Chapter Text
"It would figure that our first stop is in Ferelden," Dorian groused, brushing dirt off his robes.
Anders couldn't help but smile. The sun on his face, the smell of dirt and grass and dog, Ferelden was home. He'd never been to Redcliffe. Every time he tried to leave the Circle, he always went east or north. There was no point in heading to a town crawling with templars who would cut his freedom short. He'd left Ferelden years ago and forgot much about the beautiful country where he grew up. The memories trickled back slowly, though. Returning seemed to have a similar effect on Hawke as well, and he was whistling every so faintly. Fenris winced, glared, and Hawke smiled apologetically. Anders brushed his fingers deliberately over Hawke's and was pleased when Hawke took his hand, squeezing firmly.
So much happened in just a few months' time. Whatever it was about Hawke, he kept Justice at bay. Not quiet, as the thoughts were always there, always swirling. And on occasion, Anders woke with a new entry in his journal, the same capital letters written as if a child scribbled them. But Hawke never reported anything unusual and Anders woke feeling more refreshed than he ever had, curled against his lover. And if that wasn't a weird thing to come to expect, Anders wasn't sure what was. For the first time in a very long time, he felt not only satisfied, but happy. Karl was the last person to make him feel that way and cutting him out of one small part of his life was heartbreaking. Being so close to Hawke, feeling this way, it was terrifying and he wondered if he was simply fooling himself.
Hawke tugged on his hand. "Redcliffe's just up there. Ever been?"
Anders shook his head. "No. After I was Harrowed, I went north."
"We never stopped here for long. But my father took me a few times. He had a couple of contacts. Haven't been back in a while though. The last time I came home, we were out of West End for a bit. Looking into… Fenris, what was it?"
"Sewer monster."
"That's disgusting," Dorian chimed in.
"You don't know the half of it," Fenris muttered.
Anders laughed. "I'm not sure I want to know."
Hawke shrugged. "Turned out to be a very large alligator. Not something we usually handle. Sadly it didn't survive the extraction."
"You roasted it with a fireball."
Hawke scowled. "Damn thing nearly bit my arm off. Then where would we be?"
"Listening to you make, 'I am unarmed,' jokes, no doubt," Fenris sighed.
"Missed opportunity," Hawke lamented.
Anders laughed. "So, about Redcliffe?"
"Another mile," Hawke guessed. "Then we'll find a room and talk to the Arl in the evening."
It was nearly dawn. They'd taken to traveling during the night and sleeping during the brightest, hottest parts of the day. Though the sun wasn't as harsh here in Ferelden as it was in Tevinter, Dorian still seemed to have some trouble with it. He became sluggish and irritable, and Anders noticed he would change subtly. His eyes would turn black, his nails extended. He became sharper somehow, and while he appeared to at least be in control of his fangs, it was unnerving to see it happen. He wondered if it was similar to when Justice took over. The changes in anatomy alone were overwhelming. The magical signature shifting so wildly made it even more so.
As a healer first and foremost, he wanted to make sure his companions were taken care of. It was in his nature to look after others, even Fenris, who although they'd come to a mutual sort of agreement when it came to certain arguments, didn't seem to like him all that much. He put it down to jealousy. Hawke was an easy man to attach oneself to. Easygoing, with a horrible sense of humor, it wasn't difficult to get sucked in with his charm. Fenris was with him for a long time before Anders came along, but appeared to accept their growing relationship. Though it was confusing for Anders to become attached so quickly to someone when he'd spent most of his life pushing others away. Hawke just didn't let up. For whatever reason, Hawke decided that being with him was what he wanted. Anders thought perhaps he deserved someone with a little more life, a little more to give in return. For now, whatever this was, it worked well enough for the both of them.
Hawke lifted his hand and kissed the back of it, grinning endearingly. "You're quiet," he said, keeping his voice down.
Anders wondered if that mattered to beings who could likely hear leaves rustling in the breeze from miles off. His suspicions were confirmed when Dorian started to walk a little faster, Fenris keeping step but not before glancing back to Hawke, looking a little concerned. Hawke waved him on.
"Just thinking."
"Oh. I try not to do that so much."
Anders laughed. "Hawke."
"I like how you say my name. All exasperated but amused." He lowered his voice. "I like it better when you moan it."
Anders blushed. "Stop it."
"I mean it. So," Hawke said, changing tact, "thinking about what?"
"My clinic," Anders said, and was surprised when he realized he wasn't just saying that to cover up what he was really thinking about. In the back of his mind he was thinking about his patients, the volunteers that ran it, and Karl. Karl knew enough about it that he could help temporarily, but what if something happened to himself? Would they be able to press on without him?
"We'll go back to Kirkwall soon," Hawke assured him.
"No, we won't." Before Hawke could reply, Anders cut him off. "Optimism is one thing, Hawke, but we have a lot of work to do here. Simply that I never thought I'd be hunting a deranged magister across Thedas."
Hawke scowled. "If it's that important, you could always just leave." He dropped Anders' hand, then immediately reached for it again.
Anders pulled away, hurt. Perhaps this was the other, inevitable, shoe dropping. "Do you want that?"
"No! Of course not. But you don't have to phrase it like I forced you to come," he added, dejected. "Like you'd rather not be here."
"Oh, Hawke." Anders sighed. For as big and burly as Hawke was, the man could certainly pout. "It's an important mission. But I'd rather not have you issuing me false platitudes because it's what you think I want to hear."
"We will go back to Kirkwall soon. After we follow this lead. I want to catch up with Bethany. See if my brother checked in at all."
"You don't really talk about him."
"He's an asshole," Hawke said casually. "But he's family. You make exceptions. I just want to make sure he isn't dead, then move on. While we're there, you can check on your clinic, and stay with me for the night."
"Hawke-"
"I know we talked about it before, but I insist. Besides, don't you sleep better with me? I know I do with you around."
"…You're insufferable."
Hawke grinned. "I've been called that and worse."
"How can you be so damned irritating and then next breath you're…"
"Endearing!" Hawke proclaimed, and reached for Anders' hand again.
Anders, shaking his head, let him take it.
-
When they awoke late in the evening, they convened around the fire in the tavern to have a quick meal and discuss a course of action.
"All I'm saying is that storming the castle isn't usually the best course of action. More likely it's a surefire way to get killed. If you're looking to join the legions of the undead that are rumored to be coming from the castle," Dorian said, waving a hand. He took a small sip from a flask which contained Alexius's blood.
Fenris tried not to recoil. The scent of blood never truly bothered him, so long as it didn't belong to himself or Hawke. Blood of their enemies however, was always welcome. Knowing Dorian needed to drink to sustain himself was unnerving. Nearly everything about him was. His easy aloof, manner. The fact that he was a mage and the son of a magister. How he never seemed to take much seriously. Even Hawke, for all his bad jokes and aloofness, knew when to stop acting like a fool. Dorian made nonchalance look elegant. He leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the back, legs stretched out in front of him. The fire warmed his boots, and he appeared content while talking about an undead army invading the city. He wasn't sure how much was a mask, and how much was real. But he smelled the anxiety on him, so he wasn't completely indifferent.
"I talked to the mayor," Hawke explained. "He said for weeks now, every night at midnight an army of the undead descends from the castle and takes at least one villager."
"Hold on a moment, what do you mean, 'takes'?" Dorian asked, sitting up straight. "Undead don't do anything they're not ordered to, and they're not in the habit of leaving people alive when faced with opposition. If they're ordered to be peaceful, the villagers could just mow them down with pitchforks and fire."
"It does seem a little sketchy," Anders agreed. "Did the mayor say anything about the losses? How many were killed?"
Hawke shrugged. "No, he just said that one night they came from the castle and every night since then they started taking one villager."
Dorian looked up at the clock over the fireplace. "Half an hour to midnight. We should see this for ourselves." He took another sip, capped the flask, and replaced it in his bag before standing and stretching.
"We can defend the villagers," Anders added, reaching for his staff. "If we can repel the undead, or kill enough of them, we should be able to sneak inside the castle to find the source of what's reanimating them."
Fenris wasn't sure. Something felt off. Why hadn't the people of Redcliffe appealed to their king already? Why was the town so secretive overall about this? Their Arl was sick, but more likely he was dead. Possibly some blood mage controlled the stronghold. They needed more than a militia and a few capable hunters. They would need an army, siege weapons, someone to lead the fight.
He followed Hawke out into the night, the cool breeze off the lake ruffling his hair. Dorian pulled his cloak around himself and Fenris snorted lightly. If he thought it was cold now, it was only going to get worse. But perhaps they'd be back in Kirkwall before that happened, safely ensconced in Hawke's mansion, sitting once again in front of a fire. He would change to his wolf form and curl on the hearth like he'd done so many times before. Only this time, the picture included Anders sitting with Hawke. Jealous parts of his subconscious added Dorian as well for balance, and surprisingly they were curled up together in his little daydream.
"All right?" Dorian asked, using his staff for balance as they descended the hill toward the town square.
"Errant thoughts of Kirkwall."
"Homesick?"
Fenris bit his tongue, holding back a snappish remark about needing a home to be homesick. It would be an insult to Hawke, after all he'd done for him, to state he didn't have a home. Hawke was family now. That didn't mean it wasn't surreal, however. "A bit."
"I'm sorry."
Fenris looked at Dorian through the darkness, seeing him as easily as one would if it were a sunny afternoon. "It's fine," he muttered. "I'd rather be here with Hawke than there alone."
"Perhaps once this is over we can have a grand party."
"I… don't like parties much."
Dorian laughed. "No, you don't seem the type. But I wouldn't mind attending one with you."
"Okay, loverboy, break it up," Hawke said, thrusting a hand between the two of them. "Look, they're gathering in the square."
They approached the group of villagers, at the center of which stood a girl, crying softly into a handkerchief. An older woman, her mother perhaps, had a comforting arm around her, trying to placate her.
"It's for the best, my dear," the woman said.
"I know!" the girl sniffed. "I know, I just wasn't ready."
"Ready for what?" Hawke asked, stepping right into it as he usually did. "Murdock," he added, nodding to a ruddy-haired man who stood nearby, watching impassively.
"Hawke," Murdock said. "This doesn't concern you."
"She seems upset. Maybe I can help."
"She won the lottery," the older woman said.
"Er. Well. Congratulations?" Hawke said.
This was evidently the wrong thing to say, and the girl sobbed harder, crying into her mother's shoulder.
"Doesn't seem like she should be that upset," Hawke noted.
And Fenris suddenly realized. Anders did as well, and his eyes flashed blue in the night. Murdock took several steps back as Anders advanced on him, his voice deep and reverberating.
"You sacrifice your own?"
Not that Fenris wanted to get between the monster that was Justice and a man like Murdock if this was indeed the truth, but they needed answers. As Hawke tried to calm Anders down, Fenris stepped up. He was a few inches shorter than Murdock but much more intimidating. His markings flared and perhaps Murdock thought him as dangerous as the spirit abomination, because he put his hands up in surrender. The villagers took a collective step back, away from their group, clearly terrified.
"This is why the undead take only one. You draw lots to see who gets taken?" Fenris asked, disgusted.
"It was the fairest way!" Murdock said. "They come down out of the castle, take the one who volunteers, and then leave us alone."
"Volunteers?" Hawke snapped, one hand on Anders' shoulder. The barely contained anger between the four of them was palpable though, and while the villagers were numerous, they were outnumbered as far as power and strength. "You force people to sacrifice themselves!"
"We don't know what happens," Murdock said quickly.
"Well the undead certainly aren't bringing them to the castle to serve them tea!" Dorian said, glaring. He drew even with Fenris, eyes leveled at Murdock.
"She's not going," Anders said, finally gaining control of himself. "I'll take her place."
"Anders-"
"Hawke, I can handle a few undead. And you can follow."
"We can all go," Dorian said. "The four of us." He looked back to Murdock. "Whatever it is you do with your villagers, you'll do to us, and the undead will take us instead of an innocent girl."
The girl, who was watching the conversation unfold, gave a sob of relief. "Andraste bless you!"
With the entire village watching, Murdock couldn't say no. "Very well. Let's get you ready."