#post kirkwall

Rules for your Copy and Paste: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays).

No matter what happens, he cannot come between us again. I know we're better than friends- Million Dollar Baby by Tommy Richman

It’s been a week yall! But it’s almost time for a new Banger and I’ve been sitting on this idea while trying to finish other projects! Hopefully this short little Handers drabble will be worth the wait.

Thank you for the tag as always @woundedsoul12 I’ll forgo the tags this time since it’s almost time for a brand new one. If you’re reading this and you love these please do one too!!

…oooOooo…

Life after Kirkwall was dangerous. Anders and Garrett found themselves wandering the Free Marches in the first six months after the Chantry’s explosion. Though Anders hadn’t expected to see the world after the boom there was a part of him deep inside that was grateful to be able to continue their important work helping other Circle’s rise up. That part was Justice, or Vengeance? It was hard to discern to two aspects of his spirit. There were times when things felt familiar and stable. When he could look into Hawke’s eyes and feel the surging gratitude that this man had found him worthy of his love, and there were other darker times when he felt crushed beneath the weight of unworthiness.

His spirit, torn in two, would often bicker and fight over how their life should be going. On those most dificult days Anders would feel helplessly trapped inside his body. Emotions swinging between grateful and listless. Even writing was impossible in those moments, something that had once brought him comfort, kept the demon of Vengeance at bay and soothed Justice. Now his mind was a battle ground and his lover would only watch in pity as Anders’ could barely do the ever important and constant work.

As summer crested the land they found a small lake on it’s shores an abandoned farm, overgrown but still producing. Garrett forced them to take time, to step away from the work, and Anders though grateful found it difficult to step away.

“Give yourself some time, love,” Garrett urged him. “You’re no good to any cause if you’re so broken up inside you can’t even think straight.”

“There is no time to give,” he could feel the spirit inside of him pressing him to say. “More mages will die or be tranquilized against their will, and this injustice must be punished.”

But Garrett could not be swayed, and though darkest voice in his mind willed him to steal away in the night, he fought against that voice and stayed. Nothing could come between Anders and Garrett, not even the twisted thing that drove him now.

tagged by @melisusthewee and @oxygenforthewicked and tagging @blarrghe @highwayphantoms and @pappykins (as always, no pressure 😘)

~~~

"We're being followed."

"I know," Anders sighed.  "It's the Wardens.  Well, one Warden, at least."

Fenris pursed his lips in aggravation.  "How long have you known?"

“Two days.”

“Two days?” he asked in annoyance.  “When were you going to tell me?”

Thank you for the prompt! I love getting to write about HoF! <3 This is set around 9:39 Dragon, two years after the Big Boom. For @dadrunkwriting!

Anders had been to Amaranthine a score of times. He’d seen it bustling with life, the jewel of the coast, and he’d seen it burning and crawling with darkspawn. 

When last he’d left it, the city had been a smoldering ruin, businesses and homes turned to ash, blood on the cobblestone, bodies strewn through the streets like refuse. 

Now, though…

The Hero of Ferelden bumped her shoulder against him–she was a good half a foot shorter than him, so merely nudged his bicep. 

She pointed. “That is a library now,” Solona told him. 

Anders looked, squinting in the sunlight as they walked. “Didn’t that used to be a barracks?”

“Indeed,” she said, smiling. “It housed the templars assigned to the local chantry.” 

“Books are a much better thing to stuff a building with,” he agreed. He shaded his eyes. “What about that, over there?”

Solona followed his gaze. “A free college for women,” she told him. “A way for the poor to achieve an education outside the chantry.” 

“Speaking of the chantry,” he mused, glancing toward the end of the street they were strolling down, where the local chapel had once stood. “It appears to have been left out of this city-wide revitalization.” 

Solona’s small, pale hand shot to her mouth, covering a shocked gasp. “Oh my,” she said. “It escaped my notice. How absolutely inattentive I am!" Her round blue eyes were full of sharp-edged mischief when she looked sidelong at Anders.

Anders grinned, tucking his arm through hers and towing her along again. She’d said she had something to show him, but Anders hadn’t realized it was an entire city.

“Was it you?” he asked. “You did all this?”

“I paid for it,” she admitted. “Not all the ideas were my own.” Pointing again, she said, “That greenhouse was an addition to the women’s college. It was Velanna’s thought that empowerment must be coupled with self-sufficiency. She has trained herbalists, who teach other women how to make salves and potions, and how to grow edible crops.” 

“Velanna?” Anders asked incredulously. “Teaching filthy shemlen?” A smile touched his lips at the thought. 

Solona chuckled. “She has become fond of more than a few. Though she wouldn’t admit it. And there are elves among the students. Quite a few, actually.” 

They walked in silence for a moment until Solona stopped once more, facing a two story building that was clearly a new construct. “There, that is what I wanted to show you.”

Anders looked. The door was open, and he could see cots in a neat line. Outside was an herb garden, tended by a girl who looked no more than fifteen or sixteen. A sign had been hung beside the door, the image of a black feather seared into the wood. 

When he looked at Solona again, she had between her fingers the little black feather that dangled from her necklace. It was a crow feather, small and perfect and painstakingly preserved in clear resin. Anders knew it had been a gift from Morrigan’s strange son, Kieran. 

Solona noticed him looking and rubbed her thumb over the trinket, nodding toward the sign. “When he gave me this, Kieran said, “one day you will all fly.” He never elaborates on his prophesies, and Morrigan doesn’t guess at them, but I know.” Her voice dropped to an almost whisper. “I know he meant mages.” 

She gave Anders a look that was as hopeful as it was determined. 

***

As soon as they reached the city outskirts, they split up. Aveline and Merrill redoubled back; Aveline to find her husband and Merrill to hide among her friends and neighbors in the alienage. Varric's departure was more than a little awkward-- for both him and Hawke. Sebastian had watched their friendship crumble into something bitter and painful, and yet they neither would let go of the broken remnants. They stood before each other, unsure of whether to hug or shake hands or simply walk away. Varric's eyes flickered to Sebastian as he asked, "So, I take it you'll be heading to Starkhaven with him?" He laughed, but there wasn't any humor to it. "If anyone can handle a life of sitting on their butt all day eating bonbons, Hawke, it's you."

Sebastian watched as Hawke tightened her grip on her staff, her lips pulling back into a snarl. She never could handle the way Varric couched his insults in that light, jesting voice of his. Despite all his claims to the contrary, Varric talked like a noble -- talked down like a noble – and Hawke so desperately wanted to be a noble and hated the fact that no matter how much money she accrued Hightown had never accepted her as one.

When Fenris left it hit them both the hardest. Sebastian just assumed he would come with them, always; since meeting them, the three had become inseparable. But Fenris, with a sad smile, had pointed out quite how easily recognizable his tattoos were, how difficult it would be for the nobles at Starkhaven to take them seriously if he went with them. It was only when he promised to return after everything settled down did Hawke let him go.

They walked fifteen miles along the coast to the nearest village. Hawke tossed her staff into a ditch and covered it with some brush. Most apostates disguised their staves as simple walking sticks or shepherd's crooks, but Hawke had been living out in the open for three years now. Her staff was intricately carved and obviously magical. Walking into some unknown tavern with that was just asking for trouble.

The village inn was small and quiet. They were shown a room, empty save an old wardrobe and a bed with straw-stuffed mattress. Sebastian unbuckled his breastplate, now cracked almost in-half after taking a blow from Meredith's sword, and let it lay where it fell. He stripped to his tunic and breeches, saw Hawke do the same, and together they collapsed side-by-side onto the bed. He half-feared she was expecting something he wasn't ready to give yet, but all she did was close her eyes and sighed. "This is the second time I've had to flee home from fire and fighting. Only this time I haven't got any family yet."

"You've got me," Sebastian quietly whispered.

Hawke opened one eye and smiled. "And you. That was your home too. Your second home. And your second family. What a pair we make." She sighed again and turned to look at the ceiling. "We'll have to start from scratch."

Sebastian rolled onto his side, ignoring the flash of pain from his bruises, and leaned into her, resting his chin on her shoulder. "We've done it before," he pointed out. "We've survived. We'll survive again."