Title: Why Mages are Feared

Summary: The Coterie is used to having the run of Darktown, but may have to think twice about taking it at the expense of the refugees. Response to a k!meme prompt involving the words "BAMF" and "Anders."

Author's Notes: This doesn't fit with any of my established head-canon stories. However, once I came across this on the k!meme, it was there. And boy, was this fun to write.

The prompt:

A simple prompt: something happens, resulting in a display of epic badassery from someone. I love seeing our band of misfits come out on top, especially when they do it with style.

Bonus points and cookies for doing this with Anders, because him showing us why mages are feared just does things to me. However, if you'd prefer to use someone else, that's fine by me! I'm open to anything.

And now the fill. Reviews and comments are always welcome!

Not for the first time, Anders thought it might be a blessing that Justice managed to burn off the edge of any ale he wasted his money on while he was otherwise engaged wasting his money on the weekly gathering for Wicked Grace. He had lost again – what else was new – and on the walk back to lock himself in his clinic for the night had been arguing his point that it wouldn't be at all unjust for the spirit to give him a little supernatural lift with the cards, if only just the once.

Passing the mouth of a familiar alley, one he knew to be home to a number of Fereldan refugees, Anders picked up the sound of the odd carrying voice. He couldn't make out the words, but the tone that reached his ears was certainly not friendly. If recent events were any indication, the Coterie were harassing refugees again, trying to take back space they'd had to themselves for years before the Blight had forced those unfortunates to head north with little more than the clothing they wore.

Ah, well, it really was only a wonder it had taken this long for the Coterie to get territorial. But if that was what he was hearing, he might just be able to do something to keep the peace for a bit longer. Adjusting his course, Anders slipped his staff out of the catch at his back – a new one, taken during the recent trip into the Deep Roads – and headed into the winding alley.

As he rounded a corner, Anders saw some distance away a group of men – six, by his fast count – in the hallmark leathers of the Coterie just starting their kind of rough-and-tumble with a group of refugees that looked to include a couple of families. No, this won't do, he thought, watching one of the men kick at a woman who had been thrown to the ground. All of the refugees looked weak with hunger, hardly able to stand never mind defending themselves. And I can't have their focus on anyone unable to fight, either.

Quickly deciding on a tactic, Anders thumped the base of his staff against a nearby crate three times in slow succession, sending the echoing sound of hard wood on hollow down the alley and catching the attention of the thugs. Half a dozen on one, they already think you're crazy. Now to let them know. Lips spreading in a feral grin, he raised his off hand to taunt the men with a come-ahead gesture, jerking his chin high once to seal the invitation.

The thugs looked round at each other, eventually deciding there might be more fun to be had putting this interloper in his place, three of them breaking away to begin their advance, the others following some distance behind.

Excellent. Focusing on the group in the back, Anders gestured in the air as he called on his power. An eerie orange glow lit the ground at the feet of the three bringing up the rear, drawing their attention downward as it intensified. Confused, distracted, the trio didn't notice until too late the sizzling drips and scorching balls of flame that began to rain down on them from above, melting leather into skin and raising blisters. That's them sorted.

Shifting his attention now to the group at the fore, who had been only momentarily distracted by the three, he judged their distance to be just enough yet and their caution to be… not quite. Trading his staff to his off hand, he began a new gesture, replacing flame with frost. As his invocation ended and he swept his hand in a wave before him, they were just in range to be met with the cascading wall of ice that passed in its wake and collided against the men.

Brilliant. Wasting no time as he registered that the one on the left had been completely subsumed by his frost, Anders danced to the side. Wheeling his staff overhead for momentum, he brought it crashing down into the side of the ice statue. As the glittering sound of ice shards falling to the ground subsided, he smiled again at the remaining two, who had regained their feet and now regarded him with a healthy measure of fear.

Striking low with his staff, he connected with the stomach of the one nearest, using the contact to reverse his momentum. Bringing his weapon around in a high arc, he drew it down with some force against the back of the man's head.

One left. I think we've got a use for him. Again moving his staff to his off hand, he raised his right and lit it with raw mana, eldritch color passing around his wrist and through his long fingers. Advancing on the last thug standing, he used the tip of his staff to press the man against the wall, summoning all his charm to fuel the smile he offered this time.

"I believe you have a message for the rest of your lot. Care to tell me what it is?"

He nodded in all the appropriate places as the Coterie thug stumbled through promises to spread the word that refugees in this alley – in Darktown, he meant in Darktown – were off-limits. Withdrawing his staff, he jerked his head to signal the man to make his escape. Only once he was fully out of sight did Anders extinguish the power at his hand.

After a quick check to confirm the end of the four whose bodies remained intact, he stepped further into the alley to see if there had been any injuries before he'd arrived.