Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When it came down to it, Desmond had never even had a choice. Since the beginning of the humans, his death has been prophesized. Sure, he could say ‘fuck you’ to destiny, but that would leave him with the knowledge that he had doomed billions of people to death by solar flare. The consequences were too severe for him to shrug off his responsibility. So he grabbed the thing he had decided to call the Eye and warped reality just enough to shield the Earth from the sun. And then he screamed.

All of this happened at the speed of subconscious thought, and then Desmond was in a dark room with golden circuitry running through it, Minerva staring at him with a dual expression of sadness and pride.

“If this is death, I don’t want it,” Desmond said, still feeling the phantom pain burning through his arm and creeping steadily through the rest of his body from the contact point of touching the Eye.

Minerva seemed to finally settle on sad, “You never really got to live, did you?” It was a rhetorical question as she had predicted every movement and decision he’d ever made eons before he was born. “At first, you were just a calculation,” she said thoughtfully, “but now I know you, your heart. You deserve more.”

Desmond blinked slowly, feeling emotionally wrung out and in physical pain. “A bit late for regret isn’t it?”

“Not quite.” She studied him, and whatever she saw made determination build in her gaze. “We are suspended at the moment right before your death. The wish has been made and fulfilled, but now you must die. No mortal was meant to behold the Eye, and it is costing you more than a painful death. It is changing you fundamentally.”

“Awesome,” Desmond felt the pain building, and he imagined he could sense exactly what Minerva was talking about. It was like his very DNA was being adapted, and rewritten. It hurt like hell, and Desmond felt like he was going to pass out.

His vision started to fade and he had the inane thought that the Eye must be working very quickly indeed if he was suspended in time and could still feel it killing him. “You’re fading fast,” Minerva said unnecessarily. “but there is one thing I can do to give you a chance. One you never received in this life. I will send you somewhere new, somewhere the Isu does not affect the outcome of life. Somewhere chaotic and magical and hopefully, somewhere you can thrive. Things will be different there, and you will likely struggle, but Desmond,” she waited until he dragged his eyes up to meet hers, “I have every faith in your ability.”

Was she speaking or were his ears just ringing very loudly? He caught something about a new world, and her faith in him. But what did that mean? He just wanted the agony to stop. He didn’t even care if he died, he just didn’t want to be in pain anymore. It felt like his whole body was on fire, burning his every nerve.

“Ah fuck,” he said faintly as the pain seemed to reach a crescendo. And then he let go and everything winked out of existence.

***

Voices faded in slowly, at first just an indistinguishable murmur that he didn’t understand. And then he could pick out words. Then whole sentences.

“We have to help him!” A girl exclaimed loudly, causing Desmond’s head to pound. “I’ve been learning some healing. If we just take him back home-”

“No, you know the risk,” a male voice spoke up, also loudly, which made Desmond think every sound was loud instead of just the speakers.

“But Garrett! You saw what happened. You have to know that he’s special.” There was a pause and Desmond felt eyes on him, even as he tried to open his own. “That was definitely magic. He might be like us,” the girl cajolled.

There was a long pause and Desmond struggled to move anything, wiggle a toe, or twitch his eyelids. Nothing worked. “Fine,” the man declared somewhat angrily. “I reserve the right to kill him if he does anything to jeopardize our safety. And I do mean anything, Bethany.”

“Yay!” The girl cheered, “You won’t regret this.”

The man, Garrett, sighed, “We’ll see about that.” And then there were hands grabbing at Desmond’s body and just like that he was free to move with a violent twitch away. His eyes flew open and he stared at the two people hovering over him. They both had black hair and startling amber eyes, almost yellow in their intensity. Obviously, the two were siblings, they had the same nose and face shape, although the girl, Bethany, her face was softer and her expression gentle once she got over her startled reaction.

“Hey there,” she said softly as if speaking to a wounded animal. Desmond resented that he felt delicate enough in his present state to appreciate the care she took. “You’re hurt pretty badly. We can take you with us back home and patch you up if you’re comfortable with that.”

He didn’t feel like he was in pain, but he sat up and looked at his body, and he wasn’t surprised they thought he was injured. The entire right side of his body was burned badly, the flesh almost black in some areas, specifically around his hand where he’d grabbed the Eye. His clothes made it look like he had gone through a shredder and then set on fire. But more than that, what really startled him, were the lines of gold circuitry embedded in his skin. It ran along both of his arms and the visible parts of his torso. Upon a closer look, it wasn’t embedded in his skin, it was his skin. His whole body had a slight metallic sheen to it like he was no longer human. He suddenly didn’t feel very human.

He turned to look at the siblings, turning on Eagle Vision to make sure that they didn’t have any bad intentions towards him, and was absolutely astounded to see that the world didn’t turn gray like usual, but instead was filled with green lines weaving in and around things. He blinked a couple of times, the blue of the siblings seeming very much less interesting than whatever the fuck was happening to his vision and himself.

“Can you hear me?” The girl asked. Desmond turned off Eagle Vision and tuned back in to see her worried frown.

“Uh,” he cleared cleared his throat, “yeah. Yeah, sure.”

The man looked at him with a touch of concern, “Are you saying yes to being healed?”

Desmond blinked, feeling very dazed all of a sudden. “Yeah. That’s fine.” He blinked again, more slowly. “I think I’m gonna pass out now.” And then everything went black again.

***

The next time he woke up, he felt much more lucid but noticed it was dark outside. The light of a nearby fireplace was keeping him toasty under the fur blankets. He looked around, noting that he was in an old, small house with maybe three rooms total. At least, he could see two other open doorways.

Before he could get too good of a look at his surroundings, the front door opened, and in came a very large man with an impressive beard streaked with gray. He looked enough like the siblings he had met earlier that Desmond clocked him as being the father.

The man looked up from taking his shoes off and immediately trained his eyes on Desmond. “Well. This is a surprise. Who might you be?” The man’s voice was like gravel but soothing, in a highly masculine way.

“Oh, you’re awake!” The girl from earlier, Bethany, came bounding into the room from deeper in the house. And then suddenly Desmond was surrounded by strangers. The two siblings from before, a surly-looking boy with a deep scowl on his young face, and an older woman with gray hair with just a hint of the black it used to be. “Dad, this is someone Garrett and I found outside, very injured. I did what I could for him.”

The man’s face blanked for a moment, and he looked down at Desmond who only just decided to sit up. “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t, Bethany.”

The girl looked sheepish but defiant. “He looked like he was going to die, Dad. I couldn’t just not help.”

“You could have, and you should have.” Desmond looked around at the different expressions, none of them good. Then he looked down at himself and couldn’t help the slight gasp that left his lips. His burns were mostly healed with just faint silvery scars to mark the path of the invisible flames. He was completely shirtless and watched in wonder as he could move his arms without any pain. Could flex and stretch the skin and the golden circuitry moved with it, flexible and as much a part of him as a tattoo. But when he ran his hand along the skin, it felt warm, warmer than it should have.

“What did you do?” He was mostly talking about the burns fading to small silvery scars. He knew the circuitry was from the Eye, and Isu fuckery, but he didn’t know of anything that could heal burns that severe in any amount of time. It was fascinating. But also apparently something that Bethany wasn’t supposed to do.

The father sneered at him, “What do you think?” It seemed to be a rhetorical question, as he turned back to his family, “You’ve brought doom upon us all. What do you think the Templars will do when they find an apostate family? I’ll tell you. They’ll kill us because they think we’re blood mages, and they’ll kill your mother and brother for harboring us.” He allowed a moment for that to sink in, and Desmond wondered what kind of hellscape he’d been dropped into that the Templars could kill someone for healing people.

Bethany’s face was downcast and Garrett had a stoic look to him. The other two looked fearful, though the younger boy was trying to cover it through scowls. “I’m sorry Father,” Bethany said, sounding on the verge of tears. “He just,” she paused and looked at Desmond, then at Garrett, “he appeared out of nowhere, like magic. He might be like us.”

The man’s eyes shot to Desmond quickly, “Is this true? Are you a mage?”

“Uh,” Desmond didn’t really know what to say, but he found his mouth moving anyway, “I think I might actually be from a different world?” Silence met his declaration. And then they were all talking at once.

“What do you mean?” and “Another world?” and “Don’t try to wiggle out of the question.” and “You can’t be serious.” Garrett was suspiciously silent as he stared Desmond down.

The father cut his hand through the air and everyone went quiet. He then took a deep breath. “Explain yourself.”

“Well, uh,” he paused and looked around. Looked at the medieval items in the house, the family’s peasant fantasy outfits, the weapons that were casually lining the walls. He couldn’t mention the Isu technology. That is something beyond their comprehension. It was beyond his too, to be honest, and he lived in it. But maybe in this world with magic, he could explain a bit more under the guise of magic instead of technology. “I was dying? And then a, well, I guess you’d call her a goddess, she spoke to me and told me I’d go to a different world. And then I woke up with Garrett and Bethany, I can call you that, right? They were discussing healing me. That’s pretty much all I know.”

The family looked at each other. “So what you’re saying,” the father started slowly, “is that you have no idea what we’re talking about.”

Desmond shrugged. “I mean, I get the jist? Bethany performed healing magic, and because of that, Templars are going to come and kill you all.”

“Basically,” the man confirmed, “But it’s not just healing magic. Any magic performed outside of Circles, the mage prisons, is illegal. The Templars are the enforcers of that law, and they’re in every town, every little group of people. Nowhere is safe, and anyone could be a Templar informant. Even if you tell no one about the magic my daughter performed, there’s no telling if anyone else saw you appear out of nowhere. There might be Templars on their way right now.” The man looked sadly at Desmond. Gone was the hostility and Desmond was genuinely astonished that they believed him so quickly. Maybe it was him appearing, or his clothes, or maybe he had a lost look on his face. Either way, the lack of hostility was incredibly nice. “Even if it was not your intention, you’ve put me and my family in danger.”

Desmond looked down and picked at some of the fur on the blanket. “I’m so sorry.” It really wasn’t his intention. His intention was to die, but Minerva had to have her way. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

The man sighed heavily, and Desmond looked back up at him. “What could you possibly offer? If you’re truly from a different world then it’s unlikely any of your skills will help here in Thedas.”

Well, that was rude. But at the same time, Desmond didn’t really know how to explain that he was exceptionally good at killing things without upsetting this family. “I uh. I’m really good at fighting?” He didn’t mean for it to come out as a question. “And I have this... ability, I guess, to tell who is an ally and who is an enemy at a glance. Um.” He wracked his brain for anything he was good at. “I can mix alcohol.” He didn’t know why he said that. That was stupid. He was panicking. He felt like he was in a job interview for a position he knew nothing about. “I’m just... really good at fighting.” He ended lamely.

“Well,” the man hummed consideringly, “if the Templars are truly coming for us, I could use a good fighter.” He looked Desmond over, and Desmond was suddenly aware that he was bare-chested and lying down in what was probably the man’s bed. “You don’t look like much.” Also rude, “but I suppose you can stay with us.”

Desmond thought the man was way too trusting, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth when it benefited him.

Chapter Text

The preparations were swift. The family gathered all their belongings with a speed that spoke of practice. The once seemingly cluttered home was bare within an hour, packs hanging over shoulders and determination lining every face.

Desmond had helped where he could, feeling incredibly guilty for forcing the family to move, but they were like a well-oiled machine, and he just got in the way. He did hold things though. They gave him light stuff to carry, citing his recent injury, but Desmond was intrigued to note that everything they gave barely even registered as him holding something. The items were so light that he would forget they were in his arms if he didn’t look at them. That didn’t seem normal at all.

He didn’t have much time to contemplate it before the family was meeting back in the main room, everyone looking ready. Leandra, the mother, seemed sad and despondent. He hadn’t really spoken with her that much, aside from her welcoming him to the family. It amazed him that all of them were so accepting. It didn’t look like they had enough money to spare on an extra mouth, and yet here they were, accepting him like one of their own.

Carver, Bethany’s twin brother, was glaring at anyone who looked his way, eyes holding a boiling rage. Desmond was interested to note that Carver didn’t glare at him any more than he did at his siblings and father, the only one being spared from his anger was his mother. He apparently blamed everyone the same amount.

Desmond really didn’t know what was wrong with this family. They were too accepting of his story and presence.

“Everyone ready?” Malcolm, the father, asked as he looked around the gathered group. Desmond didn’t have much beyond the clothes on his back and the pack of provisions that he had coerced his way into holding, so he nodded his head. Everyone else did the same, and they set out into the night without even a lantern to light their way.

Desmond helped Malcolm and Garrett lead false trails in different directions, in case someone attempted to track the family. It was a great excuse to learn more about them and get the true story of why he was joining them, away from Bethany who would apparently fight for his honor despite not knowing him.

He waited until they were out of sight of the other three family members before broaching the topic. “I don’t understand,” he started. Malcolm and Garrett looked at him, waiting for him to continue, so he did. “I’m a complete stranger, you know nothing about me aside from that I was injured and am forcing your family from your home, and yet you’re helping me, bringing me with you, trusting me... I don’t get it.”

Malcolm stared at Desmond for an uncomfortably long amount of time, “Let me tell you something, Desmond. I have not gotten as far as I have in life by not taking risks. When I met Leandra, I took a risk to keep seeing her, to marry her, to run away with her. I took a risk by teaching my children to love magic and how to wield it. I took a risk by trusting a Templar. And now I’m choosing to trust you. I hope I am not making a mistake,” he said simply. It was not a threat, at least not one that Desmond could read.

“But I’m,” a killer, he did not say. “Thank you.”

Malcolm inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Now, I have a question for you. What is your other world like?”

Desmond blinked, then took the change in topic as the end of that conversation. He still had questions, but if this man was willing to risk his family to help Desmond, then he wasn’t going to put up a fight, despite it seeming very irresponsible. At the very least, Desmond would learn all he could about this world and then leave the family alone. After he repaid them of course. He was very good at finding money. “Well,” he started, “there’s no magic in my world.”

“Really?” Garrett asked, speaking up for the first time in a while. His voice was colored with surprise, and Desmond remembered that he was a mage too. “I can’t even imagine. What do you dream of, if you don’t go to the Fade?”

Desmond didn’t know what that was. “I’m sure there’s plenty of science on the subject that I don’t know, but as far as I’m aware, dreaming is what the brain does to relax and sort through information. So we don’t actually go anywhere, we’re just experiencing whatever our mind wants us to.”

Garrett nodded slowly, “Interesting. What else is there?”

“Uh, well. Since we don’t have magic, we had to find other ways to do things. So our technology is very advanced. For example, we could travel great distances very quickly, fly through the air with the aid of machines, and talk instantly to people on the other side of the world.” He watched as the two mages’ eyes lit up in absolute delight as Desmond told them about the wonders of modern technology and some of the medical advances they had made. He hesitated, and then told them about the Animus, “I’m not sure about the exact science, but some not-so-great people found a way to trace the memories stored in someone’s DNA-”

“What’s that?” Garrett cut in, and Desmond was actually glad he did.

“It’s like. Well, it’s basically the building blocks of who you are. For example, you look like your parents and siblings because you were created from a mix of your parents’ DNA and they’re a mix of their parents, and so on and so forth. That’s called genetics. A company called Abstergo managed to find a way to trace someone’s DNA back centuries, to find the memories locked inside. Because it’s not just appearances that are stored there, but lives lived. Through a machine called the Animus, Abstergo could unlock those memories and have the descendant relive the lives of their ancestors.”

The two mages looked at him with wide eyes, “And this is common where you’re from?” Malcolm asked breathlessly.

“No, not at all.” Desmond shook his head. Thank fuck for that. “It was veering on illegal science because their test subjects were rarely willing. And there were severe consequences to going through the Animus, anywhere from death to madness. Not many people knew about the Animus. It was all very hush-hush.”

“Why did you know about it then?” Garrett’s tone wasn’t accusatory, simply curious. Desmond appreciated that.

“Oh, um. Well.” Hey Google, how to casually mention your trauma?

Malcolm studied him, “You were one of the test subjects, weren’t you?” Desmond shrugged then nodded. At least he didn’t have to say it. “Was that the reason you were so injured?”

Desmond paused, “Not really? But also kind of. It’s complicated.” Because it was. He was chosen for the Animus because of his ancestors, and it was because of the Animus that he even went on the quest that eventually ended his life. So yes, in a way he was wounded (and killed) because of the Animus, but it was also not directly involved. Complicated.

“I believe you,” Malcolm said with good humor, “But I do have to ask if this ‘Animus’ made you the sort of mad that would harm my family.”

Desmond cringed, “I’m honestly not sure. I... well. There’s no delicate way to put it, I sometimes become my ancestors and don’t know where I am, or I see things that aren’t there, or start speaking in different languages. I don’t think I become violent, but there’s no guarantee that I won’t.”

Malcolm nodded, “I appreciate your candor; this can’t be easy to talk about. Our past abuses rarely are.”

Garrett cleared his throat, “They’re over there,” he pointed to the rest of the family, and the three of them went silent, not wanting to talk about it around the others.

“You’re back!” Bethany exclaimed quietly, aware of the time of night and that they were trying to avoid attention. “Where are we going?”

Malcolm shrugged, “Wherever we end up, my little light.”

Bethany grinned, “An adventure.” She then linked up arms with Desmond, “Let’s treat our newest member to a Hawke family expedition.” Desmond couldn’t help but think that she was the literal embodiment of sunshine. She and Malcolm seemed like the glue that kept the family together. If anything happened to them, Desmond didn’t know how the rest of the family would take it.

Chapter Text

They traveled for two days before finding a little village named Lothering, about a day’s journey from some ruins and the Kocari Wilds, which were said to be full of evil witches and Chasind folk. When Desmond asked for clarification on what exactly was terrifying about the Wilds, he was told the tale of Flemeth, the witch that had lived there for centuries luring people to their deaths and eating them. And the Chasind were barbarians that had control of swamp monsters.

It all sounded a bit like stories one tells their children to force good behavior, but in a world with magic, Desmond wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t. Not until he learned more about this place, anyway. And from what he could see, he was likely here to stay. He had died back on Earth. He remembered that much.

And now he was... something else entirely. He wasn’t quite sure, but in the two and a half days he’d been in Thedas, he’d noticed some changes to himself, beyond the golden markings. For starters, nothing was heavy. He’d taken his turn carrying everything the family was taking with them, and even more than one person should be able to, and he barely felt a thing. He’d, with permission, given Bethany a back ride, and if she hadn’t been talking in his ear the whole time, he would have forgotten she was there because she was so light.

And then there was whatever was fucking with his Eagle Vision. Every time he turned it on, he saw not only the regular auras of blue allies, red enemies, white safety and golden points of interest, but he saw those green lines racing through everything. It was particularly bundled around Malcolm, Bethany, and Garrett, which made Desmond think it had something to do with magic, but he wasn’t sure. He would have to test his theories, once they had settled down somewhere.

That somewhere, in Lothering, ended up being a small farmhouse with a little bit of land attached that the family could grow some of their own produce, if they so desired. It was also a little away from the rest of the village, not enough that they were outcast, but just enough that they had some semblance of privacy.

Malcolm had paid for it with some money he’d had stashed away in a few safe locations on their way to Lothering. The moment the family and Desmond crowded into the small house that would be their home for the next however long amount of time, Leandra started dishing out chores. Carver was to go chop some wood for the fireplace, Garrett to start setting some protection runes inside the house, and Bethany and Desmond to help clean the place up before everyone unpacked. Leandra and Malcolm would go introduce themselves to the locals in an attempt to avoid suspicion. Not many things were as attention gathering as moving into a small town and keeping to oneself.

Everyone set out to do their assigned tasks, Desmond, for his part, heading out to a nearby well to gather water for washing away the dirt and grime. The family made a day of it. Once Carver and Garrett were finished with their tasks, they helped Bethany and Desmond scrub the windows and fix some furniture.

It was very nostalgic to Desmond, falling into the task of repairing and cleaning. He’d done a lot of that at the Farm in between sparring sessions and indoctrination lessons. It was the only time he felt less like a member of a cult, when he was cleaning, cooking, and learning how to fix things. Being taught to kill from a young age, that he was just a cog in a wheel, it all took its toll on him. Chores were the only thing that was even remotely normal about his childhood.

And somehow all of the things he’d ever done in his life brought him back to that same childhood comfort, but this time in a world of magic. The repetitive scrubbing motions soothed something in him that he hadn’t realized had been so tense. Everything seemed much more bearable, now that he was back to the simplicity of cleaning.

The siblings were laughing among each other, throwing dirty rags and making a game of the chores, and suddenly Desmond ached for that sort of camaraderie. He’d never had that, even with all the other kids on the Farm.

Just as he thought that, a wet rag went hurling through the air directly towards his face. Without thinking, he dodged, watching as the beige cloth streaked with black hit the window and fell to the floor. He looked over at Garrett’s mischievous face and felt an answering grin on his own. He picked up the rag and it went straight towards the man’s yellow eyes.

Garrett let out a high-pitched shriek, and then it was a free-for-all. Various cleaning implements went flying through the air, hitting faces, chests and backs. Everyone except Desmond was soaking wet by the time Malcolm and Leandra came back, and the house was only marginally more clean. The four of them looked guiltily around, avoiding the disapproving stares of the parents.

Malcolm reached over and plucked one of the sopping rags from Carver’s shoulder and examined it for a moment. And then, without warning, he was sending it directly into Bethany’s face, and the war resumed.

Desmond was ducking and dodging the spray of water, laughing the whole while. He couldn’t remember ever having this much fun in his twenty-five years of life. The family slowly realized that while they were all drenched, Desmond was still pristine and dry. It quickly became a five-on-one with the first one to hit him being free from chores that evening.

With that, the war was truly on. Desmond quickly realized that while his reflexes had always been good, they’d never been this good. It was like he knew exactly where something was going to be a second before it arrived, and he had all the time in the world to find the path to dodge it.

He had a decision to make, either wait it out until they all got bored, or allow one of them to hit him, because the way things were going, it seemed unlikely that he would actually get struck. The longer it went on, however, the more the family seemed to get into it, and while he surprisingly wasn’t getting tired despite all the hopping around he was doing, he was getting a little bored.

So he dodged a few more, and then ‘tripped’ just as Carver’s rag thunked solidly into his back.

“Yes!” The youngest male exclaimed proudly, immediately puffing out his chest in victory. Desmond kind of regretted allowing him to have the win, but the boy needed some kind of boost of confidence with how he was always grumbling about being in everyone else’s shadow.

But Desmond soon realized why that hadn’t been a good idea, as Carver took every opportunity to belittle Desmond for getting hit, and everyone else for not being the ones to do it. Desmond almost bit through his tongue with the amount of times he held back from saying anything. The temptation to tell Carver that he only got the hit because Desmond allowed him to was very strong.

Malcom eventually took Carver aside to gently tell him to have some tact, which had Desmond, Bethany, and Garrett trading awkward looks as they attempted to pretend they couldn’t hear anything.

The rest of the day passed in much the same manner, with the family and Desmond cleaning up the house and unpacking. Leandra fussed over Desmond, trying to see if he would fit into Garrett’s clothes because they were closer in age, or Carver’s. The answer was neither, as Desmond, though physically fit, was more on the lean side than Garrett and Carver’s sheer bulk. Both brothers had massive arms and thick chests from their lifetime of manual labor and swinging around giant swords or staffs.

So in the end, Leandra took some of the clothes both boys were willing to part with and spent the evening altering the fabric to better fit Desmond, while the others made dinner. Desmond had never felt more accepted and at home than he did in this new world with these kind people.

Chapter Text

A year passed quickly, the family having integrated into the village of Lothering. Bethany spent a lot of her time at the Chantry, learning healing from the cloistered sisters and memorizing the faces of the templars. Garrett spent his time wooing the locals and doing odd jobs for coin and reputation. Carver, for his part, took a lot of time to train his sword work and started making noises about joining the King’s army to make a name for himself out from under his family’s shadow.

Desmond, meanwhile, spent an almost indecent time at the Chantry library, reading all that he could about this new world he’d ended up in, studying the history of the place. Granted, everything he read had a hint of propaganda to it, but Desmond was more or less able to parse his way through the things that seemed to be written by the victors. He also spent a lot of time learning how the Eye had changed his body, and it definitely had.

Since arriving in this world, nothing has been too much. He could run for hours and not break a sweat, lift anything that wasn’t implanted into the ground. He would heal within seconds to minutes, depending on the severity of the wound. With Eagle Vision, he was seeing magic, including the magic imbued into objects. And most surprisingly, he had some sort of future sense.

It wasn’t anything to write home about, to be honest. Just sometimes he would look at someone and know that they were going to die. He usually didn’t know when, but occasionally he would see someone walking around and between heartbeats, he would get a flash of their throat cut, limbs torn off, an axe embedded in their head. It was disorienting and rather upsetting. It made talking to people difficult when just moments before he had seen them as corpses.

Sometimes he would look at Bethany and her head was smashed in. He didn’t like to think about it.

A more useful skill that came with the future sense, was occasionally, when sparing with Garrett or Carver, Desmond got a sort of premonition on what movement they were going to make a split second before they did so. It was very distracting at first, but the more he sparred, the more he got used to it. It enhanced his reflexes by an unholy amount, and he ended up always winning the training sessions without even the slightest injury to show for it, unlike the brothers.

He had no idea what sort of fuckery the Isu did to his body, but he seemed to be overpowered as fuck. He didn’t know how he felt about it, but if it kept this newfound family safe, then he would use the gifts given to him.

But all the fighting in the world couldn’t help when Malcolm Hawke got sick a year and a half into Desmond’s stay with the family. It came upon them suddenly and without warning. One moment the man was fine, joking with the rest of the family, and the next he was convulsing on the ground, skin pale and clammy.

Bethany and Desmond scoured the Chantry library for any sort of healing magic that would help. The cloistered sisters, priests, and mothers of the Chantry couldn’t do a thing to heal the man, and within two weeks, the family was mourning the passing of the man who, on most days, kept them all together.

Desmond felt the loss like a knife to the gut. He hadn’t known Malcolm as long as the rest of the family had, obviously, but the man had taken him in when he had no one and treated him like his own son. He was a much better father than William Miles had ever been. He was half convinced that without Malcolm, the rest of the family would kick him out.

But, contrary to his expectations, the Hawke family brought him closer. Leandra called him her son, and the children claimed him as their brother. Desmond didn’t know how to handle the fact that he had to die and go to another world entirely before he found a family that actually cared about him, beyond what he could do for them.

In Malcolm’s absence, Garrett took up the mantle of being the family’s rock. He kept spirits up with lighthearted jokes, teasing Bethany until she smiled, poking and prodding at Carver until he dropped the wall he’d built around himself, and bringing things for Leandra to find hobbies as a distraction from depression. Desmond, for his part, helped Garrett where he could. While the eldest Hawke child focused on bringing his family together, Desmond made sure they didn’t starve.

He did odd quests here and there - finding lost items, collecting herbs for the local apothecary, clearing out bandits. Of course, he tried to spend time with the family, showing that he was there for them in their time of need, but there was only so much he could do, and someone needed to make sure they stayed afloat.

A month after the death of Malcolm Hawke, Carver left to join the King’s army. There were whispers of a Blight on the horizon and the King had plans to make a stand against the darkspawn horde at the ruins of a place called Ostagar. Leandra begged him not to go, but Carver was insistent. Desmond was convinced that if Garrett wasn’t a mage, he’d be joining up as well. As it was, he couldn’t risk his magic being discovered.

Desmond researched as much as he could about the Blight as soon as the first refugees started showing up. There wasn’t too much information beyond the Chantry’s ideas that teetered on the verge of being bullshit. The books Desmond could find said that the first Blight started because of the hubris of men. They thought they could break into the Golden City, where the throne of the Maker resided, and overthrow God. From that one moment, the Golden City became the Black City, and the humans that dared enter it were cast out and corrupted, thus becoming the first darkspawn.

Obviously, Desmond didn’t know how this world worked, but from what he’d seen and read so far, the Chantry was a lot like the religious institutions back in his home world. Creating stories that fit into their worldview so they could brainwash people into following their plans, giving them money, and hating on those that the church didn’t deem worthy.

Desmond didn’t have a problem with religion as an idea. People could believe what they wanted, and if it brought them hope and peace, all the more power to them. It was when that belief became fanatical and hurt people, either themselves or others, that it became a problem. And institutionalized religion had a habit of creating that sort of environment.

So maybe he was just biased against the Chantry from the similarities between it and his home world, but he wasn’t inclined to believe much that they said. He wasn’t completely convinced about the Chantry’s version of the First Blight, but it still gave him valuable information such as - the corruption was contagious, the darkspawn had a hive mind, and the Blight would only end if the archdemon, the leader of the hive, was killed. An archdemon could only receive the death blow from a Grey Warden, which was an elite organization of warriors that had the sole purpose of protecting the land against Blights.

Desmond hoped there wasn’t a blight coming. It was too close to a zombie apocalypse for his comfort. And yet the refugees arrived in droves until there were people camped in the Hawke’s yard, banditry and crime happening everywhere, fear and desperation creeping into the little village of Lothering like a plague.

“We should be prepared to run,” Desmond said one day around a tense dinner. “Pack the essentials. So many people in one defenseless village are bound to attract unwanted attention.”

Leandra’s face crumpled, “This is our home,” she protested, looking around the small hovel. Desmond knew what she meant. They had been here for over a year, and it was the place they had built with Malcolm. It had become a home to the Hawkes more than anywhere else they had lived previously.

“Des is right,” Garrett said with resolution. “We can always rebuild, but we can’t do that if we die here.”

Leandra shook her head, “I know, but we have to wait for Carver. He won’t know where to find us otherwise.” Desmond winced but kept his thoughts to himself. Word had come through the refugees that the battle at Ostagar was lost. It was unlikely that Carver had survived since the majority of the King’s army had been overrun. Betrayed by the Grey Wardens, which didn’t sound right, but what did Desmond know? He couldn’t imagine that a group dedicated to stopping the Blight would jeopardize a chance to end it before it began. But he didn’t know all the facts, so he reserved his judgment for now.

Nobody argued against Leandra, not wanting to shatter the tentative hope that he was still alive. So they stayed, Desmond squirreling away their coin, some food, and clothes, just in case they needed to leave at a moment’s notice.

That moment came when Carver opened the front door with a bang during breakfast, completely out of breath, yet he still managed to gasp out that a horde of darkspawn was heading right to Lothering, and they needed to leave that very second.

Desmond grabbed his pack and his weapons, which he had stored near the front door, and the family started moving.

Chapter Text

They weren’t far out of the city before they heard the screams. Some people had seen the family fleeing and joined in, but they had all scattered in different directions. There was no herd mentality when the villagers were running around like chickens with their heads cut off.

The Hawkes and Desmond picked up the pace, heading into the mountains. There was a decent enough path to guide their way so that they didn’t need to pick through the wilderness on top of running for their lives.

But even with their speed, it wasn’t long before the Blight was upon them and Desmond had his first true look at the vile creatures called darkspawn. They looked like decaying corpses and smelled twice as bad. Armored and armed to their blackened teeth, they came snarling from the underbrush, swords swinging.

“Don’t ingest the blood!” Desmond shouted before unsheathing his daggers and attacking. The smallest drop of blood could infect someone and it wouldn’t take long before they were turned into a ghoul, a shade of their previous self, creatures that knew nothing beyond hunger and violence.

With Desmond’s enhanced strength and reflexes, he found that he was cutting through the darkspawn like warm butter, cleaving through armor and felling the foul creatures within seconds.

Leandra was cowering in the background as her children and Desmond fought the miniature horde, around fifteen darkspawn converging on their position. Bethany stayed near her mother, protecting the woman from any stragglers, while Desmond, Carver, and surprisingly, Garrett were in the thick of things. Garrett swung his staff around, striking enemies left and right while imbuing magic into every hit. It was an elegant dance made even more prominent with Carver’s method of hacking and slashing whatever came near to him with little to no finesse.

By the time the darkspawn tapered out, the Hawkes were panting, and Desmond was looting the corpses while the others caught their breath. He found a surprising amount of gold for creatures he would bet didn’t actually buy anything. But maybe they were like magpies, drawn to shiny objects.

His spoils pocketed, the group moved on with haste, occasionally running into a few stragglers here and there, nothing they couldn’t handle. The most difficult part was all the running. A true test of endurance that Leandra was failing at. The amount of times she’d tripped or slowed them down made Desmond want to pick her up and carry her. When he offered, however, she refused. Her pride would be the death of them.

“Wait,” Bethany called a halt to their progress, the smoldering remains of darkspawn roasting away behind them. Garrett had been a bit too trigger-happy. “Where are we going? We can’t just run forever.”

Leandra looked at her children and her face flashed with regret. “We can go to Kirkwall. I still have family there, an estate. We’ll be fine.”

Desmond hadn’t heard anything about this place, but from the faces of the Hawke family, it wasn’t anywhere good.

“That wouldn’t be my first choice,” Garrett said, attempting to smile even as his eyes screamed his reluctance.

Bethany looked at her mother like she’d grown two heads, “There are a lot of templars in Kirkwall. I don’t think we’ll be as lucky there as we were out in the middle of Nowhere, Ferelden.”

Leandra winced, “I know that, but the Blight is taking over Ferelden, we’ve lost everything here. It’s unlikely the darkspawn will cross the Waking Sea to get to Kirkwall. We’ll be safe from that, at least.”

Garrett sighed and rubbed his neck, “Well. It’s as good a place as any, I suppose. Darkspawn or templars. I don’t know which one is worse.”

Desmond didn’t like what that said about the templars in this world. And here they were, headed into the hive. Fantastic.

Not long after that decision, the group ran into a redheaded woman fending off a gaggle of darkspawn from converging on a fallen templar. The templar struggled to sit upright with all the armor weighing him down, like a turtle on its back. His defender had a templar shield strapped to her massive arms, using her body as a battering ram against the darkspawn, felling them one after the other.

But even with how formidable she was, even she would be at risk with the slightest misstep. Desmond ran in blades first, rallying to her aid. He would like to say it was for purely selfless reasons, but truthfully, the two were on the path the family was headed down, and either they fought with the woman or waited until she died and would have to fight the darkspawn regardless. Any help was welcome in a zombie apocalypse, even if that help came in the form of a templar that could barely lift his sword.

And yet this templar, finally upright, shook as the tip of his sword dipped downwards. His blade switched targets between Bethany and Garrett, with a few uncertain gestures towards Desmond and his golden circuitry. “Stay back, apostates!” He called after the last darkspawn had fallen to the redhead’s sword.

“Wesley,” the woman cautioned her companion, “Honey, they helped us.”

The templar sneered, “I refuse to accept the help from a mage.”

Desmond’s eyebrow rose even as he stepped in between Bethany and Wesley’s sword. “And yet the help was given. The least you could do is not point weapons at your saviors.”

Wesley’s face grew red with rage, “You fucking-”

“Thank you, serah. We are in your debt,” the redhead chimed in, speaking over the templar. “My name is Aveline Vallen, this is my husband, Ser Wesley. Thank you again for your assistance. Might we bother you to join your group? Safety in numbers, and I’m afraid Wesley has been injured.”

The man in question spat at their feet but didn’t say anything against Aveline’s request. Desmond looked back at the Hawke family, allowing them to make the decisions. He didn’t know what the best choice was. Aveline seemed like a good person, and she would be handy in the fights to come, but her husband... Well, he left a lot to be desired. And the templar might put the two mages at risk. Desmond also didn’t want to be the one to refuse them, because they would probably die on their own out in the Wilds.

Garrett surveyed the two of them, then nodded to himself, “If you can guarantee the cooperation of your templar, then welcome aboard. We’re headed for Gwaren, with plans to make land in Kirkwall.”

Aveline gave a dubious look to their staffs, “Kirkwall, really? Well, far be it for me to make any judgments on your decisions. We would be honored to join you, if you’ll have us. Thank you.”

And with that, two more joined their party. And what a party it was. Wesley had to be physically restrained from joining the fight in a fit of pride, which left Desmond out of the fighting since he was the only one who could restrain the man. Aveline was a force to be reckoned with, charging into battle with the darkspawn and shouting for their attention. She was an absolute tank, indestructible. Desmond would stand behind her in front of anything.

But with Desmond babysitting Wesley and Leandra, he wasn’t close enough when the massive darkspawn ogre popped out of nowhere and came barreling toward the group. Bethany couldn’t move out of the way fast enough, and a meaty fist snaked around her waist. It was over before anyone could blink, her spine crushed, her head smashed against the ground with a force that sent blood and brain matter spraying in all directions.

Leandra screamed, Wesley threw up, and everyone else was too busy fighting the horde of darkswpan and a rampaging ogre to react beyond making sure no one else followed her in death. Desmond faintly had a hysterical realization that he had been seeing this moment for weeks, the caved-in skull forever marring Bethany’s sweet smile. He didn’t know if he would be able to see anything but her moment of death whenever he thought of her.

Desmond was half aware of covering Leandra as she ran into the battle, falling to her knees next to Bethany’s body. The woman was sobbing hysterically, getting her hands soaked in blood as she pet Bethany’s mangled head, smoothing her hair back from a smashed face. Desmond winced and turned his eyes from the gruesome scene, instead focusing on the battle Aveline, Garrett, and Carver were waging against the horde.

He’d seen plenty of death in his time, caused more than his fair share of it, but it’s difficult to compare a knife wound to the fantastical obliteration by a monster, especially when it's someone so sweet and kind as Bethany. Someone he knew, and three days prior had been laughing with over a shared dinner.

His eyes stung with the force of his stare into the far distance. He would not look. She deserved more than being remembered as a mangled corpse.

Even as the fighting died down and the group gathered around Bethany’s fallen form, Desmond looked away, trying to spot any incoming enemies. Ignoring the shouting match between Leandra and Garrett, angry words spoken in grief.

Leandra wanted to take Bethany’s body with them, or at least bury her. Garrett was more pragmatic with his argument that they didn’t have time, and if they wasted any more of it, they would all join Bethany and Malcolm in death.

Desmond stayed firmly out of it. Bethany deserved more than being abandoned on a mountainside to be eaten by wild animals and darkspawn. But Garrett was right that they didn’t have time. Even now Desmond could hear the scraping of armored feet against stone and knew their luck had run out. The group was exhausted, and as godly as Desmond seemed to be now, he was one person against a horde.

“Incoming,” he cautioned, cutting through another circular argument. Those in fighting shape immediately took up arms, readying themselves for the oncoming battle.

That was when the dragon attacked.

Chapter Text

A colossal creature right out of a movie or book swooped down among the darkspawn, setting them alight and snatching them up in razor-sharp teeth as large as Desmond. He blinked in shock, jaw falling open as the dragon felled the horde within seconds.

He gripped his drooping daggers when the creature started glowing a brilliant gold. From within the light walked a woman with pure white hair styled into horns, armor revealing and yet practical. The way she walked exuded confidence, dragging a dead darkspawn behind her as she sauntered towards them. Desmond could feel himself gain a little bit of a hero crush on her. He would never act on it, of course, but her competence was attractive as hell.

“Now, what do we have here?” She wondered, voice hoarse with age. “There I was, minding my business, when what did I see? A mighty ogre, slayed at the hand of a few,” she looked them over with an assessing gaze. “But now my curiosity is sated, and I shall be on my way.”

“Wait,” Garrett was quick to intervene as the woman turned to leave. “What would it cost us to have your help in escaping the darkspawn?”

“What?” Aveline gasped, “You would ask the help of the Witch of the Wilds? That’s not a smart move.”

The woman shrugged, “Some people call me that, others call me Flemeth.” Her eyes roved over the ragtag group once again, “You should know that if you’re going to the Kocari Wilds, you’re headed in the wrong direction.”

Garrett shook his head, “We’re making our way to Kirkwall.”

“Kirkwall?” The first true emotion from Flemeth was surprise, “My, but that is quite the journey you plan. It seems you will need my help after all.”

“What’s your price?” Desmond spoke up. Someone who could turn into a dragon didn’t need their fighting abilities, so she had to get something out of this.

She smiled meanly, “Now there’s a smart lad. I ask for something simple in return for safe passage. An easy delivery. On the outskirts of Kirkwall is a Dalish camp. Take this amulet to their Keeper, and I will consider your debt paid.”

Flemeth handed a tarnished silver necklace to Garrett, a worn carving of a dragon on the amulet. “What is it? Why can’t you deliver it yourself?” Garrett asked, suspicious.

“I don't believe that’s any of your concern. That is the price for my help.”

Garrett shrugged and pocketed the necklace, “Roast a few more darkspawn and I’ll do whatever you want.”

Flemeth hummed consideringly. “We should leave soon, but first, there is the issue of that,” she gestured to Wesley, who was looking a little black around the gills. He had a sickly pale pallor as he stumbled to his knees.

“You don’t touch him,” Aveline stood between her husband and the witch.

Flemeth gave a facsimile of a kind look, “The corruption has already spread. He is a risk to you all.”

“No,” Aveline denied immediately.

Wesley coughed heavily, a rapid decline from how he had been even five minutes ago. “My love, it’s okay. I can feel it getting worse. I don’t want to become a ghoul, or even worse, hurt you.”

Aveline, the woman who had gone through every battle since Desmond knew her with a strong face, looked on the verge of tears at this foe she could not beat into submission. Desmond felt for her. He might not like Wesley at all, but Aveline must have thought he was worth something for her to marry him.

“Is there not a cure for this?” Leandra asked, tears thickening her voice. It was understandable that she didn’t want any more death, especially as the body of her only daughter cooled at their feet.

“The only cure I know of is to become a Grey Warden,” Flemeth informed, gaze locked onto Wesley even beyond Aveline’s form.

“And they all died at Ostagar,” Aveline sighed, defeated sorrow in her gaze.

Flemeth shrugged, “Not all of them, but either way, I’m afraid they’re out of your reach now.”

“My love,” Wesley coughed, sounding ragged. “Please,” his voice faded into a rattle before he could finish his thought.

Aveline’s chin wobbled for a brief moment, and then her gaze hardened. She kneeled in the dirt beside her husband and touched her forehead to his, “May we meet in whatever life comes next.” With one swift move, she stabbed her sword into his heart, face blank in her grief. Desmond understood her lack of reaction - they didn’t have time for her to break down.

Flemeth nodded with approval, “A much kinder death. But I’m afraid we must leave him. Both of them.”

She gestured to Bethany’s corpse as well, and it took herculean effort for Desmond to not look down at her.

Leandra let out a rasping sob, “Not my little girl. Please!”

“She will weigh us down and I refuse. If you want my help, you leave them,” Flemeth said unkindly, eyes cold.

In the end, there wasn’t much of a choice. They didn’t have time for the tearful goodbye Leandra wanted, and the effort it took to pry her away from Bethany left her weak and heavily supported by Desmond, the only one who could carry her without issue. It hurt to leave such a kind soul lying on the mountainside to be picked apart by wild animals and darkspawn, but there was nothing for it. As callous as it was, that body was no longer Bethany. Her bright eyes and caring nature were gone the moment that ogre grabbed ahold of her. It wasn’t the body that made the person. Still, she deserved better.

Desmond wished he believed in an afterlife so she would live on in peace and joy, but he had seen too much in his several lives to not be a devout atheist. That didn’t stop him from wishing that this world had an actual god that would care for her, even though everything he’d heard from the Chantry teachings said that their Maker hated them.

He still hoped, for Bethany’s sake. And the surviving Hawkes, who had lost two beloved members of their family in too short a time.

It took a surprisingly short amount of time to reach the costal city of Gwaren, with Flemeth’s strong magic to rival Garrett’s own considerable strength. She easily dispatched with all of the darkspawn that thought to cross their path.

They ran into more and more refugees the closer they got to Gwaren, more people having the same thought as them of fleeing Ferelden, hoping the sea would deter the darkspawn, even though the Deep Roads spanned beneath the ocean. Darkspawn were everywhere, and there was only a feeble hope that somehow the Blight would end before it consumed the world. In the meantime, the further they could get from ground zero of the Blight, the more likely it would be they would survive.

Flemeth left them outside the city limits with a reminder of their debt. Desmond had mixed feelings about seeing her go. He’d quickly gotten over his hero crush on her, but she was still incredibly competent. He got the feeling, though, that she thought of them as little more than currently useful ants. Easy enough to step on when they stopped being useful. In the end, he decided he wasn’t too upset to see the back of her as she disappeared into the treeline. They couldn’t rely too much on someone as unknown as her.

Gwaren was overrun with desperate Fereldens seeking ships, running over each other like ants on a mission. Every alleyway was full of the starving and fearful, waiting for the next ship leaving the port to go anywhere other than here. The price for passage caused many hopeless faces, as the cost went up each day, greed filling the eyes of the shipmasters. Desmond couldn't fault them. There were very few passenger ships, most of the port was filled with cargo vessels that weren’t meant for more than thirty people. And yet they were forced to pack refugees in like sardines for the five-day journey to the Free Marches. There were only so many people they could force in, and when an opportunity arose to make a profit... well. Again, Desmond couldn’t fault them, even if that meant the Hawke family had to fork over their entire savings in order to secure passage for five.

Desmond worried about what they would do when they got to Kirkwall. They had no money, and they were hardly the first ones to have the idea to flee Ferelden. It was likely that the city would be full, or they would bar entrance to the city altogether. When Desmond tentatively brought up the problem to Leandra, she shut him down with a desperation that spoke of a need to believe they would be fine. Her family had an estate, and she had a brother still living in Kirkwall. They would be taken care of because she was nobility. Desmond didn’t have the heart to tell her that she was a bit too hopeful for the harsh realities of the world. She had already lost so much, and if clinging to that belief kept her sane, he wouldn’t be the one to pop that bubble. He didn’t want another Maria Auditore, who became a shell of herself at the loss of most of her family.

So he shut his mouth, sharing a look with Garrett, and decided he would find a way to make things work for this family, even if he had to scale the walls and open the gates himself. They would be taken care of just as they took care of him.

The ship ride itself was miserable. There was barely room to stretch one’s legs out while sitting. Food ran out on the third day, and someone quickly got sick, infecting the rest of the boat until nearly everyone was coughing and sniffling. A few people died of hunger and sickness, and Desmond was just relieved that when the bodies were thrown overboard, it gave a little more room to everyone else.

By the time they reached land, six people had died, and all of the Hawkes and Aveline were feeling the weakness of hunger. Desmond, for his part, seemed to somehow be more or less sustained by whatever golden circuitry ran through his veins. He was hungry, but no weaker for it.

It took hours to get everyone on solid ground, and even then, they were quickly stopped at an island fortress, guards barring the way into the city.

“They don’t appear to be letting anyone in,” Aveline pointed out, the crowd one step away from becoming a mob, held back only slightly by what appeared to be a whole battalion of guards.

“There must be someone we can talk to,” Leandra reasoned, watching the mess warily.

Garrett shrugged, “Can’t hurt. Come on, let’s muscle our way in.” With Carver and Desmond leading the group, they weaved and shoved their way to the front where Garrett took point in the conversation. “Who do I need to talk to, to get into the city?” He addressed a heavily scarred guard with sparse, straw blonde hair.

The guard sneered, “Not me, that’s for sure. I’m just here to stop the trash from climbing the walls.” He eyed their group, their armor that marked them as more than just refugees. “You’ll want to talk to Captain Ewald. See what he can do.” The guard stepped aside, and their party of five walked further into the fortress island. The noise behind them got one step closer to a full-on brawl as their group was let in while the others were kept out.

Desmond tried to keep an ear out in case that roiling mess boiled over, but the deeper the five of them went into the fortress, the more muted the sound became until the only sound he could hear was the din of the refugees allowed past the guards. They dotted the fortress hallways in groups of two to six, murmuring and fretting.

Garrett led them deeper through the stone building until they emerged blinking into the light of an open courtyard. Merchants hawked their wares to citizens and refugees alike, promoting their stores and offering to buy goods for coin. Desmond made note of where a few unlucky refugees were being swindled, and secured his bag tighter onto his back. He didn’t need cutpurses on top of everything else they were going through.

It was easy enough to spot Captain Ewald, as he was in the middle of loudly arguing with a group of well-armed men. They looked like deserters from the army, but as that was more or less what Carver was, Desmond wouldn’t judge. What he would judge them on was how they were demanding to be let into the city using juvenile threats and trying other pathetic intimidation tactics.

Garrett waltzed their group up to the argument like there was nothing of note happening. “Excuse me,” Garrett interrupted faux-politely. “I was wondering what it would take to get into the city.”

The Captain rolled his eyes, “You’re too late, I’m afraid. We’ve been letting people into the city for months. There’s no more room,” he glared at the deserters, “You’re too late,” he emphasized.

“Surely you’d like to get rid of us,” Garrett said, slightly slimy in a way that was meant to disarm, “If you find our uncle, Gamlen Amell, we’d be more than happy to get off your doorstep. He’s a noble if that helps.”

Ewald looked considering, “Gamlen, you say? The only Gamlen I know is a weasel who couldn't rub two coppers together, but very well. I’ll see what I can do.”

Those were apparently fighting words, as the deserters took immense offense at the possibility of Desmond’s group getting into Kirkwall when the deserters had been there for a few days already, trying to argue their way into the city, to no avail. Weapons were unsheathed and a battle quickly broke out.

Soon enough it wasn’t just the deserters they were fighting, but a few enterprising refugees that thought it would be a good beginning act in a new city to kill the guards keeping them out. As if that would do anything but make security even tighter.

The battle was difficult only because Desmond’s group was flagging with hunger, and the enemies seemed to keep coming, as well as the fact that Garrett had to restrict himself to swinging around his staff as a weapon and not using magic. The deserters were also slightly better armored than the darkspawn, as well as more organized. In the end, though, it was an easy enough fight with the guards on their side, and as the bodies of the deserters and refugees lay cooling on the ground, Captain Ewald shook his head.

“Unbelievable.” He sized up Desmond’s group, “Look, I can’t promise anything, but I’ll have someone get ahold of Gamlen, and I’ll let a few people know about what you’ve done today. You didn’t have to help, but you did, and that means something. For what it’s worth, I hope you do get into Kirkwall. With the way you fight, you would be an asset to the city.”

Chapter Text

“It’s been three days,” Aveline paced around in restless, jerky movements as Desmond returned to the group. “This waiting has to end.” She didn’t acknowledge him, instead running an agitated hand over her bright orange hair.

“Learn anything useful?” Garrett asked Desmond as he settled onto the floor beside what was left of the Hawke family. Desmond shrugged. He didn’t need to share that Robert, one of the guards was now a new father, his wife having given birth to twins last night. Brenda was covering his shift as he spent time with his family. She needed the extra money because her sister had just come to live with her, jobless. Garrett also didn’t need to know that Guardsman William had never left Kirkwall, but he dreamed of traveling to Nevara to see the Grand Necropolis.

Desmond had spent the past three days working his bartending charm on the guards and refugees, learning about them for no specific reason other than it would be something to occupy his time with, and to learn more about the world than he could from books. Mostly what he learned was that even though he was in a completely different world, the basics were still the same. People still had families, wanted to survive, and found joy in little things. Although he had lived the past year with the Hawkes in the little town of Lothering, it was comforting to know that everyone around this new world was essentially the same as those in his old world. They were just people.

Yesterday had been a more fruitful information-gathering experience. He had waited until the dark of night to climb the walls into the Gallows. Kirkwall itself was separated by a body of water, and he didn’t want to alert anyone by taking one of the boats, but he did spend some time wandering the halls of the Circle. It was childsplay to avoid those on duty and snoop through the records and possessions of the templars.

There was some interesting information about guard rotations and various operating procedures, but overall, he found things that didn’t currently pertain to him. Although all the refugees barred from the city were stationed at the Gallows until they could be returned to Ferelden or smuggled into the city, the templars had surprisingly little to do with the whole process. Some of the orders Desmond found specifically forbade them from interacting with or paying attention to anyone who wasn’t a fellow templar or a mage. On one hand, it would make things much easier when the Hawke family gained entrance into Kirkwall, what with trying to hide that Garrett was a mage. On the other, it meant that the treatment of mages was more severe since the templars didn’t have anything else to occupy them.

Back in Lothering the templars had spent their time keeping the peace on top of protecting the church. Desmond didn’t much like the templars, personally, but he did see the benefit of them helping keep the law in a small village. In a city like Kirkwall where they had the guard to patrol, templars didn’t need to spend their time on anything but their actual duty. Desmond felt sorry for the mages, especially after reading a lot of correspondence between the templars on their treatment of mages. Something had to be done, but Desmond didn’t know if he felt up to dismantling an entire religious army again, especially in a completely different world. He knew he could do it, and that Garrett would certainly help him, but he didn’t know if he wanted to.

That was a problem for another day, he decided as he watched a greasy man with a startling resemblance to Leandra walk closer. The man was hunched in on himself, avoiding the gazes of the city guard until he was within reach. He straightened up and swaggered over as if he owned the Gallows and everyone else was only permitted to be there because he allowed it. Desmond disliked him instantly.

“Leandra, you old girl!” He called, and the woman turned in surprise. She took in the man’s shabby clothing and stale ale scent that Desmond could smell even ten feet away, and she fell into his arms.

“Gamlen!” She cried with relief. “Oh, it is good to see you.”

After a brief hug, Gamlen held her at arm's length, “Damn, girl. The years have not been kind to you. You look older than the hags in Darktown!”

Garrett bristled at the insult and stood up, even as Leandra took the jab with grace. “It’s been a rough year,” she admitted, “My husband, and my dear Bethany. They didn’t make it.” Her voice wobbled.

Gamlen grimaced, “Leandra, don’t put this on me right now. I don’t even know if I can get you into the city. Save your waterworks.”

“But what about the estate? The money?” Carver stepped forward aggressively. Desmond wanted to tell him to use his eyes. This weasel of a man didn’t have money, just as Captain Ewald had said. It was written in his clothes, his avoidance of the guards, the way he stunk of alcohol, and the unwashed state of his body.

Desmond started making plans to commandeer a boat and climb the walls into Kirkwall, even as Gamlen had the decency to blush and look away. “Right, about the estate. It’s, uh. Gone. To settle a debt. I’ve been meaning to write,” he laughed awkwardly in a way that said he had not intended to inform Leandra at all. Gamlen waved away Leandra’s thunderous expression, “Anyway, I spoke to a few contacts and they’ve agreed to pay your way into the city, provided you’re willing to work for them. They’re only asking for a year.”

Leandra balked even as Garrett stood up straighter. “A year!” She sounded outraged as she hit Gamlen’s arm.

He flinched away and rubbed the sore spot, “What? It’s the best I could do on such short notice, and it’s the best you’re going to get.”

“Who would I be working for?” Garrett demanded.

“Well here’s the thing,” Gamlen started shiftily, “I only told them about you and Carver, I didn’t know about all these tag-alongs,” he motioned to Aveline and Desmond, “So technically you’d be working for everyone. It might take more than a year, depending on how hard you work. But really, you have two options. Meeran is the head of the Red Iron Mercenary Company. They usually keep their noses pretty clean, but I’m not deep into the business, so I don’t know the particulars. Athenril... well. I guess you could call her a smuggler. Either of them are willing to help you, but they’ll likely have initiation tests to see if you’d be a good fit.”

Garrett rubbed is forehead in thought before turning to Carver. “Any thoughts?”

The younger brother sneered, “You’re the leader.” Desmond fought not to roll his eyes—this kid. Every time Garrett took the lead, Carver complained, and yet any time Garrett asked his opinion he did something like this. It was rather exhausting.

Garrett shook his head, “Very well. Let’s go talk to them.”

“A moment,” Aveline cut in, “I don’t like the thought of others incurring debts on my behalf.” Desmond agreed, honestly.

“You’re one of us now,” Garrett nodded, “and we take care of our own. Carver and I will take care of the work for a year, while you and Desmond find jobs to help us get some money. I assume we won’t be getting paid for our efforts. Or, if you would prefer, Aveline, you can part ways with us when we get into the city. Either way, you’re getting in with us.”

Aveline chewed on that for a moment and then nodded decisively. “I suppose I have no real choice. Thank you.”

Garrett shot her a half smile, “Alright team, let’s go meet our benefactors.”

In the end, Desmond had nothing to do with the decision or the initiation test. Garrett had led their group in a beeline to Athenril, a thin elf woman with tattoos on her face. She and Garrett had talked for a bit, trading words that spoke volumes while saying nothing at all. It boiled down to Gamlen having spilled the beans on Garrett being a mage, and that’s why Athenril was willing to consider hiring a stranger.

She made sure to mention that they didn’t deal in death or slavery, but pretty much anything else was fair game, which Aveline seemed to agree with while it offended her morals. Thankfully, she didn’t say anything and even seemed to enjoy helping out a little bit in intimidating a douchebag merchant for their test.

Athenril counted the coins under Garrett’s smug gaze as if he had much of anything to do with it. The elf nodded and pocketed the coins. “Welcome to the gang, Hawke. Let’s get you into the city. Go gather your stuff and I’ll do my part.”

Leandra paced around anxiously as she waited for them to return, and once she saw the group headed for her, she descended like a vulture. “Is everything alright?”

Garrett hugged her, “Everything is fine, mother. We’re getting into the city.”

“Oh, thank the Maker. Gamlen has agreed to let us stay with him. I just wish Bethany were here with us.” Her eyes got misty, and Desmond looked away. She’d cried enough for all of them, and then some. He didn’t want to remember Bethany’s body, left on the mountainside for the darkspawn to defile.

“And Wesley,” Aveline piped up sadly. Desmond had to disagree, but he was sure there must have been some redeeming qualities in the man. Somewhere.

“Let’s not get into situations where we have to run for our lives anymore,” Garrett quipped, an attempt to lighten the mood which fell flat. Desmond winced, knowing that was a jinx. Now they would definitely be doing a lot of running for their lives. Awesome.

Chapter Text

Kirkwall was the worst of humanity, Desmond quickly decided. The city was some sort of dystopian hellscape where social class was everything and they literally named the parts of their city based on elitism. Hightown sat above the rest, gleaming streets, fancy estates, and servants skittering around at the beck and call of their noble employers. Nothing unseemly was allowed in Hightown, and one must be properly washed to be on the streets. Guards patrolled in twos, always present and watching for any wrongdoing. It was the pinnacle of high society and privilege.

Lowtown was for everyone in the middle class and below. The streets smelled of stale piss, gangs roamed the streets at night and bullied people into paying protection fees, and the air was thick with smoke from the foundries. Pathways were made of packed dirt and houses were stacked on top of each other like low-budget apartments. Guards were only seen in Lowtown if they were specifically called or off duty and on their way to the local tavern, The Hanged Man.

Darktown was even worse. It had earned its name in more than one way. That part of the city was mostly underground, accessible only by sewers, a rusty elevator-like machine, or a long set of stairs that got progressively more dangerous. Entirely lawless and ninety percent of it was only lit by torches, regardless of the time of day. It was where most of the Ferelden refugees ended up, having been shoved down there since no one would hire them so they could afford to live above ground. It was where the very dredges of society ruled, and the whole place stunk of despair and terror.

Gamlen’s house was in Lowtown, near the steps to the docks and with a nice view of the Gallows, their tarnished bronze statues of slaves in agony greeting Desmond every time he walked out the door. The house, a ground-floor apartment with two rooms and rats for roommates had paper-thin walls through which the Hawkes and Desmond had a very intimate look into the relationship of the family in the house above theirs.

Aveline left them a week into their stay in Kirkwall after she bullied her way into the guard and got a bed in the barracks. She still kept in contact, and Desmond went to go see her sometimes in between looking for a job himself. He knew he could pick up odd jobs for some coin, but it wasn’t very sustainable and he didn’t yet have the connections to find those jobs. Garrett and Carver were gone all day working for Athenril and would come back home exhausted. Leandra spent most of her days cleaning the house and avoiding her grief, while Gamlen himself was out getting drunk and incurring more debt.

Two weeks into their stay in Kirkwall and Desmond finally stumbled into a job. He had been scouting out the Hanged Man for any potential coin when he ended up at the bar, nursing a mug of ale that tasted of death.

“You got any citrus around here?” Desmond flagged down the bartender, not having much hope about the state of their fruit storage.

The man gave him a weird look under his bushy eyebrows, “I suppose we have some grapefruit. What do you want it for?”

Desmond shrugged, “Just a little something to help with the flavor of this drink,” he shook his mug a little.

The bartender hummed a gleam of consideration in his eyes. He went and fetched the round citrus and plopped it on the bar in front of Desmond. He didn’t ask for payment, instead watching with curiosity as Desmond pulled out a knife and sliced up the fruit. Desmond squeezed almost half the grapefruit into his drink, taking occasional sips to test the flavor before he deemed it suitably decent. It wasn’t his best mix, but it would do in a pinch. “So you know how to mix drinks, eh?” The bartender raised a brow.

Desmond grimaced slightly, “Yeah, I guess.”

The man stroked his stubbled jaw, “Well, the name’s Corff,” he said gruffly, “And if you’d like a job, you can have one.”

“Excuse me?” Desmond gaped, “You see me make one drink and you’re offering me a job?” He realized how that might sound and quickly added, “Not that I’m complaining.”

Corff shook his head, “Most people that come here don’t know the difference between wine and mead. If you know how to make this swill palatable, then I say you’re practically a master, and I’d be a fool not to bring you on. It’s an investment, see? If you make my alcohol taste better, more people will come here, and make me more rich.”

Desmond blinked at the man, “You haven’t even tried my drink. You don’t know if it’s palatable.”

Without hesitation, Corff swiped Desmond’s mug and took a sip. The bartender’s eyes grew wide and he took a second, much longer gulp. “Maker,” he breathed. Then his hazel eyes stared at Desmond. “Are you busy right now?”

“What?”

“I’m asking if you can start working right now, son. Or if you need time to think it over.”

Desmond felt like he was getting whiplash. He’d come in here looking for a drink and some work and managed to find both at the same time. But the more he thought of it, the more this was the perfect job. He already had the skills to make flashy drinks, even if he likely wouldn’t have the ingredients, he could improvise. And everyone knew that a tavern or bar was where one went if they had a job they were looking to hire someone for. If he played his cards right, he could maybe manage to learn of jobs and ‘pass it on’ to someone, that someone being him. He could get paid for mixing drinks during the night then when he wasn’t there, he could be fulfilling requests and getting even more money. If everything went according to plan, the Hawke family would be well on their way to escaping Gamlen’s hovel by the time Garrett and Carver’s year of servitude was up.

“I’m not busy,” he decided, shaking off his initial shock. “Let’s get started.”

For the next few hours, Desmond experienced what it was like to go from a mild curiosity to a full-on spectacle. At first, only a few people even realized he wasn’t Corff, eyes blurry from their inebriation. But when they ordered ‘something strong’ and they got a drink that had a taste other than pig shit, they started to notice. When more people came in deeper into the night, Desmond became a hot commodity. He’d managed to find some sort of container with a lid and decided to try out some of the fancy tricks he’d learned years ago. He hadn’t performed any of them in the past two-plus years, but he quickly found that it was a lot of muscle memory and reflexes, both of which he was a master of.

The steadily building crowd watched in slack-jawed awe as he twirled the canister around his hands and up behind his back, catching it without looking and continuing the movement as it spun in the air. He turned up his showman smile, winking flirtatiously and pouring the drinks with a flourish.

At the end of the night, the Hanged Man was several sovereigns richer and tales of the new flashy barman had run rampant. Corff, for his part, had signed Desmond on as a permanent fixture and sent him home with his pay for the night. Desmond walked back to Gamlen’s house the next morning with a skip in his step and a whistle on his lips. He didn’t feel even slightly exhausted from the night of performing, instead a sense of fulfillment burst from his heart. He’d gotten money, found a useful job, and introduced somewhat good alcohol into Kirkwall. Somehow despite staying up hours past what he’d grown accustomed to, he wasn’t even a little tired. He wondered if his newfound strength and stamina translated into needing less sleep as well.

Garrett’s eyebrows wiggled suggestively as Desmond waltzed into Gamlen’s house glowing with a good mood. “Made someone’s night, did you?”

Desmond winked, “And I got paid for it, too.”

“You what.” Carver walked into the main room with a scowl on his face. “I refuse to live with someone that would debase themselves in such a way.”

“Unclench your ass, Carver,” Desmond rolled his eyes, “I got a job as a bartender.”

“Wait, I heard about some hot commodity at the Hanged Man last night,” Garrett started, eyes wide, “That was you?”

Desmond sketched a mocking bow, “The very same. I work three times a week to start with, as a sort of event to bring in more coin. Can’t have me there every night or the novelty will wear off.” He didn’t mention that the other four days he would be fulfilling requests and odd jobs for the patrons of the bar. He’d already eavesdropped a few potential things to look into, and he was toying with the idea of starting a request board.

“Are you planning on moving out, too?” Carver asked, voice carefully blank.

“I’m afraid you’re stuck with me,” Desmond lamented dramatically.

Carver turned away, but not before Desmond spied a small smile. “Whatever.”

Chapter Text

“Hey Des,” Garrett called cheerily. Desmond looked up from the latest concoction he was pouring for one of the regulars. “Seen any dwarves lately?”

Desmond raised an eyebrow and gestured around him to the several dwarves mingling in the Hanged Man, “Gee, I don’t think so.”

“No no, this one has a distinct lack of facial hair,” Garrett sidled up to the bar and leaned on it like he was telling a salacious secret as Desmond handed off the completed drink to Norah.

“What do you want with Varric Tethras? That guy has his fingers in quite a few pies. What are you planning?”

Garrett tapped his nose knowingly, “That, my dear brother, is a work in progress,” he grinned at Desmond’s eye roll. “Now then, where can I find this elusive dwarf?”

Desmond sighed, “This wouldn’t happen to be about a certain expedition would it?” Garrett’s grin only widened, “Straight off a year of servitude and you’re already looking for a fool’s job, huh? Well, it’s your funeral. Varric has a permanent residence at the top of the stairs. First door.”

Garrett gave a mocking salute and snagged the other half of the orange Desmond had been using. “I’ll tell you everything later.” And with that, he was swaggering through the bar and up the stairs. Desmond shook his head fondly. At least he liked Varric, and from Desmond’s limited information he’d gathered on the dwarf, he didn’t seem to be a bad guy. He’d have to look more closely, now that the dwarf was worming his way into Garrett’s regard. He couldn’t always be there for his adoptive brother, but he could certainly do what little he could to mitigate potential damage.

He was soon inundated with work as the evening rush surged through the doors, but he did happen to spy Garrett leaving with Varric at some point. He tried not to worry and instead kept one ear open for any paying work or complaints he could take care of secretly.

“I heard you’re the person to talk to if I need help from The Ghost,” the woman’s voice dropped mysteriously on the title the citizens of Kirkwall had given the unseen vigilante.

Desmond fought not to scoff at all the dramatics people used when referring to The Ghost, and instead nodded at her. “What are the details of the job? I’ll pass it on.”

She shook her head, “I need to talk to him in person.”

“That’s not how it works. You talk to me, or you find someone else to do the job.” Desmond eyed her dissatisfied face with his own blank one. He’d never seen her before today, which either meant she wasn’t much of a drinker, or she was new to the city. His best guess is she came with the Qunari when they landed a month ago and had been gathering information since. She had that sort of squirrelly look that marked her as a low-level, not very good informant.

“This job is worth several sovereigns! He’ll be very disappointed in you for treating me this way.”

Desmond raised an eyebrow, “You talk to me, or you find someone else.”

She hissed through her teeth, “Fine. I’ll take my coin elsewhere.”

He nodded, not really caring one way or the other. He had several other jobs to take care of as The Ghost, and doing things for the Qunari was a quick way to find himself tied to their ‘religion’, which is something he would do his best to avoid, just from everything he’d found out about the Qun.

The woman stalked off with a huff and Desmond turned his eyes to the scantily clad woman who had watched the whole interaction with amusement. “I like a man who doesn’t buckle for a few coins.” She ran her eyes appraisingly over him, taking in his shaggy hair, scarred lip, and baggy clothes.

“Thanks,” Desmond responded with a polite smile. “What can I get for you?” She looked him up and down even slower, a suggestive smirk growing on her blood red lips. Desmond’s mind flashed between his different options on how to handle this situation. There was no way he was taking her up on her obvious offer as he’d never been the type to tumble into bed with someone before he’d done an in depth search of their life history. Not after the life of paranoia he’d lived. Another option was to shut her down right off the bat, give in to his exhaustion, and throw away any potential goodwill she had for him. It wasn’t ideal, but it was an option. He could flirt with her, turn on the charm, and tease in the way he’d learned through his years of bartending. Give her a taste of the potential but never follow through. Or he could treat her like the person she is, turn her down gently but still joke and be friendly.

“What are you offering, handsome?” The woman’s eyes held walls of flirtation, but Desmond knew the look of someone who was being hunted.

“You look like a gin kind of girl,” he smiled in a friendly way with no hint of intimate interest. She instantly caught on and her posture became slightly less predatory.

“Do I? What makes you think that?”

Desmond hummed, “I think most people look at you and think rum, because of the whole pirate thing,” he nodded to her outfit. “But I bet you like something a bit more bitter and light.” She gave him an impressed nod. “And would I be right in assuming you’d be interested in trying a new concoction of mine?”

She grinned lavaciously, “Seems like you know everything about me.”

“Only the important things,” Desmond teased.

She chuckled, “I’m Isabela. I may not know your favorite drink, but I can guess other things.” Desmond raised a brow and she shook her finger in his direction. “Not so fast, barkeep. Pour me that drink and let’s play a game.”

Desmond looked at her for a moment and then shrugged, “Why not?” He considered her with a clinical eye, trying to decide if she’d want something sweeter with a kick or bitter with a touch of fruity. His eyes narrowed briefly on the entertained crinkle near her eye, and he nodded to himself.

In the year he’d been working at the Hanged Man, he’d been creating a few of his own additives in the back room. Alcohols, spirits, and specialty liquors had been a particular interest of his when he was a full time bartender in New York for years. He knew what things were made of, for the most part, and what he didn’t have access to in this world, he’d improvised with mixed results. But he’d gotten a variety of bitters, syrups, juices, vermouth, and surprisingly, he’d even managed to make a version of grenadine, although he didn’t know if it counted as such since it wasn’t made of pomegranates.

This was all to say that he had the ingredients to make quite a few modern drinks and make the Hanged Man the top bar in all of Kirkwall. Maybe even the Free Marches, with the number of non-locals coming into the tavern full of tales on how many good things they’d heard about the drinks. Desmond was happy that the atmosphere hadn’t changed, despite how popular it had become. After all, it was still in Lowtown, and they still placed the importance of cleanliness at the same level one could expect from a medieval tavern next to a foundry. Corff had made some improvements to their product due to increased funds, namely actual glasses for the more fancy drinks Desmond made, but on the whole, the Hanged Man was still the grimy bar Desmond had first walked into a year ago.

He grinned at Isabela and started making a Negroni and topping it off with an orange twist. She raised an eyebrow when he slid the amber drink in her direction. “It’s a sipping drink,” he warned her as she gripped the glass.

“This better be worth it,” she teased and then took her first taste. She blinked rapidly and coughed slightly. “What is this?” Her face seemed conflicted for a moment, and then she took a second, more tentative sip.

“Thoughts?” Desmond asked. He was used to people not knowing what to think after their first or second taste. His drinks had significantly more flavor and depth than people were used to. Most alcohols of this world were ones that people pounded down for the effect and definitely not the taste. There was a lot more to parse through with Desmond’s concoctions than most people expected.

Isabela took a few more swallows, her face clearing with each one until her eyes shone, “I love it,” she declared. “Everything I never knew I needed.” She took another sip and tilted her head slightly back with closed eyes, savoring it, and then she looked right at him. “Now for our game.”

Chapter Text

Isabela and Desmond waffled around on the rules of their little game before settling on something simple but with the potential to be punishing. Desmond unearthed a large mug from under the counter and set it between them. The rules were easy: they would each take a turn guessing something about the other and if they were right, they chose one of the mixers to add to the mug, and if they got their assumption wrong, they added an alcohol, but never the same type twice. Once the mug was full, they would split the drink and down their concoction. Desmond knew he couldn’t get drunk thanks to the odd adjustments the Isu had made to his biology, but he was still susceptible to taste, and this had a high potential to be the nastiest thing he’d ever consumed. It also promised to be the most entertaining time he’d had since entering this new world.

Isabela tapped a finger on her chin, “Let’s start with something simple; you are an only child.”

Desmond shrugged, “By birth, yeah. Not so much recently. Since that’s both a yes and a no, you get to pick what we start with.” She grinned and chose a shot of gin. “My turn, huh?” He looked her up and down, taking in the glittering gold lining her ears and neck, the golden handles of her daggers poking over her shoulders. Obviously a pirate and a rogue, but what was something less obvious? “Your favorite color is... blue.” He nodded to the head scarf holding her hair back from her face.

“Ha! Too obvious, a pirate who likes the color of the ocean? Alright, take your pick,” she nodded to the mug and Desmond threw some ginger slices into their little drink. Isabela raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. “You’ve never sailed on the sea. For pleasure, I mean.”

Desmond tilted his head and considered his stint as living the life of Ratonhnhake:ton, and brief glimpses he’d gotten of Edward Kenway’s life as a pirate. Sure, it hadn’t been Desmond, but he’d lived those lives as far as anyone was concerned, so he sent Isabela a sharp smile, “Wrong,” he informed, “I’ve spent a decent amount of time on a ship.”

“Damn,” she sighed, looking him up and down, “I didn’t think you were the type. Add some ale.”

Desmond blinked; this was already going to be quite the drink. “I’m guessing you’ve worked at a tavern.”

She snorted, “Do I seem like the type that’s worked an honest day in my life? Absolutely not. I did live in one for a few months. The Pearl, she was called. Lovely drinks, lovelier workers,” she said with a wink. Desmond laughed and added some lime juice. “While you’re at it, give me something else to drink. If I’m still sober by the time that mug is full, I’m doing something wrong.”

The two of them traded guesses and laughs, broken up occasionally by the small trickles of late night patrons as the evening wore on, but for the most part, they were uninterrupted as the mug grew steadily fuller. They kept to lighter topics, Desmond sharing that he liked heights and he was unnerved by butterflies. Isabela shot a splash of mead out of her nose with laughter as Desmond tried to defend his fear by miming their spindly little feet and long sucker. He grew more and more animated and dramatic just to see the light in her eyes as she fell off the barstool with uncontrolled giggles, transforming his slight aversion into a full-on phobia for her entertainment.

Meanwhile, Desmond learned that Isabela had once accidentally knocked one of her men off the ship by throwing a melon at his head and catapulting him into the water. She tried to tell Desmond that she hadn’t seen the man there before chucking the melon, but she was laughing too hard as she attempted to describe the way his feet flailed when he went off the edge.

Isabela’s caramel complexion grew steadily redder the more drinks she downed, and though Desmond himself hadn’t had any alcohol he found himself laughing just as hard as her, occasionally having to prop himself against the bar so he didn’t fall into a heap on the floor.

They’d gained the attention of the rest of the tavern, and a few people had wandered over to laugh with them during the crazier stories, but they felt very outside of the conversation. Spectators instead of participants.

Ten minutes before the end of Desmond’s shift and the drink was complete, a last splash of vodka was the answering penalty from Desmond’s guess that Isabela had never eaten a live worm. She’d waggled her eyebrows and responded that one never knew what was lurking in apples from the Denerim market.

He divvied out the drink into two tall glasses and made a face at the dubiously colored liquid with floating bits of various ingredients. Isabela reached for her own glass and missed twice before wrapping a hand around it and giggling. “To new friendships!” She attempted to tap their drinks together but was off by several inches.

Desmond readjusted her wrist and knocked the glasses lightly. “To the worst drink I’ll ever have.” He eyed the brownish-purple liquid for a moment, and with a shrug, he took a large gulp. It almost came right back up, but he forced it down and immediately started coughing. Isabela, who he could have sworn would have been past the point of having remaining tastebuds was in the same boat as him.

“Maker, that’s awful,” she choked, eyes watering.

Desmond breathed through the nausea, “I’m pretty sure we just made a lethal poison. I might be dying.” He braced his hands against the bar as his vision swam. He couldn’t even describe the taste. So many different flavors mixing together in the worst possible way, with the strong alcoholic content like an almost physical kick in the balls. “Yeah, nope.” He rushed to the waste basket and threw it all up again to laughing cheers around him. Isabela looked green around the gills as well, and Desmond barely had time to hand her the basket before she was vomiting as well to the laughter and jeers of the still-conscious patrons. She flipped them off and then collapsed face first onto the sticky bar, groaning.

Desmond fetched an Elfroot chew from behind the counter and gave it to her. She grimaced but dutifully munched, the color rapidly returning to her face. “Another drink?” Isabela asked hopefully.

Desmond scoffed, “Fuck no. You’re going to bed, and I’m cleaning the bar and heading home.” She pouted, but dutifully slid off her stool, only slightly wobbling after throwing up and the Elfroot had done their best attempt at sobering her up.

“We should do this again, handsome. You’re fun,” Isabela smirked at him. Desmond laughed and agreed. He caught the attention of Norah, one of his coworkers, and silently asked her to escort Isabela to her room. He didn’t think anything would happen in the short walk up the stairs, but it was better to be safe than sorry, and he didn’t know how well Isabela could protect herself when she couldn’t even seem to focus on him.

“Have a good night, Isabela.”

The moment the two girls were up the stairs and out of sight, Desmond started cleaning up the bar and doing the dishes in preparation for the shift change. Soon enough his morning replacement would be showing up, and Desmond didn’t want to leave work for her. He mixed a few simple drinks in between cleaning, gossiping with regulars, and laughing with the patrons who had seen his game with Isabela.

Before he knew it, Marrianne was walking behind the bar, the sleepy fog behind her eyes slowly dissipating as he handed her a drink as close to coffee as he could find or make. The two of them high-fived as a ritualistic baton pass. It was now her turn to run the tavern.

Desmond yawned as he walked through Lowtown to the Hawke/Amell house. He was finally feeling tired after four days without sleep. He’d been running an experiment on how long he could go, and he was finally reaching his limit.

He got a brief flash in his mind of someone slinking out of an alleyway in front of him with a knife and then the vision was gone. Desmond’s mind sharpened but he kept his posture relaxed, not pausing his steps.

Just as the vision predicted, five seconds later a skinny man shuffled into the predawn light, a chipped dagger extended in a bony hand. “Empty your pockets.” He demanded, a deranged and desperate look in his eyes. Desmond had never seen him before, so he either didn’t go to the Hanged Man at night, or he didn’t drink. It was probably more likely that he didn’t have the money for even somewhere as cheap as the Hanged Man.

Desmond raised his hands in surrender as the man drew closer, face morphing into something appropriately afraid. The man’s eyes narrowed and he foolishly lowered his knife as he reached out to presumably rummage through Desmond’s pockets. He never got the chance, as between one blink and the next, Desmond had struck at a pressure point and knocked the man out cold. He grabbed the unconscious man and dragged him back into the alley.

Desmond considered the man he’d dumped behind some boxes, tilting his head as he tried to decide what to do. He could turn him into the guard, but being hungry wasn’t a crime, and technically nothing had happened. He was sure Aveline wouldn’t punish the man too harshly, but she was just one person, and corruption and brutality ran thick in the city guard. Desmond could also kill the guy, but again, he hadn’t done anything. Sure there was the potential for this man to do something to someone less capable and prepared than Desmond, but it wasn’t up to him to decide the fate of someone based on maybes.

He sighed and crouched down. After a brief moment, he tugged off the glove on his hand and reached out to touch the man’s face. This particular ability from the Isu didn’t always work and was far less likely to activate with living creatures, but he’d been practicing for the past year on inanimate objects. It felt a bit more invasive with people, and it wasn’t every day that people decided to try to attack him, so he couldn’t practice on them. People weren’t too keen on making him angry when he was the one who poured their drinks.

His bare fingers touched the man’s face and he closed his eyes, imagining the golden circuitry lining his skin connecting him to the man. Nothing happened for a moment, and then images flashed behind his eyes; a man and a woman smiling, three kids laughing, people and buildings. Kirkwall as seen through this man’s eyes, his life lived on the streets and the people in his memories. Desmond winced and tried to focus on instances of this man hurting anyone.

He saw moments of the man staring at food markets, tracking people, stealing a knife, and Desmond himself. Desmond’s stomach revolted and he yanked his hand back before he could see more. He made a note to himself that the closer he got to the present, the more nauseous he became.

Desmond was the man’s first target, borne out of desperation and hunger. He readjusted the man’s position and stuffed a few copper and silver coins into his pocket and hand as a gift. He pressed another pressure point to awaken the man and quickly scaled the wall so he was out of sight by the time the other was groaning. Hopefully, that would hold off a bit more crime until Desmond could figure out something better.

He had to remind himself it wasn’t his duty to fix anything. That all he had to worry about was fulfilling paid contracts and mixing drinks. The reminder didn’t help him feel any less like he could be doing better.

With a shake of his head, he shucked those thoughts off and quietly stepped into Gamlen’s house. It was time for his first sleep in days, and when he eventually woke up, he had more pressing things to think about. Such as what Garrett was getting up to with Varric and how worried he should be.

Chapter Text

“You’re what.” Desmond’s voice came out flat as he stared his adopted brother down over the small dining table shoved in the corner of Gamlen’s house.

“Listen, Des. The Deep Roads could set us up nicely. There’s all that treasure that’s just been left down there to rot,” Garrett defended, Carver nodding along with him. It was the first time Desmond had ever seen the two of them agree on something, and he knew now he didn’t like it. Especially when it was over something so idiotic. “The Blight just ended, so there won’t be too much darkspawn. We’ll just go down, grab a nice haul, come back, and then we can buy somewhere nice for Mother.”

Desmond pinched the bridge of his nose. “First of all,” he breathed steadily for a moment, “nowhere in Hightown is even selling, so that idea is out. Secondly, just because there won’t be many darkspawn, doesn’t mean that it won’t be incredibly dangerous regardless. You saw what happened to Aveline’s husband when he was exposed to the Blight. One little bit of it in a wound and you’re dead. Thirdly, if all we needed was money, I have plenty of it. You’re free from indentured servitude, and your first thought is to throw away your new freedom for a foolhardy trip underground? Why can’t you get a normal job?”

“It wouldn’t just be a job,” Garrett started, completely ignoring Desmond’s other entirely valid points. “Varric has a plan to make me a partner in the whole thing. I just have to get fifty sovereigns and some maps of the Deep Roads, and I’ll be set.”

“Fifty--” Desmond took a deep breath and counted to ten, “Okay. I’m calm. Where the fuck do you plan to get fifty sovereigns in the three weeks before the expedition sets off?”

“Well, I was hoping you’d help?” Garrett batted his eyelashes in Desmond’s direction.

“Ha!” He scoffed, “Why in the fuck would I fund your mad plan? I don’t even like the idea.” Garrett pouted harder, a completely ridiculous look for a grown ass man. “You know what? I won’t give you money for this, but I’ll let you know of any paying jobs around here. But Garrett, promise me you’ll think this thing through. With your entire brain, please.”

“Thank you, Des! You’re the best!” Garrett rounded the table and gathered Desmond up into a one-sided hug. “As for your other concerns, I’ve already thought it through. Carver found out the old Amell Estate is under the control of slavers, so once we clear them out and get the coin from the expedition, we’ll be able to buy it back. And you’re going to help me.”

“I’m what? I mean yeah, death to slavers, but you can’t just volunteer me for shit.”

Garrett smiled, “Of course I can, you’re my official brother, and I’m the leader, as the oldest.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Desmond protested weakly as Garrett started shoving him into their shared room, Carver following behind looking half petulant and half amused.

“Now,” Garrett threw some clothes at Desmond, “we’re going to pick up Aveline and Varric, and then we’re going to Darktown. The entrance to the Amell cellar runs through there, and a Grey Warden is camped somewhere down there. If rumor is right, he should have that map I need. So we’re going to chat with him.” He gave Desmond a look when he just stood there, holding one of his shirts. “Hurry up.”

Despite the grumbling from Desmond, in the end he was clothed in armor wholly different from his white Assassin’s hood he wore when he ran around Kirkwall as the Ghost, and the three of them were headed for a quick stop to pick up Varric from his room at the Hanged Man.

“Oh hey, Desmond,” Varric greeted jovially, “I didn’t know you could fight, too.”

It wasn’t said in a mean way and Desmond just shrugged, “More or less.”

Garrett slung his arm around Desmond’s shoulder and dragged him close, “This guy is the best fighter I know. I can never beat him at a spar.” Desmond rolled his eyes as Garrett rocked him back and forth.

“That’s not saying much. You’re kind of a wet noodle in hand-to-hand combat.” Desmond slapped Garrett’s hands away as his brother attempted to dig his knuckles into Desmond’s hair.

“Rude!” Garrett gasped. “But true.” He conceded quickly. “Anyway, Varric. We’re going to Darktown to hunt down those Deep Roads maps and do a few other things. Want to come?”

Varric raised a brow, “To the undercity that smells like shit and the very air makes me want a bath? Sure. Let me grab Bianca.” The dwarf grabbed and slung an impressive crossbow over his shoulder locking it into place in one smooth movement. Desmond goggled at the thing for a moment. He’d never seen it this close, but the craftsmanship was immaculate. A true work of art that rivaled the beautiful weapons Leonardo Da Vinci made for Ezio. He couldn’t wait to see it in action.

“Let’s go get Aveline,” Garrett announced as they stepped out of the Hanged Man.

“Not to interrupt your moment of leadership, oh oldest sibling,” Desmond said, very much interrupting Garrett, “but Aveline is working at her actual job. You can’t just take her away from that whenever you want to. Besides, Hightown is exactly where we don’t want to go if we’re planning to go to Darktown. Do you want to be traipsing around Kirkwall all day long?”

“I’m with Desmond,” Carver immediately piped up.

Garrett shrugged, “Alright. I’m sure just the four of us will be fine. Make sure to cover your nose.” He passed out strips of cloth from a pouch at his belt. Desmond made a slight face at the stained fabric, but dutifully held on to it. He knew from his previous excursions down to Darktown that the smell alone could put a grown man on his ass. “Alright, let’s go see a Warden about a map. And then kill some shitstain slavers.”

Desmond usually ended up in Darktown about two to three times a week on odd jobs as the Ghost of Kirkwall, so he was well acquainted with the heavy scent of rot and despair and the desperate hands grasping through the darkened alleys, but it didn’t make the initial reintroduction any easier. His companions were not as prepared. Garrett gagged for a moment and quickly covered his mouth with the cloth, his eyes watering as he both stared and attempted to look away from the bodies and waste piled at the bottom of the stairway. Desmond had figured out through the past year that the residents of Darktown deliberately made the entrance as unwelcoming as possible to discourage outsiders from preying on them.

“So,” Varric started as they picked their way through the dank underground, voice muffled through his face covering. “I didn’t know you three were related.”

“Adopted,” Desmond explained, steering clear of a dubious puddle of liquid.

“Ah,” Varric hummed, “I never see you with them. I didn’t even know you knew the Hawkes.”

Desmond shrugged, “You think I want to spend time with them away from home? I have a life.” Varric sent a significant look to their party, which was obviously away from home. “I was bullied into this.”

Varric chuckled and Garrett whipped his head around to face them from his leading position. “Slander!” He cried. “Des came willingly.”

“Lies,” Desmond whispered to the dwarf, and then raised his voice to address the group. “Eyes forward, Garrett. You don’t want to get lost down here.”

Varric gave him an assessing look, “Have you been in Darktown before?” Desmond nodded, and the dwarf’s eyes narrowed. “What could bring a bartender down here?”

“I like to explore.” It wasn’t a lie, and after another long look, Varric shrugged and moved on.

A few more minutes of wandering the dank underground and Carver let out an aggravated sigh, “Do you even know where we’re going?”

“Mostly,” Garrett admitted. “That lady said to look for the lit lantern if you want to find the healer, and I’m assuming it’s a special lantern.” He gestured to the broken and dingy lights attempting to beat away the oppressive darkness.

“Wait,” Desmond blinked. “We’re looking for Anders?”

The whole group whirled on him, “You know the guy?” Garrett’s tone was curious and a little exasperated. “Do you know where he is? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Desmond scowled, “Well, you just said we were looking for a Grey Warden, not a healer. I didn’t know he was a Warden. Anyone who has been to Darktown more than once knows where Anders is. He provides free healthcare to anyone and everyone, no questions asked. I’ve helped him out a bit sometimes.” That was downplaying it a little bit, but he didn’t feel like explaining the whole situation.

He’d met Anders about three months before, when he’d been in Darktown looking for anything interesting to use as ingredients for drinks. He’d run across a man bleeding out who shone a pale blue in Eagle Vision. Desmond had rushed to bind the wound, and the man had told him about Anders. It hadn’t been too difficult to rush the man to the clinic. The blonde man identified as Anders had quickly taken the patient to a bed and started healing him with magic, and after a blink at the casual use of something incredibly illegal, Desmond started poking around the space.

He could feel Anders watching him as he looked over the line of dried herbs and swirling potions. When he got bored of that, he started leafing through the medical books and loose papers which looked like an incredibly rough draft on the abuses mages suffered under the hands of templars. Several lines were crossed out with an aggressive hand.

“That was a kind thing you did for that man,” Anders spoke from over Desmond’s shoulder. His tone was both approving and suspicious, as if no one would help someone for nothing.

Desmond shrugged, “I can be nice sometimes.” He lifted one of the papers, “You spelled ‘injustice’ wrong.”

Anders reached over and snatched the page out of Desmond’s hand, “You’re kind of a dick.”

“Thanks!” Desmond said brightly. The next day he brought Anders fresh herbs he’d gathered from the Wounded Coast while out looking for ingredients. And then he just kept coming back, despite Ander’s initial suspicion and insults. Desmond thought what Anders was doing was incredibly worthwhile, and the man himself was very fun to tease because he gave back as good as he got.

Sometimes, when Desmond was bored, he would bother Anders into collecting herbs with him and they grew from reluctant acquaintances into true friends. One night after shutting down the clinic for the day, Anders kissed him. One thing led to another and they’d slept together. It was fun, especially Anders’s initial freak out at seeing Desmond’s golden circuitry skin, but in the morning, stewing in their decisions, they mutually decided friendship was more in their favor than a messy romantic relationship. Especially since the spirit/demon of Justice inside of Anders decided he didn’t like the way Desmond’s energy tasted.

Desmond claimed that he wasn’t interested in a relationship if all parties were not consenting, and Anders shrugged and said he’d had fun, but he was emotionally attached to someone else. That had been that, and Desmond continued bringing herbs and bothering the renegade healer.

So yes, he helped out sometimes. Again, Garrett didn’t need to know everything.

“Sounds too good to be true,” Varric said in response to Desmond’s glowing review of Anders.

“He’s a good guy,” Desmond defended lightly. “But yeah, if you want to get to his clinic, you’ve been taking us on the scenic route. Follow me.”

He led them past puddles of mystery goop and around the popular hangout spots for the Coterie and Carta. He knew the two gangs wouldn’t bother him because he was well known, both as a bartender and an occasional healer, but he also knew that his current companions, decked out in fancy weaponry and outfitted in nice armor, would be a bit too tempting a target to pass up. So he steered clear and led the group safely to the large repurposed foundry with lanterns of green fire flickering a ghostly light. When Desmond asked about the green fire, Anders had adopted a serious face and intoned, “Veilfire. It is the memory of fire, pulled from past the veil.” He’d stared at Desmond for another second and then he cracked with a laugh. “At least that’s what my pretentious mentor told me. It doesn’t have any heat, but it’s great for revealing messages and a light that won’t choke you out in an enclosed space. I figured Darktown has enough smoke. Plus, it sets me apart, don’t you think?”

His companions seemed to find the veilfire a bit off putting, with how they stared at the green flame. Desmond gestured his arms in a wide flourish, “I present to you: Anders’s clinic.” It wasn’t much to look at from the outside, with splintered wooden doors and the little corner of Darktown it inhabited with deathroot and deep mushrooms sprouting around the place.

Garrett shrugged and opened the door with a gloved hand, revealing the cavernous space beyond dotted with cots both empty and in use. Anders stood off to the side, his light blue healing magic lighting up the space around a prone body. Desmond took off his face covering and breathed in the pungent scent of elfroot and embrium, a scent which had become familiar to him over the last couple months.

The glow of magic cut off abruptly and with one fluid motion, Anders grabbed his nearby staff and whirled to face the group. “I’ve creating a place of healing, you cannot take me.” His voice resonated with Justice pushing close to the surface. Desmond blinked at the blonde’s glowing eyes which soon faded to their usual hazel. “You’re not templars,” he observed, taking in the motley crew. “What do you want?” And then his eyes alighted on Desmond, hovering in the background. “Des?”

Desmond gave a jaunty wave, but Garrett spoke up in his stead, “Are you the Grey Warden?”

Anders’s eyes narrowed, “Are you here to bring me back?” He shot a betrayed look at Desmond.

“Hey, nothing like that,” Desmond quickly defended.

“We’re just here for maps of the Deep Roads,” Garrett explained. “We heard you might have some.”

Anders looked the group up and down. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.”

“We can pay for it?” Garrett turned his pleading puppy face on.

Desmond knew Anders was more of a cat person. “Keep your money,” he said with a face of steel. Desmond shrugged and wandered off to poke through the healer’s storage, but kept an ear open to their conversation. It had been a few days since he’d been by and the herbs were growing sparse. Behind him, Garrett haggled with Anders, Carver poking his nose in with unhelpful insults.

“Alright, fine!” Anders said exasperatedly, “You can have your damn maps. But not for free. You help me with something, I will give you the maps. Deal?”

“What do you need?” Garrett asked shrewdly. “I won’t do anything involving animals or children.”

“What the fuck?” Anders looked scandalized. “No, I have a friend from the Circle. He’s supposed to meet me at the Chantry tomorrow, but something feels off. I’m worried the templars somehow got involved.”

“Ha,” Garrett laughed with little humor, “I’ll pass. I’d like to avoid the attention of the templars, thanks.”

He turned to leave but Anders reached out a pleading hand, “Wait. Karl means everything to me, you have to help. Please.”

Garrett clenched his jaw and deliberated for a moment, then abruptly turned back to Anders. “Fine. They can’t report back if they’re dead, right? But you’ll give us the maps?”

Anders sagged with relief, “Thank you.”

“You can’t be serious,” Carver cut in, voice almost a shout. Desmond took a few steps, anticipating a brawl between his brothers. “Templars? Garrett, are you insane?”

“Quite possibly,” Garrett said brightly.

Desmond leaped forward and caught Carver’s fist before it could connect with Garrett’s face. The youngest barely seemed to notice. “Fine. When the templars come knocking at our door, it’s no skin off my teeth if they drag you away. See if I care.”

Desmond rolled his eyes, but understood the sentiment. “Here’s an idea,” he cut in, “Garrett, you go do something else and I’ll take Varric and Aveline. No magic used, no reason for them to come after you.”

Anders looked between them, “You’re a mage?” He addressed Garrett.

Garrett, ever the attention seeker, conjured a burst of ice fractals in his palm. “Born and raised.”

Desmond rolled his eyes, “Anyway. What do you say? I might have a few ideas on some paying jobs you could check out, well out of the templars’ line of sight.”

Garrett looked considering, and Carver appeared mollified at the option. “Sure. Why not. I get Varric, though.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Desmond could take out all the templars in the Gallows on his own without breaking a sweat, but he had to at least pretend to be somewhat normal. Having Aveline as backup wouldn’t be a bad idea.

“Thank you,” Anders said once again, speaking wholeheartedly. “I’d be glad to have you along, Des. Even though I didn’t know you were a fighter.”

Desmond shrugged, “I know a few things.”

Varric laughed heartily, his first contribution to the discussion being: “You could learn a bit of humility from this one, Hawke.”

And that was that. The group wandered out of the clinic, bickering as they made their way to the cellar entrance for the Amell Estate and leaving Anders to do his job. And probably fret, if Desmond was being honest.

Chapter Text

The slavers were unprepared for an invasion by four well-armed attackers. They had obviously not been challenged in their home since they won it off Gamlen. As soon as the group exited the cellar, Desmond noting both the incredible amount of dust and cobwebs as well as the significantly bare wine and alcohol rack, they ran into a small group of four slavers huddled around a card table playing a game of strip Wicked Grace. They died quickly, but Desmond was not with a party of assassins, and therefore their dying screams raised the alarm. The next couple rooms had people in various states of half-dressed and scattered weapons of whatever they could grab. One man wielded a broom as if it would save him from a sweeping arch of Carver’s sword.

The further into the Estate they went, the more they actually had to try to kill the slavers. They’d had more time to prepare. It still didn’t take more than thirty minutes until they’d cleared the entire house of slavers, Desmond’s Eagle Vision making absolutely sure there weren’t any hiding in wait for a chance to ambush them. The worst injury was a minor burn along Carver’s arm from a surprise mage waiting in the upper levels, likely the mastermind behind the whole operation.

Desmond handed off one of the healing salves on his person as Garrett looted the corpses. There was a grand total of one sovereign, twenty-seven silver, and forty-eight copper on all the bodies, but the real treasure was a large bronze key which unlocked a vault full of treasures. Desmond’s little magpie heart went wild at seeing the chests stacked in the room, but he restrained himself, allowing Garrett to take all the spoils to fund his mad expedition.

They found a wardrobe of extravagant clothing, chests of precious gems, and a pouch bulging with coins. Desmond picked through some of the documents hidden away in a safe, finding the deed to the Estate, some letters between Malcolm and a Templar named Ser Carver, and most interestingly, the Amell grandparents’ will. He did a cursory glance through the contents, eyebrows raising higher and higher with every word. He laughed slightly and stowed all the pages away, turning instead to find Garrett grinning in victory.

“That brings us to ten whole sovereigns for today, plus some change. What a good haul for day one, eh? And once we sell everything here, we’ll have even more. Fifty doesn’t seem so far away anymore.” Garrett’s joy lit up the small room, and Desmond rolled his eyes. He wasn’t in love with the idea of the expedition, and he had internally hoped the process of gaining the coin necessary would take longer, but he wasn’t going to mention anything.

“Well, while you’ve found money, I’ve found some gossip. Or at least something to hold over dear Uncle’s head.” He fished out the will and handed it over to Garrett, who read over it eagerly, Carver peeking over his shoulder.

“Oh shit,” Garrett breathed. “We gotta show Mother. I wonder if she’ll beat him up. That could be incredibly fun to watch.”

Desmond snorted and snatched it back. “Well, we have the deed to the place, but not the money to upkeep it. We could start moving in when we have time, but I worry that the Estate might be taken from us if we don’t pay taxes or whatever. I don’t know how it works in Hightown.” Desmond shrugged. “ But for now, let’s take what we can carry and go home. I don’t know about you, but I would love to see Gamlen get knocked down a peg or two.”

They emerged from the newly unoccupied Amell Estate into Hightown at sunset. People were scurrying into their homes, knowing that gangs roamed the streets at night. Specifically ones dressed like the city guard, making it impossible to tell friend from foe until someone was being robbed at sword-point.

“Hey Garrett,” Desmond called, “I don’t know who, but I’m pretty sure someone would pay you for getting rid of the gangs in Kirkwall. Not an easy task, and it will likely be an ongoing problem even after taking one out, but it’s something to consider.”

Garrett tilted his head in thought. “Well, how about we roam around for a bit, see if anyone attacks. Maybe we’ll find their base.”

Varric laughed, “If anyone attacks us unprovoked, they deserve their fate. Only an idiot would try for a team so visibly armed. Or the desperate, but there’s not many of those in Hightown.”

So Varric said, and yet not five minutes later, a pack of the false guardsmen surrounded them, obviously hoping there would be safety in numbers. They attacked in droves, much more of them than Desmond thought were attached to the gangs. They must have been going through a recruiting phase, as most of the opponents didn’t seem well trained or even remotely prepared for a real battle. Most likely seduced by the promise of coin and amnesty from the law.

The offers from the leaders of the false guardsmen could not save them from a knife to the face, however, and within ten minutes, the battle was over. Garrett laughed as the last one fell, a stark reminder to Desmond that he was now living in a barbaric time where it was more or less kill or be killed. He knew there would be no repercussions for killing so many people, other than the unfortunates that had to clean up the bodies, as Garrett couldn’t be bothered.

Varric downed a healing potion, grimacing at the flavor. Near the end of the battle, the gang members had gained a small amount of intelligence and headed for the squishiest member of their team. Carver was a heavy hitter with a long reach, Garrett had a layer of rock armor surrounding him which was more likely to chip blades than cause any harm to his person, and Desmond was impossible to hit and used the comrades of his enemies against them by way of human shields and his superhuman strength. Throwing people around like they were frisbees was incredibly satisfying, he found, though not very sportsmanlike. Varric, in comparison, was an archer. Although his crossbow, Bianca, had an incredibly fast reload speed, he still wasn’t great in close combat. He had used smoke bombs and evasion tactics, but that could only do so much against a determined opponent in heavy armor.

Desmond had quickly abandoned his own foes and protected Varric as much as possible, but the dwarf still sustained a few nicks and bruises. Nothing that a health potion or two couldn’t fix, and within moments, he was back on steady feet, the only remnant of his injuries being the blood and torn clothes.

Garrett started looting the bodies, around thirty in total, pecking through the wreckage like a magpie searching for something shiny. Desmond tied together some of the fabric from shirts and torn pant legs to create a few bags to carry their goods home to sell in the morning. Some things could be traded in Hightown, where the coin was better, but the merchants were more picky in what they would buy. The majority of their spoils would go to the vendors in Lowtown, where almost anything could be repurposed for something or another. Poverty occasionally created a form of innovation that constantly awed Desmond.

The world fuzzed into grayscale between one blink and the next. He scanned the area for enemies hiding in wait, and upon finding no one within the scope of his vision which meant him or his companions harm, he turned his eyes to the bodies strewn around, not wanting to miss something which might be important yet overlooked. He found one golden light and three of that magic green which was completely unique to this world. The golden glow of importance revealed itself as the location to the gang’s base, as well as the name of their boss. Underlined three times at the bottom of the paper was the warning ‘DO NOT FORGET! (you’ll look like an idiot)’. Desmond chuckled, then handed the note off to Garrett. This was his brother’s operation, and he got to decide if they raided the place tonight or not.

The three green glows, however, led him to a slightly tarnished bronze ring, a stone amulet encased in a swirling copper frame, and another, more ornate ring with gem dust folded into the metal giving it a glittery shine. All three of them had tiny runes inscribed with a delicate hand. Desmond focused his Eagle Vision harder, trying to see what sort of enchantments the jewelry contained, but he didn’t have much practice untangling all the information, and he hadn’t studied runes. But when he put on the tarnished ring, he felt slightly more powerful, like he would be able to hit harder. The other ring made him feel slightly rejuvenated, while the necklace gave him a sturdier feeling, like he could take a few more hits and walk out fine.

He hummed to himself, and then shrugged. He didn’t need any of that, but his companions would likely benefit. “Hey,” he called, “I got some enchanted accessories, if you want.”

The other three meandered over, and he handed them out based on what he thought they needed. Carver got the attack ring, Varric got the amulet, and Garrett became the proud new owner of a sparkling ring. Desmond was somewhat glad that the enchantments on that one matched Garrett’s needs, because Desmond didn’t think any of the others would be willing to wear what amounted to glitter. Granted, he didn’t know Varric that much yet, but Carver would find something like that demeaning, which was the cause of endless eye-rolls on Desmond’s part.

“Nothing for you?” Varric asked with an eyebrow raise.

Desmond smiled and shook his head, his brothers not saying anything. They knew about some of his gifts from the Isu, namely the strength and healing, as well as whatever the fuck was going on with his skin. They didn’t know about Eagle Vision and his limited future sight, and he didn’t think he would tell them until he got a handle on them both. He didn’t want people to expect him to perform on command, to think he was a cure-all magic eight ball or something ridiculous like that. So, until he knew exactly what he could do and what the limits of it were, he was going to keep it to himself.

“Des here is incredibly self-sacrificing,” Garrett lamented.

Desmond rolled his eyes, “You’re exaggerating. I just thought the enchantments would be more useful to you all, rather than me.” Garrett cooed and swung an arm around Desmond’s shoulder, rocking him back and forth. “Hey, fuck off,” Desmond said half-heartedly. He allowed the manhandling for a moment longer before shrugging off the clingy eldest Hawke. “Are we going to raid the base or not?”

They did in the end. Garrett finished looting the corpses and then they followed the rough map to what looked like an estate like any of the others in Hightown. Desmond cringed a little when he realized the door wasn’t even locked. He’d decimated enough headquarters in his life to know an unlocked entrance either meant the enemies were dumb as fuck, or incredibly sure of themselves, which could spell trouble. Unless they were the type of arrogant prone to mistakes.

Garrett, not one for subtlety in the least bit, slammed the door open and waltzed in like he owned the place. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at him. “Hello!” He started cheerfully, “This is a robbery!”

The gang of guardsmen pretenders, to their credit, immediately attacked. Desmond sighed, and threw himself into the fray, unhooking his dual tomahawks and throwing one into the neck of one of the charging opponents.

He swirled through the well worn dance of death, weaving in and out of range, throwing and retrieving his axes and various knives, and using his enemies’ momentum against them. He got lost in the haze, attacking everyone who came toward him until he was face to face with an incredibly angry gang leader, the one who the note identified as Captain Qerth.

Desmond got a brief flash of an arrow sprouting through the man’s throat before his vision cleared and the captain became whole and well. Desmond tilted his head and spread his lips in a mocking smile meant to provoke. Qerth fell for the taunt and charged with a shout. Desmond moved slightly to the left, and behind him came the twanging release of Bianca’s latch.

The shout became a gurgle of disbelief, Captain Qerth dropping his sword in shock and stumbling back a few steps as his hand raised to touch the arrow in his neck. Desmond knew it would be a slow and painful death if he didn’t help the man along. He raised his bloodied tomahawk and smashed it into Qerth’s skull with the aid of his inhuman strength.

Behind him, the battle came to a swift close. “Maker, I hate fighting indoors,” Carver complained. They had been in a large greeting room, but Desmond rather thought they could all echo the sentiment. Tight spaces did not lend well to easy maneuvers. Plus there was the heavily unpleasant scent of human waste from the corpses, now trapped within the building.

Desmond grimaced, surveying the scene and all the blood and other bodily fluids seeping into the carpet. This place would need some serious reworking before it was inhabitable again. He quickly shrugged it off as not his problem, and began scanning with Eagle Vision for anything interesting. Nothing popped out, so he left the spoils of battle to Garrett to further fund his mad expedition.

“You could help, you know,” Carver grumbled to Desmond who had taken up a post leaning against a wall, watching the three of them.

“I could, yes.” He smiled winsomely. “But that would be giving you my stamp of approval, and I don’t, so have fun fondling dead people. I’ll stay nice and clean over here.” Carver scowled and Desmond settled into place pointedly.

In truth, although he thought Garrett and Hawke were incredibly dumb for considering a trip into the Deep Roads, he couldn’t blame them. It was difficult for a Ferelden mage-in-hiding to find a job, especially one that would pay well enough to support a whole family. Garrett, despite his outward devil-may-care attitude, cared deeply. They all saw how the state of Gamlen’s house in Lowtown was slowly sapping the life from Leandra. Their mother had been raised as a noble who wanted for nothing, who ran away to a life of poverty for the sake of love, and had tried her best to make ends meet. She had made do as a simple farmer, but being so close and yet so far from her childhood made everything feel so much more real. She would walk past people she knew in her youth and they wouldn’t recognize her due to the peasant garb she wore. She would spend all day cleaning their little hovel, and within minutes the grime had seeped into the space again. They had all watched the hope drain from her every time her children came home from their work as an indentured servant to a smuggler and every time a templar looked twice at Garrett. Desmond knew Leandra had avoided cities because they reminded her too much of her time at the top of it all, and the fact that she was back in her hometown but watching from the bottom, well. He knew Garrett saw it as a personal failing that he couldn’t make life for Leandra more comfortable.

Then along came this expedition with promises of shared treasure and wealth among the explorers, and Garrett was sold. Carver, despite his reticence, had the habit of following whatever his older brother did, even though he would complain the whole time. So sure, Garrett and Carver could find a regular job, make some money, and still barely survive, or they could take a risk and potentially come out the other end with a better life.

Desmond understood, even if he didn’t want to. They weren’t doing this for themselves, at least not in full. Desmond knew he could support them all on the money he got from his work as a bartender and the quests he did as The Ghost of Kirkwall, but that was all he could do: support them. It would take much more coin than he had before they could even think of buying an estate in Hightown, let alone keep it. This expedition could set them up nicely if it panned out, especially if Garrett became a partner in the whole thing; he wouldn’t get paid grunt money, but actually get a share of the treasure, and that was incredibly enticing.

But it was also incredibly dangerous, and that’s what Desmond’s mind kept catching on. The Hawke family had already lost so much and he wasn’t keen on them losing any more. As the past had proved, however, Desmond was much more content with settling and keeping his head down than the rest of the Hawkes. Hiding and evasion, those were his skills. But Garrett would die before giving up the opportunity to see his family thriving and happy. So he would go on this adventure on the off chance it would pay off.

Desmond still hated it though, and he didn’t think that would change.

The three siblings parted ways with Varric at The Hanged Man and headed back to Gamlen’s house to stow their loot and confront their uncle about the will. Desmond couldn’t wait to see the greasy little man be brought down a peg, and maybe that made him a bad person, but the entire last year since he’d met Gamlen, the man had treated him in turns like shit on his shoe, like he was invisible, or like they were best friends. The last was only when Gamlen walked into The Hanged Man and wanted free drinks. Desmond did not like the rat bastard, and he had never pretended to. But, to Gamlen’s credit, he did still house and feed Desmond, even through their mutual dislike.

“I’m just saying,” Gamlen defended to an unimpressed Leandra when the three of them walked in. “Maybe you should get a job and pitch in some money. Food is expensive, you know.” While he wasn’t wrong, Desmond hated him just a little bit more at that moment. They all knew what Gamlen would do with that extra money, and it wouldn’t be for anything but the Blooming Rose and liquor.

“Honey, I’m home,” Garrett said with false cheer. “And I bring gifts!” He handed Leandra her parents’ will.

Gamlen peeked over her shoulder and Desmond watched in delight as the man’s face drained of color. “Ah. I think I have somewhere else to go.”

“Sit your ass down,” Desmond commanded pleasantly. Gamlen immediately dropped into a chair.

“They forgave me,” Leandra sounded faint as her eyes moved rapidly back and forth across the parchment. “I thought they hated me for leaving.” Garrett settled a hand on her back in support while Carver shifted back and forth uncomfortably. Desmond kept his eyes trained on their slimy uncle, watching his every move in case he decided to bolt.

“They left you everything,” Garrett said softly, then his tone changed. “I think you owe Mother every bit of coin you stole from her.” Gone was the lighthearted man from earlier in the day.

Gamlen sneered, “I do not. That money was rightfully mine. You were off doing whatever and I was here, taking care of them when they could barely move and wiping up their shit. I was the one who stayed, and yet all they could talk about was their precious Leandra. So what if I took the money? How was I supposed to know you would come crawling back here, begging for handouts? I owe you fuck all.”

Desmond thought the man had half of a point. If the Blight hadn’t happened, they definitely wouldn’t have come back. He still didn’t like Gamlen.

Leandra’s face went through the five stages of grief within the span of seconds, and then she squared her shoulders. “You’re right, you don’t owe me anything. I appreciate you housing my family for the past year, and I’m afraid I’ll have to rely on you for a bit longer while we settle into the Estate. I’ll speak with the viscount and get everything in order, and soon we will be out of your hair.”

Leandra’s composure knocked all the wind out of Gamlen’s sails and he deflated with a halfhearted scowl. “As if you could ever talk to him. You don’t have the reputation to get an audience with someone as important as the viscount.”

“Well then, I better get started.” Leandra turned and walked into her room, shutting the door with finality behind her. Desmond loved that woman.

Chapter Text

Desmond picked up a day shift at The Hanged Man, letting Corff know he was taking the evening off. Tonight was the night he had promised to help Anders with the templars, and he needed to collect Aveline. He didn’t know how in-the-loop she was, so he planned to pick her up a bit early to go over the current events. In the year since they met, he still didn’t feel like he truly knew her. He knew she had a moral compass guiding her way, but she was willing to let things slide and look at things on a case-by-case basis, which was an incredible trait Desmond found highly admirable. He also knew she liked to know what was happening anywhere and everywhere. She was the biggest gossip who liked to pretend she abhorred such things. Desmond thought it was the source of endless entertainment to hint at a story and watch her feign disinterest as she asked subtly probing questions.

Desmond’s shift went by slowly, and by the time the sun was starting its molasses descent, he was more than ready to get out of there. He waved goodbye to Marianne and Norah, made a pitstop to get dressed in his battle armor, and started the trek to the Viscount’s Keep in Hightown, hoping to catch Aveline before she went home for the day.

People in Hightown gave him a wide berth and strange looks for his outfit and weapons. There was still enough activity in the city for his passing to be marked, but he didn’t mind too much. He knew he could blend in, if he wanted, but he was in too much of a hurry to try. Besides, he wasn’t the Ghost of Kirkwall at the moment; he was just Desmond, on his way to help out a friend.

He found Aveline walking down the steps away from the Keep, exhaustion slumping her shoulders ever so slightly, but still dressed in her guard uniform. “Hey,” he said, dropping into step with her. She glanced over, unsurprised. “How would you like to do a good deed that’s a bit illegal?”

A touch of humor crinkled the edges of her eyes. “Something for Garrett, I assume?” Desmond waffled his hand back and forth. The result of getting the maps was indeed for Garrett, but Desmond was more invested in helping Anders with his problem. “Very well. What are we doing?”

Desmond filled her in as they walked towards the Chantry. Aveline grew more and more doubtful with every word. “And you’re sure this is a good idea? The templars are in place for a reason. This mage could be anyone.” Desmond grimaced, and she rushed to say, “I trust your discretion regarding Anders, but we don’t know anything about this Karl person. Going behind the templars’ backs for this seems a little fishy.”

Desmond sighed and shrugged, “Yeah, I’m a bit worried, too, but I’d still prefer to be there for Anders in the highly likely event that things go wrong. Regardless of my personal attachments, he’s the best and only healer Darktown has. I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

Aveline nodded slowly, “Well, I’ve said my piece. Let’s get this over with.”

The streets had cleared of civilians with the last of the light, and Desmond could hear the night gangs stirring in the shadows. No one bothered the two of them on their way to the Chantry, however. In fact, Hightown was curiously deserted for how soon after nightfall it was.

“You’re here,” Anders said, emerging from behind a pillar. He looked warily at Aveline, but didn’t say anything against her. “I haven’t seen anyone suspicious go in or out of the Chantry, but I’m not convinced the templars haven’t figured everything out. The letters from Karl have been worrying.”

Desmond nodded, “We are definitely headed into a trap. Hightown is never this quiet, regardless of what time it is. Stay on your guard, Anders. And if we’re outnumbered, run. You’re more important to this city than Karl, as callous as that sounds.”

Anders grimaced. “You know I’m not going to agree to that. I have to save him.”

“I’m with you,” Desmond sighed. He was reasonably sure he could take anything they threw at him, but it would be difficult if they were surrounded and the templars targeted only Anders and Karl.

“Thank you,” Anders breathed with a reverence and sincerity Desmond found uncomfortable.

He shrugged it off. “Anyway, this is Aveline. She’s here to take the heavy hits if we have to fight.” He shot her a mischievous grin, and she rolled her eyes.

“It’s a wonder I put up with you sometimes. Hello, Anders. I’ve heard a bit about you, and I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

Anders gave a serious nod, obviously not in the mood for levity. “Let’s go save Karl.”

Despite expecting a trap, none of them were prepared for the lengths the templars were willing to go to. Even Aveline, who was generally in favor of the Circle of Magi, cringed away from the sunburst brand stamped between Karl’s brows when they found him. The man blinked at them blankly, eyes roving over his lover as if Anders were no more interesting than a piece of furniture.

“Karl,” Anders choked in horror. “What did they do to you?”

“I was too rebellious,” Karl said in a monotone that sent shivers down Desmond’s spine. “Now I am not.”

Aveline took a step back. “That’s abhorrent. They can’t do that!”

Anders didn’t seem to hear her as he stepped forward and placed trembling hands on Karl’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I got you into this mess.”

“Yes, you did,” an oily voice purred, and out from the shadows came six templars. At their helm was a man indistinguishable from any Desmond would have walked past in the street, save for his cruel sneer. “I’m rather glad you took the bait, in fact. All of this waiting would have been dull if you hadn’t shown tonight.”

Desmond counted two more templars hiding out of sight to everyone but his Eagle Vision. “Fuck,” he breathed, stepping in front of Karl who was in no position to defend himself.

Anders snarled at the templars, cracks of spirit blue splitting through his skin and swirling in his eyes. “You had no right! Your death will be his Justice.” With one smooth move, his staff was unhooked, and the first spell was cast.

“Abomination!” The lieutenant screeched, and all hell broke loose.

Desmond jumped into the fray, focusing on any templar gearing up to cast a Holy Smite to disable Anders’s magic, while Aveline drew as much attention as she could. Their coordination was terrible, with Justice in no mood to do anything but throw his heaviest spells and bursts of raw magic at the templars, who in turn had little to no interest in playing Aveline’s taunting game.

Desmond ended up becoming defense as well as their heavy hitter, using dirty tactics when possible, such as launching a templar or two over the bannister to fall screaming down to the ground below. Even if they didn’t die on impact, it took them out of the battle for a bit until they limped their way up the stairs to rejoin their brethren.

He used the shit out of his enhanced strength and reflexes, pushing the ability to the maximum just to keep the templars off of Anders and Karl, who both seemed to have no regard for their own safety. By the time the last templar was choking on her blood, even Desmond was panting despite his increased stamina.

Aveline turned a cautious sword to Ander’s back, but Desmond quickly forced her to lower it before Justice turned around and saw her as another threat. She shot him a look, but he kept his eyes on Ander’s still glowing form. “Hey buddy,” he called cautiously. “Can Anders come out again?”

Justice turned glowing eyes on them and gave Desmond a contemptuous look. “Ah, the Golden One.” Desmond gave a jaunty wave, feeling better now that Justice seemed less murderous. Although the spirit still didn’t like him since that time he’d slept with Anders, Justice’s expression smoothed slightly. “Be a friend,” he ordered cryptically before the blue vanished, leaving the Chantry dimmer. Anders stumbled, but righted himself easily. He took in the carnage, then turned abruptly towards Karl with wide, frightened eyes.

The newly Tranquil mage didn’t look so Tranquil in that moment, his features shocked and devastated. “Anders, what did you do? It’s like you brought a piece of the Fade with you. I never thought I’d feel that again.”

“Karl, you--” Anders’s voice cracked, and he swallowed heavily.

“Please, Anders, kill me,” Karl begged, arms clasping Anders’s shoulders. “Please. I can’t live like this. You don’t know what it’s like, everything that makes me who I am is gone and I’m empty.”

Anders’s face crumpled. “Karl.” He held so much emotion in that one word, and it broke Desmond’s heart. He’d been hearing from Anders about his mysterious paramour for the past month and a half. Tales of lovelorn letters and clandestine meetings, and the heart-pounding, fluttery feelings the new relationship had caused within Anders. And now Desmond was witness to its tragic conclusion.

“Do it now,” Karl commanded, digging desperate fingers in deeper. “While I’m still me. I can feel it coming back. Please Anders. Please--” They all watched in horror as Karl’s eyes lost their terror and started blanking out, hands loosening their vise grip and dropping to his sides. “Why do you all look at me like that.” It was supposed to be a question, but there was no inflection in Karl’s tone.

A few tears dripped from Anders’s eyes, and he wiped them away with a deep breath. Desmond handed him one of his numerous daggers, and Anders accepted it without looking. “Goodbye, Karl.” With one angled shove, the long blade went under Karl’s ribs and into his heart. There wasn’t a touch of emotion in the man’s face as he died, everything that had once been a human now erased with a ‘righteous’ brand. It was all so... senseless.

Anders stared at the body for a moment and then dropped the dagger and walked out of the Chantry. Neither Aveline nor Desmond tried to stop him, or even follow him. That was not the face of a man who wanted comfort at the moment. He’d try later.

Desmond allowed himself a couple of seconds to close his eyes and hate the templars of this world, and then he and Aveline set about cleaning up what they could of the carnage. It didn’t seem right to leave the bloody work for the Chantry sisters, never mind the crimes committed that night.

“So,” Aveline started after they’d been stewing in their thoughts for a few minutes. “Your friend is an abomination.” Desmond made a noncommittal sound. “The templars were right.”

Desmond whirled on her. “You think any of this was right?”

She held up her hands in surrender. “No, I really, really don’t. But if your friend is possessed by a demon, then they did have a point about bringing him in, at least.”

Desmond sighed heavily. “I don’t know all the details, but what I do know is that he has a spirit of Justice in him, not a demon. They’ve been cohabitating for about a year now, and the most they do with their abomination status is hide from templars and provide free healthcare to the poor. If you think he should be brought in or killed for that, then I guess I never really knew you.”

Aveline winced. “You’re right. It’s just, well. I’ve never heard of a good abomination. It’s hard to let go of that fear.”

Desmond gave her a half smile. “That’s understandable, but just trust me. Anders isn’t a bad guy, and Justice isn’t so terrible himself, when he’s not raining hellfire on his enemies, anyway.”

She smiled tightly, and they continued on in silence. After a few hours of scrubbing and piling up the bodies, Desmond sent a sagging Aveline home to get some sleep while he cleaned the rest of the Chantry. He hoped like hell tonight wouldn’t come back to haunt them. There had to be more templars who knew of Anders and his involvement. Perhaps Desmond should go on a recon mission in the Gallows to find out what they know.

He made a quick stop at home to change from his armor, ignoring Garrett’s raised eyebrow at the heavy smell of smoke. Luckily, the Chantry had a crematorium hidden within, so Desmond didn’t have to drag several bodies through the streets.

His next errand involved the markets, where he sold off the contents of the templars’ pockets and bought a meal for two. Darktown was still as unpleasant as ever, but Desmond knew all the secret passages and shortcuts and before the food grew cold, he was slinking into Anders’s clinic, which had noticeably darkened lamps.

The mage himself was brooding next to the fire, feeding it what looked like the letters he’d shared with Karl and muttering to himself.

“Hey, Anders,” Desmond greeted softly, dropping his bounty on a clean surface. Anders halted his movements for a moment and then continued throwing the crumpled pages. “I’m sorry.” There wasn’t anything else he could say. They both already knew that it shouldn’t have happened, and that revenge wouldn’t help anything. Two people against the whole of the Templar Order. It was better to keep their heads down, no matter how much it rankled.

Once the last of the letters had gone up in ashes, Anders turned towards Desmond with a blank face. “You can tell your friend I’ll give him the maps. If he wants my help again, I’ll give it. You’ve held up your part of the bargain.”

Desmond dragged Anders into a hug. The mage initially struggled and then went boneless, clinging to Desmond with a strength that would have hurt him if he weren’t biologically changed by the Isu. “I’m here,” he reassured.

It started as a soul-wrenching sob, and then the floodgates opened, and before long, Desmond’s shoulder was soaked through. He rocked his friend back and forth, rubbing up and down his back and petting his hair. He didn’t know how long they stood there, but by the time Desmond had coaxed Anders into eating the food he’d brought, Anders’s eyes were bloodshot, and there was a significant wet spot on Desmond’s shirt. Neither of them brought it up, but Anders looked much better after releasing his emotions. When Desmond got a small, wobbling smile from Anders, he counted it as a win, knowing that eventually, Anders would be okay.

Chapter Text

“Hey, pretty boy,” Isabella sidled up to the bar, hips swaying. “I hear you’re the one to go to if I have a problem.”

Desmond shrugged and put down the mug he’d been polishing for the past five minutes of boredom. “I can get it to the right person, anyway. What can I do for you, Isabella?”

She grinned and leaned over the bar to accentuate her cleavage. “Oh, I’m sure you could do plenty for me.”

“I’m sure I could,” Desmond smirked and threw the rag over his shoulder in a practiced movement. “If I had the right incentive, of course.”

“Of course,” Isabella purred. “Sadly, today I’m here for business and not pleasure, although it’s rare when I can’t mix the two.”

Desmond didn’t doubt it. “What do you need? It’s not often you’re here during the day.” He gestured around to the nearly empty tavern.

Isabella sighed and straightened up, hip cocking against the bar. “Here’s the situation: I pissed off someone I used to work with, and he’s sent one of his men after me. We have a meeting set up to work things out, but I don’t trust him to play fair, so I need back-up. But, as I told you before, I’m new to the city and don’t know anyone enough to trust them to have my back, except you.”

Desmond mirrored her pose and thought for a moment. “I know some people who would help, but what are you offering in return? Coin or favor or something else?”

“Honestly, I don’t have much coin at the moment, and what I’m able to... acquire, I spend on the swill here.” She gave him a look that promised pain if he told anyone else her situation. “I was hoping I could trade a favor for a favor, and I trust you won’t ask for something unreasonable.”

“Fair enough.” Desmond turned the problem over. He was on decent terms with several mercenaries and gangs, but Garrett had first priority on any jobs Desmond as the Ghost of Kirkwall didn’t want to take. Garrett, however, was looking for coin, and if Isabella couldn’t pay, the job wouldn’t have much use to him. His gaze trailed to the dual daggers poking over Isabella’s shoulders and he hummed. “Alright, here’s what I propose: I can get my brother to watch your back, and in return, all I ask is that you watch his when he needs it. Does that sound reasonable?”

Isabella studied him for a moment and then grinned. “I think I can manage that.” She handed him a letter. “That’s the information I was given. Try to make sure your brother is on time, won’t you?”

Desmond glanced over the information and nodded. “Do you want me there?”

“I’ll be fine, pretty boy.” She hesitated briefly. “But, you know, thanks. For doing this.” Desmond smiled at her, and she returned it before turning and swaying back to her room on the second floor.

Hours later, Desmond passed the shift baton to Marianne and headed off to find Garrett. Isabella hadn’t left much time to prepare, but Desmond had the feeling the sender of the letter had done that on purpose. Take her off guard and destabilize her by demanding to meet that very night.

Desmond easily handed off the information to Garrett, who was conveniently taking an early dinner in their hovel. With that done, he packed his Ghost armor in a discreet bag and headed out for a night on the town. He had a few requests put in through his day job, and while Garrett was distracted, it was the perfect time to get shit done, both in armor and out. He had a feeling he would be shelving his Ghost persona for a while, giving a lot of his usual quests to Garrett. Because even though he disapproved of Garrett’s decision to explore the Deep Roads, Desmond was still going to help him follow his heart’s desire.

Most of the night was spent eavesdropping on people to gather information for interested parties, and one assassination to spice up the evening. By the time dawn was cracking open the horizon, Desmond had several pages of notes stuffed in a hidden pocket, and his family was none the wiser. He started on breakfast when he heard stirrings behind the bedroom doors.

Leandra was the first to emerge from her room, dressed and ready for the day ahead. Desmond smiled at her and passed off some hard bread and a few boiled quail eggs he’d managed to pluck from rooftops. She brushed his arm in silent gratitude, and the two of them started eating in the quiet of the morning before anyone else awoke.

Garrett and Carver came stumbling out of their bedroom next, and all attempts at courtesy for the sleeping fled with their arrival. Gamlen was likely deeply unconscious with some minor form of alcohol poisoning, so he wasn’t going to wake for quite some time.

“How did it go last night?” Desmond asked his brothers as he handed off plates of food.

Garrett smirked and plopped heavily onto a chair. “Rather well, I think. Isabella will be quite the asset. The way she bends shadows to her advantage is almost magical. I’m jealous.” He started chewing on a mouthful of bread, talking before he’d finished swallowing. “Do you think she’d teach me?”

Leandra lightly smacked his shoulder. “Manners! Honestly, Garrett.”

He smiled with all his teeth, unrepentant. Desmond rolled his eyes and started towards the bathing room. “I’m sure she’d be more than happy to teach you something.”

“Like what?” Garrett asked to his retreating back. Desmond didn’t answer him, half sure it was a joke instead of an honest question. He dedicated the next while washing off the night’s grime with the rune-heated water. God, he loved magic. He still had nightmares of the icy baths Ezio and Connor would force themselves through when there was no time to wait for the water to heat. There were many things about this world and time that Desmond would happily give up, but sometimes there were things that made his relocation here worth it. Namely, his family.

But he didn’t want to get into a sappy mood, so instead he focused on the blessing of hot water and feeling clean, even though he knew it wouldn’t last long in the filth of Kirkwall.

“What are you up to today?” He asked Garrett when both of them had been washed and freshly dressed. “Mind if I tag along?”

Garrett shrugged. “Sure. I know it’s been a year, but you remember the condition for that witch’s help back in Ferelden? How she wanted me to drop off an amulet at some Dalish camp outside Kirkwall? Well, now that I’m free from indentured servitude, I think it’s about time to take care of that. I don’t want an all-powerful witch-dragon coming after my ass.”

“Good call,” Desmond half-laughed. “I’m up for a hike into the mountains. It feels like forever since I last saw a plant.”

“Get ready then, you’re about to see more than you bargained for. I have some things to take care of on the Wounded Coast as well, so we’ll be out for a couple of days. Maybe.” Garrett slapped a hand against Desmond’s shoulder with enough force that, were he someone not fundamentally changed by Isu bullshit, he’s sure he would have stumbled.

He rolled his eyes and started packing food and water, knowing that Garrett wouldn’t prepare enough for the trip, and also aware that Desmond himself was likely going to be carrying all their supplies. “Who’s coming with us?”

Garrett hummed and leaned against the wall, watching as Desmond gathered everything and not even attempting to help. What a bitch. “Definitely Isabella, I want her to get accustomed to our team. Same with Anders. Should I bring Carver?”

“Yes.” Carver stated, walking out of the bathing room, pink from vigorous scrubbing. “Don’t you dare leave me out.”

Garrett shook his head and sighed in exasperation. “Wouldn’t dream of it, little brother.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Desmond held up his hand. “Wait, you’re working with Anders now?”

“Yes?” Garrett furrowed his brows. “After he gave me the maps of the Deep Roads, he offered his services as a healer and battle mage. I thought you knew that, since you’re such great friends.”

“Fuck off,” Desmond said half heartedly. Worry gnawed at him. Anders was already exhausted every day by just running the clinic. If he also added fighting at Garrett’s beck and call, he’d run himself into the ground. Desmond couldn’t help but think this was an unhealthy coping mechanism for what happened with Karl. He didn’t know when, but at some point soon, he was going to have a talk with Anders.

Once everything was packed and ready, the three of them set off for the Hanged Man to pick up Isabella and for Desmond to let Corff know he was taking a few days off, which did not endear him to the gruff man.

“You'd better hope you have a job to come back to,” Corff threatened. Desmond knew it was a bluff since he was the tavern’s main source of income, but he nodded like it was a serious matter.

Isabella, on the other hand, seemed delighted to be called upon, and even more so when she learned Desmond was joining them in their adventure. “Much more than a bartender, eh?” She asked slyly, eyes roving along his practical armor as if he were wearing something sexy.

Desmond waved his hand casually. “I dabble.”

With one last stop to gather Anders, who, true to Desmond’s assumptions, looked dead on his feet and was ignoring Desmond’s concerned glances, they were off to Sundermount.

Chapter Text

The most entertaining part of the trip up the mountain was watching Carver turn various shades of red every time Isabella flirted outrageously. It got to the point where a single side eye had Carver tripping over air and avoiding looking at any of them. Desmond tried his best to hide his amusement, but Garrett and Isabella had no such tact, laughing easily at the kid’s obvious crush.

Contrary to Desmond’s worries, Anders seemed to perk up the further they got from Kirkwall’s stench. By the second hour of walking up the mountain, he was laughing and chatting. The few bandits and vicious animals they ran into seemed to take a weight off of Anders’s shoulders until he was taunting the opponents with witty one-liners and laughing with joy as he dropped fireballs on them.

Anders got along with Isabella and Garrett like a house on fire, each of their levels of sass synergizing perfectly with one another. Desmond mostly stuck to the background, content to watch his friends and family enjoy themselves, but there were times when he inevitably got dragged into the conversation throughout the two-day trek to the Dalish camp.

“So, Des,” Isabella turned to start walking backwards, a preternatural grace allowing her to somehow dodge all the rocks and tripping hazards on the pathway. “You don’t look like your brothers. Is there a story there?”

Desmond laughed at the obvious. The Hawkes were as pale as pale got, but he had his mixed heritage from all over Earth, giving him a darker skin tone, just slightly lighter than Isabella’s own. The Hawkes boasted pure black hair and an almost unnaturally yellow gaze, while Desmond had his fluffy brown and warm amber coloring, to say nothing of their facial structures. “I met them maybe three years ago?” He looked to Garrett for confirmation, who shrugged in response. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I was injured and homeless, and the Hawkes took one look at me and decided I was family.” That wasn’t technically what happened, but it was close enough to count.

“He just looked so pathetic,” Garrett cooed. “Soaked by the rain and bleeding out, how could we not bundle him up and feed him?”

“It wasn’t even raining,” Desmond complained half-heartedly. He didn’t mention that Garrett was initially hostile, and if Garrett wasn’t going to bring up Bethany, then Desmond wouldn’t either.

Carver, in a rare show of observance, seemed to understand that they weren’t bringing up the severity of Desmond’s wounds, nor how his presence forced them to move. “Des is a much better brother than Garrett.”

Desmond looped an arm around Carver, ignoring their height difference and how much his captive squirmed. “Aww, you do care.”

“Fuck off, it’s a low bar.”

Isabella giggled. “If it weren’t for you all looking so different, I’d have no idea you weren’t blood related. And the accent. Are you from the Free Marches?”

“Nope!” Desmond popped the ‘p’ happily and released Carver. “Born and raised on a Farm in the middle of nowhere.” He grinned to himself at the little inside joke. “A bit of a cult, to be honest. Glad I ran into the Hawkes. They’re much better for me.”

Isabella gave him an intrigued look, and Garrett, who by now knew most of Desmond’s life story, if a bit edited, laughed as well. “And I, for one, am glad that you stumbled into us on that definitely rainy day. Although sometimes I long for those beginning months when you were so awkward and unsure.” He turned to the rest of their group and leaned in a little as if sharing a secret. “This guy used to apologize for breathing too loudly.” He fell into raucous laughter as if Desmond being unsure of his place in the family was hilarious, and Desmond couldn’t help the grin on his face. “And now he’s more likely to slap the back of my head for my attention than ask nicely for me to pass the salt. Oh, how the times have changed.”

“I learned how uncivilized you are. It only took one time watching you chew with your mouth open to realize you wouldn’t respond to manners.”

Garrett beamed at him. “It makes the food taste better.”

“No the fuck it doesn’t.”

The conversation only devolved from there, Anders and Isabella throwing in their comments and ribbing good-naturedly. Desmond found himself grateful to Minerva for whatever strings she pulled to get him to this world and into the path of the Hawke family.

They quieted down as they turned a bend and saw the two Dalish guards posted in front of the only entry to the camp that Desmond could see just beyond them.

“Hold, Shemlen,” one of the two spat with genuine disgust. Desmond assumed they had just been called a slur, which was fair enough. He’d read enough history books to not begrudge them their hostility. “We don’t want your kind anywhere near us.”

“I’m here to talk to your Keeper. Marethari? I sent a raven ahead.” Garrett bowed slightly, and Desmond looked at him, shocked. He’d never known Garrett to plan ahead and be respectful. What a novel experience.

The other elf eyed them distrustfully. “She did mention a visitor. I didn’t expect a Shem.” He sneered and seemed to come to a decision. “Keep your hands and weapons to yourself, and we won’t have any issues. She’ll be by the main fire.”

Desmond and Garrett both bowed their thanks, and the elves let them pass. Within the camp, everyone stared. The children were herded out of view, and some of the teens and younger adults fingered their weapons in blatant threat.

“A warm welcome,” Isabella muttered quietly.

“I apologise for my clan’s behavior,” an old elf walked up to them, grace in every movement. “We are not used to kind humans.” Her eyes shone with a wary sort of warmth. Desmond got the impression she was willing to trust them, but prepared to be disappointed. “I am Keeper Marethari,” she held out a frail-looking hand, searching around for the leader of their group.

Garrett stepped forward and grasped it in one of his own. “It’s an honor, Keeper. I am Garrett Hawke, and these are my companions.” He introduced each of them with a more serious and formal tone than his usual lightness. Desmond continued to be stunned by Garrett’s respect. He knew his adoptive brother wasn’t racist, but more in the way that he treated everyone the exact same; someone who’s in on a joke he’s perpetually telling. This showed a level of awareness of history and a genuine wish to be a better example of humanity than Desmond had ever thought Garrett capable of. “I was told to give this amulet to you.”

He pulled the necklace out of one of his numerous pockets and held it in offering. Keeper Marethari stared down at the amulet crafted from natural materials with awe and a slight amount of fear. She made no move to touch it. “I must ask you for a favor, Garrett Hawke. Although it is less of a favor than the completion of this task you were given.”

Garrett awkwardly retracted his hand after a moment. “What is it?”

“This amulet is part of a rite that must be performed for the departed. I would have you take it to the altar further up Sundermount. Once you have returned, your debt will be paid in full.” She cast one more glance at the hand encasing the necklace, and then firmly away.

“Are you going to teach me this rite?” He looked a bit worried, and Desmond wouldn’t be surprised if Garrett was fretting over fucking it up.

Keeper Marethari shook her head, a complex expression on her face. “My First is waiting on the path; she has been tasked with aiding you.” Her hands smoothed down the front of her robe in the first sign of nervousness Desmond had detected. When she spoke, it was with palpable hesitation. “When you have finished this task, I must ask that you take her with you when you leave.”

Desmond blinked, surprised. From what he knew of Dalish culture, the First in the clan was the direct successor to the Keeper. They were mages who were taught leadership and the history of their clan and the elves, and they were almost as important as the Keeper themselves. This was no small decision. Desmond wondered what this First did to be sent off with strangers in what felt a lot like a light banishment.

Before he could ask any of his burning questions, Garrett spoke up with perhaps the least important one. “Who exactly is your First? And what does that mean?” Desmond gave his brother a look that was ignored.

The Keeper seemed to gather her composure again now that she wasn’t asking them directly to aid in exiling her successor. “Her name is Merrill, and I suppose your people would call her my heir. She would have taken my place as Keeper when the time came. She has chosen a new path, however, and it is no longer my place to guide her as I have.” She looked deeply sad at this, and Desmond wondered what sort of path caused that amount of despair and how the Keeper could ask humans she barely knew to take care of this Merrill.

“That seems a little...” Garrett waved his hand around as he struggled for the right word. “Odd. You don’t even know me.”

Keeper Marethari smiled slightly, sadness still lurking behind the movement. “It is her wish, and I will do all I can to help her with it.” She shook her head before Garrett could say anything else. “Merrill is waiting for you further ahead. Best not to keep her, or the rite, waiting.” Desmond didn’t like how she spoke as if the rite was sentient, but who was he to know the intricacies of Dalish rituals?

Garrett looked like he wanted to ask so many other questions, but he ended up shutting his mouth and bowing again. “Very well. Thank you for your time, Keeper Marethari.”

It was only once the group was far enough from the camp that Anders spoke up. “So, that was weird. Anyone else get weird vibes?”

They all voiced their agreement. “What if we don’t even like this Merrill?” Carver added.

“I think that’s less important than whatever sketchy shit happened to make the Keeper want to get rid of her heir,” Desmond said. “In my experience, it’s not as easy as just asking to leave, even if you hate the position. Something had to go down.” Isabella gave him a considering look, likely wondering if he himself had been in that position or if he’d been around those who were.

Garrett sighed. “Well, I guess we’ll meet with Merrill, see if we even like her, maybe get some answers, but either way, the Keeper phrased it as a favor, not an order. We can probably refuse. Or if nothing else, get Merrill to Kirkwall and then she’s on her own.”

“I don’t like it.” Carver said mulishly, and for once, no one disagreed with his bad attitude.

Chapter Text

They didn’t have to wait long before they found an elf Desmond presumed to be Merrill. She was hunched over some sort of device which she quickly secreted away when she noticed their approach.

“Hello,” she greeted in a soft, musical voice. “I’m Merrill. Which you probably already knew.” She stuck out a hand and then retreated before Garrett could move to clasp it. “Sorry, I’ve never met any humans before, and there are quite a lot of you.” Her large green eyes peered at them from behind black bangs.

“Nice to meet you, Merrill. I’m Garrett Hawke, and these are my brothers, Desmond and Carver. Then there’s Isabella and Anders.” Garrett pointed to each of them in turn, and Merrill looked vaguely like a spooked cat, liable to dart at any moment. Garrett’s voice gentled even further, “I was told you could lead us up the mountain?”

“Right, yes.” She blinked owlishly and then turned to head up the path. “Sundermount has been more dangerous than usual lately. Lots of possessed corpses and spiders hunting past the cave. Be careful.”

Merrill was proven right not twenty feet away when rotting corpses started crawling out of the ground. Desmond wasn’t sure if Sundermount had been some sort of mass burial, but there were an inordinate amount of decayed bodies with weapons.

Luckily, they were easy to dispatch. Unluckily, they kept coming. They weren’t making much progress up the mountainside, and it seemed to be wearing on his companions. During a short break, Desmond finally asked Merrill about what was happening with the mass possessions.

She avoided his eyes. “Something must have thinned the veil here. It isn’t usually this bad.”

“Does that something have to do with why your Keeper is sending you to Kirkwall?” It was unusually blunt for him, and he immediately felt like a monster at her kicked-puppy expression. But he couldn’t just let it remain unspoken when his group looked so exhausted and they were maybe half-way to where they needed to be. He wished he could share some of his endless stamina.

“The Keeper and I have a difference of opinion,” Merrill said in the most determined and confident voice he’d heard from her so far. “But you have a task, and it doesn’t matter what happened anyway.”

Garrett gave an obviously forced grin, “Well, we all have to fight with our parents and get exiled at least once.”

Merrill’s expression crumpled into a rather adorable show of confusion. “The Keeper is not my mother.”

“Mother figure,” Garrett waved his hand dismissively. “Ready to keep going?”

There were mild grumblings, but everyone got back on their feet from where they were lounging during the brief break.

Despite all the undead, demons, and massive spiders, Desmond would have preferred it to the single Dalish hunter they ran into. Merrill had been perfectly lovely in the time they’d spent together, aside from her suspicious circumstances, but the moment the hunter spotted her he gave an ugly sneer.

“So,” he drawled with hatred, “the Keeper finally found someone to take you.” Desmond immediately felt his hackles rise in Merrill’s defense, especially when her responses were perfectly polite but badly hid hurt underneath. He wanted to wrap her in a blanket and give her hot chocolate or something equally soothing.

The hunter took his leave after a few more snide jabs, and Desmond turned concerned eyes to the new mage he had decided to adopt. “Do they all treat you like that?” It was the wrong thing to say.

“They’re good people!” She defended in a way that told Desmond she’d been repeating the same thing in her mind for an uncomfortably long time. “You’re just not seeing them at their best. Everyone is stressed about Sundermount turning against us.”

With the pointed way that ‘stress’ was turned towards Merrill, she either was the reason for the issues, or an easy scapegoat. Desmond was betting on some sort of middle ground. Either way, she was a bright blue under Eagle Vision with no ill intentions towards them. Her blue matched the shade of Varric and Isabella, which meant she would be a good addition to their group, more than just dropping her off in Kirkwall and saying goodbye. But even if Garrett decided he was done with her, Desmond wasn’t. He seemed to be good at collecting mages and quickly forming attachments.

The rest of Sundermount was more of the same: undead, demons, spiders. They found a decent amount of trinkets they could sell back in the city, and Anders was ecstatic about all the herbs he could collect until he ran out of space and Desmond offered some of his own pockets and bags.

Their progress was halted by a shimmering magic barrier right before the alter they were supposed to perform the rite at. “Of course after all this, we can’t even get there.” Garrett sighed.

Desmond blinked on Eagle Vision and took in the magic-green barrier looking for any sort of weakness he could exploit, but before he could concentrate too hard, Merrill stepped forward. She avoided everyone’s eyes as she told them she could get rid of it. And then she pulled out a dagger, cut her hand, and broke the barrier. The tension immediately thickened.

“You’re a fucking blood mage?” Anders took a large step back and even Garrett looked uncomfortable. Carver shifted his blade uncertainly, and Isabella had a calculating look in her eyes.

Desmond had read about blood mages, but mostly the chantry rhetoric about how they were all evil and ensnared people’s minds and controlled demons and other nasty stuff. But Merrill still shone blue, and he trusted his Vision and instincts more than a religion which had hunted his family for years and would leash his brother.

Merrill was immediately on the defensive, “Yes, but I don’t always use it.” That sparked a small argument and Desmond could see Merrill’s shoulders start to droop.

“Can we fucking stop?” Desmond broke in. “We have a ritual to perform.” Merrill shot him a grateful but slightly suspicious look, but everyone agreed to shelve the ‘discussion’ until they had fulfilled their promise.

The ritual itself didn’t take too long, but Desmond can honestly say he wasn’t expecting Flemeth herself to materialize out of the amulet. She surveyed the group with too-knowledgeable yellow eyes, and Desmond felt distinctly uncomfortable as her probing gaze looked him up and down as if she could see all of his secrets.

“I see you kept your promise,” Flemeth noted once her unnerving eyes turned back to Garrett. “I half expected you to sell my amulet.”

“I tried,” Garrett said glibly, lying through his teeth. “Surprisingly no one wanted to buy a necklace with some lady’s soul in it.”

Flemeth smirked and the two of them traded barbs and cryptic messages, but Desmond was more concerned with the way Eagle Vision lit her up in a strange white-green swirling glow. Anders had threads of green light when Justice was close to the surface, but otherwise he was a steady blue. Flemeth seemed to be made of magic. Desmond took comfort in the white of her aura which told him she held no intentions for them either way and was therefore some version of safe. She didn’t care for them, and it was always a good day when a being of magic didn’t want anything to do with him.

She disappeared in a bright flash which left Desmond blinking away light spots for a minute. “Right,” Garrett said after a beat. “Anyone have any complaints about getting the fuck out of here?”

Unsurprisingly, no one did. The path down the mountain was blessedly clear after they’d killed (or re-killed) everything on the trek up. Keeper Marathari officially cleared their debt to Flemeth, and Merrill said resolute goodbyes to two of her clan members, which tugged at Desmond’s heartstrings a little. He’d make sure she had at least one good friend in Kirkwall.

He didn’t know why he was so attached so quickly, but something about her drew him in. He really hoped it wasn’t the blood magic.

It wasn’t until they were making their two-day journey back to Kirkwall that the topic of blood magic came back. “So, you’re a blood mage,” Garrett spoke after a silence with the grace of a rampaging ogre.

Merrill already looked exhausted at the subject, and Desmond had the distinct feeling that she’d had to defend herself constantly to her clan. “Yes. There was something I needed help with, and I found a demon.”

“Nothing is worth consorting with demons,” Anders said scathingly.

“This thing was.” And then she shut her mouth and turned her face resolutely away.

Silence reigned for a few awkward moments before Desmond sighed heavily and changed the subject to something that would (hopefully) not step on any toes. “So, Merrill. Have you ever had a martini?”

They ended up detouring to the Wounded Coast at the behest of a surly dwarf who was convinced that the very secretive and gatekeeping Qunari would give him access to a dangerous recipe if he got rid of some Tal Vashoth, deserters of the Qun. Desmond had his doubts, but Garrett dragged them to the hideout anyway at the promise of future reward.

Merrill, as it turned out, was incredibly useful when fighting living things. She used a branch of magic called Entropy that essentially made all their opponents confused, sleepy, or weak. Easy pickings, until they reached the Tal Vashoth’s prized weapon: a Serabas. A Qunari mage with her lips sewn shut and shackles around her wrists and excessively powerful lightning magic that hurt like a bitch and was near impossible to avoid. Desmond didn’t often feel pain, but he definitely felt it when she showed up out of nowhere and started electrocuting them.

The fight was brutal, and at some point Isabella fell unconscious and Desmond stood vigil over her body, throwing knives when he found a good angle. Garrett struck the killing blow on Serabas, and Anders rushed over to Isabella to heal her. “Well,” Desmond said into the sudden quiet, “that was not at all fun. Hope we never have to do that again.”

Carver gave him a look like he was an idiot. “What are the chances of that?”

“You definitely jinxed it,” Garrett added. Desmond sighed and started looting the bodies.

---

Kirkwall was a breath of dank and molding air, but Desmond was glad to be home. Even if ‘home’ meant dealing with Gamlen and the rot of the city, which was arguably the same thing. Garrett left to deal with the Qunari and the surly dwarf, and Desmond dropped Merrill off at the alienage.

“It’s certainly... something,” Merrill commented when they arrived.

“Yeah, not my favorite part of the city, but you’ll blend in better here.” He looked around at the dirty slums and sighed. He hated everything about the alienages and the way elves were treated, but there wasn’t much he could do beyond being a better person than most of the humans and treating the elves like the people they were.

He helped Merrill find somewhere to live, a third floor apartment in one of the precariously leaning buildings. It wasn’t very safe, and Merrill didn’t look enthused, but it was shelter, and Merrill was determined. Plus, she had wards that would keep people out.

“Well, I’ll let you settle in,” Desmond said after surveying the place. “I’ll come check on you as soon as I can, but feel free to come to The Hanged Man if you want some company or somewhat decent alcohol. I work there most nights, but if I’m not there, Isabella will be, or our other friend, Varric. I’m sure you’ll like him.”

“Why are you nice to me?” Merrill sounded genuinely curious. “Your other friends are wary because I’m a blood mage, but you helped me and haven’t once mentioned it.”

Desmond chewed on his answer for a moment. “I know what it’s like to be somewhere new and to be uncertain. Garrett and his family helped me, and now I’m helping you. But more than that, you’ve given me no reason to distrust you.”

“Most people think the ‘blood mage’ part is reason enough,” she said, a tired twist to her mouth.

“I’m not most people,” he responded with a grin. “Get some rest, Merrill, and welcome to Kirkwall.”