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Blackpowder Dominance	By : TropicalFool Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 2888 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Dragon Age & all characters are owned by BioWare & EA, not me. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
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[Not for anyone under 18, and very possibly not for a lot of you old folks, so you've been warned. DA2 spoilers, sorta… it's not a terribly serious story, although it is fairly dark.]
Fenris shook off the enclosing arm and squirmed to the other side of the blanket, snagging the bottle on his way. As he gulped, Anders protested, "Wait! I don't have magic left to make more, that needs to last us the rest of the night." Defiantly, the elf kept drinking until he could take in no more, then sat the sadly depleted bottle beside him and away form the mage.
"Bring your own wine next time," he grunted.
Anders smiled and nodded. He was actually beginning to like this sour elf. But enough of pleasure, the next several hours would see his purpose in luring Fenris here satisfied.
"So, where were we?" he began. I think you were explaining the fine points of declension if memory serves," and his memory always served. It was one of the few advantages of being raised in the Circle. He had a good memory as a child, but the intense training over many years had made it near eidetic.
The elf spat Qunari words at him rapidly, and the mage pulled back in faux horror. "My mother did no such thing!" he shot back.
Fenris nodded, saying, "Yes, if you got that, you are doing well. The syntax was rather convoluted, even for a Qunari. There is not much more I can teach you, unless you wish to move to philosophical discussion of the Qun."
It was as Anders suspected, he'd reached the limits of the elf's knowledge, at least his knowledge of the language. Considering, he replied, "Yes, a philosophical discussion, entirely in Qunari, may be exactly what I need tonight."
At first, Fenris had questioned why the mage wanted to learn the language of the giants from the north, but Anders had firmly refused to answer his questions and finally threatened to renege on their agreement altogether if the questioning continued. Since this was something Fenris could not risk, he simply dropped his queries, but continued to wonder.
At least the mage was a good student, quiet and dedicated, only asking thoughtful and intelligent questions. If he had been asked to tutor a dullard, he wasn't sure even his own burning need could have made him see it through.
The light was growing ever dimmer, so he struck flint to steel and lit their one candle. Their discussions continued deep into the night. Around midnight, his powers partially restored, Anders replenished the wine and provided a small round of creamy cheese. The alcohol and the intricate discussion both mellowed and tired the elf. Towards morning he fell asleep nestled against Anders' leg and looking very much like a small child after an exciting and exhausting day.
Hawke wouldn't be pleased when they both missed the late morning briefing at the Hanged Man, but Anders was beyond caring about the trivial jobs the group had been accepting lately. The coin was good for supporting his clinic, but beyond that, looking for lost puppies and maintaining Hawke's business interests was hardly satisfying. Let him wonder. It would also be amusing to listen to the others speculate about whether he and Fenris were together or not. The elf, of course, would emphatically deny any connection. Anders would simply smile enigmatically. He lay back and closed his eyes, lazing in the warmth of the early morning light flooding the small room.
When he awoke a few hours later, Fenris was gone. He'd left the blankets, but taken the rest of his supplies. As Anders folded the worn grey wool, he wished something identifiable had been left instead. It would be delicious to have something that clearly belonged to Fenris that he could leave casually lying around the clinic.
Thinking of the clinic, he decided to check in there before venturing to the docks. He could find an urchin to carry a message to Hawke. Although he didn't mind pissing the man off, the job was the best he was likely to get, apostates not being in great demand. Keeping a fine balance between an independent stance and not actually getting fired was called for, especially since his association with the warrior band provided some small degree of protection.
He threw the folded blankets over a shoulder and sauntered out into the dimly lit alley. For most, Darktown was the most dangerous part of the city, but for the mage it was the safest. Here he was revered for the good that he'd done in healing the many diseases and injuries that plagued the poor inhabitants of the slum. Threaten Anders anywhere in Darktown and a mob of howling denizens would descend upon you, rusty knives at the ready.
As he turned the last corner before the clinic, a hand shot out and pulled him by the shoulder into a small cul-de-sac. Before he could cry out, another hand was placed firmly over his mouth and a whispered command of "Quiet, damn you!" blown directly into his ear. As he was released, he turned and smiled to see Fenris standing there, shifting his feet nervously.
"My blankets!" he demanded, "And I need to know when we are meeting again."
Anders shrugged off his burden and handed them to the elf, saying, "I'm not sure when we'll get together again. I'll let you know."
"No!" The reply was immediate and emphatic, accompanied by Fenris face thrust into his, his expression desperately dangerous. "No! I must know. I must have a date, a time!" He was pacing now, two steps one way, two steps back, in the confined space. It was amazing to Anders the he could stomp, even in bare feet. "You know what this means to me, how I get if I don't have… don't have what you can give me. Choose a time, any time, I'll be there, but just let me know… please."
There was a long pause before the last word, emphasizing how difficult it was for the elf to say. Anders raised his shoulders and let them fall back. "No, sorry, I haven't decided. When I do, I'll let you know, I promise." He started to walk away, not surprised when two strong hands clasped his neck firmly. Reaching up to pry them off, we said calmly, "I wouldn't do that down here. You see those glints over there? They are not cat eyes. You're being watched, and you may be powerful, but they have the numbers." He threw the elf's hands down and stalked off to the clinic, chuckling softly to himself.
As he walked through the door, he could hear Fenris swearing in Tevinter and slapping at the unoffending walls. There were only a few patients waiting, one, conveniently, with an eager boy all too ready to take a message to the notorious Hanged Man tavern. If his mother had not been so sick, she might have objected, so Anders scribbled his note quickly and sent it on its way before treating her. He then saw to the others, mixing up an herbal poultice for one wall-eyed young man with a horrifying boil.
When he was done, he washed carefully, all over, then took extra time with his hair, carefully slicking back the unruly mop with a pomade of rosemary oil and beeswax. He scented his body with some freshly ground thyme and lemon peel, then dressed in his best robe, leaving off the leggings. A small bit of discomfort just might pay big rewards tonight.
The meeting has been arranged for some weeks. When he set it up, he wasn't sure that he would be completely ready, but thanks to Fenris' careful tutelage, he was now feeling quite confident.
The sun was easing itself over the tops of the highest roofs on its journey to the sea and the merchants were beginning to pack up their wares as he emerged in Lowtown. He stopped at a shop that sold a surprisingly high grade and potent rum, buying two bottles of the very darkest. He'd brought fresh mint to flavor the beverage. Just one more stop.
The weapons master was down a narrow street and up three flights of stairs. If you didn't know where it was, you were not worthy of the treasures contained within. Anders had ordered the double bladed axe months before, and many arguments had ensued about its design, but tonight it would be ready.
Taller than a man, the weapon truly was a master's work. It was not something the mage could have afforded in coin. He had saved the smith's daughter when the healers of the Chantry had told the man that there was no hope. Now the debt would be cleared.
Anders stood back and looked at the weapon, the fine insets of bronze, the inscribed runes, and realized that it was all too much. It was a gift fit for royalty, but he did not warrant the giving such a gift. He made an elegant excuse to the craftsman, suggesting that for now the splendid axe stay in the shop as sample of his finest work.
It seemed that a great burden, just about a six and a half foot long axe sized burden, had been lifted and Anders whistled as he strolled towards the docks. When he could hear the gulls overhead, he inhaled deeply through his long nose to catch the salty scent. He loved the sea and this area that was the transition between water and land. It seemed to the mage that much magic went on in the foundries and warehouses that lined the broad streets. He could not help speculating about the contents on each as he passed by. Did that one contain fine spices from Antiva? Perhaps the other there housed silks from Orlais?
Approaching the Qunari compound, he nodded to the guard who waved him in. He had established his value to the enclave early on, relieved to find that Qunari healed the same as any other creature and that his magics and herbs were effective. At that time he was only preparing the way for what might be a useful alliance; it was not until he overhead a discussion of gaatlok, that powerful explosive, that he formed his plan.
He had arranged a silent partnership with Javaris Tintop, a particularly unscrupulous member of the dwarven race, to try to buy some of the powder. He didn't need much—he was sure he would be able to analyze and reproduce it given a small sample. Unfortunately, the Qunari had proved obdurate and the deal had never taken place.
Frustrated in that first attempt, he'd found that the gaatlok was under direct control of the Arishok, leader of the exiled giants. It seemed that they kept only a small amount, but that it was not difficult to formulate. The powder or the recipe, either would suit.
He was amused, after several visits to the compound, to find the Arishok a man like any other, despite his fearsome horned appearance. When he had established trust by healing several of the lesser warriors, he was pulled aside. With a harsh word, those waiting for the healer were scattered as the Arishok explained his own, and very personal, malady.
As the mage worked, taking somewhat more time that was strictly necessary, they discussed the Qun and its effect on its followers' personal lives. Anders was surprised to find that the strict philosophy forthrightly encouraged pleasure. Not, perhaps, the wanton activities to be found out in the dockside taverns, but neither the body nor mind were neglected by the complex doctrine.
However, in foreign lands where hygiene was not adhered to and health practices at best hit and miss, the explorations permitted by the dogma had given the Arishok and uncomfortable and embarrassing itch. Seeing the Qunari on the streets before he had approached them about plying his craft, Anders had wondered if the beautifully proportioned warriors were, well, beautifully proportioned throughout. He had been pleased and more that a little titillated to find it so.
Even after he was healed, the Arishok and the mage continued their conversations, but it was difficult for the Qunari to translate the concepts into the common tongue. It was that, and his continuing lust for the explosive powder, that had initiated the language lessons with Fenris. That he had found the perfect lever to make the elf cooperate had been sheer luck.
He had spent many weeks on the project, both learning the language and paying regular visits to the Arishok, bringing small gifts and potent liquors. A few times he had mentioned gaatlok indirectly, gauging what might inspire his huge friend to part with a sample or the formula. The Arishok had casually deflected his inquiries, again claiming the language barrier as an excuse.
Although he had been studying with Fenris for many weeks, he had not allowed the Arishok to know of his building facility in the Qunari tongue. Keeping the secret had allowed some delicious eavesdropping, and he wanted the revelation of his accomplishment to be a private gift.
Fortunately there were no patients awaiting him in the compound. Overall the Qunari were a healthy lot and once he had cleared up the initial accumulation of complaints large and small there had been little enough for him to do here.
He was escorted to the Arishok's personal quarters; luxurious by any standards and very private. As the door closed, he turned the latch. The Quanari leader was sitting on a stool by a low window looking out at the city. This was often the pose Anders found him in—contemplating the sins and disorder of Kirkwall.
Quietly, the mage said in his new tongue, "Pleased I find myself to see thee, friend, trusting that thine health is robust and thy desires fulfilled." It was a formal greeting, but one only used between intimates. The levels of personal and public address had been the most difficult aspect of the language to master.
Starting at the familiar words spoken by that equally familiar voice, the Arishok slowly rose and walked to the mage, embracing him fondly, saying in his people's tongue, "So, hast thou seen the light of the Qun?"
Laughing softly, the mage replied, "The virtuous Qun doth stand beyond my humble reach, but I would see the light of a Qunari." It was a declaration of affection… of an intimate nature, and Anders held his breath waiting for the reply.
The Arishok gently pushed him out so that he could look down into those sandy human eyes and replied, "Long have I wished for the light of the Qunari to find you, my friend."
Risking all, the mage reached up and touched first one gold encased ear, then the other, then the center of the forehead between the horns. It was invitation and submission in a formalized ritual and the meaning could not be mistaken. In the next few seconds, he would either further his plan or be banished from the compound if he were lucky, slain if not.
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Blackpowder Dominance