Enchantment

Chapter 1

He was running franticly, trying not to think, trying not to let the panicking feeling that threatened to overwhelm him take over. He had killed them. He had killed them. It had taken just one command to turn against them and slay them all. As long as he could remember, he had obeyed his master; he never had had another choice. There never had been a choice. He was his master's possession and he had always done as he had been ordered. He hadn't even been surprised his master had turned up. Of course he would find him to drag him back to Minrathous. And of course he would instruct him to slaughter his saviours. So why had he turned away and ran off after the grisly deed had been done? It didn't just horrify him, it made him mortally afraid. He wasn't supposed to act that way, he wasn't created to act that way.

No thinking no thinking.

He was covered in their blood, and the smell, the more pungent in the stifling heat, made him dizzy and nauseous. He tripped over and retched until he just coughed up pure acid. He stumbled onto his feet and made it to a cool rippling brook, not ten yards away. He fell again, head forward in the refreshing stream and drank until he retched once more. He rolled onto his back and lay motionless in the cold water, listening. The jungle around him was full of sound, but there was no hint of pursuing soldiers. Well, he had killed them as well, hadn't he, in his unsettling frenzy. So why hadn't he killed him?

No! That was unthinkable, he could not have raised his hand against his master, the mere thought made his panic rise again. Fleeing from him was the most extreme deed against him he had been able to achieve. And even that startled him now.

In the years to come he would ponder that feeling on a daily basis, ever more regretting he had not taken the opportunity of killing Danarius in his most vulnerable moment.

Finally he scrambled onto his feet and made his way to the coast. Little did he know he finally would end up in Kirkwall, the City of Chains of all places, where his life would again take an unexpected turn. A turn that would disturb him in many ways.

She was running, they were all running. Away from the Darkspawn, away from the total destruction, away from death. She didn't want to think of what they were forced to leave behind. The friendly town they had lived in for years. Gone. Her lover. Dead. She didn't even want to think about the future. The only thing that mattered now was survival.

No thinking no thinking.

She turned when she heard Leandra cry out and was just in time to flail a ball of fire at the horrid creatures that threatened to overwhelm her mother. No Templars here, no need to hide her magic if it could kill faster than her daggers. Her brother gave out a shout of warning while he at the same time attacked a group of Darkspawn that suddenly approached from the opposite direction. Another fireball flew, together with an outburst of ice, cast from her sister's staff.

Survival, all that mattered was survival. She had to get her family into safety.

Kirkwall was the last place she had wanted to go, it was a city infested with Templars after all, but they ended up there anyway because of her mother's heritage. Together with a red-haired officer of the shattered Ferelden army they had stumbled upon during their desperate flight. The officer that was, not the army, that existed no more. Aveline was her name, she learned, and she lost her husband on the run because of the taint of the Blight. Just as they lost sweet Bethany to an ogre. Even the surprising turn up of the Witch of the Wild, Flemeth, could not have prevented both heartbreaking events. They arrived at the city weeks later, all of them mourning, grieving over the losses they had to bear. She never could have guessed how many strange and often painful bolts the forthright and sometimes hard-headed Lady of Fate would shoot at her.

Kirkwall had hit him like a hammer. For starters there had been the two statues that had welcomed him while sailing into the harbour. The huge statues of battered slaves, bronze figures clung in chains and fettered to the rocks that embraced and protected the port as a natural defence. It had come as a shock. He knew that the city had once been a part of the Tevinter Imperium, that slaves had been hauled down here to serve in the mines and the foundries, but he hadn't been prepared for the bare witness of that time, still visible. After that came the smell, well frankly, the stench. Not only the harbour stank but also all of Lowtown, the part of the city he allowed himself to stay in. He had found a cheap tavern to scout from. The harbour had smelled of dead fish and foul water, Lowtown reeked of filth, rats and misery. Not until he had been forced to visit the Undercity, also known as Darktown, the part of Kirkwall where the really desperate had flocked together in the meagre, if not non-existent hope, to find a sort of – living, in lack of a better word, he had thought that Lowtown was the most dreadful place he had ever seen in his life. The smell of Darktown was indescribable. Disease and death came closest.

Ironically, it was both Darktown and Hightown that eventually gave him the answers. In the end Lowtown had little to do with it, although it played its own very significant role. Especially the Alienage he hated the moment he saw it. Being an elf himself, although he had never felt much relationship with any elven community whatsoever, it was almost unbearable to witness how his race was compulsory to live in this way. Hardly better than slaves, worse than servants, deprived of all dignity, forced into poverty and a life of servitude. Nevertheless he had been given no choice than to use the appalling elven quarter because that choice had been made for him. And the encounter he had in that place would mark the rest of his life. So yes, noticeable after all.

Hightown smelled of expensive spices, rich silk and good food. This part of the city was filled with grand buildings; it held the palace of the Viscount who ruled the city, at least as best as he could, the Chantry where the Maker was worshipped, and numerous wonderful mansions and estates that reminded him of Minrathous although the style of building was completely different. Far less flamboyant. He liked that. The arrogant attitude of the nobles occupying the expensive houses, however, was yet the same as in Tevinter or in Orlais or any other country he had visited with Danarius. Hightown also held a theatre, a renowned rather fashionable brothel and several bathhouses. Lowtown was the proud owner of a bathhouse as well and although it couldn't compete with the grandeur of the ones in Hightown, he preferred this one.

In Hightown his former master Danarius owned a mansion, so he found out after with much care bribing several persons. One of the bribed informers, paid with stolen money, had told him also that there were a lot of Tevinters in town of late. Slave hunters no doubt. He had never believed that Danarius had been willing to give up on his valuable runaway slave so easily, so he wasn't surprised. There was even a strong rumour going the round that his former master would be in town to witness him being recaptured. He acknowledged by then he couldn't do this on his own anymore. He needed assistance. After a significant amount of money had changed hands, he was in the possession of two names. The one who could do the job, and had apparently become some kind of a legend in the more inferior parts of the city, and the one who was able to put that legend in touch with him. He was no rogue, but the years being on the run had taught him some of the abilities. Stealth had almost become a second nature. And so he had stayed in the shadows while overhearing an argument between slave hunters in a by Tevinters claimed warehouse at the docks. The discussion was about a bait to lure him into a trap, set in a hovel in the Alienage. He was not surprised to receive a message the following day by a young Fereldan boy, who undoubtedly knew nothing about him, or his predicament, but just wanted to earn a few silvers. The boy told him to be present in the Alienage the following night so that he could learn more of his past. There would be a chest that would reveal everything about his past he had lost. Of course he did not believe him. It just made him more alert than before. Apparently he had been spotted.

That same night he moved for the sixth time.

In Darktown he had previously met the dwarf named Anso, the one who had pointed him to the existence of the Tevinters in Kirkwall, and now he returned to him to persuade him to perform a little trick to win over the, according to the grapevine, only being in Kirkwall worthy to help him get rid of Danarius and his slavers. Anso had claimed before to know a dwarf in her entourage (he had been surprised to learn the so called legend happened to be female) and how to contact him with the needed delicacy and subterfuge, and again a substantial amount of coins changed hands. He could only pray that it would turn out the way he hoped it would. Too bad he wasn't the praying kind. It goes unsaid that he had been extremely cautious with his investigations and thus moved regularly from one cheep watering hole to another. The only place he hadn't used was the Hanged Man and in the end that turned out to be rather ironical.

Her name chimed through the city, at least through the quarters that really mattered. Hightown was not a part of it – yet but she had made sure that the reputation of the Red Iron mercenaries had risen since she had joined their ranks. And even though she had by now quit them and tried to make a living of her own, the standing lingered. She was aware of it, although she felt very ambivalent about the dubious honour, to say the best of it. Being famous was damned dangerous for a mage in a city like Kirkwall; it was dangerous anywhere but under the prying eyes of Knight Commander Meredith it became even more hazardous. Even for a mage who acted like a rogue. She had tried very hard to be noticed as a warrior and not as someone with magical powers, but she was constantly frightened that her cover would be blown apart. Momentarily she was glowering at Varric.

'This is all but your fault,' she scoffed.

The blond haired and beardless dwarf threw dramatically his arms in the air. (His chest hair made more than up for the lack of a beard, as he himself was willing to declare on a regular basis. And besides that, he stated, facial hair was only good for collecting leftovers and therefore disgusting. He loathed the idea of smelling all day what he had had for breakfast).

'What, did you want me to be silent about your actions? That would be no less than a sin!' he exclaimed.

'You could at least be silent about my so called love affairs.' At this point Hawke was glaring viciously at him.

'You can't deny you had them,' Varric wickedly grinned.

'Not in the way you describe them!' Hawke protested with force.

They were gathered in the Hanged Man where Varric and the exotic pirate queen, momentarily-alas-without-a-ship, Isabela both inhabited a room. The tavern had the best name in Lowtown and that said a lot about the other drinking holes. The walls were greasy, the floor covered with grime, if not blood and vomit, and the ale and whisky had a whole own – special taste. A night without a bar brawl was a very quiet one.

'Are you sure? I rather liked them,' Isabela crooned. She licked her upper lip in a very suggestive way. Hawke rolled her eyes. Isabela was prone to like anything even slightly related to sex.

'You know my brother reads your crap and of course is more than happy to pass it on to my mother. This latest fight with her is due to you.' Hawke pointed an accusing finger at the dwarf.

Varric raised his hands in defence. 'My dear lady! It was never my intend to offend you. And besides that, I think that you are more than capable to quarrel with your mother on your own account. But let me make it up to you.' He but just smothered a string of curses and he knew it. 'I have it from an – acquaintance – that we can earn some serious coin.'

Hawke calmed down somewhat and raised a brow. 'Let me guess, you got the information from some lost dwarf who just fled the depths of Orzammar to find himself in the loving embrace of our Undercity,' she said sarcastically. 'Some wonderful story that will make.' It had been a wild presumption to be honest, but by the look on the dwarf's face she had not been far from the truth.

'But with the promise of good coin,' Varric pointed out, happily. 'And yes, Anso is from Orzammar but I believe him far from lost and he isn't living in Darktown. He just has a foothold there for – business. He has been in Kirkwall for over a year now but still has his contacts in the dwarven city. I admit it's the first time I have dealings with him, but according to my connections he is reliable. The only thing we have to do is to retrieve the continence of a chest hidden in some hovel in the Alienage. Easy as that and he is paying handsomely for it. Five sovereigns.'

Hawke stared hard at him. 'A dwarf with contacts in Orzammar and a foothold in Darktown? Yeah right. You think to fool me? You can tell me blatantly that this is all about contraband. And since your contact is a dwarf with contacts in Orzammar, the contraband is undoubtedly lyrium,' she said flatly.

Varric kept his face straight. 'I don't know anything about that,' he stated. 'I only had my ear on the money. Five sovereigns, Hawke.'

Marian sighed wholeheartedly. Lyrium. If anyone caught them with that stuff, their lives were forfeit. Templars drank the blighted venom to control mages, but a lot of them got so addicted to it that the portions the Order allowed were not enough. That knowledge had started a very profitable smuggling business that not only kept the dwarven circle of Carta criminals very wealthy, but also attracted a colourful bunch of human pirates and muggers. And they all fought among each other for the best share. Between those groups the City Guard did their best to arrest anyone they could put their hands upon. Aveline, who had joined them, would have a heart attack if she heard about this. And besides that ...

'Just empty a chest hidden in the Alienage? It sounds a bit too easy if you ask me,' Hawke said, pensively. 'It makes my hackles rise.'

'I must confess I feel the same but we still have our eyes and ears. And I can always rely on Bianca,' Varric replied reassuringly, referring to his trusted crossbow that he never let out of sight.

Hawke tapped with her index finger of her right hand on her lower lip. 'Alright, we could use the money,' she finally gave in. 'Care to join us?' she turned to the dark tanned, eccentric – to say the least – pirate, 'of course you will have your share of the profit.'

Isabela beamed at her. 'Are you serious? Naturally I will join you. I can never turn down a good profit, or an adventure. Or you.'

Vigorously Hawke ignored her sexual teemed grin.

And of course it turned out to be a trap.

After swearing about a very empty chest and cursing Anso into the depths of the Void, they found themselves outside the hovel surrounded by an aggressive group of assailants determined to end their lives. It was a fierce but short fight and it could have been amusing if it hadn't been so annoying for the waste of time.

'I have blood on my coat, I hate that,' Varric grumbled after finishing off the last attacker.

'O shut up, dwarf, I think one of my daggers has caught a notch; much worse than a drop of blood on your clothes,' Hawke threw back. 'It will cost me hours of honing and polishing before the blade is in the right shape again. You owe me more than one drink after this debacle.'

'I told you to buy better knives,' Varric retorted.

But before they could start a friendly squabble, they were cut short by a very annoyed man who suddenly appeared on the stairs leading down to the Alienage.

'I don't know what you're doing here, but I'll make sure you will regret it greatly,' he growled.

Hawke folded her arms and cocked her head to take a good look at him in the dim light that was cast by the moon and the few lit torches in the Alienage. He wore a heavy steal breastplate with the same crest as the soldiers they killed just minutes before, but in another colour. She suspected he was a commander of some sort. A cowardly one she decided, commanders belonged with their men in battle. The man had descended the stairs by now and stood glaring furiously back at her.

'Really? I hope you notice the corpses.' Hawke vaguely waved a hand around her. 'So perhaps you should be the one regretting showing up.'

He didn't bother to respond her. 'Lieutenant!' he roared, 'get your sorry arse over here and take these jokers prisoner!'

'My, this is a confident one,' Isabela smirked while Hawke started to laugh aloud. She got interrupted by a man, probably the lieutenant, who was slumping down the stairs as if he had been pushed. Besides that he was bleeding heavily.

'Captain,' he croaked before he fell down completely. He stayed motionless, clumsily draped over the steps and never got up again. Before any of them could react, a third voice floated into the courtyard.

It was a voice that sounded like molten dark sugar, like a touch of rough velvet, like a night of incredibly hot sex. It entered Hawke's ears to hit her lower brain and from there on descended down her spine to nestle somewhere deep in her stomach. A voice like that could cause orgies with severe casualties. No one should be allowed to sound like this.

What exactly the voice was saying, completely passed her over; she was too occupied trying to cope with the sheer reverberation and what it did to her body. It didn't get any better when the owner of the voice came into sight. The first thing she noticed was the shock of pure white, moonlike hair, nonchalantly tousled as if the wind had swept through it. When the person moved down the stairs, with much more grace than the lieutenant moments before, his face became visible. A wonderful handsome face, a perfect match with the voice. Large, wide-set eyes – she regretted she couldn't make out the colour in this dusk – dark brows in an astonishing contrast to his hair, a straight nose above sensual curved lips. An elven face, she realised. It was carried by a lanky, lithe frame, long for an elf, clad in leather and steal. His partly bare arms were covered with strange but beautiful looking lines that waved around his taut muscles like vines. He stopped at the bottom of the set of steps and intently looked at her.

She was afraid her knees would give way.

One word, Isabela, she thought, just one wrong word and I will strangle you.

O, for the Maker's sake, get a hold on yourself, you idiot.

'You are going nowhere, slave,' the captain barked, apparently replying to something the elf had said but she had entirely missed. He slapped his hand heavily on the apparition's shoulder. That turned out to be his last mistake. The elf twisted round fast as a viper and the white markings suddenly flared as blue lighting. His spiked gauntlet moved into the captain's body and, Hawke was not entirely certain she saw this right, through it, before he withdrew his hand with the same speed. The commander collapsed and his corpse joined with his dead subordinate.

'I am not a slave,' the elf declared coolly while he turned his attention back to her.

Okay, done with drooling and gaping. Say something and it better be good.

'Nice trick. You don't see that being performed on a daily basis,' she managed, pretty lamely. He gave her a mirthless smile in return.

'I suppose you don't,' he said. 'It comes with the markings.'

'I admit you don't see those on a daily basis either.' She tried to make light of the unsettling situation but he ignored her remark. Instead he had the politeness to introduce himself and to give at least some explanation of the intriguing circumstances.

'My name is Fenris. The men you have been fighting,' his eyes lingered a short moment on the corpses, 'rather successfully so it appears, were Imperial slave hunters, hired by my former master. I'm sorry I couldn't assist you, but I was hold up by – some resistance.'

'We met him,' Hawke said with a strained smile. Her eyes fluttered over the very dead body of the lieutenant, before they returned to the elf's more than attractive appearance. 'Apparently you took also care of any other aggressors.'

'Indeed I did,' he replied without any smile at all. 'There are more bodies in the ally, if you are interested.'

'I don't need evidence to believe you,' Hawke hastened to say. The intriguing, beautiful elf sounded trustworthy. He sounded much more than that. Knee weakening, heart fluttering and mind numbing. Some more intense glances were exchanged.

'So you are an escaped slave,' Hawke finally concluded to fill the silence before it became awkward. She noticed her voice sounded rather hoarse. She also noticed Varric, sniggering. He would get the same treatment she had in store for Isabela if he weren't careful.

Fenris looked at her as if he was trying to decide whether she was smart, retarded or willing to turn him in. She gave him her most charming smile in return – she hoped. 'That explains why this whole, er, enterprise was surrounded with such mystifying concealment,' she attempted to clarify. 'I mean, Anso wasn't exactly clear about it at all, I mean, that is, he made us believe it was all about lyrium, more or less,' she helplessly stuttered on. 'I mean, he should have said it was about fighting slavers in the first place. Kindled enthusiasm ensured.'

And that was three times "I mean" and at least two times too many, you moron.

The elf raised his brows a few millimetres.

O Maker.

'I mean, (aargh!) I'm willing to slay slavers anytime.' She felt three inches high by now.

'Very eloquent, Hawke,' Varric murmured, 'I applaud thee.'

Blasted dwarf.

Heroically Hawke straightened her shoulders. 'You could have contacted me directly without using Anso,' she bravely continued. 'I would have been more than willing to help you.'

He looked at her with that utterly distressing gaze. 'It would be nice to believe you,' he said, 'but my experiences have taught me to be careful, although I appreciate your intent. I do, however, apologise for the diversion and the trouble it has caused you.' He knelt beside the dead commander and rummaged around in his pockets. He retrieved something that looked like some kind of seal. When he stood up again a mixed combination of anger and agony showed in his face. It almost made her knees buckle.

Shit!

'It seems that my former master is indeed in the city, as I feared already. If I don't confront him right now it could be too late. I'm afraid I must ask for your aid again.'

Hawke was almost certain that the agony, now showing on his face, was not only due to the presence of this mysterious master of his, but also, and perhaps even more, to the fact he was forced to ask for help. He seemed not only to be proud, but also suspicious. Probably with good reasons.

'I will compensate you for your time and effort,' he hastened to add.

Disregarding that remark with an almost unnoticeable impatient gesture of her hand, she asked, 'Who is this master you speak of?'

Fenris swallowed visibly. 'His name is Danarius, he is a powerful Magister in Tevinter,' he explained.

Varric sharply suck in breath. Marian knew what he meant to make clear. Tevinter Magisters were not to be toyed with. They for instance used blood magic with the ease a cook used salt. They didn't recoil from human sacrifices, well mostly elven sacrifices as far as she understood. They gave all mages a bad name. Her father had taught her quite a lot about them, as a bad example not to be followed. And apparently Fenris had been at such a Magister's mercy. Anger struck her.

'I would be more than happy to hunt him down,' she said determinately. She turned to look at her companions; not so much as to ask for their permission, but merely to convince them of her decision.

'Well, coin never hurts,' Varric said, though he sounded somewhat cautious. 'And I believe I have to make up to you.'

'How much I would like to participate in this inviting adventure with such delightful company,' Isabela started with a hungry look on the handsome elf, and Hawke couldn't help glaring at her, 'I'm afraid I have an, er, appointment to keep. But tell me all about it in the morning.' That would be around noon, with luck.

'In that case we should ask your brother to accompany us,' Varric said, reproachfully. 'Just the three of us going after a Tevinter Magister would prove not to be quite enough.'

Hawke sighed. How much she hated the idea, she knew the dwarf was right. 'In that case we will have to make a stop at the Blooming Rose,' she said. She smiled half-heartedly at the elf. 'Don't ask,' she meekly added.

And he didn't. He just looked blank.