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thorinoakenbutt · 1 year

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As the Moth Sees Light

It's been a few months since I last wrote anything, but I got bit by the DA2 bug recently! Also found on AO3 here

Rating: T Ship: Hawke/Anders Relevant tags: meet-cute, pre-relationship, bad flirting, protective siblings, suggestive themes

"Maker's Balls, and I thought Uncle's house smelled bad."

A sound halfway between a snort and scoff answered Hawke as she bent to pull her dagger free of the corpse with a sickening squelch. Straightening, she twirled the blade in a tight circle, only just managing to resist the temptation to wipe its bloody edge on the sleeve of her father’s old coat. A quick glance down at herself confirmed that the worst of the arterial spray from the poor, dumb sod had missed her. Good. One less argument to have with Carver later that night while she did the washing in the tiny room they shared. Maker forbid she get blood on her clothing, as though she hadn’t spent the last fourteen years having to do that exact task on a near monthly basis.

“Must be behind on my payments,” Varric muttered beneath his breath, nudging the Coterie thug with his boot. Another half dozen bodies littered the ground behind them, half of which were skewered with crossbow bolts. Hawke had to hand it to the dwarf - he and Bianca were handy in a fight. Without their addition, she likely would have had to find a dank corner of the already dank sewers in order to use her magic to heal their wounds.

“Are we certain that that Lirene woman isn’t giving us the run-around?” she asked idly, glancing back at her brother and Aveline. Carver hovered close to her, his familiar, grouchy presence at her back providing a comfort she could never voice aloud. He had a smear of blood on his cheek that she had to bite down the urge to lick her thumb and smudge away. He’d always hated her fussing, even when they were children. At least it didn’t look like the blood belonged to him. “I know that Grey Wardens like to while away their hours in the Deep Roads, but surely even those don’t reek this much.”

“Even with the taint?” Aveline scoffed, expression pinched. She lingered at the rear of their party, protective as always, with her hand resting on the pommel of her sword in a white-knuckled grip. The end of their scuffle with the Coterie didn’t put her at ease, gaze shifting quickly around the cistern’s passageways for other threats. The shadow that flitted across her face as she spoke sent a dagger of guilt twinging through Hawke as she remembered the good Ser Wesley.

The one who threatened to drag the Hawke sisters before the templars for the crime of apostasy. Lips quirking into a wry smile, she shoved the feeling deep down into the mental box where she kept every other troublesome emotion. He was dead, and Bethany was dead, and now her priority was ensuring Carver and their mother had a roof over their heads. Preferably one nicer than their uncle’s.

As they turned a corner, Hawke hop-skipped over the legs of yet another corpse - or perhaps this one was simply sleeping, judging by the snoring - whose legs jutted out into the walkway from an alcove. Varric walked in step with her, drumming his fingers in an off-beat rhythm against Bianca’s wooden stock. He was the only one of them that looked more or less at home in the sewers. His ambling gait brought to mind a casual stroll through Hightown’s Garden rather than the crime-riddled shithole they waded through. “Stink or not, this would be as good a place as any for a mage to hide,” he mused, eyeing the way Hawke sashayed down a flight of stairs in time with his tapping.

“You hear that, Cat? Maybe you should move down here,” Carver teased, lightly kicking the back of her knee as she reached the bottom step. He laughed when it buckled beneath her, though his hand shot out to catch her elbow before she could pitch face first into the dirt.

“Ha, you’re hilarious,” Hawke deadpanned, shoving her dagger back into its sheath before she could decide in favor of ‘accidentally’ letting it ‘drop’ straight into her baby brother’s thigh. The little voice in her head that precluded every bad decision she’d ever made tried to reason with her that it wouldn’t be anything she couldn’t heal herself. Probably. They were meeting with a magical healer, anyway. Hopefully.

They came to a second set of stairs that she took three at a time, bounding up them with renewed energy. A door was set into the wall with a conspicuously lit lantern, just as Lirene had promised. A crowd of refugees gathered around the door in a loose circle, most of them with varying degrees of injuries or illness. Coming to a half, Hawke chewed her lip and considered how best to proceed.

“Where there’s injured members of the Carta and sick children standing in a queue without it devolving into a brawl, there must be a healer,” she whispered to her companions. Drawing the still wet dagger back from its sheath, she approached her brother. “Quick, Carver - look pathetic.”

He scowled down at her, eyeing the blade warily. “What? Why can’t you play the damsel for once?” Hawke ignored him, plucking the leather away from his skin to stab a hole through it without risk of harming him. Then she smeared the blood down his front, frowning thoughtfully at the end result. It didn’t look bad . Perhaps the dim light filtering through Darktown would hide just how fake it was. Carver hissed angrily at her, but no matter. She’d stitch it together again later in lieu of an apology.

“Because,” she explained, patting his chest in a pantomime of comfort. His already impressive glower deepened and she huffed. “Listen. When a big, strong man like you goes down, you know it’s bad. They’ll let us through.”

Carver rolled his eyes, placing his hand on her shoulder to shove her away. “Carver,” she whined, drawing his attention back down to her. She pouted, unafraid to pull out all the stops. Add a little quiver to her lip, some mistiness to her eyes, and… “Please?”

He wavered. The stubborn set to his jaw loosened before he clenched his teeth again. Hawke let a single tear roll down her cheek, internally exulting when he sighed in certain defeat. All but collapsing against her, Carver moaned as if in pain for good measure. She wasn’t the only good actor in the family. Varric joined them, drawing Carver’s arm across his broad shoulders for support, leaving Aveline to watch them in reproachful judgment at the lie.

“Out of the way! The kid needs a healer!” Varric bellowed. Dozens of eyes landed on them at the commotion and Carver let his head loll forward, playing the part to perfection. The crowd parted, faces drawn with worry as they rushed by. Aveline darted ahead of them, propping the door open with her hip as she glanced back to ensure no one moved to stop them.

The door shut behind them, blocking out the cacophony of Darktown with a thud. Hawke surveyed the interior with interest, breathing deep of the scent of magic and herbs that lingered heavily in the air. It was strangely homey, in a dirty kind of way, strangely reminding her of their father. Fighting back the wave of homesickness, her eyes were drawn to the hunched back of the man who could only be the healer as he bent over the prone form of a child lying on a table.

His hands wove creation magic like he was born to it, drawing the healing energies into the boy as naturally as breathing. There was a bone-deep weariness in the slope of his shoulders and that made something inside of her ache. Hawke bit her lip hard enough to feel the skin split, the copper tang against her tongue providing enough of a distraction to strengthen her resolve to do something. She’d march straight back to Lirene’s shop once their business was finished to donate some of her meager earnings with strict instructions that it go toward a meal for the man. Maybe a nice sandwich with all the trimmings.

The magic snuffed out as the boy stirred, his parents rushing to his side as the healer staggered away. Hawke followed him with her eyes, frowning as he caught himself against the wall and swayed on his feet. His blonde hair had half escaped a tie he’d used to hold it back from his face, letting the strands fall into his face and obscuring it from view as he bent to suck in deep breaths. He’d overdrawn on mana, Hawke realized.

Her hand flew to her pack, fingers searching for a lyrium potion before she stopped - another refugee, perhaps an assistant, rushed to his side with one at the ready. He pushed the glass into the healer’s hands and he nodded his thanks before tossing the blue liquid back like a shot.

Carver’s impatience got the better of him and he cleared his throat, drawing the Warden’s attention. His amber eyes snapped to them, meeting her gaze for the briefest of moments and Hawke froze. He was handsome.

His was a narrow face with shadowed eyes, tired but kind with lines that crinkled at the edges even as he frowned at them. Hawke admired his long nose, her imagination running away from her with thoughts of what it might be like to sit on that lovely face and missed the way he dropped his gaze to the daggers at her waist. She did notice his eyes narrowing, darkening with righteous fury as he looked to Carver, then Varric, and finally Aveline.

The Warden lunged for his staff, his long, slender fingers wrapping around it like - Hawke snapped out of her daze, inhaling sharply as she realized she’d been holding her breath. She took an instinctive step in front of her brother, laying her hand on his arm as he reached for his own weapon. Heart pounding for a wholly different reason than being faced with a pretty man, she knew she had to diffuse the situation before it got ugly. The other refugees were sure to take poorly to their sole doctor being threatened.

It was an easy enough task once she got the man talking about his cat. The Grey Warden - Anders - didn’t let his guard down entirely as he ranted about the order he’d left behind, allowing her a moment to examine him more closely. He was thin, painfully so. There were dark circles beneath his golden eyes that spoke to sleepless nights yet there was a fierceness to him that drew her closer like a moth to flame. “Maybe I’ll double it and get him a nap and a sandwich,” she mused quietly, thinking about her impending donation.

The sharp jab of an elbow to her ribs brought her back to the present, and she stepped on Carver’s foot in retaliation. When she dragged her gaze back to the healer’s face, she flustered as they locked eyes again. “So if you’re not here for healing or to cause trouble for me…what do you want?” he directed at her. He’d clearly decided that she was the leader of their merry band, like so many before.

‘You,’ is what she absolutely couldn’t say no matter how desperately she wanted to. Anders blinked in surprise before his mouth curled into a warm smile, exhaling a chuckle. And Lirene said he wasn't a smiler. Maker. Her earlier words about marrying him rang in her ears, taunting her. Carver groaned in disgust and she felt her stomach drop into her feet as she realized that she’d said it after all. “Ah,” she said stupidly. Staring at the dirt floor beneath her feet, she willed it to open and swallow her whole to save her from her mortification.

“Somehow I doubt that’s why you came all this way,” Anders said, his smile turning wry. Hawke felt her face heat at his light-hearted tease and tried to hide the way she faltered by clearing her throat. Carver’s impatient shifting beside her reminded her of the real reason they came. It was no time to flirt with handsome healers.

Clearing her throat a second time, she decided to try again. “We need to know how to get into the Deep Roads.”

That wiped the smile off Anders’ face, his lips curving into deep frown the moment she said their intended destination. “No,” came his firm reply, planting his hands against his hips to add to the sternness of it.

Hawke grimaced at the finality in that single word. "We have good reason for wanting to go," she tried to reason, taking a step toward him with her hands raised palms up. She wasn't above going down on her knees for him to beg, though she'd rather not have an audience for that . Her eyes dipped to his hip region unbidden at the thought, wondering what he'd look like out of his robes. "My mother's an Amell and-"

"Amell?" Anders perked up at the name, as did a small number of the patients still in the clinic. Ah, good. If the family was still known within the city, then perhaps the name still held some leverage after all. Having them in his debt would be a powerful gambit. "I knew an Amell once, back in Kinloch Hold."

Hawke wracked her brain for the stories Mother used to tell of her family. Magic had shown itself in the bloodline before she ran off with an apostate and had two of them herself. "That must have been our dear cousin…two times removed?" she stated, glancing at Carver for confirmation. He shrugged, shifting from hip to hip in anxiousness at the eyes on them. "Why Anders, that practically makes us family already!"

The healer pursed his lips at that, fighting back another smile. He gestured for them to follow him further into the clinic, leading them to a far wall that held a few scant boxes filled with bandages and herbs. Reaching into one of the boxes for a bunch of dried embrium, Anders plucked the petals before dropping them into a mortar atop a table a short distance away. "The answer is still no," he said at last, eyes sliding to her face.

Hawke threw her hands up in exasperation with a huff. That drew a true smile out of him, one that darted across his face before he was able to temper it back into a look of stern neutrality. "I don't know what sort of 'get rich quick' scheme this is, but the Deep Roads are dangerous. They aren't a place to go traipsing around for treasure."

"That's a rather bold assumption to make, isn't it? What if we're simple sightseers? I happen to have quite the interest in history and Varric here-"

"Is a member of the Merchant's Guild," Anders finished for her. He gave the dwarf an appraising look before turning back to her. "If you're going to lie to me, at least make it believable."

"It's not a lie," she pouted, not missing the way he glanced at her lips. "I do like history. When it's not boring, at least."

"We're funding an expedition," Varric butted in, interrupting their banter. He idly tugged on the straps of one of his bracers before looking up at the healer with the same winning smile he gave Hawke when they met. "You know, Blondie, if you provided any assistance at all - even something as simple as a map or two - we'd be more than happy to offer you compensation. Coin. Protection. Supplies for this clinic of yours."

Anders hesitated. "I'm sorry, but I just can't take that risk," he replied, shaking his head slowly. Pulling out a pestle, he began to grind the red petals into a fine powder. "I may not be with the Grey Wardens any longer, but memories of the Deep Roads and the darkspawn are fresh enough that I can't in good conscience send anyone foolish enough to risk the taint to their doom."

"We're getting nowhere," Hawke heard Carver complain from behind her. "Listen here, mage-"

She panicked. Flailing for another tactic, whether to calm her brother or convince the Warden, she exclaimed, "Wait!"

Carver ignored her, brushing her aside before she could decide which man to handle. She watched anxiously as her younger brother squared his shoulders and the way Anders tensed his own, not turning away from the poor flower he was in the middle of pulverizing. She saw the electricity crackle over his fingers, though, and her mind went blank.

"You can tell us how to get there, willing or not," she heard herself say before Carver had the chance to. As her brother spun to look at her in surprise, she went pale. So much for peaceful solutions. Well done, Hawke, you've threatened the healer after all.

"Hawke," Aveline hissed in disapproval and warning both. Varric simply shut his eyes and gave a long, suffering sigh.

The troubled expression that had marred Anders' handsome features morphed into one of anger. He spun to face her, stepping into her space to bring himself chest to chest with her and Maker he was tall. Hawke squirmed in the face of his fury, pressing her thighs together and hating that she found that attractive. There was probably something very wrong with her, but she couldn't bring herself to care with him close enough that she could see the golden lashes that framed his eyes.

"Don't threaten me, little girl," he growled down at her. How was that fair? Hawke pressed her thighs even tighter together as a stab of heat speared her. She was transfixed.

Oblivious to her internalized shame spiral, Carver scrambled for his sword in a much more normal reaction to the threat. Just as quickly as he'd approached, however, Anders stepped away, breaking the spell. Hawke threw out her hand to keep her brother at bay.

"You can't imagine what I've gone through to get here," the Warden spat bitterly as he returned to his work table. Bracing his palms against its surface, he slid his gaze between the two siblings. "I'm not about to-"

"I'm sorry," Hawke blurted, desperate to salvage things somehow. She quickly moved to his side, hopping up on the table and ignored the way it creaked precariously beneath her weight. Anders didn't move away, though he watched her warily. Crossing one long leg over the other, she knit her fingers atop her knee and affected a look of contrition. "I think we've gotten off on the wrong foot. We haven't even introduced ourselves!"

Anders followed the line of her leg with his gaze before exhaling slowly. He turned and leaned against the table, facing away from her. "You already know my name," he pointed out, refusing to look at any of them.

"So does the whole of Darktown and half of Lowtown, it seems," Hawke replied in a light tone. She dared to reach out and gave his feathered pauldron a ginger pat. "I'm Hawke," she continued brightly, watching some of the surliness melt off of him.

Emboldened, she gestured to the rest of her companions. "You know Varric by now, of course. That's Aveline - she's a guard here in the city. And the tall glowering fellow is my brother, Carver."

Her brother's brows impressively furrowed deeper at the change in tactics. " Her name is Cat. We're both Hawke."

Anders' animosity disappeared entirely at that. "Siblings? That explains the way he's stood over you like a guard dog this whole time, I suppose." He paused. "Your name is Cat?" he asked, granting her a curious look.

"It's short for Catelyn. Mother's sense for irony - I'm a dog person, believe it or not," she breezed past the query, narrowing her eyes at her brother for his big mouth. Two could play at that game. She grinned at the way Anders' nose wrinkled, his interest quickly giving way to disgust. "Regardless, it's not my fault that everyone simply calls me Hawke."

"Of course not. It's not at all the fact that you never bother correcting them," Carver replied with a roll of his eyes. Hawke stuck her tongue out at him, resulting in a series of rude hand gestures that rapidly flew between them until Aveline broke their line of sight of each other.

"Enough! You're both worse than children," she barked, pulling them both up short. The man said no. It's time to find another way."

Chastened, Hawke ducked her head while Carver crossed his arms and glared at the wall. She shot Anders an apologetic look and hopped off the table. "No hard feelings, I hope," she sighed. "My own grasp of creation magic is…shaky at best, and you never know when you might need a healer in a place like Kirkwall."

"Cat," her brother gasped, voice strained beneath the special kind of angry he became when he was scared. He grabbed her arm to haul her away from the Warden, fingers pressing painfully through the fabric of her sleeve. "Shout it from the rooftops next time, why don't you? I'll watch Mother cry while the templars drag you away."

Anders had gone deathly still, eyes rounding in a surprise that brought a giggle bubbling up out of Hawke's chest. "You're a mage?" he asked in a voice that was little more than a whisper. His hands fluttered like he wanted to draw her back to him then wrapped around his middle.

"As my father before me," she confirmed airily. Carver shook her for her foolishness, scowling as she wriggled out of his grasp. Once free, she stepped closer to the healer. Close enough that he could reach out for her if he really wanted to. She wanted him to.

No. Bad Hawke, her brother was already furious with her. She batted away her sudden desire to be held by a near stranger and wrestled it into her mental box alongside the other Bad Thoughts. When Carver pulled her away the second time, she let him, quirking her lips at the way he placed himself between them as though Anders himself wasn’t an apostate. But he was stubborn, like their pet mabari. The Warden gave an oddly wistful look at the two of them that made her heart ache anew.

“Carver, it’s alright. He’s hiding from the templars too, so he’s not likely to turn me in.”

“Never,” Anders affirmed with a vengeance, a steel edge curling along his voice. His eyes took on a strange light, almost looking blue for a moment. Hawke frowned but he was turning away from them to pace agitatedly, muttering to himself beneath his breath. Glancing at the others, Varric caught her eye and shrugged. ‘Mages, right?’ his expression read. She gave a half shrug back. She liked to talk to herself sometimes too, so she had no room to judge.

Taking the Warden’s distraction as their cue to leave, Hawke gave an awkward wave of her hand. “Alright, well…very sorry for disturbing you, Anders.” He paused in his pacing to look at them, eyes widening again. “If you ever need some muscle, or a sandwich, or a night off…well, we spend most evenings at the Hanged Man.” She turned to go, gesturing for the others to follow when his voice stopped her.

“Wait.”

Hawke half-turned, twisting at the waist with her lopsided grin already in place. “Missing us already?” she teased, faltering when he retained his serious expression. Not so much as a smirk or an amused snort in response. Her smile slipped in turn.

“You can have my maps, though not for free,” Anders said in a rush. He took a step towards them, and then another. “A favor for a favor. Does that sound like a fair deal? You help me, I’ll help you?”

The sudden shift put Hawke on edge. He’d refused when offered payment, protection, and supplies, so what would make the man change his mind? “I don’t do anything involving children or animals,” she replied reflexively.

His lovely lips turned down at the edges in confusion. “What?”

She shrugged in response. “We also had to go through a lot to reach this shithole of a city, including selling ourselves to a mercenary company for a year. I found that it’s good to have standards for jobs you might take.”

“Ah. It’s nothing quite so dire, I assure you. Compared to traveling into the Deep Roads, it shouldn’t pose an issue,” Anders continued, edging ever closer. Hawke inclined her head in acknowledgement, indicating for him to continue. He locked eyes with her and she knew she’d agree to anything he asked.

“I came to Kirkwall to aid a friend.”

#Handers #Anders #Hawke #f!hawke #Olivia writes #Catelyn Hawke

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