A Separate Path - Chapter Nine (Part Seven)
Title: A Separate Path - Chapter Nine (Part Seven)
Series: Dragon Age 2
Characters: Anders, Hawke, Varric, Fenris, Aveline, Isabela
Pairings: Anders/Hawke
Rating: R
Where did they all come from? Anders wondered, looking at the qunari bodies littering the Viscount's Way. Did the Arishok have spares packed away in crates somewhere?
Emma half-ran, half-staggered over to the other mage who'd joined in the fighting: a tall, admittedly handsome elf in the garish robes of a Circle mage. She offered him a hand up; he took it, groaning in pain as she helped him to his feet. “Many thanks, my friend,” he said, a hand pressed to his side.
“Are you hurt?” Anders asked as he limped towards them. There were other mages in the square, crumpled, bloody forms, none of whom seemed to be breathing. He still had to check, had to see if there was anyone he could save.
The elf glanced at him, taking in the staff and faint glow around his hands, and shook his head. “Thank you, healer, but I will be fine,” he said.
Anders just nodded and continued past, crouching down beside the first mage he reached. An older man, probably an enchanter, blood leaking from the massive wound in his chest. He heard the elf speaking behind him as he reached out to take the mage's pulse. Nothing. He looked up, gaze flitting across the other bodies. They were probably all dead by now.
“I told them to run...” the elf breathed. Anders slowly got back to his feet and turned to see the elf on his knees beside one of the bodies, staring in wide-eyed horror.
“First Enchanter Orsino,” Meredith said. “You survive.”
Anders tensed, wishing he wasn't so far away from the others, as Meredith and her company of Templars entered the square. “Your relief overwhelms me, Knight-Commander,” Orsino said dryly, getting to his feet.
Meredith glared at him, and Anders took advantage of her momentary distraction to walk back towards Emma, taking up a position over her shoulder. “There is no time for talk,” Meredith said. “We must strike back, before it is too late.”
“And who will lead us into this battle? You?” Orsino asked. Anders found himself rather liking the elf. The First Enchanter of a Circle usually earned the position by spending quite a lot of time on his knees in front of the Templars. It was nice to see one who appeared to have a bit of spine.
“I will fight to defend this city, as I have always done!”
Orsino straightened up and shook his head. “To control it, you mean,” he snapped. “I won't see our lives tossed to the flames to feed your vanity!”
“How dare--”
“Okay!” Emma cut in with a broad, mirthless smile, stepping forward to stand between them. “I'm in charge.” Meredith and Orsino stared at her. “You two are just going to stand here bickering until the qunari have conquered everything between us and Par Vollen,” she said. “So I'm taking over.”
“You?” Meredith snapped, overcoming her shock. “You're not even from this city!”
“Nor am I, Knight-Commander,” Orsino shot back. “Would you deny me the right to defend Kirkwall as well?”
For a moment, Meredith looked like she was strongly considering it. Then, unbelievably, she backed down. “Very well,” she ground out. “We will follow your lead for now, Serah Hawke.”
“Wonderful.” She nodded at the Keep. “Let's get a closer look, shall we?”
Meredith and her Templars took point, and Anders was more than happy to let them-- he'd much rather see them take on the first several waves of qunari. Orsino fell in step beside him. “You're an apostate, then?” he asked quietly with a glance at Meredith. Anders nodded. “You take a great risk in joining this fight,” Orsino continued. “I wouldn't blame you for running.”
Anders sighed. He recognized the warning-- the offer-- for what it was, and a few years ago, he'd have been down the steps so fast he'd have left scorch marks. “I can't,” he said, glancing over at Emma and Varric and, flames, even Fenris.
Orsino followed his gaze and smiled faintly. “Well,” he said, “best of luck to you, then.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Anders muttered darkly, pulling a lyrium potion out of his pouch. Last one. He sighed and shook his head. “Damn.”
“Ah. Here.” Orsino reached into his robes and pulled out a pair of small blue bottles. “They're quite potent.”
Anders downed the one in his hand and took the potions with a grateful smile. “Thank you,” he breathed and tucked them into his pouch. Orsino just nodded.
The qunari had secured the entrance to the Keep with easily two dozen soldiers. By a straight headcount, they weren't badly outnumbered, but the qunari hadn’t spent the past hour slogging their way through an invading army. Meredith led them to the edge of the landing, out of the soldiers' sight. “They've already taken the Keep,” she said. “Clearly they've been planning this for some time.”
Emma nodded and glanced around their little group, taking stock. “Right,” she said. “Ideas?”
Meredith folded her arms, armor clinking slightly with the movement. “We assault them head-on,” she said. “It will be clean and quick.”
“Quick, perhaps,” Orsino said. “But not clean. And certainly not without casualties.”
Meredith gestured sharply over her shoulder at Anders. “That's what we've got a healer for.”
Anders glared at her. The thing he hated about Templars-- one of the many things, really-- was their rank hypocrisy. Magic was a curse, a mark of sin on a mage's soul, unless it could be of some use. And if it was useful, they'd better heel when so ordered. Bastards treated them like pets or toys, and healers had the worst of it because their skills were always needed. “The healer's barely standing,” Anders growled. “And you haven't got one at all.” He purposefully stepped over to stand beside Emma.
“Orsino, you have a suggestion?” she asked, lightly brushing the back of Anders's hand with her gauntlet.
“A distraction,” he said. “I could draw them away from the doors so the rest of you could slip in.”
“I don't--” Meredith started.
Emma held up a hand to silence her. “What sort of distraction?”
Orsino grinned and raised his hands as flame engulfed them. “This doesn't seem like the time for subtlety,” he said. “And it's been so long since I've gotten a throw a really good fireball.”
She grinned back. “I like it.”
“Hawke, do you really think it wise to trust this to a mage?” Fenris snapped.
She nodded. “I usually do,” she quipped. “Orsino, you'll distract them. I'll go in with my people and find the Viscount. And hopefully Aveline. Meredith, you and your men will hold back here. Make sure no one comes in behind us and that Orsino doesn't get killed.” She glanced back and forth between the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter. “I trust you two will cooperate for the good of Kirkwall?”
“Of course,” Orsino said immediately. Meredith nodded.
Emma flashed them a bloodthirsty grin. “Well then, ladies and gentlemen,” she said as she drew her sword, “shall we send these bastards to the Void?”
*
Emma was running. Impossibly, after the night they'd had, she still had the energy to run. Anders staggered after her, one hand on the wall, trying not to collapse. The doors to the throne room were shut, but the Arishok's booming voice echoed down the hall regardless.
“All you leave in your wake is misery! You are blind. But I will make you--”
See, Anders assumed, but the word was lost in a resounding crack as Emma kicked the door open. Dozens of Hightown nobles were gathered in the room, clustered together in little knots, all staying away from the red carpet running up the center. A man lay on the carpet, his head twisted at a sickening angle, and there was something else closer to the door-- Anders flinched as he recognized the Viscount's head, blood still dripping from the stump, the simple iron crown on the ground a few feet away.
“But we have guests,” the Arishok said-- almost sneered-- as Emma strolled in, twirling her sword in one hand. It was bravado, posturing, a desperate attempt to cover up the crippling exhaustion. Anders drew in a deep breath and straightened up, shoulders back, staff held across his body. They'd get through this. They had to.
“Shanedan, Hawke,” the Arishok said as he descended the stairs. “I expected you.” He was carrying a sword the size of Fenris's in one hand, and a two-headed battle axe in the other. That did not bode well. He looked Hawke up and down and shook his head. “But for all your might, you are no different from these bas. You do not see.”
“I can see just fine,” she drawled, stepping neatly around the Viscount's head. “For instance, right now I see a man ready to start a war on principle.”
“And what would the Qunari be without principle?” the Arishok asked. “You, I suspect.”
She smirked up at him. “There are worse things to be.”
He looked away from a moment. “So tell me, Hawke. You know I am denied Par Vollen until the Tome of Koslun is found. How would you see this conflict resolved without it?”
Before Emma could reply, someone made a strangled, gurgling noise by the door. “I believe I can answer that,” Isabela said, stepping on a qunari body as she strolled in, a massive book tucked under one arm. Anders wasn't sure if he wanted to kiss her or slap her, and going by the expressions around him, the others were similarly torn. “I'm sure you'll find it mostly undamaged,” she said, handing it to the Arishok.
He took it reverently, staring at the cover in awe. “The Tome of Koslun,” he breathed.
“It took me a while to get back, what with all the fighting everywhere,” Isabela explained, glancing at Hawke. “You know how it is.”
Emma smiled tensely at her, but it didn't reach her eyes. “Heroic acts of sacrifice? What will people say?”
“This is your damned influence,” Isabela retorted. “I was halfway to Ostwick before I knew I had to turn around. It's pathetic, what you people have done to me.”
The Arishok passed the tome to one of the other soldiers, who carefully took it and headed for the doors. Anders let out a shaky breath. Maybe, just maybe, they could get out of this without further bloodshed. Maybe the qunari would just go and they could all just go back to their lives and everything would be all right, somehow, even with the Viscount dead and Meredith personally aware of his existence.
“The relic is reclaimed,” the Arishok intoned. “I am now free to return to Par Vollen-- with the thief.”
Oh, son of a bitch.
“What?” Isabela asked.
“She will be a slave, Hawke,” Fenris said sharply. “They will destroy her just as surely if you stabbed her here and now, only they will take years to do it.”
Anders swallowed hard. Emma had been so furious before, but Isabela had come back. She'd done the right thing, albeit a bit late. Emma wouldn't hand her over. She wouldn't do that to her friends.
“She stole the Tome of Koslun,” the Arishok said. “She must return with us.”
Emma stared at Isabela, jaw clenched. Then she looked back up at the Arishok. “Sorry,” she said, and Anders let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. “If I let you take her, I don't get to kick her ass from here to Darktown and back again.”
The Arishok nodded. “Then you leave me no choice.” He gestured at her with the broadsword, an almost ritualistic motion. “I challenge you, Hawke. You and I will battle to the death, with her as the prize.”
There was a collective gasp from the nobles in the room. Emma raised an eyebrow. Isabela shook her head and stepped forward. “No! If you're going to duel anyone, duel me!”
Wow. She really did get all selfless on us, didn't she, Anders thought. The Arishok curled his lip in a silent sneer. “You are unworthy.”
Emma let out a frustrated breath. “You have what you came for! Just take your blasted book and go! This isn't necessary!”
“You know we do not suffer thieves. She cannot walk away from this insult. I will take her. If you object, duty demands that we fight.”
She glanced around the room. “I suppose a one-on-one duel would be the honorable thing, wouldn't it,” she said, looking down at her blade, shifting it back and forth in the light. “Funny thing, honor.” Her stance shifted ever so slightly, and three years of fighting beside her meant that gesture was all the warning Anders needed. He reached down deep and started summoning up the energy for a lightning spell. They were going to need some serious firepower for this.
Emma looked up at the Arishok and smiled. “It's the kind of thing that gets you killed,” she said, and slashed her sword across his chest.
The nobles screamed and scattered to the far edges of the room as the qunari closed in. The Arishok looked offended, almost betrayed, as he swung both weapons at Emma. She ducked and dove to the side. Fenris and Isabela broke in opposite directions, their blades slicing through the approaching soldiers, while Varric calmly and steadily fired Bianca at the qunari. Anders just concentrated, ignoring the fear and the exhaustion and the noise, and then, with a deep breath, he threw his arms out, lightning shooting from either hand.
He rolled his eyes when the nobles screamed again.
Everything started to blur after that. There was nowhere safe to stand, no wall to put his back to, no corner to defend, so Anders kept moving, dodging the melee fighters and hurling spells when he could. His companions stood out as bright spots in his vision, everything else fading to dull colors and fuzzy shapes. It took nearly a minute for him to realize that Aveline and a handful of her guards had joined the fray, and for a moment, he hated her for it. More people for him to heal, more bodies to drain his mana, more lives piled on his shoulders and he was so damn tired already... But he kept going, casting spell after spell almost on instinct more than conscious thought.
Then Emma screamed, and everything snapped back into focus.
The Arishok had run her through on his sword, the blade jutting out nearly a foot from her back. She dropped her sword as she clutched futilely at her stomach. With a snarl, he lifted the sword, raising her up off the ground almost to shoulder height. She hung there, struggling uselessly, the pain and shock pushing her somewhere far past the ability to scream again. Then, almost with disdain, he flicked the sword to the side, throwing her off. She landed on her side nearly ten feet away, blood pooling around her.
For a second, Anders couldn't breathe. Then he ran to her, heedless of the battle raging around him, skidding on his knees for the last few feet. She was still breathing, somehow, fingers curling against the stone. “No, no, no no no no no, please, Maker, no...” He put his hand to her neck and started pouring healing energy into her, enough to keep her alive, to keep her heart beating while he figured out what to heal first.
“Anders...” He barely recognized the sound she made as his name, as weak and choked with blood as it was. “I-I'm... sorry...”
“Stop it,” he snapped. “You're not dying.” A lie, and he knew it all too well, his healer's senses and training telling him exactly what had happened. Cracked sternum, punctured lung, catastrophic damage to stomach and liver, rapid loss of blood…
Aveline flew past them in a blur, body-checking an approaching soldier. The Arishok howled in rage, and Anders risked a glance up to see Isabela on his back, daggers buried to the hilt in his shoulders, while Fenris drew another large gash across his chest. The Arishok spun around, dislodging Isabela, though one of her daggers remained in his shoulder, and slammed the flat of his axe into Fenris, sending the elf flying.
“Dammit,” Anders muttered. He'd healed the worst of the damage to the internal organs and stopped the bleeding, but she wasn't all right, not by a long shot. If she tried to go back into the fight, it might kill her. But if she didn't go back into the fight, the qunari might kill them all. Emma came to the same conclusion he did. She drew in a deep breath and sat up. “Emma,” he started, grabbing at her arm.
She shrugged him off and staggered to her feet, hissing in pain. “Sword,” she said. “Need my...” She groaned and pressed a hand to the wound. Anders seized her wrist, trying to hold her back. She pulled it free. “I'm fine,” she snapped.
“You're not--”
“Fine enough.” She ran back into the fight without a backward glance, braining a soldier with her shield before scooping up her sword.
We are going to have words after this, Anders thought as he uncorked a lyrium potion with shaking, bloody fingers. Words like 'don't you ever, ever do anything like that ever again.'
The tide of battle was turning, slowly but surely, in their direction. The qunari were falling, one by one, and the Arishok seemed almost demoralized by Emma's quick return to the fight. She seemed to have changed her mind about the duel, ignoring everyone else in the room to attack him. Slowly, she backed him towards the stairs, his movements growing sloppy as blood poured from the gashes on his chest and arms.
He hit the bottom step and staggered, and that was all the opening she needed. Emma flipped her sword around, holding it like a dagger, and stabbed it into his heart. The Arishok collapsed. He said something to her, too quiet for Anders to hear, and then his body went limp.
Emma staggered to a nearby wall and sagged against it, arms wrapped around her torso. Anders ran to her side. “You stupid, stupid woman,” he muttered as he cast another healing spell on her. “Stupid.”
She looked up at him and managed a tired, bloody grin. “I love you, too.”
He drew in a sharp, pained breath and shook his head. Somewhere behind him, he heard the sound of armored footsteps charging in. “Is it over?” Meredith asked.
Emma pushed off the wall, grimacing, and nodded. “It's over.”
“The city has been saved!” someone shouted. The gathered nobles broke out into cheers. Anders winced. Well, so much for secrecy. Between the Knight-Commander and half of Hightown witnessing him slinging spells with abandon, that cat was well and truly out of the bag.
Meredith's jaw twitched slightly. Then she gestured at Emma, turning to address the crowd. “It appears Kirkwall has a new Champion,” she declared. The cheering grew louder.
Emma blinked at Meredith. “Great. Thanks. City saved. Can I go now?” she asked.
The Knight-Commander narrowed her eyes at her. “We must speak,” she said. “Later. About several things.” She glanced at Anders again.
“Sure. We'll do lunch,” Emma agreed. She tried to take a step forward; her legs almost gave out under her. Anders dove forward and caught her, pulling her arm across his shoulders and wrapping his arm around her waist. Meredith stared at them, her expression unreadable, then turned on her heel and strode away, collecting Orsino and her Templars on the way to the door.
Emma swallowed and looked around. Aveline had already started shouting orders, trying to herd people out of the room. “Fenris, see what you can do to help Aveline, will you?”
“Of course,” he said with a nod. “Take care.”
Isabela approached slowly. “Hawke--”
“Shut up,” she said wearily. “Just... I don't want to hear it. You fucked up beyond the telling of it, Isabela, and I don't have the energy to deal with you right now. Just-- just go.”
She looked down and nodded. “Yeah. Okay.” She glanced at Anders briefly before spinning around and all but running from the room.
“Do you think you can walk home?” Anders asked.
Emma chuckled weakly. “What're you gonna do if I can't? Carry me?”
“I'm stronger than I look.” Although given how exhausted he was, he doubted he’d be able to make it down the stairs with her.
Another faint laugh. “I can walk,” she said. “Let's go.”
Varric took up a position on her opposite side, not touching, but clearly ready to catch her if she fell again. They walked in silence past the bodies littering the front hall and plaza. No one spoke until they were halfway down the stairs. “So, Varric,” Emma asked. “What in flames was Meredith talking about back there with that Champion business?”
The dwarf huffed out a laugh. “Free Marches tradition,” he said. “The Champion is a semi-official position in the city-states. Generally it's someone who's done a great service to their city, typically through combat.”
“Right. And what do Champions do, exactly?”
“It depends,” Varric replied. “The Champion is a symbol of their city. They're guaranteed respect throughout the Marches, if not beyond, so sometimes they end up as diplomats. Mostly, though, it's doing whatever the leader of the city asks of them. Their actions are seen as a reflection of the city as a whole.”
“Oh,” Emma said. “So, no pressure, then.”
“None whatsoever.”
They reached the bottom of the stairs. “Can you make it from here, Blondie?” he asked.
“Varric, the house is right there.”
“I just wanted to be sure,” he said. “Anything you need from me, Hawke?”
She sighed. “Check on Merrill, make sure she's all right. And... we'll need to talk. About Meredith. And this whole Champion thing. Maybe come by the day after tomorrow?”
“Sure thing, Hawke.” He patted her elbow. “Rest up, okay?”
“I'm fine,” she insisted.
“Yeah. Sure.” He glanced up at Anders. “You take care, too.”
Anders just nodded, already gently guiding Emma towards the house. “What happened out there?” Bodhan asked as they walked inside. “There was so much fighting, we all went back into the cellar, and then it got quiet--”
“Bodhan,” Emma said. “Not now. Please.”
“Oh! Right. Of course, messere.”
Anders didn't slow down as he walked them to the stairs. He had to stay focused, had to keep the adrenaline going, or else he'd collapse. He'd never pushed himself this far, not even during the siege in Amaranthine. He'd heard stories about mages who'd died burning themselves out, and he suspected he was getting dangerously close to first-hand experience.
He led Emma into their bedroom and eased her into the desk chair. She helped him strip off her armor, whimpering when she saw the state of her chest plate. “Oh, that's bloody ruined,” she breathed, holding it up and staring through the hole in the middle. “I loved this armor, it fit so well...”
Anders ignored her rambling, his attention completely focused on continuing to heal her. The damage to her lung was relatively minor, in comparison, but there was so much else, torn tissue and cracked bones and she'd lost so much blood.
Emma let him peel her blood-soaked shirt off and grimaced. “Ew,” she muttered. Anders knelt down in front of her and prodded at the wounds, front and back. She sighed. “Anders, honestly, I'm fine, you don't have to--”
“Will you shut up and let me take care of you for once!?” he snapped. Emma looked taken aback. He drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly. “I know exactly how close I came to losing you, so... please, just let me make sure you're all right.”
She nodded and fell silent, wordlessly obeying his requests to breathe in or turn to the side. Eventually, he drew his hands back and sighed. “That's everything I can do,” he rasped. “The rest has to heal on its own.”
“Am I okay to go change?” she asked, gesturing at her bloody clothes.
“Yeah, go ahead.” He forced himself to stand and move out of her way. She slowly walked to the bathroom, the door swinging shut behind her.
Anders made it to the bed before his legs gave out. He dropped onto the edge of it and sat there, staring blindly at the floor, vaguely aware that his hands were still covered in Emma's blood. The shaking set in a few moments later, and he squeezed his eyes shut, breath coming in short, shuddery gasps.
“Well, those are a loss, I don't think even...” Emma trailed off. Anders heard her footsteps on the tile; then the bed shifted as she sat down beside him. He forced his eyes open with a faint sound of protest as she started to clean his hands off with a damp towel. She was hurt, she shouldn't be... “Shh,” she murmured. “It's fine.”
He was too exhausted to argue. She finished with his hands and dropped the towel to the floor, then tugged his coat and shirt off. Anders fumbled with the laces on his boots and eventually managed to remove them. “Come here,” she said, pulling him back up onto the bed.
Anders collapsed against the pillows and rolled onto his side. Emma lay down beside him with a slight hiss of pain. As soon as she was settled, he slid his hand under her nightshirt, running his fingers over the wound. “Promise me you'll take it easy for the next few weeks,” he whispered. “You need to heal, you were so... I almost...” His eyes were stinging, and he closed them again, wishing that he could just stop shaking, stop thinking, and sleep.
“I'm right here,” Emma murmured, running a hand through his hair. “I'm here, and I'm alive, thanks to you.”
“I can't...”
“Sleep,” she whispered. “Just sleep.”
He let out a long, shaky breath, and let go. Unconsciousness took him as soon as he stopped fighting, and he’d never been gladder for it.
Series: Dragon Age 2
Characters: Anders, Hawke, Varric, Fenris, Aveline, Isabela
Pairings: Anders/Hawke
Rating: R
Where did they all come from? Anders wondered, looking at the qunari bodies littering the Viscount's Way. Did the Arishok have spares packed away in crates somewhere?
Emma half-ran, half-staggered over to the other mage who'd joined in the fighting: a tall, admittedly handsome elf in the garish robes of a Circle mage. She offered him a hand up; he took it, groaning in pain as she helped him to his feet. “Many thanks, my friend,” he said, a hand pressed to his side.
“Are you hurt?” Anders asked as he limped towards them. There were other mages in the square, crumpled, bloody forms, none of whom seemed to be breathing. He still had to check, had to see if there was anyone he could save.
The elf glanced at him, taking in the staff and faint glow around his hands, and shook his head. “Thank you, healer, but I will be fine,” he said.
Anders just nodded and continued past, crouching down beside the first mage he reached. An older man, probably an enchanter, blood leaking from the massive wound in his chest. He heard the elf speaking behind him as he reached out to take the mage's pulse. Nothing. He looked up, gaze flitting across the other bodies. They were probably all dead by now.
“I told them to run...” the elf breathed. Anders slowly got back to his feet and turned to see the elf on his knees beside one of the bodies, staring in wide-eyed horror.
“First Enchanter Orsino,” Meredith said. “You survive.”
Anders tensed, wishing he wasn't so far away from the others, as Meredith and her company of Templars entered the square. “Your relief overwhelms me, Knight-Commander,” Orsino said dryly, getting to his feet.
Meredith glared at him, and Anders took advantage of her momentary distraction to walk back towards Emma, taking up a position over her shoulder. “There is no time for talk,” Meredith said. “We must strike back, before it is too late.”
“And who will lead us into this battle? You?” Orsino asked. Anders found himself rather liking the elf. The First Enchanter of a Circle usually earned the position by spending quite a lot of time on his knees in front of the Templars. It was nice to see one who appeared to have a bit of spine.
“I will fight to defend this city, as I have always done!”
Orsino straightened up and shook his head. “To control it, you mean,” he snapped. “I won't see our lives tossed to the flames to feed your vanity!”
“How dare--”
“Okay!” Emma cut in with a broad, mirthless smile, stepping forward to stand between them. “I'm in charge.” Meredith and Orsino stared at her. “You two are just going to stand here bickering until the qunari have conquered everything between us and Par Vollen,” she said. “So I'm taking over.”
“You?” Meredith snapped, overcoming her shock. “You're not even from this city!”
“Nor am I, Knight-Commander,” Orsino shot back. “Would you deny me the right to defend Kirkwall as well?”
For a moment, Meredith looked like she was strongly considering it. Then, unbelievably, she backed down. “Very well,” she ground out. “We will follow your lead for now, Serah Hawke.”
“Wonderful.” She nodded at the Keep. “Let's get a closer look, shall we?”
Meredith and her Templars took point, and Anders was more than happy to let them-- he'd much rather see them take on the first several waves of qunari. Orsino fell in step beside him. “You're an apostate, then?” he asked quietly with a glance at Meredith. Anders nodded. “You take a great risk in joining this fight,” Orsino continued. “I wouldn't blame you for running.”
Anders sighed. He recognized the warning-- the offer-- for what it was, and a few years ago, he'd have been down the steps so fast he'd have left scorch marks. “I can't,” he said, glancing over at Emma and Varric and, flames, even Fenris.
Orsino followed his gaze and smiled faintly. “Well,” he said, “best of luck to you, then.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Anders muttered darkly, pulling a lyrium potion out of his pouch. Last one. He sighed and shook his head. “Damn.”
“Ah. Here.” Orsino reached into his robes and pulled out a pair of small blue bottles. “They're quite potent.”
Anders downed the one in his hand and took the potions with a grateful smile. “Thank you,” he breathed and tucked them into his pouch. Orsino just nodded.
The qunari had secured the entrance to the Keep with easily two dozen soldiers. By a straight headcount, they weren't badly outnumbered, but the qunari hadn’t spent the past hour slogging their way through an invading army. Meredith led them to the edge of the landing, out of the soldiers' sight. “They've already taken the Keep,” she said. “Clearly they've been planning this for some time.”
Emma nodded and glanced around their little group, taking stock. “Right,” she said. “Ideas?”
Meredith folded her arms, armor clinking slightly with the movement. “We assault them head-on,” she said. “It will be clean and quick.”
“Quick, perhaps,” Orsino said. “But not clean. And certainly not without casualties.”
Meredith gestured sharply over her shoulder at Anders. “That's what we've got a healer for.”
Anders glared at her. The thing he hated about Templars-- one of the many things, really-- was their rank hypocrisy. Magic was a curse, a mark of sin on a mage's soul, unless it could be of some use. And if it was useful, they'd better heel when so ordered. Bastards treated them like pets or toys, and healers had the worst of it because their skills were always needed. “The healer's barely standing,” Anders growled. “And you haven't got one at all.” He purposefully stepped over to stand beside Emma.
“Orsino, you have a suggestion?” she asked, lightly brushing the back of Anders's hand with her gauntlet.
“A distraction,” he said. “I could draw them away from the doors so the rest of you could slip in.”
“I don't--” Meredith started.
Emma held up a hand to silence her. “What sort of distraction?”
Orsino grinned and raised his hands as flame engulfed them. “This doesn't seem like the time for subtlety,” he said. “And it's been so long since I've gotten a throw a really good fireball.”
She grinned back. “I like it.”
“Hawke, do you really think it wise to trust this to a mage?” Fenris snapped.
She nodded. “I usually do,” she quipped. “Orsino, you'll distract them. I'll go in with my people and find the Viscount. And hopefully Aveline. Meredith, you and your men will hold back here. Make sure no one comes in behind us and that Orsino doesn't get killed.” She glanced back and forth between the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter. “I trust you two will cooperate for the good of Kirkwall?”
“Of course,” Orsino said immediately. Meredith nodded.
Emma flashed them a bloodthirsty grin. “Well then, ladies and gentlemen,” she said as she drew her sword, “shall we send these bastards to the Void?”
*
Emma was running. Impossibly, after the night they'd had, she still had the energy to run. Anders staggered after her, one hand on the wall, trying not to collapse. The doors to the throne room were shut, but the Arishok's booming voice echoed down the hall regardless.
“All you leave in your wake is misery! You are blind. But I will make you--”
See, Anders assumed, but the word was lost in a resounding crack as Emma kicked the door open. Dozens of Hightown nobles were gathered in the room, clustered together in little knots, all staying away from the red carpet running up the center. A man lay on the carpet, his head twisted at a sickening angle, and there was something else closer to the door-- Anders flinched as he recognized the Viscount's head, blood still dripping from the stump, the simple iron crown on the ground a few feet away.
“But we have guests,” the Arishok said-- almost sneered-- as Emma strolled in, twirling her sword in one hand. It was bravado, posturing, a desperate attempt to cover up the crippling exhaustion. Anders drew in a deep breath and straightened up, shoulders back, staff held across his body. They'd get through this. They had to.
“Shanedan, Hawke,” the Arishok said as he descended the stairs. “I expected you.” He was carrying a sword the size of Fenris's in one hand, and a two-headed battle axe in the other. That did not bode well. He looked Hawke up and down and shook his head. “But for all your might, you are no different from these bas. You do not see.”
“I can see just fine,” she drawled, stepping neatly around the Viscount's head. “For instance, right now I see a man ready to start a war on principle.”
“And what would the Qunari be without principle?” the Arishok asked. “You, I suspect.”
She smirked up at him. “There are worse things to be.”
He looked away from a moment. “So tell me, Hawke. You know I am denied Par Vollen until the Tome of Koslun is found. How would you see this conflict resolved without it?”
Before Emma could reply, someone made a strangled, gurgling noise by the door. “I believe I can answer that,” Isabela said, stepping on a qunari body as she strolled in, a massive book tucked under one arm. Anders wasn't sure if he wanted to kiss her or slap her, and going by the expressions around him, the others were similarly torn. “I'm sure you'll find it mostly undamaged,” she said, handing it to the Arishok.
He took it reverently, staring at the cover in awe. “The Tome of Koslun,” he breathed.
“It took me a while to get back, what with all the fighting everywhere,” Isabela explained, glancing at Hawke. “You know how it is.”
Emma smiled tensely at her, but it didn't reach her eyes. “Heroic acts of sacrifice? What will people say?”
“This is your damned influence,” Isabela retorted. “I was halfway to Ostwick before I knew I had to turn around. It's pathetic, what you people have done to me.”
The Arishok passed the tome to one of the other soldiers, who carefully took it and headed for the doors. Anders let out a shaky breath. Maybe, just maybe, they could get out of this without further bloodshed. Maybe the qunari would just go and they could all just go back to their lives and everything would be all right, somehow, even with the Viscount dead and Meredith personally aware of his existence.
“The relic is reclaimed,” the Arishok intoned. “I am now free to return to Par Vollen-- with the thief.”
Oh, son of a bitch.
“What?” Isabela asked.
“She will be a slave, Hawke,” Fenris said sharply. “They will destroy her just as surely if you stabbed her here and now, only they will take years to do it.”
Anders swallowed hard. Emma had been so furious before, but Isabela had come back. She'd done the right thing, albeit a bit late. Emma wouldn't hand her over. She wouldn't do that to her friends.
“She stole the Tome of Koslun,” the Arishok said. “She must return with us.”
Emma stared at Isabela, jaw clenched. Then she looked back up at the Arishok. “Sorry,” she said, and Anders let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. “If I let you take her, I don't get to kick her ass from here to Darktown and back again.”
The Arishok nodded. “Then you leave me no choice.” He gestured at her with the broadsword, an almost ritualistic motion. “I challenge you, Hawke. You and I will battle to the death, with her as the prize.”
There was a collective gasp from the nobles in the room. Emma raised an eyebrow. Isabela shook her head and stepped forward. “No! If you're going to duel anyone, duel me!”
Wow. She really did get all selfless on us, didn't she, Anders thought. The Arishok curled his lip in a silent sneer. “You are unworthy.”
Emma let out a frustrated breath. “You have what you came for! Just take your blasted book and go! This isn't necessary!”
“You know we do not suffer thieves. She cannot walk away from this insult. I will take her. If you object, duty demands that we fight.”
She glanced around the room. “I suppose a one-on-one duel would be the honorable thing, wouldn't it,” she said, looking down at her blade, shifting it back and forth in the light. “Funny thing, honor.” Her stance shifted ever so slightly, and three years of fighting beside her meant that gesture was all the warning Anders needed. He reached down deep and started summoning up the energy for a lightning spell. They were going to need some serious firepower for this.
Emma looked up at the Arishok and smiled. “It's the kind of thing that gets you killed,” she said, and slashed her sword across his chest.
The nobles screamed and scattered to the far edges of the room as the qunari closed in. The Arishok looked offended, almost betrayed, as he swung both weapons at Emma. She ducked and dove to the side. Fenris and Isabela broke in opposite directions, their blades slicing through the approaching soldiers, while Varric calmly and steadily fired Bianca at the qunari. Anders just concentrated, ignoring the fear and the exhaustion and the noise, and then, with a deep breath, he threw his arms out, lightning shooting from either hand.
He rolled his eyes when the nobles screamed again.
Everything started to blur after that. There was nowhere safe to stand, no wall to put his back to, no corner to defend, so Anders kept moving, dodging the melee fighters and hurling spells when he could. His companions stood out as bright spots in his vision, everything else fading to dull colors and fuzzy shapes. It took nearly a minute for him to realize that Aveline and a handful of her guards had joined the fray, and for a moment, he hated her for it. More people for him to heal, more bodies to drain his mana, more lives piled on his shoulders and he was so damn tired already... But he kept going, casting spell after spell almost on instinct more than conscious thought.
Then Emma screamed, and everything snapped back into focus.
The Arishok had run her through on his sword, the blade jutting out nearly a foot from her back. She dropped her sword as she clutched futilely at her stomach. With a snarl, he lifted the sword, raising her up off the ground almost to shoulder height. She hung there, struggling uselessly, the pain and shock pushing her somewhere far past the ability to scream again. Then, almost with disdain, he flicked the sword to the side, throwing her off. She landed on her side nearly ten feet away, blood pooling around her.
For a second, Anders couldn't breathe. Then he ran to her, heedless of the battle raging around him, skidding on his knees for the last few feet. She was still breathing, somehow, fingers curling against the stone. “No, no, no no no no no, please, Maker, no...” He put his hand to her neck and started pouring healing energy into her, enough to keep her alive, to keep her heart beating while he figured out what to heal first.
“Anders...” He barely recognized the sound she made as his name, as weak and choked with blood as it was. “I-I'm... sorry...”
“Stop it,” he snapped. “You're not dying.” A lie, and he knew it all too well, his healer's senses and training telling him exactly what had happened. Cracked sternum, punctured lung, catastrophic damage to stomach and liver, rapid loss of blood…
Aveline flew past them in a blur, body-checking an approaching soldier. The Arishok howled in rage, and Anders risked a glance up to see Isabela on his back, daggers buried to the hilt in his shoulders, while Fenris drew another large gash across his chest. The Arishok spun around, dislodging Isabela, though one of her daggers remained in his shoulder, and slammed the flat of his axe into Fenris, sending the elf flying.
“Dammit,” Anders muttered. He'd healed the worst of the damage to the internal organs and stopped the bleeding, but she wasn't all right, not by a long shot. If she tried to go back into the fight, it might kill her. But if she didn't go back into the fight, the qunari might kill them all. Emma came to the same conclusion he did. She drew in a deep breath and sat up. “Emma,” he started, grabbing at her arm.
She shrugged him off and staggered to her feet, hissing in pain. “Sword,” she said. “Need my...” She groaned and pressed a hand to the wound. Anders seized her wrist, trying to hold her back. She pulled it free. “I'm fine,” she snapped.
“You're not--”
“Fine enough.” She ran back into the fight without a backward glance, braining a soldier with her shield before scooping up her sword.
We are going to have words after this, Anders thought as he uncorked a lyrium potion with shaking, bloody fingers. Words like 'don't you ever, ever do anything like that ever again.'
The tide of battle was turning, slowly but surely, in their direction. The qunari were falling, one by one, and the Arishok seemed almost demoralized by Emma's quick return to the fight. She seemed to have changed her mind about the duel, ignoring everyone else in the room to attack him. Slowly, she backed him towards the stairs, his movements growing sloppy as blood poured from the gashes on his chest and arms.
He hit the bottom step and staggered, and that was all the opening she needed. Emma flipped her sword around, holding it like a dagger, and stabbed it into his heart. The Arishok collapsed. He said something to her, too quiet for Anders to hear, and then his body went limp.
Emma staggered to a nearby wall and sagged against it, arms wrapped around her torso. Anders ran to her side. “You stupid, stupid woman,” he muttered as he cast another healing spell on her. “Stupid.”
She looked up at him and managed a tired, bloody grin. “I love you, too.”
He drew in a sharp, pained breath and shook his head. Somewhere behind him, he heard the sound of armored footsteps charging in. “Is it over?” Meredith asked.
Emma pushed off the wall, grimacing, and nodded. “It's over.”
“The city has been saved!” someone shouted. The gathered nobles broke out into cheers. Anders winced. Well, so much for secrecy. Between the Knight-Commander and half of Hightown witnessing him slinging spells with abandon, that cat was well and truly out of the bag.
Meredith's jaw twitched slightly. Then she gestured at Emma, turning to address the crowd. “It appears Kirkwall has a new Champion,” she declared. The cheering grew louder.
Emma blinked at Meredith. “Great. Thanks. City saved. Can I go now?” she asked.
The Knight-Commander narrowed her eyes at her. “We must speak,” she said. “Later. About several things.” She glanced at Anders again.
“Sure. We'll do lunch,” Emma agreed. She tried to take a step forward; her legs almost gave out under her. Anders dove forward and caught her, pulling her arm across his shoulders and wrapping his arm around her waist. Meredith stared at them, her expression unreadable, then turned on her heel and strode away, collecting Orsino and her Templars on the way to the door.
Emma swallowed and looked around. Aveline had already started shouting orders, trying to herd people out of the room. “Fenris, see what you can do to help Aveline, will you?”
“Of course,” he said with a nod. “Take care.”
Isabela approached slowly. “Hawke--”
“Shut up,” she said wearily. “Just... I don't want to hear it. You fucked up beyond the telling of it, Isabela, and I don't have the energy to deal with you right now. Just-- just go.”
She looked down and nodded. “Yeah. Okay.” She glanced at Anders briefly before spinning around and all but running from the room.
“Do you think you can walk home?” Anders asked.
Emma chuckled weakly. “What're you gonna do if I can't? Carry me?”
“I'm stronger than I look.” Although given how exhausted he was, he doubted he’d be able to make it down the stairs with her.
Another faint laugh. “I can walk,” she said. “Let's go.”
Varric took up a position on her opposite side, not touching, but clearly ready to catch her if she fell again. They walked in silence past the bodies littering the front hall and plaza. No one spoke until they were halfway down the stairs. “So, Varric,” Emma asked. “What in flames was Meredith talking about back there with that Champion business?”
The dwarf huffed out a laugh. “Free Marches tradition,” he said. “The Champion is a semi-official position in the city-states. Generally it's someone who's done a great service to their city, typically through combat.”
“Right. And what do Champions do, exactly?”
“It depends,” Varric replied. “The Champion is a symbol of their city. They're guaranteed respect throughout the Marches, if not beyond, so sometimes they end up as diplomats. Mostly, though, it's doing whatever the leader of the city asks of them. Their actions are seen as a reflection of the city as a whole.”
“Oh,” Emma said. “So, no pressure, then.”
“None whatsoever.”
They reached the bottom of the stairs. “Can you make it from here, Blondie?” he asked.
“Varric, the house is right there.”
“I just wanted to be sure,” he said. “Anything you need from me, Hawke?”
She sighed. “Check on Merrill, make sure she's all right. And... we'll need to talk. About Meredith. And this whole Champion thing. Maybe come by the day after tomorrow?”
“Sure thing, Hawke.” He patted her elbow. “Rest up, okay?”
“I'm fine,” she insisted.
“Yeah. Sure.” He glanced up at Anders. “You take care, too.”
Anders just nodded, already gently guiding Emma towards the house. “What happened out there?” Bodhan asked as they walked inside. “There was so much fighting, we all went back into the cellar, and then it got quiet--”
“Bodhan,” Emma said. “Not now. Please.”
“Oh! Right. Of course, messere.”
Anders didn't slow down as he walked them to the stairs. He had to stay focused, had to keep the adrenaline going, or else he'd collapse. He'd never pushed himself this far, not even during the siege in Amaranthine. He'd heard stories about mages who'd died burning themselves out, and he suspected he was getting dangerously close to first-hand experience.
He led Emma into their bedroom and eased her into the desk chair. She helped him strip off her armor, whimpering when she saw the state of her chest plate. “Oh, that's bloody ruined,” she breathed, holding it up and staring through the hole in the middle. “I loved this armor, it fit so well...”
Anders ignored her rambling, his attention completely focused on continuing to heal her. The damage to her lung was relatively minor, in comparison, but there was so much else, torn tissue and cracked bones and she'd lost so much blood.
Emma let him peel her blood-soaked shirt off and grimaced. “Ew,” she muttered. Anders knelt down in front of her and prodded at the wounds, front and back. She sighed. “Anders, honestly, I'm fine, you don't have to--”
“Will you shut up and let me take care of you for once!?” he snapped. Emma looked taken aback. He drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly. “I know exactly how close I came to losing you, so... please, just let me make sure you're all right.”
She nodded and fell silent, wordlessly obeying his requests to breathe in or turn to the side. Eventually, he drew his hands back and sighed. “That's everything I can do,” he rasped. “The rest has to heal on its own.”
“Am I okay to go change?” she asked, gesturing at her bloody clothes.
“Yeah, go ahead.” He forced himself to stand and move out of her way. She slowly walked to the bathroom, the door swinging shut behind her.
Anders made it to the bed before his legs gave out. He dropped onto the edge of it and sat there, staring blindly at the floor, vaguely aware that his hands were still covered in Emma's blood. The shaking set in a few moments later, and he squeezed his eyes shut, breath coming in short, shuddery gasps.
“Well, those are a loss, I don't think even...” Emma trailed off. Anders heard her footsteps on the tile; then the bed shifted as she sat down beside him. He forced his eyes open with a faint sound of protest as she started to clean his hands off with a damp towel. She was hurt, she shouldn't be... “Shh,” she murmured. “It's fine.”
He was too exhausted to argue. She finished with his hands and dropped the towel to the floor, then tugged his coat and shirt off. Anders fumbled with the laces on his boots and eventually managed to remove them. “Come here,” she said, pulling him back up onto the bed.
Anders collapsed against the pillows and rolled onto his side. Emma lay down beside him with a slight hiss of pain. As soon as she was settled, he slid his hand under her nightshirt, running his fingers over the wound. “Promise me you'll take it easy for the next few weeks,” he whispered. “You need to heal, you were so... I almost...” His eyes were stinging, and he closed them again, wishing that he could just stop shaking, stop thinking, and sleep.
“I'm right here,” Emma murmured, running a hand through his hair. “I'm here, and I'm alive, thanks to you.”
“I can't...”
“Sleep,” she whispered. “Just sleep.”
He let out a long, shaky breath, and let go. Unconsciousness took him as soon as he stopped fighting, and he’d never been gladder for it.