Hawke wished she didn’t have to be quite so sneaky—but as she clearly had no choice (Varric could back her up on that) she was enjoying the moment immensely.
“Oh, look! We came all the way out here and the bandits are already gone!” She gestured at a broken crate, half of a wagon wheel, and a discarded bottle. Varric and Aveline both nodded at her assertion.
“Too bad,” Varric shrugged Bianca. “The old girl was looking forward to some action.”
“Indeed,” Aveline agreed, perhaps a little stiffly. Hawke gave her a quick elbow to the side. “But I mean, that’s good. Because bandits are bad.” Aveline was a terrible actor.
Beside them, Anders furrowed his brow. “Bandits? I thought you’d gotten a tip about slavers.”
Hawke’s jaw clenched, but she recovered before she could scold herself for the slip. “Yes! Slaving bandits. Up to no good. I’m so glad they’re already taken care of.”
“But—” Anders started again, perhaps to point out that a bit of debris on a rocky patch of mountain path was hardly proof that any evil-doers had been around—much less left the area—and Hawke had to interrupt. Time for phase three (or was it four already?) of the plan.
“Thank you so much for all your help Varric, Aveline. I’m sure you’ve got lots of trade-y, guard-y things to do in the city now, so we won’t keep you.”
“We won’t?” Anders echoed, perplexed.
“Always a pleasure, Hawke,” Varric said, and his wink wasn’t obvious at all. “Oh, and I might have a contact come through later, so hand him this, will you?” Hawke accepted the bundle Varric pushed at her and slung it easily over her shoulders.
“A contact?” Anders protested—poor darling, he’d turned incapable of finishing sentences with anything other than question marks. It was really quite endearing.
“Thanks, Varric,” Hawke said, and it was more deeply felt than he could know.
“Stay safe, you two,” Aveline cautioned, exchanging a quick smile and nod with Hawke. She and Varric both turned down the path at a pace that would see them back inside the city walls before nightfall.
“What’s going on?” Anders asked, now with more suspicion lacing his confusion.
“Oh, I have one more thing to do.” Hawke smiled at him, but Anders frowned. “It’s—Bethany read about a local flower that only grows high up in these hills. She wrote me a pretty good description…” At Anders’ crossed arms and raised eyebrows, Hawke sighed. “What’s wrong?”
“You know what is wrong!”
They’d had this discussion already several times as the summer wore on, muggy and hot and creeping through Lowtown and below with feverish tendrils. Many more of the poor were falling sick than usual, even though it had hardly touched any part of Hightown. Hawke had barely seen Anders in a couple of fortnights, and then mostly only when he was asleep or she joined him in his clinic.
“You need a break,” she said, gently.
“No, I need to go back. I can’t leave the clinic unattended without—” Hawke put a hand on his cheek, bristly with unkempt stubble.
“It’s alright,” she said. “Trust me.” At that, Anders seemed to calm, at least enough to listen before pelting off after Varric and Aveline. “I know how important it is, so—I asked Bethany.”
Anders’ eyes widened. Even now, years later, it pained them both in different ways that the Circle had taken Bethany away. “They wouldn’t normally let her out,” Hawke started.
Anders snorted. “So you told them the apostate’s illicit clinic for outcasts in Darktown needed her help?”
Hawke grinned and cocked her head. “I should have tried that! No, I wrote a most heartwrenching note about how the Champion of Kirkwall was taken with the summer grippe, and how her life might be spared only by the immediate tender ministrations of her talented healer sister.”
Anders almost looked impressed - probably holding back because he’d just caught on to the fact that a conspiracy lead by his lover had lured him out here into the high hills on false pretenses.
“Isabela is forging my notes and hopefully not gambling away my estate. And Fenris is making sure nobody causes any trouble for Bethany while she’s tending to everyone at the clinic.”
For a moment, everything hung in the balance—the sun beat down on them, and a mountain breeze stirred the air. Anders was quiet. He could still try to leave of course - Hawke was pretty sure she wasn’t desperate enough to jump him and hold him back. Only almost. Only desperate enough to enlist her friends in a convoluted plot to get her lover to herself for just one night before she went on a stabbing rampage. (She wasn’t quite sure who she’d stab, but those had been Varric’s exact words.)
“You did all that?” Anders asked, gazing at her with an unusual intensity.
“I had help,” Hawke shrugged.
“But all of… this,” Anders’ hand moved to encompass the clear skies and rolling hills and fresh air—two of three which Hawke felt he could use a lot more of. The hills were just a bonus.
“Yes,” she said simply. She’d had words with him about needing a break long ago. Clearly, she’d been right to escalate to action.
“That’s...incredibly nice of you,” Anders said, marveling as if he was just now realizing that Hawke would do anything (anything? anything) to get him. To be with him.
But she didn’t say that, just grinned. “Save that thought until you see how much higher we have to go. Maybe I just wanted to make sure your lovely physique didn’t wither away completely in Darktown.”
Anders caught the mischievous glint in her eye and laughed. “I do like it when you compliment my physique,” he said, falling in beside Hawke as she turned to walk up the path. Already, it seemed to her that his steps were less heavy.
By the time the sun was setting, Hawke thought they had finally found the place from the map she’d memorized.
“Only a little further now,” she assured her winded mage.
“Oh, thank the Maker,” Anders exclaimed. “Not that I don’t enjoy the view,” he grinned, nodding at Hawke’s backside
She chuckled. Cute. “You’ll get plenty of time to enjoy that later,” she retorted. “But for now, let’s just—wow.”
Hawke froze in her tracks as she came around the last bend in the goat’s trail of a path they had been following. Anders drew up next to her, then stopped too.
“Wow,” he agreed.
In the distance, far down at the foot of giant cliff, Kirkwall clung like a miniature city of gold. The sun made it burn with mellow flames, the seas shining around it. Stretching on inland, the distant hills were silhouettes of purple shadow, tops all glowing pink. A breeze cooled the sweat on Hawke’s face, and brought with it the scent of far forests and mountain herbs. Tearing her gaze from the scope of the view and the riot of sunset colors, Hawke gave the mountainside nook they stood in a practiced once-over.
“This will do, I think.” She nodded at the bracing cliff, the curve of the hill, and a couple armspans of tufty grass and raw rock. “We can use the stream we just passed for water, and—oh, Varric, you shouldn’t have!”
Hawke unbuckled the belt around the bundle Varric had passed her, and found some food wrapped in clean linen in middle of their bedroll. There was even a small hip flask that felt icy cold to the touch—rune-enchanted. Expensive, that. Anders dropped his eyes from the horizon at the smell of a freshly baked loaf, and in the slanting light of the evening sun his face looked far too gaunt. Resisting the immediate urge to shove a torn handful of bread into his mouth, Hawke quickly set up a small camp. Well, she laid out the thick bedroll and put their food on it, at least, before settling herself to enjoy the view.
“Anders,” she patted the blanket next to her. He sat, his eyes shining.
“All that wandering around out here, and I never knew it could be so beautiful,” he said.
“Nothing makes me enjoy the scenery more than not fighting for my life,” Hawke agreed, and handed Anders a chunk of bread and a slice of hard cheese. He accepted in silence, smiling, seemingly spellbound by the spectacle as the red sun met the waves in the far distance.
“I can’t even remember the last time I was out watching the sun set—really watching, I mean. It might have been…”
A shadow crossed his thoughts, Hawke could tell. The Tower of the Ferelden Circle, perhaps. Or Amaranthine. She knew her lover carried bad memories from many places, and said nothing to press him. She simply offered him the wine—Orlesian, the good stuff. Varric didn’t skimp on his friends.
“When we lived in Denerim, it always felt like there was no sunset. The walls just seemed to swallow the day,” Hawke said. It wasn’t a fond memory, but it was something to offer to Anders instead of whatever had pained him to recall. It drew him out and they spoke of Ferelden as a place in the past, sharing observations of places and people and dogs. Anders had some great Ferelden cat stories; Hawke didn’t know anyone else who who, after years in Ferelden, noticed cats at all, much less to the point Anders did.
The sky darkened, and the hills behind them receded to dim,flat shadows against the light of the emerging stars. Small insects chirped and sang, scattered bells out of tune in the darkness. The oppressive heat of the day—which would be radiating from the baking Lowtown walls all night—was falling back under the persistent breeze. It was definitely cool enough that Hawke could excuse nestling into her lover’s arms with a pleased shiver. They had been sitting a handspan apart, Anders eating like a starving man, Hawke ensuring that they had enough water and punching flat the various bumps under their bedroll. But now the food was gone and the ground was even, and darkness blanketed them from any distant eyes that might be watching. It was all just as she had hoped—the two of them in the silence and the night, hours away from emergencies and catastrophes.
Around them, tiny white stars were coming out, dainty petals catching the starlight above. They smelled like jasmine and rain, and if they had bloomed much later Hawke would have been far too distracted to notice them. As it was, she untangled her limbs from Anders, caught her breath and let out a triumphant whoop.
“Yes!”
“What are those?” Anders asked, bending over to brush his fingertips over the closest little blossom.
“They are mountain stars, appropriately enough.” Hawke felt quite proud of this discovery, but still offered credit where it was due. “Bethany found mentions of it in some tomes on local herb lore and healing. Apparently, they’re good for the summer fevers, if you can find them at night.” In the low light it was difficult to tell, but Hawke thought Anders might be gaping at her. “What? I told you Bethany had done research!”
“I thought…” Anders shook his head. “Thank you. This might help me save some lives, I-- I don’t know what to say.”
Hawke grinned, smug. “You don’t have to say anything. Though you’re supposed to wait until dawn to pick these, so…”
Anders didn’t let her finish, lunging at her with a crushing kiss that tasted of wine and heat. Hawke responded in kind, of course. She’d been waiting for this moment, and wasted no time in pinning her lover, making very sure that nothing short of a full out darkspawn attack could steal his attention away from her. Tonight, he was all hers.