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Climbing up rocks and too-narrow paths all day to look for a flower with a questionably lewd name was not what Hawke expected to be doing today. Still, here he was, scaling cliffs on the Wounded Coast in search of a flower Solivitus had called “harlot's blush”.
“What does this thing look like again?” He asked the others, eyeing a patch of scrub critically.
“That potion maker said it was blue, with flat petals and thin leaves. Not a very accurate name, if you ask me.” Isabela remarked.
“You would know, wouldn't you?” Fenris commented dryly.
Hawke snorted, distracted from his search by the banter behind him. Somewhere to his right, he heard Anders do the same.
“I've seen plenty of harlots blush, but they're usually red,” the rogue replied suggestively. Hawke could picture Isabela raising her eyebrows and the broody elf rolling his eyes, without even turning around.
“I don't think it's here, then,” Hawke said wearily. “Onto the next cliff, I suppose.”
The team carefully retracted their steps, keeping an eye out for trouble.
“Watch out for traps,” Isabela warned. “I'm pretty sure I got them all, but-”
“Agh!” Hawke yelped as a bear trap snapped shut around his leg. “Damnit!” He pulled on his leg a couple of times before deciding that was, in fact, not a good idea at all. “How did we miss this one on the way up?”
Isabela shrugged and sauntered over, crouching down so she could work the pin out and force it open. “Honest mistake. Sorry, Hawke.”
The mage winced, then sighed in relief as the metal teeth released his leg. “It's alright- I'm just glad it wasn't one of you who stepped on it.” He limped over to sit on a rock and pulled up his trousers to assess the damage. It didn't look too bad, but he was going to be sore walking on it for the rest of the day. And need his trousers mended.
As Hawke called forth his spirit magic and made to start healing his leg, Anders spoke up. “Wait. That trap's been here for Maker knows how long. You're likely to get an infection if you don't clean the wounds first.”
“Ah, right. Thanks.” Hawke pulled the waterskin off of his belt and poured a little water over his leg, gritting his teeth as it stung. Cleaning taken care of, he began to cast a healing spell, concentrating as hard as he could. If he lost focus, as he often tended to, the spell wouldn't work.
“What… in the world is happening to your hair?” Fenris asked suddenly.
“My… hair?” The mage stopped and looked up at his companions with confusion, focus lost.
“It's all… shimmery,” Isabela clarified, voice full of wonder, “and… glowy.”
“Oh!” Hawke laughed, understanding. “Yeah, it… does that sometimes, when I cast spells. Not frequently, just- sometimes.”
“That's a neat trick,” Isabela said. “If you worked at the Blooming Rose, you'd be quite popular.”
Hawke laughed nervously. “I don't think anyone outside of my family has seen it before. I always just thought it was a weird magic thing that I didn't understand, but…” There were… a lot of things about magic that Hawke didn't fully understand. Sometimes he wondered if any mage actually did.
“I've certainly never seen it happen to another mage,” Anders commented. “I wonder what causes it.”
“No idea,” Hawke shrugged and went back to healing himself. Sure enough, this time, his hair did not glow. “If you think that's weird, though, get a load of this,” he added as he tugged the leg of his trousers back down over the healed skin. “I can feel my hair, too. Like- as if there were nerves in it. Explain that one.”
“What? How is that even possible?” Fenris asked in disbelief.
Hawke shook his head as he stood, gingerly putting some weight on his mended leg. “I don't know. It started when I used my magic for the first time, and it's been like that ever since. I've never been in a Circle, and my father hadn't heard of it ever happening to anyone else during his time there, so there wasn't really any way to find out more.” The way the warrior's eyes darkened at the mention of magic didn't slip past him, and Hawke wondered if he'd always be this prickly. It might make being friends a little difficult, all things considered, and he would like to be friends with the people he spent all of his time running around with.
“So, if you can feel your hair,” Isabela probed as they set off back down the path, “does that mean touching it turns you on?”
Hawke sputtered, turning red. “U-uh, not… not exactly. It's more of an inconvenience than anything. Like if my brush gets snagged in it, or if it's pulled, or even just grabbed roughly, it hurts. I generally just… don't let anyone touch it. I-I guess, in theory, maybe it would, but uh-”
Isabela laughed, seemingly amused by Hawke's embarrassment. “If you ever want to find out sometime, let me know.”
“W-well, even if I did want to know,” the mage replied, “I've never been interested in girls.”
“Oh, it doesn't have to be with me, sweetheart,” the rogue smiled teasingly, “I can recommend a few men at the Rose who would take excellent care of you.”
Hawke turned away, certain his face was redder than beetroot by now. He chose to abandon this conversation entirely and jog a little further ahead- sore leg be damned. Isabela laughed good-naturedly.
“Isabela, I think you're torturing him,” Anders admonished, though he was also smiling in amusement.
“I've just never seen him flustered! It's adorable.”
Hawke caught up with Fenris, who had been taking point for the moment. The mage was still limping a little, but managed to keep pace.
“Why do you keep your hair long?” The elf asked, without looking at him. “If you can really feel it like you can your flesh, it could be a liability. An enemy could grab it and paralyze you, leaving you vulnerable.”
“I didn't tell anyone right away, after I figured it out- I didn't need any more reasons for people to think me strange. I regretted not saying anything the next time my mother tried to cut my hair, as she'd always done.” Hawke sighed. “I screamed bloody murder. It hurts, like open wounds on raw skin. I don't just keep it long for vanity's sake.” He did like the way it looked long, but that wasn't the point of the question. “I can sometimes cut it myself, a little bit, but it's still unpleasant.”
“Then you'd best attack our foes at a distance,” Fenris said, watching the mage out of the corner of his eye. “Eventually, someone will find and exploit this weakness. Do not give them the opportunity to do so.”
Hawke reached around and gingerly grabbed a lock of chestnut hair from where he wore it loose, examining it thoughtfully. He really hadn't considered it a weakness before. It was just… a thing he'd learned to live with. His brother had pulled his hair when they were children a few times, but once he understood that it really was very painful, he'd stopped. The thought made the mage's heart ache; he hadn't seen Carver in years since he'd joined the Grey Wardens, and barely heard from him at all. He never thought he'd actually miss that. “Good point. I'll make sure to be careful.”
The group was quiet for a while as they made their way through the winding paths along the coast. The breeze coming off of the sea was a little chilly, carrying with it the essence of salt and sand. Looking up to watch the gulls soar and squawk in the overcast sky above them, between the weather and the headache creeping up on him as the air changed, Hawke could guess that it would rain soon.
“We might want to find somewhere to take shelter for a while,” Hawke spoke up, loud so the whole group could hear them, “unless we want to be trudging through rain and mud.”
“I was just going to say,” Isabela remarked, “I can tell a storm’s coming well before it happens- it's kind of essential, if you spend most of your time at sea.” Granted, she wasn't spending any time at sea with the Siren's Call wrecked on the black cliffs around Kirkwall, but still.
“There are plenty of caves around here that should provide adequate cover,” Fenris said, “although I do not have a problem with traveling in the rain.”
“I believe I recall seeing one just at the base of the next hill up ahead the last time we were here,” Anders added helpfully. “Although, we will want to check for any… occupants, before we settle there.”
“Good point.” Hawke agreed, “an angry animal would not be ideal company to wait out a storm with.”
Sure enough, there was indeed a cave at the base of the next hill. Unfortunately, there was also a pack of raiders waiting for them, weapons drawn.
“Your money or your lives!” Their leader shouted, waving his sword.
“Hey,” Isabela replied angrily, “I don't obey those demands. I make them.” The rogue then charged at him, becoming a flurry of slashing dual blades.
The rest of the team sprang into action. Fenris went for the largest in the group- a tall, broad man wielding a battleaxe. Hawke and Anders stayed back, each launching bolts of magic and casting spells at a distance.
An enemy rogue ran at Hawke suddenly, then vanished before his eyes. The mage paused his attack on the other raiders, head whipping side to side in an attempt to find the disappearing woman. He didn't see her until she reappeared behind him and drove her daggers into his back.
Hawke keeled over, gasping in pain. She must've hit something important, because he felt his pulse slow, and his limbs grow cold as he fell to the ground. Panic struck the mage, his vision starting to black out. Oh Maker, no, is this how I die?! Looking for a damned flower?!
“No! Don't you dare!” Anders shouted, sprinting towards him and driving the bladed end of his staff through the rogue's chest. He flung her limp body aside and dropped to his knees beside Hawke, immediately casting a revival spell. “Don't you die on me now, Hawke,” he pleaded. “I- we need you.”
Hawke's vision started to return as the spell brought him back from the edge of death. He gasped, desperate to fill his lungs with air.
“Oh thank the Maker,” Anders breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought we'd lost you.” Without thinking, he gently smoothed a hand over the younger mage's head, completely forgetting what he'd said earlier about his hair. Hawke made a noise and he pulled his hand away. “Sorry! I didn't hurt you, did I?”
“N-no, you didn't. It's okay,” Hawke replied hoarsely around the dryness in his throat.
Fenris and Isabela jogged over to them, covered in blood and tense with alarm. “He's alive,” the former Warden announced, and they both seemed to relax a little, “but we really do have to stop here now. He needs to rest.”
“So do I,” Isabela agreed, wiping the blood from her forehead.
Anders carefully gathered their injured leader in his arms. He'd expected Hawke to protest, and the lack of any comment filled him with worry.
Hawke groaned as he was set down on the cold stone floor of the cave. “It feels like my guts all spilled out.”
“They almost did.” Fenris said grimly from where he sat on a rock, cleaning his greatsword.
“At least Anders got her back for it!” Isabela chimed in. “That was a nice takedown. Excellent form.”
The healer continued to fuss over Hawke, seemingly uninterested in her praise. “Hand me your bedroll and I'll lay it out. You can't be moving around.”
The younger mage slid the pack off his shoulders and brought it around, unfastening the roll from where it was strapped on. He handed it over wordlessly, too exhausted now for banter. Once it was laid out, Anders warmed it with his magic, carefully picked him up, and set him down upon it. Hawke closed his eyes and sighed in relief as the gentle heat soothed his aching muscles.
“It's freezing in here,” Isabela remarked. “Can't we build a fire?”
“The smoke would suffocate us,” Fenris responded.
“He's right,” Anders affirmed. “I can cast a spell that will keep your bedroll warm, if you want.”
“Yes please.”
Hawke watched, bleary-eyed, as Anders made his way over to where she'd set herself up. A flash of golden light shot from his hand and onto the roll, settling into the material and leaving it with a slight shimmer.
“Lovely. Is there anything magic can't do?” Isabela commented as she sat on the now-warm roll.
Here it comes, Hawke thought, turning his gaze to their resident magic-hating elf.
“You should concern yourself more with the harm it can do,” Fenris growled.
Hawke sighed.
“I know you hate magic,” Anders began carefully, “but it really isn't safe to sleep in the cold. Do you want me to warm yours too, or would you rather freeze?”
The room fell silent, Hawke and Isabela both waiting for the two to start getting into it again. He wished they would sit down and talk openly with each other, just once, but they were often both far too headstrong to understand one another. Maybe someday.
“Fine.” The warrior said tersely.
The ex-Warden looked shocked for a moment, before using the same spell on Fenris’ bedroll. “You'll thank me when you don't wake up sick.”
After the party shared a meal of dried meat, bread, and cheese, Fenris and Isabela settled down to sleep for the night.
“Hawke,” Anders said quietly, kneeling beside him. “Let me see those wounds. The revival spell doesn't always fully heal a person.”
The younger mage stiffened, but didn't put up a fight, too tired and sore. He sat up, turned around, and allowed the healer to remove his shirt, lifting his arms when asked to do so.
“I have to touch your hair to move it, is that alright?” Anders asked.
“That's fine,” Hawke confirmed. “As long as you're careful, touching it doesn't hurt me. It's just that most people aren't careful.”
“I will be very careful,” the healer assured, gently sweeping the loose hair away to sit on Hawke's shoulders.
Hands probed and pressed into his back, searching for internal damage. Hawke knew the punctures had to be quite deep, for the raider to have nearly killed him. He winced as he felt pressure on a particularly sore spot.
Anders murmured an apology and continued.
“The wounds are still open, but you aren't bleeding. I'm going to clean them first, and then I'll close them. The magic will take care of anything internal that's still damaged.”
Hawke nodded, appreciative of the walkthrough. It made him feel more comfortable, knowing what the healer was doing.
He grimaced and made a noise of discomfort as a damp cloth wiped at his wounds, but managed to stay still. I'm getting better at this.
His breathing evened out as he felt the restorative power of spirit magic sinking into his flesh. “You…” Hawke said hazily. “You have got to teach me this sometime.”
“I thought you were a spirit healer?” Anders questioned.
“I am, but only because I had a natural aptitude for it,” the younger mage explained. “My father was a force mage, so he could only teach me the theory he'd learned in the Circle before he got out. He didn't know what it was like in practice, so it's mostly been a lot of just… fucking around and finding out, for me.”
“Ah. I had wondered- your spell casting isn't very refined, when you use spirit healing. It is a more… advanced specialization- difficult to learn on your own. I have never met another apostate who practices it.”
“Sometimes, I wished I'd leaned more towards force magic,” Hawke admitted. “It was frustrating, knowing this power was inside of me, and not knowing how to properly channel it. But my father was an encouraging and dedicated teacher, and he did the best he could.”
“You are lucky to have had the opportunity to learn outside of a Circle, however limited your father's ability to teach you may have been.” There was something sad- almost regretful in his voice, and Hawke wondered what Anders’ family had been like. They must not have been very kind, if they'd given up their child to the Templars.
“I wish every mage had the same,” Hawke said sadly. “No one deserves to go through what happens in the Circles.”
“We can make that a reality.” Anders replied, with such certainty that Hawke truly believed it.
“I would still be happy to assist, if you do want to learn more thoroughly how to use it," the healer offered. "It is a rare gift, to possess a natural talent for it."
"Shit, right, you did say you'd be willing to teach me more about healing. And I just never took you up on it." Hawke shook his head. "I'm sorry. It's... been a lot, ever since we came back. I've only recently had the chance to feel like I'm settled into the estate. I didn't mean to forget."
Anders smiled with mild amusement. "It's quite alright, Hawke. I understand. I've been plenty busy with the clinic, and whatever adventures you bring me along for. The offer is on the table, for whenever you'd like to start."
"Thank you, Anders. I really do appreciate it." The younger mage replied, a warm feeling settling in his chest.
“All done," Anders announced, standing up. "You can put your shirt back on, and then you need to get some sleep.”
Hawke pulled his shirt back on and laid down, but didn't yet close his eyes. Instead, he watched the older mage stand and look over the room, and noted that only once he knew everyone was fine, did Anders set out his own bedroll, cast the warming spell, and lie down.
The sound of driving rain and the rumble of thunder eventually pulled Hawke into a rare, dreamless sleep.
—
The sun shining into the cavern woke them up the next morning. Judging by the muddy path outside and the fat raindrops still dripping from the mouth of the cave, it must have rained all night.
“That might have been the nicest sleep on rocks I've ever had,” Isabela yawned. “That warming trick really did its job.”
Hawke was inclined to agree, until he sat up, stretched his arms above his head, and felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. “Ugh,” the mage groaned, quickly lowering his arms. “I think I slept wrong." He reached over with his opposite hand to knead at his shoulder, wincing at the pain. Why do I feel like I'm always hurt in some way?
“I'm starting to think you might be cursed,” Anders said with mild amusement. “I've never met anyone who gets hurt as often as you do.”
Hawke protested as he rolled his shoulder a few times. “Surely that can't be true.” He grinned at the older mage and added, “hey- at least I'm not bleeding this time.”
Hawke laughed at the eye-roll that earned him, sat upright, and rummaged through his bag for a moment, procuring a brush. He'd have to get the tangles out of his sleep-mussed hair right now, or they'd just end up worse.
Reaching around was a problem with his shoulder sore, he quickly realized. He gritted his teeth and pulled the brush through as carefully as he could manage while trying to do it quickly, so he could stop using his sore shoulder.
“Would you like some help with that?” Anders asked as he finished packing up his own belongings.
“Oh, uh-” Hawke stuttered anxiously, “i-it's okay. I've got it. Just gotta-” he winced as he pulled just a little bit too hard, and threw down the brush in frustration. “Okay, fine. J-just be careful, please.”
“I will,” the healer assured him as he bent to pick up the brush. Hawke tensed when Anders sat behind him. Before he did anything else, he soothed the aching in the younger man's shoulder with a bit of ice magic. “Your shoulder will be fine in a little while, but this should help it feel better.”
“Oh- thank you.”
True to his word, Anders was very gentle. Hawke felt himself relax a little as he worked, starting at the bottom where the tangles were worst. “It's quite dry at the ends,” he commented as he picked at a particularly stubborn knot.
“I know,” Hawke frowned. “I've been meaning to cut it. It's just- it hurts. It's not so bad if I just do a little, but it's still not pleasant, so I always put it off, and then it gets worse.” He hastily added, “and I can't trust anyone else to do it, because they won't necessarily know that it hurts if they aren't careful, and then that's a whole mess.”
“I could help you, if you want. When we get back.” Anders offered.
“You- you would do that?”
“I would not have offered to if I wouldn't,” the healer responded dryly.
“I… might take you up on that,” Hawke said thoughtfully. He didn't often have people offer to take care of him. Usually, he did the caring for others, and for himself.
He soon found the gentle stroking of the brush almost began soothing him back to sleep, once the tangles were smoothed out. The lids of his eyes grew heavy and his breathing slowed.
Instead of his usual half-bun, the other mage wove Hawke's dark brown hair into a braid. “To keep it from undoing all of my hard work,” Anders explained when Hawke asked.
“Thank you, Anders,” he said warmly, blinking away the vestiges of sleep.
“You're welcome.” Anders gave him a smile as he picked up his backpack.
“Are we ready to leave?” Fenris asked, standing at the mouth of the cave.
“Yeah, we're good. Let's go find that lewd flower.” Hawke grinned and jogged forward into the morning sunlight.
“Hey,” Isabela called, “wait a minute. Look at this, Hawke.”
The mage turned back towards the cave entrance, where Isabela was peering down at something. Fenris and Anders quickly joined them.
“Is that…?” Fenris started.
“I think it is. Harlot's blush!” Hawke laughed, crouching down to harvest the plant. “Right outside the cave where we spent the night. What are the odds?”
Anders shook his head. “Well, we can scratch that one off the list. Now we just need to figure out what a Varterral is.”