Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age, nor its characters. I make no profits.
She would have liked the old me. I was charming. And funny. All I really wanted was a pretty girl, a decent meal, and a place away from the templars. In some ways, I'm closer to that dream than ever. The food here's not so bad, especially compared to Vigil's Keep. And there are all sorts of pretty girls running about, Marian Hawke included. But now I'm all mixed up about the templars. My own freedom used to be all I cared about, but that's not good enough anymore. Every last mage in Thedas deserves freedom.
I'm really angry. All the time.
Except days like today, I feel more like my old self again, but sad, as if I'm carrying an awful weight that's strapped to my back and whatever it is, it's really big and heavy and overwhelming—like an anvil or a ship's anchor. Or Knight-Commander Meredith in full plate armor.
I've been trying to convince Hawke to like me. She does amazing stuff with blades and she's really, really beautiful. What nobody around here understands is that in a few hours' time the old me could have charmed her right out of those tight little trousers. This very morning, we'd probably be waking up naked in each other's arms and laughing nervously about all the dirty places we'd thought to stick our bits before we'd even gotten to know each other well enough. It would be entirely awkward and completely wonderful.
Unfortunately, Justice-Anders has not been making the best impression. The looks Hawke gives me are less 'come-hither, my love' and more 'let's all speak quietly now and back away from the scary mage.' It's probably on account of the angry blue glowing. Not quite as sexy as one might imagine. Perhaps I should have held out for a spirit of justice-desire demon combo.
Oh, why can't she give me one of those appreciative looks she saves up in droves for the bloody dwarf? So what if he's funny and has a big crossbow?
I'm a handsome human with a long, rigid staff.