Chapter Text
Ladyfingers - Herb Alpert's & Tijuana Brass
„Calm down Missy, we’re just here to help!” Varric lifted one hand and lowered Bianca.
Hawke knew the dwarfs body language well enough - he was still ready to attack at any given moment.
Is he suspecting a trap?
The hands of the stranger in front of them trembled but didn’t let go of the small knife in her hands, pointing specifically at him. He tried swallowing a grin after realizing that but failed miserably doing so. Here they were; a curious looking dwarf without beard and a massive crossbow, an elf with glowing tattoos and an enormous two-hander, a mage with a ball of crackling electricity forming at his very fingertips and him – a guy with two daggers still in their sheaths and with, at least what his mother described to be, an invitingly warm face. And who was the knife pointing at? Go figure. An almost wondrously often reoccurring event during his years in Kirkwall. Was it the beard? Had to be. He thought about being offended, although only for the sake of complaining and less for the offence itself - his feelings weren’t hurt that easily, naturally. The girl on the other hand seemed to understand his grin neither as warm nor inviting and much rather as an open threat, as she made one step backwards.
Can’t blame her for that.
Four men with weapons cornering her in the middle of nowhere, the nugforsaken empty Wounded Coast specifically, and one of them now randomly grinning at her. He quickly stopped, cleared his throat, and gave his face a what he hoped to be non-intimidating look. Merrill would be proud. She was his inspiration for this expression after all.
Hawke tried making sense out of this situation: The woman was wearing rather strange looking clothes. A dress that was cut like nothing he had ever seen before. The material was flowy, a pale blue that shimmered almost enchantingly whenever the sun broke through the clouded sky. Although the hem of the dress reached the rocky ground on which she was standing, the occasional gust of wind was trapped in its way in what seemed to be a scandalous high slit and thus sometimes revealed one of her legs. Before Hawke could wonder whether the slit was there due to an attack or maybe an unfortunate accident - since for sure something that revealing couldn’t have been intended by her - his eyebrows wandered upwards when his eyes fell on her shoes.
Maker’s Balls, she must be insane - how can she even stand straight on those?
A heel almost as thin and high as one of his daggers, only attached to her foot with even thinner strings that wrapped themselves in a criss-cross manner around her ankles and up to her calves. Was she a slave? Surely only Vints would be so cruel to condemn someone wearing those. Maybe some new kind of foot-shackles?
The black padded coat she was wearing over the dress seemed to be very thick and without knowing why, pictures of the icy Frostback Mountains came to his mind. The hood attached to the coat that covered her face in shadows was embellished with black fur. Was that some kind of Avvar clothing? What sense did it even make that she was wearing that. It was summer after all and a damn hot day no less. Plus, the combination of the thick coat and the dress that would seem to give no proper protection of cold temperatures at all made no sense either. Was the dress enchanted? His train of thoughts was suddenly intercepted when the girl made another step backwards and started babbling in a shaky voice, barely understandable.
“What- What is going on? I – is this some kind of art-installation? I really have to get back to the event. I – I was just there. I...why...where...” Her voice became quieter with every word she spoke until it didn’t reach Hawkes ears anymore.
“She’s speaking nonsense. An escaped abomination perhaps?” Fenris stepped besides Hawke, his sword tightly gripped between his hands.
“Now who is speaking nonsense, elf? Whatever she is, a demon she is not," growled Anders.
“I apologize. I forgot who in our little group is the expert on matters of possession, mage.”
Hawke sighed at the nagging between Anders and Fenris and lifted one hand to hopefully shut them up. Although the Healer was behind him, he felt Anders eyes piercing through his back. Thankfully though he restrained himself from further discussions and Hawke now decided to take one careful step towards the girl, slowly showing her his empty hands.
“We mean no harm. We were on our way back to Kirkwall when we saw an explosion not far from us. I figure that must have been you? Are you a mage?” He unnecessarily pointed out the large circle of black ashes and burns on the ground in which the girl was standing. “That must have been quite difficult to do, it was massive. You must be a booming-talent!” Hawke gave her a wide smile and a thumbs up, while Varric muffled a chuckle and Anders sighed so deeply that he could have reached Orzammar with that.
The girl didn’t answer and now started to rapidly throw her head around, as if to examine her surroundings. Hawke tried to get a glimpse of her face, but it was deeply burrowed in her hood.
“She could be drunk. Wouldn’t be the first time some poor sog got lost on his way home from the Hanged Man. They got a carriage last week with some new kind of dwarven ale – one pint of those could straight-up knock out even the regulars.” Varrics posture was relaxed now and he put Bianca on his back.
“If she’s an escaped Circle mage she’s traumatized. Maybe they did something to her, confused her mind. Although…”, Anders was eyeing her from head to toe while she was still swirling around on one spot, “…she’s not wearing robes. And I have no knowledge of a planned escape during this week.”
“Could she be an escaped Tevinter slave? She’s wearing some kind of foot-shackles.” Hawke turned to Fenris who carefully examined the shoes of the girl for a moment, but then shook his head.
“I doubt it. Although masters have their…their special taste in clothes for their slaves on occasion, nothing she wears seems to be Tevinter,” he said.
The four men fell silent and continued observing the girl.
After dealing with the spider-infested cave further south, they were indeed on their way back to Kirkwall, when suddenly the very ground on which they were walking began to shake. A deep vibration had reached Hawkes ears and out of the corner of his eye he could have sworn he saw something fell from the sky. Only seconds later an explosion shattered the coast.
Why does stuff like that keep happening to me? Nugshit.
He made another step forward, to his feet now laid a blue bag. It was ridiculously small and it’s contents were scattered around after the girl had grabbed the knife from it and had thrown it in his direction. Why on earth would someone travel the Wounded Coast with nothing more than this small bag? Hysterical. If this was supposed to be a trap by the damned Winter mercenaries, Hawke would be pleasantly surprised about their creativity. But neither he nor one of his companions sensed anyone else close by.
“Where is the snow?”
Hawke raised his gaze again after hearing the still shaky voice of the girl. “Excuse me? The snow?”, he asked confused, unsure if he understood her correctly.
She was standing still, her head turned away from them facing the open sea. The hand with the knife now dangling useless beside her. “The snow. I wanted to go outside and take a walk. It was crowded inside and it started snowing so I…I…” Again, her voice went quiet and was carried away by the wind.
Hawke heard Fenris muttering something about insanity behind him.
“It is the 12th of Solace – you can’t really find snow in the Free Marches in those months. Well, at least if you’re not an element mage with ice mastery, obviously. Anders here can’t really do that, he’s more into electricity you know, my sister she –“
“Why don’t you shout a little louder, Hawke? You could also buy me a sign and write ‘Apostate’ on it so you don’t have to go through the trouble explaining every stranger individually that I’m a mage.” Anders gave him an angry look but Varric chimed in: “You’re already wearing that coat, Blondie. No further sign needed.”
Fenris now gave a snarky comment regarding the size of Anders staff and chaos ensued between them. Hawke tried his best to ignore the lively discussion - it was too late to intervene now anyway - and gave the girl his full attention. She suddenly started twitching around, her hands gliding in and out of her coat while she muttered something that sounded like loan or… phone?
“…always wondered about the remarkable daftness of the Templars anyway. How can they not recognize that you’re a mage, running around the Gallows with Hawke as if you’d be a normal perso….”
“Oh, that’s rich coming from a runaway-elf-slave living in a mansion full with cor…”
“Now, now, Broody, Blondie let’s all calm your griffo…”
Hawke made a step backwards, his senses sharp, hands on his daggers and not letting the uncontrollable twitching girl out of his sight. She searched something, frantically even. A weapon perhaps? She seemed to panic when her hands remained empty. Quickly she threw her hood back and slid out of her coat, continuing searching something now inside of it.
“…settle that during the next round of Wicked Grace, I will not invite Rivaini, I promi…”
“…an abomination has no right to…”
“…a hypocrite who wants freedom for slaves but not ma…”
Hawke narrowed his eyes, ready to attack the girl at every second now, when a sob escaped her and she threw the coat on the ground, still empty handed. After her desperate noise and the dull sound of her coat falling down, the loud voices beside Hawke suddenly ceased, their attention now drawn to her again. And then - she swirled around.
Hawke had read some of Varrics romance stories. What was the name of his series again? Ah, Swords and Shields. Entertaining stuff, he had to admit, although the dwarf himself hated it with a passion. Anyhow, in most romance stories Hawke had read or heard in his life there was always this specific moment when the damsel in distress, the princess or the long-lost queen first laid eyes upon her saviour, her warrior, her prince, riding in on a white horse in shining armour. Time would slow down, fanfares playing in the back, flower petals dancing through the air, all while the prince would only have eyes for her, then drawing his bejewelled sword, freeing her from the bandits like the hero he was. While entertaining, he naturally always rolled his eyes when he reached that specific moment in the story. It was just so laughable and over the top sappy. Nothing like real life. And just because now it wasn't a prince, a hero or a knight he was looking at, but rather a strange figure that had appeared out of nowhere, it was still laughable...right? Nothing like that could happen in real life anyway.
“Maker…” He heard Anders’s whisper beside him.
“Well…shit,” answered Varric to no question asked.
The young woman now faced them, her head and upper body no longer hidden. If someone would have asked Hawke now what she looked like, he could have only answered...what exactly? 'Beautiful' perhaps? Or no. 'Otherworldy' rather? 'Weird` even? There was something just so different in the curve of her jaw, the swing of her nose bridge, the form of her neck. Or was she all of it? Was she neither? WIthout being exactly able to pinpoint why, Hawke just felt like she didn't belong here.
Her dress, revealing her shoulders and collarbone hugged her upper body tightly till her waist. Her arms, although loosely wrapped in long wide sleeves, were visible through the thin material and on her left wrist shimmered glittering silver jewellery that matched the long earrings she was wearing. Her hair was pinned in an updo with some loose wavy strands falling out. The colour was something Hawke had never seen before – blonde, but some strands light, almost white, others golden, some light brownish. There were small white and blue flowers in her hair, the same that could be found surrounding the shoulder-line of the dress. She looked at them with scared brown eyes, carefully pointing to something on the ground.
“Is…is my phone there somewhere?”
Nobody said a word. For some reason Hawke was reminded of that one time in Lothering when a Dalish clan had camped in the outskirts to trade with Balin and the other villagers. He and Carver had tried to pet one of their Halla, trying to approach them as quiet, slowly and still as possible to not frighten them. Carver - naturally - slipped. He then tried to steady himself with Hawkes’s arm, which only made them both fall to the ground and the Halla speeding away. Curious - why did he remember that now?
After a few more seconds of nothing than shocked stillness, the young woman took a deep breath. The sun broke through and her dress began to shimmer again, now from head to toe.
By Andraste’s flaming tits.
He couldn’t see any diamonds or jewels on it - if they were, it had to be thousands upon thousands, as small as a grain of sand. She seemed to have braced herself, making a few steps in their direction, looking at the ground in front of Hawke. It was the bag she was searching, he remembered it now being there.
“Stop right there!”
Hawke twitched at Fenris sudden shout. He teared his gaze away from the strange woman and saw the elf now pointing his sword at her.
“Something is not right here! Magic must be involved! Some kind of deal with a demon, some…I don’t know, something!”, he exlaimed agitated, on his face a visible mixture of confusion, anger and ... fear?
The girl stopped right away, a horrified look on her face.
“Anders?”, Hawke asked calmly.
The mage took a step forward, extending his hand. He was now closest to the girl. Her gaze landed on him. Anders eyes widened ever so slightly.
“I…well I can’t sense any sort of possession on her. There is something I can’t…can’t quite figure out. But it’s not any sort of dark magic I would know about.”
“Comforting,” hissed Fenris, not moving his sword one bit.
“Now, how about you play nice for once Broody and stick that sword back where it belongs, you’re scaring her shitless. Shimmer over there seems harmless and is outnumbered, so it’s time to calm down, ‘aight?” Varric laid his hand on Fenris arm, who reluctantly lowered his sword, although not putting it on his back.
Hawke kneeled down, gathering the few strange looking belongings of the girl and putting them in the bag. He approached her again carefully.
“Although after this display it may be hard to believe, you don’t have to fear us. We will not hurt you. Well, if you don’t hurt us first, obviously. We’re just your merry band of Kirkwall misfits, not looking for any trouble…”, Varric laughed under his breath and Hawke gave him an amused look, “…well mostly not looking for trouble. You’re searching something, right? Hope it’s in there mayb…”.
She snatched the bag away from him as fast as she could and Hawke, having normally no issues reacting quickly, looked a bit dumbfounded at his still extended but now empty hand. She rummaged through it, a relieved sigh escaping her when she pulled out something that looked like a small, rectangular black mirror.
“There it is, thank god! I will kill Max, he told me to use the door to the left you know, I thought it would lead me outside and then suddenly I’m here. Please apologize my outburst, the sudden change was just so jarring. So I guess this is an art-installation after all, yes? Am I in some kind of foyer? Impressive work though, you’re hitting...well, I guess some sort of fantasy theme right on the head. I will make a quick call, just give me a minute. You really have to explain to me how you make the environment look so realistic though, never seen that before, are those LCD screens? Anyhow, excuse me please, I just have to get signal. You’d think in a city like London the internet connection would be better, but you know how it is.” She continued her weird babbling, tapping around on the black mirror, walking in circles and sometimes extending her arm holding the thing to the sky.
“Unlucky her, must have hit her head or something, talking nonsense like that. Blondie, can you heal that sort of thing?” Varric looked at her with growing concern.
“I don’t know. She doesn’t seem to be wounded. I can’t discover any kind of blood or bruises from here at least. Still, a concussion is possible. I would have to examine her in my clinic, I have some potions there for…confused people. Until then, maybe we should play along.”
“Play along?” Hawke furrowed his bushy eyebrows and noticed Anders having difficulty tearing is gaze away from her.
“Yes, to her babbling. I can’t say if she’s just confused or truly mad, but we should try grounding her and her mental state gently. Her behaviour does read like she's going through a manic episode of some sort right now. Her brain is trying to shield her from...something. I know this behaviour well, saw it plenty of times when dealing with traumatized mage escapees. So we can try making her discover the facts of the matter herself - whatever they may be for her. Similarly to Feynriel when he was trapped in the Fade.”
Hawke remembered that clearly and ignored the low growl from Fenris when the Fade was mentioned. “Well, you’re the Healer here. Can’t hurt trying.”
“It can always hurt to try, Hawke,” said Fenris. The elf didn’t seem to be happy but when was he ever.
Hawke lifted his voice and gave it an authoritarian tone. He got really good at that for some time now, had to be his occasional mingling with the Arishok.
“Miss, my name is Garret Hawke. This short cheery fellow here is Varric Tethras, the one with the feather coat is called Anders and no, I don’t know why he wears that either. He generally tends to lean into the dramatic aspects of life though, so there's that. The charming individual back here is named Fenris, I'm absolutely delighted how calm and collected he represented our group right now, must have been an amazing first impression to you. We will escort you out of this, uh…art-installation, was it?”
The again growing desperation on the girls face when whatever she tried to accomplish with the black mirror didn’t seem to work faded after hearing his words. She visibly gulped, closed her eyes and then nodded.
“Thank you. I must look crazy to you, threating you with a knife and all that when you’re surely just trying to do your job. My apologies, I was just…shocked. It's just so weird...how the hell did I arrive here? I didn't take any stairs or entered another building...or did I? I mean, I swear, I'm not drunk or anything, tipsy at most. But it will make sense soon I guess, right? This isn't some kind of hidden-camera thingy, or is it? Are you guys method-acting? Awesome performance if so! Whatever it may be, I’m sure we will laugh about it in no time. As a peace offering I will buy you a drink when we get back to the main hall, yes? Just bring me back...please.”
Most of what she said made absolutely no sense to him but her tone indicated something good – he’d guess at least. Varric now approached her and picked up her coat.
“Like my friend said, the name’s Varric Tethras, at your service miss.” He elegantly bowed his head and gave the coat back.
Anders approached Hawke quietly when Varric continued talking to her about her dress.
“We should use the sewers to get to my clinic in Darktown, we can’t smuggle her through the city gates looking like…that. We just cleaned out the bandits last week, should be relatively safe.”
Hawke sighed, feeling exhausted. He had hoped for a swift return to his mansion today, his mother promised to make her Ferelden stew as long as he didn’t came back soaked in guts and blood again and smelling like feces.
She gets rightfully mad though when Orana always has to clean the trail I leave on the carpet. Change of dinner plans it seems like. What a surprise.
“Sounds wonderful, Shimmer! You heard that Hawke? Broody, Blondie?” Varric gave the girl his friendliest smile and Hawkes’s gaze wandered back to her. Her eyes now meeting his again.
“Auri. My name is Auri.”