For the sake of convenience, Hawke set herself up in Danarius' study. Here he kept not only all of his paperwork, but also all records of his research. Her initial enthusiasm at having access to his magical studies dimmed somewhat when she discovered that most of it relied heavily on blood magic—and if she lived her entire life in Tevinter, she would never, ever blemish her father's memory by taking up with demons—so instead, she was working on the whole Hadriana situation.
The biggest problem was that apprenticeships in the Imperium seemed to be little more than an elaborate transaction. The aspirant mage made a "gift" (more like a bribe, in Hawke's opinion) to a magister, and if the magister accepted the tithe, he would take this person as his apprentice for several years, varying from a few, to nearly a lifetime, depending on the magister. During that period, there would be various sanctioned occasions where the apprentice would have to present various gifts to the magister. In return, the magister would not only reveal his arcane secrets, but would also help the apprentice gain political momentum. The higher an apprentice got on the social hierarchy, the greater prestige the magister would receive.
Like everything else in the Imperium, the whole process gave Hawke a headache. It was unclear if she'd inherited Hadriana's apprenticeship, but the Tevinter law made it clear that an apprenticeship could not be dissolved unless the magister gave back all of the gifts received along the years. Until Hawke could find an exact record of everything Hadriana had given Danarius, she was stuck with her. And she wouldn't ask Hadriana, either; she wouldn't put it past the apprentice to conveniently forget one item or another then drag Hawke to court for not respecting protocol.
She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. Sitting at a desk and rifling through papers for so long had given her a nasty crick. Hawke sat back and looked across the room.
By the door, Fenris sat stock-still, the sharp edges of his black armor glinting in the artificial light of the study. He looked straight ahead, apparently engaged in a staring contest with the wall. That first night, in the dim light of the bedroom, when he was half-naked and vulnerable, Hawke had felt strangely protective towards the elf. The next day, however...
The next day, however, Severian had insisted on presenting the slaves to her. He'd shown her the kitchens and explained all the dishes each slave could cook, and most of them did, indeed, sound mouth-watering, then he lined up the cleaning staff, picking at all their faults, but insisting that under his firm hand, they would do their job properly (and an "or else..." echoed in his voice), and finally, finally, he said with something akin to jubilation, the prize piece of the collection, out in the courtyard, where he'd arranged a demonstration.
To her shock, out in the courtyard was none other than Fenris, surrounded by what had to be two dozen of Danarius'-well, hers now—soldiers. The elf was clad in that strange black armor, carrying a sword that she would have thought too big for him to even lift. He did not look at Hawke and, at a signal from Severian, the soldiers lunged to attack him.
What followed was possibly the most astounding display of martial prowess Hawke had ever witnessed in her entire life. The elf's markings flashed, and he started moving, twisting, blocking, and picking off the soldiers on by one. Every single one of his movements, smooth and practiced, would have made Carver look hilariously clumsy by comparison. And her brother was not such a terrible swordsman to begin with.
Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him, and she caught a glimpse of the grim intensity on his face. He was not killing any of them (likely he'd been instructed not to), but he was incapacitating them efficiently. The numbers of soldiers dwindled, to ten, to six, to three... Yet, Fenris' movements only became more focused, more dangerous. He was down to the last one now and that was when it happened... His hand was bathed in the unmistakeable blue glow of lyrium and went right through the chest of the final soldier.
Severian let out a shout of surprise. The soldier let out a blood-curdling scream and convulsed around Fenris' hand. Hawke stared in incomprehension for a long, lingering moment before a twinge of desperation had her leaning forward and yelling a firm "No!"
Fenris retracted his hand, looking towards Hawke for the first time. His expression was unreadable, but he stood still, expecting... something from her. Hawke was not sure what. The soldier collapsed on the ground, gasping for breath while two of his comrades rushed to his side.
"I'm sorry, mistress, he was not meant to do that," Severian was babbling at Hawke's side. "In fact," the steward continued crossly, "he was strictly forbidden. If you wish to punish him, you may do so now."
Severian produced a slave whip. Fenris seemed to straighten up at the sight of it, but his eyes blazed as he watched Hawke, waiting to see what she would do. He was defiant, Hawke realized suddenly.
"He has always been a spirited one," Severian continued, holding out the whip for her. "Even Lord Danarius had difficulties with the 'little wolf'. You are certainly a kind woman, I can see, and doubtless this goes against your... Fereldan sensibilities, but believe me that you would be doing this one a kindness, mistress." He gave Fenris a baleful look.
"What was it?" Hawke asked, striding over to Fenris.
"Pardon, mistress?" Severian scurried after her.
She kneeled next to the soldier and cast a short healing spell on him.
"That thing he did at the end," she said. "What was it?"
"The... the lyrium markings give him the ability to... pass through objects," Severian replied slowly. "Lord Danarius called it... phasing, I think. It was an old experiment of his. He enjoyed the thought of his enemies having their hearts ripped out of their chests."
"I see." The soldier thanked Hawke reverently before making himself scarce. "Then Danarius put those markings on you?" she asked Fenris directly.
"He did, mistress," Severian answered in the elf's stead. "It was a heavy investment, as well. The lyrium alone did not come cheap, but from what I understand, the research was quite involved at well."
Hawke stared at Fenris and Fenris stared back, his expression cold.
"Put that thing away, Severian," Hawke instructed without breaking the gaze.
"Then—you are pleased, mistress?" Severian asked with confusion, wrapping up the whip and putting it in one of his coat's inner pockets.
Hawke refrained from pointing out that she was not refusing to whip Fenris because she was "pleased", but because it was a bloody awful thing to do. Trying to explain basic morals to Tevinters always left her with massive headaches.
"Where is Danarius' research?" she said instead.
That was when he showed her to Danarius' study.
Later, her family arrived. Mother set off to re-order the house immediately. Carver walked the length and breadth of the house, muttering to himself until finally he reached the back of the house, where the estate's hired swords were training, at which point he joined them with gusto. Bethany, on the other hand, had locked herself in the library and insisted she not be disturbed. Having seen the dizzying size of the library, Hawke could not blame her. In fact, had it not been for all the million things that needed doing, she'd probably have joined her sister.
It was times like these she missed her father. He would have been rubbish at paperwork, but at least she wouldn't have been responsible for it.
But now, there was another dilemma that occupied her mind, and Fenris exemplified it perfectly. What to do with the slaves?
The obvious answer was, free them. And had this been two years ago, when she'd barely reached the Imperium, by the Maker, she would have freed them all the instant she got to the property. However, there was the inconvenient fact that freed slaves did not always fare well. She could not very well throw them into the streets, even if she gave them money to get by. It was not simply that they were not used to functioning autonomously in society (which Maker knew, some really weren't right away), but that society had a distinct bias against them.
A magister of her acquaintance had explained this to her as caused by "the stink of slavery", before going on to tell her in great detail that some people were simply meant to be slaves and that they were happy, anyway, to be given a purpose in life, and that freeing them would be a great injustice. Thinking back on that particularly unlikable magister, Hawke was glad she'd killed him. For that, and for trying to sic three different kinds of demon on her.
Either way, she'd sent word out among the slaves that she would free any who requested it. While her initial offer was met with distrust, by the end of the day, at least a third of the house slaves came forward. Initially, she'd been disappointed by the low number, but sometimes she caught them glimpsing at her nervously. Ah, she realized. They were waiting for the other shoe to drop.
So she freed the ones who requested it and offered to hire them as servants. Surprisingly, nearly all accepted. She expected that, once they received their first pay at the end of the week, more would dare to come forward. She merely had to wait for them to get used to the idea, to stop thinking it was some sort of trap.
Fenris, however, confounded her. When she asked him if he wanted to be free, he'd thrown her an almost desperate look and asked her if she was displeased with him. She denied that, of course, assuring him that he'd been nothing but exemplary (well, except for giving that soldier's heart a friendly squeeze, and she still didn't know what had brought that on, but she was willing to bet it wasn't the kind of thing he would have done if he'd been a free man), and told him that it was simply the idea of owning slaves in general that bothered her.
"It is the way of the world," he told her then, his voice full of—not conviction, exactly. Resignation?
"It isn't the way where I come from," she replied firmly.
"Your homeland is still a barbaric place," he replied, making her choke.
Usually, she felt the urge to snap in half any man who spoke ill of Ferelden. Dog-smelling mud-land it might have been, and full of templars to boot, but it was still her childhood home. Fenris, however, said these things with such naïve conviction that she could not stand to get angry at him.
So he fell into the same pattern that he did with Danarius, following her at every step, entering rooms before her, always standing silent guard somewhere in the background as she went about her business. Carver sneered at Hawke when he saw her being trailed like this, ("What do you need a bodyguard for, anyway?") and Bethany dithered nervously, unsure what to do, but Mother treated him with a sort of painstaking politeness that had Fenris confused. Leandra Hawke was made just as uncomfortable by slaves as her children, but she dealt with it by pretending they were merely servants and treating them as such.
In the meantime, she still hadn't made other sleeping arrangements for him, or for herself, for that matter. She still used the guest room, and she walked in one night to discover Fenris had dragged the divan at the foot of her bed. He was kneeling next to the divan, looking like a little Mabari puppy that knew he had done something bad. She pretended nothing was out of order, but deeper down, she knew it was not healthy for him to act so dependent on her.
"You must understand, I have never taught before," Hawke explained to Hadriana. "I wasn't even formally trained."
"I understand," Hadriana replied confidently. They were in Danarius' old study, Hawke at his desk and Hadriana on one of the uncomfortable chairs in front of it. Fenris was by the door, as usual, so silent and still, he might as well been a piece of furniture. An angry, glowy piece of furniture that could rip a man's heart out.
"I don't think you really do," Hawke said. "I was trained solely by my father, who was an apostate. He'd received training at the Circle of Magi in Kirkwall, but mostly we didn't have books and most of my knowledge is of a practical nature."
"Yes, and doubtless it is this unique education that has made you a force in Minrathous," Hadriana gushed.
Hawke's lips tightened in a line, but she continued.
"And most importantly, I don't practice blood magic."
Hadriana's toadying smile faltered at that.
"That must be a novel concept around these parts," Hawke chuckled at the Tevinter woman's expression.
"It's not... unheard of," Hadriana said, licking her lips thoughtfully. "But... if you are this strong now, without aid..."
Hawke grew annoyed when she realized where Hadriana was headed.
"...Then imagine what you could do if you had... help."
"No."
"N-no?"
Hadriana recoiled at Hawke's dark expression.
"No. As long as I live, I will not carve out a piece of my soul to make room for a demon. I am not a fool. If I am meant to be strong, then that strength will be mine alone, and not borrowed from something that only wants to use me as a stepladder to this side of the Veil."
"The demons do not control blood mag-"
"No."
"But-"
"No, Hadriana." Hawke repeated, slowly, as if talking to a dullard or a small child.
Hadriana flushed, frustration visible on her face.
"I've heard these arguments numerous times, and I doubt hearing them again will make them any more convincing. You are free to think me a fool for not resorting to blood magic, and I will think you a fool for using it, and that is what we in Ferelden call 'agreeing to disagree'."
"Yes, Lady Hawke," Hadriana said with feigned meekness.
"If you wish to dissolve your apprenticeship, you are free to do so," Hawke said. It was the only way for Hawke to get out of this ridiculous engagement without repercussions: if Hadriana chose to back out of the arrangement herself.
"I do not," Hadriana said quickly. "I believe that I would benefit greatly from your knowledge."
Hawke almost snorted at that. It wasn't her knowledge that Hadriana sought to benefit from, it was her social status. The young magister wished to hitch a ride on Hawke's ascending fortunes.
Before she could reply, there was a knock on the door.
One of the slaves-cum-servant poked her head in.
"Mistress, the man you were expecting has arrived," she said vaguely, as she'd been instructed to do if Hadriana was present.
"Ah, good. Hadriana, I will be back in a moment."
Hawke hurried to the door. Fenris made to move, but she gestured for him to stop.
"Stay here," she instructed firmly. "And keep an eye on her," she added too low for Hadriana to hear.
She closed the door behind her and went to the antechamber, where a shady character was eying a golden statuette with a type of appreciation that had nothing to do with love of art. Severian was watching the man in turn, displeasure etched all over his face.
The man worked for a cheerful magister named Quintus. Unusually sweet-tempered for a magister, Quintus had helped Hawke in the past, usually by sending work her way. According to him, his grandmother had been an Amell, and he felt a certain kinship with the Hawke family. Hawke did not know if that was true, as Quintus claimed he was related in some fashion to half of Minrathous, but she found the man delightful, in his own way.
Today, however, she needed his help for something else. Apart from his legal holdings, Danarius had had his fingers in many illicit pies. Quintus, too, had some... questionable connections, which made him the perfect person to consult on this matter.
She had a short exchange with the man, during which she arranged to meet him after nightfall to investigate one of the leads into Danarius' affairs and to negotiate payment. While she no longer lived in squalor, she was not going to let the man fleece her just for the fun of it. The entire thing couldn't have taken more than fifteen minutes.
She returned to the study only to walk in on a startling scene. Fenris was on the ground, crouched forward so far that his forehead touched the floor, while Hadriana loomed over him. The light of a spell was dissipating from around her hand and Fenris' markings glowed intensely for a moment longer.
"What are you doing?" Hawke thundered.
Hadriana jumped back, fear all over her face.
"Nothing, Lady Hawke," she said quickly. "He was being impertinent." Then, seeing that this argument did not win Hawke over, sneered with disgust, "He put his hands on me."
"Well, I'm about to put my hands on you," Hawke growled, and Hadriana shrunk back. 'Coward,' Hawke thought. "Get out of my house."
Hadriana all but ran past Hawke and down the stairs.
Hawke slammed the door shut behind her, sitting down next to Fenris.
"Are you alright?" she asked, reaching out to touch him. Her hand brushed lightly against his hair, and he flinched back violently.
"I'm undamaged," he replied, his voice tense with pain. He uncoiled and rose to his knees.
"But are you alright?" she insisted.
He was avoiding her gaze. She reached out and cupped his cheek, turning his face to look at her.
"What did she do to you?" Hawke asked as kindly as possible.
"It was... something Danarius taught her," Fenris replied. "Activating the lyrium in my body. For... punishment." He winced.
"And what did she presume to punish you for?" Hawke said.
"She tried to leave the room, to follow you. I... stopped her."
Hawke sighed audibly. Fenris looked away again. He was probably expecting punishment from her, too.
"I'm sorry, mistress. I assumed... I assumed you wouldn't want her overhearing your meeting."
"Of course not. You did the right thing, Fenris," Hawke assured. "She the one who—she's the—she's... ugh, I don't even have the words for that snake. I wish I could be rid of her."
Fenris looked hopeful.
"Then... I've proven my use to you?"
"Fenris, you never had anything to prove to me," Hawke shook her head. By his hurt expression, though, he took the remark the wrong way. Maker strike her down if she was going to praise anyone for being a good little slave. "That is—I... I like you," she settled on saying in the end, rather lamely. "But I don't think a person can, or should, own another. Wouldn't you like to be free?"
"What would be the point?" Fenris shrugged slightly.
"Don't you want to do whatever you want? To be free to make your own choices?"
"Can you do whatever you want?" he said, giving Hawke pause.
"Well, no," she admitted. What she wanted was to be free of Hadriana, what she wanted was to return to a bright and happy Ferelden where the mages were free to frolic in the fields, what she wanted was to be able to talk to Carver without ending up yelling, or to Bethany without catching the twinge of envy in her voice. "Not everything... But at least I have some of the things I want."
Fenris frowned.
"Isn't there something you'd like to be free to do? Anything?" Hawke insisted.
"Now?"
"Now. Tomorrow. Anytime."
Fenris remained still for a moment, then, before Hawke could react, she found herself on her back on the floor, her head smarting something awful from the impact.
"If I were free," Fenris whispered, his face hovering above hers, so close she could feel his breath against her lips, "If I were free, I could hurt you." From this angle, all she could see were his eyes, peering at her with that same intensity she'd seen in him before phasing his hand through a soldier's chest.
"Do you want to hurt me?" Hawke asked, her voice just as low.
"I—I can't." Uncertainty flickered in his eyes. He wanted something, she could see that, but even he wasn't sure what. "You're my mistress. I can't hurt you."
"Being your... mistress... would not shield me from having my heart crushed like an overripe fruit," she said.
"I... it's..." He drew back, getting off of Hawke and shuffling away from her until his back hit the leg of a table. "You're trying to confuse me," he said, his tone accusatory.
Hawke propped herself up on her elbow and looked at him with a tight grin.
"You're already confused. I'm trying to set you straight."