"I was taught at home," Hawke said quietly. "My father was a mage. we had to move from place to place when people began asking too many questions. He was a Healer, too, and he couldn't bear not to help. A good part of the time, he was betrayed by people whose loved ones he had saved."
"Happens to me all the time," Anders shrugged, trying to be philosophical about it. "The bounty on apostate mages is just too tempting for poor people. Rather than just running away, we need to change people's minds. Mages should be able to live free."
Hawke sighed. Sirius was rather annoyed.
"Mages do live free where I come from. We've learned to accept that too many non- magicals won't accept us. They're either intimidated, or jealous, or they want us to solve all their problems with magic. You can't ram magic down unwilling muggles' throats. I've seen it time and again in the families of the muggleborn —" He grimaced thinking of Harry, trapped with those rotten Dursleys, and his heart hurt for the boy. Harry must think he was dead! Remus, too.
And so he was, as far as his old world was concerned. He really was dead to that world. For a moment, he felt dizzy and sick.
"Are you all right?" Hawke asked softly. "Were there people back at home?"
"Yes," Sirius answered, brusque with grief. "And I can't think of any way I'll ever see them again."
* * *
Chapter 2
He needed to keep busy. Here he was in this strange city, drinking really terrible ale, and only known to two people. Much as Hawke and Anders trusted their friends, they agreed that it was probably best to keep Sirius' secrets for now. He would be introduced as an apostate friend of Anders to the rest.
"You can stay with me in Dark Town," Anders offered. "Do you know anything about Healing?"
Actually, he did. He had fixed almost as many broken noses as he'd inflicted, and often had to treat his own injuries.
"I'm no expert, but I can help a bit."
He was far more taken with Hawke, but after seeing the hovel where she lived and the attitude of her uncle and brother, he knew it was no place for him. He changed back into Padfoot, and went downstairs and then, later, accompanied Anders to a viler slum than he had ever imaged.
In some ways, it was as ugly as Azkaban. Nothing forced people to stay here but their own poverty, but somehow that made it worse. And, of course, nobody came by with anything to eat.
"Why do they stay?" he asked. "Why do you stay?"
"Not as many Templars," Anders said shortly. "And the people who need me the most are here."
He told Sirius a bit about the Blight: a war of inhuman monsters that had spilled out onto the surface and caused a flood of penniless refugees. Mages had fought against the monsters, and had been rewarded by a return to their Circle and the prison key clicking in the lock once more. Sirius learned about the Mages' Collective in Ferelden: an illegal association of free mages that was in the process of being hunted down and slaughtered by the Templars. It all sounded fairly grim.
Anders then showed him to a cot half-hidden behind a ragged bit of canvas. Sirius eyed it dubiously, and then flicked his wand. The cot became a comfortable single bed and the threadbare coverings turned to shining silk. The canvas became a painted screen. Tranfiguration had always been his best subject. Anders' jaw dropped. Apparently, wizards here knew nothing about it at all. It was time for that to change.
* * *
He awakened from his first nightmare, and knew something was wrong. Was it just him, or was this world really and truly a pig's breakfast? Something else to ask his new friends.
"Haven't you experienced the Fade before?" Anders asked, genuinely puzzled. "Only dwarves don't visit the Fade in dreams."
There followed a long explanation of "the Fade," and its role in magic. Anders even believed that his magic stemmed from a particularly close connection from it. Sirius was unimpressed.
"Well, I have magic, and I know it's from my own magical core, not some demon dimension. So those are the creatures the Chantry people are really afraid of? Are possessions common?"
Mages, it seemed, sometimes panicked when threatened, and appealed to a demon for help, for demons were always waiting for the chance. So yes, here in Kirkwall especially, voluntary possessions were not uncommon. Individuals became grotesque monsters to be put down.
"Of course," Anders said, with a blush and a curious look on his face that indicated that he was rehearsing an old argument. "Not all Fade spirits are evil. Some are expressions of Courage, Honor, Love... even Justice. That's an entirely different sort of thing."
"If it's all the same to you," Sirius remarked caustically, "I think I won't invite any visitors in. Especially if I have to take their word for their being 'good.' I've been taken in before by people claiming to be my 'friend.' Never again."
Personally, he thought that mages, who could fight these creatures in a dream state, should wipe them out. He wasn't going to put up with any demons whispering in his ear, as they would soon find out.
* * *
"What's with this staff, anyway?" he asked Anders the next morning, before the patients started arriving. He tried it, and found his magic funneled out like a stream of treacle. Compared to his wand, it was using a rubber club instead of a stiletto. It was impossible to cast anything but broad area spells, which made it somewhat useful for fighting, and not of much use for anything else. Sirius, using his wand, then showed Anders some more subtle magic: cleaning bed linen and clothing; heating water; conjuring a cup of tea, casting a ward that would tell them that someone was outside the door.
Anders' face was a study in hunger. This was a whole world of magic he had never imagined. Magic was used for fighting—specifically killing—and healing in Thedas, and not much more. But this... magic to improve lives, to provide comfort, to amuse, to entertain: this was beyond belief.
"And there's a lot more where that came from," Sirius told him. "Do you know anybody in these poo-smelling town who does woodworking?"
* * *
The first wands were crude. Sirius knew very little of the art of wand-making, but what he knew was infinitely more than anyone else here in Thedas. As far as he could see, mages carried staffs in Tevinter to show off, and everywhere else to make it impossible for them to hide from the Chantry. The wands were crude, but they already worked better than any staff. Everyday, Sirius taught his new friends a spell, starting with all he could remember of the Hogwarts syllabus: mostly charms, but quite a bit of Transfiguration, too. And lots of Defense.
He had not fully understood, as a schoolboy, how very useful those little cantrips, hexes, and jinxes could be, though he used them often enough. His friends were thrilled. They did not have to protect themselves by shredding a Templar to bits of blood and steel. The bucketheads could be distracted, they could be thwarted, they could trip over their own feet. Eventually, Sirius would would move on to the wards and mind magics that would make his friends unfindable and eminently forgettable. The wands really did need to be better for that.
It was not hard to hire a carpenter to make up a stock of dowels in various woods, and then fpr Sirius to bisect them by magical means. There were various substances to experiment with: preserved dragon bits could be found for ready money, and other magical substances might be used for wand cores. There was a mineral unique to Thedas—Nacronite—that would do in a pinch.
The experiments were, unfortunately, limited by a lack of cold, hard gold. Sirius had his wand, yes, but nothing else. Hawke and Anders lived hand-to-mouth, and were too proud to beg their friend Varric for money. Besides, Hawke was desperately saving everything she could to get into a treasure-hunting expedition. There was nothing for it but to help her. Thus, Sirius became part of her little group of adventurers. He had never had so much fun in his life.
The rest of the band knew only he was a mage from the distant island called Britain. Carver and Fenris were suspicious of him, but that was their nature. Carver was also irritated by Sirius' manifest
interest in his sister.
"Stay away from her," the boy spat out. "All we need is more mages in the family."
Sirius smiled sweetly and concentrated on making friends with the family dog, and being charming to the mother. He could bide his time. The fair Amaryllis didn't need more conflict in her life just now. There was work to be done. Once introduced to another friend of theirs, Captain Isabela, Sirius was careful to keep his flirting to the polite minimum. Isabela was a handsome creature, but Sirius had made his choice. If he had to live in this strange new world, he was not going to screw up this time.
Hunting down a pack of mercs called the "Flint Company," was only too easy. They were murderous thugs, and good at being thugs, but no match for Hawke and her friends. Certainly no match for a Marauder. Since they were indeed, murderous thugs, putting them down caused Sirius no qualms of conscience.
"Why doesn't this merry band have a name?" he wondered, munching a meat pie from his pack, as they made their way back to the city. "My chums at school and I called ourselves the 'Marauders.' We could be the 'Marauders of the Wounded Coast."
"No good," replied Varric, shooting him down. "There's already a gang that calls itself 'Evert's Marauders,' and believe me, you don't want to be confused with them. Definitely the bad guys."
Sirius was briefly crushed, and then rebounded. "Well, what about "The Hawke Company? It sounds good." Even Carver nodded thoughtfully at that.
"Because we don't get paid?" Anders suggested. "Professional mercenaries are paid."
"We are too paid," Sirius pointed out. "Everyone got a cut of the Flint loot. I got five gold sovereigns and a little handaxe to hit things with. You yourself—"
"All right! All right!"
"And there's that merchant who wants us sort out his mine. That should be good for a copper or two—"
Varric was not sold on the idea of naming a group of friends. "A company sounds too business-like," he objected. "I think a lone heroine, beset on all sides, with only a few loyal comrades, makes for a better story."
Sirius snorted. "Life doesn't have to imitate art down to the last detail. You can write your stories about your imaginary Hawke, while the real Hawke can be a beset, business-like heroine and captain of our merry band."
"Why should she be captain?" Carver protested.
"Because everybody likes her best," Sirius kindly explained.
* * *
The mine adventure was a brilliant success. Hawke ended up with a paying part-interest that would soon bring in enough to get her into that expedition. She described what she knew of the Deep Roads to Sirius, who thought it sounded fairly awful.
However, their mine adventure had made it possible to make really first-class wands. They'd killed a dragon and some of its young in the cave they had cleared. Not a particularly big dragon, but big enough to supply them with fresh dragon heart-strings. Within a day, Amaryllis Hawke had waved a dragonthorn wand and gasped at the red and gold sparks that danced up to the sky. Sirius smirked. He'd had her pegged for a Gryffindor from the first.
They found some griffon feathers on some old armor, too. Anders guessed that a Grey Warden had met a grim fate there, long ago. Sirius thought the Grey Wardens sounded like a decent idea, and thought it a pity that Anders hadn't stayed with them. Perhaps magic thought so, too. A single griffon feather in a whitewood wand worked well for him. Hawke and Anders began learning spells with dazzling speed.
There was an elf mage they knew in town, and Hawke wanted to bring her into their group. Anders disliked the idea, because the elf practiced "Blood Magic," which was apparently something quite dreadful here in Thedas. Sirius could see that it was potentially Dark Magic, but much depended on intent. Merrill seemed like a nice little girl to him. He certainly saw no harm in her learning wards and Notice-Me-Not spells. Right now she was protected mostly by Varric's bribes.
As he pointed out to Anders, "If she can protect herself by misdirection, she won't need take drastic measures. No more will the mages who now turn to demons. We can give them other options."
"Misdirection," pondered Hawke. "I like that idea. Some of the Templars and priests really aren't bad people. They're afraid, and they only know what they've been taught."
"They'd kill you in a heartbeat," Anders scoffed.
* * *
"But mages deserve justice!" Anders ranted, waving his hands like a bad orator. It was another deranged night afterhours at the Dark Town Free Clinic. Sirius rolled his eyes. Anders was on his favorite topic: the wrongs of mages. Sirius had seen for himself that muggles were making things hard on witches and wizards here in Kirkwall, but it sounded to him like Anders wasn't looking for justice as much as revenge.
They were not getting on particularly well. Anders had told him frankly that he had warned Amaryllis away, as he was too devoted to the Cause of Mage Freedom to have time for a mere personal relationship. That said, he was jealous of her, and jealous of Sirius' obvious courtship.
Still, the clinic was looking a lot better nowadays. Sirius had never been particularly interested in this sort of charm work, but he knew the basics and was a powerful wizard. The transfigurations he had made were even easier for him. He had enlarged the living space, created some partitions, improved the furniture, and repaired the crumbling walls. Anders knew how to conjure water now, and how to keep it hot without scalding his patients. It was important to be discreet: Hawke had not felt it was wise to do much to improve her uncle's awful hovel.
"I agree," Sirius drawled in response to Anders' rabble rousing, "that witches and wizards deserve to live free. If you go about demanding apologies, Anders, you're going to be disappointed. The real problem as I see it, being an objective outsider, is that muggles are afraid of magic. Furthermore, if you're planning some sort of violent protest, it's not going to make them less afraid. In fact," he added, pursuing his thoughts, "they're right to be afraid. We can do things to them that they can't do to us. And from what you tell me, there's a whole country out there that specializes in keeping the muggles down. I've gone out with you lot. I've seen rogue mages torturing, killing, and trying to enslave people. Not the way to make friends, old fellow. You have to admit it to yourself: muggles and magic don't mix well."
"Magic is a vital part of this world!"
"'Course it is. So are dragons and little bunny-rabbits. That doesn't mean that they can live together in peace."
"You think we should go hide on some island. Thedas needs us. What about the Blights?"
"Well, when there's a Blight—which should be some time in the next two hundred to four hundred years— mages might well have built up a culture strong enough to deal with it without even having to worry the muggles. We don't have to go away. All we have to do is be sensible, and learn to coexist without being seen."
"The Templars can track any mage they've had their hands on."
"Right. The phylacteries you told me about. Maybe we should start with them."
Anders paused in his rant, thought about it, and smiled a little in spite of himself. "You mean...destroy them? I thought you were against violence."
"Anders, my lad, I am willing to bet what little I have, including my little handaxe, that we can get in and render the phylacteries useless without anybody even knowing we were there."
"You're serious."
"That's me."
* * *
But before they could move on that scheme, there was the expedition to the Deep Roads. Sirius helped the fair Amaryllis— he always thought of her as Amaryllis now—find decent second-hand gear at the Low Town market. Once bought, the gear would be magically modified and improved back at the privacy of the clinic. Sirius found the whole prospect rather intriguing, and had agreed to be one of the party. Varric told him enough to make it clear that it was going to be dangerous. Sirius, reading between the lines, guessed it would be even more dangerous than Varric admitted. He had always been a reckless idiot himself, but he hated the thought of Am
aryllis exposing herself to horrible danger so her family could live in luxury.
"The mine is starting to pay," he pointed out. "In time, you'll likely have a decent income. If you'd just use spells to improve your living space, things would be a lot better at home. You can't conjure food out of nothing, but you could renovate the entire house... add some rooms... transfigure the furniture."
"They'd never accept it," Amaryllis said, shaking her head. "If I had a place of my own, it would be different. I've got to put together enough coin to buy back the Amell manor. Mother has her heart set on it."
Sirius found it impossible to look convinced. Exasperated, Hawke's voice rose.
"I have to do this, Sirius," she told him. "I must. I have to do this for my mother... and my brother," she added. "They're counting on me to make this right for them. They have to live in the world as it is—what you call the muggle world— and I want them to live well. Mother came to Kirkwall expecting to live in the family manor, and then she found out that Uncle Gamlen lost it all. And it wasn't even his! Mother's parents left everything to her."
"Who's living there now?"
"Well, for some time it was occupied by a gang of Tevinter slavers." She looked away, grimacing. "Oh-so-respectable, wealthy merchants. It's disgusting what money can buy in this town. Anyway, something..." she shrugged "...something happened to them. Someone had an old key to the cellars and there was a fight. You know how it is."
He smirked. "Somehow I have no trouble picturing the sequence of events."
Dragon's Era- No Man's Land Page 6
