Chapter Text
Kirkwall, Southern Thedas
Skin slowly reknit under his hands, healing magic pouring in a carefully controlled tide of blue warmth that spread up the leg and dipped into the wound. Magic that coaxed the body to heal, to fix itself - pain dissipating in the wake of that blue warmth. Honey eyes narrowed in concentration as the warmth pulsed once, twice, finishing the healing and leaving nothing but smooth skin.
A strong hand shot out to grab at his shoulder as he wobbled and he shuddered slightly. “You ok there, Anders?”
Anders nodded, dropping his hands to the cot and exhaled, “Jeb, I’m fine. You had a deep wound is all.”
“You know,” Jeb gentled his grip, “If you actually charged for your healing you could eat better.”
“Right, charge poor refugees who come to me for aid...what will they pay me with?” Anders shook his head, mussed strawberry blond hair falling into his eyes. “Your leg is all better. Watch those mooring lines.”
“You have food? Are you taken care of?” Jeb hopped up, glancing with worried eyes at the man who had just healed him. “I can invite you home…”
“Jeb, you’re hovering. Go home. Be with your wife. Relax.” Anders shook his head again and gestured at the man. “Go on.”
“Fine, but I insist on paying,” A small pouch was dropped on the cot. “And you’d better take it. My brother keeps asking if you’re well and I’d hate to tell him I let you starve.”
“You tell Anthony that I’m fine and to go find himself a nice mate. I’m off the market,” Anders took the pouch but frowned a bit. “I...I shouldn’t…”
“Take it. He means well. It’s not every day that you find such a competent Omega. And a mage to boot.” Jeb hesitated a moment. “Look, I heard that Ferelden refugee...what’s his name, Hawke? I heard he’s been hanging around. You aren’t…”
Anders simply raised an eyebrow and quirked his lips into a half smile. “If Anthony couldn’t sweet talk me, what makes you think a Ferelden refugee could?”
“Point,” Jeb grinned. “Take care, Anders. I’ll check on you in a few days.”
Anders watched the broad-shouldered brunet swagger from his clinic. Jeb meant well and was a good friend - one he had met shortly after reaching Kirkwall. His brother, Anthony, was serving in the militia in Starkhaven, a handsome Alpha with an easy-going smile and ale-brown eyes that sparkled when he laughed. Anders had let the man sniff around for a day or two before breaking it to him, gently, that he wasn’t interested in mating or bonding.
Anthony had taken it well, but still seemed to feel obligated to watch out for Anders.
It wasn’t surprising. An Omega healer living in Darktown was nigh unheard of. It was bad enough that he was Omega - the least populous people on the planet. But he had also been born a mage. An Omega mage healer in the bowels of the undercity, living free, was the rarest of rare - and Anders worked hard to stay under the radar.
He had just tucked the pouch of coins away - already allocated the funds for more potion ingredients and food for his patients - when there was a knock at his door and the sound of boots on the hard-packed floor.
“Anders! My favorite healer,” the voice belonged to Garrett Hawke - Ferelden refugee and entrepreneur. Blue eyes snapping with good humor and lips curled up into a wide smile, the man was handsome, daring, and charismatic, with the strong smell of pine and the musk of an unbonded Alpha.
A little too charismatic, Anders thought.
Luckily, the Alpha had his eyes on a different Omega - namely a little mage named Merrill that Anders had met the other day. She seemed nice, if a little flighty. The fact that she was a blood mage made him a little nervous but her magic sang without corruption - smelled of earth and green and iron. Anders didn’t normally keep the company of maleficar, but then again - he also didn’t normally encourage Alphas to come back to visit.
“I’m your only healer,” Anders said mildly. “Hello Bethany, Varric, Merrill.”
“You can still be his favorite healer,” Bethany gave a grin and hopped up on a cot. She was also a mage, a quiet one. Her magic smelled like the air after a rain, fresh and light, soothing and cool. It fit that she specialized in the elements - mainly ice and lightning. Her magic complimented his and if he hadn’t seen the possessive gleam in her brother’s eye, he would would have been tempted to flirt with her.
“Blondie, you’re not looking too worn today,” Varric laughed, slapping Anders on the back. The dwarf radiated good humor. He was a Beta and his merchant roots were there in the scent of rock and metal.
The smells swirled around in the clinic and made him relax - these were his friends, as new as they were. They had helped him find Karl, had been there when Karl had to be killed, had helped him through the weeks after - the grief, the pain, the mourning. That had bonded them into some sort of family unit and their scents made him settle.
“So...I know you aren’t here for my good looks and charm,” Anders joked. “What job do you have?”
“Funny thing,” Hawke leaned nonchalantly against the wall. “Got a letter from this Anso fellow - tracked me down through Meeran. And I need to tell Meeran to stop sending me work. I don’t work with people who try to fuck over my countrymen.”
“Garrett,” Bethany chided. “Language.”
“Sorry, Bethy. Sorry. Anyway, this Anso guy needs help. Somebody stole something of his...or something. The point is, it’s a night job and you know how night jobs are,” Hawke raised an eyebrow. “I need you tonight.”
Varric huffed a laugh at Hawke’s choice of words, grinning up at Anders who just shook his head. “Alright, alright. Come get me when...or is it night already?”
“Lethallin, you work too hard,” Merrill piped up. “Night is falling in an hour. Did you eat?”
“Andraste’s tits, don’t nag,” Anders groused. “You sound like Jeb.”
“That dock worker sniffing around you again? Or is he here for his brother?” Hawke stood suddenly, a possessive gleam in his eye. “Do you need me to talk to them?”
“Sweet Maker, no!” Anders held up a hand. “Calm down. He got injured, he came in. He paid me for some healing, checked on me like he does, passed on some well-wishes from Anthony, and left. That’s it.”
Hawke’s lips were pressed tightly together. “If they bother you, you are to tell me.”
Anders thought about slapping back and decided it wasn’t worth it. Besides, Hawke got this way about everybody in his little family group. Instead he nodded. “I will. I promise. So...how long till we leave?”
“Why don’t we go have a pint and then head out? Blondie here can have a bowl of the Hanged Man’s Special. Hawke can feel better because he’s seen Blondie eat. I can sit down for a minute...any problems with that suggestion?” Varric grinned up at Anders.
“Sounds good. Bethy, you’re home tonight. I don’t want you caught out,” Hawke said pointedly.
Bethany screwed her face up but sighed. “Fine. I’ll help Mother with the bread.”
“You don’t want a piece of this, Sunshine.” Varric said soothingly.
“I don’t think I want a piece of this,” Anders muttered to himself as he doused his lanterns and grabbed his staff. The feeling of Hawke’s hand on his back made him quiet...at least until Hawke moved over to walk with Merrill.
“Blighted Alphas,” Anders muttered in a quieter tone. Varric’s snort let him know that he wasn’t quite as quiet as he had been hoping for.
***
“The box is in a warehouse in the Alienage. I don’t care how you get it I just need it back,” The Beta, Anso, blustered.
Hawke’s nose twitched as he watched the agitated dwarf. “A box in the Alienage. Do you know which warehouse?”
“Yes, yes. Here’s the directions. I’m sorry, it’s just...I never thought I’d have to deal with this,” Anso fairly groveled at Hawke’s feet.
“We’ll get this handled.” Hawke handed the paper to Varric and nodded at the dwarf. Varric glanced at the address and started walking. When they were halfway to the Alienage, Hawke murmured to the group, “Be alert. This smells like a set-up.”
Anders sighed. At least he had gotten dinner out of the deal, though it had been a bowl of mystery stew. It was still better than the slightly stale bread he would have eaten so the night was a win. Course, tramping through the gloom of the Alienage after a box of Maker knows what tipped it back into crappy.
“This is it,” Varric hissed, reaching for his lockpicks. A few brief moments and the lock snicked and they were tiptoeing into the dark room.
The dark, empty room. The back room was also empty. The side room had two traps - both easily dismantled by Varric - and one empty chest.
“I’m going to strangle that dwarf,” Hawke growled, the sound low and harsh. It made Anders’ knees knock to hear it and Merrill sank down to the ground to cower. Hawke blinked and exhaled, reaching for the shivering elf. “I’m sorry. Shh...I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you.”
“Oh,” Merrill gazed up at Hawke, eyes filled with confusion and concern. “I just...you seemed so angry.”
“Not at you, little one,” He reiterated before glancing at Anders, who was still upright. “I’m sorry, Anders.”
Anders snorted. It would take more than one growl to make him cower. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t phase me.” Hawke raised an eyebrow and Anders met his gaze with a mild smirk. “Are we leaving or what?”
“I am so glad you aren’t my handful to deal with,” Hawke muttered.
“I’m so glad I’m nobody’s handful to deal with,” Anders snarked back. “Uptight, bossy...Alpha…”
The words drifted away as Hawke opened the door to reveal a line of armed and armored men and women. Both groups stared at each other, confusion obvious in the air, before one of the men spoke up.
“That’s not an elf…”
“Doesn’t matter. Our orders were to kill anybody who went through the door. Sorry lovey, looks like you all are about to be hurt. The little elf and the blond - keep them alive. We can sell them for coin. The other two, kill ‘em,” The woman, obviously the leader, growled.
Anders didn’t need to be told what to do. He put a barrier up around Hawke before moving back and putting a barrier up around himself. His eyes widened at the three fully armored and armed men barreling towards him and quickly gestured, summoning a lightning bolt to fly at them, causing the men to seize up and then drop, the smell of charred meat filling the air.
A glance and another barrier - this one around Varric. Merrill was holding her own - having summoned vines to trap those trying to hit her. Hawke cleaved through the attackers, his sword swinging in a wide arc and cutting into two or three men at a time. Anders aided him with a frost spell, freezing a man in place - one that Hawke shattered with a well-timed hit.
“Nice shot, Hawke,” Varric called out as he took out the last two attackers with his crossbow.
“Is everybody ok?” Anders called, rushing to check on his friends. Hawke waved him off and Varric just laughed. Merrill held out a leg that had gotten slashed in an attack and Anders ran his hand slowly over the wound to close it. He could sense Hawke hovering over him as he healed, the warrior’s frown palpable. The minute Anders moved back, Hawke was there to check on Merrill.
“I’m sorry they got to you,” Hawke murmured down at the elf who flushed.
“Oh, I’m sure it was my fault…” Merrill’s hands fluttered, her staff jiggling in her loose grip. “But Anders fixed it.”
Anders kept his face neutral as Hawke swung his eyes to meet his. Smiling faintly, Anders moved away from his friends to poke at the people they had just killed. A small token on the ground had his head tilting. A coin - Tevinter in origin.
“These were slavers,”He worried at the coin. “Why?”
“Looking for easy prey,” Hawke shrugged it off. “They set a trap. The question is - for who?”
“Anso would know,” Varric pointed out.
Anders stood, dropping the coin and trailing behind the group. Tevinter slavers - in Kirkwall. The injustice of it thrummed through his veins and for a moment, he shook. Then he swallowed past the anger and relaxed, happy Hawke hadn’t notice.
A sigh escaped him when they reached the stairs leading from the Alienage. He was bone weary from healing all day. The fight had taken a chunk out of him - a chunk he didn’t have to give at this time. The stairs taunted him - because even though they led from the Alienage, he still had several of these blighted sets to deal with before even reaching the lift to Darktown...and then a trudge to get home.
He came out of his fatigue-induced stupor to see a man standing at the top of the stairs, eyes wide with anger. He was yelling - something about how they would all pay for what had happened. Anders blinked to clear his thoughts and found himself further confused when another man staggered into view, blood dripping from his mouth - and behind him, an elf.
And elf who lit up with the Fade and could pull hearts from chests.
Anders did not hear what was said - Hawke was talking and the elf was responding - his voice deeper and more sonorous than any elven voice had a right to be. A voice that hit a chord in Anders, made his skin shiver. He lifted his eyes to meet deep green ones and swallowed. Deep down inside he knew this was an Alpha. It was more than the voice, more than the smell of lyrium, cool forest, leather, and that unmistakeable unbonded musk - it was something inside of him sitting up and noticing.
“You can call me Fenris,” The elf’s voice carried and Anders blinked.
“It is as I thought, my Master follows me. If I can ask for one more favor...I need help in confronting him,” The words made little sense to Anders. He shook his head minutely and tried to focus.
“If we’re fighting slavers, I’m in,” Hawke said, slapping the elf on the back. “I’m Hawke. This is Varric, Merrill, and Anders.”
The elf nodded at each, stopping briefly and frowning at Anders. “You have Omegas in your group.”
“Good people,” Hawke said with a smile. “Come on. Let’s go surprise this Magister in his den.”
Anders blinked as Hawke turned to look at him, eyes narrowed. “All of us are going.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t,” Anders frowned.
“I could feel it,” Hawke said, a little smile quirking up his lips. “Looks like perhaps you’ll be somebody else’s problem, eh?”
“Shut up, Hawke,” Anders muttered, stalking past his friend to follow the elf. He wasn’t looking at the elf’s ass...not at all. Just...following him. Sweet Maker, Anders thought as the the smell drifted back again to tease at him. How was he going to get out of this mess?
***
The door to the clinic slammed open, hit the wall, and nearly took out Anders as he stalked into the room. A glance at the door and he was slamming it closed and locking it. Standing there for a moment, shoulders tense and chest heaving, Anders wondered if he shouldn’t just pack up and find a new home.
Kirkwall had been a nightmare since he had set foot into the city.
Chantry run and with templars everywhere, Anders hid in Darktown among the refugees. He had only come to this blighted city because Karl, his lover, had been transferred to the Circle here. Anders had wanted to get him out before the Knight Commander who ran the Circle could do something to him. It was common knowledge that the Kirkwall Circle was among the worst with a long list of abuses perpetrated against the mages who lived there.
A chance meeting with Hawke had netted him some help and they had devised a plan to sneak Karl from the Chantry. But when they went to get him...well…
The blanks stare and sunburst brand still haunted Anders’ sleep. He still dreamed of sliding the knife into his lover, watching what was left of the man fade away.
Now he was trapped here - beholden to an Alpha, living in the sewers...and apparently compatible with the most asinine, cranky, disagreeable man he had ever met.
The elf, Fenris, had a seen his magic and had immediately informed the group that Anders needed to be watched. And he had spent quite a bit of time explaining in great detail the abuses of magic while gesturing at him and Merrill. Hawke had pulled Merrill to him to shield her but there had been no shield for Anders. Fenris had turned to the mage and snarled at him...the anger in his eyes so vivid that for once Anders couldn’t keep his facial expressions clear. He had fled.
And had returned to his empty clinic.
So much the better, he thought wearily. Anders had had enough of Alphas and their appetites to last a lifetime. Wearily checking the lock again, he shuffled over to a cot and fell face-first on it. He could get, maybe, two hours of sleep before some refugee came banging on the door.
Two hours would just have to be enough.