Act V: Wheel of Fortune - ch 21 [DA2]

“You didn’t tell me that your plan involved walking around shouting insults to a non-present evil entity.” Anders sounded like he wasn’t sure whether to be amused, annoyed or frightened as he followed Hawke closely, keeping an eye on the walls.

“For good reasons too, you would have told me I was insane.” Hawke tried to ignore the weight of the bag slung over his shoulder, the awkward feel of the bombs nesting there like little dragon eggs. How much movement would it take to make them explode on accident? He didn’t exactly fight standing still.

“We both would have!” Bethany had her staff in a secure grip, hair loose and wild and a frown near permanently etched on her brow. 

“You hear that Meredith?” Hawke shouted, making both his comrades jump. “Not only have you been played the fool by a simple smuggler, you’ve been bested by one that’s insane.”

“Insane and loud. Let’s not forget loud.” Anders gave Hawke a skeptical look, rubbing his ear a little. 

“Did I ever tell you how much I laughed at you behind your back you insufferable bitch? Talk about delusions of grandeur, you couldn’t touch me despite the fact that I slept with the most noteworthy apostate in Kirkwall.” Hawke had no ideas if she had eyes in the stone as well, but it still felt good to reach out and put his arm around Anders, giving him a kiss on the cheek before letting go.

“I doubt she cares about who you slept with, Ian.” Bethany looked like she wasn’t sure whether to slap her brother on the back of his fool head or not.

“Oh you’d be surprised,” Hawke said with his most serious look. “She’s a Templar, and they are all about disapproving. All those Chantry people are. Just look at Sebastian. It would do him a world of good to just drop his pants and get laid, might have saved me a lot of pain if he did.”

Bethany blushed brightly crimson, looking away. “I don’t think that’s…” she started, and then the walls started crumbling around them.

Rocks fell, bouncing off Anders’ shields only to reform into Rock Wraiths, lit from the inside by a malicious red glow. Stone scraped against stone as they surged forward, slowly and lumbering at first but gathering speed quickly.

“Andraste’s perky tits, at least you’ve drawn out more rock wraiths,” the healer said with half a laugh, energy cracking around his staff as he prepared to fight.

“Let’s just push past them this time, make them chase us.” Hawke sheathed his dagger, keeping light on his feet as he waited for the right moment.

“And how do you propose to do that, love?” 

“Leave that to me, Anders.” Bethany cracked her neck, raising her staff above her head, the air growing heavy and oppressive around her. “Be ready to deal with any stragglers though.”

With a loud crack she brought her staff down, and around the three of them, the air thickened like curdled milk. The rock wraiths slowed like flies in syrup, enabling even the two mages to push past them with ease. Once past, the running resumed, the rocks slowly tearing themselves free from their bondage to follow.

“Not to quibble brother, but why are we being chased again?” Bethany asked, out of breath, hair in disarray. “We could have destroyed them.”

“Maybe we’ve been killing them too fast,” Hawke answered, looking back over his shoulder. “They’re not like the statues of the Gallows that were blighted near impossible to bring down after all. And as long as she keeps summoning them she’s safely in hiding somewhere. We can’t get at her. She could be anywhere.”

“Watch yourself, Hawke, we’ll make a general of you yet.” Anders paused as they came to a fork in the corridor. After a moment of hesitation he picked the left path.

“Don’t even joke about that…” Hawke grumbled. General? That would be the day. “Are you sure this is this the right way to the assembly hall?”

“I think so.”

“I think so?”

“It’s been more than a decade since I was here last, and I left it half in ruin.”

“And nobody around to ask for directions either,” Bethany tried to sound lighthearted, but the empty corridors were starting to get downright creepy.

“You’ve got a point,” Hawke admitted. “Where is everybody?”

“Fighting somewhere else I suppose. Amell won’t go down easily, and there’s a gaggle of Wardens with him. “Can’t you feel the tremors?”

Once Anders pointed them out, Hawke realized that yes, there were tremors in the floor. At first he had thought they came from the rock wraiths, but these were heavier rumbles, like distant thunder in the mountains.

“Fighting what? If we can wade through the rock wraiths before they grow I’m having a hard time imagining the wardens having trouble.” Bethany had stopped to listen as well, but they had to start moving again once the rock wraiths approached.

“Maybe they’re not as tough as they’d like to pretend.” Hawke shot Anders a teasing grin.

“I’ve got the impression it’s the other way around. Who tends to need rescuing around here lately?” 

“Don’t rub it in sister, maybe Meredith actually has gone after them first…” Divide and conquer, the first rule of combat.

“Andraste’s dimpled bum! The statue…” Anders stopped in his tracks, then picked up the pace.

“What statue?” 

“I forgot you hadn’t seen it, love, it’s outside, in the front courtyard. It’s of the Hero of Ferelden. The dwarves brought it as a gift after the blight had ended. Lord Harrowmount spared no expense.”

“Of my cousin? Maker, I thought I was the only one with a statue.”

“He actually has two. There’s one in Denerim as well, but this one is bigger. Oghren said the dwarves were probably truing to overshadow the one that was erected in Denerim. Dwarven pride and all that.”

“And I suppose this one is big?” No, there was no sarcasm at all in Hawke’s words.

“Not as big as the ones in Kirkwall.”

“That’s a relief anyway.”

“It sounds angry though,” Bethany pointed out as yet another violent shock rocked the keep.

“Very angry,” Hawke agreed.

“The Hero of Ferelden versus the Hero of Ferelden.” Anders paused to ice the path behind them, slowing the progress of the pursuing rock wraiths. The cold air made his breath mist in the narrow corridor.

“You’d think with all the things I messed up for her, I’d at least rate an angry statue. But noo, my cousin has to go and be the big hero again.” Hawke knew he sounded like a sulking child, but it was preferable to sounding scared. At times like this, humor was the last refuge of the damned, even if it meant that he’d come off as a bit of an idiot. He had lived like one after all. Might as well keep it up until the end.

Act V: Wheel of Fortune - ch 6 [DA2]

queerspeculativefiction:

Disclaimer: Characters and world: Copyright by Bioware. Ian Hawke and his tale is entirely by me. Spoilers aplenty, since this story takes place after the final act of the game and chronicles what I would have had happen once the dust had settled.

…

Hawke wrapped his cloak tighter around himself where he sat, rain dripping down his hood. The dinghy was small and rode high on the waves, tiny sail flapping in the breeze. The four people aboard were just shadows in the growing darkness, an insignificant speck on an empty ocean, course set for the reefs of Brandel’s Reach.

“Ahhh, I think our illustrious Champion has a hard time keeping down his breakfast, yes?” Zevran brushed back his hood, rain plastering his pale hair to his skull. “Give us a little more sail Anders, so we can get ashore before we have an accident.”

“I’ll manage,” Hawke said bleakly, looking back towards the dark horizon. The blackness of the night had eaten Isabela’s ship almost as soon as they had left it, and knowing it still lurked out there was not really a comfort. 

He still felt seasick, alone and insignificant and Maker this was an insane plan. Granted it was his plan, but he still didn’t feel good about it. Even if the King had lent them what aid he could in the form of his personal assassin and covert mage, this was still a crazy long shot. But he didn’t have time to play it safe, not with Bethany gone, and not with what was happening in the rest of Thedas. 

“I never pictured the King of Ferelden being one to associate with the likes of you. Not with Aveline running the royal guard.” Anders had adjusted the small sail to Zevran’s liking and now ducked down next to Hawke near the prow of the small boat.

“Ahhh, this is where you misunderstand, Anders. Alistair is a most practical man at times,” the blonde elf said, picking a course towards the distant shadow of the island.

“And he’s on first name basis with the King,” Hawke muttered to himself.

“I’ve gathered that he is,” Anders said. “If by practical you mean associating with assassins and blood mages.”

“That is exactly what I mean,” Zevran exclaimed happily. “And he pays well. I do owe you one, Champion,” he said, smiling at Hawke’s unhappy frown. “First you help me with my little Crow problem, and then you go help start a war that makes my particular kind of expertise be so in demand.”

“What can I say; apparently I help a lot of people.” There was no bitterness in Hawke’s voice. None at all. Or he was possibly on the verge of throwing up.

Read More

Well, in honor of Zevran week I thought I’d point out that he pops up in Chapter 6 of Act V and then sticks around for the duration.

Oh unresolved sexual tension… thy name is Zevran.

the first (karl and anders, for elleblr and syberfag)

spicyshimmy:

yesterday elleblr was talking about young anders and young karl, a what-if scenario i just couldn’t put out of my mind: two lads mucking and messing about, meeting each other at that precarious age, a different sort of friendship than one i’ve imagined for them before—two apprentices in the circle, close in years, but that barest difference making them feel so far away. i couldn’t get the idea out of my head, especially not with all of syberfag’s lovely karl and anders art, and it was just the right weather-mood for writing something weather-moody. the idea is all elle’s and i truly hope i have done it justice! i couldn’t get it into a document fast enough, and now i am just going to post it before i let it fester on my hard-drive. all rated an innocent pg-13!

THE FIRST

Anders arrives at Lake Calenhad with a pillow in his arms, held tight to his chest, and not much else—just skinny wrists and a runny nose. He sees skirts and ankles, pedestals with open tomes, and smells dusty air, cold light against colder stone. 

He’s not tall enough to see anything more than the patterns on the rugs in the libraries, patterns on the runners through the halls, and the shadows the wall-sconces cast, the shadows that stretch behind templar boots. 

Mages and templars both wear skirts, Anders thinks, probably the first person ever to think it, certainly the only person who counts. And he’s the first to hate sleeping in the dorms with other children his age, too, all the snorting and snoring in the night, a few of them thrashing through nightmares. They make it so easy, teased the next morning by templar recruits because they won’t last, not through the threat and promise of distant harrowings. 

They act—generally—smelly and stupid, under-arms stinking and flames at their fingertips, pretending they know more than they actually do. 

*

Read More

And this is why Spicyshimmy is probably my most favorite fanfiction author ever, she has a lightness in her language, a playful way with words and an ability to sum up a scene with a sentence or two. 

Act V: Wheel of Fortune - ch 20 [DA2]

Disclaimer: Characters and world: Copyright by Bioware. Ian Hawke and his tale is entirely by me. Spoilers aplenty, since this story takes place after the final act of the game and chronicles what I would have had happen once the dust had settled.

…

“Meredith!” The scream had left Hawke’s lips a moment after his hands had grabbed the arm that moved for Anders’ throat. The only reason it came a moment after rather than before was that Meredith was a really awkward name to scream in panic, far too many syllables. Maker, he hated his brain at times, even when it panicked it was preoccupied with the oddest things, maybe because then it didn’t have to think about the fact that he was not strong enough, his hands kept slipping, slick with blood, cut on sharp volcanic edges and Anders was choking and Maker where was the other hand, was it coming for them…

The air thickened, then shivered, his eardrums hurting as if he’d been trapped in a bell tower, blasted by silent chimes. His chest deflated as air was forced from his lungs, and then both he and Anders were torn from the wall by a force strong enough to toss them like ragdolls. The glowing form of Meredith was pushed back into the wall, leaving cracks and splinters in its wake, as well as two sprawled men gasping on the floor. 

“Is he alright, brother?” Bethany flexed her grip on the staff, hair torn loose by the wave of force she had unleashed. The two mabari kept growling at the wall, the need for barks of warning having passed.

“Maker’s breath, you could have taken his head off!” Hawke dragged the coughing mage to his feet, fear struggling with gratitude.

“I didn’t,” his sister replied evenly. “Ian, you need to trust that I know how to manage…”

“Head,” Anders coughed. “…still on shoulders. Argue later. Run now.” His throat was bruised and scraped.

Act V: Wheel of Fortune - ch 19 [DA2]

Disclaimer: Characters and world: Copyright by Bioware. Ian Hawke and his tale is entirely by me. Spoilers aplenty, since this story takes place after the final act of the game and chronicles what I would have had happen once the dust had settled.

…

Hawke had learned to hate the Warden Commander’s office by now, which was probably not fair to the perfectly serviceable room, but there you had it. He wanted to be as far away from the Wardens and their blighted games as he could, and especially he wanted Anders as far from their grasp as he could. He didn’t want to he shut inside with what they considered to be their brightest minds, a fifth wheel on a wobbly cart headed for the edge of the abyss. Duties. Blighted duties. He had enough of that when he had been the Champion, and back then they still had that sort of novel shine to them that came complete with respect and adoration. Not like now. He wasn’t a mage, he wasn’t a scholar, he was a just jumped-up rogue with the wrong friends. He had never felt so keenly that he didn’t belong here. Oh well, at least Varric was in the same boat, though he suspected the dwarf somehow managed to fit in everywhere. Never out of place. Not even around a table filled with Wardens and mages.

“I still don’t know what this is supposed to accomplish,” Hawke said, unable to keep the undertone of boredom from his voice. “We’ve already told our story; it’s all there on paper.” He gestured towards the pile of parchments in front of the somber looking dwarf woman seated across from him. She was the only one in the room he didn’t know, she had been introduced as Dagna, a researcher of arcane theory despite being cut off from the fade due to her heritage.

“Stories are interesting,” the dwarf said with a small, quick smile as she rifled through the parchments. “But I am interested in facts. Solutions. If I may Commander?”

“By all means,” Nathaniel said tensely. “That is why we approached you.” The Warden Commander had his seat at the top of the table, and Hawke was glad that he was slouched between him and Anders. Just in case.

“And I am so very grateful for that. After the collapse of the circles my research has been woefully stymied.” She gave Anders a reproachful look.

“I am not going to apologies for ending the abuses of the Circle,” Anders stated flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. By now he was back in his own clean robes, looking a lot more self-assured.

“Neither do I expect you to,” she quickly added. “But would you please consider answering some questions where you are uniquely suited to provide some illumination?”

“Andraste’s puckered lips, and here I thought Varric was bad with the prying.” The healer sighed and fussed a bit with his feathers as if thinking about it. “Oh fine,” he said at last. “Ask away.”

“Splendid,” Dagna said, reaching for a pile of blank parchments.

Hawke stifled a yawn, looking around the rest of the table. Amell looked interested, well as interested as the stone-faced man ever looked. Funny really, they were second cousins, and similar enough in looks in some ways if you discounted the Rivani hue to the former Commander. But where Hawke was all smiles and frowns and mocking glances, Amell was as serious and severe as a blade. Maybe that was what happened to you in the circle, Hawke thought to himself. Having to hide what you felt, what you knew. Maybe that was why Anders had ended up in so much trouble, that he had never quite mastered that bit. Even Bethany had grown up hard. Though not as hard as Morrigan, who was the only one at the table looking as openly displeased as himself. He sketched her a small salute, and got the reward of having her eyebrows shoot up in an amused look. She might be a bitch, but he liked her. And Bethany… Maker. Was Anders really right? She didn’t look pregnant where she sat. Should he ask? Could he ask?

Reblog if you’re an Anders fan/Anderstian/Fander/Member of the Cult of Anders

aquila-86:

I’m just kinda curious how many of us are out there on tumblr is all. Indulge me?

(Source: fafferton, via katiebour)

small dirty bathtub: gods of antiva (1 - 76b/76b) →

spicyshimmy:

GODS OF ANTIVA, m!hawke/anders, post-tevinter boogalu AU, complete! i am going to miss this one more than words can say and of course i actually shed cold diamond snake-heart tears over it earlier. one final cameo and hopefully a conclusion. i will post an AO3 linky soon, too, sorry for the…

I am sad indeed that this is over. I do, however, demand a part 3… please? I am not above begging. I’ve such little time online lately, but this is a story I will keep stalking…

Act V: Wheel of Fortune - ch 18 [DA2]

Disclaimer: Characters and world: Copyright by Bioware. Ian Hawke and his tale is entirely by me. Spoilers aplenty, since this story takes place after the final act of the game and chronicles what I would have had happen once the dust had settled.

…

Later, behind closed doors, Hawke hugged Anders until the mage uttered a small, half-choked “ehrm’ and freed himself.

“I take it you missed me, love?” The smile was hesitant, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to interpret Hawke’s sudden need for contact.

“Maker, yes,” the rogue said, running a hand over the mage’s chest, tracing the patterns of the Warden uniform. “It is odd seeing you in this.”

“I haven’t decided to go back, if that is what you are worried about,” Anders teased, but grew serious once he saw the relief in Hawke’s eyes. “Andraste’s dimpled bum, that is what you are worried about! Oh love, I’d rather sashay around naked than in this, but it’s cold and my balls would shrivel up like tiny nuts. And Oghren would never let me live that down, I’d be known as acorn-nuts forever and sparklefingers just have so much more panache. My robes were just dirty after the trip; I’ll be back in my feathers before you know it.”

“Good,” Hawke said, pretending that he hadn’t had a lump in his throat since he saw the man in the blue and silver. “I like feathers.”

“I like birds,” Anders said with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Is that why you keep calling me Hawke instead of Ian?” He had pulled the mage close again, starting to divest him of the pieces of his uniform now that they were finally alone.

“Partly,” Anders said, letting Hawke undress him. “Mostly it is that I knew you as Hawke long before I even knew you had a first name. And it’s got a romantic quality to it. Hawke is the name of a champion and hero for the ages, Ian is… just a man.”

“I don’t mind being just a man with you,” Hawke said, kissing the mage’s naked chest, running fingers over it in search of new scars. He found none, just old memories of past pains.

“You’ll never be just a man,” Anders teased, shimmying out of his smallclothes. Goosebumps amassed, precursors of an army of shivers, but he stepped close into Hawke’s embrace. Naked and fully clothed. He rather liked that. “You were quick enough to get me out of uniform.”

“Thing still gives me the shivers,” Hawke complained, which spurred a soft laugh in return. “Don’t laugh at me you ass, it was a legitimate concern! I left you at the island running a revolution, only to return and find you neck deep in Wardens, plots and taint.”

“Not voluntarily,” Anders said, trying not to laugh. “The blighters blackmailed me into coming back and helping them solve the Meridith riddle.” He pushed Hawke down on the bed, and when the rogue sat, he slid to his knees in front of him, pulling off his boots. “Still, I got a few things in return, hopefully helping some fugitives to safety. That is worth a few sacrifices.”

“You trust him then? Nathaniel?”

small dirty bathtub: gods of antiva (43 - 51b/???) →

camilladilla:

spicyshimmy:

GODS OF ANTIVA, parts as stated above up on the kinkle meme, m!hawke/anders and lots of fun in the antivan sun. also leather pants, baskets of figs, and plenty of isabela. some fenris, too. the occasional strange reference to things certain people on this here tumblr thingie have drawn. and so…

Ahhhh this fic! I love it so much! I love how you’ve built up Antiva, if your intention was to draw a little Assassin’s Creed into this hooboy did you do a damn great job. I was hearing the damn AssCreed music, the one that plays when you’re supposed to be sneaky, while Izzy and Anders were being all spy kids in the market.

And my god, the world you’ve constructed for Antiva. I admit, I really love Renaissance Italy, I think this is why I kinda did a little cheer when you chose to Antiva for your setting. It’s those little touches like with the mask vendor that has me grinning.

If anybody isn’t already reading this thing (and everything that spicyshimmy writes) you should. It is that good, she has some of the best one liners I’ve ever read online.

Act V: Wheel of Fortune - ch 17 [DA2]

Disclaimer: Characters and world: Copyright by Bioware. Ian Hawke and his tale is entirely by me. Spoilers aplenty, since this story takes place after the final act of the game and chronicles what I would have had happen once the dust had settled.

…

Hawke rubbed his hands together, shuffling forward in the snow. At least they were heading downhill now, which made things simpler in the drifting snow. His step was lighter now that the chains were off, and his aching muscles healed. All in all, he felt pretty good about himself. A distant cry of a bird broke the silence, and he pulled the hood back to listen. 

“Was that a seagull?” he asked to nobody in particular.

“‘Twas not a gull,” Morrigan replied, she had joined him at the head of their little caravan, moving through the snow with more grace than even Zevran. “The sea is two days off and they do not move inland in the winter.”

“I could have sworn it sounded like one,” Hawke said lightly, shooting the dark-haired woman a disarming smile.

“I could have sworn you sounded like an intelligent man. It seems we were both wrong.” Her gaze was even and haughty, but that had never stopped Hawke before.

“And here I thought you were never wrong?” he asked innocently, getting the smallest of smiles in return.

“‘Tis a rare thing indeed, but even I am not infallible.”

“Good. I’m far fonder of fallible persons.” Hawke cast a look over his shoulder, making sure that the others were keeping up. They were, Amell wrapped up in a discussion with Bethany, Zevran hovering at the edges of it, leaving Varric to bring up the rear.

“Then you are not the kind of man that hates himself?” 

“Oh far from it,” Hawke assured with a grin. “I’m far too fond of myself and my fallibilities. As are you from the look of things.”

“Oh, why is that now?”

“You are up here, talking to me after all, instead of back with your man, defending him from Zevran’s clutches.”

“He is not my man any more than I am his woman. We are equals, and thus I have no need to defend him from the elf. I won that war ten years ago, why should I be frightened of someone I have already beaten? As for why I am in front, had I not been here you would have led us down the wrong path half an hour ago.”

“I see,” Hawke said as he scratched his neck. “I will still settle for it being my charm that keeps you here anyway.”