#xanara

Warden Commander Tabris strides out of the front doors of the main hold and whiffs the air before pounding down the stairs. People in the courtyard point and stare as she makes her way toward the Herald’s Rest. Andraste knows she could use a drink

          She sits at the center of the empty bar and motions to the bartender for a drink. Several curious patrons have followed her in, and seat themselves around the tavern at various distances and stare in awe of Fereldan’s Hero.

          “Whatever you’ve got, I’ll take.”

          The bartender places a dusky red ale in front of her. She sips it. Bitter, hoppy. She drinks about half of in one pull and leans face on the fingertips of one hand. Alistair

          A voice floats across the room. “That can’t be her, she’s tiny.”

          Xanara whips her head and glares at the speaker. Human, big, blonde and arrogant looking. Maybe 17. She pulls a knife from her waist pocket and hurls it at him. It sticks in the wall next to his neck. “Fuck off, kid.” she settles back to the bar and downs the rest of her pint as she motions for another. The new crowd exhales and start chatting. A din rises from the silence.  Xanara drinks, finishing another mug and a half of the foamy red ale.

          The door of the tavern slams open and a beardless blonde dwarf enters, towing a pale, dark-haired human woman behind him. The height difference is impeding his efforts.

          “Varric, it’s hardly past noon!” the woman protests.

          “It’s also your last night before you leave. We have to start early if we’re going to give you a proper send-off.”

          “And getting nug-faced before dark will help that how?”

          “Trust me, Hawke. I know what I’m doing.”

          “Varric I…” the woman trails off and stops in her tracks, having noticed the elf at the bar. “Warden Commander Tabris. It is good to finally make your acquaintance. I’ve heard so much.” Hawke says

          Xanara does not look up from her drink. “How’s that nose treating you? Can’t be any bloodier than usual, I suppose.”

          “Quite. Though I don’t know what I did to elicit such a greeting, from your reputation, I can’t say that I’m surprised.”

          “You don’t know?” there is an edge to Xanara’s voice, “somehow I doubt that very highly.” She slams her empty pint on the bar and twists to appraise Hawke “You’re a butcher. But I’ve been asked to leave you alive. For now,” she signals for another drink.

          “We have both fought so many battles, and with the same weapons, I might add. I think it’s not your place to call me that.”

          “Don’t play dumb with me, shem. You know damn well what you’ve done.”

          “If this is about Alistair–”

          “It wasn’t, but since you brought it up,” Xanara spins on the bar stool to give the Champion her full attention. From this position, she is taller than the other woman. “How is it that you’re the one who let Corepheyus escape and yet Alistair is the one that pays for it?”

          “Corepheyus was dead. The Wardens would have been powerless to resist helping him. You could have done no better.”

“You can’t just kill something that powerful with a few swords and some magic fire. At least the Wardens know that. If you had even asked for help, this could have been taken care of before it started.”

“We weren’t the ones summoning Old Gods to try and break the world.”

“It should have been you. Alistair was a better person than you ever could be.”

“You’re right. It should have been. He should be back in your arms by now.”

Xanara makes a disgusted throat noise and turns back to the bar to drink from her newly arrived ale.

Hawke still stands behind her. “You said it wasn’t about Alistair. Your… Greeting.”           Tabris holds up a finger while she downs the rest of her ale, then belches. She slams the empty mug on the bar. “It wasn’t. That was for Anders.

Varric groans, “Oh, Blondie…”

Hawke narrows her eyes. “Anders earned his fate.”

“Anders was worth more than what you gave him. A knife between the ribs is no way to die. You appointed yourself judge, jury and executioner on a matter you had no business being a part of. You murdered Anders out of spite. You act without thinking. You are irrational. Uncaring. Hot-headed.”

“This from the woman who stormed Halamshiral for being made to wait?”

“My impatience with petty Orlesian nobles does not change the fact that Anders did not deserve–”

“Deserve? Am I hearing you correctly? He betrayed me and all of our friends. He made us complicit in his crimes and killed innocent people with that blast, and doomed more to die by igniting the fighting between mages and Templars. Anders got exactly what he deserved.”

“Whatever Anders did, he did it for a reason. He did it because he thought it was right, that he could make a difference.”

“He blew up a chantry, along with the Grand Cleric and all of the chantry sisters. He desecrated the house of the Maker.”

“Anders opened up the conversation to the truth about circle life. He encouraged other mages to speak out against their oppressors and the corruption in the chantry. If it weren’t for him, for what he did, every mage in Kirkwall would have been made tranquil, and the corruption of that order of Templars would have spread to other cities and the tyranny would have only escalated.”

“I sought to protect the mages, I fought against the Chantry by his side. We were making real progress. If he had only given me more time I could have swayed the grand cleric.  We could have put real change forth without the violence.”

“You are a fool. For centuries people with more influence than yourself have sought to set the Chantry right with diplomacy, and all have failed. This is not a fairy-tale. Good does not win without spilling some blood.”

“And that’s what I did. I spilled some blood. His.”

“For nothing. His death was unnecessary and–”

“You would have had me spare his life. After everything that he did?”

“I would have had you turn him over to the Wardens to receive proper judgement.”

“Oh yes. ‘Proper judgement’ and that would mean what? A slap on the wrist and a scolding? It’s been said that you are rather lax when it comes to disciplining your wardens.”

“And it’s been said that you party with pirates and blood mages. No wonder you have so little regard for the law.”

“This was beyond the law”

“The Qunari must love you.”

“There was no time to deliberate. To leave him alive would have cost countless more lives.”

“Justice is fair, not swift.”

“What do you know of justice?”

“More than you. I stood as Arling of Amaranthine for some time.”

“Resting your ass on a fancy chair does not mean that you understand what is and is not fair.”

“Watch yourself, shem. I grew up in an Alienage. I experience more unfairness by the time I was losing teeth than you have your entire life.”

Hake scowls. “Speaking of Justice, what was he like, before he ruined Anders?

“They were best friends, brothers. A deadly pair in battle.” Xanara’s eyes lose focus. “But they were too different. Anders was funny, self-centered and resentful. Justice was meditative, generous and righteous,” she returns to herself, hard again, “But you never really knew Anders, I’m sure.  You never even met Justice.”

“Then how was joining he and Anders ever a good option?”

“It was the only option.”

“I doubt that. That spirit tormented him–”

“Justice SAVED Anders. If it weren’t for him, Anders would have died long before you got your bloody hands on him.”

“What?”

“After the siege on Amaranthine. Anders was dying. And between Ander’s need to save his own skin and Justice’s inability to let a good man die, it was inevitable. Neither of them were about to let him go.”

“And you didn’t look for a way to separate them?”

“That would have killed both of them.”

“And a fat lot of good the wardens did for Anders.”

“His brethren were there to support him every step as he figured out who he was again.”

“His brethren? Anders felt as imprisoned with the wardens as he did with the circle.”

“Bullshit. I gave him a chance to be free of the Templars, to live unafraid and among people who cared if he lived or died.”

“That’s not the impression I got. He hardly talked about you. Avoided the subject of the wardens. I figured you must have been horrible to him to make him hate you that much.”

“You saw how he reacted to Templars. THAT was hate. He didn’t talk about us because it was too hard. The painful memories came easily to him, because Justice could help, but the happy ones just reminded him of what he had become. Not that he would tell you.”

“He told me enough. You took away his cat. And he was endlessly worried that you send someone after him. The Wardens were just the latest group that sought to limit his freedom.”

“I gave him that cat. I asked him to stay. I begged, but I could see that he didn’t have room to be a Warden on top of everything else. I couldn’t stand in his way, so I told him to stay out of trouble and wished him luck. I never sent anyone after him and he knew that.”

“Begged, did you?”

“I would have tried harder if I knew where he was headed.”

“I would have found him sooner if I knew what you would do to him.”

“I saved his damn life. I was the one who mediated arguments between the two of them, I was the one who calmed down the panic attacks, the seizures, when they conflicted. I was the one who guided them through identity crises and I was the one who held him as he cried until he could reconcile himself.”

“I knew him for longer than you did–”

“And I knew him better than you ever could.”

“I was there nearly a decade making sure Anders was okay. Keeping the Templars away from his clinic, for his safety and theirs, helping him sneak mage children from the tower, gathering materials for him that he couldn’t venture into the city for, and keeping him from doing things he would regret. Keeping him from killing innocents.”

“And after all that you killed him like a dog.”

“Not like a dog. I regret killing dogs.”

“Did you keep any of his personal effects? Clearly you don’t care, and I’d like them back.”

Hawke rolls her eyes and pulls a necklace from beneath her shirt. A crudely-punched gold sovereign on a slightly rusted iron chain. Xanara recognizes it immediately. The charm she won from her cousin and wore for luck. Hawke yanks it off of her neck and tosses it at the elf, who catches it like one might catch a baby bird and looks at it softly.

“You’ve been wearing this?” the warden’s voice is inaudible in the din of the tavern.

“This was his, take it if you want. It was all I kept; a reminder of what can happen when you trust the wrong people.”

Xanara clenches the necklace in her hand. “You’ve been wearing this?” she demands.

“It was yours? The way he fondled it I always figured it was something from an old lover. Who knows? Maybe it’s both.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’m surprised he would go for someone as…” Hawke examined the younger woman, “ripe as yourself.”

“You don’t speak to me like that you fucking Shem. You didn’t know him and I won’t have you polluting the air with your filth.” One of Xanara’s hands grasps for the hilt of her dagger, but it is gone from its sheath. She clenches the first instead, her glare never leaving Hawke’s face.

“I’ve struck a nerve! What a shame that you missed out. You clearly didn’t beg for the right things. And it seems I knew him quite a bit better than you did.”

A final, straining thread in Xanara snaps and a ferocious fist contacts with Hawke’s face a second later.  

The bartender is gone from the bar, running out the back door.

The Champion spits a tooth on the floor and smiled bloody at the Hero. “Tell me, Tabris. Do you give trinkets to all of your wardens, or just the pretty blonde ones that you want to shag?”

Varric groans.

Xanara throws herself at Hawke and knocks the offender to the floor with a shoulder. She kicks the sprawled woman in the ribs, relishing the crack of ribs beneath her heavy boots.  

Varric watches calmly as his best friend receives the well-earned beating. This is certainly not anywhere close to where he suspected the night to go, but his readers would love it. After a moment he jumps toward the enraged elf, not accomplishing anything other than getting an elbow to the jaw and getting knocked back.

A heartbeat later booming steps approach from behind the stairs and the Iron Bull snatches the Warden around her waist as she winds up to jump on the bruised figure on the floor. He lifts her up and away from the brawl, the elf no more than a mass of flailing limbs and frustrated screams. One deliberate heel catches him at the apex of his legs. He groans and swings her legs to one side and pins them against his chest, taking the beating with his ribs rather than his groin.

Varric drags Hawke away from the trapped, flailing elf, and pulls her into a chair. “Eleio, what the hell was that?”

Hawke is cackling. “I feel so much fucking better. Thanks for bringing me out tonight, Varric.”

          “Right. This is how you deal with your feelings. I had almost forgotten!”

          The door to the tavern crashes open and the Inquisitor strides in and quickly assesses the situation. The bartender follows at her heels, scanning for damage and groaning at the blood stain in the middle of the floor.

          “Bull,” Norico demands, “Put her down.”

          The Iron Bull sets Xanara firmly back on her feet, despite the squirming, and she immediately makes a bee-line for Hawke’s seat. Norico grabs her arm and glares at her. “No.”

Xanara opens her mouth to speak.

“I don’t care. Stop.”

The Warden shrugs her arm free of the inquisitor, and backs away to the bar, glaring daggers at Hawke, who is grinning sheepishly.

Norico walks, arms crossed, to stand in front of Hawke. “Something tells me that you did something to deserve this. I don’t know, I don’t care.” She steps back to address both women. “Both of you will come with me.”

Xanara and Hawke are still trading looks.

“Now.”