Scarlet Hawke lowered the smoked tip of her stave in room that had just become filled with utter silence. Then a single pair of hands began clapping slowly, almost mockingly. Hawke looked up, ignoring the screaming protests of multiple injuries, to see it was the Archon. His mouth was curled in a twisted smile. Startled out of his open-mouthed gaping by the Archon's reaction, a scribe began to read the Victory Rites. Hawke tuned him out, focusing on staying upright. Danarius was a Magister three times her age, and her victory had been a close call to say to the least. As she was of the opinion that Danarius wasn't worth the effort to throw him in the sewers, much less a eulogy, she wished he would get it over with so she could go home and have Beth patch her up.
She tiredly focused in again when the Archon began to speak. "Welcome to the Imperium Court of Magi, Magister Aquilas." He said in a smooth voice. "We praise your victory. I dare say that we can expect much excitement from you in the future." He finished with a cruel smile. After a moment of hesitation, the praise was echoed by the rest of the Magisters in the room. We praise your victory. Tasting bile in her throat, she forced herself to bow to him, as was customary after an official duel. On some unseen cue, a slave came out to help her into the rooms underneath the arena, presumably to be healed and to change in to clean robes.
Rage burned deep in her stomach at the site of the slaves fearful eyes and the numerous scars on his arms from being used to supply blood for the Magisters twisted spells and experiments. She accepted his help, knowing that if she didn't the overdressed vultures in the stands would see it as a sign of weakness, but it left a bitter taste in her mouth. Once the slave had left and she was in the relative safety of the tunnels, she left the painful emotions that she had turned into anger to fight Danarius finally overwhelm her after years of stewing in the depths of her mind.
Scarlet had spent the last four years with the sole purpose of her life being Danarius's death - learning, killing, bribing, and clawing her way to the top, inch by painful inch. It had been a place to focus her grief – she had never really dealt with it, just used it to fuel her unending desire for Danarius's death. Now, as his body cooled, she was forced to face the brunt of the grief and pain that she had ignored. Danarius may be dead, but so was her father. Neither his death nor the fact that by defeating him she was now a rich Magister could change that. A healer rushed in, and she allowed herself to be turned in every which way, sighed in relief as burns and blood-magic induced sores closed to close ivory skin behind.
Still lost in her thoughts, she let herself be dressed in new, soft robes that smelled of expensive soaps and oils, let them comb her hair and style it simply. It was only when she said a simple "Thank you" out of habits and manners that she considered normal that she was shocked back in to reality. As those simple words of gratitude, the slave dropped the hairbrush in shock, and then froze in fear of retribution for losing grip on it. Hawke reflexively leaned down to pick it up, only remembering herself at the strangled gasp of the slave. Looking up, Hawke saw fear and awe in the young girl's eyes.
Anger, a very familiar and welcome friend, started to fill her heart once again. No, her father would not ever come back, but she had prevented the vile serpent from ever killing someone else's loved ones again. And while inheriting his estate and title had seemed like nothing more than an added bonus, she could do good things with what he had once used only for evil. When she had sworn to kill Danarius, everyone had thought her insane. A refugee with hardly a coin to her name, kill a well-known Magister? Ridiculous. But they had changed their tune now. And the fear in the slave-girls eyes brought back a flood of other memories, other things that made her hate the Magisters to the core of their rotten, bitter souls.
She knew even her own mother would laugh if she told them the other half of the oath she had sworn at her father's death. In Andraste herself couldn't conquer the Tevine, who was she to say she would do it? But Scarlet Hawke was good at the impossible. And she knew that her grief at her father's death was merely another thread in the endless tapestry of misery and pain that the Imperium had woven over millennia. While Scarlet Hawle certainly wasn't a war strategist, even the most common foot soldier knows the easiest was to conquer an enemy was from the inside. Maybe it was a fool's endeavor, maybe it was impossible. But Scarlet Hawke was going to bring the Tevinter Imperium to its knees or she would die trying. The city was already balancing on a razors edge – all it would take was a little push. The Magisters ruled through fear and intimidation, but it every person united against them, they would fall in mere hours. Hope was even rarer in Minathorous than honor, and it would take years to gain the trust she needed. But Maker be her witness, she was going to try.
After calming the slave down, Hawke walked out, only to be ambushed by a flock of intrigued Magisters. While Magisters died often, a direct challenge instead of a poisoned chalice made for more gossip as it was a bit of a novelty. In addition, many wanted to get in her good graces, her impressive display of power causing them to either want to befriend her or intimidate her. Putting on a fake smile, she was trying to make a graceful exit when a thin, sallow skinned, brunette woman came weaving swiftly through the crowd. As soon as she reached Hawke, she bowed and began talking in a simpering, wheedling voice that instantly made Hawke's warning bells go off. "Greeting most honored mistress; I am Hadraina, apprentice of the late Magister Danarius. As well as inheriting Danarius's great wealth, you are entitled to have me as an apprentice if you so please." She simpered, batting her eyelashes. Not much loyalty to her old master it seems, as his body has barely began to cool. Hawke thought wryly.
She knew she needed to consider her next words very carefully. Symbolism and metaphor were a language in of themselves in the Tevine, and with many potential enemies in the room, she needed to say the right thing. Regardless of the fact that she would be perfectly happy to incinerate every one of them, Scarlet knew full well that she was outmatched. After a barely noticeable pause, Hawke replied "Is it customary for the victor to tend the corpse's table scraps?" From the laughter around her, it seemed that she had said the right thing. One of the older Magisters, a wizened, pale man that's name she recalled to be Hadonious, smirked slightly and said "While it is certainly not obligatory, she is not wholly hopeless as far as apprentices go." Laughter, a bit crueler this time, echoed around the entry hall once again. Hadriana turned an interesting shade of red, and even though Hawke's automatic reaction to her was dislike, she took pity on the mage.
"I will consider it, but I will need to restore my new estate to order before making any decisions." Judging from the nods around her, she had again said the correct thing. Finally wrangling herself free of the crowd of Magisters with various intentions, she walked out the grand door of the arena entrance with Bethany close at her side. The bone-deep exhaustion of almost dying was beginning to set in. She needed to get home. Home. Hawke groaned. Her mother had to be worried sick. Damn the meddlesome vipers for not letting Bethany take her home.
She was about to set off to her house when the mousy looking girl from earlier ran from the doors the sisters had just exited, almost tripping over the hem of her robes in eagerness to impress. The Hawke sisters exchanged a look. Their expression communicated the silent message of This one's going to be a major headache. "Mistress Aquilas, I had a carriage arranged for your safe travels back home – I hope this was not too presumptuous, but I couldn't stand the thought of our exalted new Magisters traveling by foot among the common riffraff."
Hawke resisted the urge to rub her temples in an attempt to ward of the splitting headache that was coming on. Other Magisters were beginning to file out, and refusing the offer of the carriage would make her look foolish. "Thank you, Hadriana. Where is this carriage?" She asked tiredly. After being escorted to carriage, Hawke barely had the energy to keep her head upright and not fall asleep on the velvet cushions.
Running her fingers over the soft, deep blue fabric, she smiled grimly. They would be safer now, protected by wealth and titles. But no one was ever truly safe in a place like Minrathous. All the pretty dresses and charming smiles in Thedas did not hide the viper waiting to strike. And Hawke was looking forward to it.