing bowl for my mother.”
“I’ll be watching you.” The man said darkly, stalking towards the door. “You’d best watch your back, kid.”
Carver paused.
If he watches the clinic…
“I’d never harbor an apostate.” He tried to sound guff, pushing his anger under a mask of what he hoped looked like arrogance. “Good for nothing mages are what’s… uh, are ruining our good city.”
The Templar paused.
“What’s that?” He grunted, turning back with a suspicious glare.
“Well, it makes it hard to keep an honest business running when those damn mages are always making life difficult and getting everyone all riled up. Taking business away from honest good working men like me, and sending ignorant people like you Templars down here to bother me. You know?” He swallowed thickly and put on the best ‘total asshole’ expression he could muster.
The Templar stared at him a long moment.
“Perhaps I misjudged you.” He said, turning back all the way around and leaning against the wall. “The reports we got were pretty conclusive, sounding like there was magic here. I just assumed-“
“Well, let’s not assume things about the caring citizens of Kirkwall, yeah?” Carver grunted. The Templar bowed his head.
“My apologies, Serah.” He still didn’t sound happy, but there was… a bit more respect in his voice. Carver nodded his head.
“If I get wind of any mages in this neighborhood, I swear on the Maker you’ll be the first I tell.” He said. “But you’d best watch who you go around pointing that finger at.”
“We work with the authority of the Chantry.” The man replied angrily. “You should watch what you say about the Order.”
“When the Order goes back to making order instead of just causing trouble, perhaps.” Carver replied, crossing his arms. The man stared at him a moment.
“You might not make a bad Templar yourself, kid.” He said after a moment. “An attitude like that.” Carver stared at him.
That was the last thing he’d expected.
“I’ll take my leave, now.” The Templar turned towards the door once more. “I again apologize for the inconvenience.” Carver just grunted, following him to the exit.
“Have a nice day.” Carver replied gruffly, and the minute the man had exited, shut the door in his face. He listened to the grumbling as the Templar descended the steps outside, and then sank against the door in relief.
That was…too close for comfort.
What if that had been Anders? The thought pounded through his mind with every beat of his heart. What if they’d come for him, and he’d been alone?
What if next time…
He swallowed thickly. The thought scared him more than he wanted to admit.
But then, that could happen to any of them. What if the Templars showed up at Gamlen’s house, or Merrill’s? This…
This is what he’d hated about growing up in his family. Always having to hide… even if he wasn’t a mage, if he was caught near them, he’d be harboring apostates. They were all guilty, when all his siblings did was live. Maker, how many people did Garrett save in a week, and they’d still throw him in one of those circle’s without a second glance.
And maybe if the circles were… different, that wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe they could turn themselves in, and then get legal clearance to leave – prove they could handle themselves, that is. The training would be complete and beneficial, and there wouldn’t be any of this… tranquility nonsense.
And there’d be no mistreatment of the mages. They wouldn’t be looked upon as guilty just for being a suspected apostate, a healer no less, who only helped the community.
But then… Anders was sort of sometimes possessed by a vengeful spirit who wanted to fight the entire Chantry and the Templar Order…
That didn’t meant he deserved to be locked up though… did it?
Maybe, if Anders had been taught about spirits beforehand…
But, just because he made a mistake when he was younger… did that mean he shouldn’t ever get a second chance? That he had to live his life behind the walls of a circle, never to walk in the market again, or… or go to dinner with friends, or crash on Gamlen’s couch, or visit people who were sick or…
He supposed Anders could say he was a Grey Warden, because Wardens were somewhat immune to the circle’s pull, especially since the only thing he used his talents for was healing people… at least in public. Bethany and Garrett didn’t have that luxury. If they were caught… they’d be stuck, forever. Branded as a circle mage. Garrett’s escapades to help the people of Kirkwall would end. All the work their father put into them would be for naught – Leandra would be heartbroken.
“It’s not right.” He muttered. Someone has to change things…
He turned and looked at the door, the image of the Templar standing there still floating in his mind, his words repeating like a mantra in his ears, and then clenched a fist.
Someone has to change things soon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They’d stumbled along for what felt like forever – all of them were tired, and they were all but out of food. Anders had considered trying to eat the Maker forsaken gold shoved in his pockets – Merrill had informed him it wouldn’t taste very good, and he’d laughed… but it really was anything but happy.
Finally, through some miracle of Andraste, the five of them stumbled into a small fishing village on the coast of the Free Marches. They’d eaten, and slept…
And then sold off some of their newfound wealth to hire some men to go back with them, this time with carts and bags – it took half as long to find their way back as it’d taken to actually make it to the village, mostly because they weren’t being weighed down by pockets full of gold. Anders had no doubt some of the men were pocketing more than their fair share of the treasure; he mentioned it to Varric once, but the dwarf had just shrugged.
“There’s more jewels and gold here than Garrett or I could spend in a lifetime.” He’d said. “What’s a few candelabras and coins?” Anders hadn’t argued.
A few days later, they made it back to the village – and then had paid for a crew, boat, and passage along the coastline until they made it back to the Kirkwall docs.
Which is where Anders found himself nearly a week and a half after they’d first escaped the Deep Roads - on a small yacht, just the five of them and a… somewhat impressive amount of treasure, floating in the water, along with the five seamen.
“Never again.” Anders cursed, and Garrett sighed.
“I’m sure he heard you the first four times you said it.” Fenris grunted, and Anders sent him a little glare.
“I’m going to go talk to the crew… see where we are.” Garrett said, and got to his feet. He walked up to the higher deck; there was a long pause. Merrill was asleep in the back, and Varric had disappeared as soon as they’d gotten aboard.
Which meant it was just the two of them, sitting there. Fenris and Anders...
The elf sighed.
“I have been meaning to thank you for the… gift.” He said suddenly. Anders frowned.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Fenris sent him a surly glare, and then gestured at one of the spikes on his armor, through which a hole had been drilled and the charm that Anders had made for Satinalia hung. The mage blinked. “Oh.”
“It has… been useful, on a number of occasions.”
“I’m glad, then.”
There was a long pause.
“Not all mages are like Denarius.” Fenris continued after a moment. Anders scoffed.
“Gee, really? Not all of us are cruel slave owning magisters?”
“That does not mean that, given the freedom, mages would not become them.” Fenris continued, wrinkling his lip. “Still, there have been… moments, with all the apostates in our company, that I have expected things to go wrong – and somehow, they haven’t.”
“I’m not really sure where you’re going with this.” Anders said flatly. Fenris glared at him, and then shook his head, getting to his feet.
“I am not either.”
“Where are you going?”
“To get some air. It’s stuffy in this cabin.” The elf began to ascend the stairs; then he paused. “Perhaps what I was trying to say is that Hawke and his… posse, have done… better things than I expected of a handful of mages, pirates, thieves, and refugees.” He turned back to Anders for a moment, conflict flashing on his face for a moment. “I do not trust magic, nor what it can do. I also don’t trust the thing inside of you. But,” he shrugged, “perhaps I am learning to trust the people, if not the tool.”
Then he began to climb again, and then he was gone.
Anders stared after him a long, long moment.
Well that was… weird. He thought. It almost sounded like… Fenris was saying he trusted their mages, and Anders knew that would never happen.
ANDERS.
Anders sighed.
“Hmm?”
I MUST APOLOGIZE FOR MY FEELINGS EARLIER. Justice’s words were more like… thoughts, that floated into Anders’ mind, than an actual voice speaking in his head. With them sometimes came… emotions, that he somehow knew weren’t necessarily his, but more of the spirit’s – and right now, Justice felt conflicted.
“What do you mean?” Anders frowned.
I SAID WE WERE A TEAM, AND THEN COMMANDED YOU. Justice replied. I SUPPOSE I HAVE FORGOTTEN THAT THERE ARE TWO OF US, AFTER ALL. There was a pause. WHEN I WAS APART OF KRISTOFF, THERE WAS NO OTHER CONSCIENCE BATTLING AGAINST MY WILL. HIS MIND WAS NO LONGER LIVING – IT IS VERY DIFFERENT BEING ONE WITH YOU, A LIVING MORTAL, WITH HIS OWN FEELINGS AND DESIRES.
Anders grit his teeth.
I know. He thought. Those ‘feelings and desires’ are what changed you, my friend.
I DO NOT KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN BY ‘CHANGED’ FOR I AM THE SAME SPIRIT OF JUSTICE I WAS WHEN WE MET.
Anders just smiled sadly.
I am sorry… I wish I could say that were true.
I DID NOT WISH TO MAKE YOU SAD. Justice said, feeling… agitated, like he was trying to get something across but wasn’t sure how. I WISHED TO… APOLOGIZE, AND OFFER A SECOND TRUCE.
Anders blinked.
“Really?” he said aloud.
YES. Justice said. I WILL NOT INTERFERE WITH YOUR PERSONAL LIFE, NOR RELATIONSHIPS, GIVEN THAT YOU DO NOT FIGHT ME WHEN THE TIME COMES.
“The time for what, exactly?” Anders frowned.
TO DO WHAT MUST BE DONE, TO FREE THE MAGES. Justice replied. I JOINED WITH YOU TO HELP YOUR PEOPLE IN THEIR PLIGHT. I WISH TO SERVE THAT PURPOSE, AND NO OTHER. I DO NOT WISH TO… TAKE AWAY YOUR CHANCE TO LIVE – I BELIEVE THAT IS HOW THE WARRIOR PUT IT, IS IT NOT?
You mean Carver? Anders blinked in surprise. I… didn’t know you were listening.
ANDERS, I AM APART OF YOU. Justice seemed to chuckle. I CAN HEAR EVERY WORD YOU THINK IN YOUR MIND… AND THAT CONVERSATION SAT IN THIS HEAD FOR A LONG WHILE, ALTHOUGH NOT NEARLY AS LONG AS THAT MORTAL HAS.
“Well… uh, he wasn’t trying to-“
I AM NOT ANGRY WITH THE BOY. Justice dismissed the sudden fear that’d sprung up in Anders’ chest – that the spirit would try to fight Carver for his words against his actions. HE IS A PART OF THE TRUCE – YOUR PERSONAL RELATIONSHIPS, I WILL ABSTAIN FROM, GRANTED THEY BARR NO IMPORTANCE TO MY MISSION.
“So you’re saying…” Anders frowned, confused. Justice seemed to sigh.
IT IS EVIDENT TO YOUR FRIENDS AND TO ME THAT YOU WISH TO PERSUE SOMETHING WITH THIS BOY. I AM APART OF YOU – I KNOW YOUR HEART. Justice said, and Anders felt his face heat with embarrassment, but…
He knew there was no use arguing with a spirit who was bonded to his soul and could feel every emotion he experienced. Still he sighed, looking down.
“If he got hurt…” He said, voice hoarse.
I WILL NOT HURT HIM, AS LONG AS HE DOES NOT HURT YOU OR THE MAGE’S CAUSE. Justice’s words sounded like a promise.
“I can’t remember what you do when you take over.” Anders said. “How can I trust that he would be safe?”
I SWEAR IT TO YOU, ANDERS. NO HARM WILL COME TO CARVER HAWKE BY MY HAND, SHOULD YOU ACCEPT MY OFFER.
Anders’ heart was pounding in his chest.
The opportunity…
“You would stop pushing to take over? And you’d let me live the way I wish? You would work with me?” Anders asked hesitantly. “To free the mages?”
YES. THAT IS THE TRUCE I AM BARGAINING.
Anders swallowed thickly.
Blue eyes flashed in his mind, and from somewhere far back in his memory, a loud, rare laugh echoed between his ears.
Anders broke into a smile, the glimmer of that chance, the opportunity this afforded him that he thought he’d given up for ever, dancing right at his fingertips, and all it took was one word to make it a reality...
He took a deep breath. Then he nodded his head, and said, “Deal.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Carver!”
He groaned.
“Carver Hawke, get up!”
Carver jumped so hard he fell off the couch, and scrambled for a moment on the hard, rocky floor before he finally recognized the voice – Isabela.
“Carver, I fucked up, okay, and she’s gone, wake up!”
He groaned, rubbing his eyes and muttering a curse under his breath, and then got to his hands and knees; the banging continued, and suddenly he realized how… urgent she sounded, and she’d only sound like that if…
“Fuck.” He grunted, stumbling to the door. It was dark, save the single lantern he’d left burning, and he nearly tripped on the cots in the main room as he rushed to it. “What is it, what’s wrong-“ he was talking before the door was even open, and as soon as he’d undone the lock Isabela was barging in, panicked look on her face.
“…didn’t know what she was doing, and then she left and I should have followed her, but I didn’t expect her to just… light up! And then they came, and I couldn’t… she didn’t even fight back, and I don’t know what to do-“
“Isabela, calm down!” He snapped. “What are you talking about? Who came, who…”
“Bethany.” She put her hands on his shoulders, eyes wild, “It’s Bethany. The Templars took her, Carver, and now she’s gone… and it’s all my fault.”
Carver stared at her.
It felt like the world had just dropped from under his feet.
“They’ve… the Templars? How? What do you mean, your fault?” He demanded, panic bubbling in him as he began to realize how much this was not a nightmare, it was real this time, real and right in front of him.
“She… she wanted more than I can give, I don’t… I don’t do relationships, but she thought… oh, blast, she thought we were… and then I had to tell her, right, what else was I supposed to do? I didn’t… I didn’t mean to-“
“You broke up with her.” Carver’s voice was flat.
“We were never dating!” Isabela exploded.
“She clearly thought you were!” He snapped. “What does this have to do with the Templars, Isabela?” He rushed back into the room, throwing on the nearest clothes he saw.
“Well, she rushed out of the Tavern and I think… I don’t know, I just saw a big flash of light, and when I got downstairs she was standing in a semi-circle of people and someone had rushed off to get the Templars. I’d told her to run, but she wouldn’t even…” Isabela swallowed thickly, “…she wouldn’t even look at me. Someone got Leandra, probably one of Varric’s people – she showed up right as the Templars did.”
“And?” Carver growled, strapping on his sword.
“She… she just went with them. Told us not to make things worse and just…” Isabela took a deep breath, “…just walked away.” There was a dead silent pause. “I don’t know what to do.” She said, and it was honestly the smallest the pirate had ever sounded.
Carver grit his teeth, and marched past her out the door.
“It’s alright.” He said, eyes turned in the direction of the gallows. “I do.”