Consequences 1

"Absolutely not!"

Hawke barely flinched as the empty bottle smashed against the wall.

"If the abomination is going then I'm staying!"

"Fenris...."

"I said no, and that is my final word!" The elf glared at the warrior, his green eyes flashing with fury as he spat out his denial before turning upon his heel. "Get out," he growled.

Hawke regarded the taut set of the elf's shoulders thoughtfully before stepping closer.

"It's slavers," he said quietly, his breath ghosting over the delicately curving shell of the elf's ear. Fenris closed his eyes briefly, hands clenching into fists.

"Don't ask me to go with you whilst he is by your side," he said quietly.

Hawke sighed. "I thought – you and he – after what-"

"You thought wrong," Fenris snapped as he strode away towards the empty, cold fireplace. Hawke sighed and ran a hand through his black hair, shaking his head. "He's our healer, Fenris; we need him. You know that."

Fenris turned, resting a hand on the marble mantelpiece. "You would take him away from his clinic? From the people who need him?"

Hawke blinked, surprised, then frowned and waggled a finger at Fenris as he walked closer. "Don't you try that on me, elf!" he growled. Fenris merely smiled – a brief quirk of the lips, with no warmth to it.

"The mage or I, Hawke. You choose."

"Maker's balls, Fenris!" Hawke swore. "You know I need a good sword I can trust!"

"You trust me? I'm flattered," replied the elf coolly. "Leave your pet abomination at home and I'll come."

"He's not a pet," sighed Hawke, running a hand over his face.

"But you don't deny he is an abomination."

Hawke fixed him with a steady stare. "Are you in or not?"

"Is he?"

Hawke through up his hands. "Right, fine, yes, I'll leave Anders behind," he snapped. "Happy?"

Fenris smiled ferally. "When do we go?"







"You're leaving me behind?" asked Anders, a look of hurt bewilderment creeping across his face. "But – I thought -"

"You've been looking tired, love," said Hawke gently, cupping the age's cheek with his palm. Anders reflexively leaned into the warm touch, though the soft brown eyes were still questioning. "It's just a quick and dirty job; I'm not anticipating much trouble. Why don't you take a day off from the clinic, stay at my place, get some real rest in a proper bed for once?"

Anders shook his head and stepped back, turning to the table behind him where he'd been in the middle of preparing potions. "No, I can't; too many people need me here." His hands paused as he added, "I thought... you needed me...."

Hawke stepped up close behind the slender man, slipping his hands easily around his waist as he gently kissed the nape of Anders' neck. "I do need you, love, just... not on this trip."

Anders let his hands fall limply to his sides and leaned back into Hawke, tilting his head back until it rested on Hawke's shoulder. Hawke gently kissed his cheek.

"Be careful," murmured the apostate. "Don't take any foolish risks. Please?"

"I'll be fine, love," replied Hawke. "I'll have Fenris to watch my back."

Anders straightened up. "Oh, that makes it alright, doesn't it?" he snapped testily. "You'll have your pet elf along, so you don't need Anders, hey? After all, I can't rip men's hearts still beating out of their chests or decapitate half a dozen slavers with my massive penis-compensation greatsword – no, I'm just the weak, delicate flower mage who puts you all back together again when you get your fool selves-"

"You're not weak, love," replied Hawke, pulling him close in a bear hug. Anders stiffened until Hawke reluctantly released him. "Anders-"

"Oh, for the love of Andraste's nipple-tassels, Hawke, just go, will you?" Anders snapped. "I have work to do and you obviously don't want me along. I'll see you later – assuming you don't get yourself killed," he added bitterly.

He listened to Hawke's footsteps as he left the room, standing still until he heard the clinic door close. Then he sank down into the wooden chair and lowered his head into his hands.



It was easy.

"Too easy, perhaps," said Varric slowly as he retrieved crossbow bolts from the bodies. He held up one bolt, eyed his length then pulled a face and tossed it aside as unusable. "I don't like this, Hawke. Something don't quite smell right about this whole set-up."

"The dwarf is right," said Fenris, frowning down at the body of a slaver.

"A trap, you think?" remarked Isabela, raising one eyebrow.

"One not yet sprung, in any case," replied Hawke. He kicked over the body closest to him and wrestled his throwing dagger out of the dead man's chest. He paused, thumbing a nick in the blade. "It doesn't take eight men to steal away one elf maid," he continued. "What's so special about her?"

Fenris shrugged. "She looks no different than any other Dalish child in the alienage," he remarked. "Doubtless Merrill will be able to tell us more about her-"

He broke off as Merrill gave a shriek then lifted her hand to her mouth as the girl ran away. "She bit me!" she exclaimed, tailing off into a string of what sounded like Dalish curses.

"Isabela, Varric, see to Merrill!" yelled Hawke, taking after the girl. "Fenris, with me!"

Fenris nodded and took off after the girl at a sprint, Hawke close on his heels.

"Why do they get all the fun?" pouted Isabela, nonetheless doing as she was told. Varric shrugged.

"Ours not to reason why, Rivaini," he said placidly. "Let's take a look at that bite, Daisy," he added, holding his hand out to Merrill. He frowned, staring at the strange puncture marks in the back of Merrill's hand. Gently he turned her hand over, staring at the wounds in her palm. "Did you ever see marks like that before?" he asked the pirate, who leaned over and shook her head slowly.

"No. N- oh. Wait. There was that one time...." She straightened up, tapping her chin thoughtfully with her forefinger. "Now, where was it? Damn, I know I've seen that before."

"She was no Dalish child," said Merrill, her voice shaky. "She was like nothing I've ever seen before. When she looked at me, it made my blood run cold." She shivered.

"Anything?" asked Varric, reaching into his backpack for a healing kit and a small flask; Isabela shook her head. "I'm working on it," she assured him. "I know I've seen bites like that before; I just don't remember where. Is that-"

"Dragon Piss," replied Varric, opening the stopper.

"Eww!" exclaimed Merrill, shuddering. "Do you drink that?"

"I try not to," replied Varric.

"Maker's balls, I thought you had more taste than that!" Isabela  muttered, her face pulling a mou of disgust.

"I do," replied Varric. "This stuff is strictly medicinal." He splashed a little over Merrill's bite wounds and she shrieked. "Sorry, Daisy," the dwarf apologised gruffly. "We have no way of telling what kind of nasties were in that kid's mouth. Better to be safe than sorry." He opened up the healing kit and started to lay out elfroot powder and bandages.

"I wish Anders were here," the elf sniffed, looking miserable. "He may lecture me but he never poured Dragon Piss on me. Why does 'safe' always have to mean 'more painful' anyway?"

Varric began to dress her wounds whilst Isabela watched, frowning as she continued to rack her brains for where she had seen such bites before.








Though slightly faster than the human, Fenris' legs didn't have quite the reach of Hawke's, and within a few minutes the human had outpaced the elf. Ahead, the girl sprinted swiftly on, her bare feet sure on the bare rocks as she ran. Hawke, not quite so lithe and nimble, stumbled on loose stones, biting off an oath as his foot slipped before he threw himself onwards. Fenris shook his head to himself; something about this whole set-up felt very wrong.

He felt it first as a strange vibration that seemed to run through the lyrium in his brands; a sickening thrill of magic that ran through his bones and chilled his blood.

"Hawke, beware!" he yelled as the girl suddenly stopped and turned.

It wasn't a girl.

As Hawke skidded to a halt, it hissed at him, face elongating as the red eyes glowed and shifted, flowing over the surface of the skin as it grew mottled and darkened to a dark pulpy red. The creature reared up, its mouth opening then distending into a long snout-like maw lined with far too many glistening teeth as the bulk of its body heaved, shuddered then grew outwards like some obscene mound of flesh. The creature took a step forwards and bellowed, and Hawke recoiled.

"Venhedis!" Fenris swore, eyes widening. Every lyrium line upon his body flared into brilliant silvery light. "Abomination!"

"Oh shit," Hawke breathed, swinging his sword up and barely parrying a swipe from the creature's claws as it lurched towards him. "But how??"

Fenris shook his head and dove in with his greatsword; fight first, question later. Hawke rolled out of the way as the monstrosity lashed out with its talons, its snapping jaws closing on thin air as it whipped its head around, the baleful red eyes tracking his movements. Fenris' blade clove the air and bit deeply into the flank of the creature which bellowed in pain then swung around suddenly; the elf leapt over the tail – when did that thing spawn a tail?? - and swung his blade again.

Hawke was weaving his own dance in front of the beast as it ignored the elf, focusing its attentions instead upon the human. It lunged for him, ichor-dripping jaws snapping for his face as he reeled back, screwing up his face in disgust at the foul stench of the monster's breath. It swiped at him again, ignoring the sting of the elf's blade in its flank, intent only upon the human. Hawke dropped and rolled away from the claws only for the swipe from the creature's other paw to slam into his side. Hawke was sent flying by the blow and slammed hard into the trunk of a tree. He crumpled to the ground and lay still.

"Hawke!" exclaimed Fenris. "No!"

The creature screamed in triumph and advanced towards the fallen man even as Fenris leapt forward. Lyrium lines blazing, he phased his entire arm as he sprang up upon the monster's back and plunged it through the slick, purple-red flesh, seeking the heart.

"Die, damn you," he hissed through gritted teeth as he clenched his fist around the vast-chambered organ, solidifying his hand as he tried to crush it. The monster reared back, roaring and whipping its head around, finally distracted at last as it took a step backwards. Phasing his hand again, Fenris jabbed his fingers inside one of the heart's ventricles then let his arm phase back in as he hooked his fingers into hot, throbbing flesh and ripped upwards and back.

He was dimly aware of other shouts and screams around him; several crossbow bolts thudded into the abomination's flank and neck as he tore his arm free, streaked with gore and gobbets of flesh. The stench of seared flesh filled the air as one of Merrill's spells found its mark, even as the creature staggered backwards.

"Jump, elf!" roared Varric. "It's dropping!"

"Andraste's tits!" screamed Isabela. "Get away from there, Fenris, it's going to-"

Fenris barely had time to scramble free of the falling abomination's corpse before it abruptly exploded.








Fenris pushed himself up off the floor. His ears were ringing and sounds seemed muted as he slowly started to wipe blood, gore, fragments of flesh and the Maker only knew what else from his arms and chest plate. He swiped ineffectually at the stinking mess spattered liberally over his pants and grimaced. He glanced around.

Isabela had pulled off her headscarf and was using it to wipe off her face; Varric was shaking his head as he prodded what was left of the abomination with his foot.

"Hunger abomination!" announced Isabela brightly. "That's what it reminded me of. A crewman we picked up just south of the Imperium border; the first warning we had that something was wrong was when the ship's cook turned up dead in the galley with the strangest teeth-marks in his throat. That one blew up when we killed it too. Though we didn't have a handy elf dealing out magical fisting death, more's the pity; bastard took down half the crew before we took it out. And damned near sunk the ship when it went off. Took two months to repair the damage it caused."

"And you couldn't remember this sooner?" remarked Varric, raising an eyebrow.

Fenris glanced round; Merrill was crouched over Hawke's prone form. Fenris silently walked over and dropped into a crouch opposite her as Varric and Isabela brought up the rear.

"Oh hell," muttered Isabela.

Fenris raised an inquiring eyebrow at Merrill as she glanced up. She shook her head sadly.

"It's not good," she said softly, gently lifting the edge of Hawke's breastplate. The metal was buckled and twisted, the retaining straps snapped and broken. Fenris drew in his breath sharply as she set the breastplate aside, revealing the deep bloody claw wounds that had ripped open Hawke's side.

"Oh, Maker," breathed Isabela. "Definitely not good."

"Healing potions?" suggested Varric as he reached into his backpack. Merrill shook her head and held up an empty flask.

"I've already given him two," she said. "They've made no difference. Something in the wounds is resisting healing. Maybe if Anders were here...." Her voice tailed off.

"Can you do nothing?" demanded Fenris roughly.

"I am sorry," she replied in a small voice, looking crestfallen.

Fenris stared down at Hawke.








As the last patient for the day left, Anders gripped the edge of the examination table and let his head droop, exhausted. So many people, all needing his help, his skills, his potions – and his magic. It had started the moment Hawke had left, and the mage had had barely a chance to draw breath since. He put a hand to his face and sighed.

The clinic door banged open. Anders lifted his hand, palm outwards. "I'm sorry, no more for tonight," he said wearily, lifting his head. "I ca...."

The words died in his throat as he raised his eyes and saw Fenris and Isabela  carrying Hawke between them, Merrill and Varric bringing up the rear. A mixture of hope and dread was in every face as they stared at him, but he only had eyes for Hawke.

"Maker, no!" he breathed. He shoved himself away from the table and staggered to Hawke's side, staring down at him wide-eyed. "Hawke, no, not this, Maker please, no!"

"He lives, mage," replied Fenris quietly. Anders' head jerked up and he blinked at the elf as if seeing him for the first time, then gestured to the table.

"There – put him there," he said, following as they did as directed, shrugging out of his feathered jacket and rolling up the linen sleeves of his shirt. His voice took on a ringing tone of authority as he snapped himself into the role of healer once more. "Lyrium – the chest under my bed," he ordered, gesturing at the curtain that hung over the door to the small room beyond. He stood by Hawke's side and carefully peeled back the tattered remains of Hawke's tunic as Merrill returned with the precious blue vial. She unstoppered it then thrust it into his waiting hand; without looking at her, he knocked it back in one.

"How long?" he asked, feeling the instant surge of power racing like quicksilver through his veins.

"Two, three hours?" guessed Varric, shrugging helplessly. "We came straight here."

Anders swore quietly under his breath has he ran his hands lightly over Hawke's wounds, extending his magical senses and probing with his mind. "What the hell caused this?" he muttered, frowning. "There's magic here – foul and twisted... poison at work...."

"It was an abomination," replied Fenris quietly.

Anders froze, then slowly raised his eyes to meet the elf's cool green gaze. They stared at each other for long heartbeats. There was something in Fenris' eyes that the apostate couldn't quite read. Concern, yes, fear perhaps, but also something... else.

Disquietened, Anders turned back to the task at hand. Reaching within himself, he called forth healing magics which pooled like cool liquid smoke in his palms; he directed it out and down into Hawke's body. Torn veins, ripped flesh, snapped tendons, crushed bones; he carefully drew them together, wove anew with magic. Driving out blood from the lungs, he drew poison out slowly, shaking the foul stuff from his fingers as he extracted it from Hawke's veins and tissues. The poison fought him, sinew and muscle resisting his touch as he strove to remake them, knit them together, make this broken body whole once more. Frowning, Anders reached deeper within himself, oblivious to everything except the task at hand. He dragged out every last ounce of power within him as the sweat rolled down his face, and yet he could feel Hawke's heart faltering.

"No, I will not lose you," he breathed. "You don't die on me, Hawke, you hear me? Not here, not now, not like this!"

"Anders...."

The mage was oblivious to the lyrium-marked hand that laid upon his forearm as he bowed over the dying man, mind too intent on the battle he was losing. The torn flesh was mending itself but he could feel Hawke's heart slowing... stuttering... and then....

"No!" screamed Anders. "Don't die! You can't be dead! Please!" His head jerked up, eyes wild and desperate as he stared around at the others who stood in stunned silence around the table. His frantic gaze leapt from Varric, to Isabela, to Merrill, to Fenris.

Fenris.

Anders lunged for the startled elf and grasped him by the upper arms. "Fenris, help me. Please. I can't – I need you to- Oh Maker, please!"

The elf froze, his eyes widening in surprise. Something strange flickered in his gaze as his hands came up to grasp Anders' wrists, though he did not pull away.

"What would you have me do?" he asked, bewildered.

"His heart. I need you to restart it. To reach in and- t-to-"

"I understand," Fenris nodded. Anders let him go, and Fenris placed his hand on the dead man's chest. He stared at Anders, then pushed his hand into Hawke's chest, questing fingers closing around the still organ. Anders placed his hands either side of his wrist, and at Anders' nod, Fenris gently pumped the heart as Anders threw every last drop of magic into Hawke's waiting body.

Fenris gasped as the magic sang through Hawke's body, setting the lyrium singing in his own flesh. It were as though his whole body were a bell of glass, and it was Anders' magic that had set him to ring. It rippled through his body and mind; a single pure note that his whole body answered as his body lit up with a brilliant fiery white glow.

And beneath Anders' hands, Hawke's chest stirred as he took a breath... then another... then another.

As the magic faded, Fenris drew his hand back and turned to stare at Anders. "We did it," he said quietly.

Anders reeled, drained to the point of utter exhaustion. He stared hazily at the elf as he felt the room spinning around him. "We did? Oh... Maker...."

He felt himself falling... and then strong arms were holding him, lowering him gently to the floor, and he realised with dim surprise that they were glowing with lyrium. He looked up in confusion, and Fenris smiled gently down at him. "You did it, mage," he said quietly.

As Anders fainted, his last thought was utter bewilderment. He could have sworn that was a note of affection in Fenris' voice....