Extra. Magic Voice Caught!
A good way to procure coin, as Vahn learned, was spinning bawdy bard tales at a crowded tavern in a city you could disappear into afterward. Especially if said bard had an edge on the others with magic backing his voice. A little unscrupulous, Vahn had to admit, but given his avoidance of the Spire Cities, he’d been without his stipend from the World Above, and they had no other options. Ferry rides across the lake were expensive and their supplies were thin. Hawke took to the task eagerly, like fleecing strangers out of their coin was what he lived for. Maybe it was.
Vahn didn’t mind.
In fact, he enjoyed the way Hawke commanded the stage tonight. The raised wooden platform he sung upon was tucked into the corner of the stonework tavern, a brilliant drapery of reds and purples behind him. Supposedly the colors of the lord in the area, but Vahn had no idea who it was and he didn’t care. The lights throughout the room were made from a magical hand and appeared like candleflame, making Hawke and the stage twinkle enchantingly.
It was a full house, tavern goers eager to soak in the bard’s spell, knowingly or not, and hummed along with Hawke’s song as he sung loud and proud. The place had workers of all kinds—many of them from the mine further north—adventurers taking a rest before their next stop, even some merchants taking the night off as they sat back with their tankards. All kinds mingled here as day melted into dusk to drink away the day’s labor and mingle.
Like always, Hawke strummed his lute perfectly—not a note out of place—and his voice was as husky as ever as it strung the room along song after song.
After having listened to the origin of the voice from Elwick’s own throat, Vahn could now spot the similarities between them with ease; the pronunciation of certain words, the way the voice tilted with pleasure, and even some of the huskiness was the same. All similar, yes, but at the same time, distinct. Hawke had made it his own. Softened the sharpness. Rounded the corners of the words. The way his delight pushed through word and intent. It made the voice Hawke’s and Vahn could listen to him all day if only to trace the Hawke-ness of it.
Intoxicating, especially when Hawke sang like he did now. Although, Vahn acquiesced, that was in part the magic at work. He’d honestly love to trace the nuances of how the spell worked, let it lead him to making decisions he’d otherwise never consider, and stay lost in the way it weaved through the room, but he owed it to himself to resist the charm. It was being spun on the room—not him—and wormed deep into their thoughts to open their purses. Vahn was a spectator. Not to be involved unless something went disastrously wrong.
It was rather touching, actually, that Hawke had never used the voice against Vahn. Hawke cared enough for their friendship not to. Even when they’d hardly known each other.
The room was happily enthralled—well, as much as they could be happy about the situation—and no one was the wiser as they were compelled to drop coin after coin into the tankard at Hawke’s feet. It was to the point of overflowing and Hawke wasn’t even through with all the songs he’d talked the bartender into letting him play. At least once he finished, they’d have enough for comfortable feather beds—probably separate rooms given the way some of the patrons were eying Hawke like he was someone to be devoured—and a lot left over.
Vahn stopped thinking so hard on it and let himself get lost in listening. He watched the magic weave itself through everyone (except for himself) as a single, traceable thread, all so they’d smile and believe in Hawke. And for Hawke’s part, he was all grins. His energy practically sparkling.
Someone sat at Vahn’s table, jostling him out of the mesmerized stupor of his own making. A city guard by the look of his crimson tabard and chainmail. The sword attached to his belt bore the insignia of the city too. Vahn glanced at his expression. Well, he didn’t look pissed. An easy smile played on his lips and he settled a drink in front of Vahn. Almost like an invitation of sorts. Vahn didn’t mind and studied the man.
Dark brown hair and eyes, strong jaw scruffy with stubble, and honestly, he was easy on the eyes. Vahn traced his gaze down and then back up, intrigued. Strong shoulders and legs. An easy air about him that matched his smile.
Vahn gave him a coy smile of his own. “Is this for me?” he asked.
“Thought you could use another drink.”
“Very thoughtful.” Vahn nursed a sip. More expensive than what he’d been enjoying. The heavy taste played across his tongue with notes of clove and it tingled down his throat. Not bad. “And you are?” Might as well indulge this easy face if only for a distraction. Besides, if the guard knew what Hawke was doing, Hawke would be in trouble. Vahn owed it to Hawke to make sure the guard never suspected a thing.
“Name’s Ansel. Second Captain of the Lakewatch Guards.” He took the introduction as an invitation to move closer; he propped one arm on Vahn’s chair and stretched his legs out beneath the table until they slid across Vahn’s. A little bold, but not unwanted. “And you?”
Vahn thought to give Ansel his full title and distinctions, but he wasn’t sure if he could rattle them off with how buzzed he was. “Just Vahn will suffice.”
Ansel’s nose wrinkled with a smile. “Ah, no magician distinctions to follow that?”
“Am I so obvious?”
Yes, of course he was; Vahn wasn’t sure why he asked. Blue hair, red eyes—both definitely not normal in any scope of the imagination. Even his bracelets were dead giveaways as they glimmered against the lights. All Ansel did was chuckle and Vahn waved the question off.
“I didn’t want to bore you with the whole thing.” Vahn gently moved his leg up against Ansel’s. “Is there a magician stationed nearby? I noticed the magic lights.”
“Our local hedge witch did those, actually,” Ansel said, admiring them for a moment. “Lord Farrow’s darling from up above would never come down to a tavern like this, much less do something mundane like light candles.”
Vahn heard the scorn in Ansel’s voice and quietly sipped his drink. He’d always heard locals never quite liked the magicians that were stationed down here with prominent lords and ladies.
“Usually stays up in that stronghold up on the hill.” Ansel blinked, like even he realized his tone had taken a darker tone, and he smiled again. “I was actually surprised to see a magician like you down here with the rest of us.”
“Mm.” Vahn took another sip. If he thought hard enough, he might have remembered which magician was assigned out here. Play your cards right (or wrong, depending on how you viewed it) in university, and rulers down here would happily pay you to be their right-hand magician to guide and to sling magic for them. Payment was nice, but the Floating World liked to task magicians with hopefully leading rulers away from war with one another so the High Magicians didn’t have to come down and stop the fighting themselves. While some magicians liked the job (if you were one of the lucky ones, it tended to be very cushy), many found it akin to being trapped. Vahn wouldn’t have liked it, he was sure.
Any attempt to drag the name from where it hid in his memory evaporated when Ansel’s hand touched his shoulder. Ah, yes, Vahn ruminated. The real reason Ansel had come by that Vahn let himself forget. It wasn’t to talk about magicians at all.
Vahn willed the softest hint of magic into his breath, a whispered word, and let it touch Ansel’s hand. Ansel’s eyebrows shot up in interest.
“That was fuzzy,” he said softly. “You know, I heard things about magicians…” He’d lowered his voice into a soft purr. Vahn had to lean his head in closer to hear him past the song Hawke was belting out. “Certain things.”
“Oh, have you?” Vahn teased.
“Mmhm.” Ansel leaned closer to Vahn’s ear as his other hand boldly dropped to Vahn’s thigh. When Vahn didn’t push it off, he stroked it slowly. “Magic can make certain… parts of the body more sensitive?”
“Oh, do tell me about what you’ve heard.” Vahn couldn’t hide his smile as the hand drew bolder and slid upward until it was just shy of touching anything sensitive. “All I can think of is how to make the night last longer.”
A little white lie—Vahn knew way more than that—but he was curious what Ansel was suggesting beyond the obvious. A soft chuckle came from his lips and his breath tickled across Vahn’s skin.
“Last longer? Like… all night?” The hand pressed between Vahn’s legs and squeezed.
“Yes,” Vahn said, keeping his voice level despite the delight washing through him. “Maybe past morning, if the spell is industrious enough.”
Not actually advised. Vahn wouldn’t actually do that to someone because the chances of fainting from the exertion was too high. Nice to fantasize about, though.
“Well then… it’d be remiss of me, you know,” Ansel continued, “to let you leave without showing what we can do down here. If you get what I mean.”
Vahn certainly did. It was rather silly, actually. The assumption Vahn wouldn’t already know, but he didn’t mind playing naïve. If Ansel wanted to believe he was Vahn’s first down here, he’d let the narrative write itself. He fixed a mischievous grin on the man and let his hand drift down to Ansel’s lap.
“Perhaps you should tell me more. Someplace a little more private?”
Ansel smiled in such a smug, self-satisfied way, it sent a little thrill through Vahn’s stomach. Perhaps this night wouldn’t be so bad. Ansel drew closer, lips to Vahn’s ear, but before he could say anything, magic in the air snapped. It was such a violent break, the whole place rumbled like a quake had torn through it. Vahn jerked backward and whipped around to face Hawke. The bard was frozen on the stage, eyes wide, panicked.
The enchantment was gone. Its thread violently snagged and broken. Not because anyone noticed the enchantment; no, that break was Hawke’s own fault. It was written plain on his face.
The tavern goers quickly emerged into their stark reality. Lighter purses. Muddled thoughts. Realizing that perhaps they hadn’t been in their sound mind when they gave Hawke whatever they had on them at the moment.
Not good.
Before Vahn could collect himself to help make a hasty escape—someone was going to start raising accusations any minute now—Ansel was standing.
“Hold on,” he said and his voice commanded order back to the room. There was a device in his hand now. It must have come out of his tunic. It was made of four ivory plates with an amber installed in the center. Ansel held it up and the amber glowed.
Not good. Vahn tried to think of how to dispel it, but Ansel was already moving toward the stage where Hawke was bending to gather his ill begotten coin.
“Halt. Don’t move.” Ansel ordered him and Hawke gave him a dark glare. The amber grew brighter the closer Ansel went. The crowd was whispering amongst themselves, anger thrumming through them as realization settled in.
Because as Vahn thought, the amber detected magic.
“You were singing magic,” Ansel said.
Hawke’s eyebrows shot up in mock innocence and he straightened. “What? No way. Not possible. Thing’s busted. Clearly.”
The lie was laced with magic, of course, and the amber only burned brighter. Hawke threw his lute over one shoulder and froze upon noticing it. Ansel yanked Hawke closer to look at his face.
“I know you,” Ansel whispered and the room stilled to listen intently. “I’ve seen your face before. I know it.” He turned, eyes wide, and the tavern goers looked back toward the bar. Where there were posters. Wanted posters.
Fear coiled in Vahn’s gut as he faced them.
There, in the center of many other sketches, was a crude depiction of Hawke. It was clearly him. Had his name. Hawke, the Bard of the Enchanted Voice. The sketch had the notched scar in his eyebrow. The way his hair still sat. The crooked slant of his nose. Vahn had been so engrossed getting a drinks and possibly a feather bed, he hadn’t thought to look at them. It was a wonder no one had noticed who Hawke was before he took to the stage.
Ansel whipped to face Hawke. “You thieving scoundrel—you were enchanting us!”
And Hawke threw the first punch. It cracked Ansel across the jaw, but he was steady on his feet, and swung one right back. The sound echoed across the silent tavern, but thankfully Hawke remained standing. Except then he dove on Ansel, ruining Vahn’s attempt at a counter spell by making Ansel much harder to hit. They clattered over one another, fists flying, and the tavern immediately joined in. Angry shouts filled the silence, bodies pushing against one another to get a piece of Hawke, and Vahn couldn’t find an opening to help without hurting Hawke in the process. When yelling wasn’t enough to stop the brawl, the bartender threw himself into the pile of bodies. Lightweights went flying first, dazed as they landed on chairs and tables, and it was only a matter of time before Ansel was standing. Victorious. Hawke was up, gritting his teeth, and had his wrists locked in restraints. It’d happened so fast.
Ansel wiped his hair back, out of breath. “Hawke, the Bard of the Enchanted Voice”—Ansel said the name with venom—”you are hereby under arrest for the unlawful enchantment across the Southern Realm.” Ansel kicked over the tankard of coin (how it was still standing mystified Vahn) and it spilled out all its coins across the floor. The crowd dove to recover what they’d lost. “Your sentence is forthcoming. Come with me or face the might of the Lakewatch Guards.”
Acting now with magic would have gotten them both caught, so Vahn watched helplessly as Ansel pushed Hawke out the door. Cursing to himself, Vahn shoved Hawke’s bag into his own for safekeeping, and hurried after them. A few tavern goers glanced his way, suspicious eyes who knew he’d come in with the bard, but Vahn wasn’t going to see if they’d act on those suspicions. He had a bard to save.
☾
“Come on,” Hawke hissed. “Hurry!”
“You know, if you hadn’t punched him, I could have gotten us out of there.”
“I panicked!”
The light Vahn had given Hawke to hold in his manacled hands wobbled and Vahn gave him a tired look. “Hold that light still. I’m doing my best.”
The jailhouse had been ridiculously easy to slide into. Conjured shadows might have helped, of course, and Vahn was slight enough, the shadows didn’t look too out of the ordinary. Besides, it was fully dark outside now and guards were out there and not in here. Hawke was the only one jailed tonight, so no need for a full house of guards. Slipping by the front office should have been more difficult—it was awash with lights, after all—but Ansel was too preoccupied with paperwork to look up when Vahn passed.
Now that Vahn was in the basement of the jail, where the cells were, he’d let the shadows drop, and here he was. Trying to pick the lock with magic and a light source much too wobbly to concentrate with.
Using magic to open a lock was delicate work. He had to ask the metals inside to aid him and then feel around until he found the right combination that would pop the lock. Vahn was never good at it in university and he still wasn’t. Some of his peers could have done it with a single twist and Vahn really wished he’d taken their offers to learn how seriously. He’d been so convinced undoing wards was all he’d ever have to worry about. Being arrested and thrown somewhere locked up with a simple lock was never something he’d thought he’d ever contend with.
Magic pricked across him as a throbbing headache and silence wasn’t helping.
“What even was that?” Vahn conversed, hoping it would help Hawke ease up. His shoulders were hunched, there was evident panic across his face, and it was not helping one bit. Vahn did not like seeing him in a pair of manacles. Those would have to come off next with the same kind of delicate work.
One thing at a time, Vahn told himself.
Hawke winced. “Was what?” There was a flick of magic across his tongue.
“When your magic snapped.” Vahn patiently felt his way through the magic he’d lodged in the lock. The innerworkings bloomed in his mind’s eye, but try as he might, he couldn’t figure out how to shape the magic. “It shook the entire room.”
Hawke glanced away. There was a bruise on his jaw where Ansel had punched him, already turning a dark brown. “No idea. You’re the magician.”
“Did you get distracted?”
“What? No. Never.”
Vahn supposed that was a silly question. If he was distracted, the thread wouldn’t have violently snapped. What happened was a visceral feeling. A knee-jerk reaction. Vahn considered it another moment and raised his eyebrows. “Were you jealous?”
“Look, just open the door!” Hawke pleaded instead of answering. “Do you know what they’ll do to me once he gets the right guys in here?”
Sighing sharply through his nose, Vahn dropped all attempts to undo the lock. Not happening. He eyed Hawke. “No, I actually don’t. A fine?”
Hawke paced, taking the light with him. It lit the poor, damp cell in pale hues. Not much to write home about. Not even a cot. Some hay, but Vahn wouldn’t trust sleeping on it.
“He knew me, which means it’s going to be much more than that! He’s gonna throw me at someone who will cut out my tongue. Or worse!” He ran a free hand down his face. “Goddess, I knew we should have kept walking.”
“Well, I can’t unlock the door,” Vahn said and Hawke came back, eyes wide in disbelief. Vahn waved a hand at it. “Nothing I’m doing is working. What do you have left on you? Any lock picks of any kind?”
Hawke looked scandalized a moment before dropping the act. “I am that sort, huh? But, no. If I had any, I would already be working on it.” He grimaced. “My set was hidden in the strap of my lute, which he took. He got most of my knives too.”
Vahn shouldn’t have expected differently. He swore under his breath and thought. “You’ve nothing else with you?”
“I’ve got one knife hidden underneath my sole, but I’m not keen on stabbing. That’ll escalate too fast.”
Which meant Hawke’s sword safely nestled in Vahn’s bag was also out of the question. Vahn stayed hunched near the door, thinking, and glanced at himself. It was another moment before an idea took root. Ansel had been totally ready for a certain kind of night. Perhaps Vahn could use that to his advantage now that the big bad bard was behind bars. Better than nothing, at least. He just needed one thing…
Vahn pulled his bag open and concentrated. “Space, bring to me thy potion of sleep.”
The innards of the bag rustled a few times as magic shifted—making Vahn worry that he was mistaken and it wasn’t in there—but then a small vial popped upward from the darkness. Vahn caught it before it fell back inside and examined it. A crystalline vial with a faded label on it. Old, but usable.
“What’s that?” Hawke asked.
“Sleeping potion.” Vahn swirled it and watched as the white mixture shimmered. “Not strong, but I don’t have time nor a cauldron to make a new one.”
“You’re going to make him drink it?”
“In a way…” He upended the contents into his mouth and resisted gagging once the taste hit. Some chalky metallic texture that had only strengthened with time. He swished it this way and that, letting it coat his mouth. The potion absorbed itself into Vahn’s mouth and he shook his head, trying to rid himself of the taste.
“Oh,” Hawke said, making a face.
“There.” Vahn shoved his bag through the bars. “Watch the bag and stay here.”
“Like I have a choice!”
The Warden’s Office was as bright as it was when Vahn came in. Each candle was alight with flames and magic both. It didn’t help the room was small, making it all the brighter because of the way magic light bounced off the white walls. The desk was large, filled with paperwork and belongings in neat piles. Against the far wall from the door was a rack of swords neatly locked up and Hawke’s lute sadly sat with them alongside his bundle of knives. At least the lute was in one piece.
Ansel was still concentrating on the paperwork. The scroll was long, filled with ink already that he was only adding to, and beside it was the wanted poster with Hawke’s sketch.
The key ring was attached to Ansel’s belt. Good. Vahn wouldn’t have to search far for it. Vahn exhaled softly, straightened his clothes and hair, and knocked on the doorway. Ansel jumped and whipped around to face the door, hand on the pommel of his sword.
Confusion twisted his face as he eyed Vahn, but then it faded into a crooked smirk. Yep, the night that could have been was definitely still on the man’s mind.
“Oh, hello there,” he said and released his sword. Vahn took it as invitation to come in. “I left you hanging back at the tavern, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but you were positively enthralling during the arrest.” Vahn stopped at Ansel’s side and leaned against the desk. Ansel sat straighter, almost proud. “Although, I was curious about that device you used.”
Ansel hesitated and Vahn feared his curiosity ruined the plan until Ansel dug his hand into his tunic. The device came out and he happily let Vahn see it. “Little trinket from Stormwall up further north. Figured a magician would be interested.”
Lightweight, definitely ivory plates. There was something else inside, but Vahn couldn’t see what it was and didn’t dare ask him to force it open. On closer inspection, there were fine glyphs carved into each side, but Vahn needed better lighting to read them. The amber in the center was dim until Vahn drew his finger across it. A glow ignited, following the path of his finger as it tracked his latent magic.
“It really does detect magic.”
“Exactly! All guards out this way have them.” Ansel leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs beneath the desk. “There have been so many rogue magicians popping up lately. Can’t be too careful.”
Vahn chuckled and eyed Ansel. “Am I a rogue magician?”
“Not with those bracelets,” Ansel said and Vahn pouted. “I knew you were a Wayfarer Magician when I bought you the drink. Sorry. I just figured flirting would be more fun.”
“It was.” Vahn handed the device back. He couldn’t disable it, so he was glad his plan didn’t require any spells to work. “You received them from Stormwall?”
Ansel winced. “Word of advice: they hate magicians and magic. They want us to feel that way too, but quite frankly, magic’s all around us. You aren’t gonna stop it just by putting gems in your walls.”
Vahn bit back from asking what kind of gems. There were a handful with properties that dispelled magic, although he hadn’t been aware they were in common use down here. When silence spells weren’t enough, the Floating World had special manacles made of some gemstone that dispelled magic outright. Not like Vahn’s bangles, but similar.
“But is that why you’re here?” Ansel murmured and Vahn snapped back to the reality at hand to find the guard’s eyes roving over his body.
Well, at least Ansel had a one-track mind. Vahn tilted his head teasingly. “You must be lonely. Are there no other guards here with you?” He glanced at the paperwork and wrinkled his nose. “And with all this paperwork?”
Ansel snickered. “I brought him in, so I’m in charge of setting up the paperwork to get him out of here. Sent the other guy to cover my patrol. Didn’t think it’d be so much, but he’s been literally everywhere around here. Not quite what I had in mind for my night… if you know what I mean.”
“What was your idea?” Vahn asked. “I think we were interrupted before.” As Ansel hesitated, Vahn hurried to rediscover the thread of desire. “That bard is locked up, so there’s no danger, right?” He ran his hand down Ansel’s arm softly until he came to the quill. Vahn plucked it from Ansel’s fingers and settled it in the inkwell.
“Hmm…” Ansel took Vahn’s hand and tugged him closer. “What did I have in mind indeed?” Vahn happily let himself be directed and very quickly found himself straddling Ansel’s lap. “We didn’t quite get this far…”
Vahn drew his arms around Ansel’s shoulders and Ansel pressed his hands to Vahn’s backside. He gave it a firm squeeze, fingers digging into the thin fabric of the leggings. “Mmhm.” Vahn gave the man a seductive smile. “I’m sure I could occupy some of your time. If you’d let me.”
The correct words. Ansel drew Vahn in for a hungry kiss, almost smashing their lips together, and Vahn hastened to deepen it so the potion had a chance of actually activating.
Unfortunately, given the age of the potion, it took its dear sweet time. Fortunately, Ansel was none the wiser. And, he was incredibly fit to the point Vahn did not mind distracting him for as long as it took. He was only glad he’d remembered to throw out a silencing bubble despite the device’s protest before his mouth was preoccupied between Ansel’s legs (and then Ansel’s between his) and before he was face down on the desk where an incantation that didn’t involve Ansel’s name was not going to happen. And sure, maybe Ansel had a great deal of pent-up frustration over the situation with the paperwork, but it made his thrusts that much stronger and, Goddess, did it feel good. Vahn almost forgot he was supposed to be orchestrating a jailbreak—deliriously caught up in the ecstasy of their bodies colliding—until Ansel finished and immediately dropped into a slumber.
All the motions left Vahn’s jaw aching as well as his hips. Not to mention his legs continued trembling as he rounded the room to gather all of Hawke’s things. Definitely a pleasurable kind of ache, but he was all too aware of how long it’d taken to wear Ansel out, and wished it hadn’t. That man certainly did not need any spells to help him last through the night, that was for sure.
After grabbing the lute and the keyring, Vahn took a moment for himself to even his labored breathing and get his clothing back in order. As he passed the desk again to head back to Hawke, he paused. He considered making Ansel a little more presentable too in case another guard came in, but touching him now might reverse the effects of the potion. Pants left lowered it was then, and Vahn proceeded down into the cellarage.
He was thinking so deeply on what he’d need for another sleeping potion and how to change it to make it work faster on his way down, he’d almost passed Hawke’s cell entirely.
“Hey!” Hawke hissed. “Shit! That took forever—I thought you got caught. What were you two even doing?”
Vahn rolled his eyes and started going through the keys. There were too many on the ring. He hadn’t even known there that many cells.
“I had to exhaust him first. It unfortunately took time. He had stamina.”
Hawke made a face. “He’s slimy.”
Vahn laughed. “As are you!”
“What part of me is slimy?” Hawke stopped, made a face, and gave the cell a glance. “Don’t answer that. How much time we got do you think?”
“Enough.” The right key clicked and Vahn threw the door open wide. “Ta-da! Magic!”
“Was not! Just get the manacles off!”
“Hey! You!”
Ansel’s shout echoed down the stairs and Vahn and Hawke spun to face it. Light haloed the captain from behind, highlighting that his pants were still not quite fastened, and his hair was still disheveled. And that he was pissed.
An alarm of way too many bells pealed through the air above them and Vahn gritted his teeth. Clearly, he hadn’t bought them enough time. What was this man even made of?!
“Don’t move!” Ansel drew his sword and its blade flashed from the light behind him.
“Wind! I command thee: bring him to me!”
Magic tore through the place, its urgency matching Vahn’s voice, and whipped up around Ansel. The captain had no time to resist before it drew him tight and Vahn yanked. Ansel sailed down the rest of the steps, shouting, and Hawke hopped out of the way as the wind threw him into the cell. The door slammed shut by Hawke’s own hands before Ansel had his wits about him and Vahn threw the keys down the hall.
Hawke was already running up the steps, hands still shackled. Vahn hesitated as Ansel ran at the cell doors.
“Are you seriously with him?!”
Vahn shrugged. “I do apologize for the deception.” He paused from hurrying after Hawke. “Just so you know, I was already interested in sleeping with you before all this. And the sex was great! I wouldn’t even mind going again sometime if we could just brush this entire situation under the rug!”
Wasn’t the best set of parting words, truth be told, and seemed to worsen Ansel’s ire as he responded with shaking the cell bars and a rather rude insult.
“Vahn! COME ON!”
Vahn eschewed any other attempt to make amends and hurried after Hawke. At the top of the stairs, the alarms were even louder—ear piercing, almost—and guards were hurrying toward them from their patrols while concerned citizens were coming to investigate.
“Shadows! Return to me and grow!” Vahn threw himself in front of Hawke and held his hand out. He blew and all the shadows from behind and in front of him became smoke. It expanded quickly across the street and anyone inside its path began to shout in panic. No one could see through it, so it meant no one would be able to say where he or Hawke went.
They just had to get out of it too. Thankfully, as caster of the spell and Lunar Aspected, he could see through the magic. Vahn pivoted to face the nearest city gates and dragged Hawke by his manacles. The smoke had sent tendrils across the road as a fog and clung to them as they threw themselves out of the city.
Once they were free, the view cleared instantly, but before Vahn could get his bearings, Hawke bodily threw himself into Vahn. The two of them tumbled into the ditch at the side of the road, grunting and groaning as they went rolling. Vahn came to a stop at the bottom of the incline rather hard, out of breath, and it didn’t help when Hawke ended up rolling on top of him.
“You didn’t have to push so hard!” Vahn said, exasperated.
Hawke picked his head up, leveling a weary glare on Vahn. “There was a carriage coming. You were just staring.”
Oh. Vahn supposed Hawke wasn’t wrong. There had been lights. Even now, torches blazed from the road, casting long shadows across the field, and there were shouts about two fugitives. At least the brush and grass around them was long. Not easily seen.
“Next time,” Vahn said as Hawke caught his breath, “let me make the money.” That earned him another weary look, but this one came with a helping hand (well, two of them because they were still manacled together). Hawke pulled Vahn up and ushered him farther away from the road.
“Maybe,” Hawke said. “I’m sure I can play a good mark.” There was magic again across his words and Vahn snorted.
“I know when you’re lying, so you know.” Hawke stopped, eyes wide, and Vahn teasingly tapped on the bard’s throat as he passed. “Magic!”
“Ah, shit.”
“I am not offended, for what it’s worth.” Vahn watched the sudden tension ease out of Hawke’s shoulders. “Just how many places have you done this to around here?”
“Well… uh.”
Vahn laughed until Hawke shoved him softly. “You really are slimy!” When Hawke tried to shove him again, Vahn latched onto his arm and held it still. “Oh, come now. I’m teasing. Let’s find a quiet place to get these manacles off you. Bet you could use them to teach me how to use your lock picks!”
The smile Hawke gave Vahn was soft and playful. Just the Hawke that Vahn adored. Even with all his faults rolled up in the same smile. Hawke pulled Vahn another direction, away from the torches coming down, and his strides turned purposeful and quick.
Maybe walking around the lake wouldn’t be so bad. Not like they had the coin for a ferry and now everyone would surely be watching for Hawke’s face. Probably even Vahn’s.
No matter. Together, they headed into the growing gloom of evening, soon obscured by shadows conjured by Vahn’s hand, and Vahn found he would be happiest nowhere else.
🙡🙢
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