Definitely alive, unless he'd been slated for eternal torture. Surely he hadn't been that bad. Mischievous maybe... Playful... A trickster, not a villain... He hoped that the Powers That Be saw it his way. There were times when he and the rest might have gone a little too far. A needle of conscience gave him a good, hard jab.
"But I was punished!" He called out to the blue sky overhead. "I suffered for years for things I hadn't done! That should count for a lot... or something..."
He thought with regret about his friends... his godson... the fight he had just experienced. Was there a way back? What sort of afterlife was this? It seemed entirely physical to him. When he went through Tethen, he had accepted that it was death, but his current situation seemly fairly lively to him. Was this a hallucination as his body shut down?
He hauled himself up on his elbows. It could be worse. The water was pleasantly warm and the sun was not too hot. Where was he? Spain? As hallucinations went, it was a fairly benign one. Good weather for sea-bathing, too.
In his robes. They were a tattered mess and could use some cleaning. Scourgify never quite did it. First a fire, and then a naked lounge on the beach. He'd use a Notice-Me-Not spell, in case the locals were prudes.
Not ten feet away, a straight stick of wood bobbed on the waves. He made a splashing leap, and seized on it with a triumphant yell.
"Ha! The world is mine!"
The shore was riddled with caves. He shuddered, not looking forward to a return to cave-camping. First things first. He dried his robes and boots. He needed food. Driftwood was there for the taking, and would make a good fire. He had some tricks that were just the thing for catching fish... or crabs.
Within half an hour, shelled and scaled by magic, his meal was roasting merrily; and he had found a spring, flowing from a lower cave into the sea. Ignoring a nearby skeleton, he slaked his thirst, and went back to see to his dinner. The crab was sweet and succulent; the fish a little bony but tasty and filling. It was time to find out just where he had fetched up.
A scrambling climb. and he found a path higher up. From the footprints, it was in common use. He kept his eyes, ears, and nose open.
When he heard the voices and recognized the language, he was relieved and then wary. He disillusioned himself and discreetly stood aside, then gaped when he saw their clothing. Wherever he was, it was not any place he knew or could have expected. Nor was it anywhere in the past. Nobody had ever worn anything like that. Nor had he ever heard of beings like the ones accompanying the humans.
"It seems I'm not in England anymore..."
He followed them for some time, unnoticed and undetected, sorting them out. They seemed a decent lot: a curious mix of muggle and magic. Hawke, the leader of the party was a witch—a strong one—and there was a wizard Healer with her. They were accompanying a whinging kid in ridiculously grand velvet togs whom they had apparently just rescued from deadly danger. The big young man with the big sword was the witch's brother, and seemed to be a squib with enough magic in him to use magical artifacts and resist other peoples' spells. The two other members of the party were a complete puzzlement, and more than anything else, forced him to accept that this was not his world. It hurt, but if he was here, he was here for a reason. He had to learn all he could, as quickly as he could.
The taller of the two was called an "elf" by the others, but was like no elf from his own world. Instead, he was an extremely slender and muscular man of medium height with pointed ears and delicate features. The large green eyes were not human eyes. He was marked with a glowing substance in elaborate patterns that clearly created a magical nexus, though the man was not a wizard himself. He could only be categorized as a magical creature.
The shorter claimed to be a "dwarf." He was a strange sort of dwarf, indeed; carrying a spring-loaded weapon, and wearing a leather duster of admirable swagger.
I want one. These robes are pretty much beyond repair. I'll have to ask him the name of his tailor. He seems like a decent bloke.
* * *
The strangers walked and talked for a long time. The wizard watched, liArvided, and learned. The big young man —Carver— had a giant case of sibling rivalry, and reminded him unpleasantly of his own younger brother. He even looked a bit like him, with the black hair and grey eyes. Probably jealous of his sister's talent. Anders, the Healer, was a gifted wizard, but something was wrong with him. The dwarf was a witty, cheerful sort, and Fenris the elf had serious issues with magic. The witch named Hawke, however, was practically perfect. Maybe it was the looks. They certainly didn't hurt. She was doing her best to keep the party together, though only the dwarf seemed like a real friend to her. She had the air of someone who had liArvided to the same arguments too many times, but was still trying to get the job done. Was she something like an Auror?
He followed them, still under the disillusionment charm, and was only once tempted to reveal himself: when they were attacked a gang of thugs. That would only have created confusion, so he contented himself with standing in back, directing some subtle but thoroughly nasty hexes at the opposition. His unknown new friends probably did not need the help. The witch used magic like a sledgehammer, freezing, frying, and smashing her attackers. That rather shocked him, since the attacks were lethal. There was no attempt to simply disable or capture the opposition. She carried a big staff rather than a wand, which seemed a mistake. She was forced to be very careful, since the staff did not allow her to aim with any degree of precision.
Why does she use it? For that matter, why does the Healer use his? And what kind of name is "Hawke" for a beautiful woman?
Of course, based on the technology, this was obviously a quasi-medieval society, and magic had not progressed as far as it had in his own world. When they stopped to eat, the witch lit a fire magically with great ease, but all the cooking was done the muggle way. He was not much of a cook himself, but even he could teach them a thing or two.
Maybe he should. Maybe he really should. The idea occurred to him, but he dismissed it, until he knew more about where he was.
At length they reached a city: Kirkwall, a crumbling, medieval mess that smelled worse than poo. He could tell from her body language that the witch was on her guard. She was using her staff like a walking stick.
Varric, the dwarf, whispered, "Templars," and she and the wizard made themselves look elaborately casual.
The Templars were heavily armed and armored warriors. Maybe they were the Aurors? They had an air of magic about them certainly. They wore bucket helmets that concealed their faces. It did not take much observing to see that the witch and the wizard disliked them.
But they walked on. There were other armed folk, men and women both, who turned out to be the official City Guard. They did not seem to be magical at all. No: muggles, the lot of them. Some of them knew Hawke and her comrades and greeted them in a friendly way. She was not one of them, but apparently had helped some of them out at one time or another. They moved on, through rows of poor houses, past an interesting market, and up toward the high-end part of town, all the way to the "Keep," the home of Saemus, the whinging little shit in velvet.
Ah, rebellious youth. No one understood him, apparently. They were shown into the Head Man's office. Viscount Dumar. That was a name to stow away for later. There was a tense reunion between the old man and his son, and Hawke was eventually paid off like some sort of mercenary.
Well, maybe she was a mercenary. Even beautiful witches had to make a living. She was out rescuing people, anyway, rather than holding them up. She paid everybody their fair share and then the party broke up to go home. Varric, the well-dressed dwarf, asked if they'd be at "The Hanged Man" later. It was apparently a pub. Things were looking up.
* * *
But first the admirable Hawke and Regulus —er, Carver— had to go home. This led to something of a shock. They left the high-toned residences of "High Town," and descended back into "Low Town," where they fetched up at the door of what appea
red to be a hovel.
No, it really was a hovel. A really pretty terrible hovel. The wizard slipped past them, taking quick note of the sweet-faced older woman who cried, "My darlings! You're home!" and even quicker note of the older man, smelling of stale drink, who sneered.
And only then noticed the dog.
Oops.
* * *
It charged him, baying, needing only its nose to warn it of an interloper. Some hasty spells later, the wizard was up on a storage ledge, looking down at the floor, where the big dog was furiously sniffing, trying to catch his scent.
"That's it!" the older man shouted. "I've had it with that monster! Pant-pant, bark-bark, and now roaring. The Templars will think we've got a demon here!"
"Maybe we do," snarked Carver, glaring at his sister.
"Gamlen! Carver! Please!" the older woman pleaded. "Dogs know more than we think they do! He must have scented a rat." She turned to Hawke. "Amaryllis, darling, do try to quiet Dane down. Then have some soup. You look so tired."
Amaryllis. Now that was a proper witch's name. Very pretty. On the other hand, it was only marginally less frou-frou than "Nymphadora." It would be hard to be taken seriously as a rough-tough magical mercenary with a name like "Amaryllis." Maybe she used "Hawke" for professional reasons.
The dog growled, still suspicious. Masking one's scent was not easy, but over time, the wizard had learned to do it. After a while, the dog settled down, and the family gathered around a gouged and decrepit table for their supper. It did not look or smell very inviting.
The woman was Amaryllis and Carver's mother, but the man was not their father. After time, the wizard heard him addressed as "Uncle Gamlen." The hovel was the uncle's, and he was not happy to have them there. The mother and uncle were eventually revealed to be muggles—or possibly squibs—like Brother Carver, who was still sniping away. Amaryllis should hex his face off, but she did not. Instead, she was talking about the money they had earned. A portion she gave to her uncle, who pocketed it without thanks.
"And take this, Mother, please," she urged. "The Viscount was very grateful that we brought his son home. He might be in a more receptive mood the next time you ask for an audience. If you're going to try to talk to him again about the estate, you need something better to wear."
"I'm not giving my coin away," grunted Carver.
"Nobody asked you to," Hawke shot back. "I just want Mother to have a decent gown." She added, "I'm going out later. Varric has some new plans."
"Oh, darling," the mother mourned, "you just got home! Surely you don't need to go to that low place all the time!"
"It's the best place to look for work," the witch replied. "I haven't saved that fifty sovereigns yet to get into the Deep Roads expedition."
The mother tried to pass back the handful of coins. "Then I can't take this..."
"Oh, Mother! Just buy yourself a new gown!" Hawke gritted her teeth, holding in her temper. "And a new blanket too. It's cold at night."
Gamlen was offended. "I'm sorry that my accommodations aren't up to your standards, milady. Maybe the Circle would be more to your taste—"
"Gamlen!" Hawke's mother clutched her daughter's hand. "He didn't mean it, darling. Not really. There's nothing wrong with you being a mage."
Hawke pushed herself away from the table. "I'm off, then."
THe mother looked strained. "Be careful, Amaryllis. There are Templars everywhere."
"I've noticed."
"I'll be along later," Carver shrugged, pulling his sister's bowl of soup over to finish it.
"Suit yourself. Come on, Dane. Let's take a walk."
The wizard followed her out the door, slipping through easily, careful not to alert the dog. A fine, big dog, too. The witch was obviously fond of dogs. It gave the wizard an interesting idea.
* * *
It was only a short walk to the Hanged Man, but the streets were already dark and menacing. Dane's warning growl was so low that Hawke only perceived it as a vibration. She turned, ready for an attack, and saw that they were being followed by a very large black dog. She watched the dog slink up, tail between its legs. It uttered a soft, pitiful whimper.
"Go on home, boy," she said kindly. "It's late."
The dog snuffled, and hung its massive head. It gave a few hopeful wags of its tail, and then whimpered again. It came forward, limping a little.
"Is your paw hurt? You really should go home."
The dog's demeanor became yet more pitiful, if that was possible. It limped closer, and wagged its tail again. Dane huffed in haughty displeasure, and trotted forward to inspect the stranger. The black dog wisely kept its head and tail down.
Hawke sighed. "I'm not sure I can afford to feed two dogs."
The dog's big eyes blinked up at her, full of hope and appeal.
"Oh, come on. They always have mystery-meat stew at the Hanged Man."
* * *
The big black dog enjoyed his bowl of stew, while liArviding to Hawke and her friends plan out another adventure. There was a generous bounty to be earned from tracking down a gang that had murdered a man's family. Varric, the dwarf, knew of the man who had offered it: a real prince, named Sebastian Vael, who was a brother in the "Chantry." Apparently the City Guard did not involve itself in manhunts for dangerous gangs. Perhaps its functions were purely decorative.
"Who's the stranger?" asked the wizard Anders. "Dane's found a friend?"
"A stray. He seems like a good dog, but I think he's got a lame foot. Maybe you could take a look?"
"Yes, I'd love to cast a healing spell right here in the Hanged Man, and bring the Templars down on scary, evil mages doing scary, evil magic."
The wizard considered Anders' words. Yes, this culture apparently had a real problem with witches and wizards. Even Hawke's own family seemed ashamed of her. That wasn't right. Why didn't they just pull a vanishing act, the way that witches and wizards had in his own world?
Hawke seemed to agree that getting caught doing magic could get her in trouble with these "Templars."
"All right. Varric, can we use your room?"
"Sure. Go on up."
Once upstairs, Hawke shut the door behind them. It was a large room with an alcove for a bed. Lots of intriguing books and knick-knacks were spread around. A big table dominated the space.
Anders grumbled, "I'm more a cat person. And I'm a Healer, not a kennel keeper!" He added, "And the dog isn't even limping anymore."
To their surprise, the black dog stretched, elongated, and in only a moment was a tall man, with dark hair and dark robes, holding a slender wand.
"You should see the looks on your faces." The wizard smirked. "First of all, I mean you no harm, but I had to find a way to talk privately to fellow mages. My name is Sirius Black."
* * *
After their first, understandable alarm, they were full of questions. Sirius hardly knew how to answer some of them. Their most immediate excitement was about his shape-shifting ability, and so he became Padfoot again, amusing them and thoroughly confusing Hawke's dog. He explained the basics of the animagus ability, and then asked them some questions about things he did not understand: about Templars and the hostility shown to magic.
He also could not exactly explain where he was from.
"I thought I was dead. I fell through a magical construct called 'Tethen.' It was once used as a means of execution. Instead, I fetched up here... wherever 'here' is."
So they pulled out a map. Explaining Thedas and the various nations took some time. Explaining the situation of "mages" versus "Templars" took even longer. There was the additional filip of "Tevinter," a nation ruled by mages, which sounded like Death Eater Land to Sirius. He gave it all some thought.
"Where I come from, there was trouble with the churches—sort of like your Chantry. There was even a text that says 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.' A few hundred years ago there was a lot of violence against witches— though most of
the lives lost were people who had no magic at all. By that time, we witches and wizards had learned to hide ourselves pretty well. At that point, the magical world decided to cut its ties to the muggles, and to go its own way. Nowadays, we've hidden so well that most muggles— er, non-magical people— don't even believe magic exists. Sure, magical children are born to non-magicals, but we contact the families, explain the situation, swear them to secrecy, and have the kids attend a magical school, like Hogwarts — where I went—"
Unsurprisingly, his two new friends completely went to pieces at the name "Hogwarts." The conversation was derailed for some time until they could stop laughing.
Anders pulled himself together. "I'd like to know if it's anything like the Circle. We learned about magic, yes; but we were guarded by Templars the whole time. If you couldn't pass your Harrowing, you'd either be executed on the spot or suffer the Rite of Tranquility."
Sirius asked for clarification, already horrified by the idea of summary execution for failing classes. Tranquilization was even worse — it sounded almost as bad as being fed to a Dementor. He told them about Hogwarts — a school for witches and wizards run by witches and wizards. Granted, his stories were a bit romanticized and full of glowing nostalgia for the happiest times of his life, but Hogwarts was infinitely better than anything this world had on offer.
"I can assure you that failing in your studies just got you a Troll on your O.W.L.s and a rotten job at worst. You had to pass in at least three subjects to be fully qualified and allowed to use a wand. And the wizarding world has a Ministry to enforce wizarding law and uphold the Statute of Secrecy. We have Aurors — witches and wizard guards to keep us safe and secret, and to keep idiots from using their powers to abuse muggles. A lot of witches and wizards live in plain sight, but with wards and such, their neighbors never notice their magic. Kids are sent to Hogwarts to meet other witches and wizards their age, to learn how to control their magic, study all sorts of subjects... and have fun."
Dragon's Era- No Man's Land Page 5
