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faux-fires · 1 year

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(not a) drabble a day #6

2 things to say about today’s (not a) drabble a day:

1. I have not slept in 24 hours

2. who’s up for 3,000 words about hawke just being impressed at anders knowing people?! yeah that’s what i THOUGHT.

anyway here’s (TOTALLY NOT A) drabble-a-day #6, prompt “King”, i am going to BED.

The inn was by far the nicest one in all of Kirkwall, and the oldest, to boot. It appeared on the city maps even as far back as when Kirkwall had been Emerius - that bloody jewel in the crown of the Imperial slave trade.

Then, it had been some Magister's summer dwelling; now it was the Golden Spyglass, a respectable inn for very financially respectable people, situated in the prettier Orlesian quarter of Hightown and commanding a stunning view of the sea.

Normally Hawke would just saunter up to the door, smile charmingly at whatever bouncer stood outside, and be waved through once the bouncer clocked his patented "I'm here to cause trouble on purpose" grin. Today's visit required a more... subtle touch, however, which was why he was scoping the place out from across the street, loitering behind a fruit stand while Anders asked the vendor far too many questions about the origins of his pears.

They'd increased the guard, he could see that much. Four on the main door, two on the roof, and probably more around the back and the side. They weren't patrolling, which was a point in his favour; guards stuck for hours at a time on a single entrance were bored, easily distracted guards, and nothing he couldn't handle. The walls were rough stone and easily climbed, particularly with all those pretty wooden trellises installed so close for those lovely perfumed vines to wend their way up. It would be helpful if they knew where the Golden Spyglass their man was staying, but the lovely fluted windows were tinted a warm champagne and impossible to see through.

He was contemplating the old washer-woman disguise trick when Anders nudged him, looking disgruntled, or more disgruntled than usual. "Fifty silver a pear," Anders griped, holding one out for him. "It's an absolute outrage. They're twenty silvers down by the docks, and only slightly squashier." He bit into his and brightened; the juice ran clear down the corners of his mouth, and for a moment Hawke couldn't care less about the swanky inn and its security: it was good to see him happy, even if for just a little. "Thank you for inviting me out, love. I still think we could have gone to the docks."

"Yes," said Hawke, "But for only thirty silvers, you're saving yourself a trip to the docks. Bargain." He crunched his pear, eyes returning, somewhat reluctantly, to the exterior of the Golden Spyglass. The coloured glass lanterns strung from the eaves shivered a little in the late afternoon breeze, fresh and cool from the sea. "Do you think there's a cellar access point in the sewers?"

Anders looked from the pear to the building and back again. "Oh," he said. "Oh, we're breaking and entering? I thought you - never mind." He wiped the juice from the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb, and sighed. "Do you really think this is wise?"

"Got to at least try," Hawke said. "Maybe if Varric and Isabela and I come back tonight, we can get in via the windows -"

His lover's face did something complicated. "Why bother? We had our shot, it didn't work as we hoped..."

"I can't do nothing," said Hawke, quietly. "I can't - I can't look Grace in the eye and say I learned nothing. Helping mages escape means nothing if I have nowhere safe to send them, and I can't - not at least try, Anders." He turned away, sharply, and gave Anders a wan smile. "Things are getting worse in the Gallows, you know that as well as I do. I don't know how many we can save but I can't give them a taste of freedom and leave them to the wolves."

"Oh, Hawke." Anders looked softer, suddenly. Normally Hawke loved it when Anders looked at him like that - all soft and hazy affection, with that warm tilt to the corner of his mouth - but this expression looked a little bittersweet, like they both knew it didn't matter but were going through the motions for lack of other options. "You are a good man, my love. Come on. Hood up, follow me."

"Wha - wait!"

But Anders was already moving, striding confidently across the street to the burly guards, and Hawke had to scramble to keep up. He arrived in time to hear him say, "Tell Gwen the Darktown Healer's here to see her. I'll be waiting around the back door."

The guard eyed him with thuggish suspicion. "Not 'sposed to let anyone 'round the back," he said, his huge ham-hock hands wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword. Anders was taller than him - well, taller than most people, the beanpole - and he was putting those extra inches to good use; his posture was even and relaxed, his chin lifted, casual confidence in every joint. This usually made people anxious, and Thug#1 was clearly no exception. Hawke tried to skulk behind him without looking like he was skulking, but needn't have worried; Anders was in full haughty mode, and drew attention like a vortex spell drew in hapless victims.

"You've got guards posted at the back entrance too, correct?" He didn't wait for them to answer. "So I'll loiter in their line of sight until Gwen fetches me. I'm her healer. Hurry; the guest is likely to be in a lot of discomfort."

Thug#1 cocked his head to one side, taking Anders in from the top of his head to his dirty, bandage-wrapped boots. "You know Gwen?" he sneered.

"Even a cat may look upon a King," Anders replied, with such arrogance it made Hawke almost double-take. "Particularly this cat, right here, standing between the city and something potentially contagious."

"Contagious? Contagious how?" This was Thug#2, who had come to see the commotion.

Anders shrugged. "Could be Mummer's flux," he said. "Possibly Thespian's Bowel. Have either of you noticed a certain... salt smell in the air recently?"

They were literally facing out over the sea, but somehow this fact seemed to have missed the guards, who looked a little queasy. "You'll stay outside 'til Gwen fetches you?"

"On my honour," Anders agreed, the edge of his mouth curving with what Hawke, friend and companion for many years now, knew to be mischief. It was also his number one tell in Wicked Grace.

The back entrance faced a narrow alleyway, lined with slop buckets ready for the pig man to come collect - or any of the feral children who called rat's nest walkways such as this one their home. The guards posted at the back of the grand building squinted at them in mistrust but didn't ask, while Hawke grabbed Anders' shoulder and hissed, "Who's Gwen?"

"Landlady," said Anders. "Love of my life, obviously. We've been carrying on an elaborate affair these past few years under your nose."

"You are not funny -"

"Anders? The guards said you needed to see me about the plague?"

Gwen was a tall, willowy woman with dark hair in a loose braid. Her clothes were clean and well-made, and she had gold sparkling at her ears, throat and sleeves; she also had a surprised, but not distrustful expression on her face. "Is everything alright? Who's your companion?"

"My bodyman," said Anders. He held out his hand and when she returned the gesture automatically, seized her palm in a firm but not unreasonable shake, drawing her away from the lurking guards and dropping his voice. "Hello Gwen, good to see you. How's Ioan? You haven't sent any of the girls around for more poultices, so I hope that's a good sign."

"Oh, he's been right as rain since -" her eyes cut to Hawke, and now Hawke was surprised to see concern in her eyes, and not for herself, "Since you did your special treatment for him. Thank you, by the way. We just couldn't afford the Circle prices after the Qunari..."

She knew Anders was a mage. She knew Anders was a mage and she didn't know if Hawke knew, and she was clearly willing to keep his secret to some extent. For some reason this warmed Hawke's heart. Lately it felt like the mages were the only ones that mattered, and it was dispiriting seeing Anders run himself so ragged to try to save them while Meredith knocked the ground down under him; it pleased him to see someone recognise and appreciate Anders for the gifts he had and the choices he'd made. It reminded him of those Fereldans who'd stepped in outside Lirene's shop, armed and furious ion their need to protect the man Hawke had grown to love. He tried to smile at her, and saw her shoulders relax a little.

"Good," Anders said. "I'm relieved. Gwen, I'm terribly sorry, but I lied to the guards out front. I need to see your special guest, and I was hoping you could help with that."

She flushed. "I'm being paid quite a bit of money to make sure he's undisturbed, Serah. I've already had the Chantry come knocking, and the Templars."

"I know," Anders said. "And I can't offer money or custom the way they can. I'll keep looking after Ioan if you need me to no matter what you say. But, Gwen -" he still had her hand in his, and his eyes were shining with sincerity - "- a good man told me I have to at least try. The tides turn tomorrow and I could lose my chance, and I thought - I hoped... Please."

Gwen searched his face, hesitantly, and then, to Hawke's considerable surprise, nodded. "Alright," she said. "You've never done me any wrong, healer. Just - if you're asked to leave - go. Don't loiter." She drew her hands back and smoothed them down the front of her skirt, anxiously.

Anders nodded. "I swear," he said. "Thank you. You're a good woman, Gwen."

"And you," she said, a little archly, "Are very good at sweet-talking people." She smiled, a wan thin thing, then glanced at Hawke. "Whoever you are, keep an eye on this one. Both of you, follow me."

When she put her hand on the back door, one of the guards leaned over and said, "Not supposed to let anyone inside."

"This is my inn, Sergeant," she said. "This is a healer. One of our other guests needs healing. If you'd like to explain to your man, so that he can explain to my guest why they have to suffer...?"

The other guard shook his head at the first one, who sighed and moved away. "There'd be shouting," he said glumly. "And complainin'."

The second guard snorted agreement and narrowed her eyes at the three of them. "Besides," she said, lazily, "He could take all three of them in a fight. A innkeep, a coat rack and whatever you've got going on?" She gestured vaguely to encompass all of Hawke, who felt this was unnecessarily mean. "He'll be fine. Good luck with your healing. Leave the same way you came in or we'll come find you."

"It is not my intention to be disruptive," said Anders, who was absolutely the most disruptive man Hawke had ever met. He inclined his head stiffly at the guards, still doing his best impersonation of an icicle person - the coatrack remark must have really gotten to him - and slipped through the door Gwen held open for them without a second look. It wasn't until they'd gone around a corner and entered a plushly carpeted hallway that he glanced back over his shoulder and said, wrly, "What have you got going on, Haw - lo - my friend?"

He didn't want Gwen to know he'd brought the Champion of Kirkwall with him, Hawke realised. It felt strange, being the unknown party in an event. He tried to remind himself that this was Anders' space, the parts of the city he moved in without Hawke, because he had six years of history all his own with the city. Hawke knew about the clinic but he'd never know every person Anders had helped, and that was fine. That was normal. Normal couples weren't sewn into each other's pockets. Out loud, because he was a jealous man, he said, "Probably my four foot long -"

"The client you're looking for is staying in the master suite," Gwen interupted. She had stopped by a fork in the hallway, although Hawke couldn't see any particular difference between the branching corridors. The carpeting was thick and looked Orlesian; the walls were decorated with gold-toned wall sconces. This was exactly the kind of place someone like the Champion might stay if he needed to stay in another city. "Go up there, along there, and down there. Fifth door on the left. Remember, Healer, you swore me an oath."

"I did," Anders said smoothly. "I have no intention of ruining you, Gwen. Thank you for all your assistance."

Her jaw tightened. Hawke wondered if Anders had burnt this bridge for good with his request, but somehow doubted it. How much power had Anders amassed, he thought, simply by doing what came naturally to him - healing those who needed it without cost? He couldn't say it was a surprise. He tried not to think of how different his life could have been, if a mage healer had lived in Lothering all those years ago when his father died. He knew for a fact that if it had been Anders, Malcolm would have pulled through, and that was a little shard of agony in his chest every time. Perhaps Gwen's thoughts ran across the same lines, because after a while she simply exhaled heavily through her nose, nodded, and hurried away in down the corridor.

"Up there, along there...?" Hawke nodded his head at the corridor, questioning.

"Don't worry about it," Anders said. "I know where we're going." And he set off first, humming under his breath as he strode down the corridor with purpose. The melody was strange and haunting, frequently off-key, and Hawke found himself trying to trace it. It had certainly never been played at any of the parties they'd attended together... the drunken fiddler at the Hanged Man only had two fingers, so it would have been beyond him... perhaps it was a Circle ditty?

Anders walked on without hesitation. As they got closer to their destination he reached out and began dragging the fingertips of his gloves along the wall, still humming under his breath; when they finally arrived at a beautiful mahogany door, fifth on the left, he stopped and tilted his head quizzically to one side. "Here," he said. He glanced at Hawke, amused. "I hope you know what you're going to say."

"Oh, always," said Hawke, breezily, and then added, "So... how long have you known Gwen?"

Anders glanced at him, copper eyes bright and sparkling warm. "That's your main concern? Now?"

Hawke shrugged. "I didn't know you knew... you know... Hightown people. Or that they knew about you." He could feel his mouth moving, the corners turning down. "Not that there's anything wrong with that! I just - thought I knew you."

"Ah," said Anders. He looked a little discomforted, and then said, "I have... hobbies. Interests. Ones it's not always safe to share, love." He was fidgeting with the cuff of his left sleeve, Hawke realised, his other Wicked Grace tell; working his fingers between the stained green cloth and the bandages wrapped tightly around his bracer. "Even before I knew I was a mage," he said slowly, "I knew I was a healer. I was treating the - animals on our farm by the time I was six."

Hawke didn't miss the careful censorship there; Anders never would say whereabouts in Ferelden he came from. "And the owner of the finest inn in Hightown?"

Anders shrugged. "She's a person," he said. "I've never turned anyone down, Hawke. Laughed at, yes. Especially if it's venereal. But I've never turned anyone down. I'm a healer. There's pride in that." His jaw clenched. "In another world - that's all I'd be."

But not this one, Hawke thought, sadly. Perhaps if they had more time, this could have been enough. A selfless mage healer could be the kind of hero the mages needed, the kind of story they needed to see themselves as worthy of leaving the confines of the Circles, as being safe to go outside and live free lives.

But Meredith Stannard was clearing out the Gallows one made-up crime at a time, and they didn't have the decades - centuries - it would take for Anders' tale to spread even to the other Free Cities. He sighed, and caught Anders' sleeve. "I know," he said. "One day, love."

"And they call me an idealist," Anders said, with a small slant of his mouth.

Hawke shrugged. "You're a good man. A kind man." He paused. "With a large friend network, apparently."

That coaxed a grin from Anders. "Larger than you'd think," he said, and that mischief-tell was back, glaringly bright on his narrow face. He reached up before Hawke could stop him, rapped on the door with his knuckles, and made a "go ahead" gesture with his hand.

"Anders!" Hawke hissed like a goose. His lover's expression was somewhat smug.

"You said you knew what you were going to say," Anders said. His smile was a little bit feral.

Hawke pinched the bridge of his nose. "Obviously," he said. "I was going to knock on the door, and when it opened I'd say -"

The door opened inward, and Hawke's brain stopped. The man on the inside was tall and thickly built, wearing full plate armour, and what beautiful armour it was; gold-coloured, with careful, elaborate scrolling details along all the edges. It was well-cared for and nearly as bright as the sword he had in his hand, shimmering with enchantments, smooth-edged with a hilt that could only be dragonbone. He carried it ready at hip-height, in the stance of a born fighter, and his expression as he looked upon them was alert but otherwise unreadable.

After an awkward moment, Hawke essayed a quick wave. "Hi," he said.

The man's eyes traced the lines of the kaddis smear across his nose, and some of the battle-ready tension left him. He glanced quickly between them, sighed heavily, and lowered his sword. "Hello again," he said. "Looks like you couldn't get enough of me in the Viscount's keep. Not that I'm not pleased to continue the conversation without Meredith Stannard breathing down my neck, obviously, doing that... face she does. Do you think the wind changed on her halfway through? Do you think it could change again?"

"No," said Anders, leaning a shoulder against the door frame, "I think she's always been a tyrant."

The King of Ferelden sheathed his sword absently. "Yeah, some people are. Born that way, I think. You met Commander Tabris, right? Now there was a woman who could chew through tables." He nodded at Anders. "Nice to meet you again, by the way. I wasn't sure at first if it was you in a building or a very small genlock. There's not that many Wardens in the area, and you have a different feeling."

"Ex-Warden," Anders said. "And likewise. Although I'd like to think, incompetent as our city guard are, even they might notice a genlock roaming the streets."

"Ouch," said Alistair, grinning. "A shriek, then?"

"If you like," Anders agreed. His mouth was smiling, but his shoulders were tense. He cleared his throat and jerked his head at Hawke, and said, "I do apologise for the visit. Haw - my lo - the Champion of Kirkwall wished to continue a conversation about Fereldan mages in a place slightly less likely to be crawling with Meredith's eyes and ears."

Alistair blew out a long sigh and leaned back from the doorway. "Might as well come in, then," he said. "I won't even ask how you got passed the guard. I expect you want to talk about the Circle - well, I'll do it, but Kailan'll never forgive me if I don't ask you some questions first, Anders."

"Wait," said Hawke, feeling like he'd missed a step several turns back, and the dance had carried on without him and now he was doing a handstand by the punch bowl with the music coming to a halt, "You also know the King of Ferelden?"

And Anders, halfway into the suite, turned back to him, that damn mischief-tell making his eyes sparkle so brightly they made Hawke smile in kind, and said, "Of course. After all, even a cat -"

" - may look upon a King," Hawke finished for him, grinning despite himself, and for a moment Hawke couldn't care less about the King of Ferelden, watching them with a politely baffled expression.

After all, it was good to see Anders happy, even if for just a little while.

current mood:

(i’m trying to tell myself that’s it’s ok i can’t shut up as long i’m producing something every day. it helps a lil)

#reikah writes recklessly #drabble a day #GOD I AM FAILING SO BAD AT THIS #ugggggh #anders #hawke #handers #dragon age

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