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Not While I Breathe

Act 2

Mirella has gone missing and time is of the essence as Anders and the others search for her.

Warnings: mild gore, violence and reference to torture (though none will be described), angst and language.

Night had fallen in Kirkwall and the streets of Darktown echoed with the cries of nightfowl, insects and the occasional wail of some poor sod being mugged. Anders casted a glance to the doors of the clinic, his mind was uneasy for unknown reasons this night.

He felt anxious and Justice toiled beneath the surface, silently thrashing inside of him. His thoughts kept returning to his lover… she had agreed to come meet him by nightfall and he passed the time by idly reorganizing his herbs and poultices, and laying a small dish of milk for the Undercity’s feral felines.

He had been meaning to take in one of the small tabbies he had come across, but recent Templar activity had kept him in hiding at Hawke’s estate. In his stead she had taken over the clinic and if it wasn’t until her past dealings with the Templars, he feared she too would become a target.

Though even with her meager standings with the viscount and the city-guard had done her good favor, Anders worried that with the Knight-Commander increasing madness would put her in danger.

He sighed, he hated when his mind drifted to such unpleasant thoughts and he shook his head in attempt to perish them and put his focus into taking inventory of his stocks.

The soft sound of bare feet drew his attention and he gripped his staff in waiting for the shadow that ran through the doorway. The elf ran in with wide eyes and her dark brow curved into a frantic arch.

He relaxed his fingers, letting his staff stand limp in his hands, “Merrill? What are you doing here… it’s a bit dangerous for a lone elven apostate in Darktown, you know? You’re likely to end up on a slaver’s shi…,” he was interrupted by her waving hands as she caught her breath.

“Have… you… seen Hawke?” she said through gasping breaths, and Anders stiffened, his heart sank at the concern in her voice. He shifted nervously, “Ah… No, she was supposed to come here to meet me… I haven’t seen her since early yesterday.” The sharp breath Merrill sucked in and the fall of her shoulders made his stomach twist and anger began to churn in his chest.

“Maker’s breath, elf! What’s this about?” his hands tremored as he tried to maintain control, the girl’s face was contorted in worry and he struggled to compose himself.

“I went by to water her plants and when I got there the dwarf, Bodahn and Orana were all in a tizzy about Hawke. They said they hadn’t seen her since yesterday morning after she left to speak with Hubert about the Bone Pit. They said she hadn’t returned since… Bodahn went to speak with the man in Hightown and apparently he’d not seen her all day.”

Merrill anxiously rubbed her fingers together and drew her arms to her chest, “Do you think she’s alright?” her voice wavered and cracked.

Anders drew a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart as he began towards the door, his mind not focused on the terrified elf and he ignored her when she called out to him, his ears roaring as Justice writhed inside.

He would find her, no matter the cost.

…

He began his search in The Hanged Man, where he found the usual crowd. Thankfully, Hawke is not one that is easy to miss and this only greatened his worry when none had seen her. Anders bounded up the stairs into Varric’s suite and to his surprise Aveline and Donnic had joined the weekly game of Wicked Grace and the company turned to the exasperated mage. Tension draped over the room as they saw his expression and the heavy rise and fall of his chest.

Aveline was the first to speak, “Anders? What’s this about? I thought you were bringing Hawke with you?” The warrior’s russet brow hardened as Anders stamped his staff against the tavern floor, “Have any of you seen Hawke since yesterday?”

Five pairs of eyes widened at his bizarre question and Fenris lowered the tankard from his lips, “She stopped by around midday.” Anders’ amber gaze burned into the elf, who answered with an equally biting stare.

Anders bit back a sharp remark asking why she was at that filthy mansion of his but he couldn’t delay his search by arguing with the elf. “Did she say anything about where she was going?” he pressed further and by now all their cards fell to the table and Varric stood, followed by Aveline and Isabela, “Where are you going with this, Blondie?”

…

From behind, Merrill ran into the suite, her forehead damp with sweat as she panted and bent forward to catch her breath. She looked to see Anders and turned to the others, “Hawke is missing!”

Anders hissed and his eyes burned into Fenris awaiting the elf’s answer, “No, she didn’t.” Anders cursed to himself and whirled towards the door but was grabbed by the arm and he snapped back to see Aveline gripping his forearm firmly.

“You search Hightown, where she was last seen. We’ll split up and search the rest of Kirkwall. If there’s no sign of her, we’ll meet you by the gate to search the Wounded Coast.”

Her lips fell into a sharp line and she released him with a small nod, “We’ll find her, Anders.”

…

The company spread out across the city-state, searching for any traces of their illustrious Hawke, but it was nearing dawn and they had yet to find hide or hair of her.

Anders paced furiously while awaiting his comrades, wishing he could venture the coast on his own, but even he had better sense than to trek that blighted coastline alone.

The echo of voices drew his attention and he slinked into the shadows when he did not recognize them. He spat a silent curse when he spotted the two Templars sauntering into the city, and his blood ran cold when he heard their laughter and the name that fell from their lips made his stomach bind.

Hawke.

He could withhold his anger no longer and he cast a searing flow of ice around the Templars leaving only their shoulders and head free of the burning frost. They cursed and writhed against the cackling ice as Anders stepped out in front of them.

“Where is she?!” he hissed in warped tone. Justice had surfaced in the face of Templars and his cracked skin made them wail in fright. “By the Maker, what are you?!” the younger one stammered, his cheeks flush with drink and he flinched when Anders turned to him, “What have you done with Hawke, speak and I will kill you painlessly.”

Justice bellowed and it in at that moment that the others arrived. Their faces wide in shock that the scene they beheld and before any could speak Anders growled, “These bastards came from the coast and spoke of Hawke.”

…

The company surrounded the frozen Templars and all stared with sharp and angry eyes, even Merrill stared daggers at the frozen men. Aveline stepped forward, “I am Guard-Captain Aveline investigating the kidnapping of Mirella Hawke, you will answer our questions or ‘hard justice’ will be brought down upon you. Now… speak!” she growled.

To Anders’ relief, the Guard-Captain’s anger was a sight to behold and the murderous intent that dipped from her voice successfully loosened their tongues. Anders stepped back, struggling to maintain control over Justice.

For now, they needed these men alive and it was getting ever more difficult not to set them ablaze in a pyre.

He did not hear their answer but he turned when he heard the dripping sarcasm in Aveline’s voice, “Thank you,” as she drew a shortblade and slit the Templars throats, spilling crimson down their fronts that froze as it trickled down the ice.

He stared, wide-eyed and his chest only tightened when he saw the anger boiling beneath the surface of the warrior, “They’ve taken her to cave, far south on the Wounded Coast. We have to hurry… else what we find will not be Hawke anymore.”

Anders felt his body go numb as the captain rushed past him, the fright for Hawke resonated in her eyes and he quickly ran after her, silent prayers racking through his mind.

Oh Maker, please… not her.

…

Mirella shifted on the cold floor, her head pounded and her limbs felt numb. Where was she? She remembered giving Fenris the Book of Shartan and crossing the Chantry courtyard. There had been a voice, that call from a nearby alley for help and she had quickly rushed to their aid, before everything went black.

She wriggled her nose against the blindfold and her attempt to stand was hindered by her bound hands. With her fingers she felt the cold metal shackles around her wrists that seemed bolted to the floor, trapping her. Panic rose in her throat when she failed to draw mana-- she couldn’t even muster a flame and her heart began to pound as she tried to wrap her head around her situation.

A cold breeze rushed over her and she noticed her arms were bare, as was most of the rest of her say for her breastband and smallclothes.

Mirella strained her ears to hear the sound of water dripping and in the distance she heard the crash of waves, the Wounded Coast? … Slavers? Her mind raced, trying to remember her capturers but nothing came to mind.

She stiffened when a soft scuffle of feet echoed from behind, and her mind went blank as the blindfold was torn away and the emblem of a flaming sword greeted her. Templars.

“Fuck!” she hissed and she leaned away as they stepped closer. Ten… twenty? How many are there? She struggled to count as her eyes adjusted to the dark cavern.

An older man with a sandy beard and aged brown eyes looked to her with a sickening grin and he nodded to those behind them, “You see here, recruits. This is what happens to mages that slink their way into Kirkwall… this woman has won the attention of many for her expedition to the Deep Roads, and even the viscount has gained a preference for her. But you see men, she is a filthy sin of the Maker who had used foul tricks and sorcery to earn her fame and now we will put an end to this… slowly.”

Mirella’s breath hitched in her throat as she looked around the disgusted faces that peered at her with hatred and sick pleasure. Her nails dug into the cold earth and her eyes burned with tears, someone… please… help me.

…

The group sliced through raiders and Tal-Vashoth in search of the cavern while Aveline cursed her anger for killing the men before obtaining proper directions. Anders remained silent and the air teemed violently around him as Justice roared inside.

Merrill ran with tears brimming and her hands clenching her staff while Isabela tried to comfort the trembling elf. She too was worried about Hawke and knowing that Templars were involved only heightened her fears.

Varric and Fenris exchanged hard glances as the group ran, praying that they would not be too late.

An arrow shot from ahead and Fenris caught it as it aimed for the dwarf, snapping it in his fist. He drew his greatsword and flashed ahead to slay the culprit. The company drew their weapons and formed a circle as Templars pored over the hills to surround them.

“At least it seems we’re going in the right direction,” Varric muttered as drew pulled Bianca’s trigger, letting loose a bolt that knocked back an approaching Templar.

Merrill toppled the next wave with a shattering boulder and Isabela flitted across the hillside, slicing and stabbing in a blur. After many had fell, the few that remained retreated and they hurried to pursue them.

Anders set flame to the last that faced him and bolted after the fleeing Templars, Justice clawing inside like a wolf rabid for the hunt.

They would not have her… he would paint the coast crimson if they dared.

…

Mirella’s breath fell in shaky rasps and she struggled for consciousness against the spinning cavern. The Templar had left at the word of his men, leaving her battered and bleeding. Her nails dug deeper into the blood-soaked dirt and her body was marred with deep gashes and her heart raced beneath her cracked ribs. She coughed as the coppery liquid rose in her throat and her cry was gargled as the Templar returned and her eyes fell to what he held in his hand.

Panic tore through her mind and despite its uselessness, she thrashed and pulled against the shackles that bound her to the floor. The sharp edges digging into her wrists, she winced at the pain but she fought even harder as he approached. The red hot hiss of a Chantry sun burned bright in the dank cavern and she felt bile rise in her throat.

“No, no, no…. don’t… just kill me. Not that… please,” she choked, tears welled in her eyes and her heart pounded in her ears. Her mind raced back to the dull faces of the Tranquil wandering the Gallows, their empty eyes staring at her like dolls. She remembered Karl… and his pleading words to end his life.

The faces of her friends flashed past her lids: Merrill’s sweet laugh and the strange tea she served, Isabela’s fetching glances and her often over-the-top innuendos, Fenris’ rare and soft smiles when she cracked poor jokes, Varric… Aveline… Carver.

Anders.

Her throat seized when his warm amber gaze fluttered in her mind. His lips against her jaw and the soft tease of his fingertips as they grazed up her thighs. His face flooded her mind and tears fell across her cheeks, stained red by her wounds.

She couldn’t let herself become Tranquil, for his sake… and hers. She knew what he would do… as would she if it were him.

There are some things that are worse than death, his words echoed in her mind. They were directed at Fenris months ago, but now they rang true with what she faced.

Her thoughts were torn away when the Templar seized her chin and she fought against his grip to no avail, the burning sun teemed with the sickly hum of lyrium and she writhed as he drew the brand closer.

“Too bad, mage. I had wanted to teach you further, but it seems we have unwelcome guests, so I must end our lessons abruptly.”

Her eyes widened, unwelcome guests?

A shout from behind drew their attention and the Templars cursed as he dropped the brand and rushed towards the sound, drawing his sword.

Mirella wasted no time trying to free herself from the shackles, yet they only dug further into her flesh. Closing her eyes to concentrate, she struggled to draw her magic but the Templars had rendered it useless against her bondage.

Her back faced the doorway the Templar exited from and he strained her neck in attempt to see but in the pitch dark she saw nothing. Only the clang of blades and the whistle of arrows echoed through the cavern.

Her heart sank when a familiar voice came from behind, the Templar from before, now bloodied and bruised as he sauntered to pick up the still white-hot brand.

…

Anders blazed through the cavern, allowing Justice to lay siege on the Templars. The room hummed with lyrium and he fought away the dark thoughts that crept into his mind.

Hawke will be safe. We’ll save her.

He whirled around when a familiar voice tore through the battle, “No!”

Hawke!

Anders shoved aside all in his path and ran towards the lingering echo and he didn’t hesitate to fire a piercing shard of ice at the Templar that stood over her. The shard imbedded in the man’s armor and he collapsed to the cavern floor, the hissing lyrium brand rolling out of his grasp.

Anders rushed to her side and his staff clamored to the floor. His hands desperately searched for her face and his heart stopped at the look she returned him.

Her jade eyes were wide and feral. Her battered and bleeding body shook violently and he felt his chest tighten… she looked at him like a wild animal-- trapped and scared. At first she jerked away from his touch, but finally the realization crept onto her features.

Her brow furrowed and tears fell down her lashes as she buried her face against his neck, muffling the sobs that tore from her throat. His brought his arms around her and pulled her tight against him, drinking in her touch and burying is face into her matted curls.

His chest pounded when his eyes fell to the now dimming brand, he had almost been too late… She had almost been taken from him and his fought the bile in his throat at what could have been.

He shattered the shackles with a flash of magic and lifted her weak body into his arms, her voice hitched in pain as he lifted her. She wrapped her bloodied arms around his neck and drew herself close to him.

…

The cries of battle died away and everyone rushed into the cavern where a collective sigh of relief fell over the group. They watched with wary gazes at the usually fiery and explosive Hawke as she was curled into the mage’s arms, shaking, beaten and bloodied. Anders didn’t say a word as they exited the cave, wrenching his eyes from the countless other shackles buckled to the floor.

Hawke had not been the first mage to meet the horrors of this place and he held is eyes forward as they stepped over the fallen Templars.

…

The others lingered in the foyer of the estate while Anders set to mending Hawke’s wounds: she had suffered multiple broken ribs and her flesh was marred with deep gashes and burns.

But it was not long before they dismissed themselves while Merrill lingered, wishing to stay longer until Isabela gently guided her out, assuring her that Hawke would be well taken care of by Anders.

Sweat dampened his forehead as he worked and he struggled to maintain his concentration while she stared with tired, red-rimmed eyes. As he finished, he placed his hand over hers and responded with a faint smile as she gripped his fingers tightly.

He hesitated to meet her gaze and instead his eyes trailed along her figure, counting the freckles across her chest, on her nose and cheeks. Her bruised lips parted, “Thank you.”

She lifted her free hand and cupped his cheek, forcing his eyes to meet hers, “I… I thought that everything was over… that I’d never see you again... I thought that Templar was going to make me Tranquil. He… I… oh, Anders,” he held his breath as tears dripped down her cheeks. Her fingers suddenly curled into his hair and pulled him forward, crushing his lips against hers.

Her kiss was burning and hungry, as her tongue lashed against his and her lips were salty from tears that were not her own.

He felt that there was so much to say, so much to apologize for… he had almost lost her, she had almost been made Tranquil and yet all he could think about was her… here in his arms… safe.

…

She sighed his name against his lips and pulled him closer, her hands frantically clawing at his robes. Her fingers dragging across his chest and down his back, trying to feel every inch of him. Her skin felt hot against his and his mana entangled with her own, now restored by his healing touch. She clung to his chest and pulled him onto the bed beside her-- her lips never leaving his.

His words echoed in her mind: We could die tomorrow.

…

He broke away from her kiss, ignoring her slight whimper to wrap his arms around her bandaged shoulders to pull her tighter into his chest, pressing heavy kisses into her hair.

“I will never let them take you, Mirella. I would slay all of Kirkwall to keep them from you. I promise you, love. The Templars will never tear us apart, not while I breathe.”

She pushed away to look into his face, her fingers tracing along his cheekbones as she lifted herself for another slow and heated kiss.

…

She fell into a fitful sleep, her dreams plagued with Templars and the burning Chantry sun. But not once did she wake to an empty bed, as Anders held her close while she slept. His gentle caress and soft kisses easing away her nightmares while he murmured passionate promises and affections.

In his arms, the terror she had felt that day melted away as if were years past. She trailed her lips along his collar, nestling her head in the crew of his neck as she succumbed to exhaustion and finally fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

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