Author's Note: Thank you so much for your kind comments and encouragements! I seem to be on a roll when it comes to this story because I can't stop writing, and I hope you guys will continue to enjoy reading this. :)
Disclaimer: Fenris, Hawke and all other characters in this story are owned by Bioware. I'm just here to play with them.
Wolf Unchained, Chapter 2
The moon was out tonight and Fenris felt like raising his head and howling at it. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, making him feel incredibly exhilarated and filling him with an intense feeling of pleasure. This is how being in a battle always made him feel, and since he had never been with a woman – as far as he remembered - he had never known another sensation quite like it. Fighting and killing were two of the most enjoyable things Fenris could think of, and he was incredibly good at both – something the man that he was currently holding at choke point was very aware of indeed.
"Where is he?" Fenris snarled at the man, his face twisted in disgust. He hated these slavers wholeheartedly for everything they represented, everything they felt justified in taking away from people like him for the single reason of profit. The fact that he himself paid no heed to the consequences of his actions did not seem to cross his mind – he had other things to worry about, such as staying alive. His fingers pressed deeper into the man's throat, leaving painful marks in their wake as they increased the pressure on his neck. He knew that he could kill the slaver with a simple twist of his fingers, and the adrenaline in his veins urged him on to do just that, but the possible revelation of Danarius' location stayed his eager hand for another moment. "Where is he, you son of a bitch? Where is your master?"
The man's bulging eyes widened in response, his face turning purple as he gasped desperately for breath, his fingers digging, scraping pleadingly at Fenris' legs. Fenris barked out a sadistic laugh and released the pressure on the man's throat for a moment while he went down on one knee. Instead, he dug his fingers into the slaver's hair and pulled at it mercilessly until his head was leaning back against Fenris' bent knee. "Tell me where he is or I swear these will be your last miserable moments on this Earth," he hissed, his breath only inches away from the slaver's face, his own glowing fiercely from the lyrium that burned within him like an unquenchable fire.
The man seemed to be in a state of utter dread, his skin covered with a layer of sweat, his breathing raspy and shallow as he fought to inhale every breath of air. His eyes were wide with terror; the elf's pale and determined face was all he could see. Fenris could smell the stench of this man, and he wrinkled his nose at the unpleasant odour. "He's.. in a mansion, in.. Hightown," the slaver wheezed, looking at the elf pleadingly. "I haven't been there myself, I was paid upfront two days ago, outside.. the Blooming Rose," he coughed and closed his eyes, a tear slowly running down his face in exhaustion and fear. "I haven't seen your master, I swear on my mother's life," he whispered, exhaling a trembling breath as he looked up again.
"Who paid you?" Fenris asked lowly, tightening the grip on the man's hair, pulling it back further, the strands ripping away from his scalp. "Who paid you to hunt me down, you miserable sack of shit?"
"It was... another magister!" The slaver desperately cried out in pain, unable to keep his terror at bay any longer."I had never seen her before! We were never told her name! Oh please dear Maker, please... just let me live!"
"Your Maker can't hear you, not now, not ever again," Fenris growled deep in his throat. The metallic touch of his gloved fingers slid down the slaver's neck until they found the pressure point they were looking for and twisted sharply, bones snapping in an instant. The man's cries ended abruptly, his body sliding down to the ground as Fenris pushed it away from him in disgust and rose to his feet. The clear light of the crescent moon shone behind him as he stood above the dead man, his silhouette standing out like a tall shadow rising out of the darkness. "Pathetic," he growled as he looked down at the slaver, and then glanced around the dark alley at the other dead bodies that surrounded him, all left in various stages of mutilation. His own armour was soaked in blood, yet he did not seem to mind because none of it was his own. These men had been too slow to even have a chance at hurting him; he had felt like a ghost in their midst, swinging his blade in a powerful arch before they even considered dodging his deadly blows. They had attempted to ambush him here, yet it had turned out that he had done a better job at that instead. He had seen them coming from a mile away and had found their tracking skills absolutely appalling; it was obvious that these were no Tevinter slavers; only local hirelings that his master had picked up somewhere after his arrival in Kirkwall. This was the third group of slavers that had crossed his path in two days, and so far Fenris was making mince meat out of them all without much effort on his part at all.
"You are no match for me. Danarius will simply have to try harder," he said scornfully to his dead pursuers while wiping the blood off his sword on their clothes. Once he had finished cleaning the blade he sheathed it on his back and stepped back into the quiet streets of Darktown, leaving the smell of corpses that were already beginning to rot behind him. Vultures would take care of them soon, and their belongings would not go to waste in a city that was full of starving children, although Fenris had already searched their pockets and taken most of their coin for himself. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and he didn't see anything wrong with taking blood money from slavers that had been paid to hunt him down and kill him. They had failed in their task and were not worthy of it any more – and he needed it to stay alive.
Darktown was the most miserable part of Kirkwall that he had visited so far and here he strangely felt most at home. The sounds of the helpless and the poor reminded him of the many alienages he had seen in Minrathous while following Danarius around town as his personal bodyguard; his thoughts now often lingered on those moments, wondering if his own family had been among those poor wretched souls, wishing that he could go back and search for them, find out if they were still alive. He almost immediately set these thoughts aside and locked them away in the darkest recesses of his mind; he knew that wondering about the past was unhealthy. What was done was done, and all he could do was look towards the future – such as it was. For the moment, Fenris dared not look beyond the moment he would have the pleasure of ripping out his master's heart and throwing it to the vultures of this city; it was nothing less than what he deserved, along with everyone who served him.
However, first things first – he had a Hightown mansion to scout and a battle plan to prepare. Although he had had no trouble defeating the slavers thus far he was not naïve enough to believe his luck would last. As he began his journey toward the most affluent area of Kirkwall, Fenris grudgingly began to admit to himself that he might have to try and seek out assistance after all, and the very thought of it made him cringe.
Meanwhile, in Hightown...
"You have got to be kidding me!" Hawke exclaimed in exasperation as she kicked a crate across the ground and accidentally set it on fire in her anger, unable to control the power that flowed from her hands. It also seemed that magic wasn't the only thing Marian Hawke wasn't able to control in a fit of anger. "I can't fucking believe that bitch Athenril would decide to cross me – and of all the bloody opportunities she's had to do it, she chooses to do it now?" She paced furiously back and forth across the Hightown courtyard, small flames dancing on her fingertips, eager to form into another fireball at Hawke's slightest whim. Her eyes flashed furiously as she continued her tirade, completely unaware of the commotion she was causing. "I swear, I'm going to hunt her down and show her exactly what happens when I stick a fireball up her-"
"Hawke!" Varric watched this outburst with increasing worry as he spotted a patrol of guards moving in their direction. "Not that not I'm dying to know why your dear smuggler friend decided to royally screw us over, but, you know, it might be a good idea to take this party some place less full of.. oh, Aveline! Good to see you, my old friend!"
The woman in question approached the party with swift and determined steps, her eyes full of concern as she observed the pacing Hawke. "I'll catch up in a minute, you go on ahead!" She shouted as she looked over her shoulder at her fellow guardsmen. Once they had turned a corner and disappeared out of sight, she turned and gave Varric a stern stare. "That's a bit of a stretch coming from you, Varric," she said coolly with one eyebrow raised as she crossed her arms. "Especially seeing as I've only known you for a few weeks. Unfortunately, I've also spent most of that time cleaning up whatever mess you and Hawke tend to get into these days. Isn't that right, Marian?" She raised her voice as she asked her question, finally getting Hawke's attention.
"Aveline!" Hawke spun around on her heels at the sound of her friend's voice, abruptly stopping in her tracks, the flames mercifully extinguished from her fingertips for the time being.
Aveline's gaze lingered on Hawke's face for a long moment, which seemed to calm her down. "Is everything alright, Hawke?" She asked slowly and quietly, her voice dripping with caution.
Marian sighed and lowered her head as she ran her fingers through her dark red hair in frustration. The look Aveline was giving her suddenly made her realise how foolishly she had acted only a moment ago. Having a magical temper tantrum in a public place, even if it was late at night, was definitely high on an apostate's not-to-do list if she wished to remain unseen – and Hawke began to think that she was doing a terrible job at that. She almost began feeling grateful for the fact that she had left her staff – and her brother – at home. Carver would've had a fit if he had seen her in this state. But Carver also didn't have the burden of responsibility of arranging an expedition into the Deep Roads in a city full of backstabbing bastards. Her own foolishness and the humiliation of being reprimanded by her friend so openly made her anger flare up again, so she looked back up at Aveline, her stubborn chin pushing out.
"No Aveline, everything is not alright," she snapped. "I just got betrayed by someone I used to work for, someone I thought I could trust-"
"Was it Athenril?" Aveline cut her off sharply, her look of disapproval increasing. "Hawke, what else could you expect from a smuggler? I told you the day we arrived in Kirkwall that working for her was a bad idea, and yet here you are-"
"And yet here I am, trying to make a living," Hawke retorted and moved closer to Aveline, her eyes blazing again. "We all don't have the benefit of working for the local government, Aveline. Some of us have to use less than pleasant means to get by in this town. I suppose you would have preferred it if I had become a mercenary, killing people for coin?" She finished hotly, her demeanour showing that she dared Aveline to defy her. Her temperament was still raging from the betrayal she had not been expecting, and for now she was happy to pick a fight with just about anyone.
Her friend, unfortunately, would have none of it. "You should know better than that, Hawke," Aveline said as she looked at her, her clear honesty once again putting out Hawke's flames of anger as quickly as they had flared up. They stood silently for a moment, looking at each other. Finally Hawke couldn't keep Aveline's gaze any longer and she looked away with a sigh.
"The silent treatment, is it? Oh, I hate the silent treatment," she said jokingly and fidgeted with her robes. When she looked up again, Aveline was smiling.
"Just make sure you're more careful next time, Hawke," the guards-woman said as she turned around to leave. "We don't want the Knight-Commander to be cracking down on apostates more than she already is, now do we? See you later, Varric. Keep her out of trouble, will you?"
"Oh you know me, Aveline! Hawke is always safe in my company," Varric chuckled under his breath as he watched the guard leave, but not before she shot a final dubious look in the dwarf's direction. "Safe and snug as a bug in a rug," he drawled as he began motioning Hawke toward the Blooming Rose. The brothel's colourful lanterns shone invitingly in the darkness, brightening up what otherwise seemed to be a gloomy evening. "Come on now, Hawke, I think you need a drink before we move on to our next appointment. Perhaps next time you and Aveline could repeat that lovely encounter in more suitable circumstances.. preferably in a mudbath?"
"Varric!" Hawke exclaimed and shot a shocked look at the dwarf as he was ushering her through the entrance of the brothel. His satisfied laughter was the last thing that was heard before the door slammed shut behind them.