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Chapter Text

My Maker, know my heart
Take from me a life of sorrow
Lift me from a world of pain

(Transfigurations 12:3, lines 2-4)

Four pairs of vibrantly blue-green eyes watched Leandra, helplessly, as she collapsed behind them. Two sets of strong legs pushed two lean bodies back in her direction, lunging protectively to take the brunt of the genlock's force as it approached the fallen woman. Only a few paces away blue erupted from two sets of slender-fingered hands, covering the gray-haired widow in a shielding glow. In the fray, a large Mabari warhound began to tear at the throats of the attackers.

"Mother!" the four children called, though the taller two were currently swiping off the head of a hurlock and thrusting a dagger into the gut of another as the shorter set were maintaining the barrier around their mother and sending elemental spells to aid their brothers.

As the last of that particular group of assailants fell to a volatile mixture of force and magic, the Hawke widow managed to make it to her feet. "Oh, my children, what would I have done without you?"

"Mother, now is not the time for this... We need to keep going, or else we may be swarmed."

"Cedric is right, Mother – we can stop when we reach-...Where are we going, exactly?" Beatrice, who had been talking directly to the oldest member of their family, turned pointedly to her twin. He and his younger brother had only just returned from Ostagar in time to herd their family away (though Cedric was mostly doing the herding as he was now the head, with Malcolm Hawke three years dead). The younger set of twins, Bethany and Carver, stood by with the former quietly and patiently awaiting an answer while the latter tried to put in his two coppers.

"-we can't go-"

"...They seem to be coming up from the South," Cedric started in again, shooting a mildly apologetic look to his younger brother while Bea gave Carver a much less appreciative glare to silence him. "Our best bet is to head towards Lake Calenhad and find passage across, to the Gherlen's Pass. We can skirt Orzamar and head to Orlais."

"But the Frostback Mountains," Bethany started, glancing to their mother. All four children understood what she meant to say and, apparently, so did Leandra.

"I will take my chances with the mountains, Bethany, if it means we escape these blasted darkspawn."

Carver, however, was frowning something fierce. "Orlais? What have we got in Orlais?"

The five of them stopped a moment to think; a family of Ferelden refugees, two of which were apostate mages, would probably not have the easiest time settling in the home of the Divine.

"I hate to admit it, Ced, but I think Carver has a point; Orlais might not be the best idea."

"Oh!" Leandra started, "We should go to Kirkwall."

"...Why would we go to Kirkwall?" Bethany asked, curious; she had heard horror stories about the Templars there and though she was loathe to disagree with her mother, it seemed hardly better than facing the Divine herself.

"I have family there; your Uncle Gamlen is still there, and the Amell family is well known. We should be able to find something suitable and settle in. Oh, I had never thought to return..." For a moment, Leandra let her mind wander back to her childhood, before she had fallen for the apostate Malcolm (the man she desperately loved, even now with him having gone to the Maker), when life was silks and sweets.

"Right then," Cedric started, clearing is throat in an attempt to gain his mother's attention once more. "It's settled; we'll head to West Hill and find a ship to take us across the Waking Sea. If we stay east of River Dane we should be able to avoid much Templar activity."

"This from the man that had us crossing Lake Calenhad," Bea snorted, though her eyes were smiling at her twin. Twins were altogether rare in Thedas, though such strong magical lineage in a family was not particularly common either. The Amell-Hawke family that now ran for their lives from their home in Lothering, massacring darkspawn and saving a soldier and her Templar husband along the way, had once consisted of Malcolm, a former Kirkwall Circle mage, and Leandra who belonged to the Amell family of Kirkwall with a history of magic in her veins. From there they were blessed first with Cedric and then, not moments later, Beatrice. Cedric had taken to the sword and shield, though he did not lack prowess with a dagger. Beatrice, like her father before her and her sister after, had magic coursing through her veins. While she favored healing magic, she could also conjure quite a nasty ice storm. Not two years later another set of twins came into the world, first Carver and then Bethany. Carver, like his brother, had taken up the sword though he preferred to use a two-handed weapon. Bethany held her staff like walking stick and less like a weapon, best with fire spells and arcane forces. Her sister occasionally envied her for her offensive spells, though Beatrice had long-since learned how to use her staff as more than a channeling tool. The four of them were certainly a force to be reckoned with though even with Aveline's help they could not fight the darkspawn forever.

They approached a steppe, the ground flattening out so that they might stand a moment and look ahead. The landscape seethed with the taint and, despite her resolution, Bea reached for the hand of her twin as she had when they were children. Cedric gave her a gentle squeeze; across the open area from them, Bethany did the same to their mother. Carver, however, stood alone. Aveline and her husband, Ser Wesley, huddled a little ways off as well.

It was then that the rumbling started. An earthquake, perhaps? Oh, no; it was far more dangerous. Bea jumped back from her brother who unsheathed his sword with incredible grace, hooking his arm behind his shield and trying his best to decide which direction their attack was coming from. It was either a lot of them, or something very, very large. Neither knew which would be worse.

Carver, seeing his brother and sister ready themselves, withdrew his greatsword and took broad strides towards the nearest downward path as he attempted to scout. Bethany remained with Leandra, her staff at the ready.

What happened next surprised every single one of them, Aveline holding by Wesley until it was obvious her help was needed elsewhere. It all happened in a rush – unfortunately, it was not an either/or situation with the "a lot" or the "very large". All at once they were swarmed; it seemed two ogres and at least thirty darkspawn had found them, though how they did not know.

Everyone was blinded by the din, calling out for help as they were overwhelmed. Everyone heard the piercing scream, however, as Bethany was tossed into the air. Bea turned and let loose a massive ball of ice, only to receive a dagger in her side. She gritted her teeth, eyes watering as she swiped her scythe-like staff to take off the head of the offender. She straightened again, wincing, as she looked to where the ogre had been. It was gone now, having moved into the fight with Dane the mabari dodging about its heels. On the ground lay what could only be Bethany's bloody body. Bea knew, without a doubt, her sister was gone.

With a cry that betrayed her pain and thirst for blood, Bea rallied all of her strength and called forth every last ounce of magic she had. Typically rather useless at offensive spells, a blast of ice force erupted from her much like a shockwave. While it did not necessarily decimate the entire enemy force, it did freeze the majority of them long enough to let the the three warriors regroup. The ogre that had taken Bethany was down, though the other was dancing around Carver. Bea was going to wear herself thin but she reached into her pack and removed one of the few lyrium vials she had. Tossing it and her head back, she readied herself and cast a healing spell over the group. Renewed, the warriors were able to take down the remaining assailants. Exhausted, they came together in the middle of the battlefield with no words between them.

It was hardly a moment before the rumbling began again, though softer this time.

"I don't...know how much longer I can do this," Bea coughed, turning a wan face up to her blood-covered brothers.

"Then we will just have to make quick work of it, sister." Cedric half-smiled, though it did not reach his eyes.

It seemed more that the darkspawn would make quick work of them, however. They were outnumbered tenfold and Beatrice was drained; she did not think that Carver or Cedric had had the chance to notice that Bethany had fallen and Aveline had not seen Wesley slump down against the rock. The world was growing grayer by the second and it was all she could do to keep the monsters at bay.

In a great burst of light, though, everything changed; an incredibly large winged creature (it could not, of course, be what it looked like) swooped down across them. Everyone stopped for a moment, even the darkspawn, to turn their heads and watch as the (it most certainly was a) dragon let loose an impressive river of flames, destroying countless of the tainted ranks. It skidded across the dirt of the steppe, taking more than a few demonic soldiers with it. As it came to a standstill nary three feet away from the surviving mage, it was suddenly a much smaller being though none less intimidating if truth be told.

There were no words as Carver and Cedric moved to stand on either side of their sister, Leandra bent over Bethany's body and Aveline hovering beside her husband. Instead, the three standing Hawke children gaped openly at the white-haired...witch.

"...Th-thank you," Cedric barely managed, sheathing his sword as he curved a supportive arm around his twin's waist. All three of them were about to drop, but Bea was still slowly bleeding from her earlier wound.

"...d'you think you could teach me that trick?" Bea tried to smile and the dragon-lady let out a chuckle, throwing her head back.

"It is not the sort of thing one learns, child; it is the sort of thing one is."

Bea blinked but shrugged a little. "As my brother said, thank you...but why?"

"It is not always prudent to allow death to overcome," the woman spoke, watching the mage exclusively.

The girl opened her mouth and closed it again, shaking her head. Cedric looked up at her with a curious narrowing of his eyes. "I've... I've heard stories of you, I think. Are you not-"

"...The Witch of the Wilds," Aveline finished with a grunt, shaking her head and Wesley continued though his words were breathy. "...Watch out for her; she-"

"...eats Chasind babies," Flemeth spoke with a wicked grin.

Bea, delirious with bloodloss and pain that was more than just physical, added, "...do you drown puppies for fun too? I think I've heard that."

Dane, limping a little, came up to nudge in between Bea and Cedric. He let out a tiny, disapproving bark. The Witch of the Wilds laughed again, though after a brief time took on a somber look. "While I do quite appreciate a clever-tongued mage, this is not the time. I have a...favor to ask of you."

Again, the party was stunned. Leandra had taken a moment from her grieving and fretting to listen and the three breathing Hawke children stiffened. Aveline was shaking her head vehemently, "Don't."

"What choice do we have?" Cedric, currently the voice of reason, looked back at Aveline. Bea frowned; he was depressingly right. They could not go on like this. Carver had crossed his arms over his chest and looked every bit the dejected child. He was, of course, not being deferred to. He had expected no less.

"None at all," Bea finalized and, looking to Flemeth, nodded a little. "All right then, what do you propose?"

"You five are to find your way to Kirkwall, correct?"

"There are seven of us, witch," Carver corrected, expression dark. Bea thought to smack him for his insolence; the last thing they needed was that dragon creature turning the flame on them. Pissing off a Witch of the Wilds, myth or no, did not seem like the brightest of ideas.

"...That one," Flemeth pointed to the body of Bethany, "has left this world and that one," she turned towards Wesley and Aveline, eyes on the former, "...is not long for it."

"No!" Aveline cried, turning to look at her husband. He was gray in the face, his veins showing darkly through his skin. His eyes were cloudy now, as if his vision was gone.

"She's right, my love; it's the Taint, I can feel it...in my blood."

"There has to be something we can do. Beatrice, haven't you got healing magic?"

"...The only cure for the Taint is to become a Grey Warden," Cedric offered and frowned when Carver pointed out that they had all died at Ostagar.

"Not all," Flemeth corrected him, "but the ones that remain are far out of your reach."

"Couldn't you-"

"No, Aveline," Wesley hushed her, "...there is nothing but for you to go to Kirkwall. The Maker is calling."

Bea felt sick to her stomach as she moved towards the soldier, standing close. "...Aveline, I..." She did not have the words. Cedric would not do it, not unless asked. Carver would, simply to get it done, the big clout. Beatrice, however, knew somehow that Aveline would not appreciate being pushed into it. It was her choice and hers alone. The redhead turned to look at her mage companion and nodded with a horrified expression, withdrawing her blade.

"...How I love you, Wesley."

"And I you, my darling," he sputtered and coughed a little and, with one last sigh, closed his eyes against the piercing of steel through his heart as Aveline drove the dagger home.

With her jaw set, Aveline stood away from her husband after retrieving his sword. She held it proudly, silent as the grave as she came to stand beside Carver and Beatrice moved to kneel at Bethany's side. Leandra balked as her elder daughter approached.

"You did nothing," the grieving woman hissed as Beatrice reached out to touch the youngest Hawke's cooling cheek. "...You just let her die! How could you?"

"Mother, hush," Cedric spoke, his tone comforting but tired. "It is no one's-"

"My baby is dead, don't tell me to hush!"

"She's right," Beatrice clenched her jaw, vision blurry. She needed to heal that wound and fast, or else she would be no good to anyone. That didn't matter then, though; her little sister was dead, laying in front of her because she hadn't been fast enough. Her brothers had been too far away, it was not their fault. She, however, had been given the opportunity and had failed.

Baby Bethie, she thought, wiping furiously at her eyes with dirty hands, may the Maker take your soul. I hope you have been right all these years about Him, sweet sister.

She began to murmur a piece of Transfigurations 12, the lines that were Bethany's favorite. Flemeth stood by quietly for a time, though eventually she required their attention once more.

As Beatrice stood to speak to the witch again, she withdrew a healing drought from her pack. She decided that would have to be enough for now, as she could not focus enough of herself to conjure the healing magic she required. Her brothers and Aveline seemed, despite everything, no less worse for wear. They would be bruised and but the majority of the blood their wore was not their own.

Flemeth went on to suggest to them that their bury their dead (an oddly eccentric woman she was, though the time given was greatly appreciated) before they would be moved to West Hill and set upon a boat. The end of their deal was, it seemed, simple enough; deliver an amulet to the Keeper of the Dalish clan that would be waiting at the base of Sundermount. Barring any mass amounts of outside interference, their task appeared to be an easy one compared to what Flemeth had already done for them. Carver, entirely too suspicious for his own good, disliked making the deal. Luckily, Cedric deferred to Beatrice and so they found themselves in the cramped hull of a rocking ship that evening.

Chapter Text

And there I saw the Black City,
Its towers forever stain'd,
Its gates forever shut.
Heaven has been filled with silence,
I knew then,
And cross'd my heart with shame.

(Andraste 1:11)

The whole lot of us had been sick for what felt like weeks now, though we were only a few days out. Carver, the poor sod, seemed to be having the worst time of it. Aveline was barely any better off and, unsurprisingly, Mother seemed to be the least affected. That was, perhaps, because she was still quite adamantly mourning our lost Bethany. I wasn't feeling much better about it, though Cedric was trying quite hard to keep me occupied. He knew better than I did how I felt, as was normal for the two of us. Unlike Carver who had constantly plagued Bethany with pranks over the years, Cedric had always been my other half. The four of us were the only twins we had ever known - not that we had much opportunity to get to know many other people, considering the three apostates we had to hide and, if Bethany and Carver were supposed to tell us much, we were definitely doing something wrong. I felt bad for Carver; even though he was mostly a prig, I knew it hurt him to lose Bethany just as much as it hurt the rest of us.

My hand contracted around the amulet that Flemeth had given to us, hidden away in an internal pocket of my innermost shirt. My staff rested across my lap, my right hand resting on it as my left caressed the smooth surface of the stone set into metal, gold I thought. Cedric whittled a small piece of wood to my left and Carver had stalked off again, not wanting us to see him retch.

Aveline was curled up with her head resting on the shield that had once protected her husband, her face plagued with sorrow even in sleep. Mother looked no better as she leaned against the far wall of the ship; she wouldn't have anything to do with Cedric or I, instead talking solely to Carver when he was around. It bothered me at first, but Cedric told me that she would calm down when we reached Kirkwall. She was grieving and she had to blame someone; we were the easy targets. She couldn't very well alienate all three of us or blame herself, because she would likely break. So, my twin and I sat, crowded by strangers and alone in the middle of the Waking Sea. Storms thrashed us back and forth, not helping my stomach. Finally, thankfully, blissfully we approached the port. We had to switch to a smaller ship, one we manned ourselves, to approach Kirkwall in its entirety. The approach was something fearsome and terrible; I thought suddenly of the Black City mentioned in the Chant of Light. It was an awful thing to behold, beyond words.

It took some doing to get to land as none of us were sailors and even more time for us to get our legs properly beneath us again. I was tempted to fall to my knees and kiss the dirty floor in glee. The sun was high and falling before we could find our way towards the city gates.

The man at the gate was not particularly helpful; in fact, it was quite the opposite. I was used to blending in, though Cedric was quite heavy-handed. Not so much as Carver, who would rush headlong into the fray if it meant showing up any of us. Our mabari marked us as Fereldens (and some assumed a level of nobility, though the Maker knew that was not the case) if our obviously ragged appearance didn't alert everyone to the fact that we were refugees.

"How can they treat us like this?" Mother rallied, furious as I had seen her since she accused me of Bethany's death. It looked as if she was turning her grief and anger towards the city guards. I could live with that. "The Amells are nobility! Where is Gamlen? I have to find him!"

"Mother, calm-"

"Beatrice, hold your tongue," she snapped, sending me a wicked glare as she stalked passed the unhelpful guard and up the stairs towards the Gallows.

I stopped dead at her words and frowned; her cold shoulder had been difficult to stomach the last two weeks, but this was almost harder. Carver made a face at me and caught up with Mother, Aveline frowning a little and patting me on the shoulder as she continued forward. Cedric draped his arm over my shoulders and nudged me gently on. "Come along, sister; we have a city to conquer."

I couldn't help myself and laughed a little, though I ducked my head as we passed by a Templar. Cedric, as was his way, offered a broad grin to the blonde Templar woman and her equally fair-haired companion. It was easy enough to be ignored when your brother was quite as dashing as Cedric, or as brash as Carver. The Maker, if He existed, had at least planned that much.

We found our angry mother glaring down the guardsman assigned to the gates from the Gallows – the name itself caused me to shiver, not to mention the high count of Templars that had to be able to sense my powers. I was doing everything I could to keep them as suppressed as possible. I held tighter to my brother, even as he lowered his arm when we came to stand beside our mother, younger brother, and new friend.

The guardsmen turned us away, though not before promising to look for our uncle (who, apparently, was not the Gamlen we thought or so the guard said) which turned into a brawl with some other unhappy refugees. I received quite a bruise, unwilling to expose my magic in the midst of so many Templars, as one of the blighters broke my nose when I moved my staff out to swing. I knew it was broken before Cedric told me, had heard the tell-tale crunch of the the bridge of my nose splintering beneath the skin. My eyes began to water and I swung blindly; I heard Cedric curse and assumed he was ducking out of my way.

"Bea, just move," Carver grumbled, though I cleared my vision and took out a man that was about ready to press a dagger into his kidney.

"Will next time," I responded with a huff, shoving the blunt end of my staff into the stomach of a man behind me to stop him before he started.

The end came quickly, though my hands itched with unspent magic. Cedric understood the need, having seen me keep my abilities at bay a million times throughout our lives. He asked after a merchant that might have a poultice (not that we had the money for more) and stole me away under the guise of medical assistance. The blood that had been flowing freely was now mostly just a thin stream, dripping across my lips. We did search out a merchant, though the one that we found was not the sort that the Templars would approve of.

"You there," Cedric said in a low tone, his arm protectively over my shoulders as he guided me towards the robe-wearing vendor. "...What sort of wares do you carry?"

The hood was pushed back, pale eyes blanking out at us. The man's face was worn, aged and framed in graying dark hair. The cuffs of his robes were singed, but just barely. I nudged my shoulder gently into Cedric and looked directly into the eyes of the man before us. Stepping out from beneath my brother's arm, I moved up to the man. Swiping my hand across my mouth, I stared unblinkingly. "...Sir."

His eyes kept mine locked, hard, and he seemed to be weighing his options. The minutes dragged on and on, with me trying desperately to keep my line of sight as steady as possible. Cedric's hand had moved towards his sword-belt, though he had staid it away from the hilt of his weapon.

Finally, the man nodded. He looked up at Cedric with a straight jaw and my brother frowned. Mother, Carver, and Aveline had stayed back a ways but Dane was right up against my side. In all the time we stood there silent and unblinking, I knew he understood all that had passed.

"This one, I can get in," the old man nodded at me, "but the rest of you...you will have to make your own way. I will bring her to..." his eyes darted about, to make sure that we were as alone as we could be, and finished in hushed tones about a woman in Lowtown that would be able to tell my brother more.

"Let her bring the dog," Cedric finalized. The mage frowned deeply, rubbing his face with a weathered hand. After some time, he nodded curtly. "We can. It will not be easy, but that is the best place for her. Out of sight. You will see each other soon enough. Do not make a big show, child, or else they will grow suspicious."

The 'they' he spoke of was obvious enough. I swallowed and turned to face my family. I approached Cedric and he bent his head to look into my face.

"Brother... I do not have to tell you," I smiled weakly and he returned the gesture, though it did not reach his eyes. I moved to the rest of our party, Dane following me, pressing close. My mother barely looked at me, and Carver scowled. Aveline nodded a little at me and said, "I will watch them, friend." and I was minutely less worried.

My heart was heavy as I turned from my family back to the man that was going to save my life.

It was not an easy thing, disguising myself and Dane so that we might be able to pass into the city until the guise of the mage's mute apprentice. Dane was transfigured by a magic I had never seen; it was the sort of thing that made him appear smaller, more generic and less of the great beast he was. It was slight and only an illusion, but incredible nonetheless. Myself was slightly easier; I kept my head down and my lips closed, my hood up and my staff hidden among his wares. It was slow going, entering the town and traveling to a place called Darktown. The slums reeked of death and urine, sorrow and vomit. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced, even on the run with my family back in Ferelden.

Days after meeting the man in the Gallows courtyard, the flow of blood had long-since ceased from my nose though the bruises had gone from purpley-blue to dark black circles beneath my eyes. My face ached more than I can express, though no more than the still only mostly-healed slice in my abdomen. I was exhausted a million ways to dimanche. I was constantly hungry and thirsty, tired to the bone, but we kept on going. And going.

Finally, miraculously, the merchant and I came upon a rickety, broken door in the middle of the night. Hylon, his name was, my savior. He rapped his knuckles softly on the door of this place with the single lantern, burning dimly in a cubby hole that allowed little to no view into the clinic.

The door was opened, then, and Dane pressed into my leg as I pushed the cart behind Hylon into the dark, dank space.

"Hylon," a voice, light but brusque, was welcoming to the old man. "I see you've found a new companion; too bad it isn't a cat in disguise."

My ears perked a little; he had noticed? It was suddenly that the magic dissipated around Dane; I had seen him as I always had, but now he shook flecks of silver magic from his fur and I knew that he was as he always had been to everyone else as well.

"There's another," Hylon cleared his throat but I could not see the face that belonged to the voice that had greeted him. "Child, come here," he spoke and I stepped gingerly out from behind the cart that I had been pushing around for half a week. I pushed my hood down as I came forward and winced a little as I bowed my head at him. "...You can speak to him, now, child."

He did not call me 'child' in a condescending way, more endearing. He was like a stern grandfather and I would be sorry to see him go. The man before me was tall, like Cedric and Carver, but there the similarities ended. His shoulders looked broad beneath the plumage of his robes and though his body was slender, it was not because of the close-hand training and combat of my brothers. His hair, long enough to be pulled back, was blond in the way that wheat is golden. His eyes were the color of hardened tree sap though with a level of sadness and softness that I could hardly comprehend. My hand drifted up to my nose without thinking and my voice was muffled by it as I introduced myself.

"Beatrice?" he repeated and I nodded a little, "Anders. I've created this clinic to help Ferelden refugees."

"If nothing else, she listens to directions," Hylon looked back to me and offered me the closest thing to a smile I had ever seen on his face.

"I do like women that can take direction," the blond winked at me; despite everything, I felt the faintest bit of blush in my cheeks and a small smile. He looked over me a moment before clearing his throat.

"First things first," Anders said, stepping closer to me. He reached up and touched my hand gingerly, moving it away from my face. "Let me fix this for you and then we can talk, all right?"

I could do little to disagree with him as one of his hands slid behind my head to hold it still gently, the other hand coming up to let fingers and magic stroke gently along the bridge of my nose. I had been expecting to smell dirt and grime, considering his surroundings, but the scent of sandalwood and rosewater greeted my nose after he healed it – the first time I had been able to breath not through my mouth without any kind of pain. I kept on forgetting that it was broken and breathing through it; usually it wasn't too bad, but the smells of Darktown only made it worse. Now, though, it was brilliant.

"I'll be taking my leave, then, Anders," Hylon spoke, turning to his cart to find Anders' order as well as my staff. He handed it back to me but held on a moment, holding my gaze as well. "Watch yourself, child; you are standing on a precipice. It is better to leap than to fall, Beatrice Hawke. Be prepared to jump." His hand moved from my staff to pat me on the shoulder. He broke from me then, nodded at Anders once, and finally drew his cart back out the way he came.

"What was that all about?" Anders asked, coming to stand a little closer to me as he watched Hylon depart. Dane came to stand between the two of us and made sure that Anders knew who should be prepared to jump.

I turned to look at him, fingers moving to touch my nose again though the skin was not tender any longer, and shrugged. "I suppose if I knew now it wouldn't be much fun, would it?"

Chapter Text

And as the black clouds came upon them,
They looked on what pride had wrought,
And despaired.

(Threnodies, 7:10)

It wasn't easy, watching my sister go off with this man that I didn't know. I trusted her acquiescence as more than just self-sacrifice. She and I both knew it was safer this way, but I knew too that she wouldn't give herself up quite so easily with no obvious threat. Unless the man had lied to us and was taking her in for some Templar bounty, which Dane would absolutely not stand for, I decided she would be all right. Besides, as soon as our uncle showed up we would be able to find her again.

I turned back to my family and Aveline, entirely unprepared for the look of seething hatred that my mother was giving me.

Apparently, with Bea gone, I was to receive the brunt of her disapproval. I knew Carver would not be able to take it; I shouldn't have let Bea either, truth be told. I cleared my face of emotion and moved them all along to an out of the way location so that we might wait for Gamlen in peace. My mother said nothing that was not a jab and, eventually, I stopped listening.

"What's it like?"

I started, sitting up a little straighter against the pillar I had been resting against. Aveline, head blocking the moon and armor clinking softly, approached with the words having just left her lips.

"What's that?" I asked, moving over to make room for her. After a moment of scrutinizing my offer, she adjusted her weaponry and took up the spot beside me.

She was beautiful in a strong way; much, I imagine, like a qunari woman. Her hair was probably her most lovely feature, a light red-blonde with gold interwoven throughout. More than all of that, though, she was fierce. She was someone to respect and I knew, even then, that her loyalty was something to be thankful for.

"Being a twin," she finalized, watching me without much anything aside from curiosity. It was nice, and the first time I could recall such a relaxed disposition for some time. The men at Ostagar, looking for a way out; my family, begging to be led; my mother, wanting to know why and poor Bea, asking more with a look than either of us could put into words.

Aveline, though, just wanted a simple – well, comparatively – answer.

"Well...I guess, with Bea and I, it's kind of like...a double-sided coin. We're not the same person, not at all, but...Oh, hold on,"after all that struggling, I remembered. I reached down the front of my armor and tunic, finding a crude gold piece that was worth nothing more than its light weight. There was a hole at the top, through which the two bits of leather were strung. They formed a sort of sling around it, which made it more secure but slightly obscured the pictures. I pulled it up over my head and handed it over to Aveline.

"She – Bea, I mean – had it made for me, as a Satinalia present years ago. It's really the best way to describe us."

One one side of the coin was my profile, my jaw strong and nose prominent. I had possessed considerably less facial hair then (which was good, I can't imagine it would be an easy thing to carve), but my general look was more or less the same.

The other side was the same half of Bea's face, her nose a bit small and her jaw more delicate. Her hair, which she had always kept long, was a river down her back. Despite her best efforts to be unremarkable as to be unseen, she was perhaps more beautiful than she knew.

"You two do look quite a lot alike; Carver and-"

"Bethany took after our mother," I said with a small frown, taking the coin back when she offered it and rubbing it between my fingers, I nervous habit I had picked up almost immediately upon receiving the gift. "Bea and I took after our father. And Carver, well..." I let out a laugh and felt an ache in my heart when Bea's own light voice did not echo mine. It was going to be a long few days. Or weeks.

Aveline, for her part, did smile a bit.

"Mother says he looks like our uncle, though he has the Hawke eyes like the rest of us. But you asked about Bea and I... It's hard to explain, like I said. We're not the same person, but we work together like one. Because we were usually moving, the six of us were all we ever really had. We never knew Father's family; they're somewhere here in Kirkwall, I imagine. He was taken to the Circle when he was a child. Eventually he – Maker, I can't answer a straight question." I laughed again, though this was less light-hearted and more bemused.

"It isn't a problem," Aveline assured me with a tiny smile. "Better a story than silence."

I continued then, telling her of our father's life and our collective childhoods. I told her the story of Bea's discovery of her magic, and then of Bethany's. It was easy to talk to such a willing audience and I found that it grew less difficult to talk as the tale wore on.

"So... I don't really know what it's like not to be Bea's twin. It may be difficult sometimes, with her magic, but I wouldn't give it up for all of the riches in Thedas. Carver, though..."

Aveline took up the mantle of laughter, filling in where Bea would have had she been there. It was certainly not the same, but it helped a little.

"Weren't you at Ostagar?" she asked after a quiet moment and, glancing at Carver, "and your brother as well?"

"Yes we were; you mean, because of how much of a pup I've become since she left?" I laughed, shaking my head; it was true and I knew it. It was difficult for me without Bea around, even if it meant one less pair of eyes asking me a question I couldn't answer. I knew she was strong on her own and I drew from that, even if she did need me. I needed her too, and I knew it.

Aveline shook her head, "I can't imagine calling you a 'pup'. But, no, I meant...well, I guess I meant it must have been hard to leave your sisters and mother behind."

"We couldn't very well bring two apostate mages, though Bea tried to convince us otherwise," I smiled slightly; she had rallied for days but eventually I had led her to see that she would better help me by protecting our mother so that I had one less thing to worry about. Though she wasn't the least bit happy about it, she caved. "I was half-afraid she'd show up out of nowhere when we got there, though; it isn't something I would put passed her."

Eventually, Aveline bid me goodnight and took a few hours of sleep before the sun rose on the Gallows courtyard. I hated the name and the place, furious to think that someone could commit Bea to this monotonous existence. Bethany, as unlike Beatrice as a kitten is to a full-grown mabari, would have most likely flourished if we had let her go to the Circle. Sent her, as Mother and Father had seen it. Father, loathing his time in the Circle, had never thought it could be anything but a prison. Bethany liked regularity, learning, and rules. Perhaps not so rigorous as the ones our father had spoken of, but...

Beatrice was not the sort of mage that would do well in the Circle. Might as well give her the Right of Tranquility right now. I shuddered to think of it, my darling sister completely devoid of that spark that made her who she was. It didn't matter, though; it wouldn't happen and Bethany, Maker bless her, was gone. It was no matter now, not Bethany and not (directly, anyway) the Circle. I had to worry about keeping Bea out of sight and Carver out of trouble.

As sunlight streamed across the pale stones, Carver stirred. He sat up slowly and, after a moment, his eyes focused on me. Immediately, a frown formed. It looked like Carver would prove the more difficult; at least Bea had some sense of propriety.

He grumbled something inaudible and stood up, walking away from our little group. I checked a moment on Mother, who was slowly waking up. Aveline was still sleeping lightly but I decided that leaving them in the sight of the Templars was not an entirely awful idea, not for a few minutes.

Following the path I had seen Carver take, I found him moments later. Coming up behind him, I set my hand on his shoulder. "What troubles you, brother?"

"Oh, stop with your condescending calm," he shook my hand off forcefully, jerking his shoulder to get rid of me. He had always been the brooding, angry sort but this was begin to wear.

"Stop with the massive greatsword up your ass," I responded, knowing full well that this wasn't going to help the situation. "Carver, what in Thedas is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" he echoed bitterly, spinning on me. He was half a hair shorter than I, hardly enough to notice. We were well-matched in other ways, though I had two more years of experience on him and I had always been just a bit more agile. He was between myself and a wall and I put my hand on his shoulder again, closing the space between his back and the stone.

"That's what I said, Carver; you're making this harder than it needs to be. There's too much going on for me to-"

"For you to have to deal with me, right? Well, dear brother, why does it have to be about you?"

I had known losing Bethany hurt, though it was not easy to see with his layers of hatred covering up the pain. In that moment, however, with Carver's back against the wall and my eyes staring directly into his, I saw it. I saw the young, scared child he had been all those years ago before he decided to hate everyone and everything. Without thinking, I used the hand on his shoulder to pull him closer. Our armor sang as it clashed and, though he struggled at first, I held him tightly.

He thrashed against me, trying to pull his weapon but I held his arms fast and though my muscles were growing tired, I didn't let him go. Not even after he stopped fighting me, because when his body went relaxed and his head slumped, I heard it. It was a quiet, angry sound but it was there.

Tears.

"Why Bethany?" he began, continuing to bemoan his lost sister. Then his father. Then his childhood, to magic. We had all had to learn, at a young age, what we could and could not do so that we might protect our sisters and father. He carried on for some time and eventually I let him go. He fell back against the wall, ran his bare hand back through his thick dark hair. He was shaking and pale, his anger deflated to sadness. "What are we going to do, Cedric?" His voice, soft like that, reminded me of Beatrice.

I frowned a little and shrugged, "...Finding a way into the city is first on our list. If what that guard said about Gamlen is true, we'll probably be making our own way. Most important, we have to get Mother in and find Beatrice."

At the mention of our sister, his face darkened. He straightened and it seemed with the anger came the fire; he pushed passed me, heading back towards our mother and Aveline. "...of course, Beatrice. Best we make our way then; wouldn't want to keep her waiting."

I groaned as I saw him stalk to where our mother now stood, Aveline slowly rising. I reached for the coin around my neck and rubbed it between my fingers, frowning deeply. Maker, help me. If a brawl doesn't kill him, I might.

As I followed behind him, I noticed that the sun had been covered in gray clouds, growing ever-dark above our heads.

"Oh, where is Gamlen?" Mother made a face, looking up as rain threatened above us. I looked around the Gallows and felt that chill again, not entirely sure I was prepared for whatever was coming.

Chapter Text

All men are the work of our Maker's Hands,
From the lowest slaves
To the highest kings.
Those who bring harm
Without provocation to the least of His children
Are hated and accursed by the Maker.

(Transfigurations 1:3)

I had never really understood Bethany's affinity for the Chantry; I did understand that Father wanted us to attend, to keep up appearances. It would do us no good to having Sisters or Templars snooping around our house because they hadn't seen us at services. So, we went. All of us. Bethany was the only one, really, that took to it. She seemed earnest in her prayers and was adamant that, though the Chantry may be a little strict sometimes, they were not wrong. Magic was a blessing and a curse, something to be feared and watched but not hated.

Personally, I thought it was a wagon full of crap.

Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.

This is their justification for Templars, for beating mages, for taking away their humanity with the Right of Tranquility. A fear that someday, maybe the mages will need to be taken down a notch. Maybe. Instead of allowing mages to live free, as people, they were locked up in towers, in barracks, in the Gallows and scared to death. They make them slaves to their Maker-given powers, slavery being one of the things that Andraste had fought against. It just didn't make any sense to me, a load of Andraste worshipers that couldn't manage to do the one thing right that mattered the most to their prophetess.

I didn't know what to believe in, but it sure as hell wasn't this Andrastean pile of nug poo.

I frowned a little as a woman stroked the figure of Andraste that hung low around her neck, her dark eyes staring forward at the small boy on the table beneath Anders' hands. He was a brilliant, capable healer; he surpassed me easily, which made this even more beneficial to me. I was able to learn more focus and spells that I had never heard of. I spent most of my time trying to calm down family members, though if Anders was particularly tired or the wounds were easy enough, I would take them on. It was three days after I had arrived, when I was helping that very same boy off of the table, that my wound from the darkspawn reopened for the fourth or fifth time. I cried out, albeit quietly, and offered a wan smile to the boy as I helped him to settle his feet onto the dusty ground.

"Beatrice?" Anders looked up at me and I tried to wave him off as I said goodbye to the devote woman and her healed child. He came up beside me, a hand on my shoulder. He looked tired, but more than that, he looked worried. "What was that about?"

"What?" I frowned, trying to deflect him. For some reason, I hadn't been able to heal it fully enough to keep it from reopening.

"That noise you made; are you all right?" He faced me fully and I was unable to keep eye contact.

"...Yes?" I was lying and I had never been particularly good at it, which I was painfully aware of. He snorted at me, some color returning to his face as he straightened his back.

"Bea, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."

"I've tried, to heal it I mean," I huffed a little, furious with myself that I wasn't able to fully heal a simple dagger wound. It was easy enough, or had been before; I'd helped Carver and Cedric with many cuts and bruises. In fact, that was how we had discovered my 'gift'. "It just won't stay healed."

"Let me see it, then. It's often more difficult to heal yourself than someone else," he offered a smile to me stood back a little, waiting patiently for me to reveal it.

I blushed, suddenly incapable of opening my robes. Without warning, the fact that I had spent more time with this man than any other unrelated male aside from Hylon a few days ebefore - and, truth be told, nearly most any female outside of my mother and Bethany, Maker preserve her - since Hylon had dropped me off struck me and I was dumbfounded. How was I ever going to show this smiling, charming, and disarmingly handsome my stomach? My scarred, possibly bleeding gash? My imperfection?

My mouth gaped a little and Anders watched me with amused patience. "Did you forget where it is, Bea?"

"N-no, sorry," I took a deep breath and tried to quell the heat in my cheeks as I began to undo the front of my robes.

Ander's eyebrows lifted a little as he watched me, "This is a surprise..."

"Oh, hush," I laughed nervously, my chest band exposed before I finally made it to the spot below my ribs that oozed almost black, red with infection. He took a sharp intake of breath and lowered his head, squinting his eyes at it. He was close enough that I could feel his breath on my skin and I shivered, unused to such closeness. It had always been the job of Mother, Cedric, and Carver to keep up social appearances – the few we had to make, that is. Father, Bethany, and I couldn't risk getting too close to regular townsfolk, for fear that someone might grow...interested. It was hard enough to hide our magic, let alone hide it from someone that gave a damn.

"Lay down," he spoke as he straightened his back again, extending his hand to me to lead me over. It was how he treated every patient, I knew. I took it, moving my other hand to hold my robes closed as I moved. It wouldn't do me any good to have them fall open as I walked.

I managed to scoot myself onto the table with minimal pain and laid down; Anders found a pillow, something he normally didn't do for the patients. Probably because they weren't normally lying down long enough, or conscious enough, to notice the minute discomfort. It was a small, blue embroidered pillow that I had noticed him with previously. "Lift your head a moment." He slid it into place and, gingerly, set the sides of my robe away from my ribs so that he could once again inspect the cut.

"It's deep," he stated in a matter-of-fact manner, his warm fingers set to my stomach. They danced around the incision, pressing into the tender skin there. "...And infected. Badly infected. How many times have you tried to heal it?"

"...Five, I think. Right after the battle, twice on the ship, once when I was with Hylon, and once two days ago."

Anders' face was a little grim as he stood back, lifting the hand that had not been on my stomach to stroke his chin.

"Have you had any trouble breathing?" He spoke as he moved away from me, heading to the small, rickety table upon which I had sorted the poultices and herbs. The strongest concoction we had to use to fight infections was a pure bit if glitterdust crushed with elfroot, something not easy to come by in this part of Thedas. I frowned as he reached for it; certainly the refugees would need it more than I would.

"...Only a little." Truth be told, each breath ached. I knew the wound was worse than I let on, but certainly the magic in my blood would heal it well enough eventually.

He turned on me then, with the most serious look on his face that I had seen since meeting him. "Beatrice, you should have told me."

"I didn't want to...bother you. You do so much work-"

"Andraste's knicker weasels, woman, you are thick," he snorted with a grimacing smile. "Yes, what we do here is important, but it wouldn't do anyone any good for you to become bedridden. I doubt that twin of yours would be happy with me if he found you like that."

It was true; though Cedric knew me well enough to know that it would, indeed, be entirely my fault he would still lay the blame on Anders.

He came back to me with the pestle in hand, the ingredients already ground up. We were running low on flasks, so I had left it as it was. Crude, perhaps, but I had little other option. With a frown firmly on his lips, he took the hand not holding the stone bowl and prodded my tender flesh again. I whimpered a little and he shot me a look, shaking his head. "I don't think this is a regular cut; by that, I mean I believe the dagger was probably enchanted."

"A darkspawn did it," I offered, in case he hadn't caught that in the telling of my story previously. The first night I'd stayed with him, he had asked after – more or less – my entire life story. Dawn seemed to come early that next morning, but he listened raptly as I spoke of my family.

Neither of us had much knowledge of darkspawn, though I did remember that Ser Wesley, Aveline's late husband, had contracted the Taint from...well, from being exposed to too much darkspawn blood. How the rest of us had escaped a similar fate, I did not know. "Do you think...Anders, you don't think it's the Taint, do you?"

His face paled but he vehemently shook his head to answer, "No...no, from what you said and what I've seen, I think it would've started showing by now. It's got to be an enchantment."

Oh Maker, how I hoped he was right. He reached two fingers into the bowl and removed some of the paste. Pausing, he looked up at my face, "...This will probably hurt. Quite a lot. Don't bite your tongue, right?"

My eyes widened a little; what in the name of Andraste was he going to do to me?

With that little warning, his fingers moved to the wound again. At first the pain was mild as he worked the goop around the outside of the wound; the closer he got to the center, the more my body burned. By the end, my jaw clenched to avoid screaming and tears squeezing out of my eyes, he was all but probing my insides. My blood felt as though it was on fire, starting at the wound and extending all the way to my fingertips. I wanted to bash his head in for the pain of it; I was half-afraid I would shatter my teeth as I held my mouth tightly closed. I knew then why he warned against biting my tongue; I would have cut it clean off by the end.

I let out my breath in a shaky hiss as his hand moved back, trying to keep the muscles around the wound from contracting to avoid further discomfort. He moved away, telling me to stay put, and cleaned his hands as best he could after putting the pestle back on the table. After a few minutes he returned and bent over me again. Despite the pain that he had forced on me, as he bent to look closely at the incision his breath tickled my bare skin again. I resisted the urge to squirm, feeling entirely too comfortable with him so close to my skin. He stood up again slowly, his hand moving yet again to put pressure on the angry, red flesh that was now slathered in the green-brown substance.

"...You should work for the government, extracting secrets," I ground out, closing my eyes again against the feeling.

"...I'll keep that in mind, next time I hear they're hiring an apostate interrogator," he laughed, pulling his hand back. In no time at all, both of his hands were flush against my skin on either side of my stomach. I could feel the gentle vibration of magic spark at his fingertips, warming me as he drew his palms towards the offending part of my stomach. He worked his hands around and around, seemingly attempting to bring anything that had escaped to the far reaches of my abdomen back to the source. Eventually, he rested a one hand lightly over the other, just barely covering the darkspawn's folly. I opened my eyes then, in time to see him close his own. A blue light radiated from beneath his hands and it was the oddest feeling; my father had not possessed any affinity for healing magic and so the only type I was used to was my own. Anders' was something else entirely. It was like his fingers were moving through my insides, though gently; almost caressing the infection out of me. It's a difficult sensation to explain; it was an intimate thing, and not hardly uncomfortable. Odd, really. Just...odd.

Warmth spread throughout me, taking much the same path as the pain had earlier. I know it was quite some time before he pulled away, though it felt like only seconds. When he stepped back, the exhaustion was evident on his face and I felt terrible for having him do this. I should have been able to figure it out on my own.

"I'll have to look at it again tomorrow, and again the next day. It ought to be better, but it isn't going to heal straightaway and the Maker only knows how deep it is. You let me know if your breathing changes, all right, Bea?"

I couldn't speak for a long moment, the humming of magic thick in my throat and ears. It was more exquisite than a hot bath, something I had been unable to take part in for quite some time. Before my brothers had left for Ostagar, really. (This isn't to say that I hadn't washed up multiple times, but a hot bath was a luxury that I now had no time for.) When I finally opened my eyes again, I made to prop myself up on my elbows. I winced a little and the look he gave me would have wilted a flower.

"Don't-"

"Anders, you can't coddle me; I can't lie here all night, I've got work to do. And you, ser, need sleep."

He looked like he wanted to disagree with me but he lacked the energy and instead moved to help me to my feet. Once there, the roles switched and I led him to one of the slightly more comfortable chairs (not as if there was much of a range). I stood back and began to do up the front of my robe again, turning to face away from him despite myself.

"...Let's hope, after all of this is done, that the next time you undo your robe, it's for a different reason."

The smirk on his face as I turned to look over my shoulder, my cheeks flaming with color, heat, and embarrassment, stopped the tongue lashing I had been about to bestow upon him. Unable to come up with an adequate response, I finished up the last of the fastenings and moved to busy myself at the herb table. The blush did not fade from my cheeks for what seemed like hours, though Anders fell asleep rather quickly and so could not see it when I turned about to help the next refugee that entered our – his – clinic.

Chapter Text

Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.
From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.
Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.
In my arms lies Eternity.

(Andraste 14:11)

Cedric Hawke

I had decided, almost immediately, that Athenril was the better choice. Sure, thievery was not something I generally approved of but she didn't deal in slaves and that was probably the best I could hope for.

Carver, the blighted moron, was obsessed with the idea of being a mercenary. I had no qualms felling darkspawn but I did not relish in the thought of assassinating...well, anyone. I was a soldier, yes, and by choice but still. Being paid for murder did not equate to fighting for my country. Despite what had occurred between us the other night, Carver returned to his mostly disagreeable self when I chose Athenril for us. We needed a way to get into the city because Gamlen had no other option for us, aside from the prospect of indentured servitude. I was only too glad that neither of our sisters were being forced to join us. I did not relish in the idea of Aveline taking part; apparently, neither did she. Making a deal with the guards as we signed our souls over to the elf, we all manged to make it into Lowtown by nightfall.

Aveline took a bed in the room that Mother and Beatrice would eventually share; for now, however, we were her family and, though our living conditions were not much better, we wouldn't allow her to sleep on the streets.

I thought, perhaps, that guard duty would have suited Carver and I better but knew too well that it wouldn't have worked out. Perhaps smuggling wouldn't either, but when (because she inevitably would) Beatrice insisted upon helping, she would not be able to join us in the guard. While she was quite proficient with her staff as a weapon, she was not best suited without her magic. That sort of scrutiny would not serve us well either. No, this slightly illegal endeavor was our best bet. - it would probably work in our favor to have Aveline in the guard anyhow.

We didn't go after Beatrice right away – not only had she managed not to be dragged to the Gallows in the last week, we heard whisperings on the way to Gamlen's of a Darktown clinic for Ferelden refugees. I knew with certainty that was where my twin was.

The next day, after fitful rest in Gamlen's very humble abode. Athenril had a task for us that kept us out for another week. Gamlen managed to send word through some merchant in Lowtown so that Bea would not worry, though I knew that she would be furious when we told her how we had gotten into the city.

Beatrice Hawke

Seven days, painful with the lack of my brother – Cedric, of course – but beautiful with the newness of Anders and more magic than I had practiced in ages, had passed since I had come to the clinic.

As I cleaned up and organized that evening, Anders drew himself up beside me with the most recent refugee on her way out of the door.

"Are you all right?" he asked out of the din of Darktown – as close to silence as we got, really.

I smiled wanly, "My wound has healed quite well, thank you."

"That isn't what I meant, Beatrice," he remarked, moving so that he blocked my path of avoidance. "Working and living together under such circumstances as ours leads to a certain...closeness, even after such a short period of time. As each day draws to a close, you grow ever more grim with no word from your family. Your work is just as good, and increasingly better, but you are incredibly unhappy."

"I'm worried," I responded with a grimace after a long moment, dropping back a little as I relinquished my defensive position. There was no real use in keeping up such appearances. "Cedric was talking about days, now it looks to be weeks. The last I heard of Gamlen, he is not the man my mother was anticipating. I worry what they have had to do to get into the city, if they have made it in at all."

Anders, with an odd look on his face that spoke of mixed feelings and intent, reached a hand out to touch my cheek. There it was again, sandalwood and rosewater. And that...hollow feeling in my chest, like I could never breath enough in all of my life.

"If your twin is anything like you, Beatrice, you don't have anything to worry about." He moved a little closer, just shuffling his feet forward on the dirt floor beneath us. His thumb stroked across my cheekbone and I suppressed a shiver.

I had seen Mother and Father so close and caught the occasional pair inside our barn in Lothering, but I had never been privy to such things. I cannot say what Anders had next planned as th clinic door opened gently to reveal a dirty, young elf bowing his head in our direction. Anders hand dropped as we turned and the elf slowly approached.

"Are you Serrah Hawke?"

"...No, I'm Beatrice," I blinked, confused.

The elf looked at me blankly and Anders, after half a beat, began to laugh. I jumped a little at the sound,turning to look at him incredulously. "What in the Maker's name is so funny?"

"'Serrah' is a title, Beatrice. Ser and Serrah. Not 'Sarah'."

"Blighted Free Marchers," I frowned slightly but stopped, immediately distracted by the elf. "What...what do you have?"

The man stepped closer, holding out a folded piece of worn parchment. I took it immediately, trying desperately not to snatch it rudely from him. I am unsure, nor did I much care, if I succeeded.

Dearest Sister,

We have made it into the city. We are residing in Lowtown with Uncle Gamlen. For now, Aveline is staying with us. She has taken up with the city guard to fund her way. Carver and I...well, that is a story for another time. Do not worry, though, sister. We are safe, as I hope this letter finds you. Mother is still a little down, though I heard her speaking to Gamlen about their parents' will. There may be something to it; Carver said that we should let it be, but when he and I return and are able to find you perhaps the three of us should look a little harder at the goings on of the Amell estate.

I hope that the man you have taken up with is treating you well, Beatrice. I have heard good things about a work such as yours during my brief time in Lowtown; I can only imagine it is, in fact, you that the rumors are about. I am so sorry, sister, that we have not been able to come to you yet. Do not worry, though – all is well and we will see each other again soon.

Une en Âme,
C

To say I was relieved was a minor understatement, despite the fact that I didn't like how he pointedly avoided telling me what, exactly, he and Carver were doing. I had few coins but found two coppers in the bottom of my purse and offered them to the elf. His eyes were wide and he smiled at me. I assumed he had not expected to be paid.

"Thank you...ser?"

The elf's face took up a shocked look but I just smiled at his back as he shook his head, making to leave the clinic.

"Good news I take it?" Anders asked, moving back to the table I had been rearranging earlier.

I nodded, "They've made it in. They're gone for some time for whatever job they've hired onto to get themselves into the city. Cedric said they'll be coming for me as soon as they are able. He said, too, that there is word spreading about the clinic in Lowtown, though only vaguely. He made no mention of magic." I paused and laughed a little, "He also referred to you as the man I've taken up with."

Anders let out a chuckle at that, scratching the back of his head. "Did he now? I wonder what he thinks of me, then."

"Probably that you're some half-crazed old geezer with unmanageable white hair and tattered robes that mutters to himself as he mills about."

He laughed again and feigned a frowned, "Is that what you think of me, then, Bea?"

"The last bit isn't too far off," I responded with joviality, leaning gently into his shoulder as I slid the folded paper into a pocket in my robes. "Though I would say you're a smidgen more pleasing look at."

Color flared in my cheeks as what I had said dawned on me. Was I flirting?

"I am, am I?" he teased and brushed a stray strand of hair back from my shoulder. Was he flirting back?

"Perhaps," I smiled a little, sheepishly, as I realized what was happening between us. "But it might be best if you were actually a white-haired geezer. I don't know if Cedric will be particularly excited about you as you are."

"Why would that be?" Anders asked, smiling a ridiculously charming smile as he lifted his hand to brush away a phantom piece of hair from my face. It rested there a second longer than it would have needed to, but it let it fall to his side again in short order.

"Because my brother, at least my twin, is very protective of me. It is a force of habit, really, from the way we grew up. If my being so solitary wasn't enough to deter someone, he had to intimidate them. Although I never quite understood why it was ever much of a problem."

Anders' light eyebrows lifted towards his hairline and he chuckled at me, shaking his head. "You can't be serious? You're beautiful. Incredibly, naturally - well, perfect."

It was my turn to laugh. "You can't be serious! You must be stir-crazy, or so used to see pox on women's faces that you have forgotten what-"

His hand lifted and his index finger pressed to my lips, making me warm and cold at the same time as the scents that accompanied Anders drifted into my nose. "Don't be ridiculous, Beatrice Hawke. You are beautiful. And I am lucky to spend the time I get with you, even if I am staring at pox more often than your lovely face."

I felt like the breath had been taken from me, but in a pleasant sort of way. His finger left my lips and his hand, gently, touched my cheek before he dropped his hand all over again.

"Do you think you'll come back to visit?"

"What are you talking about?" I smiled at him, feeling a little dizzy but trying desperately to keep up with him. He had shocked me and now I would try to return the favor.

"You mean you'll just disappear?" he frowned and I could tell the idea didn't sit well with him. Considering how familiar we had just been, not to mention how close to naked he had seen me while repeatedly healing my side, it was no real shock.

"Only if you want me to. I rather thought I'd stay on with you. I assume I'll have to actually go home to sleep, but I can't imagine leaving you to all this work by yourself."

Anders' face lit up with the biggest grin I think I had seen up to that point and he moved forward, wrapping me in his gentle arms as he held me close to his chest. I had expected it all to be harder, more solid. But he was warm and soft, but not too soft. Just comfortable.

"I am...so glad, Beatrice. I was afraid there for a moment."

"Afraid of what?" I laughed, pulling back from him slowly and spitting to the side to remove an errant feather from my mouth. "That I'd just completely write you off? I've known you for over a week and we've spoken more than I have ever spoken to someone that wasn't in my immediate family. You are the first friend I have ever had, Anders."

The look he gave me spoke volumes, his smile more than just kind. His hands were on my upper arms as we settled in close to each other after the hug. "Just friend, then?"

"Well, I can't be certain yet, but if we are good friends in a week I can only imagine what next week will bring," I responded, blushing furiously at the suggestion.

Chapter Text

Then the Maker said:
To you, my second-born, I grant this gift:
In your heart shall burn
An unquenchable flame
All-consuming, and never satisfied.
From the Fade I crafted you,
And to the Fade you shall return
Each night in dreams
That you may always remember me.

(Threnodies 5:7)

The words of a verse of Threnodies wandered through my mind, especially the "unquenchable flame, all-consuming, and never satisfied" bit. I had woken up from another inappropriate dream about Anders, only to find him watching me from the chair to my left. My whole body was stiff from sleeping in a chair for two and a half weeks, but I wasn't complaining. I had never had the opportunity to spend so much time with someone that wasn't related to me.

Anders' lips were curved up slightly in a smile as he turned to look at me, a hint of something flashing in his eyes. "Good morning, beautiful."

My cheeks flamed with color and I moved my hands to straighten my hair. Anders had shown me a rather dank and unattractive bathing spot a few days before, but I still didn't feel clean – and certainly not beautiful.

"I…Good morning, Anders," I tried to fight my smile but lost the battle and felt like I was grinning like an idiot.

"I think it's best that we check your wound again," he started, standing. He stretched his limbs, the linen tunic he wore lifting with the effort. I averted my eyes, heat rising in my cheeks again.

"Well, are you going to stand or do I have to pick you up myself?" He teased, hands on his hips. I scrambled to my feet in an effort to avoiding him going through with his suggestion. Not that I would have hated it.

I moved over to the cot with a little prodding from my healer and lifted my own tunic to hold it around my middle.

"Best to take it off," he murmured, that same flash in his eyes. Despite the fact that I was sure there was color from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes, I did as he suggested and scrunched my shirt up to put beneath my head, Anders' pillow on the chair I had been sleeping in.

"Don't lay down quite yet," he spoke, his hands on my shoulders before they slid to my bare stomach. I shivered, but it was not from the draft that came through the broken door.

Anders' face held a charming smile and his thumbs brushed along the scar that the dagger had left. I still felt embarrassed by it, but he insisted that it gave me 'character'. His hands were spread across my stomach, his palms warm against my skin. His eyes left the healed wound and found mine, his hands sliding from beside my scar to my waist. His fingers pressed gently into my back as he pulled me forward a little, the thin fabric of his tunic and my breast-band the only thing separating our chests.

"You can't…see my-"

"…I can see exactly what I want to," he responded, a hand sliding up to the middle of my back as his eyes remained on mine. A small amount of his hair, which had managed to loose itself from its tie, brushed my cheek as he leaned closer to me.

Please, I thought, watching as his eyelids fluttered closed, please let him kiss me.

"What are you doing?" A low voice, depressingly familiar, startled the both of us so much that I jumped and bumped my back against the cot and nearly knocked it over. In the doorway to the clinic stood my twin. A little behind him was my younger brother, beside him Aveline.

"I can tell you what we're not doing," Anders mumbled, reaching for my shirt to offer it to me.

"I would not recommend testing my patience while you stand with my half-naked sister in your arms," Cedric responded, sounding more like Father than ever before.

"Cedric, really," I frowned, dropping the shirt over my head and adjusting it when my head came out the neck hole. "You couldn't knock?"

"I leave you alone for two weeks-"

"-nearly three-" I interjected.

"and you're already fraternizing with the locals?" At this, Cedric's face broke into a grin and he stepped forward, arms out. Rolling my eyes at him, I moved to meet him and accepted his hug. It was wonderful to see him again, even if his timing was abysmal.

After a long moment, I said hello to Aveline. I meant to hug Carver, but the look he gave me would have stopped an Archdemon in its tracks. With what I imagined was a hurt look on my face, I turned and tried to offer a smile to Anders.

"Dear brother, this is Anders. He has been taking care of me-"

"- we can see just how he has been taking care of you-" Carver snorted and both Cedric and I shot him a look to rival the one had had just given me before I continued.

"He healed the wound I got from the darkspawn in Ferelden."

"I thought you said you had healed that?"

"…I was wrong," I offered meekly, smiling up at Cedric. I put a hand on his arm and gently led him in. "He has been teaching me a lot about healing that I didn't know before. Anders, this is Cedric. The one with the stick up his arse is Carver, and that's Aveline."

Aveline nodded in acknowledgement, but Carver looked like he wanted to hit me. Which he probably did, in all honesty. He usually did, or at least he usually looked like that.

"I've heard quite a lot about you," Anders moved closer, offering his hand to Cedric to shake. My twin accepted, looking directly into the man's eyes as they shook hands, and even after their arms fell to their sides.

"I have yet to hear much about you, which I assume Bea will rectify in short order. We've found Uncle Gamlen, Beatrice – but he isn't how Mother remembered him."

"You've gotten her into the city, though; that's what really matters."

"Well, I suppose you'll see for yourself when you come home."

I looked at Cedric for a long moment. "Maybe it would be best-"

"Don't be absurd, Bea," Cedric shook his head, glancing at Anders. "I mean no disrespect to you, but – Beatrice, you belong with us."

I was struck by his words. They were true, of course, but still…

"I'll just take up room," I responded, "it isn't like I can go traipsing about the city with you, now can I? It's probably safer here, out of the way."

"With another apostate, because one loose mage isn't bad enough," Carver snorted. Aveline looked shocked that he would say such a thing, and Anders looked like he wanted to hit him. What he said surprised neither Cedric nor I, although it still stung a little despite my knowledge of my brother's feelings towards me.

"Mother would kill me if I let you stay here," Cedric frowned, running a hand back through hair that was longer than the last time I had seen him. His beard looked a little overgrown too, thick and black on his jaw and cheeks.

"Gamlen will kill us if we bring her back," Carver interjected.

"She can stay," Anders offered, moving just a little closer to me.

Cedric's eyes watched him, as if sizing him up before he stepped forward and stole me into another hug. When he fell back again, he put a hand on Anders' shoulder.

"Mage or no, if you hurt my sister, not even the entire force of all the templars in Kirkwall will stop me from taking your head," his tone was slightly jovial, though the words held more than a hint of truth to them.

Anders nodded at him and put his hand on my brother's opposite shoulder, "I'd rather let them take me than let harm come to her. And I, for one, am not a fan of templars."

They stood like that for a long moment, looking into each other's eyes in a very different way than Anders and I had been earlier. Finally, they separated and Cedric cleared his throat.

"We haven't got much time, I just came to find you. I've drawn a map for you to Gamlen's house; you should visit Mother. And me, of course," he grinned at me and wrapped his arms around me again, lifting me in a tight hug before he handed over the map he had mentioned and then, with a long look at me, finally ducked out.

As the door swung closed, I turned to look at Anders.

He gently took the map from me and placed it on the cot near us before his hands, on top of my shirt this time, took me around the middle and pulled me closer to him.

"Where were we?"