Dawn of the Magic Age (UPDATE INCLUDES COMMISSIONED ART!)
Title: Dawn of the Magic Age
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: MaleRogueHawke/Anders, Carver/Merrill, Sebastian+???, the rest of Hawke’s party later
Genre: Drama, Adventure, Romance
Status: Ongoing
Current Word Count: 109,991
Summary: Hawke, Carver and Sebastian take wholly separate paths following the rebellion in Kirkwall. The politics and energies of Thedas begin changing as Hawke’s crew finds itself in the middle of a morally-difficult holy war, fighting for the same side but not at all united. Relationships and faith are put to the ultimate test as a few destined leaders are forced to shoulder more responsibility than they feel they can handle.
Rated M for violence, sex and crushingly realistic emotional ups and downs.
Part One
Prologue: Choices
Chapter 1: Threads
Chapter 2: Understanding
Chapter 3: Trust
Chapter 4: Risk
Chapter 5 Part A: Passage
Chapter 5 Part B: Capture
Chapter 6: Cornered
Chapter 7: Revelation
Chapter 8: Admission
Chapter 9: Amalgam
Part Two
Chapter 10: Chosen
Chapter 11: Alliance
Chapter 12: Gather
Chapter 13: Journey
Chapter 14: Horizon
Chapter 15: Expectations
Chapter 16 Part A: Vows
Chapter 16 Part B: Blind
Part Three
Chapter 17: Roles
Chapter 18: Define
Chapter 19: Icon
Note: I have a SIX person Dragon Age group that I am making all the costumes for and the craftsmanship judging is on July 13th. After this chapter I will not be updating again until after the convention is over, so alas I will be on hiatus until around the 20th of July. You can follow me over at vernacular-manslaughter on tumblr if you wanna watch me slowly die inside because OMG why did I decide this was a good idea?
And here, have a picture of Sebastian and Andraste's wedding thanks to the lovely work of skillethelm on tumblr
***Imperial Highway/Minanter River Crossing, Nevarra***
Hawke didn't think anyone could have been more angry about what he did than Anders was, but then he told Andraste and watched as the offense and rage she felt coursed through her muscles, manifesting as a myriad of violent urges. Her arms pulled back for a moment as if she were going to shove him clear through the wall, but her hands were balled into tight fists and eventually came to rest somewhere near his neck, like she wanted nothing more than to choke the life out of him right then and there.
Anders tried everything to find Justice's consciousness again, even clutching a ring of pure lyrium which he claimed could “sing” to the spirit, but it didn't work. Andraste confirmed that Justice's power and presence in a human host would in fact be bound by such a deal, leaving them no feasible way of getting him back. The spirit could more than likely see and hear what was going on, but was contractually obligated not to intervene.
“He's trapped,” Anders realized. The distant, frightful tone in his voice made it obvious that he was already dreading his turn to be locked up like a prisoner in his own consciousness.
And yet, amongst the feelings of betrayal and frustration, there was a gratefulness Anders couldn't hide; not from Hawke. There was also a long-forgotten serenity permeating Anders' entire demeanor, and strangely he seemed less empty now that he was the only one home, so to speak.
The ordeal had also forced Hawke to realize two things. One, he wasn't afraid of Anders anymore, and two, 'anymore' meant he really had just been lying to himself the whole time.
Yelling about the complexity of the situation while still on-board the ship wasn't going to change or accomplish anything, so the three of them agreed to keep the information to themselves and address it upon their return to Starkhaven. They gathered the others and began the slow trek along the coast with Andraste in the lead and setting the pace. It was awkward to walk so slowly when he knew he had the strength and energy to go much faster, but Hawke knew it was something he had to get used to. Rushing, he had been told, was for the poor and the underprivileged.
As they walked, Hawke used the top of Andraste's staff to maintain the correct pace. It was forged from two steel rods that grew in width as they twisted their way up to the red gem at the top, held in place by what looked like the mouths of serpents.
“Do all of you have at least a basic understanding of horseback riding?” Andraste asked as the outpost began to come into view.
“I take it you aren't addressing your new slaves,” Fenris said. “Unless you've forgotten that bit of cultural custom.”
“Cultural custom?” Hawke asked, grateful for any topic of conversation that didn't involve him.
“Slaves walk,” Orana stated. “Beside their masters' horses. If celerity is of the utmost importance, magisters will uses carriages and allow their slaves to ride the horses, but that is rare.”
“And we have neither a carriage nor the time required to have any member of our party on foot,” Andraste pointed out, “So we all have to travel on horseback.”
“You'll ruin your cover the moment someone sees you,” Fenris argued.
“And it will take three or four times as long if we do it your way. How long do you plan to make Donnic wait to see his wife breathe again or know his son is safe?”
Fenris stopped walking, and while most of the group stopped as well Andraste made a show of continuing forward. She didn't halt until she heard Fenris mutter “Venhedis.”
“Excuse me?” she asked, turning only her head.
Hawke stepped aside and allowed Fenris to pass, confident that the elf could only see Andraste and would walk over anything between him and the target of his rage. “What right do you have to use my desire to help my friends as some tool to manipulate me into supporting your terrible decisions? I may not have much time left where I can speak against you, so I will tell you this now. You are a selfish woman, who cares nothing for the people she has to trample in order to accomplish her goals. You know nothing about me or any of us. You do not even know your own husband, a man who has been a greater friend to me than I deserve.”
“Then why did you not let go?” Andraste asked in a hush so quiet Hawke almost didn't catch it. “Why did you not drop me into the ocean and free your friends from my 'selfish' plans?”
“Because Sebastian has been nothing but kind to me since the moment I met him, something you would see changed so he can go to war against everything he's ever believed in and everything that has ever shaped him as a person.”
Andraste crossed her arms and laughed a terse, derisive laugh unique to only her, and Hawke had to admit he hated the sound. “That is your answer?” she asked. “You did not kill me because you believe I am corrupting your friend?”
“I may hate you,” Fenris admitted, “but I owe Sebastian too much to just let the woman he loves die, no matter how I feel about her.”
“Sebastian does not-” Andraste tried to rebut, but Hawke could tell Fenris had already planned on her denial.
“He has loved you since before you stepped back into this world,” the elf stated. “All the good that he believes exists, both in himself and in others, is tied to your name. I may not agree with the purpose you have given him, but I acknowledge that he has one now. I wasn't willing to see him die with you, which he inevitably would have if I had let you go.”
Andraste clenched her teeth together and huffed an exasperated sigh through her nose, but otherwise didn't respond as she continued to walk again.
After spending days acclimating to the wealth that practically blanketed all of Starkhaven, Hawke found the site of Andraste walking into the crowd of travelers to be jarring. Her clothes were so expensive, made of heavy material and embroidered with gold accents, that she looked like art that had come to life in contrast to the dirt roads and weather-worn shops that surrounded her.
People were coming out to stare both at Andraste and at Anders. The merchants who had come in to barter, buy and sell were usually dressed well, but nowhere near as well as the two pretend magisters who had taken their place at the head of the group. Anders stared back nervously at first, but when he realized Andraste wasn't paying them any mind he tried to correct his behavior to better match hers.
Another awkward habit Hawke needed to get used to was his “place” in their group, both physically and socially. While he had been the one to defeat the Arishok in single combat and lead the mages in their fight against the Templars, he was still no mage. There were people of importance in the Imperium who weren't born with magic, but where they started and where they were allowed to go in regards to Tevinter culture were both much lower than the options afforded to mages. It put him in an awkward middle area; his social limbo between the magisters and the slaves reflected in his lonely spot at the center of their convoy.
Behind him Isabela was standing between Orana and Fenris, trying her best to avoid eye contact with anyone. The outpost was located at the north side of the Imperial Highway bridge, and she had expressed concern about being recognized. In Tevinter, having a former Pirate Queen as a slave was an accomplishment, but if she was recognized before then she ran the risk of former allies believing she needed rescuing and former enemies wanting her for themselves. Hawke was rather confident that she was fine, however. Even without her new clothes, something about her head being bowed and her shoulders being slumped made Isabela look like a complete stranger to him.
When they reached the stables Andraste wandered in unannounced, and while the horse trader was within view, she didn't speak up or approach him. Instead she began touching and inspecting the horses, feeling their ribs and the state of their manes. Hawke could see that the trader was approaching to ask what she was doing, and just as he opened his mouth Andraste said to seemingly no one “Dar umo pecuniam.”
Hawke didn't understand what Andraste said, but he thought, at first, that the trader did. The man stopped short at the command, but after that he eyed them curiously and waited to see how the rest of them reacted, giving Hawke the impression that the man was reacting to simple use of the language and not the words. Between her demeanor, her language and her staff, Andraste had told the old man everything he needed to know about her.
Orana came up from behind them all and slid a coin purse into Andraste hands, demonstrating yet again how she could serve her mistress without even seeming to exist.
Purse in hand, Andraste finally turned to the trader and threw him the money. “That is more than plenty for the three we will be taking. Have them brushed and equipped immediatly.”
“Three?” Fenris asked without thinking. Before the trader could fearfully excuse himself Andraste spun around and backhanded Fenris across the face, causing everyone to jump back. Hawke fought hard to quell his desire to defend his friend, but he knew that Fenris could handle any actual danger.
“Yes three,” Andraste stated. “You think you get a horse? From here on out you need to remember your place.”
Hawke kept his expression stoic as Fenris seemed to debate the hidden meaning in her words. She stared into his eyes, softening her guarded expression for a moment and gave a subtle nod while the old stable owner remained frozen in place behind her.
“Yes mistress,” Fenris conceded. “My apologies.” He gave her one last pointed look before he returned to his place behind Hawke and awaited his next command.
The trader called for his workers to get Andraste's tasks completed, but before they left to buy food and supplies Hawke took a moment check on Anders. He found the mage standing off to the side, staring at his hands as if waiting for them to attack of their own free will, and when they didn't Hawke was almost convinced they actually had a chance at pulling their suicide mission off.
***Starkhaven Castle, Carver and Merrill's room***
She was usually back by then. The candles were burning their way down, their limited light reflecting off the empty glass bottles that littered the floor around him. He started his ordeal at the small table where they usually ate their breakfast, but Carver didn't feel right doing what he was doing in a place he had such fond memories of. If he didn't have to be in his room for secrecy reasons he'd have gladly been anywhere else.
He'd already thrown up once, disgusted even further by the unnatural blue color practically glowing in the pot he was hovering over. As the hours ticked by in silence and solitude he began to panic. If Merrill didn't come back he was in no state to go looking for her.
Exhausted, Carver let himself fall back the rest of the way until he was splayed on the floor. He let his chest heave as the room refused to stop spinning, and he tried to remember how in the Maker's name he ever thought this was a good idea.
When their bedroom door finally opened Carver thought he was hallucinating at first. It wasn't until Merrill's hands were pulling his head onto her lap that he truly believed she had returned.
“Carver- Carver what's going on?” she panicked. “Did someone- What did you- Do you need a healer? Will you be okay while I get you one?”
“No,” he said, not sure which of her questions he was even answering. “I did this. I...” He was so tired he couldn't even remember what he meant to say when he'd begun his sentence.
“What even is this?” Merrill asked as she shifted a bit over him and took the bottle he didn't even remember he was still holding out of his hand. “Is this lyrium?”
“How much do you need?” he asked her. He felt so hot, and he'd long since drenched his nightclothes in sweat. The cool steel of Merrill's armor felt amazing, and Carver never wanted her to leave his side again.
“How much what? Carver what did- Creators what did you do?”
She sounded so upset, he realized, and it made him upset too. That wasn't his intention, to worry her like this. He thought he could take it. The other Templars had been choking lyrium down for years, and he figured the more he drank the more likely it would be that Merrill wouldn't need anyone's blood but his.
Life got fuzzy again, and he couldn't remember if he told her his plan or she put the pieces together herself, but once Merrill understood what was going on the room fell into a silence that Carver couldn't bear. “I'm their leader now,” he told her. “I couldn't ask them to do this.”
“This is all my fault,” she sobbed. The sound made Carver realize that Merrill hadn't cried since the day he pretended to turn her over to the Templars. She'd become a much stronger person since then, and he was proud of her.
“It's been a couple hours,” he told her, his voice still hoarse from the burn of having chugged and thrown up such a vile substance. He mustered enough strength to pull his arm off his chest, and he let it fall so the inside of his wrist was exposed. “Take it now.”
“Carver no,” she whispered. “I can't.”
“It's okay.” He tried to open his eyes, but the lights were dim and everything was doubling, overlapping in nauseating, swirling patterns. Usually Templars drank one small bottle of the stuff throughout an entire day. Older men, due to their built-up tolerance and size, sometimes resorted to inhaling pure dust, but even that didn't equate to what Carver had done to himself. They didn't have much time left before he'd need a very powerful, very discreet healer. “This is what I get,” he laughed bitterly, “for thinking that being a Knight-Commander and being with you was gonna just... happen. Like all I had to do was love you enough and it'd all be easy.”
“I know,” Merrill agreed, laughing through her tears. “What are we doing, huh? Being stupid, that's what. The leader of the Dalish and the commander of the Templars.”
“And the two most stubborn people in the world.”
“I think you might be right on that one.” She ran her fingers through his hair, and it felt so wonderful, like even the most insignificant physical contact was illuminating pinpricks of light in his skin.
Somehow she got him to the nearest wall and sat him up before she leaned in and kissed his burning, sweaty forehead. Then some other indistinguishable amount of time passed, and for a while Carver thought he had actually died while sitting there. The clang of metal brought him back to reality, and Merrill helped him sit up again, as apparently he'd slumped over while waiting for her.
“Can you make a fist?” she asked. She helped him curl his fingers together and he squeezed as hard as he could. He'd made a fist countless times before, but this was the first time he'd ever been so aware of his fingernails digging into his skin.
“It's alright,” he told her one last time, knowing she'd need to hear it.
“I love you,” she whispered in return before running something sharp across his wrist. Somehow even the pain felt like it was... singing.
He was glad she didn't fight him on the matter. After all, he'd already made the decision for her, and he hadn't arrived at it lightly. It was the only way to have it all; to give Merrill what she felt she needed while being the leader he felt the Templars needed. His brother always used to call him stubborn and selfish, and Carver wasn't going to argue with that anymore. Instead he was simply going to pay the price for burning the candle at both ends, because he certainly wasn't going to give any of it up.
***Starkhaven Castle, High Counsel Room***
“What do you hope to accomplish by having her here?”
The nobles had already come to expect Varric and Donnic at their meetings, but when they arrived to find Leliana seated beside their prince it seemed to erode the last of their patience.
“She is the topic of today's discussion,” Sebastian pointed out. “I thought it would be wise to have her here to advocate for herself.”
“Yes,” Varric agreed, “because apparently clairvoyance doesn't really impress any of you.”
“These are complicated times that warrant a great deal of incredulity,” Lady Erskin explained as she took her seat. She was the only woman on the Council, with bronzed skin and reddish-brown hair very similar to Sebastian's, and she was also more than willing to speak out against appointing Leliana as the Divine. During their discussions she made no attempt to sugarcoat the fact that she didn't believe the bard's “visions,” opting instead to explain away every one of them as coincidences and guesses.
“Incredulity is one thing,” Leliana defended, “but do not pretend you are doing anything less than calling me a liar.”
“You must admit that your visions, as you call them, have helped you gain a great deal of power and standing in Starkhaven,” the noblewoman argued. “You convinced our previous prince, a very impressionable boy with a known abhorrence of his title, that if he listened to you he could be free of his responsibilities. You demonstrated your 'abilities' by predicting that the heir to the throne would return when you knew full-well that he had been run out of his home in Kirkwall. And now, when we need you the most, you have a convenient excuse as to why you cannot be of help.”
“Leliana is not the only person afflicted by this,” Sebastian mentioned. “Do you not remember that Andraste herself has corroborated the Maker's silence?”
“Your Highness,” the elderly Lord Borland pleaded, “you must understand that it is difficult to fathom without having been through what you have. Perhaps you have indeed been blessed with a perspective that allows you to see the Maker's true plan, but without having lived as you have and seen as you have we cannot rule out the possibility that you would simply-” He couldn't even look Sebastian in the eye as he finished his sentence. “-like very much to believe it.”
Sebastian glanced down the table at Donnic, who nodded his acknowledgment in return. The prince was unsure if any other group in all of Thedas could speak with two opposing tones of voice in one statement, but his Council was comprised of experts who had turned it into an art form. “I have presented what I think is rather irrefutable evidence,” he told them. “I took the blood from Andraste myself, and I watched as it reacted to the Urn of Sacred Ashes. I have heard Andraste speak the truth about her past, and I ask you to tell me why she would create an elaborate new explanation of her life, as well as the march on the Imperium, when she could have simply reiterated the Chant of Light?”
“It's how I would have done it,” Varric admitted. “And I'm an expert at lying.”
Sebastian tried not to laugh at his friend's comment, but it was difficult to treat the petty political aspects of the coming war with the same severity as everything else. Bloodline and title dictated that he had the right to declare war without the approval of the nobles, but that wasn't how he wanted to do it. The nobles still had the power to forbid their children and workers from becoming soldiers, and they could pull their funding from the city's treasury. Sebastian had sent word to every ruling body that wasn't within the Imperium asking for aid of any kind, but he knew that none of them would react well to finding out that he didn't have the support of his own people.
Leliana straightened her posture and folded her hands neatly on the table. “Allow me to go over the course of events once more, then. After I helped the Hero of Ferelden kill the Archdemon I sought to continue my service to the Chantry through my work as one of the Seekers. In the beginning I served the order with pride, but at night I would dream of a coming war; a rebellion that would rage like wildfire into a war for the future of Thedas. Every night it was a different part. Sometimes I watched as younger and younger children were taken away for even being suspected of magic, thrown in to prisons and demoralized to keep them under control. Sometimes I saw Kirkwall glowing red from fire and old, sinister magics that should have remained forgotten. I saw the sun rise over Starkhaven to illuminate a ship which carried your true prince. And then I saw her. Them, really. Andraste and the Holy Mother, prepared to usher in a new age.”
“Again, there is nothing spectacular about predicting that Sebastian would, given the circumstances, eventually return to Starkhaven,” Lady Erskin stated.
“That may be so,” Sebastian relented, “but my arrival was not the important aspect of Leliana's vision. Donnic?”
Donnic straightened his shoulders and looked every man and woman in that room straight in the eye before he began. “You all know it is my wife and son who lie neither dead nor alive in your ballroom at this moment. It should be obvious to you that there is something extraordinary going on here, and I will not sit by silent while you claim that all this is happening for no reason. Those with connections to the Fade have been desperate to find Aveline since this rebellion began, claiming there is an energy inside her which draws them in against their will. One man, a Grey Warden, said it reminded him of the call of the Archdemon. The only reason your city isn't besieged with mages infected with this insanity is because Leliana not only knew about it, but knew how to quiet it.”
“Speaking of insanity and fighting,” Varric spoke up, “I should probably remind you that while inside this city everyone seems to be slowly learning to not rip out each other’s throats, the rest of Thedas has turned its love of finger-pointing into a lot of stabbing and lighting each other on fire. You've got a good thing going here, and it's due largely in part to your Prince and your Seer here.
“She also has the loyalty of the Templars, the elves, the mages and many of the former Chantry Seekers,” Sebastian added, “including Cassandra Pentaghast, a name I'm sure you know well.”
“Yes, I'm sure she does have serrah Pentaghast's 'loyalty,'” Lord Renton laughed. He was a larger man, and while he was known to be a thoroughly debauched individual, it was also what made him rather popular with a certain sect of nobles. “A pretty face like that can beset the resolve of many, I'd assume. Wouldn't you agree, Your Highness?”
That was a tactic Sebastian had been wholly unprepared for. He'd spent so long trying to build up Leliana as an ideal candidate for Divine that he never noticed how it would appear to others. There was no denying she was beautiful, cunning and similar to him in age. It brought him back to Andraste's heartbreaking farewell, and he was beginning to wonder if no one in all the Free Marches trusted him to remain focused and faithful.
Sebastian panicked slightly as he realized how long it had been since Renton had made his hardly-subtle accusation. He needed to reply with something, but the longer he took to think of the correct response the more he knew he was proving the man's point for him.
“Claim it is seduction all you want,” Leliana dismissed. “I am not asking to be made Divine for power or influence. If my visions are correct then I am volunteering for a dangerous and difficult position that no one else will want in the coming months, I assure you. I do not even believe there is anyone who wants it now, am I wrong?”
When no one could think of a single name to contest Leliana's claim, Sebastian felt the conversation was over for the time being. He knew they wouldn't resolve it that day, but leaving them with a question they could not answer seemed a good tactic for forcing them to reevaluate their stance on the matter.
He called for everyone to return to their duties and scheduled a continuation for the following day. As everyone left he thanked Donnic and Varric for their support, but found that Leliana was eager to leave, and he did not want to admit that he could probably guess why.