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A Match to Tinder	By : Anesor Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 4095 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age 2, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. Aldera is my character, as are a few new ones.

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The Dragon Age world, plot, and their characters aren't mine but belong to Bioware. I get no money for writing this sequel.
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-- The Dale Lands, Halamshiral
Dera Hawke:
Finding some Gray Wardens for the Dalish sounded like a good plan for the immediate future. I didn't know where, though. I knew Bethany was at some post in the Marches. I didn't ask, and she didn't volunteer.
There had to be something in or near Kirkwall for Wardens to cross my path as often as they had, and as quickly as Bethany had appeared when the Chantry exploded. Anders didn't seem to know anything, but as much as I loved the man, he was rotten at being sneaky... well, usually. He thought “A” was a subtle code name, which nearly made Varric and I bust out laughing when we found the note. We managed to only roll our eyes at each other while my healer tried to look neutral.
I just could not believe that there was not at least something, some house, somewhere in the many streets of Lowtown or even the docks. Kirkwall couldn't only lease warehouse space to slavers, smugglers, and lunatics. Well, maybe some thought wardens were lunatics, but they didn't as much when the darkspawn were flooding the next kingdom over.
Simply, I believed Anders had never been told. Why would they? Why would a mage warden leave Ferelden, with its historical antipathy against Orlais and the Chantry's center? I'd heard rumors of the Warden using not one, but two mages in her group to face the Archdemon. True or not, the fact that it wasn't refuted by the Queen or Chantry in Denerim made it believable. Politicians forgot favors a month later, but unpleasant rumors lasted forever among the common people; so Fereldans might tolerate a mage more than other places. No, I didn't think his friends expected him to hare off for the Free Marches and need to know, and why tell him after he quit?
This still left many places in Ferelden for us to look. Denerim and Amaranthine seemed likely, but there almost had to be another closer to the Deep Roads and Orzammar. Darkspawn also came out of the Korcari Wilds, so at least an outpost should be there. We had some time, so avoiding larger cities sounded good.
These thoughts circled as we walked north to the Imperial Highway. Merrill was looking pleased, she had helped her clan that so desperately needed it. I wondered how many they had lost over the decade they had loitered at Sundermount. When we reached Halamshiral, Merrill was welcomed, making me wonder if she might decide rejoin the Dalish or bring more Dalish lore to the Alienages in the future.
Still, she looked happy to have some of her people appealing to her instead of shunning her. The welcome wasn't extending to us shem, so after a really quick private comment to Merrill to meet tomorrow, Anders and I would leave the Alienage to find shelter for the night.
It was getting late when Anders finished healing; we exited the Alienage to look for an inn. We shouldn't look in the parts of the city where the shops were fine, as mercenaries looking for work couldn't afford a better inn. Many large warehouses were hemming in the elven area, even if there was no wall. They were quiet and dark and we didn't have any materials for torches to light our way. It wasn't too bad for me, but I could see that my mage was squinting. He made his staff-spear glow just a little so he could see, just as we had done out in the mountains.
But this was not as civilized a place, and some Templars down what we'd thought an empty street caught sight of him and shouted.
Before I could try to calm this down with some lies or claiming 'glowing magic weapons,' Justice came out making it very bright in the empty street.
No!
This wasn't Justice, this was violence. This was fury and wrath. One of the Templars had taken a swing at me, even if I was only holding my great sword in shock, but Anders stepped closer and blasted them all off their feet before resuming the slaughter.
It was no contest. They died quickly, but they didn't die fast enough. The spirit was toying with them, using his spear cruelly even as they died.
Sickened, I couldn't watch. Then, looking at the expression on their face, I had to try something. Throwing away the great sword to make sure I wasn't looking at all like a Templar, I stepped carefully closer and put my arms around him.
“Anders, stop!” I wanted to shout at him, to shake him, but I didn't think he was in control. I had to get the spirit's attention, and hope I wouldn't become a target. “Justice! They're dead. They can't hurt any more mages. Calm down.”
“They will not stop! How many ages have they maimed and killed the helpless because they could? Attacked mages for simply existing? I will see them pay.” He wasn't merely shouting; his voice sounded like metal on metal.
Glancing at the dead and dying Templars I kept holding him tight, though I didn't doubt he could easily break my embrace. “They've paid all they could now. It's not justice to attack everyone in sight. Remember Ella.”
I hoped Justice remembered that error, at least enough to stop now.
Anders' face shifted and got less angry. Another shift and Anders' brown eyes looked back at me. He looked scared, too. He paled when he saw the bodies and started apologizing, sounding broken. Wanting to hold him until Justice got bored, I couldn't.
I had to admit to myself that I was getting to be afraid of it. I wasn't quite sure if I was afraid for myself, but I was afraid for others.
And then Justice came out again to say, “I'm sorry, Hawke.”
My jaw dropped. This was so... confusing didn't even begin to cover it.
But with the immediate crisis past, I had to get us away from the bodies before any witnesses arrived. We could talk when we had time and privacy. I could panic then.
His voice ragged with unshed tears as he kept apologizing, Anders had sagged until I supported most of his weight. I needed to say something to give him heart, but I couldn't think of anything for what seemed like forever. Wanting to help him, I was beginning to feel like I was becoming his warder, whose purpose was only to prevent him from going on a rampage.
That left me feeling cold and alone while he sounded broken. For the first time, I was doubting my decision in Lowtown. I could not turn my back on him, but we were falling into that abyss and I had no wings.
The silence had dragged, but I repeated my earlier promise made back in happier times, even if I was more worried about us surviving now. “For the rest of our lives.”
He looked almost pathetically relieved and mustered a quip, which relieved me because his spirit had no sense of humor.
I found Celebrant, and put it on my back again. Mercenaries with dried blood on their armor wouldn't attract any notice, but still dripping armor might be connected to dead Templars in the morning. Find water to wash, and an excuse to be wet in the chilly autumn night. The only one I could think of was claiming some nighttime chamberpot out of an upper floor. I'd save that for the innkeeper and order a bath and extra fuel to dry our equipment.
Calling Paws back, he led us to a basin for wagon teams to get the worst of the blood off Anders before we got to an inn. I could only hope they didn't have as dedicated a watch as Aveline had built.
The inn reminded me of the Hanged Man for cleanliness and its dedicated drinkers. I got propositioned and nearly got distracted from my goal into punching the ass. Much fresh water and extra wood for the fireplace and we could do a little washing with the sliver of soap my coppers bought us. Neither Paws nor Mew were interested in being splashed by our efforts and had taken separate dry corners of the room.
Once we no longer had his leather armor to fuss over, the silence changed again and we looked at each other in the firelight. We had to talk, but I had no idea what to say. He seemed to be at a loss too and his gaze grew abstract, like when Justice was active. I would have to wait, and towed him to sit beside me in the bed. It didn't take long. It never did if they weren't interrupted.
Anders' next comments told me that the confusion wasn't only for Justice, and we just held each other until he began to yawn, enough to make his jaw crack. He'd been tired enough before Justice had appeared.
I thought he needed the sleep and whatever the other problems the spirit brought, I wouldn't have to worry about demons tempting them in his sleep. Putting just clothing on, I armed myself and set Paws to guard him. That should give pause to any casual problems. I helped Anders settle to sleep. He still wanted to make use of our privacy, but I suspected he needed the rest more.
When I returned to the tavern room, there were fewer still up. A worn man in heavy plate was drinking at the far end of the bar, sitting next to the arse and glaring at him when I returned. Taking a stool midway, I ordered their version of the mystery stew and an ale, though I was sparing on the drink.
There wasn't much conversation this late, I heard a few complaints about local people, lovers, and taxes... the usual in any bar. No one rushed in with rumors about dead Templars, and no one seemed very worried about mages in revolt. Maybe that wasn't a surprise, as the closest circles were in Val Royeaux and Ferelden.
When I'd finished eating, I asked the plated drinker, “Any work for mercenaries near here? Maybe somewhere warmer? I survived Ostagar, but the winters are getting colder as my scars age...”
He looked surprised. “Maker bless you. There weren't enough to live. Do you know Her Majesty has offered a reenlistment bonus for any survivors who return?”
I surprised myself for considering it for an instant, it would make a good place to disappear. I shook my head. “No, I have to provide support for my family, and I doubt the bonus would be enough. Have many returned?”
“Some,” he said with a small toast. His voice had the faintest of Orlesian accents, but his armor was worn and had no Templar markings. “I hope to make it to Highever and serve with that Teyrn, he served honorably. More so than too many nobles.”
The drunk lifted his head from the bar and made a rude noise, only to be elbowed by the Orlesian.
I had to snicker at the byplay. “I was last in Gwaren, but I've never been in Highever. The Free Marches are insane now. Thanks for the tip.”
An ale for each of them and I listened for more rumors for a little while. Nothing much, aside for a teasing wench that pulled the Orlesian away. The drunk sat up, laughing and ordered another ale before wandering off with barely a stagger.
No one else was still alert except the server, so I went back to our room with a couple of large bowls of stew: one for our pets and one for my sleeping mage.
He was sprawled over the bed, leaving just enough room for me if I wanted to sleep.
Taking his hand loosely, I called his name.
Looking cute and drowsy, Anders reached up to pull me down for a kiss. He then admitted, “I was half afraid you weren't coming back, love.”
Sitting beside him, I didn't want him worrying like that. “I will always return if I am able. I can't imagine... I won't abandon you, ever. If I were, I promise I would tell you first.”
His was a sigh of relief and he ran a hand along my thigh with a smile.
“You should eat first, Anders.” I moved his bowl over to him. He'd been losing weight as we traveled and I would have suggested staying here a few days if we hadn't already run into trouble.
Sitting up, he asked with his own worry, “Did you eat?”
“A bowl like this and an ale.” My puzzlement must have been evident. “I wasn't that hungry.”
“Your armor is loose now. You aren't eating enough, love, not since...” His guilty face made the end of the sentence obvious.
Annoyed, I tried to divert his attention by pushing the bowl closer.
“Dera.” The way he spoke made my name a scold.
I glared at him, almost wanting to dump the stew on his head.
Ruefully he looked at the stew. “I suppose my armor is too.”
I still glared. “Eat first. Then we talk.”
The food almost disappeared magically, though I took Paws outside after Anders had started eating. Soon enough I returned and we nestled together under the blanket. I was exhausted, but we had to talk.
One topic was easier so I started there. “I'm just not hungry. I'm not a warden that I must...”
Anders said with only tired anger, “No, love. You have to eat. Magic can only do so much if you aren't eating.”
“You haven't been eating enough either. You ate so much at the mansion.”
A flare of light and Anders met my eyes before pulling my hand up to where we both could see it. He looked so sad, but said, “Look at this, love. Your bones are showing too much. Your forearm skin is sagging a bit. I know you aren't ill. I should have seen it before, I've seen it in too many refugees in Darktown...”
Looking at his wrist and arm, I saw the same symptoms that he was pointing out on me. Twisting to hold his in his view, I glared at him, daring him to deny how thin he'd gotten. He started to speak, twice, but then examined the veins and weathering in his long hand in almost surprise.
“Fine, I will eat more, if you will, love.” Cupping my face, he looked a little embarrassed.
Now came the topic we were really trying to ignore. I wanted to ask what happened, but I knew already: Vengeance was outraged by the Templars' immediate attack of what could have been an innocent apostate, unable to defend against their smites. That meant the real question was, “What are we to do now? Killing the odd Templar won't solve anything. Justice must know that any major victory requires time, planning, and allies. Who would trust him, trust us, now?”
“I don't know, Hawke,” Anders admitted sadly before putting his forehead against mine. “I fear it would take a miracle for him to remain in any place where the Chantry and Templars have a strong presence.”
Miracles. I could pray for that. But then came a faint memory of a con man selling miracles to a desperate Lowtown crowd around the time I met Anders. We were desperate enough now that I would gladly pay for what they were selling, not that I could believe it truly was available to buy. “We will have to look for something, along with some wardens to send west.”
I had the beginnings of an idea, from things Anders had said and that tale of the fifth Blight I'd read and forgotten most of.
“Dera?” Anders asked with worry.
I wasn't sure if the idea had any merit, or that his spirit would even tolerate the idea. So I put a finger to his lips and said, “Shh, I'm thinking for a moment.”
With a small sigh, he wrapped himself around me and I finally felt safe.
The memory I'd been fishing for surfaced, and I remembered hearing the bare bones of the tale from several places: that book, Varric's storytelling, and mostly Anders' own off-hand comments after that Coterie operation had been shut down. Andraste's Ashes. The most holy relic in Thedas. I could see so many problems, but if the Arl had been in a poisoned coma for months and then well enough to be a political threat soon after... That was physical harm, but this was Anders and even Justice's own selves and spirits. I almost had to laugh at my phrasing.
That brought up the next problem: should I tell him? Would Justice fight this? I had to assume he would. I'd never kept a secret from Anders, but I had to as long as possible. Definitely we had to keep it secret from outsiders. I needed a substitute idea to cover for my thinking... so. “Don't the wardens deal with Orzammar for lyrium and darkspawn?”
His head jerked back. “Maker, yes. The Warden helped put their king on his throne and went far down into their Deep Roads during the Blight. She had been planning an outpost there when she was reassigned.”
I could hope maybe they knew where she was, or I'd have to rely on Anders' memories of camp stories for this. “Think we might meet her there? Or at least some more wardens to send after those darkspawn.”
“I'm not exactly popular with the wardens.”
“We're not exactly very popular anywhere,” I reminded him with a smirk.
Anders' voice had the faintest of smiles. “Dwarves seem to find me amusing. We should go there.”
I could feel myself relax. This would give me time to consider where to go after that. Would I need to find the Warden, who hadn't really been seen publicly after Amaranthine was lost, or would anyone else know how she found a miracle? I needed to find more of the people who knew her than just Anders, people who would have been there.
At least this gave a chance for finding some wardens, and a prayer of finding the Urn. I so wanted to speak with Anders about this bit of desperation, but despite his promise of whatever I decided earlier, I really didn't trust Vengeance would approve. My gut ached, as Anders needed that comfort of hope.
This was a hope, as slim as it was, that I couldn't give to him, and I felt an invisible wall slam down between us. He... they might figure it out, but I didn't know if a spirit could believe in miracles. It did understand threats to its purpose, but would it see me or the ashes as a threat?
“Should I get a dancer's costume to amuse you, love? I used to threaten Oghren with my spicy shimmy...” Anders spoke into my ear before pulling me closer again with some urgency.
I wanted this, I missed having privacy and a bed. I traced over his chest lightly with my fingertips, brushing sensitive spots of old scars. My toes curled from his kisses but when he started to nibble on my earring, I couldn't help feeling like I was reaching through a fog when I touched him. I needed to hold Anders and help him feel better; I wanted to feel safe in his arms. But I could not trust Vengeance as much, and I didn't want Anders to feel alone.
I was surprised when I yawned so that my jaw cracked... and I was almost glad at the distraction.
Pulling back again, Anders' voice was ironic though I could hear his smirk. “Our first night in a real bed for months, and we can't enjoy it?”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, trying to clench my jaw so I wouldn't yawn at him.
“Being boring isn't all bad,” he teased. “You should sleep, love. We'll have other chances.”
With one more gentle kiss, he pulled me close again and ran his fingers over my hair until I slept. It didn't take long at all as we snuggled close.
In the morning, his armor had dried beside the fire, and we bought food in the market, before seeking the road going east. When we got to the edge of the town I asked Paws to see if he could scent Merrill. He wasn't really trained for it, but he was far brighter than the usual dog.
My mabari gave one of his happy barks and led us east, where we found Merrill gazing towards the hills that made the Imperial Highway zig-zag like a drunken sailor. I wondered why they did here as we walked in the brisk morning breeze.
Once we were further away from Halamshiral and no one else was in eyesight, talk of weather and road conditions ended. I said, “We were talking last night, and we think there may be a warden or warden outpost at Orzammar. They would know what to do about those tunnels.”
Merrill's relieved smile was brighter than the daylight.
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A/N: The chapter title is taken from a quote by Helen Keller, on doubt and love. Thanks to my beta readers who have been kind enough to read this and point out stupid flubs. Any typos that remain are not intentional... Reviews or a PM to let me know what you think would be very appreciated.
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A Match to Tinder