SANCTUM AND HEALING (25/?)
anonymous
November 30 2011, 22:05:48 UTC
He sounded distracted, and there was no wink following the gift, no satisfied leer like the Warden Commander would have offered-looking for thanks or a big to-do, something to pass the pleasant time between life-threatening jaunts into the Deep Roads or the Fade.
Anders didn’t know whether or not to thank him. He didn’t know if it was a gift at all or if Hawke even felt the cold, one bare arm pale and striped pink with healing sunburns up to the greave strapped at his elbow.
Varric was watching him-watching them-but he slung Bianca over his shoulder, squinting into the center of the city. ‘Good thinking, Hawke. As always.’
‘As always,’ Hawke agreed.
‘Well,’ Anders said, to be a part of the conversation at least in some small way. ‘Isn’t this…nice. Mage’s city, you say? I’ve always wanted to see one of those. Looks a bit dusty, though, doesn’t it? I was hoping there’d be, I don’t know, duels in the streets or dazzling spires.’
‘Wildervale.’ Varric sighed. ‘At least it’s not Cumberland-that’s what I always say.’
‘Every single time, too,’ Hawke said. ‘But don’t worry, Varric. It never gets old.’
‘Unlike some people,’ Varric agreed.
Anders touched the clasp at his throat, feeling the battered metal warmed by Hawke’s skin. He drew his fingers curiously over its uneven shape, little scratches in the silver like a bird’s spiny feathers. It was warmer beneath the cloak, but he couldn’t enjoy the gesture if he didn’t understand it.
If this was Hawke’s way of making amends for calling him a demon, it was an odd time to start showing remorse.
Fenris chose to show his feelings in a different way, coming around the cart and catching sight of Anders swathed like a shadow-or a demon-in Hawke’s clothing. The tsk he offered, low in his throat, relied on no further commentary and no banter beyond pure disdain.
Anders had to wonder whether he and Oghren might have shared an entire conversation comprised of noises and nothing more, trusting their bodies to communicate what simple words could not.
‘It is a fool’s errand hoping to hide him here.’ Fenris’s eyes were on Hawke, but he didn’t have to look Anders’s way to implicate him. ‘Wildervale does not forget its…liberator.’ He swallowed, as though the word was a speck of trail dust caught beneath his tongue, or as though he was the only elf in Thedas who got the urge-sometimes-to spit at someone else’s feet.
Varric whistled, fitting Bianca into her holster on his back. ‘Little early in the day to be calling Hawke a fool, don’t you think, elf?’
‘I can’t tell who he is like that,’ Keran added, shouldering a leather pack. ‘I mean-if I didn’t know him already. What’s under that cowl… No one will look twice at another mage landing here, of all places.’
‘And so they will not know of the viper in their midst.’ Fenris drew even with them at last, a bare few paces away, so much more like a snake ready to strike than Anders felt. ‘Yes. It is…clever.’
Anders tugged at the clasp again, the tang of sour metal on skin making itself known beneath the fresh smells of the small city. Suddenly, Hawke’s gesture didn’t seem as thoughtful-or as simple. There was a different brand of consideration behind it than the one Anders had imagined, vigilance rather than kindness, wariness rather than forgiveness.
Anders twisted his fingers in a swath of the heavy cotton, but it felt less cozy now that he knew it was something meant to keep him in instead of something meant to keep harsh winds out. The hood Hawke had fashioned was too big, obscuring his peripheral vision as Anders lifted his head to examine the gates behind them, the ones they’d passed through in Hawke’s ox-drawn cart.
The walls of Wildervale were as high as they’d been at Vigil’s Keep after Voldrik Glavonak had finished raising them, taller than three ogres standing top-to-bottom. Anders couldn’t know whether their structural quality would meet with the old stonemason’s approval, but to his untrained eye they looked impressive enough. There were twin guard-towers braced over the gates and two more set at the east and west corners of the wall.
Anders didn’t know whether or not to thank him. He didn’t know if it was a gift at all or if Hawke even felt the cold, one bare arm pale and striped pink with healing sunburns up to the greave strapped at his elbow.
Varric was watching him-watching them-but he slung Bianca over his shoulder, squinting into the center of the city. ‘Good thinking, Hawke. As always.’
‘As always,’ Hawke agreed.
‘Well,’ Anders said, to be a part of the conversation at least in some small way. ‘Isn’t this…nice. Mage’s city, you say? I’ve always wanted to see one of those. Looks a bit dusty, though, doesn’t it? I was hoping there’d be, I don’t know, duels in the streets or dazzling spires.’
‘Wildervale.’ Varric sighed. ‘At least it’s not Cumberland-that’s what I always say.’
‘Every single time, too,’ Hawke said. ‘But don’t worry, Varric. It never gets old.’
‘Unlike some people,’ Varric agreed.
Anders touched the clasp at his throat, feeling the battered metal warmed by Hawke’s skin. He drew his fingers curiously over its uneven shape, little scratches in the silver like a bird’s spiny feathers. It was warmer beneath the cloak, but he couldn’t enjoy the gesture if he didn’t understand it.
If this was Hawke’s way of making amends for calling him a demon, it was an odd time to start showing remorse.
Fenris chose to show his feelings in a different way, coming around the cart and catching sight of Anders swathed like a shadow-or a demon-in Hawke’s clothing. The tsk he offered, low in his throat, relied on no further commentary and no banter beyond pure disdain.
Anders had to wonder whether he and Oghren might have shared an entire conversation comprised of noises and nothing more, trusting their bodies to communicate what simple words could not.
‘It is a fool’s errand hoping to hide him here.’ Fenris’s eyes were on Hawke, but he didn’t have to look Anders’s way to implicate him. ‘Wildervale does not forget its…liberator.’ He swallowed, as though the word was a speck of trail dust caught beneath his tongue, or as though he was the only elf in Thedas who got the urge-sometimes-to spit at someone else’s feet.
Varric whistled, fitting Bianca into her holster on his back. ‘Little early in the day to be calling Hawke a fool, don’t you think, elf?’
‘I can’t tell who he is like that,’ Keran added, shouldering a leather pack. ‘I mean-if I didn’t know him already. What’s under that cowl… No one will look twice at another mage landing here, of all places.’
‘And so they will not know of the viper in their midst.’ Fenris drew even with them at last, a bare few paces away, so much more like a snake ready to strike than Anders felt. ‘Yes. It is…clever.’
Anders tugged at the clasp again, the tang of sour metal on skin making itself known beneath the fresh smells of the small city. Suddenly, Hawke’s gesture didn’t seem as thoughtful-or as simple. There was a different brand of consideration behind it than the one Anders had imagined, vigilance rather than kindness, wariness rather than forgiveness.
Anders twisted his fingers in a swath of the heavy cotton, but it felt less cozy now that he knew it was something meant to keep him in instead of something meant to keep harsh winds out. The hood Hawke had fashioned was too big, obscuring his peripheral vision as Anders lifted his head to examine the gates behind them, the ones they’d passed through in Hawke’s ox-drawn cart.
The walls of Wildervale were as high as they’d been at Vigil’s Keep after Voldrik Glavonak had finished raising them, taller than three ogres standing top-to-bottom. Anders couldn’t know whether their structural quality would meet with the old stonemason’s approval, but to his untrained eye they looked impressive enough. There were twin guard-towers braced over the gates and two more set at the east and west corners of the wall.
Reply
Leave a comment