questionablewit: (considering)
[personal profile] questionablewit posting in [community profile] faemused
Midsummer. A year and four months since Hawke left the station for good. Four months since Anders found her. Ten months since the station was last in orbit over Xestsemon.

By this point Anders has a small house (even smaller than hers) down in the village, and works there as an apothecary and healer--though the last quietly, using as little magic as possible. He visits frequently, not just to see Malcolm, but to help Hawke. Her own shack is looking better than it did four months ago. There were a number of tasks she simply couldn't do with only one set of hands, things that require two people to accomplish, and slowly they're getting those done. And sometimes she leaves Malcolm with Anders, if she's running errands or needs to go deep in the forest for a time for hunting or trapping. Or just because, and she invents an excuse where none exists. Whenever Anders asks, she gives him time alone with Malcolm, but sometimes she ensures that he doesn't need to ask. It's not done out of guilt. The debts between them are too great for repaying, on both sides, and she doesn't try. She does it because it's right, that Anders should see Malcolm, and vice-versa. As much as possible. They've reached a tentative sort of peace, she and Anders. A state of co-operation, if not trust. Where Malcolm is concerned, they're united, and that's all she asks. Not all she wants, no, and presumably not all he wants, but all he's capable of, and she doesn't ask more than that. Malcolm is the important thing. On that, they both agree.

Malcolm himself is those few months older, nine or ten months old by now; Hawke has found it hard to keep track of time ever since she woke up in the Void. He can crawl, which means someone has to keep an eye on him constantly, and usually it's poor Teo (stronger than he was four months ago, thanks to Anders) who gets the duty, since he rarely has other distractions to hand. He babbles a good deal, with his own sounds to mean particular things, which aren't quite words or names, but serve as well as.

It's a sort of peace and a sort of balance, and Hawke's content with that.

She spares a thought now and then for the people they left behind on the station, and a regret for leaving so abruptly, no leave-taking of any sort. They have the occasional bit of contact, indirectly. Anders has a communicator that will contact the ansible in the capital city, taught her to use it not long after his arrival. "In case a tree falls on me and I die," he said flippantly; Anders doesn't hide his dislike of the mountains, though he also refuses to move anywhere else. The isolation is safer for Malcolm, should he start showing signs of mage-gifts. Less to damage. The communicator is more for emergencies, but he sends and receives messages with it now and then, and they usually know roughly where the station is (the names, at least; they don't have starmaps of any sort here).

Which is how they know. Ten months since the station last came to Xestsemon, and now it's returning.

Hawke looks up at the sky, clear and blue, and wonders if Senburu-Trati'salan is overhead somewhere, wonders how those they left behind are faring.

Date: 2012-02-03 07:40 pm (UTC)
the_burnt_one: (pic#1508193)
From: [personal profile] the_burnt_one
When Hawke had left, Therru had wept bitter tears. They weren't the tears of a child missing an adult figure, but a girl growing into womanhood missing her friend. So when she'd heard that Anders had come down to this planet for an extended stay, she knew who he'd gone for. She'd seen the looks those two exchanged, and though for some reason they had never spoken of it to her, she recognized the expression of longing mixed with pain.

It was like the looks Ged and mother gave each other, mixed with the face you made when you badly needed to pass wind.

She'd come down in her true form, in the dead of night, shedding the dragon-spacesuit and stashing it in a cave. From the air, she could follow Ander's progress (Anders who reeked of magic to a dragon's senses and continually amazed her with how long he'd managed to hide from his homeworld's persecutors). For a while, anyway. As she got close to the villages, she had to shift into being a human girl again to avoid the king's dragon hunters and she abruptly hated everything. There were stares, peasants making warding signs against evil. A few shouted at her to leave and threatened to do terrible things if she spoiled their crops. She fingered the holdout pistol under her cloak when that happened, as if it were a talisman.

Anders had done most of the work for her, really. She didn't have to ask anyone, merely bribe a town drunk to tell her where the friendly man with the earring had gone.

Up into the foothills then, where the lady trapper lived. She hoped she was at the right place as she trudged up to the little hut.

Date: 2012-02-05 10:09 pm (UTC)
the_burnt_one: (straight on 2/unburnt side)
From: [personal profile] the_burnt_one
Therru did not have to bend forward at all to let Teo lick her face, even though she'd shot up some inches since then. She accepted his attentions, on both burnt and unburnt side and rubbed him behind his ears, stroking that broad, sturdy box of a head.

This wasn't quite the Therru she knew, who had screamed her lungs out and tried to run away upon being awakened on the station. She was still very shy, but some confidence had gotten into her step along with that extra height, though she was still yet to develop curves. 'They grow up so fast' was a cliche for a reason, and if Hawke still held the old Therru in her mind's eye, she'd know why.

It was some time before she could look beyond the screen of Teo's tongue to Hawke. Her vision was never that great, not with one eye, and now it was blurry with dog slobber but the bundle strapped to Hawke's chest was unmistakable. Auntie Moss had wrapped plenty of such bundles up. Therru looked to Teo for permission to approach the child and his master, then did so reverently.

She did not trust herself to speak, at least not in any human tongue, so she held her treacherous, sticky throat.

Date: 2012-02-07 07:53 pm (UTC)
the_burnt_one: (Default)
From: [personal profile] the_burnt_one
"Hello, little soul. Welcome." Therru reached out to stroke the little whisps of hair on his round head. She didn't trust herself quite to hold him with one and a half useful arms.

The baby smelled of magic, that was clear enough. He would be a powerful wizard someday. Which meant his father...

His father was not here.

"You have been raising this child alone, save for Teo."

Date: 2012-02-06 02:33 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] septim
A year and four months since Hawke disappeared. Four months since Anders left.

Ironic, how the cause has become Martin's, he who intended to remain neutral, while the first friend he's made in the Void, Anders felt so strongly for it, has now abandoned it.

That's what doesn't make a lot of sense to Martin. He'd suspected Anders and Hawke's relationship went deeper than announced, but he never asked or pried. Wasn't any of his business, and as a priest, he respected and understood privacy.

Yet something didn't fit, at all. At first, it was merely an inkling, a minor itch. Lately, especially after Anders' announcement of his permanent stay at Xestsemon, the knowledge gnawed at his soul, a pervasive thought he couldn't quench with duties and chores.

He, unlike Anders or Hawke, doesn't have the choice to become native of some planet. His name is too notorious to the Fay'lia, Martin Septim, Emperor of the Cyrodiilic Empire. His skills as a healer are too indispensable at Senburu-Trati'salan, especially after Anders' departure. And, as always, his duty binds him, unable to break his promise to Paarthurnax, to master the thu'um and become a Tongue worthy of the Septim name.

And, always considerate and empathetic, Martin wouldn't want to intrude. Something personal must bind the mage and rogue to this medieval planet, and Martin wouldn't want to become a third wheel. As much as he misses them, he respects their decisions, even if they make no sense.

The decision to visit Xestsemon surprises Martin as much as he's sure will surprise the people he's here to see. Political reasons, as always, are why Senburu-Trati'salan chooses to arrive at Xestsemon once more. Not that Martin cares, as he tells the station's rebellion. "I'd like to take a vacation if I may," he announces at the monthly democratic meetings. No one faults him for needing a break, as he's one of the few diplomatic entities at the station, a mage-priest-healer-librarian-warrior-dragonborn-emperor who never rests.

A week's worth of rations, a bedroll and a sword are all Martin takes as he's dropped off a day away from Hawke and Anders' location. His magic supplements the rest of the journey, not that he uses it near the natives—the distrusts of mages on board has given Martin a healthy wariness to use his magic among strangers, unless absolutely necessary.

It isn't a particularly grueling expedition across dusty trails and uneven ground, Martin too used to the cold of the Jerall Mountains, and the weight of heavy armor on his body. Eventually, he arrives at the shack, a sigh of relief as he casts a cleaning spell on himself, and waits.

Date: 2012-02-08 06:36 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] septim
Martin's stance stiffens as the sight of the large mabari. This isn't his territory, he's an intruder. Sudden movements could be counted as a trespass. Martin's never been fond of fighting animals unless necessary.

"That's a relief," Martin says as he steps forward, the corners of his lips pursed into a smile. "I'm not fond of these shoes." A pat on the dog's head seems childish and not wholly safe just yet, so Martin opts not to do that. "It's good to see you, Hawke." No mention of it's been a long time. No need for a guilt trip.

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