The Champion walked slowly to Hightown, leaving behind an angry viscount, a discontent friend, and a world of confusion. There's no way Justice could return, Hawke thought to herself as she fingered the dagger strapped to her arm. They're both dead.
A surge of emotion overtook her heart and filled her mind, sending her trembling to the ground. It had been years since Anders destroyed the chantry, years since she had dared to think about him.
Traitor, her mind hissed quietly. He had agreed to join her and side with the templars. He had agreed to stand by her side in whatever she chose as best. Which is why he let me kill him, she admitted to herself. Sitting as she was, she could see her estate towering above the others only a few streets down. Yet, as she stood, she turned in the other direction. She didn't know where she was going until she found herself before Fenris's house. A scowl ran across her lips as she recalled the distasteful elf, a dangerous enemy, an even more dangerous friend. But, if what Aveline said was true, they would need someone like him to help them.
She knocked on the door hard, instantly regretting coming to him, but before she could turn and walk away, the door flew open. Fenris eyed her with surprise and disgust matching her own through locks of white hair. Their expressions of unhappiness mirrored on each other's faces until Fenris spoke.
"What do you want?" he spit out, lips drawing back in discomfort.
Hawke sighed and brushed the unruly black hair from her face so he could see the hatred in her eyes. "I really wish I knew."
He stood confused for a moment, eyeing her hesitantly, and decided that she could do him no harm tonight. He let out a breath in defeat and stood to the side, gesturing The Champion threw the door. "Fine. Come in."
She walked firmly past him, careful not to brush against him as she strode to his sitting room and sat down in the first chair she saw. Fenris followed slowly, watching her every step as though she would suddenly jump up and claw his eyes out. She let out a weak laugh and unstrapped the dagger from her fore arm.
"This is the only weapon I carry now," she said, gesturing to the knife and tossing it onto a small table. "I don't come meaning you any harm. I come…" she shifted uneasily, self-hatred in her heart for coming to Fenris first. Finally, she sighed and threw her head into her hands. "I need your help," she mumbled into her palms.
A moment of silence followed, then, when Hawke raised her eyes between her fingers and looked Fenris in the eyes to let him know she was serious, he began to laugh. Bent over and clutching his stomach, he gripped an overstuffed arm chair and sat down, fighting for air. "You," he sputtered, his speech impaired by his lack of air, "you really are serious! Oh, Maker! What could you possibly come expecting me to help you with?" He asked. Then, suddenly serious, "I thought it had already been decided that we hate one another. From the look in your eyes, we obviously still do. What could be so bad that you have to come to me for help?"
Hawke sat up, throwing her tangled hair back and mentally bracing herself for the words she was about to speak. "I ran into Aveline tonight," she said, grimacing at the understatement. She locked her eyes with the elf's, weighing the effect of her next words. "Justice is alive."
Fenris's features flashed surprise before settling again into an emotionless mask. He stood from his chair and opened his mouth, his brow furrowing in confusion. "I… I don't understand. We were all there when you killed him. Unless, that is, he somehow escaped that arrogant bastard's body." Fenris paced in front of Hawke, his long, thin fingers gently holding his chin as he thought. He threw down his hands and looked quietly at Hawke. "I don't get it. You killed them. Neither of those damn mages should have made it out of Anders's body." Then, amidst his confusion, a nervous rage shot up inside of him. "They deserved to die!" He half-screamed to himself. "The both of them! Dirty, filthy, rotten, abomina—"
Hawke shot out of her chair and grabbed the knife from the table in one swift motion, flicking it to Fenris's neck as she pushed him back into his chair. His eyes were wide with surprise and she was breathing heavily with anger, bracing her knees on either side of him on the chair to keep him down. Her words came in a hiss as she spat them out quietly and intensely, inches away from his face. "Don't you ever talk about Anders like that. Understand me, elf? You keep your damned mouth to yourself or you're going to get killed," she whispered, gently pressing the point of her dagger into the hollow of his throat, drawing a tiny dot of blood and letting it run down between the blue tattoos that marked his skin.
Fenris struggled beneath her and gave an inhuman growl, his tattoos flashing with lyrium. "And just when I thought we were getting along." He gave a surge of energy beneath Hawke and lifted her straight out of the chair, throwing her heavily to the floor and straddling her much as she had been doing, holding her wrists to the floor above her head.
Hawke drew back and spat into the elf's face, his startled reaction giving her the leverage to escape and throw herself back on top of him, knocking him against the wall and rolling back on top of him to keep his arms down. He struggled to no avail, his legs trapped beneath Hawke's. He howled in anger and thrashed his head around wildly to hers, locks of pure white hair falling dangerously into his eyes as he bore his gaze into hers.
"You still love that damn abomination, don't you?" he yelled, the veins in his neck pulsing with every stroke of his angry heart. "If you love him so much, why'd you kill him? You cut his throat like the blood thirsty bitch you are! Why didn't you spare him and run away with the bastard? You could have taken Kirkwall for the mages then, but why didn't you? Why, instead, did you go fucking crazy? You killed your sister, Hawke! Your sister tried to comfort you and you killed her! If Merrill wasn't so innocent you would have killed her too," he huffed, the energy leaving him. His words became a whisper, gentle and almost apologetic. "What changed you?"
Hawke, eyes crazed and uneven hair falling around her face, looked very much the murderer. Her face was wild and she dug her nails into Fenris's wrists until he was sure they were bleeding. "Because they're all doomed!" she yelled, her voice seeming to quake the entire mansion. "They'll all end up as abominations! If I couldn't trust Anders to stay sane, who could I trust, Fenris? You of all people know the pain mages can cause," she said slowly, her eyes tracing the marks on his face created by his slave master Denarius.
Fenris turned away as best he could, suddenly ashamed of his marks. "I know how it feels," he admitted, "and I'm sure I probably hate mages a Hell of a lot more than you do." He thought back on his own sister and how glad he was to kill her for selling him into slavery, but Bethany was different. Despite being a mage, she had truly cared about her sister.
Hawke gently released her grip on Fenris's wrists, untangling her legs from his as she sensed his air of defeat. She retrieved her dagger from where it had fallen and strapped it back to her arm, walking swiftly to the door and leaving Fenris lying on the floor. "If you decide to help me kill Justice," she said slowly, her hand on the door, "you know where to find me. If not, don't even bother pulling yourself off the floor."
Then she pushed the door open and left without another word.
