#mage hakwe

I’m going to use this one to introduce Meera Hawke. She is my new Hawke for my Diplomatic Playthrough and I’ve had a lot of fun seeing a different romantic side of Anders. Without further ado...(and yes, I am a little nervous).

@jonogueira

Her shoulders had always been small, for the burdens they bore so well. Meera could not recall a time when she was not living under duty and expectation. First, she was a free mage with a burden to prove that her ‘kind’ had the right to live outside of the circle. To grow up with families and loved ones, instead of oppressors and jailers. Second, she was the daughter of Malcolm Hawke, a man who she had always been afraid to disappoint. She inhaled sharply as she sensed Ser Cullen’s energy suppress her own as he hovered close. The templar was tall, forbidding and despite good looks, his eyes looked at her with pitiless disdain. Hawke fought not to lower her eyes nor back away. Her father would be ashamed at her fear, no doubt.  “Thank you for your service to the order, Serah,” he said with unfailing politeness. His words and voice were even kind but as he met her gaze and bore into her, Meera saw the hate in them. Mages are not people, she heard, echoing in her head. His argument from moments ago still rattling like a curse.

Thankfully, Anders was at her side, as he interposed himself between she and the Templar. His aura had become familiar to her. More than that, Meera admitted. She found herself missing it when he was not with her. It was grounded and warm, both of the Earth and the Fade. She took a deep steadying breath, her eyes focused on the templar before her and bowed her head in acknowledgement. She had no idea whether Cullen could sense her fear as her own mana fluctuated. Likely due to the passively intrusive presence of Ser Cullen so uncomfortably close. As they walked away, Meera’s limbs flooded with mana and she could breathe again. “That’s great! More attention!” Carver bit, his voice was tinged with concern. Meera heard it beneath his bitterness and thought to reply, but he sounded like father used to.

Instead, Anders’ chimed in, covering for her silence, “Carver, you have quite the chip on your shoulder. Don’t you?” The corner of Meera’s mouth lifted into discreet smirk at his retort. Anders’ did not need to defend her, but she would be a fool to refuse his aid. More to the point, she didn’t want to.  

Carver sounded defensive as he replied weakly, ”The last thing we need is to draw more attention to ourselves here.” The two quipped back and forth, as if they both knew best how to defend Meera. She had no thought to hide her relief as she left the Gallows. They  statues taunted her, reminding her how precious and fleeting her freedom was. Meera observed the same grateful expression on Anders’ face, but for the constant fire that burned in his eyes. He glanced at her briefly, acknowledging a shared feeling before they boarded the boat.

Carver was still seething as he chided Meera, “If you’re not careful Meera you won’t be able to leave the Gallows. Why did you confront the templar? You weren’t going to change his mind.” He laid into her with brutal disapproval and Anders watched as the younger mage merely shut her eyes and allowed her brother to censure her. It sat uneasily with him, and he felt an urge to defend her.

At first, he bit his tongue until he heard Carver breathe, as if he had more to say. That was enough. He felt more than an urge to protect her, it was a devout need. “Carver! You don’t understand.You can’t understand. And even if you did, I don’t think you want to.”

He kept Meera in his peripheral vision, watching her downcast eyes rise from the boat, her expression unreadable and distant. Even though she spoke softly, she was proud and firm. Her words were well chosen, “Enough, the two of you. I can defend myself.” She seemed weary and Anders entire posture softened as he saw Carver bristle, “Anders is right, I had to say something. I can’t be sorry for being who I am, Carver.” This silenced the elder brother, who began to brood as they crossed the narrow channel between the Gallows and the rest of Kirkwall. Meera’s eyes were fixed steadily on the approaching docks and she felt the weight of the Gallows lift from her soul as the bottom of the vessel scraped along the shore.

She stepped to the side as Carver brushed past her. His shoulder collided with her own before he left both she and Anders behind. Words formed in her mind, lingering in the back of her throat. Meera could have and perhaps she should have said something but hesitated. Carver was far past listening and long gone as he nearly ran from them. Stepping forward, she felt Anders unique presence and discerned his thoughtful contenaunce. “You seem upset, “ he observed. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Meera felt the wind in her hair and looked up at him. His golden-brown eyes were genuine and she smiled faintly, “I’m not. Carver is always like this. Ever since our father died he felt the need to protect us.” Subconsciously, she referred to Bethany, and as she realized it a dense shadow passed over her face.  “I guess just me now,” Meera corrected herself, ”He just has problems expressing himself.” She almost lost herself in Anders’ eyes they possessed a gilded and comforting warmth. He looked at her with such compassion that she felt a flutter in her stomach and glanced away from him.

Unwittingly, Anders smirked  as he saw the blush on her cheeks. It was so demure and becoming he couldn’t help himself, “Did you want to come over for tea? Maybe help at the clinic?”  Meera was caught off guard by his offer and tilted her head to the side questingly. He laughed nervously, wondering what she must be thinking as she stared at him. As always, she looked frustratingly pleasant and Anders had no idea how to approach her, even as he fell in love with her a little more each day. “I mean if it’s too forward...” Anders continued.

Meera giggled as he began to backtrack. It was an unexpected sound to come from her lips, perfect and succinct. Her eyes briefly sparkled with amusement as she answered, “I’d like that. Are you sure I won’t be in your way?” Hawke inquired.

Anders was more pleased than he let on, ignoring the warning from Justice. His body naturally drifted towards her, and he admired the delicate curve of her lips while she smiled sincerely. His long fingers, permanently stained by healing herbs, brushed against her arm. He spoke in hushed tones, pitched above a whisper. Meera leaned towards him, lured by effortless polish in his voice as  he reminded her,  “I invited you. Generally that means that I am just fine with the possibility of you getting in my way.” It had been years since Anders had flirted with anyone and he hoped he was doing it right.

Meera’s cheeks flushed at the slight contact and she tried not to look smitten under his scrutiny. She hoped he was flirting with her, and not just offering  his hospitality out of irrepressible generosity .Still the words came slow, as she carefully parsed out the ideal phrasing. “It would be nice to have company.” Courtesy was convenient armor when it came to thugs, but when Anders said such things, she was defenseless.  She wasn’t a child but Anders had entrapped her attention as he lingered near and a deviant grin rested on his face.

At that moment it occurred to her they were staring, as if something was supposed to happen now. But what? She questioned. In the stories this was the part where he would take her in his arms and kiss her, but how? Anders watched as she appeared to think, her eyes focused on him in a way that made him pulse race. Her  gaze was so intent that he barely noticed they were still on the boat itself until he heard the barking of captain, “Hey! If you’re not going back to the Gallows, get off!”  

Without hesitation, Anders’ hand gripped her shoulder purposefully. She felt the warmth of his fingers through the fabric and could not hide a shiver as he brushed the tips of them against her neck, at her collar. He guided her away from the boat, squeezing the narrow blade of her shoulder with an impossible gentleness and Meera blushed. His hands were stronger than they looked. Even though they were the delicate instruments of a healer,  she felt a possessive firmness as he grasped her shoulder. “I could have done that myself, Anders,” she said, though she felt she sounded weak and girlish.

Anders heard the sigh in her voice and  chuckled silently. He marveled at how simple it was to see the flutter of her eyelashes or the red in her cheeks. He had to search for a reason not to touch her. He could almost hear Meera’s heart beat and Anders smiled sympathetically. “I know,” he cringed as the words came out cras and presumptive. Even his voice seemed too possessive by half. “I just wanted to help sweetheart, “he explained, taking a deliberately gracious tone. She looked nearly angelic, but Anders identified a discreet hunger in her eyes as she absorbed his words.

Hawke was uncertain of what cantrip or spell Anders used to keep his clinic from smelling like the rest of Darktown, but  was relieved as she sat on a cot in his suspiciously empty clinic. She cradled a warm mug of tea between her hands, relishing in the feel of the hot ceramic against the skin of her hands. Still, she was impossibly agitated. Anders recognized the frustration and watched her carefully. “May I ask you a question?” he offered, setting aside his own cup of tea.

Meera raised her eyes and nodded. “Of course,” She said with a quiet dignity, feeling the strength of his gaze once more as he set his eyes upon her. Lately, it had found a way of drawing her in and holding her attention. He watched the angles of her face, the steady and profound way that she returned his gaze.

Meera was a picture of of perfect beauty, but more than that. She was strong. Still, even the bravest mage could be intimidated by a Templar. The relationship between the two groups were not complementary but entirely toxic, “When we were at the Gallows did Ser Cullen use any abilities against you?” The question caught her off guard and her face dropped to the floor.

Anders watched  a shudder pulse through her. It took her a moment. He  waited as she collected her thoughts. “I do not think so. I think he merely meant to intimidate me,” Meera answered. “My father once said Templars can suppress the mana of mages by their mere presence and alter how they interact with the fade.  He described it as a fortification on the Veil.” She wasn’t certain. Generally she preferred to avoid Templar’s rather than engage them.

He was certain that Ser Cullen had done something to Hawke. He saw the faintest tremble in her lip and felt the keen edge of Justice. She was an innocent mage and the Templar just wished to prove his dominance. Like some kind of rabid dog, Anders raged. “He was being cruel for cruelties sake. You heard him. He doesn’t even see mages as people,” he stated. His breathing became more labored as the rage of Justice focused into Vengeance.

Meera watched as Anders normally kind expression shifted, his eyes narrowing with anger. She did not want to see him give into Justice, not on her account. “Anders,” she exhaled softly. Out of instinct she knelt at his side and held his shaking hands. “I am fine. Even if Ser Cullen did, my father raised me better than to kneel to a Templar. Please don’t worry for me,” she affirmed. Her hands looked small around his own and the aggression in his posture receded. Even if Justice was satisfied, Anders felt responsible for her. She was a younger mage, sheltered from the injustices of the Circle. He wanted to bring her into the Mage Underground, but  it was a risk he could not take.

The warmth of her hand provided a vestigial comfort as Anders admired her compassion and kindness. It made him feel envious of her idealism. He was torn. On the one hand, he wanted to hold her hands just like this, but on the other hand he did not deserve them. He pulled his fingers from her grasp. Confusion marked her face as he smiled reassuringly, “You can’t ask me to do that.  I will worry about you. You are a mage in this city, and as at risk as any other innocent.” He spoke with fatalistic declaration. “The plight of the mages, all mages, is my burden. It was why I joined with Justice.” He explained, hoping Meera would  understand. He was beyond grateful when she held his hands once more, threading their fingers together like a puzzle he never wanted to untangle.

Despite the brightly lit chamber, Anders’ face was shaded with a darkness of his own making. “All my life,” Meera began, her voice uncertain. “I wanted to fight for mages, but my father wouldn't let me. He said the Chantry was a great wheel and that the Templars were spokes. Even if one circle would rebel, the others would never join. Mages would only die.  He told me what matters was keeping family safe and protecting yourself. The circles would never disband, no matter how many mages they killed.” She hesitated before finishing, “I’m tired of running, Anders. I never wanted to run in the first place. Mages deserve freedom, and I know you can get it for them. If you’ll have me, I want to join that fight,” Meera begged.

Anders felt a strange horror as she implored him. She spoke so earnestly of what she didn’t know and was utterly ignorant of the risks. But, her heart was in the right place. Anders couldn’t remember a time he was as innocent. “Hawke, I can’t ask you to throw in your lot with me.”