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Oh, fuck.
Oh, fuck, this wasn’t good.
Hawke was lying on the floor of the musty corner her uncle called a “room.” The bed was both too high and, at two feet away, too far. She would make due with this curled pose for as long as she could hold it. Of all the ways the Maker punished mortals for their treatment of his bride, why couldn’t it have been something like hellfire instead of these raging cramps? They couldn’t even be called cramps at this point. No, she was absolutely dying and her entrails were going to exit through her mouth.
Hammering at the door didn’t help her headache. “What?” she snapped, eyes tight shut against the aches.
“Another bloody street urchin at the door for you, if you were interested,” Uncle Gamlen said. When she didn’t respond, he pushed the door open and frowned at the sight. “What are you doing, then? You can’t tell me you’re injured again, you came in last night - far too late for a lady - and you were fine. Are you hungover?”
Hawke groaned. She didn’t need this. After running around Kirkwall handling literally everyone else’s problems on top of her own, sometimes it seemed like a better idea to just kill her uncle and be done. On a day like today, being covered in blood wouldn’t be so suspicious. “No, I’m not,” she ground out through gritted teeth.
“Then what’s the matter with you? Somebody comes to the door, you’re usually flying out of here, dragging that sister of yours with you,” he said, folding his arms. “Not like we need you to do work here, no. Some sod in Darktown needs a hankie and you’re right there, but Maker forbid I need the shutters fixed or the dishes cleaned.” He snorted with contempt, shaking his head.
Oh, so this was how he was going to play. Hawke heaved herself upright, leaning back against the storage chest even though she really wanted to put her head between her knees. Honestly, the arse wasn’t even worth the effort, but now she was angry. “Why don’t you wash the dishes?” she asked, glaring back at him. “So what if someone in Darktown wants a hankie and I’m there to give it? You don’t even do that much. All you do is lie around this shit pit masquerading as a house and complain and complain and complain. Bethany and I are the only ones bringing any money under this roof, so if it weren’t for us, you wouldn’t even have dirty dishes, much less food to dirty them with. Fuck off.”
Gamlen gave her the blackest look he could muster. “I was the one who agreed to house you, you know. If I don’t like you, you don’t have to live here.”
“Then you don’t get my money,” Hawke said simply. They glared at one another a moment longer, Gamlen probably thinking he was winning even though all of Kirkwall could tell of Marian Hawke’s infamous expression of thunderous rage. Finally, Gamlen left, but not before tossing one more comment at her.
“Your mother and sister are out. Get to work while they’re gone.”
He shut the door behind himself, at least. Hawke groaned, slumping over onto her side again and knowing she wasn’t about to ‘get to work,’ or whatever it was Gamlen actually wanted her to do. As she prayed for the pain to stop, she began fantasizing about life outside of this shack. She’d made friends, all of them privy to the horrors of poverty. Varric would at least sneak her into his room at the Hanged Man and let her sleep on the floor (and Isabela certainly had a bed with her name on it). Aveline had an actual job, perhaps she would have some sort of accommodations, and even Merril’s house was nicer than this. And it wasn’t even nice houses she was looking for (Fenris made the very bottom of the list because he still hadn’t cleaned the blood, wine, and various other liquids off the mansion’s walls); what she really wanted was a place with better company. Bethany was the only one here who could keep her sane, and, like today, some days she wasn’t around.
After a while, Hawke vaguely heard someone knocking at the front door, but had no desire to get up and answer it. She was currently fighting off nausea, so vomiting all over whatever guest had come was a very real danger. She’d let Gamlen get it and deal with his bitching later.
The door to the sleeping area opened not long after, and, to her surprise, it wasn’t her uncle, but a rather kind-hearted mage who stood before her. And she very much did not want him to see her this way. “No, no, go away,” she said even as she tried sitting up again. Oh, Maker, it was worse now than before.
“Marian?” Anders said, crouching beside her. Concern was etched in every premature line of his face. “What happened? Were you poisoned?”
“No,” she said, and she couldn’t look at him. Yes, bleeding was normal, yes, it happened to every woman. That somehow didn’t stop it from being a shameful occurrence and one you certainly never shared with a man (particularly if said man was one you had been flirting with for several weeks).
He felt her forehead, hand rough but gentle. “I don’t feel a fever. Tell me what’s wrong.”
She pushed her fingers through her hair, already feeling the blush heat her cheeks. Somehow, because the Maker was an asshole, she could still be embarrassed about this even when she had a mind to kill a man. “It’s fine,” she said quietly. “It’ll pass in a few days.”
He was still looking at her in confusion, eyes roving over her not like an interested sailor at a tavern (which was common) but like the practiced healer that he was. “I don’t understand. Is it some… recurring illness? Why haven’t you mentioned it before?”
“Because it’s not-” She stopped, lips forming a tight line. “I’m not ill, Anders. I mean, I feel like I’m dying, but that’s not really-” She waved a hand, trying to find the words, but then the pain only worsened and she curled in on herself. “I’m just cursed with being female,” she finally muttered, arms clenched tightly around her middle.
And then Anders did something that she really should have been expecting in the first place. He let out a small, “Oh,” and put his arms around her, rubbing her back. “Why didn’t you just say that? Wait, don’t answer that, I know.” He looked down at her, brushing hair out of her face and he probably had no idea how nice that felt. “Are they always this bad?”
She nodded against his shoulder. “Usually. Sometimes worse, sometimes better, but usually like this.”
“Poor dear,” he chuckled. “Slayer of evil, and you’re felled by nature. What a ballad I could write!”
“Please don’t,” she groaned.
He pulled back slightly. “Marian… you do realize I deal with things like this quite often. I have a bit of a remedy. Elfroot, and the like.”
It was like storm clouds allowing in a bit of sunlight. Hawke looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “If it’s not as good as you make it sound, I will tell Avaline about your Templar knife collection.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” he said, more amused than threatened. “I stole those fair and square. Up you get - er, if you can. If not, I’ll carry you.”
She hesitated before trying to stand. “That’s a very… ambitious offer, Anders, but I think I can manage,” she said, pushing herself upright. Don’t throw up, don’t throw up, not on Anders. She could stand, that wasn’t beyond her physical limitations, but she still leaned against the mage, and he offered more help than was strictly necessary. One arm, strong from practicing with his staff and sundry other activities he got up to, wrapped firmly around her waist, and she wished she wasn’t in so much pain so she could enjoy it. They exited the bedroom, but Gamlen cut them off when they were nearly to the door.
“Leaving again?” he asked, arms crossed. “I thought I told you to get some bloody work done today. Your mother and sister are out, I said. Who’s going to get those shutters fixed?”
“Why don’t you fix them for once?” she shot back.
He wrinkled his nose, making his unattractive face yet less attractive. “I can throw you out, you know I can. Bethany was always my favorite, she’ll pick up the slack around here. You can be found by Templars for all I care, I know you’ve been helping out those piss poor mages.”
Hawke put a hand on Anders’ arm, suddenly very afraid that Justice was going to emerge, but a glance at his face showed the mage felt nothing but exasperation and contempt. “Would you care to know what this is like?” he asked, cocking his head slightly at Gamlen.
Her uncle snorted. “What what’s like? She hasn’t given me a valid excuse all day, just laid there on the floor.”
Anders glanced down at her. “You don’t need to give an excuse, if you were wondering,” he said, a little more quietly to show he was in no way addressing Gamlen. Then he looked back at the man. “I can show you how she's feeling, if you'd like. You can jeer at her all you want when you know."
Gamlen looked surprised for a moment, a little hesitant, then he sneered. "Oh, yeah, sure. Go on and show me. You gonna magic me?"
Hawke was a bit concerned. As much as she wanted Gamlen to be writhing in agony on the floor, she didn't want it to be at the cost of Anders' freedom. Piss her uncle off enough, he'd do something everyone would regret. "Anders, you don't have to," she said quietly. "Just push him out of the way, he's pretty flimsy."
"It's no trouble," he said in that voice he used when speaking to a patient. He released her and stepped forward, and she was actually terrified of what kind of magic he'd use. Gamlen couldn't punish her too harshly because she was the only reason they made any money. He could, however, punish her friends, and she couldn't bear the thought of Anders being sent to confinement in the rotten Kirkwall Circle.
He surprised her, though. Instead of raising his hand to perform some basic spell, he removed the "walking stick" from where it was secured to his back. Gamlen was a little wary now, taking a slight step back, but he wasn't fast enough. Striking like a snake, Anders snapped the staff out and smacked Gamlen soundly in the abdomen. The old man crumpled, hitting the floor with an undignified bump and holding his middle. "Wh-what the hell is this?" he wheezed, groaning in pain.
"Don't belittle her," he said firmly, replacing the staff. He put his arm around Hawke again and opened the door for her. "I did alright, didn't I?" he asked. "Perhaps I should have hit harder."
"I think you hit hard enough," she replied. "I was afraid you might do something stupid and he'd turn you in."
"He wouldn't turn me in," he scoffed, and his confidence told her he was either stupidly sure of himself, or completely unaware of the actual situation. He looked down at her, and she was convinced it was the latter. "He wouldn't. He hasn't turned Bethany in."
"He likes Bethany, as much as he likes anyone," she said. "You, on the other hand, he'd gladly throw to the wolves if he got the chance."
"Oh." He made a face, looking less certain now. "It's a good thing I know that now."
She rolled her eyes and huffed, but wasn't feeling well enough to start a discussion on the topic. She had a lot she could say, though. 'Anders, stop leaping before you look. Anders, you're going to get yourself killed and I'll have to save you. Anders, I most certainly will save you no matter how dangerous it is so just don't.' All of those rattled around in her head, at the tip of her tongue, but there wasn't the energy to say them. Saying them would prompt something else. Anders would ask her why she cared so much, would insist that she shouldn't get in trouble on his account. Well, she was experienced in getting into trouble. That wasn't the reason she'd do it.
She'd do it because he was an idiot with blinders on and he needed someone, despite how much better he thought he'd be alone. And she would do it because she thought she probably wasn't the only one who needed him.
They made it to Darktown, the horrid bottom level of the city filled with shit and despair. There was someone actually waiting outside the clinic when they arrived. "Hello," Anders said to the woman and her young son. "I'll only be a moment, I just have to-"
"No, I can wait," Hawke said, pulling away. She was the last person who needed to take up the healer's time, so she contented herself to sit on one of his stools and wait. He gave her a look that said he appreciated her thoughtfulness, then he gestured for the woman to come in.
Hawke laid her head down on the work table in front of her, closing her eyes, but she could still hear what was going on.
"He's got a cough," the woman said. Her voice was quiet, shaking slightly. "It's... not as bad as it usually gets. I just didn't want it to get worse, not since what you told me last time."
"Of course," he said patiently. "Hello, Theo. Back again, yeah? Why don't you sit up on the bed there and I'll have a look." There were sounds of shifting, the wooden legs of the bed scraping against the dirt floor. "You didn't happen to see the bowl of milk outside, did you?" Anders asked.
"Still full," said the boy.
She heard Anders sigh. "Ah, well. Maybe I'll get a cat in here one day. In the meantime, open wide and say 'ah.'"
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....."
"That's enough, thank you."
Hawke listened as he diagnosed the boy, learning that this cough was nothing new and "doing a lot better since the last time, really." Anders asked if he'd been taking his potion, and the boy confessed that no, he didn't always take it.
"We don't always have it," the mother admitted softly. "His father, he - he thinks we pay for it and I can't convince him otherwise. He throws it out or he sells it and I can't-"
"I understand. I have more, don't worry, and I'll put it in a different bottle this time."
Hawke almost opened her eyes, but she didn't want to give any sign that she was listening. This woman's husband sounded quite like Gamlen, and she had enough experience with such things to know that there wasn't a simple answer (which would be why Anders hadn't already solved the problem). Oh, she could get rid of her husband, or have someone else do it. But where would that leave her and her son? The husband, tyrannical though he may be, was the provider. Until she could find another provider, the woman had to stay with the one she had. This probably frustrated Anders, if Hawke knew him at all, and that was why he ran this free clinic. It was the only thing he could do.
"Here," she heard the mage say. "There are two bottles this time. They're small so you can hide them better, and they're dark. Tell him it's for cooking if he asks."
"Thank you," said the woman. After a moment, Hawke heard a sniffle. "I need to speak with you about another matter, as well."
After a pause, Anders said, "Ah, yes. Theo, go on and sit with my friend over there. Her name is Sirrah Hawke, I'm sure she'll be - er - she'll love the company."
At the sound of her name, Hawke thought it was alright to open her eyes. She gave Anders a dirty look and he shrugged helplessly at her, but neither of them changed the plan. Theo hopped off the bed and walked back to her, looking a bit uncertain but otherwise not uncomfortable. Hawke helped pull him up onto the other stool and saw him wince a little. "Sorry," she said. He merely shrugged.
After a moment, she noticed a purple mark showing past his sleeve. Hawke didn't need to look any further. Instead, she turned to the table and started pointing out all the plants she knew, some of which she'd collected herself. And even though it was rude and not good practice, she kept one ear on the conversation between Anders and the mother.
"He does it whether I want to or not," she was saying quietly. "And I can't - I can't tell him to stop, not if I want to keep eating."
"Has he hurt you or damaged you in any way?"
"No, but.... Look, it's - I...." She exhaled heavily. "I haven't had blood in a few months. I know what's happening. I just don't know if I can... manage another."
Hawke faltered for a split second, and no one noticed, but she felt a tightness in her middle that had nothing to do with cramps. She didn't listen to the rest of the conversation, didn't try to glean what the ultimate decision would be. She would never know, either - there would be tears no matter what the woman chose, there was going to be anger and despair and just a little relief either way. Hawke didn't listen, she just tried to distract Theo from what was happening.
Eventually, the woman came to collect her son. Hawke watched them go, then she got off her stool and walked unsteadily over to the bed. Anders was cleaning up the area, but the bags were more prominent under his eyes and the light had dimmed considerably. He glanced up at her. "How are you feeling now?" he asked.
"About the same," she told him, watching carefully. "Are you alright?"
He paused, holding her gaze for a moment, then sighed. "I get more women in here than anyone else. You're shunned for being who you are, and I'm sorry. You shouldn't be afraid of what happens to you or what might happen." He took a bottle from his shelf without looking, almost carelessly, and handed it to Hawke as he sat down. "This should help with the pain."
She took the bottle, then took a mouthful of its contents. Nothing happened, but she figured it would take a little while to work. "You're a hero, you know," she said quietly.
He laughed, rubbing a hand over his tired face. "I'm a decent person, that's what I am. People desperately need people with my skills, particularly in Darktown, so why aren't there more?"
"Money," Hawke said. "Not everyone wants to fight the rats for food at the bottom of a barrel."
He smiled slightly. "But it's a Darktown delicacy," he said sarcastically.
She shook her head, leaning against his shoulder and closing her eyes. "I'm going to be out of Lowtown soon," she said quietly. "Bethany and Mother and I will be living up in Hightown, once we get the estate back. If you look like you have money, people tend to give you money. And I'll give you all of mine."
A laugh escaped Anders, a genuine laugh that resonated in his chest. "Imagine. Sirrah Hawke, the mighty defender of Kirkwall's residents, my patron."
"Or your lady love," she said. It had just slipped out, she hadn't meant to say it. She felt her face already turning red, and Anders stiffened against her.
"Ah... Marian...." He pulled away slightly, looking down at her. "I suppose we should talk about that."
Hawke didn't know what to say in that moment. She didn't know if she wanted to discuss this, to get into this territory where she had no sure footing. Anders, amazing Anders, idiot Anders, healer Anders had no time for this nonsense, and she knew that. "We don't have to," she said, leaning away.
"But we should," he said, taking her hand, and she took that as a good sign. "I think you understand that a relationship with me would be... complicated."
"Because of Justice?" she asked.
He nodded. "Yes. Justice aides me, but Justice also prevents me from a few things." He drew a hand over his face, looking pained. "Marian... I can't... I wish I could. You're an incredible woman, unbelievable. And I can't fathom how you manage to place your affections in me, and I know I'm beyond lucky for it. But I'm just afraid that something would happen and you'd be hurt. And if you were hurt on my account, it would break me."
Hawke looked at her hands, willing a witty remark to her lips and struggling. "Oh, you know me," she said, trying to keep her voice light. "I get hurt, you patch me up, it's a routine. This wouldn't introduce anything new."
"Marian...." He was rubbing his face again, seeming more gaunt than usual. "I wish I could, but I can't."
Hawke laid back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. Her stomach was starting to feel noticeably better. "I suppose I'll run off to Fenris' mansion, then. I think he's had his eye on me, especially since I helped him 'redecorate' his walls. I’m sure the lyrium tattoos would be an interesting new aspect."
"No," Anders said flatly, not amused. "Don't even joke, you've no idea what he might do to you. He's... unstable."
She made a noncommittal noise of sort-of agreement. "Isabela's always an option."
"Is that all this is to you?" he asked, turning to look at her. "You just want someone to keep your bed warm at night?"
"That's all I'll be getting from anyone else," she said quietly. "Isabela doesn't love half so deeply, and Fenris is so corrupted by vengeance that I don't believe he even knows what love is anymore." She looked at Anders, into his tired hazel eyes, and she let her hand brush his rough one. "Anders, I don't get soft often, so I'll only say this once. I think I'm in love with you, or at least with the love you possess. Every person who walks through this door gets your love, and you're aware of that. You know what you can do." She sat up, taking a more firm hold of his hand. "So if you know your strengths, I think you can keep yourself under control."
He looked torn, deciding whether he should listen to her, whether he should look at her or turn away. He was caught somewhere in the middle, eyes focused on her shoulder, a neutral area, while he sorted things out.
"Anders?" she said quietly, and he stirred slightly. "I'm going to kiss you."
He finally looked at her, eyes worried but never telling her to stop. She leaned forward, and he leaned in return.
He smelled of the clinic, the various herbs and medicines shelved on the walls. The smell of sickness, the filth of Darktown, but it was all played down by the sweet, earthy smell of elfroot. He smelled like Anders ought to smell. Hawke pulled away, but her nose still brushed against his. "You're a lot stronger than you realize," she said quietly.
He looked at her for a moment, then exhaled. "Fine," he said, pulling on her shoulders so she'd be sitting more against him. His cheeks were tinged with red, but he made no other sign that he was embarrassed, and even continued to press his nose against her cheek. "Fine, I'll risk it. So long as you'll have me."
She found herself smiling slightly. "What if it's forever?" she asked.
He smiled back, more broadly. "Then forever it is."