At Your Side (A Dragon Age fanfiction)

Threat and Promise

Dawn was breaking as Hawke exited her estate the next morning. A bird chirped from a tree in the courtyard, and Hawke glared at it. "Shut up, you twit!" Her head was pounding, and she thought with longing of the days when the mercenaries only carried moonshine. Less potent, certainly, than wickedly smooth Antivan brandy, but far easier on the head the next morning.

She moved slowly through the streets of Hightown, which were mostly quiet still. Thinking of the various abrupt and noisy ways she could wake Varric up soothed her a little—it was the dwarf who had found that blighted bottle, after all. She paused in a courtyard, rubbing her aching head.

The quiet was broken by a commotion, the door to one of the estates opening. Hawke drew back instinctively, watching from the shadows as something dark was tossed out the door. A figure followed the object, kicking it, and it moaned. Hawke stepped forward. "What do you think you're doing?"

The man doing the kicking looked up, locking eyes with Hawke. It was Jeven! Former guard captain, complete pain in the arse. "You!" he sneered. He kicked the person at his feet one more time for good measure. "When he wakes up—if he does—tell him to keep his nose out of Serah Terrien's business, or it'll be worse the next time." He turned on his heel, slamming the door behind him.

Hawke rushed over to the figure on the ground, kneeling at his side and turning him enough so that she could see his face. "Trevor?" she said, recognizing the young Templar. "Can you hear me?"

He moaned again, his eyes opening a crack and then slamming closed.

She took her hand away from his side, sticky with blood. "We have to move you! I have to get you to Dark—somewhere," she amended, not sure if he knew about Anders's clinic. She could take him to her estate, instead; call for Anders ...

"Mischief!" hissed a voice behind her, and the strange old woman scuttled toward them. She knelt next to Hawke, one clawed old hand poking at the wound in Trevor's side. "I told you it was death to go in there," she whispered.

"Hey!" Hawke said, trying to pry the old woman's hand away, but she ceased her efforts when she saw the glowing light emerging from the wound. Trevor began to breathe more easily as the flesh knit itself together. They remained there, the three of them, as the old woman and Hawke searched for wounds and the old woman healed them.

Trevor shifted restlessly on the cobblestones, beginning to come to. The old woman took Hawke's hand in her own surprisingly strong one, putting Hawke's finger to her lips. "Sssshhhh!" hissed the old woman urgently. "Not allowed." She stared into Hawke's eyes with her glittering little eyes until Hawke nodded that yes, she would keep the secret. But instead of relaxing, the old woman's gaze intensified. She leaned closer to Hawke. "They watch. He watches. He wants. Don't allow it, please, messere!"

"Don't allow what?" Hawke asked, mystified, but the old woman was gone in a flash of tattered petticoats.

She turned her attention back to the prostrate Templar, whose eyes were fluttering open. "Wh-Where?" he croaked, trying to sit up. His eyes focused on Hawke's face. "Serah Hawke? What are you doing here?"

"I happened to be passing by as you were tossed out that door like so much laundry. What happened?"

"I ..." The Templar's cheeks flushed, and Hawke could see just how young he was. "I ... Serah Terrien wished to send a message."

"He painted a vivid picture on your face, certainly," Hawke said. "What's it meant to say?"

"Stay away from his ward."