Moments in Time – Realisations
An Offer of Help
The rain soaked streets of Hightown passed in a blur as Hawke kept her head down, making her weary way toward the Chantry district and Fenris's mansion.
It was late. Dusk had long since come and gone, and with it any remaining daylight. The street lanterns that were lit struggled in the onslaught of heavy rain and high winds, and she cursed the necessity of having to be out in such foul weather when all she wanted was the warmth of her own bed and a good night's sleep.
She missed Juno. Her mabari's presence would have been a comfort right now, but he was otherwise engaged. According to Bodahn, one of Donnic's patrol had come for him earlier in the day. Aveline was still putting him to good use helping to train new recruits. No doubt by now he'd be settling down to a meaty supper by a warm fire, lucky dog!
Hawke, however, had been at the Keep for most of the day, forever a necessary intermediary whilst Knight-Commander Meredith and First-Enchanter Orsino insisted on constantly being at each other's throats. To cap it off nicely, she had to play mediator and put up with the snide sarcasm of that bastard, Seneschal Bran.
The arguments, the lies, the petty snark and pride were all still spinning around in her mind. Even now her head was aching, though the coolness of the air was doing something to soothe it. She was also starving. There had never been a moment's rest where she might sneak away to eat something during the day's tedious hours of fruitless peace keeping.
It had not been a good day, not that her days were ever good lately. The only recent excursions that had taken her out of Hightown had been at the Knight-Commander's bidding, to track down apostate mages, of all things, suspected of turning to blood magic. All done with the hidden agenda of Hawke witnessing the dangers faced daily by templars first hand.
As if I wasn't blindingly aware already, she thought angrily.
At least it had given her the opportunity to do all she could to help those innocent of the suspected charges, but in only one case did the accused use of blood magic prove untrue. It had been a draining experience for many reasons, and her recovery was taking far longer than normal.
Perhaps it would have felt easier to bear if, at the end of the day, it was possible to leave it behind?
Unfortunately, that was never a feasible idea.
Anders was involved with the mage resistance up to his neck, and it appeared that only his close friendship with Hawke prevented any Templar intervention at present. He'd recently been spending a great deal of time at her estate, too. There more often than not when she returned at the end of the day and there when she awoke in the morning. He was certainly making thorough use of having access to her ever expanding library. In fact, she had wondered on numerous occasions if he ever left, having found him asleep one night when she had headed to the kitchen for a nightcap with his face pressed into a large book.
Then there was Fenris.
Or at least there had been.
His urgent summons was the first contact she'd had from him in over a fortnight. She would have welcomed his swift blade in her last few desperate encounters, certain she would have fared better in the heat of battle with his presence at her side.
No doubt hunting down blood mages would have interested him too, she thought rather bitterly, but their last meeting had not ended well and it seemed, on this occasion, they had both been too stubborn to rectify the matter.
He scowled at her before turning away to stare darkly into the fire, not deigning to look her in the eye any longer, his disgust apparent in his posture.
Incensed by his attitude toward her helping Anders and tired beyond reason, she drew out a single small glass phial from the leather pouch at her hip. She knew he was paying attention to her out of the corner of his eye so she gave no more warning than simply speaking his name before tossing the phial toward him.
"Fenris!"
He caught it instinctively, as she knew he would. Hawke watched as he rolled it deftly between his long fingers, studying it keenly, his mouth forming a hard, disapproving line.
"You recognise it, I presume?" she asked, her voice cold and unfamiliar even to herself.
He didn't answer, he didn't need to, she could read his often inscrutable expression well enough now to see that he did. He'd frequently seen her use these phials in combat as a means of defence when all her mana and lyrium potions were spent. He had watched her make them on several occasions too, equally suspicious and curious as she concocted her own personal version of the combustion grenades Varric was so fond of.
He looked up at her, one eyebrow raised in question.
"You believe a mage is such an unstable thing." Her eyes were trained on the ominously glowing phial in his hand as she spoke. As her comparison became clear, he looked at it again with a disgusted expression. "Tell me, would you hold something so potentially volatile in an iron grip?" she asked heatedly.
Fenris shook his head with an infuriated sigh before standing up suddenly and turning to face her. "Mages in glass houses," he began pointedly, pacing toward her with a glower so intent and dangerous that it fixed her to the spot, "shouldn't throw fireballs!" He held the phial up in front of her face as he spoke, his voice low and simmering.
Hawke turned even more defensive in response to his unusual closeness, lifting her chin defiantly, determined not to show how easily he could intimidate her.
Maker damn him! she thought.
The real issue had been how his attitude had put her in mind of earlier times, when Hawke had found herself at the sharp end of his greatsword for no reason besides being a mage - a mage he didn't know or wish to understand.
She knew Fenris would have killed her back then without a moment's hesitation if he'd been able to find a reason. Luckily for her, these days, throwing a phial of liquid explosive at him didn't appear to qualify as enough incentive.
She wasn't usually so dramatic with her analogies. It was rare for her to lose her temper, but she wasn't without one - she was her mother's daughter. It was only odd because she normally kept such a tight rein on her emotions, just as her father had always taught her to do, and yet Fenris was somehow able to test and elude her defences endlessly. It left her feeling vulnerable, and that rankled.
Hawke tutted to herself, shaking her head angrily and scattering raindrops from her hood as past hurts succeeded in aggravating her once more. Fenris's good opinion mattered far, far too much sometimes.
She ran up the final flight of steps two at a time, skipping through the torrent of water that cascaded down them, and dashed to Fenris's familiar doorway grateful for the respite from the downpour. The decrepit state of the mansion meant the weather wouldn't improve much once inside, so Hawke left her makeshift hood in place as she pushed against the heavy front door, wincing slightly as it gave with a distinct creak.
The wind howled through the barren interior as she stood for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness within. She could hear the dripping water before she saw it, trickling steadily to form large murky puddles amidst the broken floor tiles. It seemed she would only be able to dry off properly upon reaching the single upstairs room that Fenris occupied.
With a long sigh, Hawke ventured inside, closing the stiff door behind her with a hard shove.
The mansion wasn't without its charms on sunnier days and clearer evenings. Its location in the Chantry district meant it had one of the highest vantage points in Kirkwall. It made star gazing through the broken roof far easier, with the view of the sky unimpeded by the glowing lights of the city.
Admittedly she'd had many pleasant evenings sitting at the top of the stairs simply watching the night go by with Fenris telling her what he knew of the different constellations. His knowledge differed from her schooling and she found his ideas infinitely more fascinating. When the mansion was cold and damp like this though, it felt sad and more than a little oppressive.
Crossing the entrance foyer, Hawke called out in greeting. Though there was no reply, she could see light emanating from Fenris's room on the first floor so continued undaunted towards the stairs.
On reaching the galleried landing she could make out two distinct voices. One obviously Fenris's deep gravelly timbre and the other a woman's that she didn't recognise at first. The idea that he might have other company was a thought that had never crossed her mind before. Her pace slowed as she found the notion oddly discomforting.
Forcefully pushing such unexpected insecurities from her mind, she cautiously took a few more steps forward to hear better hoping to catch the gist of their conversation before making her presence known. Almost instantly her mind relaxed, the lady in question was Aveline.
"Are you certain it's her?" Fenris asked irritably.
"An elf matching your description, on the ship you named, and alone as far as I could tell," Aveline responded, her voice calm - though Hawke was sure she could detect a hint of tightly controlled irritation. The discussion had clearly been ongoing for a while for the Guard-Captain's patience to be tested. Aveline usually handled Fenris's moodiness easily, but Hawke knew all too well how difficult and unreasonable he could be.
"I need to know if it's a trap!" he demanded, slamming his hands against the table in front of him as his agitation reached a peak.
Hawke winced at his attitude, and thought it best to intercede before Aveline was pushed into losing her temper also.
"I did as you asked, Fenris," Aveline sighed. "Now it's up to you." She looked to the door just as Hawke appeared, offering her a slight nod in greeting before getting to her feet and gathering up her cloak from where it had been drying by the fire. Casting one last look at Fenris's downcast face, she took her leave.
"You talk to him, Hawke," she suggested in passing, her voice showing undeniable cracks in her usually formidable stoicism. "I've had my fill for today."
Hawke turned her head to watch Aveline's armoured form disappear down the stairs and into the maelstrom of weather, sweeping her long cloak about her shoulders as she went. After a moment she thought she could make out the mansion's resistant front door being forced open and closed again, and realised she was just staring into the gathering shadows of the night when Fenris needed her attention.
He was still leaning against the table, the tension practically rolling off his back in visible waves. Hawke said nothing as she made her way into the room, unravelling her red hooded shawl as she went. She knew he would uncoil eventually. He just needed a moment to collect himself.
"Venhedis! Fasta Vass!" Fenris cursed, forcefully pushing himself away from the table before beginning his usual pacing.
Considering Hawke had been waiting for it, his outburst didn't faze her. Instead, she calmly took a seat by the fire and followed Aveline's example by draping her long shawl out next to her, hoping it might dry a bit before she had to leave.
"You look pale, Hawke."
The unexpected note of concern made her look up. Fenris was watching her from across the room, his dark eyes penetrating and obviously worried.
Hello to you too, she thought, trying to formulate a suitable response, but struggled to hold his gaze for long, blushing despite herself as her mind filled with the sudden memories of other times they'd stared at each other for any length of time. Her brow furrowed as she realised it had been a constant issue for her ever since Aveline's wedding a few months back. Damn him.
Fenris simply raised one of his dark eyebrows curiously, comprehending far more than she ever meant to express.
"I'm fine," she lied, hoping to alleviate how awkward she suddenly felt. Her stresses were not the reason she was here after all.
He looked away with a long sigh. "I'm sorry," he said.
Hawke couldn't help her astonishment. Fenris never apologised - it was so unexpected. "What for?" she asked.
"I haven't been here and I understand you might have needed..." As he met Hawke's slightly bemused expression, he changed tack mid-sentence. "You've been... busy," he simplified, and she realised that he must have been keeping track of her movements even if she hadn't seen him for a fortnight. She asked herself how, only to have one name come to mind: Varric.
"I'm sorry to make this day longer for you, too," Fenris added sincerely.
Hawke simply lifted a hand to wave off his concern, but noticed Fenris was no longer looking at her.
"It's my sister," he said, "I didn't tell you, but I followed up on Hadriana's information."
"Oh?" Of all the things Hawke had thought the problem could be, this was not it.
"Yes, everything she said was true," he continued, pausing to run a hand through his hair. "I had to keep it quiet, but I eventually contacted Varania and sent her coin enough to come meet me. And now, according to Aveline's information, she's here."
With everything that had transpired after Hadriana, Hawke had thought Fenris determined to leave the knowledge of his sister buried, assuming it was merely bait, all part of a trap set by Danarius. His former master was the only other soul alive who knew of Fenris's desperate desire to rediscover the memories the lyrium branding process had stolen from him. Their erasure having been what tightened the Magister's leash around Fenris's neck in the first place, dangling much sought after answers before him as a prize to be earned with compliance.
It would have proven strong motivation, Hawke thought disgustedly. "Varania's here? So she was in Qarinus after all?" she asked.
"She left Magister Ahriman's service," explained Fenris. He walked toward the hearth and rested a hand upon the mantle, looking down at her briefly in passing before staring into the dimming fire. His expression darkened. "I found her in Minrathous. That made things more difficult."
"So I would imagine," Hawke replied, allowing her eyes to rest back on the comforting flames again.
Despite the fire's warm glow, she shivered uncontrollably as a cold gust of air blew through the open chamber door, sinking icy, unwelcome fingers through her and making her truly aware of how damp she was.
"But according to the men I paid it's just as Hadriana said; she's not a slave, she's a tailor, in fact." He smiled to himself at that knowledge, his voice resonating with a hint of pride.
When Hawke made no further comment, he looked back at her to see she was freezing, her arms wrapped around herself. Without a word, Fenris set about pulling the other bench closer to the fire, gesturing lightly to the end of it that was closest to the heat.
"Here, Hawke," he offered. "Set your cloak down where you are now, you'll be warmer without it whilst it's soaked through."
Without the energy to mollify his sudden concern, Hawke wearily got to her feet and did as she was bid. She wasn't really paying attention till she felt the cloak being pulled from her shoulders and turned to see Fenris laying it out over the bench next to her shawl. Then he closed the door, and retrieved a small cast iron pot and two cups from the shelves by the table with a low clatter. Within moments he was back, stooping down just in front of her to tend the dying blaze, building it back up again to boil water for a hot drink.
"Thank you," Hawke acknowledged, taking her new seat and smiling at his partially concealed profile. Fenris merely nodded in response to her gratitude as she lifted her hands toward the very welcome extra warmth now radiating from the fire.
"Getting a letter to her was difficult," he continued after a moment as if there had been no pause in their original conversation.
"I'm not surprised. I can't imagine how you even began to go about it?"
"She didn't believe me at first..." he mused quietly, before his voice trailed off to a whisper, "but she's finally come."
Hawke tilted her head to look at him easier as he remained partly hidden by his hair falling in his face. "You're afraid Danarius knows?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.
"The more it seems he doesn't know the more certain I become that he does!" Fenris replied heatedly, poking at the fire. It was quiet for a moment before he took a deep breath and turned to look up at her imploringly. "Come with me, Hawke. If this is a trap, I need someone who can fight to back me up."
This was why he'd asked her here tonight, she realised. To make sure an offer of help made years ago still stood. As if it wouldn't? she thought dubiously, but Hawke could read the uncertainty in his dark green eyes all too well, despite the careful neutrality of the rest of his features. He wasn't sure she would help him and his doubt pained her deeply.
"Fenris," she whispered consolingly. Wanting to offer him some small amount of comfort, she found her hand half outstretched toward him before thinking better of it and letting it fall into her lap again. "I told you I'd be ready," she reminded him gently. "Nothing has happened in the past six years to change that fact. Except, perhaps... I care even more now. I'd like to think you were asking for my help as a friend though, Fenris, rather than simply mercenary backup this time." She smiled at his curious expression before casting an appraising eye over her own fine cloth robes. "However lightly I might be armoured these days," she added jokingly.
Fenris smiled before turning back to the task of making them both a drink. "We may not have been friends in the beginning, Hawke, but you must know that we are now."
"Being on the receiving end of that particular beginning, you have no idea how nice it is to hear you say that," she confessed.
"Even then, I always respected you," he admitted.
Hawke couldn't help but laugh in disbelief. Her own reflections upon that time and how she'd thought Fenris felt about her back then came up with quite a different word than 'respect'.
"It's true!" he assured. "You must have been doing something right. You really are the finest mage I've ever met."
"By the Maker, Fenris... such flattery will go straight to my head. Speaking of which," she made an obvious point of looking about the room before her eyes widened in feigned shock, "that was said without a trace of Aggregio to hand?" She couldn't help but chuckle when he huffed indignantly and rolled his eyes.
"You don't know how much I had before you arrived," Fenris retorted with a small smile of his own.
"You'd be deliberately staring at me a lot more if you'd had any," she remarked unthinking. Despite its truth, she was left fidgeting uncomfortably, more than a little embarrassed by her choice of words.
Fenris didn't respond straight away, and the longer he remained quiet the more she felt her cheeks flush.
"I can always take it back, if you'd prefer?" he asked playfully, holding her suddenly nervous gaze once again.
She took a deep breath to help calm her racing heart, trying not to be too obvious about it, before shaking her head in answer to his question. "I just think it's funny how times change," she said, "remembering how our last meeting ended."
"Indeed," Fenris agreed. "You were certainly intent! Perhaps finest, melodramatic mage would describe you better? Though that was really the first time I'd ever seen you so."
"I'm sorry," Hawke began, but he cut her off by lifting a hand.
"It's done, Hawke, best leave it be."
She nodded at that, resigned. It truly couldn't have affected him as much as she'd feared else he would never have let it go so easily. A comfortable silence fell over them as the pot came to a boil and Fenris was distracted making up the cups of herbal tea.
The momentary quiet allowed Hawke to finally wonder why and when Fenris had made up his mind to find Varania, but before she could ask her empty stomach practically howled in dismay. Both of them burst into laughter simultaneously at the way she had broken the silence.
"Haven't you eaten?" Fenris asked, recovering his composure quickly. She shook her head and he rolled his eyes again, despairingly this time. Standing up quickly and leaving the tea to brew for a moment, he began digging through his own meagre food supplies on the far side of the room.
"It's alright, Fenris," Hawke said to his back. "I'll have something when I get home later."
"I would hope so," he answered over his shoulder, before apparently finding what he was after and returning to her, "but it would hardly do for you to collapse from hunger on your way back." Fenris held out a rather large linen-wrapped sweet cake for her.
"Is it your last one?" she asked, riddled with a mixture of guilt and undeniable temptation.
"Would it matter if it was?" he asked, amused for a moment before her eyes evidently told him 'it would'. "Just... take it, Hawke."
He cursed under his breath in Arcanum at her momentary reluctance, but she took it after a second. Fenris then knelt back down before the fire again and continued to prepare their drinks.
Hawke could feel him watching her as she eyed the cake with near reverence before taking a huge, unladylike bite out of it, sighing contentedly. It was beyond delicious.
He laughed quietly to himself at the sight before asking sarcastically, "I would have thought food an expected perk of being a noble?"
"So would I," she answered with her mouth full, gesturing apologetically for her lack of manners. She noticed how Fenris's eyes looked over her almost anxiously before he merely smiled, watching as she swallowed the uncomfortably large bite. "It would be nice to spend enough time at home to enjoy Orana's lovely cooking," she added honestly.
"Hmm," was all the response Fenris gave her as he turned away, and she worried that mentioning her elven servant, Orana, might have succeeded in offending him. She shrugged off the concern, she had said nothing wrong.
The companionable silence returned as she turned her attentions back to her sweet cake. Her mind wandered back as she ate, reconsidering her thoughts before she had been so rudely interrupted by her own grumbling innards.
"Could you answer me something?" she asked, wiping her slightly sticky fingers on the now empty linen cloth. Hawke was desperate to know Fenris's mind and see if her own conclusions were correct.
"That depends on the question," he replied, his expression slightly perplexed as he looked up at her again.
"Not that your response will affect my decision to help you in any way," she clarified and Fenris lifted his eyebrow quizzically, waiting for her to continue. "It's just I'd like to understand why? I thought you said there was no point to this, finding Varania?"
He'd looked away again almost as soon as she began speaking and remained fixed on his own busy hands now as he mulled over Hawke's question.
"I can't simply leave it like this," he replied, confirming her suspicions. "I have to know. It's time I knew. Just to see her, Hawke, it could reawaken in me what I've believed to be lost all these years. To know my family again? To feel I truly belong? It's more than I could dream." His voice broke slightly, expressing the sheer magnitude of emotion such thoughts wrought in him.
"I'll be there," she confirmed, trying desperately to conceal the moisture welling in her eyes.
"Thank you, Hawke. It means a lot to me," Fenris replied, passing her up a steaming cup of tea which she gratefully accepted.
"Just tell me where and when?" she asked.
"Varania's staying at the Hanged Man, of all places," Fenris explained, settling down on the floor in front of her and sipping gingerly at his own drink. "I'd like to go tomorrow if you're available?"
The Hanged Man? Not the best place to lay a trap if that's truly what's waiting for us, Hawke considered. It would be nice to think that Varania is as eager to know her brother again as he is to know her. "Tomorrow it is then," she agreed, raising her cup to him.
