Chapter 2
Hawke had been more than happy to leave the remove-grumpy-Carver-from-the-brothel part to Varric. She knew for sure she wouldn't have been able to muster the sensitivity and diplomacy to drag her brother from the establishment without putting up a fight. She would without doubt have made a scene because of lack of patience. While Fenris and she were waiting, she had lowered herself on a crate facing the entrance of the Blooming Rose and Fenris had positioned himself against a pillar. In a very elegant way. She tried not to take notice.
'I do apologize,' she said awkwardly. 'I know time is pressing but we really need my brother. He is a good swordsman with experience, he fought at Ostagar.' She realized damn well she was defending herself more than her brother by saying this. She wasn't ashamed that they had to fetch her sibling from a brothel, but she knew how blunt and, well, insufferable Carver could be. She was afraid he would affront Fenris and hoped the elf would forgive her if he understood that she only dragged Carver along because of his fighting skills.
Fenris nodded knowingly. Not about the complicated relation between her and her brother, she suspected.
'You are speaking of the Blight,' he said with that maddening voice that traced down her entrails and resonated against her heart. 'I've heard of it. Ostagar was a forlorn battle wasn't it? I understand Ferelden lost their king there. Almost everyone perished, or so I've learned.'
That brought back horrible memories but she hardly could blame him. After all she had been the one who had brought it up. To defend her brother. And now she got drenched with unwanted recollections, all of her own doing. She looked away and pursed her lips into a thin line.
'We were betrayed,' she said in a harsh voice. 'By the last one we thought capable of betrayal. When the signal came up, general Logain Mac Tir just turned away and left King Cailan and all of us to die on the battlefield.'
'You were there as well?' He sounded genuinely astounded.
She bit down a sharp retort. 'Why are you surprised at that?' Despite her effort she must have sounded more callously than she intended because he hastened to apologize.
'I didn't mean to offend you, but you look more than a rogue to me than a warrior or a soldier.'
'I agree I am a rogue and not really a soldier, but the army could use every blade at Ostagar. After all the odds where strained to start with, despite Cailan's optimism.'
Yes, a rogue and it wasn't exactly a lie. She fidgeted on her crate and looked at her feet. How could he know about her hitherto well kept secret after all? (Well kept except for her best friends and family of course). How could he have known about her anxiety back then? There had been mages at Ostagar, she remembered clearly, sent by the Circle. She had been scared as hell to be recognised as being in fact one of them instead of the rogue she pretended to be. She nervously worried her lip.
'To be honest, my brother was too young to fight with the army at that time but he was determined to do so nevertheless,' she said, trying to choose her words carefully. 'Of course he lied about his age when he signed up. I didn't want to stop him however, mostly because I knew I would not have been able to. Instead I went with him to protect him as best as I could. I think he will never forgive me for that.' She looked up and gave Fenris a wan smile.
'And it was you who dragged him from the battlefield when the situation had become hopeless,' the elf said, perceptively.
She shrugged, in the meantime trying not to act too nonchalantly. 'Another example of my deeds he will never forgive,' she admitted. She wanted to end this unsavoury subject; she didn't like it at all. Everything about Ostagar and the Blight still gave her the shivers. 'Tell me about your life,' she said and was surprised to see the sudden change in his demeanour. Had he shown sincere interest in her story before, now his features closed with disturbing swiftness.
'There is nothing to tell,' he said, reluctantly. 'I was just a slave.'
Just a slave.
That sounded – awful.
'But you managed to escape,' Hawke persevered, trying to get more information out of him because it indeed fascinated her. 'How did you manage that?'
He shook his shoulders. 'I did, isn't that enough?' His face closed some more. Alright, other topic. Again.
'I can't but wonder why that Magister goes through so much trouble to catch one escaped slave. Is it because of those markings?' she asked, looking at the intriguing pattern on his arms and throat, wondering if they meandered across his whole body.
'It is,' Fenris answered curtly.
'Why did he etch those into your skin?'
Fenris almost flinched and she immediately regretted asking. It was clearly disturbing him and that was the last thing she wanted. She realized that having a conversation with Fenris wasn't a simple feat. Perhaps she should try to discuss the weather.
'The markings are indeed the reason why he is still chasing me,' he said to her surprise. 'They are made of lyrium, therefore they gave him power,' he added reluctantly. She knew about the power of lyrium but couldn't understand how someone was able to draw that power out of those delicate lines. Undoubtedly it had something to do with blood magic. Typical Tevinter. She hated blood magic and decided not to press on.
'If there is anything Magisters and mages crave for, it is power,' he however grimly continued. 'And they will use any means to get it.'
Now it was her turn to flinch but she kept it hidden. He didn't know anything about her magic and she didn't know anything about being a slave. She tried to imagine how it would feel to be possessed by someone, to be nothing more than an ownership, but she failed gloriously. And apparently he had fallen prey to someone who had used blood magic on him. Marked him with his power. With lyrium. Her train of thoughts got interrupted by his voice. It seemed like his previous reluctance got overpowered by his anger.
'Danarius called me his pet, his little wolf. He held me on a leach, just to mock me. Or to be more precisely, to mock the Qunari who keep their mages leached. I suppose I must be grateful he didn't have my mouth sowed shut.' Fenris sounded restrained as if he uttered these words with confined fury.
Hawke cringed; how in the Maker's name could anybody treat someone in such a way? The Magisters of Tevinter were obviously even more deformed and evil than she already had been aware of. She got a sneaking suspicion he hated magic out of the bottom of his heart and in a way she could understand his loath. But although she was willing to see his point, on the other hand it disturbed her greatly. What would happen if he found out about her magic? How would he react? How could she ever be able to explain to him that most mages outside of the Imperium weren't like this Danarius of his? And why the hell did she bother anyway?
Fenris had stopped talking and she didn't know what to say to fill the silence. She was grateful at the sight of Varric coming out of the Rose with a – of course – fuming Carver in tow.
'This better be good sister,' he growled. 'I was having a very good time.'
'I don't doubt that,' she said coldly. 'But now you can put your other talents at use. We are going to fight a Tevinter Magister.'
The mansion they entered was gloomy and eerie and in complete disarray. Hawke could hardly believe that someone had lived here recently. If so, they had made a total mess of it and that didn't fit with the lifestyle of a Magister. They stumbled upon broken tiles, smashed windows, shattered furniture and even some skeletons. And a lot of dust and cobwebs. It looked as if the place had been abandoned a long time ago after some big fight. And very soon they found out it was also infested by shades and demons. They turned up in every room and around every corner. It felt like yet another trap but they had no other choice than to go on fighting them.
Hawke felt the reassuring presence of Varric and his faithful crossbow at her back and the broadsword of her brother at her side. In spite of their endless bickering they fought together in a fluent motion; they had been training together from the moment Carver had been able to hold a weapon and it paid out. While she was dashing and darting through the rooms, always in time ducking under her brother's sword and luring the enemies towards him by short pinpricks or deftly manoeuvres, or finishing off shades he pushed in her direction, she was able to see Fenris fight. He moved as if his weapon weighted nothing, arching and curving it through opponents with an ease like he was wielding a dagger. His charges were flowing and elegant and full of confidence, he shifted like a very skilled and deadly dancer. And all the time he was surrounded by a bluish light, cast by his markings. She could not help but admire him greatly. They managed to perform as a wonderful foursome, clearing out room after room, hacking through every adversary and killing them in their ongoing battlr.
And then everything went wrong.
Suddenly, on the landing of the second floor, an arcane horror appeared out of nothing, and a very powerful one at that. Hawke tried to shout out a warning, but she was already too late. A wave of strong magic smashed them all to the floor or against a wall. She ended up against a doorpost and she lost her daggers in the collision. She made an attempt at jumping up, but was once more crushed by a new wave of black magic. She found herself on all fours, fighting for breath. She managed to look around and saw that her companions were in hardly better shape. Varric was completely knocked out and her brother lay flat on his back, vainly trying to get up. Only Fenris was still standing, but he was staggering heavily, evidently not able to lift his sword, let alone wield it.
She struggled onto her knees. She had to do something and she knew damn well what, although she hated it. She had no choice or they would all perish here. She closed her eyes and tapped into the Fade, as her father had taught her. She felt the power enter her body and she concentrated on the spell she was about to release. She opened her eyes and focused on the arcane horror in front of her. The spectre was about to send a third wave to finish them off, but Marian acted faster. With all the force she could assemble, she launched a powerful bolt of ice, immediately followed by a fireball. The horror in front of her screamed when it first got frozen and after that burned like a torch and not moments later dissolved, leaving nothing but a wisp of steam. Hawke collapsed but not before she saw the expression on Fenris's face: full of shocked abhorrence.
She desperately tried to get up and for once she was grateful for her brother's assistance. He had hurried to her side after he had finally got on his feet again and helped her to stand.
'Varric,' she croaked.
'Safe and sound Hawke,' the dwarf reassured her. 'A good thing you dealt with that – thing as you did. Gave me the creeps.'
Despite everything she had to smile. Varric knew about her magic but couldn't care less. No judgment there. Well, he was a dwarf after all and dwarfs didn't mind much about magic. 'And Bianca?'
'Got a scratch I'm afraid, but nothing a good polish can't remedy. Let's get out of this awful place.'
She didn't dare to look at Fenris, in fact she was more or less surprised he was still here.
Oh well, let the accusations commence and let's get it over with.
'Apparently Danarius has escaped,' he said with a voice so neutral it almost hurt. 'Or perhaps he hasn't even been here.' He paused for a moment and added, 'I need some air.' And with that he fled down the stairs. For some reason or another he didn't seem as affected by the assault of the arcane horror as they were. Maybe it was because of his markings. Lyrium intended to parry magic attacks.
'Bugger seems not very happy,' Varric mumbled.
'No. And I can think of a few reasons why,' Marian said dourly. She took a deep breath and then followed the elf, bracing herself against his reaction.
They found him leaning against the outer wall of the mansion. Or rather lounging against the wall; Hawke couldn't find another word to describe the graceful way he exposed himself, especially because he was no doubt not aware of it. He stood straight the moment he saw their little bunch appear through the front door. He particularly turned his gaze to her. She had dreaded this since the moment she had seen the expression on his face after she'd been forced to use her – other ability. His hate for magic had been palpable.
'You're a mage,' he said in an accusing if not disgusted tone, as was expected.
'Thank you for enlightening me,' she retorted dryly. 'I would never have guessed myself. I would forever been wondering where that strange tingling feeling in my fingers comes from that I feel now and again. I'm so grateful you've explained it.'
He was visibly not amused. 'Why are you wearing leather armour like a rogue? Why using knives? Why are you in disguise?' He shot his questions with a barely restrained resentment that wove a hoarse edge through his rough velvet voice and made his eyes flare. Her eyes flared in response.
'Well, excuse me for not running around Kirkwall dressed in robes and waving a staff,' she said tartly. 'That kind of behaviour will undoubtedly get me a one-way ticket to the Gallows and that, surprisingly as it may seem, is not an option I warm towards.'
They stood staring at each other with a hostile undertone, until Carver stepped in to add more hostility. 'Don't you even think of threatening my sister,' he said challenging.
With quite an effort she suppressed an irritated smirk. Proud Carver, to defend her like a knight in shining armour. She didn't need it, and, to be honest, appreciated his attempt for stepping up for her much neither. She suspected that he just wanted to speak up, to be the great defender, to be that knight in shining armour. Not for her, just for himself. He could only make things worse with that uncontrolled blathering big mouth of his.
Fenris blinked. 'Don't worry, ' he said flatly.
And when she turned her gaze back to him, she caught a glimpse of a hunted, haunted look that almost swept her off her feet. She composed herself straight away. She would not let herself be taken away by a pair of eyes, how astonishing beautiful or touching anguished they might look. She would not allow herself to feel like a smitten young girl again. The next moment the glance was gone and he looked as blank as a Tranquil; not even a trace of anger was left.
'It is not my intent to sound ungrateful,' he said, again with that voice like molten dark sugar, rough velvet, a night of hot – stop that right now you blithering fool, this is not the time nor the place, let alone the occasion - 'I have not the best ... experiences with mages.'
Well, she knew that very clearly by now.
He suddenly turned to her with hardly masked hate which startled her. She almost staggered under his abrupt fierce glower.
'What is your goal?'
Her first reaction was to slap him in the face but she managed to calm herself. She would not be persuaded into losing her temper, despite everything that had happened, and she forced herself to hold back. It wasn't easy but she was able to keep her self-control, as she had always done at the times she had been confronted with Templars. Except for that one time but that had hardly been her fault, had it ... damn it, not now ... Shewilled the memory away. Instead of bursting into fury, she just raised her brow and stiffened her shoulders to make clear that she was angry and ready to oppose him. In short, he had ruffled her feathers. What kind of ridiculous question was this anyway?
'What on earth do you mean?'
'What kind of mage are you? What do you want to accomplish with your magic?' he said with an impatient gesture. He sounded like outright disgust and she reacted to that emotion although she didn't want to. But her but just pushed away memories made her react more harshly than she intended.
'I could tell you it's none of your bloody business, but right now I'm just trying to survive and look after my family.' 'And succeeding tremendously,' she heard Carver murmur but chose to ignore it. One angry man to cope with was enough for this moment. 'I suppose that must sound very dangerous,' she added sardonically.
Fenris shot her a look somewhere between annoyance and amusement. 'You're not Danarius, that is the best I can say for now,' he said.
'He has fled or at least disappeared, if he has been here at all.' Gratefully Marian changed the subject before she would burst into a livid rant despite her determined resolution. 'Do you think he will come back for you?'
'I don't doubt it. The markings he carved into my skin are priceless. I'm too valuable to let go just like that. He would rather flay me then let me walk free.'
For a moment Hawke looked him up and down and simply couldn't help herself. To her own dread she heard her voice blurt out, 'That would be a waste of a perfectly handsome elf.' She heard Carver hiss and Varric snigger and groaned inwardly. She wouldn't hear the end of it. To her amazement Fenris chuckled and she was almost certain he blushed. The moment passed too quickly.
'I don't want to sound ungrateful, you did help me after all. Let me at least pay you for your efforts, you were promised profit,' he said, again with that straight composure.
But she immediately raised her hands, refusing the pouch he retrieved from one of the leather pockets attached to his waist-belt. 'No, we didn't find that Magister of yours, save your money for the day we have.'
'Er, Hawke,' Varric started to protest somewhere behind her back.
'I insist you take it. If you don't, I will simply throw it at your feet,' Fenris said heatedly and that flash of anger suddenly reappeared. And she knew damn well why, she could almost taste it and even more read it in his appalled look. She would not accept that.
'Why? Because you cannot stand the thought of owing a debt to a mage?' A short flare of his lyrium tattoos proved she had hit the right spot. 'Like I said, we couldn't catch Danarius, you don't owe us anything.'
'Yes he does,' Varric insisted. 'A whole damn night of useless battling. Think of what I could have been doing, instead of fighting off hunters, bloody shades, demons and what not. Think of the renowned ale I could have been drinking, the games of wicked –'
'Shut up,' Hawke cut him short, giving him an irritated look over her shoulder. She turned back to the elf. 'But if you can't live with the nagging idea of owing me a debt, a mage of all gruesome creatures no less, I will hire you.' Fenris raised his brow in disbelief. 'We are planning a, er, quite expensive,' another mean look at the dwarf, 'and dangerous expedition and I could use a marvellous sword arm like yours. Well?' She cocked her head, waiting for his reaction.
For some reason Fenris was certain that "no" was not an option. And frankly, he was too flabbergasted to refuse. 'I don't appear to have much choice.' He sounded fractious but Hawke was certain she heard a flicker of interest in his husky voice. 'You can find me here when you need me. With Danarius gone, I don't see a point in taking his mansion as my base.'
'And right you are, spoken as a true warrior. If you don't mind, I will take my leave now before I make a complete fool of myself. I'm sure we'll be seeing each other soon.' And with that she stomped off, with two bristling men in tow, leaving an utterly bewildered elf behind.
'What the hell were you thinking,' Carver snarled while they were descending the long flight of steps that led from Hightown to Lowtown.
'What are you talking about?' said Hawke innocently, though she knew damn well what he meant.
'That bloody elf hates mages, he behaves like a complete jackass after we risked our hide for him in that demon infested mansion and you start flirting with him!' her brother spat.
'You're overreacting as always. I can imagine someone is not very fond of mages after being enslaved and abused by them for a lifetime. He did apologize for his words, didn't he? Well, sort of. And besides that, what is wrong with a little flirting?' She raised her voice. She knew she had this coming but she was absolutely not in the mood for a row with her brother, let alone she would let him reprimand her.
'A little flirting? You were practically all over him! You damn well behaved like a brothel wench!' Carver yelled.
'Yes, you would know everything about their behaviour!' Hawke heatedly shouted back. 'You have enough opportunity to study them during your escapades in the Blooming Rose. I bet you have already earned a gold membership, you bloody hypocrite!'
'Hey now,' Varric interfered. 'Why don't you both slow it down and act like real siblings.'
'We are acting like real siblings, just like you and your sweet brother Bartrand,' Hawke sneered.
'Alright, you have a point there. But try at least to keep your voices down, I don't feel like having a scramble with one of the Lowtown thug gangs this night. And by the way, Carver, I must agree with your sister; there's nothing wrong with a little flirting. Especially when you've just discovered that you have fallen in love.'
'What?!' squealed Hawke in horror. This went even worse than she had feared beforehand.
'I already have the title,' Varric continued mercilessly. He spread his arms like an actor and started in a reciting tone, 'The Love Story of the Beautiful Mercenary Refugee and the Perfectly Handsome Renegade Elf. A bit long maybe, I should work on that, but it covers the intention.'
'You are disgusting,' Hawke screamed and she ran off.
'I'm sure my readers will think differently,' bellowed Varric after her, forgetting his own warning.
'You can eat shit and die,' she yelled back at him before she disappeared around a corner.
Varric shook his head. 'No appreciation for art,' he sighed. Carver sniggered and the dwarf turned to him. 'What about it, Junior, care for a drink before you have to face her wrath?'
'Sounds appealing,' Carver agreed and he followed him to the Hanged Man.
Fenris leant back against the front door he just had jammed shut. What had happened out there? Had he been hired to act like some kind of mercenary at the whim of a mage? Had he really agreed? What the fuck had got into him?! Damn damn and another damn. No sooner had he freed himself from his shackles, or his life was already bonded with again a mage. He let out a frustrated shout and thumped with all his force against the innocent wood of the door. His gauntleted hand left a significant dent. He groaned. You idiot. You utter, stupid, blighted idiot. Bloody hell. He let out a deep sigh. No use worrying about it now. In the morning he would search her out and tell her that the deal was off. She was the one who hadn't want to accept his money, not his fault, not his problem. Simple as that. Feeling a little better at that thought, he pushed back from the tormented door and started to roam thoughtlessly through the mansion he had claimed as his own. Well, not exactly as his own, but the idea that he would live in the place Danarius had fled, gave him some satisfaction after all the frustrations of the past night. He still didn't know if his – former master, tormenter, really had been here. He sincerely hoped so because in that case he had fled because of him and that gave him a feeling of contentment. That would mean he was afraid of him, or at least wasn't strong enough to fight him at this moment. He felt very pleased with that. At that very moment the vision of her came swimming back into his mind. He wouldn't have been able to do it without her support. Danarius, or at least his slaver commander, had been afraid of their combined forces. On his own he would have been an easy target. Damn again.
He found himself in the wine cellar. Apparently he had discovered a candle somewhere and had been able to light it, when the thought hit his mind. Blast. Blasted woman. Blasted mage. He hissed and almost dropped the candle. Then his eyes fell upon the label on a crate with bottles that looked very familiar. Aggrigio Parvali. Ugh. This was a wine he knew well. A noble wine, only served when the most powerful of the Magisters were present at Danarius's fabled parties. He had never been allowed to drink it, of course, he had only poured it to the guests, wondering what it would taste like. And now he had the opportunity to find out. He was almost afraid to take one of the bottles in his hand, as if it would burn him. He did nevertheless and when it proved out that it didn't do any harm, he took two of the bottles upstairs. He returned to the large room on the second floor, the room with the double bed, the big hearth and the full-size table. From starters he had decided this would be his room. It suited him. He opened one bottle and took a deep swill. He almost choked. He wasn't used to wine, let alone of this quality. But after he was done coughing he took another quaff and decided it tasted good. After emptying the bottle he felt very pleased with himself and he was ready to try the comfort of the double bed, after having been forced to sleep on the hard floor for as long as he knew.
The satisfied grin got soon swept off his face.
It wasn't due to the comfort he wasn't used to. It wasn't due to the exquisite wine that had up till now never had been into his grasp. It wasn't even due to the tormenting memories that had been haunting him since his escape.
No.
It was all due to the woman he had met the last evening. The woman who had fought by his side. The woman who to his repulsion had used magic when that cursed arcane horror had turned up. The woman who without any question had run to his rescue. That golden haired, sapphire eyed apparition had saved him. He had caught the astounding colour of her shining eyes when they had lit up in the sparse torchlight. And at that same moment had took his breath away. But that was before he knew she was a mage. He swore again, this time in Tevene and from the bottom of his heart. Venhedis! Fasta vass!
He had tried to find solace in that luxury double bed, but he had failed to find any ease at all. After not as much as half an hour, he had left the soft embrace of the comfortable mattress and feather pillows to wander around his new shelter. The rest of the night he had been pacing through the rooms, thinking of her and cursing her. Came morning he was exhausted and still not able to sleep. He slumped into one of the chairs and found a few moments of rest, until his tormented mind jerked him back into the world of the present time.
He descended to the large space on the ground floor to practise his battle moves, and finally found some relief in wielding his sword at imaginary enemies.
