Dawn of the Magic Age (fanfic)
Title: Dawn of the Magic Age
Rating: M (violence and sex)
Characters: MaleRogueHawke/Anders, Carver/Merrill, Sebastian/???, the rest of Hawke's party later
Genre: Drama, Adventure, Romance
Status: Ongoing
Summary: The war in Kirkwall has set forth a drastic ripple effect across all of Thedas. The faith, politics and energies of the entire continent are changing, and Hawke's crew finds themselves yet again in the middle of a war they had no intention of causing, this time with a leader none of them ever expected.
Prologue
Sebastian imagined that word of Anders' death at the hands of a devote Chantry brother would suffocate the fires of the mages' cause.
For days Kirkwall was little more than a ghost city. Carver had no place to go, not after he'd chosen to fight alongside his brother and against his own Order. A new shipment of Templars would soon be arriving to track them down, even if Meredith was already dead. No, especially because Meredith was already dead.
He'd thought about just shedding the blasted armor and ridding himself of the loud and infamous Templar seal, but he was forced to admit his issued equipment was far superior to anything else he was going to find in Kirkwall. An empty coin purse and a war-torn continent pressured him into keeping the seal on.
In any other situation his betrayal of his brethren to aid a terrorist apostate would have gotten him executed, but in the context of recent events he was a drop of water in an ocean. Instead of being clapped in irons he fought his way out of the city gates and... left. Wandered, really.
While grasping for a place to run to Carver recalled the trip he took with his brother up Sundermount over six years before. At best it'd be empty by now, if the Dalish were smart, and at worst there'd only be a few xenophobic but otherwise helpful elves left behind.
When he arrived he found the camp empty and thoroughly looted. “Maybe that amulet is still on the alter,” he said to no one. “The witch isn't in it anymore, she won't be needing it.” It made him feel like a vulture, but if Carver was going to get anywhere he needed something to sell that wasn't his armor or his sword. If nothing else it would give him something to do while he waited for his brother's abomination lover to inevitably end all of creation.
Even the creatures that once inhabited the cave atop the mountain seemed to have the good sense to flee. Carver made his way through the passage on guard and completely uncontested. As he reached the exit, however, he felt incredibly... off. He hunched over a bit and tried to catch his breath, but no matter how much air he pulled in it didn't feel like enough. Something dark and ancient was invading the air, and Carver had no choice but to drag his sword behind him as he tried to push past it.
As he neared the shrine the thick smell of blood became very apparent, and when he passed through the cave exit he was met with the gruesome sight of an Dalish woman sitting cross-legged on the alter, surrounded by tall, swirling arcs of blood that shifted in the air around her. The blood was so thick and disturbing that it took Carver a few moments to realize he knew the figure.
“Merrill?"
The bloodmage didn't respond, her eyes closed and her head bowed, but as Carver fought his way closer he became more and more sure it was her. “Merrill.”
The blood in the air was beginning to splatter on the Templar's face, but he shielded his eyes with his non-weapon arm and pushed on. When he was finally arm's length away he reached out for her shoulder and tried one last “Merrill!”
Everything froze for a moment as Merrill's bright, round eyes snapped open. With no magic keeping it in motion, the blood dropped like a short rainfall, sticking in Carver's hair. Some of it ran down the back of his neck and across his temples, but years of fighting in Ferelden and Kirkwall had left him unfazed by the sensation
“Carver? Carver what are you doing here?” Merrill screeched. She tried to use anger and volume to hide her embarrassment, but it didn't work.
“Shouldn't I be asking you that?”
“It's not what it looks like,” she said as she slid her feet and stood on the ground in front of Carver. He'd forgotten, in their time apart, how tiny Merrill was. With his added armor, he felt like an ogre next to her.
“Really? Because it looked like blood magic.”
“I know, but everyone always seems to think I'm using blood magic to rule the world or something. I'm not, I was just seeking guidance from Asha'bellanar.”
“Asha'bellanar? You mean Flemeth?”
“That's what humans call her, yes. I thought maybe I could use blood magic to connect with some part of her that's still left in the amulet.” She held the artifact up and Carver resisted the urge to ask for it immediately. “I didn't have anywhere left to go; I needed something... someone to...” She kept trying to finish her explanation, but the tears and the tightness in her throat stopped her. Carver wondered for a moment if that wasn't why Merrill spoke so rapidly all the time; to get her thoughts out before her emotions could catch up with her.
He grimaced at her tears, not out of disgust but out of discomfort and uselessness. Merrill was by far the most confusing person he'd ever met; a terrifying bloodmage in battle and a quivering mess in social situations. His hand hovered awkwardly near her face, then her shoulder, and eventually just dropped by his side again, abandoning any attempt to comfort her. An obnoxious voice in back of his head pointed out that he and Merrill weren't all that dissimilar in their weaknesses.
“Well, uh, did you... talk?... to her?”
Merrill sniffled and took a deep breath. “Yes, I think. I mean I think it was her. It sounded like her, but demons are powerful. Mimicking voices is barely a challenge for them. If it was her, and I hope it was, she said to go to Orlais.”
“Flemeth told you to take a vacation?” Carver laughed. “Did she tell you to buy a nice new dress and eat stinky cheeses too?"
“No,” Merrill answered seriously. “That wasn't in her directions.”
The humor drained out of Carver's face but the elf took no notice. Six years and she still didn't understand that not every phrase was a true and genuine statement. How that happened, the Templar didn't know. If there was anything the Hawke men excelled at, it was sarcasm.
“Well what did she say then?”
“She said to go to Grand Cathedral. Odd advice for a Dalish elf, I know, but I can't think of anything else to do.”
“Funny, I'm having the same issue.”
“What issue?”
“Nowhere to go.”
“Oh,” Merrill said, and then the conversation halted to an awkward silence. The elf chewed on her bottom lip, looked up at Carver for a moment, toed the grass at her feet and then looked at Carver again. “I'm... I’m missing something aren't I? Ah, I can never keep up with you Carver. To be honest I was kind of happy when you left. I mean, ma abelas, that sounded so rude! I mean you, see, like right now, you make me so nervous.”
“So... that's a 'no' to accompanying you to Orlais, then?”
“What? Go to Orlais? With me?”
“That is what accompany means, Merrill.”
“Oh, my, well, I guessing saying no would be pretty stupid, huh? You're so scary, but I need scary. Good scary, though. Strong scary. I can't do scary at all.”
“No, no you cannot.”
Merrill laughed a bit, and odd image considering the two of them were still covered in blood. After that short moment of relief, however, Merrill finally seemed to notice she'd use a considerable amount of her own blood for the ritual. Even if Carver thought blood magic was abhorrent, he could at least give Merrill the credit she deserved for never sacrificing others to fuel her spells
When Merrill began to stumble around from light-headedness Carver reached out reflexively and caught her as she began to faint. He sheathed his sword and, unsurprisingly, had no trouble lifting the petite woman with both arms.
“Well, how fitting,” he joked bitterly. “Heading to Orlais and living my own Orlisian romance novel.” As he began his trip back down the mountain he amused himself by spouting every cliché he could think of. “And the ex-Templar carried the fragile Dalish elf in his big, strong arms…”
***The Keep***
“Take this letter directly to the Grand Cathedral. Do not stop for anything, do you hear me?”
The young Ferelden refugee clenched his jaw, squared his shoulders and nodded at the Prince.
Sebastian handed over the letter and the reins to the horse he'd purchased for his messenger. “You may keep the horse as payment for your services. Remember, it is for the Divine's eyes only. There is corruption enough in the house of Andraste, we cannot risk Her Grace's safety by trusting others with this information.”
“I understand, messere,” the young man replied. “I will do as you say.”
Sebastian wished he could deliver the letter himself, but he couldn't give up the opportunity to track Hawke and Anders, not when they couldn't have gotten far on foot. He'd have to trust that the Holy Order of Templars would provide sufficient protection for Divine Justinia. After the maleficar was dealt with he would take his place wherever she decided he was needed.
He mounted his own horse, a grey mare that, in addition to his supplies, had cost him the rest of his gold. His options were many but he could rule out a few obvious ones. There were no longer any Dalish for Hawke to take refuge with in Sundermount, and the Deep Roads were too dangerous for just two people, no matter how skilled they were. Ruling out to the roads to Orlais, that only left the Wounded Coast. It would be easy for a terrorist to hide among the raiders and slavers there. The abomination would feel right at home.
There were times during Sebastian's ride that he felt his heart being buried by overwhelming feelings of failure and loss, but he did his best to turn them into fuel for his righteous anger. After the death of his family the Chantry became all he had left, and Elthina his only source of guidance. She reminded him a lot of his father: a devote and honest individual with little patience for rash behavior. They both had a talent for producing never-ending streams of existential questioning, too, something Sebastian always found frustrating until it was gone. Now he ached for it back.
In his hasty anger following the Chantry attack he had promised to reclaim his throne and bring down the full force of his army upon the Mage Rebellion, but he yet again found himself unsure of his resolve to do so. He couldn't be certain until Elthina was avenged and Justinia had been spoken to. Though he felt it was egotistical to believe he deserved Her Grace's council, he wanted her to know that his army was hers of she so needed it.
He just had so little time. He knew Orsino has sent many of the surviving Circle Mages away during the attack, telling them to provoke rebellion across all of Thedas. Still, he imagined that word of Anders' death at the hands of a devote Chantry brother would suffocate the fires of their cause. It had to be taken care of first, no matter how much he wished he could be in three places at once.
He tied up his horse at the edge of the coast and ventured forth on foot with a great deal of caution. Close-range combat with archery was a foolish gamble that almost never resulted in victory, and Sebastian wasn't cocky enough to think he could take on a band of slavers hand-to-hand. He knew that traveling alone was a terrible idea considering his skill set, but he didn’t have a choice.
Attempting to be stealthy made Sebastian hyper-aware of every sound he made. He focused on every footstep, on the way his feet rolled from heel to toe across the dirt and grass. Worries regarding the movement and weight-distribution of his armor had him frozen in place from the waist up. It made his progress slow, but it was his only protection, especially as the sun began to set. Raiders didn't often rely on listening while the sun was up, so if Sebastian could stay out of sight he was fine. At night, however, everyone's ears were on alert.
This included the Prince, who had been eavesdropping on plenty of conversations that day. “Look what I looted from the Dalish camp.” “Isabella wouldn't let me on her ship.” A story involving the words “Blooming Rose” and “rash” that he didn't stick around for. Finally, however, someone dropped a key word that caught Sebastian's attention.
“Just got word Anders is on 'is way to Orlais. One ah my men overheard 'im intercepting a message for Divine Justinia. Said 'I'll just deliver this m'self' and let the little refugee boy go.”
The reaction Sebastian felt in response to those words was visceral. Fear, anger and anxiety flooded his veins like a freezing numbness. He inched closer to the camp of bounty hunters and slowly slid his body behind a rock. He heard footsteps and prayed that whoever was moving kept his or her distance.
It turned out to be a her. “Get some quick rest, everyone. We'll head after the apostate before dawn. We can't let him get away. This could be the biggest bounty we've ever caught. I'm sure the Chantry would shell out a fortune for him.”
“'Ey,” a new voice shouted. “Where ah my sheets?”
“What are you getting about, Yurrick?”
“My sheet's gone from m'tent.”
“You'll survive,” their leader interjected. “Now get some rest.”
Keen observation and a good tracking instinct drew a map in Sebastian's head, which pinpointed the location of the bounty hunters based on the sounds they made. He counted about twelve, all sitting in a circle around the fire. Those were terrible odds for him, but the shear size of the group would make them easy to track. He could intercept Anders at the last moment and, Maker willing, possibly turn the abomination in to the Divine himself.
“Who's there?” the voice with the missing sheet shouted at the wilderness behind them. Sebastian resisted the urge to turn and look, but he wasn't pleased at the idea of someone interrupting the plan.
“Yurrick what is wrong with y-”
“Oi, get her!”
Sebastian finally risked turning around and peering over the rock, but he was immediately blinded by what looked like white fire raining down on the bounty hunters. Heat still radiated from the campsite even after the light died down, and the sound of screaming men and women echoed off the nearby rocks.
“Who are you, apostate? Why do you attack my hunters?”
Sebastian stood up again, this time with an arrow pulled back in his bow. He swept his eyes across the clearing as he alternated aiming between the two women left standing there. They didn't seem to notice him, however. Sebastian couldn't see what the leader looked like; only that she had short, dark hair and was clad in leather armor.
“You will not touch Anders,” the other woman declared. Her eyes were glowing white like the fire around her hands. “He will make it to Orlais.&rdquo
“Or what, you'll go all 'abomination' on me? Kill me like you killed them?”
“They are not dead, but they will be if you don't refuse to give up your search.”
“You don't scare me, bitch.”
The leader reached back for her daggers, but the mage woman dragged her to the ground with a pull of force magic.
“I do not wish to kill you, but defy my order again and I will.”
With an aggressive grunt the leader grasped for her blades again and struggled back to her feet. Realizing that her opponent wasn't going to yield, the mage raised her hand and prepared her final strike.
The force of Sebastian's arrow was enough to knock the mage clear off her feet, and her landing kicked up a significant amount of dust.
“Go!” the archer yelled. The leader rushed to her feet and checked on her party, discovering that they were, in fact, still alive. She pulled them up and yelled at them to crawl and limp as far from the clearing as they could get. When they were safely out of view she looked back at her savior and nodded wordlessly.
Sebastian slowly and carefully made his way over to the woman he'd shot and let himself get a good look at her. He discovered where the bounty hunter's missing sheet had gone. The woman was wearing it around her body with two of the corners tying it shut over her right shoulder. Her loose, sandy-blonde hair was messily strewn half over her face and half across the ground.
Up close she didn't look much like a mage. He would have guessed she was a few years older than him, somewhere in her early to mid thirties. There were feint scars on her face, and despite being unconscious her jaw and shoulders still looked solid and alert. Unlike other mages, she had a build that suggested she'd be the woman to bet on in a fight (even against someone like Aveline) and a skin tone indicative of outdoor labor, or training, or both. He also didn't see a staff anywhere, which made him even more worried about the power he'd seen her display.
She was a dangerous apostate, but he couldn't just leave her to die. He knelt next to her and lifted her neck and shoulders off the ground. With one swift moment he pushed the arrow in her left shoulder all the way through and pulled it out the other side. Blood poured from the wound generously, but Sebastian tore off strips of the sheet dress and began wrapping while applying appropriate pressure.
When his temporary first aid was done he took the remaining strips and tied the mage's hands behind her back. He didn't want to drag her back to his horse, but her intent on protecting Anders had him very worried. If Anders was truly heading for the Grand Cathedral, and this woman knew that, then he had quite a few more questions for her.
It took a few attempts, but he was finally able to maneuver her dead weight onto his shoulder before standing up straight. As he stumbled his way down the Wounded Coast he remembered all the promises he'd made and failed to deliver on. This time was not going to end the same way. He promised he'd show Anders the true meaning of Justice. If need be, he'd use this woman to do so.