Chapter Text
The apprentice slated for tranquility had gotten away, that was what mattered. That’s what Anders told himself as his face was pressed into the tunnel floor.
His mana was gone, he had been smited so many times that even Justice was only simmering under his skin.
The Templar on his back twisted his arm up, making him hiss in pain. Anders tried to avoid panicking, tried to think of a way out of this. What if they took him to the Gallows? What if they made him tranquil?
Anders struggled harder, causing his captor to chuckle and twist his arm again. This time Anders avoided making any sound, but the sharp pain still stabbed through him.
The Templar then felt a hand up the back of his head, twisting his gauntleted hand in his hair. The man yanked his head back and the smashed it into the ground, breaking a scream out of Anders this time.
Blood gushed from his forehead as he distantly heard another Templar chastise him.
“That’s the Champion’s man, idiot,” the other Templar said. “We can’t kill him, Knight Commander’s orders.”
“Doesn’t mean we can’t have our fun,” came another voice. This man was amused, and his tone sent a chill down Anders’ spine.
“Hold him up,” the man ordered the others. He spoke with authority, making Anders guess he had a higher rank.
Anders was turned around so that two Templars were holding him sitting up, and the commanding man knelt down to leer at him. His eyes were an almost unnatural blue, and Anders tried to meet his gaze without fear.
“My my,” the man said, smiling. “You’re quite the defiant one. Your kind are always my favorites…”
The man reached forward and stroked a hand down Anders’ cheek. Anders tried to pull away unsuccessfully, amusing the man.
“You would break beautifully, if I had the time with you…” the man mused, almost wistful. “Shame we don’t have that time. We do need to be returning you, after all. That doesn’t mean the two of us can’t have any fun, however.”
Before Anders could begin to worry even more, the man slapped a metal coated hand across his face. Anders recoiled but the other Templars held him steady. There was no escape.
The man then grabbed onto Anders’ jaw and dug his fingers in painfully. He produced a vial of pink liquid that Anders immediately recognized as magebane.
“Either drink it, or I cut it into you,” the man told him calmly. Anders chose the latter, refusing to just give in. He chose to struggle while the Templars held him down and pulled away enough of his coat to find a patch of skin and cut. Anders didn’t scream, refused to give them the fucking satisfaction until they actually began to pour the bane over the cut. Then when he did let out an involuntary yell, the of them took that opportunity to pour the rest down his throat anyway. It tasted vile and Anders spluttered as he choked.
The Templars just laughed. Anders could feel the meager amount of mana he had left being drained away, began to feel lightheaded. He had never been poisoned with this much magebane before, didn’t know if it would make him pass out or throw up or even if it would kill him.
No, it wouldn’t kill him because they had just said they needed him alive. But they also said that they would have their “fun” first, so Anders supposed it would probably be better if he did pass out. If he could just close his eyes and wake up in Hawke’s estate, safe.
Unfortunately for Anders, he did not fall unconscious. He tried to will himself away from the things they did to him, from the kicks and punches and the cuts, but no amount of thinking could make them stop hurting. He took solace in the fact that they did say they had to return him...he would see Hawke again, this pain would end. It was only pain, he had lived through pain before and he could live through it again.
They did make him scream and cry, they made him yell in agony, but he knew it would be over soon. He just had to wait. It would be over soon...it would be over soon.
——————————-
Hawke was at his estate in the company of friends, but missing the company of his lover. Anders had some important mission to run for the underground, but he said as soon as it was over he would head back home.
Hawke knew his friends often clashed with Anders, but there was a shared camaraderie there and at least Varric and Isabela were disappointed he wasn’t showing. Hawke also felt like if Anders would stop giving Merrill a hard time they could get along. It was a little hopeless for Fenris, but Hawke could keep hoping anyway.
Everyone was drinking, but Hawke had stayed sober. If he was hosting, he wanted to stay presentable for at least a little while. So he only took small sips and just enjoyed the atmosphere.
Right now he was losing at Wicked Grace to Merrill of all people, who had also stayed sober and had evidently began taking lessons from Isabela. The woman was looking at Merrill with open pride, taking as much joy in Merrill’s victory as she was.
“I hope Blondie doesn’t miss all the fun,” said Varric, who was at least a little drunk. “Your guy needs to lighten up a bit, Hawke.”
“A lot’s been going on,” Hawke responded. “And he’s not all doom and gloom. He can have fun.”
“Oh I’m sure he can when he’s with you,” chimed in Isabela. “In fact, you’d better be making sure you’re pulling your weight there. The man deserves it!” Isabela was also a little drunk.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re insinuating,” laughed Hawke, giving her a sly look.
“She’s saying she hopes you’re good at having sex with him,” said Merrill very seriously. The whole room erupted in laughter. Even Fenris giggled a bit, which was just delightful.
“What did I say that was funny?” Merrill asked with a raised eyebrow. “Is Hawke bad at sex?”
More laughter, which was then cut off abruptly by a loud knock at the door.
Hawke got up, confused. Who in the Maker’s name would be bothering him at this hour? It couldn’t be Anders because he would have just used the cellar entrance.
“Let Bodahn get it,” said Varric, waving a hand. “If they want your attention they should have come at a reasonable hour.”
Hawke considered this. He could hear the pouring rain outside and didn’t like the idea of leaving whoever it was out in that, but he also didn’t really want to talk to some noble begging him for help.
A knock rang out again, this one louder. Hawke heard Bodahn’s footsteps, and figured he would let the dwarf answer it if he was already on the way.
Distantly, he heard the creak of the door opening. Then Bodahn’s frightened voice rang through the halls.
“Master Hawke!”
Hawke was up at once, grabbing his sword on the way in case danger had arrived. Good thing he’d stayed sober, nothing good could have come knocking at this hour.
Hawke’s friends all followed him with equal urgency, sensing the danger too.
At first Hawke was confused, seeing only Bodahn standing in an empty doorway. But then he saw the figure slumped on the steps in the pouring rain.
Hawke approached with an almost cold efficiency, going into his warrior mindset he had to don in battle. That all slipped away in an instant when he saw who the figure was.
Hawke now crashed to his knees in a panic on the steps outside, not caring about the pouring rain as he pulled Anders into his lap.
The man’s head fell backwards revealing his bruised face to Hawke.
“Love?” Hawke asked, the fear he felt pulsing through his veins evident in his voice, as he ran a thumb along Anders’ cheek. What the fuck had happened? Who had done this?
Anders opened his eyes just a fraction, but enough to let Hawke know he was alive. Hawke breathed out a sigh of relief that was short lived because Anders was still beaten bloody. There was a gash across his forehead and his lip was split, there was a dark bruise forming on his cheek.
Hawke also realized his coat wasn’t on properly, instead wrapped loosely around his shoulders. Hawke did not let himself think too hard about all the worst reasons there could be for his clothes to be in disarray.
Under his coat his light tunic had bloody spots seeping through it, but no rips in the material. Again, the worst did not need to have happened, but the fact was that Anders had either redressed himself or been redressed by his attackers. Given the state he was in, probably the latter.
“Someone help me lift him,” Hawke said, talking through the cloud of panic in his head. He had to keep calm long enough to make sure Anders was stable, at least to get him out of the rain.
Aveline reached him first, helping lift Anders into Hawke’s arms. It must have jostled some injury because Anders let out a small whimper that pulled on Hawke’s heartstrings.
“I’m sorry,” Hawke whispered even though he suspected Anders wasn’t aware enough to hear him. “I’m sorry, love.”
Hawke strode into the mansion, both of them soaking wet and tracking water all cross the entrance hall. Hawke didn’t want to go up the stairs before he knew what kind of injuries he could aggravate, so he headed straight to the living room and set Anders down on the sofa. Hawke gingerly brushed a wet strand of hair out of his face, trying to calm his beating heart. He had to stay calm, figure out what was wrong.
“Anders?” Hawke asked again, placing a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t want to do anything first if Anders could tell him what was injured. How to help him.
Brown eyes blinked up at him as a drop of water ran down his bruised cheek.
“Love, what do I need to do?” Hawke asked. He would not panic.
Anders only looked at him blearily, then smiled. Why was he smiling? There wasn’t anything to fucking smile about here.
“They did return me,” he breathed out. “Thought they might have been lying about that one…”
They? Hawke thought, who are “they.” He would have to ask that of Anders later, so he could find out who deserved retribution. Find out who did this to his lover.
“Anders,” Hawke asked again, patting his face. He needed to focus. “What do I do? How do I help you?”
It took a moment for Anders to reply. Hawke waited with bated breath, listening to only the sound of everyone’s silence.
“Dress the wounds,” Anders said, closing his eyes again. “I can’t heal them right now…”
Hawke didn’t have anything for wounds at his mansion. Why the fuck did he not, with the way he lived?
“Someone go to his clinic and get supplies!” Hawke said to the room behind him. He heard footsteps but didn’t stay looking long enough to know who had gone. That wasn’t important.
Anders shivered, then winced when it aggravated some unseen wound.
“Wet clothes… won't be good if I freeze.”
Anders tried to sit up, but quickly recoiled in on himself and fell back.
“Shit,” he muttered through ragged breaths. “Hawke, help me sit.”
“Right,” Hawke said, placing a hand under Anders’ back and another on his shoulder. He pushed him up and kept pushing even when Anders started shaking again.
His eyes blinked slowly, like he was slipping away again.
“No!” Hawke cried, “no, stay with me!”
Anders looked at him as he closed his eyes, slipping back into unconsciousness.
“Shit,” Hawke muttered as he propped Anders’ limp body against some pillows.
“I’ll have to cut his clothes away. Someone go grab one of my house robes.”
Hawke worked quickly, grabbing a knife that Isabela handed him. First he unwrapped the coat from Anders, and his heart sank. Blood had seeped through the clothing in multiple more places, an entire night sky of violence inflicted.
Hawke cut away the clothes quickly and what he found was somehow even worse. Across Anders’ chest were multiple intersecting cuts, done evenly and methodically. This wasn’t a battle, this has been slow torture.
The same cuts were present on his arms, but not his legs. Although by the time he had Anders down to his smallclothes, he had found a deep cut on his thigh. This had been a gouge rather than a slice.
Hawke was even more grateful that he hadn’t left the door unattended, because Anders was bleeding out fast and looked even paler than usual.
In order to preserve his dignity Hawke draped a blanket over his hips as he removed his smallclothes. Dignity wasn’t the most important thing right now, Hawke knew that… but he still wanted that for Anders. His companions were still rushing about gathering supplies and setting them out, all of them pulling their knowledge of healing together to figure out what they would need.
Anders blinked his eyes open, then shuddered.
Hawke brushed a strand of hair from his face, carefully avoiding the bruise.
“H-have you cleaned the wounds?” Anders asked in what was practically a whisper.
“Not yet,” Hawke said.
“Okay… you’ll…want to do that now. The tunnels aren’t the most s-sanitary.”
Anders’ whole body was trembling as he spoke, either from the cold or the pain.
“G-get this o-one first,” Anders managed to say, twitching his thigh weakly.
“Right,” Hawke told him, feeling sick. How messed up was it that Anders had to direct him in the manner of healing himself? Shouldn’t Hawke know this, shouldn’t Anders be able to relax his mind as his body went through trauma?
Hawke vowed to pay more attention to the knowledge Anders shared. This was never going to happen again, not under Hawke’s watch… but if it did, he would be prepared.
Someone handed Hawke a bowl of water and a clean rag, and Hawke set to work cleaning the blood from around the wound. Anders hissed in pain as his body tried to seize up, but held himself still and only twitched weakly.
Hawke ran a hand over his thigh as he cleaned, needing to know he was offering some kind of comfort. It was as much for him as it was for Anders.
“Get alcohol next,” Anders croaked out, his hands tense fists at his side. His face was so pale he looked like a ghost, sweat beading on his forehead.
Hawke dipped the rag in and brought it to the wound, causing Anders to muffle a cry and twitch again. Hawke never wanted to hear that sound again, the sound of Anders trying to hold back pain.
“You can yell if you want,” Hawke whispered as he tried to work quickly. “No one will judge you for it.”
Anders shook his head, jaw tense. “N-not going to give them the f-fucking satisfaction…”
Again, this them was mentioned. Whoever they were, they would be dead by this time tomorrow if Hawke had his way.
Hawke finally finished disinfecting the wound and began to apply bandages. Anders was shaking, hands grasping the couch cushions in a white-knuckled grip.
Hawke placed a hand on Anders’ shoulder, rubbing small circles as he spoke. “Chest next, is that okay?”
Anders nodded, eyes now screwed shut. He took a long breath in, then out.
The second Hawke touched the wet cloth to a wound Anders’ whole body shuddered violently. Hawke wasn’t sure if these wounds hurt worse or if the cumulative pain was just catching up to him.
“Shh, shh,” Hawke muttered, running a hand through his lover’s hair. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”
Hawke tried to steady Anders with a hand to his shoulder as he worked but the shaking and shuddering kept getting worse.
“I’m sorry,” Hawke muttered every time Anders cried out, “I’m sorry.”
The alcohol was worse. Anders reflexively flinched away, once actually screaming.
Hawke flinched away himself when this happened, his frayed nerves slowly unwinding. His own hands shook now, unable to handle the fact that as he was healing him he had to hurt Anders all over again.
Varric brought over a cloth for Anders to bite down on, which he took quickly. Hawke’s hands kept shaking, he could tell this was now going slower than it needed to.
Anders’ shaking body and his unsteady hands were making this bloody impossible.
“S-someone hold me down,” Anders said after taking the cloth away.
Isabela stepped in, leaning over the couch arm to hold his shoulders. Hawke kept going, but the image this was producing to him was too much. Had Anders looked like this then, being held down and hurt? Had… had…
Hawke felt his stomach turn violently, and just managed to avoid throwing up from sheer stress.
“Shit,” he muttered, still turning away. “I can’t… I can’t do this.” Fuck, his head didn’t feel right either.
“We’ll switch,” said Isabela in an authoritative voice she must have used while captain. Hawke nodded numbly, sliding onto the couch behind Anders and propping him against his chest. He could feel how cold Anders was, how fast his heart was beating.
“Steady, Hawke,” said Isabela. Hawke did as he was told and held on tight, grasping Anders’ shoulders as he whispered stupid assurances in his ear. It would be over soon.
It wasn’t over soon. It felt like forever as Isabela disinfected the wounds and Anders couldn’t even contain his cries of agony.
“What did they do to you, sweet thing?” Isabela muttered as she worked. Anders was too out of it to respond, and Hawke just kept holding on tight and trying to keep it together. Hawke had never been good at staying calm when someone was hurt, much less someone for whom he cared so deeply.
Tears slid down Anders’ face as he sobbed into the rag, and all Hawke could do was keep holding him and keep talking.
Finally Isabela was applying bandages, more efficiently than Hawke would have expected of her. Anders continued to cry, but softer now. Hawke held on tight, feeling his own eyes well up.
Who had done this? Who did Hawke have to kill?
When the last bandage was tied off, Anders shuddered in Hawke’s arms and reached up to remove the cloth from his mouth.
“Th-thank you,” he said quietly. “I-I should be a-alright now…”
He didn’t look bloody alright.
“Shh, don’t talk, just rest,” Hawke said.
Anders normally would have came back with some smart remark about nothing ever being able to shut him up, but now he just fell silent. This wasn’t a good sign.
He was still shivering, still cold to the touch and pale.
“I’m going to take you upstairs, okay?” Hawke asked. Anders nodded.
Hawke bundled Anders in the blanket to preserve his modesty and gently lifted him. Even this much caused some amount of pain.
Hawke’s companions were all silent as he ascended the stairs and made his way to the bedroom. It was warmer in here, and safe from prying eyes. Hawke set Anders on the bed, and sat down next to him.
Anders was breathing unevenly as Hawke pulled the covers over him.
“Thank you, love,” Anders said softly. He still looked so pale.
Hawke’s own hands were shaking again, his chest felt almost too tight to breath. His head was flooded with stress like he had just finished a hard fought battle.
Hawke looked over to Anders, about to ask if there was anything he could do for the pain, and saw that the man had fallen asleep.
Hawke tried to let out a breath, but a sob came instead. Shit.
Anders twitched at the noise, and Hawke left quickly with a hand over his face. He shut the door, walked a few paces down the hallway, and sank to his knees and cried.
He released all the pent up stress, all the anger and horror and hurt. He wasn’t even the one who had been brutalized, but it felt like his heart was held in a vice grip by whoever had done this to Anders.
Hawke didn’t notice Fenris approach, but looking up for a moment he saw the man standing silently. How long had he been there, watching Hawke cry?
Hawke took a deep breath, tried to compose himself. He nodded in Fenris’s direction, prompting him to speak. Hawke didn’t trust his own voice right now.
“I am sorry for intruding,” Fenris began. “I know Isabela noticed something strange about the mage’s wounds. They hurt more than they should.”
Hawke couldn’t recall Isabela saying anything like that, but this whole ordeal was a horrible blur.
“It occurred to me that this may be a practice from Tevinter, wherein one pours magebane in the wounds of their enemies. If you are a mage, I am told it increases the pain.”
Another fucking thing done to Anders. As if cutting him wasn’t enough.
“Wh-“ Hawke started, his voice breaking. He took a moment to get it together. “What can I do? Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Apply elfroot to the wounds, after they are somewhat healed. Hopefully the poison will wear off soon and the mage can heal himself the rest of the way.”
Fenris looked like he had something else to say. There was an odd vulnerability about his expression, he looked almost shaken.
“I…” he said. “I know I do not get on with the mage… with Anders. But do let him know I hope he recovers well. I take no pleasure in my allies suffering torture, especially not with Tevinter techniques.”
Right. That must have been hard for Fenris to watch too. He had his own experience with torture and abuse.
“Are the others still here?” Hawke asked, feeling more drained than he had all year.
“Yes. They are waiting to see if you need anything else.”
“Tell them thank you, but… but we should be okay now. I have all the supplies I need, and the worst is behind us.”
A darker thought crossed Hawke’s mind.
“But soon I will need help. When Anders has recovered enough to tell me who did this.”
Fenris seemed to catch his meaning, and nodded grimly. “You will always have my support, Hawke.”