An Abomination’s Legacy

“You don’t need to lecture me.” She tried to diffuse. Failing. 

“And more suffer now that the nobility are hiding their heads in the sand.”

“I am not hiding my head!” Hawke stood even though she knew she could not threaten the mage by stature alone.

“No, you feast.” He threw up his hands and walked toward the vacant beds.

“Are you mad at me for celebrating the city’s victory?”

“You broke bread with her! She’s a lunatic who would behead me and all my kind for merely speaking out of turn. She’s no better than the Qunari you “protected” us all from. You accepted her favor. For clout!” Anders kept his back to Hawke. 

“You’re cute when you’re mad.” She grinned, hopefully.

Anders seethed. The whites of his eyes turned blue as he fought to keep Justice restrained.

Hawke stepped back a bit, trying to seem less. “I went to the Gallows, I’m sorry, The Circle. 

“Don’t childproof it for me, Hawke.”

“The city invited me, not Mer-“

“You don’t fool me, Hawke.” Anders turned, more deflated than riled. “You’ve always felt Andraste’s fear. I don’t understand why to started anything up with me. Don’t you see you’re the hypocrite here?”

“Anders, I,” Hawke pursed her lips. “I came to ask you to escort me to the Champion’s Ball.”

“Champion.” Anders rolled his eyes. “That again. Champion Of Whom?” 

“What do I have to do to prove I am no Templar?” Hawke was riling now. She moved to stand in front of him. Speak face to face. But he seemed to have enough to keep him busy away from her gaze. 

“You don’t need the fancy armor to oppress mages. Though you would look good in them.” He turned and smiled at her, casting his gaze down her body. Imagining Templar Hawke. Flaming Sword on her chest. Dampening the magic while high on lyrium. 

“Really, you flirt with me after-?” Hawke bit her lip. “You are impossible!”

Anders finished cleaning the clinic as Hawke fumed. He was too calm, too focused. Why wouldn’t he just go toe to toe with her and get it all out now? Did the Spirit hold him back? Could she anger Justice enough and have a good solid fight about it?

When he had nothing else to distract him, he finally sat next to Hawke on one of the tables. He leaned forward, blonde wisps that never made it into the tie fell over his eyes. Knees at her shoulders, hands dangling between them. He sighed the exhaustion of a long day. Long months of keeping himself, keeping Justice away from the fallout. 

“When is this Ball?” He took Hawke’s hand gently into his, turning it over, as if he needed to relearn the patterns in her skin.

“In a week. The city has healed-“

“Hightown has healed.” Anders interrupted softly.

“And, Hightown people feel a proper ceremony is required. It is my official debut to Marcher society. They are even allowing Bethany to come, plus one.” She smiled. “The Amell name is officially received again.”

“Your mother would be so proud.” The love and care he felt for her dripped from every syllable despite his mood. 

Hawke sighed, tears still pressed whenever she thought of her mother. “Remember when Bethany spoke to you of our father?”

“How could I forget? I was giddy for weeks, the hope that you could see me as a man like him.”

“Well, she was wrong.”

Anders tensed, the physical reaction to keeping Justice at bay, just in case. He was nowhere to be felt, but disappointment registered the same as injustice to the Spirit. “Oh.”

“Father ran from this obvious future. He ran to live a life he had no business living.”

“So, you think a mage doesn’t deserve a normal life, with love and a family.” Anders dropped her hand and stood.

Hawke jumped down and slid in front of him, catching his face in her hands. He shook loose, but she wrapped her hands tighter around his jaw, fingers caressing under his ears and into the hairs on the back of his neck.

“He wasn’t half the man you are. I love my family more than anything. But he ran from Circles when he could instead of changing them for you. You fight for what you believe in. You stay by my side even when there are Templars who know you, where to find you. They taunt me with it all the time. But here you remain. You’ve stopped running.”

“Hawke, I,” Anders blushed, a single tear bubbled in his left eye.

“Father would encourage Bethany that a mage should choose that which is best. When I see mages settling for what is most base, I feel they deserve The Circle. But then Bethany was taken. They call it a place of education. Mages took her instead of protecting her. I wanted all other mages to feel her pain.”

“All?” His brown eyes searched her face while his hands pushed hers to her side.

“All.” She turned from him in shame. “Fenris –“

“Here we go!” Anders knew exactly what Fenris would see done with him.

“He didn’t mean to, and if you ever tell him I said this, I’ll kill you. But he talked me down. After you almost, after Sir Alrik, I had every intention of marching Meredith down here and-“ she couldn’t finish.

“He stopped you?” He shook his head softly, eyes flinching, unbelieving. 

“He understands your rage. Give him at least that. How you have to live under the giant thumb of the Chantry.” Not that he truly cares. But he told me if I could turn on you, I could turn on any of you.” Hawke sat on a bench and dropped her head in her hands. “I didn’t see any of it before. Not after the Saarabas. Not after Grace. I just saw my life spiraling into a mess of roads and running. The endless running.”

She sighed, shaking the thought from her mind. Slowly she looked up and took in the unstoppable concern in him. “But when I saw you intended to run as well, after the Solution unraveled, because no one supported you…”

“You asked me to stay.”

“Forever.” She frowned. Now wondering if she will be ever the fool, thrice rejected from her companions. “I know I can offer you more than my mother could my father. She was happy to run with love. I am fine fighting for it.”

Anders stood out of arm’s reach. There sat the Champion of Kirkwall, begging a mage to stay with her, despite the consequences. Her pale eyes twinkled in the lamplight, glassy with shame and hope. Her white hair burned a gentle red as it reflected the warmth of the fires that kept most of the disease away. 

“Say something, Anders.”

“You stayed with me out of pity?” He was tense, understated, grasping at every ounce of control as Justice pounded at the bars of his cage. “Pity from the elf?”

“No!” Hawke crumpled back into the bench. “I love you, Anders. Even after everything I have seen. About mages. About Kirkwall. About me! Maker be damned, Anders. I love for what you are. Who you are! The compassion you show everyone, except yourself. Spirit, mage, downtrodden. You experience all this, and choose to stay.”

She waved wildly to the dusty, sewage smelling disgrace of a clinic. It was the nicest thing one could find in Low or Dark towns and it was a gods-forsaken mess. And still it helped more than any Hightown healer would dare to. “Damnit, Anders. These past six months have been hell without you. I hear your dry humor in my ear. The cutting remarks all the authority up there needs to hear. I can’t say it. I’m too weak to. I need you. You balance me. Ground me. Hold me accountable. Which, Maker knows no one else really will, not the way you do-“

“I’ll go with you.” Anders was leaning against the same column she met him by. Arms crossed. A smirk on his face. 

“To the Ball?”

“Anywhere.” He pulled his magic around Hawke until she was compelled into his arms and he held her as tight as he could.

_

“Hawke.” Aveline pressed Hawke’s elbow. “We should go in.”

Four figures stood in front of the beautifully lit keep. Society from all corners of Thedas were trickling in, mingling in the courtyard, laughing, seeing and being seen. Anders fidgeted in the Orlesian silk coat Hawke ordered tailor-fit for him. The deep blues of his silks were the same as the embroidery on her bodice. The lining of his coat, its embroidery and his pants matched her hair perfectly. He looked spectacular, his hair down, tufts of blonde framed a face that blushed as Hawke devoured him with her eyes.

She adjusted the belts that held the jacket closed. It had the silhouette of Templar dress uniforms but the look of Orlesian royalty. None of the long mage dress robe’s look or feel.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Hawke.” Aveline admired the twists and tendrils that piled around Hawke’s head. 

Anders was glad she had dressed them. He would have been sent to the Gallows for sure, just for wanting to dress as plainly as he felt comfortable. He argued with Hawke nearly an hour as the tailor fussed with fabrics. Not only was a Hightown tailor in his Darktown clinic, but he kept having to excuse himself whenever a stray pin caught his skin. Justice, boiling at the surface due to Anders’ overwhelm, would flair, unable to understand the absurdity of the situation.

“Weak bladder.” Hawke would explain, a sickening smile stretched across her face. 

“You better be torturing the others equally, or I’ll never forgive you.” Anders glared as he tried to avoid the subtle movements that caused the nervous tailor to twitch and poke. 

“Oh, plan on it.” Hawke winked. 

“I demand royalties! Whoever shamelessly stole the color of my eyes must be tarred and feathered. Immediately!” Bethany approached in golden brown robes. Only the keenest eye would decipher the tale of magic and power winding around her skirt. 

“Sunshine!” Varric opened his arms to the circle mage as she joined the group. “I am honored to be your escort for the evening.”

“The honor is mine.” She took Varric by the arm and the entourage turned to Hawke.

“Shall we, Hawke?” Varric winked.

“The others aren’t coming?” Hawke peered into the darkness, hoping to see the rest of the company in the stragglers.

“Merrill sends her regards, but she wouldn’t know how to behave around so many humans.” Anders took Hawke’s arm in his.

“Isabella hasn’t been seen in months. I wonder if she even knows you invited her.” Varric added.

“Sebastian arrived a while ago, with Her Grace. He’ll see you inside.” Donnic finished.

Everyone blatantly avoided the topic of Fenris.

“Then we are met. I suppose we should start the evening.” Aveline wrapped her arm in Donnic’s 

“It is a fine night for one.” Donnic couldn’t help himself.

The party held a collective breath as Aveline’s face blanched. But she kissed her new husband’s cheek and lead the party up the steps to the massive doors.

Anders paused while the others entered the doors, broken and unable to close since the Qunari broke them down, and stole a kiss from the Champion. Hawke held his cheek and smiled in gratitude, in utter joy. A ripple of blue glinted across his eye as if to remind her Justice was also here and watching. She began to warn Anders but the event noticed her. 

“The Champion has come!” A voice boomed and all the revelers stopped and turned. 

Hawke suddenly felt it was a bad idea to have Anders in such a spotlight. But no one looked at him, they were all pressing to see the woman who ‘single-handedly’ slew the Arishok. All but Meredith. The Knight-Commander’s eyes narrowed at the blonde mage she knew all too well. Hawke smiled and held her hand out to the woman. As all eyes fell upon her, Meredith was forced to return a smile and welcome the Champion. Anders was shocked at the Qunari horns woven into the lower back of Hawke’s bodice. He noticed the same design on the shoulders of his coat,  broken but elegantly placed to emphasize the curves of her body. There they were on Bethany. And Varric. And Alvaline. Donnic wore the guard dress uniform. She really had thought of everything. He always admired Hawke of her ability to excel in a pinch, but he was swept off his feet by her inherent elegance, knowledge and grace. That she would choose a mage to partner with would always confound him. She would always be at odds with expectations. 

Hawke looked positively radiant next to Meredith. The Knight Commander’s armor reflecting the millions of candles onto her silk dress. Full armor, Anders noted, her great-sword fastened tightly to her back as a subtle warning. Meredith had stepped in just behind the Champion, blocking Anders’ until they entered the dining hall. They stopped at the door to be announced. The Knight-Commander presented Hawke at the landing of the front hall stairs.

“Kirkwall welcomes its newest hero, Miriam Hawke, of the noble and established house Amell. Join us as we drink to her and her,” She swallowed back the words she desired to say, “companions. Those that fought to keep this corner of the Marches safe from heretics.”

She looked sharply back to Anders who stood just behind the women with Bethany, Varric, Aveline and Donnic.

The crowd erupted and followed the women into the throne room. As each entered a voice announced names and titles. 

Except for Anders. Either Hawke had asked them not to, or they conveniently swept the apostate under the rug. He followed Hawke like a servant. Slowly regretting his choice to escort her.

A shroud covered the viscount’s seat of honor, and an honor guard protected the solemnity of the vacancy. Orsino, Grand Cleric Elthina, and Sebastian stood at places of honor as Meredith escorted Hawke and the companions to the head of the table. Meredith sat to one side of the Viscounts vacant chair, between Hawke and Orsino. Anders was followed by Aveline, then Donnic, Varric and Bethany rounded out the party. Orsino nodded to the younger Hawke and smiled. It was good to have so many mages at places of honor.

As the food was served and the wine poured and poured, a steady stream of nobility were introduced to the Champion. She smiled graciously, took each of their hands, and introduced Anders and her sister to them all. Maybe it was the wine getting to his head, but the rebel mage never felt so celebrated in his life. She made sure each of them knew he was with her, as more than a guest. My Anders and my sister Bethany. No one really thought twice of it. The two didn’t look stereotypical mages, maybe Hawke planned that in her clothing selections. They were asked to leave their weapons at home. Orsino wore his proudly as First Enchanter, also because Meredith still was a peer in the eyes of the law, regardless of the slow fist she pressed upon the circle, he would take as many liberties as she would.

Anders wanted the world to know he was a mage, he wanted them to have to confront their own misguided fears. Hawke wanted them to know him as a human first, for that was all he ultimately was. She argued it was unnecessary to create a debate where there should be none. He conceded, much to Justice’s chagrin. 

After dinner was served, Elthina invited the guests back to the front hall for dancing. 

“Hawke.” Anders snagged the Champion and pulled her back as the rest bled out of the hall.

“Yes?” She grinned profusely and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Are you having a good time?”

“Splendid.” 

“Thank you for all of this. It is more than I ever could have imagined, half of Thedas knows you chose me. What happens if they find out, you know, I’m a mage?”

“They all know! They don’t care. Not here. Not tonight. The double standards of the wealthy are in our favor tonight.” She squeezed his waist playfully. 

“What if I do something that will destroy all you have done for yourself? I know they don’t see me now, but one day, the other boot may drop.”

“I’ve always loved boots.” She perched on her toes and kissed him ravenously.

“Champion.” Meredith’s voice parted them like she were an over-protective father at the door. 

“Knight-Commander?” Hawke raised her head in defiance.

“If you are quite done dallying, there are formalities that await you.”

“Am I a waste of time?” Anders hissed but kept turned from her.  

“Aren’t all mages?” She scoffed, her arms crossing in front of her. 

Anders squared up to the Knight-Commander, but Hawke held out a hand, stopping him or Justice from reacting further.

“An important man died here because our defenses were distracted by mages.” Meredith’s tongue cut the air as her tone grew quiet. “If she is distracted further, the safety of our city can and will suffer.”

“Distracted?” Anders shook Hawke off, keeping his tone even with Meredith’s. “By the suffering of half the city? Distracted by the persistent raids in Lowtown homes? Or distracted by the zealous rants of blind superiority?”

“Not tonight, love.” Hawke’s sotto quieted him enough, his hands and eyes sparking bits of blue.  

“Muzzle your mage, Champion,” Meredith’s tone cooled. “Or you may never fully rein him in.”

“I might not always need to.” Hawke snapped back, never having shown such defiance before.

Both Anders and Meredith let slip their surprise, one with a gasp and one with a stifled laugh. Hawke elbowed Anders. Meredith tore between them, a last act of authority, and stomped out of the hall.

“So you can provoke her, and I can’t?” A pout puckered on his face.

“I can’t be made tranquil.” Hawke scolded.

“We know I still can, in your stead.” Anders winked as he jested, but reality was not lost to either of them.

A small orchestra lit up the air as the Champion and her date joined the revelers. Those from her party waited on the lower level, the first dance hers. Anders dropped her arm, as Meredith came into view, perched atop a balcony, a look of murder on her brow. She artfully rested a hand on the pommel the great sword that now rested point buried between her feet.

“Maybe you should go on without me.” He hesitated.

“Nonsense. She can’t touch you here.” Hawke wrapped her arm around his again and escorted him down the stairs.

Meredith caught and held Anders’s eye. Justice boiled beneath, words no one should hear, curses only known to the Fade, rippled in his head. Anders clenched his jaw, his breath shallowed as he fought to keep calm. But hers was the face of all the countless abuses he ever suffered, and fear seasoned his rage. 

Hawke either chose to ignore the threat, or didn’t notice. She pulled Anders onto the floor and swept him into a waltz. He had never learned to dance, but Hawke was so graceful, as long as he stayed attuned to her gentle movements, she made sure he looked flawless. The wine took over as his heart swelled with love and pride, burying Justice deep inside a blanket of safety. The rest of the guests joined in, but Hawke was lost in a world spinning with blonde locks and amber eyes. Her wedding day would not be any lovelier. 

She imagined her father and mother not far off, proud of their daughter and welcoming Anders as their son. Mother had already, of course. She was happy to bless their love. She was honored that her daughter took after her in so many ways she never expected. But her father, she knew, would caution the hard choice. They were always fine for him to make, but he always felt she and Carver should live the life he always wanted. Carver would be fuming at her ties to a mage. Given the chance, he’d turn him over to the Templars, she was sure of it. But even in her dreams, she couldn’t imagine anyone else here in her arms.

Anders, too couldn’t keep his eyes from her. It hadn’t been since their first night together that he wallowed in such happiness. He was overwhelmed by the normalcy he was offered by the crowd. With Hawke, life was indeed possible. Acceptance was possible, for they would always remember him at her side. At the start of all things. There were so many other possibilities for this woman’s future, and she remained in his arms.

“May I cut in?” Fenris took Anders by the shoulder, and Justice nearly sprang from the mage, but Hawke leaping into the elf’s arms and Meredith looming overhead, Anders was able to swallow the Spirit.

“Fenris!” Hawke beamed and nearly bowled the elf over as she embraced him. 

He was dressed to the nines. Black silks with the same silver stitching as everyone else’s outfits but it blended seamlessly with his tattoos. Hawke had sent him the suit. It was too much jealousy for the mage. Even if he was so visibly connected to her, it seemed she planned all their outfits to complement hers, but perhaps they were to echo his. She took no notice of Anders and took the elf’s hand. Fenris smiled as his lyrium-laced fingers gripped her waist.

“Excuse me.” Anders choked back Justice again and quickly headed to the fresh air of the courtyard. 

Refusing to look back, he forced his way through the packed dance floor and out the large doors of the keep. He couldn’t fathom how she would allow him such access to her after he broke her heart. But there was a forgiveness in her that he benefitted from more times than the elf ever did. He couldn’t begrudge her opinions, no matter how they differed from his. He choked back tears as Justice whispered in the distance. 

“Sneaking off, mage?” Meredith silently closed the door as she slipped into the courtyard.

Everything in him froze. He had to keep cool. He had to keep Justice within. He prayed a small prayer to a Maker he didn’t believe in to keep him together. He fixed a smile on his face and slowly turned, hands visible at all times. A habit from the Circle. 

“Knight-Commander!” Anders bowed, hoping his respect could stay her hand.

Meredith circled Anders, her over-polished armor flashed in the moonlight. Anders looked for escape, but he was caught, off guard, in the recesses of the columns that lined the courtyard. Meredith paced the path to freedom like a lion.

“Stand up tall, mage. You don’t fool me. I can smell defiance. You reek of it. Mage.” Her face was pale, stone-like. She was a beautiful angel of death.

“I’ve never hidden who I am.” Anders pressed his lips together and pleaded with Justice to remain calm, the venom in his voice already too much.

“What you are.” Meredith was over-glad to have him finally alone. “You’re a creature of the Fade. You walk ever with the Maker’s first and forgotten children. I can see of you what the Champion clearly cannot, fooled by your charms.”

“Hawke chooses to be with me through no spell.” Anders was used to this conversation after Sebastian and Fenris each tried to make him leave her alone. “She loves me.”

“She is in love with the thrill of you, perhaps. An adventurer and well trained woman though she is, she cannot fathom the full danger you pose.”

“I would never hurt her.” Anders stepped toward the Knight-Commander but paused.

But Meredith read between his lines. “You care for nothing but your agenda. If she were to step in the way of that, you would turn.”

“Do not suppose you know anything about me, Templar.” Anders fought to keep calm. 

“Templar-Commander, to you, you filth.”

“You put us in a cage at birth, and assume glad thanks, Commander.” The baritone of Justice was trickling through like the magic from the fade as it pressed through the veil.

“Enough! I’ve been waiting for this moment for over a year, now, mage. There is no running for you anymore.” The Knight-Commander drew her sword and held the tip to Anders’s throat. 

“You’re cute when you’re angry.” It was Justice’s words, echoing Hawke. Anders was losing control. 

“I have heard dark rumors about the Champion’s companions. About resistance in the dark places of the city. I intend to root out the truth.”

“Ask me what you will. I am not a liar.” Anders tried to sound compliant, but it truly was never his nature.

“Don’t toy with me. Your words are poison. I have seen the effect you have on those around you. Good and ill.”

“I have never asked more of my friends than what they are willing to give.”

“You use the word friend loosely.” 

He knew Hawke was the only person he could truly count on. That Meredith saw it too terrified him. 

“Where are they now? Which companion would defend a mage when they are cornered in the dark?” Meredith’s voice rippled across his skin and morphed into goose-pimples.

Just as Anders’s concern began to boil into survival mode, and Justice screaming to have his way, the door burst openand light from the festivities blinded him. Aveline and Donnic shaped shadows poured through. Anders looked at his hands, veins of pure blue lyric glowed under his skin as Justice was on the verge of breaking through. He buried them in his stomach and bent over, forcing the Spirit still. Hawke chose his costume well, for the light played off the silk enough to keep obvious glow of Justice hidden in the pool of light he was now drenched in.

“There you are!” Aveline took Anders by the arm.

Meredith had sheathed her sword before either guard or Guard Captain could see her intent. Anders was shaking from the effort to keep Justice within.

“Guard-Captain.” Meredith nodded in brief respect. “Guard Hendyr.”

Aveline bowed in kind and motioned for Donnic to lead Anders back into the keep. Aveine held Meredith in place with a stone-cold glare until the men were long gone.

“Give my regards to the Champion,” She called after Anders with her lilt of condensation. “I have business to attend to.” 

They entered the Tavern at the Hall of Valor. It was constructed of various shipwrecks. Rook could not figure out then if it was constructed to look like an old dragon hoard. Maybe all the mages conspired to cobble them together. There were myriad bookshelves and books and baubles. The bar and stools were very fancy, well crafted and well taken care of. Varric lead Rook and Harding to a small group of very well dressed pirates. Bright colors and glistening gold and silver trinkets hung from any available surface. In the center of the group say a bronze woman with thick black hair ties in a red scarf. Giant hoop earrings in the most beautiful ears. Her curved barely fit in the tall bar still, and though her legs were longer than her torso, they only reached the dirt floor by the heel of her black boots.

Varric threw a gold coin on the counter next to her. Long, agile fingers picked it up and turned it over. It was Kirkwall gold. Broken chains on once face, the chantry on the other. Red tipped nails rolled the coin gently as the woman sat, not turning.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was being bought.”

“Chest hair never had to pay.”

“Varric!” She said his name with the biggest smile Rook has ever seen. “Harding, looking good, as usual.”

“Isabella, stop flirting with my team.”

The woman finally looked at Rook. Her cat eyes batted at him as she slowly took him in from boot to top knot.

“Maker, but you are the spitting image of your father, that tall drink of smuggled ale he was. But you have your mother’s hands, lips, and blue eyes.” She took in each part as she studied. Rook took in the smell of something citrus and something spice. Was it her hair or her breath? But it was intoxicating.

Varric cleared his throat and Rook blushed down to his toes. He mumbled a quick hello and shoved his hand in his pockets the moment Isabella released it.

“And a pup, just like your uncle.”

“That’ll do, Isabella.” Varric adjusted Bianca and started to sit.

“For now. In the meantime, tell me about everything. Your letters are less descriptive than your books.”

Varric sat next to her and they fell into easy conversation over beers as if they had every afternoon before. Varric asked after others. Most names Rook had heard, but only knew of them from articles or books. Merrill had made it back through Rivain with the Dalish and boarded a ship to Ferelden. They laughed over moments twenty years ago. Isabella couldn’t stop talking about Marian Hawke. Varric and she commiserated over the one that got away. Rook smiled, he loved hearing about his parents, even in passing.

A drinking game started, every time one of them said Hawke using a different voice and if the other couldn’t identify the person they were quoting they took a shot of rum. Rook wanted to ask so many questions. But the storied poured out too quickly. They were just scratching the surface of who his parents were. Rook just drank and tried to follow along. Most times he just began starting at Isabella with wonder and growing curiosity.

The bar began singing old Ferelden bar songs every present Lord knew. Rook followed Harding’s lead and learned the claps and dances that went with the lyrics. He drank and laughed and eventually stumbled toward the sleeping quarters.

Isabella leapt up and caught him before he face-planted into bar door frame.

“Let me help you there, pup. Been a minute since you drank with the Lords?”

“I can’t remember the last time. So,” he hiccuped, “maybe I’m getting better.”

Rook froze when they stepped into the fresh sea air. He grabbed the railing overlooking the water and took a few deep breaths. Isabella watched him in the moonlight. His father’s height, strong brow, blonde hair strands left out of the messy bun on the top of his head rolling in the gentle breeze.

“Maker, it’s a beautiful view.” He drawled, his voice a bit raspy, like Hawke’s.

“Boy is it.”

He could feel her eyes on him. Her attention was palpable. No person mistook when she looked on them. You could feel it, and you felt lucky to be seen. He took another deep breath, the beer settling in his stomach better, he felt relaxed for maybe the first time in his life.

She escorted him to a small room far back away from the noise of the tavern. She fussed with a key in the lock for a bit, fruitlessly. Rook pressed his hand to the lock and froze it and then knocked his shoulder against it.

The door flung open. “Nice trick. I got a few lords you could teach that to.”

A small gathering of candles sat dark in the window that looked out onto the beach. With a wave of his hand, half a dozen orange flames ducked and wove as she unfolded a blanket on the bed for him.

Rook watched her curves gently bounce with her very graceful movements. He could see why Varric always spoke of her without any adjectives. None really did her justice. Her skin was as golden and blush as the boards of the ship remnants that made the walls of the room. Slight streaks of silver twinkled in her night-sky hair. The jewels that clung to every limb and twisted around up to her neck jingled as she worked.

She stood and turned to the door, pausing to look back to Rook. A wry smile slowly stretched across her face.

“I haven’t seen you since you were barely a mage. What? Four years ago?”

“Five. Yeah. I had recently passed my harrowing-“ Isabella fixed the collar of his jacket and brushed a lock of Anders’ blonde hair behind Hawke’s ear. “I, um, vacationed here.”

Cracking under the change of the energy, his voice trailed toward the crickets beyond the window.

“I don’t recall you being this tall.” Her eyes were at his lips, when she looked up at him they twinkled like gems.

“I wasn’t.” He slouched a bit.

She reared onto her toes and kissed him. Suddenly. With no hint of a warning. The force pressed him against the warm wooden door, still holding some of the evening sun.

His heart began making up for every other part of him that suddenly lost the ability to move. She tasted of ale, her mouth parting his lips and her tongue tapping on his. The moment Rook realized a beautiful woman was kissing him, he lost all sense of every other reason that should pull him away.

She leaned into him. The most gentle moans escaping her.

Rook finally gained control of his arms. He grabbed her waist and pulled her into him. His body shivered with a rush of magic, the softest burst of electricity jumped from him to her.

“Just as I suspected,” Isabella pulled away, running the pad of her ring finger over her plump, dark lips. “I met a certain mage in Denerim who pulled that trick. But those hands I met in High Town.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t-“ Rook realized he shouldn’t be doing this. He wanted to, but Varric would disapprove. Maybe this was a test. She was testing him and he would refuse her and she’d laugh and call him a good pup and he’d pass out.

“Can you do it again?” Isabella pulled the man into her and, surprised, off-balance, he let another static charge of his desire roll gently from him. She took his arm from over her shoulder and led his hand under the hem of her short skirt.

His fingers hadn’t had much experience, but he did learn something in the circle. While letting the remains of the static simmer off his skin, he felt through the silken curls under her skirt and toward the warmth. He let the electrical current find the burst of moisture in the center.

She jumped a bit, biting down on his lip she just began to kiss again. He chuckled and found the softer folds. As his fingers moved, her tongue mirrored. She fell forward into his arm as her legs weakened. He pulled her close, holding the bulk of her weight in one arm as his other hand wove a magic anyone could wield. Her boots kicked around his legs. Her whole weight now in his one arm. Her head fell into the bend over his clavicle. He smiled and softly giggled as she moaned and groaned, twitched and fought the overwhelming sensations. He amped up the magic a touch and she began to vibrate with force. She buried her face in his chest as her body rolled like the sea. Her screams of pleasure muffled in the lapel of his jacket. He pulled away all magic and closed his eyes as he mused over the smooth, gentle bulb his fingertips circled around and around. She hugged him tightly as her body whipped with the extended pleasure.

She pushed his hand out from her, grabbed his jacket and threw him on the bed. Her strength was shocking. Or was it his weakness that made him slightly insecure? She tore at his clothes. He tried to keep up, undressing before she actually tore any of them.

She fumbled at his belt. He was already pressing against the ties, his whole body pulsing at the thought of knowing this goddess that pinned him to the very hard bed.

She pulled at the string and he popped out of his trousers. Isabella smiled big as she took in his size.

“This is going to be wildly inappropriate, but-“ she pulled his trousers down enough. He was giddy with lust and barely understood her words. “Are you glowing?”

Rook slapped his right hand on his cheek. It had the warmth of the Fade, he could feel it pulsing off his face.

“Yeah, it’s um,” he tensed up as she leaned over him, her breasts looming beneath her face. Rook tried to wriggle away, but she had him tightly beneath her.

“The old stick in the mud?” She giggled.

“Who?”

She thrust her hips forward and he instantly slipped into the moist creases of her womanhood. His brain shut off as she kissed him and shimmied her hips until the tip of his penis found the opening. She was so warm. Swollen. His body twitched as she toyed with giving him full access. The more he attempted to enter, denied, the more frustrated he got and the more his scars glowed.

“Who do we have in there?” She whisper into his ear, her breath hot, her voice a sweet song.

“Isabella.” Rook pleaded. Anders’ voice, she thought for a moment, and a touch of beyond echoing in the room.

She circled her hips, keeping the tip of his cock just inside, but no further. The scandal of it all motivating her as much as his desire.

“You want this?” She teased.

Rook felt every cell in him awaken. He grabbed her waste and pulled at her hips, but her thick thighs and arms resisted. She was stronger than he. In all ways. He grunted and pulled again, but she held the space between them, laughing a bit louder with each attempt.

He had only to think it, use magic to move her and himself. Get the upper hand. With the force of the Fade, he rolled her down onto the bed. She threw one leg over his arm and pulling it up to his shoulder that now had the faintest webs of lyrium stretching down his veins. The other leg he held down at the middle of her thigh and pressed the tip of his penis back into the warm folds of her labia.

“The pup has a bite.” She squirmed with anticipation.

“I’m no Ferelden pup, Iz,” his voice was mixed with voices of her past. It would have been off putting if she wasn’t so turned on. “I’m a Tevinter dragon.”

He should have cringed at the line, but she kicked her leg around his waist and pulled his hips crashing into hers. The rush of pleasure erased any inhibitions he may have had, might have tomorrow. For this moment it was a swirl of emotion, a force just beyond the reach of his control went move for move with the beautiful and dangerous woman beneath him. Grunts and pants and moans and groans mixed and blended in the moonlight as Isabella found what she was pining for. The lost love of her life, the only man she could never fully seduce, and the spirit that connected them all in this young and virile man.

The two fumbled and pressed and sweated through most of the night. Rook had never reveled in such abandonment. He half thought he was dreaming it all. He recalled, in a veil of reality, an explosion of cold fire, rippling electricity, his every muscle pushing the very life force from him and into the impossible woman he couldn’t believe was in his bed.

He woke to the sun striping across his face. The Rivaini heat was warm on his bare skin. The door latch jumped. As the door swung open, Harding entered, chatting on about the planned boat trip and fishing expedition with some Rivaini nobles-

The lanky, muscular man was passed out on the bed before her. She had a full view of the scars that twisted across the right side of his body. His bare ass, round and taught, exposed. His face so calm and relaxed In perfect sleep. Beautiful in so many ways. She stared down at his body, taking it all in slowly, when suddenly the scars flickered and he adjusted onto his back. Harding dropped the wooden cup and pitcher and water leapt over everything. Rook snapped awake. He jumped up and grabbed his staff instead of his pants.

Harding stood frozen as she took him in from the front, completing the full picture with a wave of crimson over her face.

“I. Ship. Fish. Hour.” She turned and bolted out of the room.

Rook suddenly realized himself, slammed the door shut and slumped down to the floor in utter embarrassment. His head dangled between as he fought to separate dream from reality of last night. He rolled his staff in his hands as he went over everything again in his head.

Had Justice taken over and … with Isabella!? who was always sold as some sort of aunt to him? But she wasn’t. She is just a woman he’s known for half a decade. He only knew because Varric introduced them. He’d had minor dalliances in the circle. A brief kind of romance in the Shadows, but he’d never. Not without a date, or getting to know the person. And if he? With her? But the spirit connection in his blood made it feel like a dream, pulling a portion of Rook’s consciousness toward the Fade still as he stepped into the hall of the grounded ship turned housing and into… a complete mess.

Rook found the bath, washed quickly, dressed and found Varric and Harding outside the Hall of Valor, on the beach, staring off at a very large ship.

“Sleep well?” Isabella smiled softly at Rook but gave no hint about last night.

“I, uh,”

“He was out like a light when I took him his breakfast.” Harding blushed enough her freckles started to connect.

“Yeah. It’s warm here, and humid. I was, uh, more comfortable without bedclothes. Sorry, Lace.”

“She doesn’t seem to be.” Isabella gave Harding a friendly slap on the back.

Harding beamed at the gorgeous captain. Even Varric was somewhat smitten by the woman. Such was always her charm.

“Come!” She waded into the water and boarded the small row boat that would take them to the ship.

Rook secured his staff in its holster on his back and followed the dwarves into the boat.

Another Lord of Fortune rowed them out to the deeper waters and Isabella leapt up and snagged the rope ladder.

“Let’s get on her!” She laughed as climbed.

“I’m getting too old for this shit.” Varric mumbled and he motioned Rook to help him reach the bottom rung.

Rook helped Harding next. She willfully avoided his gaze and thanked him quickly and quietly. Rook pulled on the rope as they climbed. Varric was not a fast climber. Rook wondered why he didn’t retire. He could write and kick his feet up by the fire. Not throw himself into a chase for a god-like elf he once knew.

Rook didn’t know there was nothing for Varric to muse fondly over. Varric would never discuss his personal life, so Rook resigned himself to never knowing.

Pulled himself up the rope, he was only halfway up when he watched to row boat head back to shore. By the time he reached the deck, the sails were being dropped and Captain Isabella was giving her last orders. Varric was already settling in the cabins, Harding was lost within the crowd of sailors listening to the orders. Rook leaned against the cabin wall and kept his eyes on the captain.

It seemed so dangerous, having fire on a ship, but mundane tactics and magic were used to keep the ship enchanted against most elements. A mage patrolled the deck at all times. Rook played with the colors of the flame flickering them from cool reds to white hots.

“Neat trick, that.” Her dark hair dancing on the sea air. Warm leathers waxed against the humidity already dripped with the ocean spray. The weight of the humidity was getting to him more than the rocking of the ship.

Sitting up straight, he didn’t know what he should do, or what he wanted to do. He held the small flame in the palm of his hand long enough to singe the skin.

Isabella scooted close, for quiet conversation, but far enough to indicate it was an innocent conversation. “I want to apologize. For last night. I -“

“It’s okay, Isabella, truly.” Rook started to stand but the ship leaned away from a wave and Rook met his seat rather indelicately.

“I need to explain something. I’ve never been one to shy away from a quick night. And I’ve never regretted anything I’ve done, well, aside from two things.

“One was not seeing the depth to your mother until it was too late.”

Rook found all interest in Isabella melt away as the old ache in his belly for a connection to his parents washed in.

“Tell me about her.” It was a plead more than a command. His pale eyes reflected the moonlight. She had to look away a second, the impossibility of seeing those eyes so near her again. She poked at the fire with her dagger.

“She was unique. Talented. Had moxie for ages. She never hid a thing about herself. But she never let anyone slide around her. We had to be as strong, fast, and ready as she. And when she let you in, oh, she let you in with her whole heart.” Isabella drew the dagger from the fire and touched it carefully with her other hand.

“And when you told her what you wanted, or didn’t want, she believed you and never let that come between you and her. Once that access is lost she never opens up again, not the same way.”

“Fool me once?” Rook tried to imagine a hard mother. Zianne was always so pliable. Well, until he was exiled from Tevinter. Maybe that’s what mothers did. Gave chances until there were no more, and without warning, stopped being a mother.

“Hawke was never fooled. Well, that’s a lie. Not a single one of us were honest. With ourselves or each other. And it took Fenris and I a hard lesson learned to find the extent of her forgiveness.

“We were all of us in such terrible places in our lives. And we each betrayed her at one point or another. But she never once betrayed a single one of us. I thought for sure Anders was done for after a whole Chantry blew up. But that bastard did something none of the rest of us could.”

Rook stared at Isabella. He knew his father’s reputation. His own worst depths. The abomination. He waited for the venomous word to drip.

“And what was that?” He tried to hide his suspicion when she was quiet longer than he had hoped.

“He loved her back. More than she could ever love him. And she had a lot of love in her. I felt it for one night. It scared me. Scared that broody elf. But Anders had an uncanny way to him that Hawke understood right to her very core. Like the Fade itself that occupied him awakened all her dreams.”

“Which it did. Does?” Rook conjured a bit of magic in his hand. He let it manifest around his left hand like a blue smoke.

“Does.” Isabella confirmed. “I cannot believe there is a world where those two couldn’t find a way. No one gets locked in the Fade like that. With all the dreams and veil tears and places like Minrathous and the Grand Necropolis, there has to be ways in and out.”

“It’s a big area of study. But to hear Varric talk of it, it takes magic the size of gods to find any. I doubt two mages and a Spirit could do that. But I like to think they could find a way to survive. I hold out hope.”

“That you can see them one day?”

He hadn’t told a single person he probably met them already. At his Harrowing. Who would believe him? His lanky frame hunched back over the fire.

“Maker you are Anders. He was just a bit older than you when I met him the second time. Taller than was necessary.”

“The second time?” Rook’s face shot toward her, eager for a story about him that wasn’t all abominable.

“I didn’t really meet him the first time. We stayed at the same inn in Denerim one night. He also knew what to do with lightning.”

“Isabella! No! You did not…did you?” Maybe he didn’t want to think of his father that way. Or Isabella that way, even knowing what he knew about her and his mother.

“We did not. Well, your father and I didn’t.”

“My mom?!” Rook was suddenly more impressed than anything. An unorthodox connection to his past. He wasn’t prudish at all. And nothing ever ended up being what he expected, least of all history.

“One perfect night. Until I fouled it all up.”

“Wait. You and her? And Anders.”

“Kid, I wouldn’t think about it too hard. Your mother was young, energetic, beautiful, and as intimidating as she was desired. She had a full life.”

Rook and played with the fire again. “I haven’t had much of a life at all.”

“Well, Tevinter is a pretty stuffy place. Though I can’t say you’d be any better having stayed in Kirkwall, you may have died in the circle like so many others, or been a pawn.”

She laughed unexpectedly. Her face beamed as she tried to imagine a baby dangling off Hawke’s hip as she dueled the Arishok. Or would Anders have him?

“I honestly barely saw how your birth affected them. They didn’t talk to each other for quite a while. She tried to move on. But kept finding walls where doors should have been.”

“How did I even … get made?”

“I wasn’t there. But in the deep roads your uncle, Carver, was blighted. Anders was able to keep him alive long enough for them to find Wardens down there. Hawke was devastated. He was practically dead, then healed, then gone. And she had seen what blight unchecked turned into in Lothering. He was saved! And Anders, who had his whole heart attached to Hawke at this point, wanted nothing more than to make her feel comfort. She took advantage of it. Of course. And his Fade-charged, blighted seed somehow did what no one thought a grey warden could do.”

“And now there are rumors of two Warden made babies.”

“Magic is so weird.” She poked the fire a bit more, the creaking of the ship and the endless lapping of waves on the wood and the dancing of the flames was hypnotizing.

“Did you see her while she was pregnant?”

Isabella studied his face a moment. “You want to know if she was happy? I hate to disappoint you, kid, but it was no time to bring a baby into the world. And she never spoke to me of you. Though I have to admit, I never asked, sorry.”

“No love lost.” He tried to smile. “I don’t need to know any more. I never really held a hope they would whisk me away or anything.”

“You did alright. Grew up strong. Right. Privileged. A mage. Everything your father fought for.”

Rook stood. The night air was much colder just a foot or two out of the flames.

“I can’t help but see them when I look at you.” Isabella leaned over the railing to let the water cool her blade. “And I feel them. Here.”

She placed her hand on his sternum. He was suddenly awash with so many conflicting feelings. But when she looked at him, he knew she was looking for Hawke. But he wanted to be seen as more than that. He grabbed her by her waist and pinned her against the mast. He wasn’t thinking, he just let his body take over. She wanted a part of him, that was clear. But he wanted to feel the rush of life at least once more before most likely killing himself in a fight with an elven god. And she was so willing.

She kissed him back. As passionately as ever. He poured all his strength into it. He shimmed himself out of his pants far enough to be able to pick her up and take her just out of the fire light, against the main mast.

She felt amazing. Her strong thighs squeezed him. Harder than he ever thought he could be, he lost himself in her warm, silken insides. The warmth of the fire given up to a heated embrace. She was loud, but her voice was easily lost in the waves. His as well. And there was no magic, no chance of the Fade interjecting itself. Just raw human nature.

Her nails clawed at his undercut, looking for an anchor. Slowly they crept up into the lengths tied in the back of his head.

“Oh, little Hawke!” Isabella mumbled. Rook wasn’t distracted. He was almost encouraged. Somehow it made him feel the closer to his parents than he had ever been. She saw him as two pieces made a whole. These days he felt as listless as this boat, and this made him feel alive, whole, hale. Here.

She finished. He finished. She tied his pants back up, sealing that feeling he was only a child of a person she missed. And a child of a person she resented. He just stood there, trying to keep on his feet as the ship rolled. She kissed him on the cheek and whispered a goodnight he could barely hear over the sea and wind. He smiled and nodded, breathless, emotionless. He felt he was only making things worse for himself. Maybe this pathway to find Solas was just a decent into the catastrophe he was born as.

His mind was gathering clouds. As was the sea. Rain started falling onto the deck. He stumbled to the fo’c’sle, he peeled off his wet layers and hung them on provided ropes and figured out how to get in a hammock and passed out amidst the mumblings of the crew and the growing storm outside.

Rook woke to his jacket, long dried, hitting his face. Varric stood at the foot of the hammock, annoyed. Rook scrambled into his boots and jacket and followed the dwarf to the deck. Varric was stoic, silent. He lead the mage all the way to the aft, where no crew was needed.

“You will not, and I repeat, NOT, touch Isabella again.”

“Who are you to-“ Rook was immediately insulted.

“I’m your Maker-damned GODFATHER!” Varric exploded in a way Rook never thought possible. Rook caught a crew member fixing a rope on the aft sail stop and watch the dwarf’s next move.

Rook turned and leaned on the railing and stared at the wakes as the water roiled below. “So now you act like it?”

“Listen, you little shit, your ass is not hanging by a noose from the Archon’s Palace because I acted like it. Who else was gonna swoop in and save you from the Vena-fucking-tori?”

“I saved YOUR ASS, lest you forget, that got me in that mess to begin with! You think I would have risked ALL THAT to be a hero!? If it weren’t my family at stake?”

Rook reared at the dwarf, standing tall, trying to replace size with authority.

“Yeah, I do, actually!” Varric snagged Rook’s elbow and turned the mage to face him. “Because that’s what you do. It’s what Hawke did. It’s what your Maker-cursed father did. It’s in your fucking blood.” Varric pushed him away again, leaning on the railing that stood barely halfway up his back. “But you can’t. Not to her. She’s not-“

“It was wrong. I know, Varric. But I just-“ he couldn’t tell the man who made it his life’s work to not discuss Hawke to anyone that he just wanted to know more about her. Be close to her in any way. If that was to walk in her boots as a lover, it was more than the dwarf had deigned to supply.

“You’re gonna have to be your own man, Rook. Not Hawke. Not Anders. Not a Mercar. That’s why the nicknames. I need people to be their truest selves, not a replica of someone that suited a time.”

“I don’t know who I am, if not a discarded son.”

“We’ll figure that out.” Varric patted Rook’s shoulder. “We’ll have plenty of distractions back in Minrathous.”

Rook stood, suddenly very concerned. “We’re going back to Tevinter??”

“We have to. I found a lead there in Nessus, and have a contact in the docks district.”

“Dock Town?!” Rook reeled. “I step one foot on a dock, a dock master will see me and report it and I’m as good as dead!”

“Then you won’t be seen. We HAVE to follow this lead. Stopping Solas is all that matters anymore. Not you, not me. Not even Hawke and Anders, or the Inquisitor or Thedas as a whole. None of it matters because all of it will be gone if that crazy elf succeeds.”

Varric stopped for a long breath. He and Rook stared silently at each other. Even the gentle roll of the water seemed to take a breath.

“And we are out of time.” He opened his mouth to say more, but decided against it and left Rook at the back of the ship.

Rook gripped the railing hard and screamed into the vast sea. He wanted to jump over board or set the deck aflame. But he just sank to the deck and softly cried. Hiding his head behind his knees, his hands draped over them to block out anyone curious enough to watch the young man.

He hadn’t allowed a single feeling about all of this to settle. Since joining the Shadow Dragons he had chased one high after the next and Isabella was just another. Varric knew. Varric saw that same recklessness in another tall, blonde, wreck of a human mage. And no one could tell that abomination anything. Not even Hawke. Which was probably the single biggest reason she found herself lost in him. Anders was stronger than she was in all the ways she needed someone else’s strength.

Rook felt her weakness, his mother’s only weaknesses, alive in him. No wonder he was doomed to fail everything. He had been pretending for over two tenyear. Well, if Varric was right, then at least he could go out with an Anders-sized bang. Live up to the reputation his face advertised all too clearly.

“Rook?” Harding approached cautiously.

“What?” He didn’t lift his head. He didn’t want her to see him like this.

But he could feel her eyes baring down on him, like the sun, and both seemed to have forgotten the storm from last night.

“I don’t know what all that was about, but-“

“You don’t have to, Lace.” Rook sighed. “He wasn’t wrong.”

“It isn’t about right or wrong, Rook. Look at you.” She stepped closer. “Look at me, Rook. Look up.”

He sniffed back the last tear and looked up at her. She was on a knee and placed her hands on his. He couldn’t help but smile at her over-freckled face.

“What?” He laughed and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“It’s always hard the first year out, okay? Homesick?”

“What home? The Mercars made it clear that’s not home. Should I go and win back the Hawke Estate? Arm wrestle Carver?”

Harding laughed with him. “Varric is still the viscount.”

“Well, shit. Any Antaam there? I could convince him if I killed, what? Three hundred?”

“Maybe one big one.”

“They are already huge, Lace! I would have to jump to punch hasn’t of their noses.”

“Maybe that’s why Varric doesn’t have the estate now, he’d never reach!”

Rook laughed with her, the image of Varric jumping. Harding pulled Rook to his feet and they went to the mess hall.

A week passed uneventfully. Isabella and Varric never crossed Rook’s path the whole week. He didn’t look for them, either. He and Harding played cards and talked. He showed her how he controlled magic, she showed him how to aim better, and even shoot a bow. He shot the first arrow high over the makeshift target an into the water.

“Got it!” Rook leapt in celebration.

Harding pushed him too hard as the ship hit a big wave and he nearly fell over. After the panic subsided, they fel laughing more.

“We are taking a small yacht into Minrathous, courtesy of a friend of the Inquisition. And a personal favor for, and I quote, the best scout in Thedas.”

“Dorian is incorrigible.” Harding blushed.

“So you two should start getting serious and look over the maps and figure out what the next steps are.”

“The two of us?” Rook was stunned.

“Yeah. You’re officially my second in command.” Varric tossed two scrolls at Rook, who fumbled them a bit before snagging both near his knees.

Varric left before Rook could say more.

“What is he up to?” Rook asked, dumbfounded.

“Maybe you earned it?”

“But he has you. He’s always had you. You’re more ‘in command’ than he is.” Rook steadied his grip on the scrolls. “He’s setting me up for something. He hasn’t talked to me since he bit off my head-“

“For a good reason.” Harding sniped.

Rook frowned at her. “I have reservations.”

“Rook!” She sighed as he passed her.

He stormed off to find a table and study. Varric be damned.

“You give a mage a research assignment and they disappear for a lifetime.”

Varric placed two mugs on the table, some ale spilled on the maps.

“Hey!” Rook brushed off the liquid and moved the mug.

“Drink.”

“Varric, you told me to make a plan. I’m planning.”

“You know Minrathous better than anyone on this tub.”

“But I don’t have a plan. We dock. We find a room. You find your connection. And then what? What is your connection’s name?”

“Neve. Gallus.”

“What does she do?”

Varric took a mug and drank. And started chuckling.

“You don’t know?! What does she -!? You’ve never heard of Neve Gallus?”

“I had a life, Varric. In the Underground. I barely knew who I was actively working with. And she wasn’t in the circle while I was there.”

“You know she’s a mage.” Varric kicked his boots on the table, forcing Rook to pull the maps out of the way.

“It’s Minrathous, anyone worth knowing in Minrathous is a mage.”

“Must be nice.”

Rook stared at Varric with daggers.

“Must be nice being so sure. Humans. Maker you are all so predictable. No one exists the way you exist. Maybe growing up in the south would have been humbling. All mages should learn how good they really can have it. If humans lived a moment in an elf’s place.”

“Yeah, Viscount, heir to a merchant fortune, shaper of lives, real sob story you got there.”

It was Varric’s turn to glare.

Rook took the ale before him and drank.

A smile finally cracked on his scarred and bearded face. “You got me there kid!”

“And if Solas is any elf to measure by, I think walking in his footsteps has made all of us worse.”

“You’re not wrong there, either. Solas is a real piece of work. But, Maker willing, all this will be over before anyone can write about it.”

They discussed the what Varric knew, what he didn’t know. What Rook knew. What he didn’t know, and formulated a plan, with lots of holes. It was dark out when they headed to bed. Varric to the officer’s quarters and Rook to his hammock.

“You’ve been avoiding me, sailor.” Isabela was on the upper deck, holding the wheel steady.

“That’s my line. On both counts.” Rook stood below her, hesitant to look back to see if this was a setup or if she finally found the first moment they could have alone. He tried to decide if he cared. If it was at all worth it to care.

She looked back for him. “Come take this.”

Rook stalled. How much trouble could it be, holding the wheel of a ship? He’d never gotten to steer a ship before.

As he approached, she let go of the wheel and the ship lurched. Rook jolted to grab a hold and set it right again. Isabella laughed and sat on the framework holding the mechanism to the deck. Her long legs dangling. He looked at her. Curious what she wanted to say.

“Look, Hawke”

Rook frowned. He was beginning to resent being called Hawke or Anders.

“I know your Tevinter name, and frankly I don’t think it suits you. You’re a Hawke. And this is the last time we will probably ever see each other again, so I’m gonna call you Hawke.”

“That all you wanted to tell me?” He smiled.

“Don’t smile! Don’t do that! It’s Marian all over. Those eyes. That smile.”

She leaned in and cupped his tanned face in her brown hand.

“At least this way I can swear to Varric you never touched me.”

“Iz-“ he began to protest, but she slid in between him and the wheel.

“Get us to Minrathous safely then?” She gave him a long kiss. He tried hard to not, but she was intoxicating. Every fiber in his being wanted to be completely in it. He struggled to hold the boat steady as a large wave hit.

“Watch it now, someone will come out and catch us.”

“Isabela!” Rook pulled away, but she pulled him back to her, making him steady the wheel again.

“It’ll be easier to control if we use both our weights.” She kissed him again, her tongue on his. Her hands found the hem of his shirt and crawled up his back.

He melted into her arms. He’d never had a tryst before. No one would believe that Isabela, Queen of the Eastern Seas, craved his company. His whole body throbbed when she touched him. He tensed and relaxed, all the time fighting the wheel. The more he struggled, the more Isabela enjoyed herself.

“Those lips are a blast from the past. But this-“ her hand slid down the front of his trousers. His dick was already hard, and when she touched it, his knees almost gave out. “this is like all you.”

He groaned his face softly buried into hers at the lips as he forced himself to keep a hold of the wheel. His arms were getting feeling the strain of the wheel, and she was not stopping.

“What shall we do with you?” Her fingers wrapped about his girth and she tugged at his length. Back and forth. She paused, smiled a wicked smile, and slithered down.

“Oh, no. No no no no no no no…” Rook couldn’t watch. It would e too much to see her lips grace the tip of his penis. The glimmer in her eyes as she tasted his precum. He shivered thinking about it.

But feeling it all while staring into the black abyss of the water just beyond the candle light was worse. He had to correct his stance as the waves rocked the boat. She used the rythm of the waves to toy with him. Her mouth was hot. Not as warm as other areas he’d recently visited, but tighter, there was less space and her mouth was not as forgiving as her - she took him in, her throat giving room for him to edge into. He gasped and readjusted his grip on the wheel. Isabela moved faster. Her breath and neck working to suck and push after pulling away. He felt as if his energy, his mana, his soul, were being pulled from him.

“Venhedis.” Legs gave out slightly. Isabela only dug her fingers into his butt cheeks and mover more quickly. He finally looked down and the wheel slipped from his hand as his body jolted from a ripple toward an orgasm as he saw his cock disappear into her mouth. She grabbed the wheel above her head and pushed it back as level as it could go. Rook stammered for a grip as his body was over whelmed with the pulsing of the orgasm that crashed over him like the waves over the walls of the ship.

She buried her face in his stomach and deftly swallowed all his body issued forth. His vision blurred, his brain went black, his breath stopped. He couldn’t tell if he was screaming in pleasure or silent in the agony of the confinement as his body was spent.

She slowly pulled off of him. He was so sensitive, her lips brushing on his tip, like before, now made his whole spine convulse. She gently placed him back in his trouseres and tied them up. She slithered up the wheel. Rook shook as he struggled to keep it level. She kissed him again. She tasted salty. Metallic. And garlic? She turned to the wheel, took it, and pushed him away with her hips.

“You couldn’t last four hours on the wheel. Those arms need attention, Mage.”

Rook slumped onto the deck. His arms were numb and his legs were noodles. Isabela said nothing more, just gently danced to a song only she could hear. He smiled to himself. He knew he meant little to her. And he was the middle of a long line of lovers she would entertain herself with before she was through. Somehow that made this passage all the better. He’d never experienced someone wanting him like that. Knowing him and wanting him. More than once. He felt like he had experienced a rite of passage. He was physically exhausted for longer than he liked. Twice he heard Isabela laugh loudly to herself.

Finally, when his legs would obey, he stood. As he slowly walked beside her, Isabela pulled the wheel and he tripped into her.

“Don’t be a stranger, kid. Stay safe, and stay alive. For your mother’s sake.”

“Aye, Captain.” Rook smirked and descended and gingerly made it to his hammock. He took off his coat, climbed in, and covered himself and instantly fell asleep.

“What in the Black City are you doing?”

Rook was pulled into a dream too quickly. He stopped and let his brain catch up to the booming voice and swirling lights. The Fade air clung to the thought of a body like pins and needles. He tried to find a form in the chaos. The voice was similar to Justice but-

“Here.” The voice had settled to one spot. Rook turned toward it with a jerk.

Standing before him was a woman, her height fluctuated between slightly taller and significantly shorter than Rook.

He had seen that face before. At his Harrowing. She, it was definitely a she, settled on a form just slightly larger than Rook.

“Mom?”

It was a snapshot of his eyes staring back at him, then he woke.

The crew was snoring away. Rook tried to adjust and find comfort again, but his mind was as swimming with the night, the dream, too many eyes, brown and blue and amber, all the pairs looking to him for answers. He got up, found a decanter of wine and took a few good swings.