Chapter Text
“Shit – not in the face!”
Predictably, those words were followed by a solid punch to the face, just in the general area of my left eye socket and cheekbone. It felt great.
It was disorienting, getting the shit beat out of you, so it took longer for things to register when the beating actually stopped. I didn’t notice the thugs run away, or the man who stopped them, until I was quite sure that my body was fully functional and that I wasn’t about to spit out teeth or something.
After making sure I was good, I preoccupied myself with lamenting over a new tear in my already hellish-looking coat. The fabric near my elbow had been frayed already, but landing, hard, on the ground and using my elbows as make-shift props obviously made an impact. I was cursing, when the man who saved me finally spoke.
“Are you alright?” he asked, drawing near. I stiffened when I realized just how close he was, and wondered how long he had been there, basically right next to me. When I squinted up at him, I almost relaxed. It was the healer, whose clinic actually wasn’t all that far from where I got my beat down.
I said I almost relaxed. He was still someone I didn’t know; just like he was still a mage, albeit a doctor one, and he was still really tall. I really, really didn’t like having people stand over me.
“Don’t I look it?” I shot back, maybe a bit snidely. I swiped an arm across my mouth, trying to wipe away the blood I could feel dripping from a cut on my bottom lip. My left eye was throbbing, and I knew it was going to start swelling any minute now. I struggled to stand, just trying to go easy on myself and not make any unnecessarily sudden movements. Of course, the healer tried to help me, and I jerked back like the guy had a fucking hot poker aimed at me.
He held up his hands, in what I suppose is the universal sign of innocence and harmlessness.
“I mean no ill-will,” he told me, calmly. “I run the clinic, just around the corner. If you allow me, I can heal your wounds.”
“Nah, man,” I said, shuffling back slightly. “I’m good. Thanks though.”
His brow furrowed, but he didn’t look all that surprised. He took a step back and I breathed easier.
“Then might you simply accompany me to my clinic? I can at least clean your wounds,” he said, even sounding a bit friendly. "You'll be safe there."
He started walking in the direction of his little hospital, like he just assumed I’d follow. I could tell he was attempting to seem harmless, between the giving me space and the gentle tone he spoke with, but I guess it was the nice look on his face that really made me follow him. If only for the chance to get clean.
Sure, he said ‘clean your wounds’, but surely he wouldn’t mind me taking advantage of the chance to have my first bath in forever.
I stayed a good few paces behind him the entire time, but it was kind of cool. I felt like, for once, I didn’t have to be on the lookout for muggers. The mage-healer was off limits to literally everyone in Darktown, and even the real big assholes knew that rule. I almost couldn't believe it.
“My name’s Anders,” he introduced himself, throwing the name out from over his shoulder. I was prompted to say something back when he tossed a look at me after the awkward beat of silence where I missed the social cue to respond in kind.
“Fitz,” I said back, and he nodded and didn’t say anything else.
His clinic was like I remembered it, from my first visit a long time ago. Only, it was weird to see it empty of people. There were messes, dirty rags and water, lying about the place, but overall it was nicer than the outside. Not saying much, but nicer is still nicer.
I followed him with faltering steps, not really knowing where to go, but then the man was shoving a damp cloth at me and holding out a cracked hand mirror. I took both, grateful for the fact that he was going to let me do the cleaning up. I had been steeling myself for the treatment, for his hands, and I hadn’t quite convinced myself that I’d be able to handle having someone else’s hands on me.
I got to work, and started talking, mostly out of nerves.
“This is cool of you, man,” I started, cleaning blood and dirt alike off of my face. When Anders gestured to a water basin, I moved towards that and decided to just have at it. I peeled off my coat, and then my shirt too, for an impromptu bath. If Anders thought it odd, he made no mention. He was puttering around in the back, looking through jars and moving things to and from. I continued talking.
“I’ll, uh, I can clean this place for you,” I offered, hesitantly, as I looked around the room while I scrubbed my body clean. “You know, as like, thanks.”
Anders nodded, a bit vacantly, before letting out a small noise of triumph. He brandished a small jar in the air, turning towards me with a grin on his face.
“I knew I still had some left,” he said, walking over to me. “This will take care of the swelling on that.” He nodded at my eye.
I accidentally dropped the rag in the water basin as I tensed up. The scars that lay across my upper chest seemed to itch, just from his words alone, and I absently brought one hand up to them as I thought on how to reject him. My movements unintentionally brought Anders’ eyes downwards, and when they narrowed, I decided it was time to get dressed. I turned my back on him, even though it physically pained me to do so, and tugged my shirt back on, the fabric clinging to my still damp torso. I grabbed up my coat.
“Nah, I don’t need that,” I told him, my words coming out curt due to my nervousness. I plunged my hand back into the basin, retrieving the rag, and went to work cleaning a splotch of blood that had landed on my coat. Not looking up at him, I went on, “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”
Anders was silent for a moment, but he conceded without pushing it. I assumed he was picking up on my anxiety, it’s not like I was really hiding the signs, and he must’ve figured it was best to back off.
“If you’re sure,” he said, a bit dubiously. He placed the jar on the end table, that lay right next to me and the water I was currently using to scrub my coat clean. “If you change your mind, feel free to take some.”
I hummed, noncommittally, and he walked away. I let out a breath, and told myself not to run, even if my body was getting shaky and my brain was telling me I wasn’t safe. This was the safest place in all of Darktown, maybe even all of Kirkwall. The irony of the place being owned by a mage, who in turn was probably the safest guy to walk around with in Darktown, was not lost on me. I mostly just tried to forget the mage part, though.
I shrugged my coat on when all the stains were out, or at least less visible, and ignored the weird way wet fabric felt when you wear it. I began picking up the trash that littered the room, evidence of a hard day’s work of curing and treating ill people, or whatever.
“What are you doing?” Anders asked me, sounding surprised, after a good five minutes of me cleaning. I hadn’t noticed him disappear into a backroom, but when I turned around, he was standing in the doorway and watching me with raised brows.
“I told ya I’d clean this shit up for you,” I said, giving him a weird look and then asking where the trash went.
He showed me, commenting, “I didn’t think you meant it.”
I scowled, “’Course I fuckin’ did.”
I did the best I could, though there was one suspiciously gross looking thing near one of the far away cots, and I definitely didn’t want to touch it so I kicked it under the cot when I knew Anders wasn’t looking. But, other than that, I’d say I did grade A work.
Anders seemed to think so too. He thanked me, and gave me a chunk of bread that wasn’t even molded. I wasted no time in scarfing down half of it right then and there, to Anders’ amusement. I was just in the middle of saying goodbye, awkwardly backing away to the front door and everything, when the man interrupted me.
“How would you feel about coming back later in the week? You clean, and I’ll find you some food for your work. That sound like a fair deal?”
I stumbled, still walking backwards to the door, but caught myself before I could fall or something embarrassing like that. I looked back at him suspiciously.
“Yeah?” Then, just to feel him out, since I really didn’t know this guy whatsoever, I said, “I ain’t touchin’ no one’s shit though, got it? Ya know, in case you get some poor fuck with dysentery or somethin’.”
Anders blinked at me, and then laughed. “I can agree to those terms. We have ourselves a deal then?”
I shrugged, silently making a note to come back in a few days’ time, and left.
~
“I don’t wanna haircut,” I said, sullenly sitting on a stool in the middle of Anders’ clinic. I had finished cleaning, and Anders had apparently been observing me, because he’d caught on to my scratching problem.
“You have lice, Fitz,” he told me, stressing his words, with a pair of scissors already in his hands. He’d washed my hair for me, and I was kind of proud of myself for not twitching too much at his touch, which was why I was actually allowing him to cut my hair. I liked having it long though, less people took me for a goddamn elf.
Incidentally, this was also the moment when Anders saw my stupid ears.
My ears weren’t super long, or even all that big. But here, in Thedas, they were apparently huge as fuck. Big enough to be mistaken for a goddamn elf, which was just another thing that I could barely believe existed. Back home, tons of people had ears like mine and, sure, jokes were sometimes made, but that's all they were. Jokes. And, maybe the word ‘elf’ was sometimes used the same way ‘four-eyes’ and ‘big-foot’ were used, but it was usually harmless. You know, like something kids call you in Kindergarten but it kind of stops after elementary school because then it gets more popular to call kids names like 'fag' or 'fuckface'. Here, though, being an elf so wasn’t a joke.
Elfishness aside, and to make my point clear – my ears weren’t even all that big, hence why my long hair could hide them. But, still, they were undeniably longer than the ones that humans in this world had, and they were pointed, so all bets were off on me ever establishing my human-ness in this stupid-ass world.
Anyways, back to my haircut, and the moment Anders realized I was sort of an elf.
Anders had been washing my hair, and he had actually exclaimed when he saw my ears. Despite that, he didn’t make too much of a big deal about it, which I was relieved about, but it did lead to some awkward questions.
“I’m pretty sure they close the alienage gates around this time,” he said, hesitating a little bit, like he was thinking about something. I twitched when he started cutting my hair, and I mourned the locks that fell. “And you’re always out late. What do your parents think when you do not return home at night?”
I scrunched up my face, heart twinging at his words. I smothered the feeling quickly, but it was enough to make me defensive.
“Fuck off,” I scoffed. “Insensitive much? I ain’t got no parents. And what the shit is an alienage?”
I knew I said something wrong when Anders stopped cutting my hair and, after a moment of silence, I turned around only to see him staring at me in disbelief. I scowled, feeling heat rush to my face, and asked him what the hell.
His face grew concerned. “Fitz…an alienage is where elves live. Are you telling me that you had no idea of this, though you are an elf?”
My scowl grew at the slowness with which he spoke to me. He was acting like I was some foreign entity now, or maybe brain-addled. I tried not to get even more defensive, kind of, but I failed.
“So what? Not all elves live in an alienage, or whatever the fuck,” I spat, turning back around. “Come on, you gonna cut all this shit off or just gape at me like an idiot?”
“Such a pleasant child you are. I hope you know that, right?” Anders told me, dryly, as he began chopping my hair off once more.
He wasn’t done though, with the talking. He still had questions.
“Where are you from then, if you are not a city elf?” he asked, sounding pretty interested. “Are you Dalish?”
“Yeah,” I said, making another face, since I knew he couldn’t see it. “I don’t talk about it, okay?”
He was quiet for a beat, I guess in respect for the finality in my tone, but then he asked, suddenly, “Where do you live now?”
I didn’t answer. I could tell that he was going through a whole bunch of thoughts; figuring out that I was homeless, that I had no idea what an alienage was (or even where to find the one in this city), and thinking about my newly established Dalish-ness. That is, if he believed me on that front.
“I can take you to the alienage tomorrow. I…don’t know how the elves run them, but I’m sure you’ll find a place to live. The elves look out for their own, from my experience,” he said, kindly. I shifted in my seat, and wished he was done.
Anders also made me stay the night in his clinic, which I wasn’t averse to, but he was pretty persistent about it anyways. I guess he felt bad for all the times he’d sent me off in the past few weeks of my working for him. I didn’t really understand why he was so surprised about my situation though; from what I could tell, Kirkwall was overflowing with homeless people. Darktown especially. I guess I had kind of assumed that he already knew.
He kept his word though. Anders showed me to the alienage, and I memorized the path, and that’s how I ended up finding room with the hahren. The hahren, Reeba, already had a few other elves crashing at her place, but since I promised to hand over money occasionally, she welcomed me into her home. I knew it was better than being on the streets, but the elves weren’t always friendly either. I got jumped a few times, but they were easier to handle than giant thugs. I think it was an initiation-like thing, because after a couple times, I was left alone and even felt somewhat accepted by my new neighbors. I also got more food (just barely) than when I was living on the streets, so that automatically made everything ten times better.
This is also around the time that I first met Sovin and Garrus. Neither ever tried to mug me, but they were the first to invite me to hang out with others our age.
I liked it, but I wasn’t happy. I was okay with that though; it wasn’t too hard to pretend that I was.
~
“I really gotta go, man.”
“Just wait. One second,” Anders called back. I waited, impatiently, and scowled at the man when he finally showed. However, the apple in his hand made me quick to wipe off the mean face. He smirked, holding the apple out to me. Very cruelly, he held it up out of reach when I made a swipe for it. That brought the scowl back.
“Oh, you were all in a rush just now,” he teased, holding the apple higher. “Shouldn’t you be running out the door, to whatever it is you do?”
“Dude. Not cool,” I told him, thinking about elbowing him in the gut. “I didn’t know you had fruit.”
Anders took pity on me; he was a pretty tall guy, and I was still quite a few inches shorter at this point (my growth spurt hadn’t happened yet), so it probably looked really sad seeing this kid trying to jump for an apple. Anders probably looked like a bully, the big jerkwad.
I marveled at the fruit when I had it in my hands. It was probably the first time I saw a nice piece of fruit since landing in this hellscape.
“I knew Varric had brought some for me, before he left,” Anders was telling me, though I wasn’t really listening. I bit into the apple and it was perfect. “I have a whole basket, so if you want another you had better come by more often. Before I give them away.”
“Are you kidding me? Give them to me,” I pleaded, looking around him for this supposed basket of heaven food. Anders leaned in the doorway, effectively blocking me from storming the backroom, even though I totally wasn’t about to do that.
“You still in a hurry?” Anders reminded me, pointedly. I cursed, and turned around.
Running for the door, and eating my apple, I thanked Anders and ran the rest of the way to the Gallows.
~
I made it in just barely enough time, rubbing sticky fingers off on my pants in an attempt to be presentable. The guy Athenril assigned me to was staring me down with a whole new level of disapproval, but I just stared back extra insolently. I knew by now to always assume the worst of people – this guy was probably a racist.
“Cutting it close, knife-ear,” he said, scowling at me. “Almost gave your spot to one of those fuckers.” The man, whose name was Wallis, nodded his head to a couple of street urchins across the way, and I shrugged.
“Well, gee,” I drawled, sarcastically. “Shame, bro, but I’m here. And on fuckin’ time.”
His scowl worsened at the mocking way I spoke to him, and he probably would’ve hit me, if we didn’t have work to do.
“I was told you’re not supposed to talk. Guess now I know why,” Wallis said, rather dismissively towards the end, though he was quick to zone back in on me with a severe look. He launched into a brief speech on what we were doing, not even giving me a chance to ask why I wasn’t supposed to talk. He finished with a firm, “Got that?”, and I finally got a chance to talk.
“How the fuck am I supposed to not talk?” I asked, indignantly. “What if they ask me questions?”
“Then nod your fucking head like a witless tart,” he told me, quite meanly, already looking around for our marks.
“Well, that’s pretty offensive. And totally not PC of you,” I said, just to be contradictory. Again, Wallis looked at me like he was going to hit me, but just then he was distracted. Our marks had arrived.
He greeted them warmly, and they only seemed momentarily surprised at our presence. Once Wallis explained that we were sent to collect them (a false claim, by the way), they lost all suspicion immediately, and Wallis wasted no time in pimping me out to carry their bags.
They were a mother-daughter duo, new to the city and just visiting while a member of their family did business in Kirkwall. You could say Wallis and I were the welcoming party. Wallis was going to tell them all about the sights and scenes of Kirkwall (yippee) and I was going to help them get settled into their temporary home. Luckily, they had sent most of their luggage on ahead of them. I only had to carry two carpetbags of stuff.
The daughter, whose name I can’t actually recall, watched me bend down to pick up their stuff. I smiled my best, most endearing smile, and did a small bow to her before straightening up, their bags thrown over my shoulder.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” I greeted, with as much French accent as I could manage. It did the job. The girl’s eyes went all wide and curious.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “You are from Orlais?”
I could physically feel Wallis glaring daggers at me, and had to fight to make sure my pleasant smile didn’t turn into a smirk. I gave a quick, submissive “yes, miss” in French.
“Mother,” the girl said, turning to the older woman with excitement. “Look, it’s an Orlesian elf.”
The mother peered over at me. I would say she peered ‘up’ at me, but the way she held herself made me feel really small. I wasn’t used to this whole nobility thing yet.
“Really? And what are you doing up here, boy?” Her words were curt, but her tone definitely held an edge of interest. I shrugged, mentally, and just assumed that French, or Orlesian, was a novelty. I smiled, brightly, and just spoke more French at them.
“He doesn’t speak Common,” Wallis said, through grit teeth, before gesturing for us to move along.
We walked through the streets of Hightown, and Wallis pointed out various points of interest to the women along the way, though who knows how much of it was embellishment or lies. It wasn’t long before we hit their new residence, which was a real ritsy sort of place. They were staying at some Free Marcher noble’s home, a close friend of theirs apparently, though the owners were not in town at the moment. Coincidentally, this is also the reason why we intercepted this mother-daughter duo in the Gallows. The owner of the estate they were staying at owed Athenril big or something like that, so the whole situation gave us the perfect opportunity to get even. Or, you know, to help Athenril get even. I didn’t really care; I just wanted to get paid.
The young girl, who was probably only a year or two younger than me, kept looking back at me and smiling. I smiled back, of course, but I was honestly a little weirded out. I thought she was going to follow me up the stairs when I was sent to put their bags away, and I was relieved when her mother grabbed her attention. It was my job to do a little pilfering, so it’s not like I could do that with an audience.
I had my messengers bag with me, a gift from Athenril when I first started working for her, and I filled it up with as much as it could hold. I went after the higher end items, which were explained to me as being anything gold or silver colored. I totally lucked out, and found a whole bunch of sovereigns and silvers, by accident, when I almost knocked over a vase and heard the bits jangling around inside. Then, I had a slight conundrum. Wallis would probably shake me down once we left, to make sure I wasn’t sneaking anything, and that left me wondering after the most secure hiding spot on my body that wasn’t totally predictable. I ended up sliding a few sovereigns into one of the rips on my coat. The tear on my left sleeve was superficial; since my coat was a proper winter one from my world, the tear didn’t go all the way through so it created an impromptu pocket instead. I was able to slide the coins down the rip, and they fell all the way to my cuff; neatly encased by the inside lining of my jacket and the outside. The jacket was puffy enough to hide to indents of the coins as well. So long as Wallis didn’t literally shake me down, I’d be fine.
~
Turned out to be a good plan. Wallis took great joy in roughing me up a bit as he checked me for illegal profits; he even boxed my ears, saying he had to make sure I didn’t use them as a hiding place. I wondered, while I took his abuse with stoic indifference, if Athenril would mind his blatant elf-racism. I mentioned it to him, but all he did was kick my feet out from under me; making me land in a heap on the dirty cement of some back alley of Hightown.
My fear surged, and I cursed my stupidity, but Wallis didn’t attack me while I was down. He laughed, cruelly, and told me Athenril would send payment in a week or two. That almost took my fear away, as anger took over, but I still had enough common sense not to yell obscenities as the man left me lying in the alleyway.
It was good I stole some coins, I needed to pay rent. And buy food.
~
Anders sighed when he next saw me. I knew it was because of the new black eye I was sporting, but I tried vainly to ignore it and pretend all was normal.
He didn’t say anything until I finished cleaning a particularly stubborn stain out of one of the pillows meant for the cots. He handed over an apple, which I gratefully began savoring, before he actually mentioned the eye.
“Will I ever see you free of injuries?” he asked, crossing his arms and giving me his best disappointed doctor stare. I took a large bite of apple to avoid saying anything immediately.
“Can’t it be enough that you’re seein’ me?” I replied, batting my eyes at him. “Can’t you just be happy with my general presence? Maybe bask in it?”
Anders groaned, and turned away from me. He headed over to his desk, to do god knows what. I wasn’t interested; with him off my back, I could finally enjoy my apple in peace.
“You know, Fitz,” he called, leaning over a piece of paper and writing intently on the thing. “You remind me of a dear friend of mine. It’s uncanny sometimes.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m a hundred percent original so your friend can suck it,” I called back, laughing at the sigh Anders let out.
“There’s a reason people want to hit you,” he responded, deadpan. “And it’s that mouth of yours.”
“Pshh. That’s not what your mother said last night,” I said, guffawing as he turned to send me an aghast look.
“I am pretty sure you are not old enough to understand jokes like that,” he said, mockingly. “Tell me, Fitz, did you hear someone say that in the Docks or at the Hanged Man? Oh, wait…”
I scowled as the man started laughing at me. I had told him, indignantly, about how the bartender had thrown me out a while ago. The guy had told me he let in quite enough ingrates without adding twelve year olds to the mix, and I was super offended. Of course, now I regretted telling Anders this since the man found it all extremely amusing. He liked acting like I was a kid, probably since I refused to tell him my real age.
"I'm gonna chuck this at your head," I retorted, holding my apple core up. Anders rolled his eyes, turning back to whatever he was writing.
"Yeah, that's right," I muttered to myself, sitting down on the cot nearest me and reclining. "Surrender, asshole."
~
Anyway, Anders’ clinic was basically a refuge of mine back then. Every time I showed up, the guy usually ended up finding some kind of food to shove at me, and no matter what, it was always a safe space. I ran from many thugs and the like back then, on my own time as well as when I was on the clock for Athenril, and since most of that shit went down in Darktown, it made sense that Anders’ clinic was my go-to.
So really, it makes perfect sense that I would first meet Hawke there, some months after becoming sort-of friends with Anders. It’s kind of funny, when I look back on it, just because it gets me thinking about how ill prepared I was for Hawke, and for the way he just barged into my life. It makes me ache, to think about it. I don’t believe in any gods, but sometimes I can’t help but think that there’s no way I was lucky enough to just happen to run into that guy. And, sometimes, I send a quiet thanks out into the air. You know, just in case.