Chapter 3

Hawke hadn't been able to sleep the whole night. That stupid arcane horror kept popping up in her memory. That awful moment she had been forced to show her magic. She couldn't sweep Fenris's aghast expression out of her mind. She hated him for his reaction, she hated herself for her – ha – gift. Maker, she wished now more than ever that she was born without magic, that she truly was a rogue. Then he wouldn't have looked at her in that appalled way. She threw herself on her other side. Why was she so upset about him? Why would she care how he looked at her, what he thought of her? If he wasn't willing to see past her magic, could only see her as a mage and not as a human being, with lots of talents besides merging with nasty demons and performing blood rituals, he could fuck off as far as she was concerned. She screwed her eyes shut and images of his perfect slender, supple frame entered uninvited her brain. The way he moved, the way he fought, so limber and elegant. The way he had looked at her when ... She groaned.

In the wee hours of the night, she heard her brother enter and slump heavily down on the narrow cot next to hers. Drunk as ever, she decided. Perhaps even as never before. She reminded herself to thank Varric for it; at least he had kept him from harassing her. On the other hand, the dwarf had been quite infuriating. Perhaps she should cuff him for that. After thanking him.

'Stop that,' Carver grumbled out of the sudden.

She started. 'Stop what?'

'That endlessly tossing and turning. It's driving me crazy.'

So not drunk enough to end up in alcoholic bliss. Only cuffing then. 'What, it's making you dizzy?' she said wickedly.

'It's making me sick,' he growled. 'Especially because I know why you are doing it. Let me die in peace.'

She cursed under her breath. After another sleepless hour she chose to leave her bed and the hovel altogether. She dressed, put on her armour, armed herself and wandered through Lowtown in the pale light of a new day. After some contemplation she decided to pay a visit to the bathhouse, and allowed herself the luxury to relax in hot water drenched with rosemary scented oil. After that she went to the Hanged Man for breakfast. She was surprised to see Varric sitting at the table in the back of the taproom.

'You are up early,' she said while she joined him.

'Who says I have been sleeping at all,' the dwarf replied, smiling. 'You are the one who is already on her feet at this impossible hour.'

Hawke nodded at the waitress and ordered bread and cheese and a mug of coffee. She didn't trust the stew, and although the bread would undoubtedly be stale and the cheese running, at least she would be able to recognise their origins. And the coffee would be surprisingly good. She loved the coffee at the Hanged Man. Hot and strong as it should be.

'I suppose it has everything to do with our broody elf?' The dwarf hauled her out of her musings.

Hawke bristled. 'Just shut up. I decided not long ago that you deserve a whack around your dwarven ears,' she threatened.

Varric grinned and took a swallow of his morning ale. He disliked coffee and hated tea. Or better, he distrusted both beverages, stating they were bad for his health. 'You cannot deny he made at least some kind of impression on you,' he went on. 'I've been working on my unexpected new story the whole night and I intend to make an epic romantic novel out of it.'

'You wouldn't dare!' Hawke hissed, intimidating him with her steaming mug, but Varric wasn't impressed at all.

'At least I hope that your brother left you in peace,' he said, finishing a sentence, blowing on the ink to dry it and closing his book. He laid down his quill.

'As a matter of fact he didn't. He wasn't drunk enough not to harass me. You should have kept him in here for a spell longer.'

'He was already keeling over, Hawke. One more nip of whisky and he would have passed out,' Varric chuckled.

'Would have suited me well,' Hawke murmured in her mug before taking a sip of the strong black liquid. Absent-mindedly she chewed and swallowed her breakfast while Varric once again picked up his quill and dipped it into the inkwell, sitting next to his tankard of ale. He opened his notebook to scribble a few more lines. At this early hour the tavern was calm and peaceful. The only sounds came from the crackling fire in the giant fire-place, the soft scribbling of Varric's quill and the faint humming of the barman who was cleaning the crockery.

'You know the elf is more or less your responsibility,' the dwarf suddenly broke the silence. He made Hawke startle and almost choke on a bite of stale bread. He looked at her intensely, patiently waiting until she was done coughing.

'What do you mean?' She wiped away the crumbs on the table.

'You recruited him.'

'So what? You disagree with that?'

'No, I don't; like you pointed out before, he is a wonderful sword arm. But it seems your brother has – issues with him. Last night he kept on rambling how the elf insulted you ... yeah, yeah I know.' The dwarf lifted his hand when he saw the sarcastic look on her face. 'He is more likely jealous of his battle skills. The little Hawke-cock doesn't like another capable male around. But whatever the case, he won't be enthralled if you take him with us on the expedition. It could lead to trouble and we will have enough of that in the Deep Roads.'

'Carver has issues with everyone,' Hawke huffed. 'I am not certain if I want him to come to the Deep Roads at all.'

Varric whistled through his teeth and put his book and quill aside. 'He won't be happy.'

'That's his usual state of mind. He hates taking orders, he hates it to "live in my shadow" as he puts it ever so often. He is a very good battle partner when he puts his mind to it but otherwise I can't rely on him, and that could turn out to be life threatening dangerous down there.'

Varric put his fingertips together and looked across them with a thoughtful frown. 'Are you sure about this? Carver will hate you for it.'

Marian sneered derisively. 'He hates me anyhow, what difference does it make? Did I already mention that he loves to hate?'

With a smirk Varric grabbed his tankard of ale. 'I'm glad I won't be the one breaking the news to him. But if you need assistance from Bianca, just let me know. She's always willing to defend you.'

Hawke laughed out loud and ordered another coffee, pushing the drained mug aside. 'I feel completely safe now,' she chuckled. 'With Bianca around, nothing can go wrong.' And then she became serious again. 'I should probably go to Fenris to talk to him. He doesn't even know what the expedition is about I hired him for.'

'And what expedition might that be, I wonder,' Varric said with a devious grin. He ducked just in time to avoid the empty mug she tossed at him.

Slightly nervous Hawke went to Fenris's mansion. She had no idea in what kind of mood she would find him after their last night tussle. So she thought it wise to bring some kind of peace offering with her. Standing at his door, she hesitated what to do. She could knock but for some reason she didn't think he would respond to knocking. Best just to go in and make her appearance clear in another way. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

'Fenris, are you there?' she cried out the moment she entered the premises. There was no answer and for a short moment she was afraid that the next minute she'd feel a sword between her ribs, or his hand crushing her heart or another organ of his choice. But there came no sound or sudden deadly movement, so she crawled up the stairs, anxious what she might find.

'Fenris?' she called out again. She found him in the main room, completely exhausted slumped in one of the chairs surrounding the large table. She was in fact convinced she dragged him out of his sleep. He jumped up at her entrance, his eyes full of fear, with dark shadows under them. He immediately raised his sword that not a moment before had rested against the table. She was impressed by his fast reaction and at the same time wondered in what kind of permanent tension his inner state must be, to go from sleep to a fighting stance in one fluent motion. It worried her deeply.

'I'm sorry I startled you,' she said apologetically. 'But I come with good intensions.' She held up the basket she was carrying with her. 'A welcome-in-the-neighbourhood present,' she said with a strained smile.

For a moment he stared at her as if she was a ghost but then seemed to recognise her. At any case he decided not to attack her. 'I doubt my neighbours appreciate my presence here,' he replied, sagging back in his chair, still with his sword in his hand. 'What are you doing here?'

'Well, they do,' Hawke beamed, avoiding his question. 'Hence the present.' To her great surprise he suddenly laughed. It lasted only a heartbeat but the sound was warm and sonorous and made her wobbly. She put the basket on the table, leaning gratefully against the wood.

'Cheese, smoked ham and fresh baked bread,' she managed. 'And a bottle of wine, although I see I shouldn't have bothered with that,' she said, noticing the empty bottles.

He finally put his sword back against the table.

'No. The wine cellar is well stocked,' he said. 'I am rather touched by your concern for my wellbeing,' he added, somewhat sarcastically. 'But I don't think that's the reason why you are here.'

Hawke smiled wanly. 'That's true although I really wanted to bring you some breakfast. Wine you can keep well for years before it starts wandering around your house on its own account or changes into something completely different, unlike food. I assumed there wouldn't be anything edible in the pantry. And starving yourself to death after surviving all those slavers trying to kill you, seemed so – pathetic.' She dared a glance in his direction and got paid with a crooked smile. Only now she realized he had forgone his armour and was just clad in his leather pants and a loose linen sleeveless shirt. He looked staggering, even with the shadows under his eyes.

Well, hitherto all is going well. I made him smile, even laugh. I'm looking at the most handsome man I ever met in my life, I haven't fainted yet and he hasn't made an effort to run me through with either his weapon or hand. Things are looking up.

'Again, I am touched,' he said. 'And I will contemplate all your good thoughts after you have confessed why you are really here.'

Hawke sighed. 'I have not been completely honest with you.'

'Why am I not surprised,' he retorted.

She choose to ignore that jab. She dragged a hand through her hair and rested it on the surface of the table. 'Honest is perhaps the wrong word. Not entirely clear maybe. Then again, we had already so much to discuss last night.' She offered him a little smile but he did not reciprocate. He just watched her impassionedly. She bit her lip. 'The expedition I told you about will lead us into the Deep Roads. The most dangerous place in, or rather under Thedas. I should have told you before I asked for your assistance. I can understand if you want to refuse.'

He stared at her, obviously not understanding. 'You hired me. I agreed. Deep Roads or no, I have no choice.'

Now it was her turn to look taken aback. 'Of course you have a choice. I will never ask you to risk your life for me if you don't want to.'

He rose from his chair, folded his arms and cocked his head, taking a defensive and at the same time hostile stance. The sunlight that fell through the grubby windows caressed his silvery hair, giving him a godlike aura. It took all of her effort to keep her mind together.

'What trick do you have upon your sleeve?' he demanded.

She looked lost. 'I don't know what you mean ...'

'Of course you do. There is a catch, there always is. Especially with mages.' His eyes were full of accusation, if not fuming with rage. He remembered his intent to tell her the deal was off as soon as he would see her and here he was, reaffirming his promise to assist her on her ludicrous expedition. It didn't matter it would lead him into the Deep Roads; it could take him to the moon and back as far as he was concerned. What did matter was that he was again caught in her web and he was furious with both her and himself. He wanted to take her basket of so-called good intensions and throw it at her head before kicking her out of his house and life entirely. The fingers of his right hand twitched and clamped around the muscles of his left arm. He couldn't define what was holding him back. Perhaps it was her demeanour, how she subtly straightened her shoulders, the way she lifted her head just a little. Not out of arrogance, he knew mages' arrogance when he saw it, but out of determination, with a hint of stubbornness, accentuated by the sudden glint in her sapphire eyes. Despite himself he was intrigued.

She started to get angry; she would be damned if she'd let herself be intimidated by him and his wretched opinion of mages, comprehensible or not. But then it dawned upon her.

'Alright, I think I understand,' she began cautiously. 'You have been a slave for a very long time, not used to freedom, never been permitted to take your own decisions –' But he didn't let her finish.

'Don't you think you know anything about me,' he growled menacing, taking a threatening step forward while unfolding his arms and clenching his hands into fists. 'Don't you even try to make me believe that you do, and never ever pretend you understand anything about me or my life.' His markings flared disturbingly.

Hawke tried to stay calm to not incite him even more.

Be careful, things may have been looking up, but they can crash to smithereens very fast now.

She made another attempt. 'Okay, you are right, I don't know anything about your feelings or history and I don't claim that I do. You could remedy that by the way, er, never mind. Please calm down and put the illumination out, it's quite unnerving. I'm just trying to explain that you don't have to obey me. You don't have to obey anyone anymore. You are your own man now, fit to take your own decisions. And if you decide not to accompany me into the Deep Roads, that's alright with me. As it should be alright with you.' She gave him a brittle smile. 'So, what about some breakfast and perhaps a glass of wine as a toast on – neutrality or a truce or world peace,' she ended lamely. 'Sorry, I got somewhat carried away I'm afraid.' At first she feared that her rambling hadn't helped the situation much, but to her relief she saw his markings extinguish.

He stared at her, trying to fathom her intentions. He had to admit he saw nothing but frankness and honesty in her bright blue eyes, and he felt his anger seep away. For a moment he wondered if she was using magic on him but at the same time dismissed the thought as too paranoid, even for him. He shook his head.

'I suppose neutrality will do,' he said, relaxing a little. 'But I have not discovered any glasses yet so you will have to drink straight from the bottle.'

'That's fine with me,' she smiled sweetly. He didn't return her smile but at least he didn't look as if he wanted to disembowel her either.

'Well, if you insist on me making my own decisions, then I tell you here and now that I don't know if I agree to come with you,' he said whilst opening the bottle she had brought with her. He didn't trust her, he didn't trust her at all, but for the moment he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, so he permitted her to stay.

Hawke had taken a seat in the chair in front of his and looked around. She noticed that he at any rate had started a fire in the big hearth.

'I could have asked for your help in a more friendly way,' she grimaced, thinking back at the uncomfortable and embarrassing situation of the night before. 'I believe I rather pushed you.'

'That is one way to put it,' he said while he handed her the now opened bottle. 'Why do you want to go into the Deep Roads anyway? For riches and glory?'

Hawke took a sip without tasting much. 'Would you believe me when I told you that I'm just doing it to please Varric?'

'At this point I don't believe anything,' Fenris retorted, retaking the bottle she offered him on her turn. Hawke made a face; for a moment he thought she would stick out her tongue but she didn't.

'Frankly, I only want to buy my mother's old family estate back. My dear uncle has lost it over a game of dice or cards or wallop, whatever that may be, and she's been wailing about it since she found out. I hope that if I can push her over the threshold of her old pride and glory, she will stop complaining.' She looked at his face that completely blank stared back. 'You don't believe this one either, do you? It is the truth, honest.'

Fenris put the bottle on the table and sat down once more. He leant into the back of his chair and studied her out of the corner of his eye. He was inclined to believe this reason; it was a too odd one not to.

'You don't want to go back to Ferelden?' he asked. Hawke shrugged. He noticed she was fidgeting with a plain silver ring on the middle finger of her left hand, the only jewellery she wore.

'It used to be my home,' she admitted. 'And I miss it. Although the village we lived in is destroyed. Perhaps one day I will return. What about you?' And again he wasn't willing to give her much information and was avoiding her eyes. After emptying two bottles of wine she went back to Lowtown. They had been talking about living in Kirkwall, her year as a mercenary and her companions. She had asked him to come to the Hanged Man but he hadn't promised anything.

This "Make Your Own Decisions" item could prove to become quite a problem.

The moment she stepped into her uncle's hovel, she got berated by her mother.

'Marian Hawke! Finally there you are! Where in the Maker's name have you been all day?!'

'Visiting an acquaintance. What is it to you?' She felt a bit woozy. Perhaps drinking a bottle of wine after a night without sleep hadn't been a brilliant idea, even with such delightful company. True, Fenris hadn't been very talkative; thinking about it she had been the one doing most of the talking but at least she had had some wonderful elf to behold while doing so. Just the thought of the rippling of his naked biceps when he shifted in his chair or lifted the bottle of wine made her quiver. Let alone ...

'Have you been listening to anything I've been telling you?' Her mother's voice cut like a rusty saw through her contemplations. No, she hadn't.

'I'm sorry, Mother, I'm sure everything will turn out for the best,' she tried a platitude that usually calmed Leandra down. Not this time however.

'Young lady! I really do wish you would pay attention! As I was saying, there was someone at the door this morning, making inquiries. And since I was the only one at home at that moment, I had to answer this – person. If he would have had bad intentions, I –'

'Inquiries? What kind of inquiries?' Hawke became suddenly alert. If someone wanted to contact her, they usually left a message at the Hanged Man. Except Fenris, he liked detours and diversions. This sounded strange.

'He wanted to know who lived here and for how long.'

That was even stranger. 'Did you answer him?'

Her mother bristled. 'Of course not! I told him to be on his way, and shut the door in his face.'

'What did he look like? I don't suppose he told you his name?'

'No he did not. And he looked like any other low-life you like to hang out with these days.'

Hawke pinched the bridge of her nose. This was all very informative. Probably a messenger after all, perhaps from the Red Iron mercenaries. Her mother always made such a fuss about nothing. The little incident dissolved in the residue of the wine on the way to the Hanged Man. She spent a pleasant evening playing wicked grace with Varric and Isabela and forgot everything about the inquiring - person.

Hawke woke up with a start, at first not knowing why, drowsily as she was from wine shared with a certain elf and mugs of ale with a dwarf and a pirate queen. Then she realized her marbari Alrond was barking like mad and immediately she was wide awake. Within a moment she was out of her bed, with her daggers, she always kept under her pillow, in her hands. She jumped through the bedroom door into the space that was used for cooking and more or less living in. The war hound was jumping against the front door, almost crushing the rickety wood, all the while barking franticly. She jerked the door open and the dog flashed through it. She followed, and almost got overtaken by her brother. She noticed he wielded his broadsword. Perhaps not the most practical weapon in this case, but probably the one nearest to grasp. It was impossible to see much in the dusk outside the hovel, but apparently Alrond had found someone or something to pursue and he had darted off. Both sister and brother followed him, going after the sound he made, trying to find their footing in the dark without tripping over all the rubbish lingering around.

'You're in your smallclothes,' Carver managed to grumble.

'It's called a nightshift and you are half naked,' she shot back.

'I'm a man.'

'Good for you.'

Alrond turned from barking into growling, not a good sign. Not a moment later they stumbled upon him, stooped over a still body. Hawke knelt beside it, at the same time trying to calm down the marbari.

'Shush Alrond, it's alright, let's not try to attract more attention, shall we.'

The hound immediately got quiet and squatted next to her. In the eerie red light from the foundries that lay not far away and the one cast by a sputtering torch, it was clear the body was indeed a – body. A very dead one at that. And although Hawke couldn't be entirely sure in the gloom, it didn't look like Alrond was the killer. For starters there wasn't enough blood. There was no blood at all.

'Who the hell is he?' Carver said, kneeling beside her.

'How should I know? Let's try to get him back home, we can make more light there. You watch him there while I alert the city guard.' She more felt than saw the defiant expression on her brother's face. 'Or the other way around if you are willing to draw Aveline out of her sleep.' The red haired former Fereldan officer had climbed to the rank of captain and she was a stern one. And notorious of her temper when her night rest got disturbed.

'Alright, you sprint to the keep,' Carver snapped, as was expected. But first they carried the body, which was less heavy than they had feared, to their uncle's hovel. Leandra and Gamlen were awake, the latter wearing his ridiculous nightcap that made him look like an overgrown leprechaun. Their mother had already lighted a few candles and was demanding an explanation.

'What kind of ruckus was that? What are you two up to this time?' Leandra wished to know, but got no answer.

And as always Gamlen was complaining. 'Is that a stiff? I don't want a stiff in my house.'

Hawke dropped her half of the burden on the floor. 'House? That's an euphemism if I ever heard one,' she sneered. Gamlen bridled indignantly but she paid no further attention to her uncle. Especially not after Carver called out the deceased happened to be a woman. She wore dark plain leather armour, with no significant symbol. There was no letter upon her body, no seal or token in the pouch at her waist, nothing to indentify her by. Marian and Carver looked at each other, for once not willing to quarrel. They were completely puzzled why someone apparently had tried to break in with some kind of mysterious reason, had failed at it because Hawke's marbari had been alert and then had died just like that. Then Hawke discovered some greenish foam around the dead woman's mouth.

'Poison I think,' she said. 'Self inflicted. Too afraid to be caught, but why? What can be so damned important that someone rather dies than tell why she wanted to sneak into a place?'

Carver shrugged and Hawke turned to her mother. 'I don't imagine this was the one who came to the door yesterday?'

'As I told you before, that was a man and hardly as well armoured as this poor woman.'

'I'm off to bed,' Gamlen announced. 'And keep that dog quiet the next time.'

Marian rolled her eyes. 'If it hadn't been for him, we could well all be dead by now,' she snapped.

'Whatever,' Gamlen grumbled and disappeared to the attic.

'You'd better go back to sleep also, Mother,' Hawke said, suddenly feeling very tired. This promised going to be a long night.

'Do you actually think I can sleep with a dead woman under my roof?' Leandra exclaimed in a shrill tone.

'While you wake Aveline, I get Varric?' Carver suggested. 'Mother can stay here and keep watch.'

His sister gave him a sly smile. 'Good thinking,' she said. 'If anyone knows anything, even a sliver of information, it is Varric. And yes, I will risk Aveline's rage.' For the first time since Bethany's death Carver fully smiled at her.

'Alright sister, let's get this solved.' He even gave her a slap on the shoulder.

'Wait a minute!' Leandra started to protest. 'You can't leave me here alone!'

'You won't be alone,' Marian called over her shoulder. 'Alrond will be here with you and he is the hero of the day. Or rather the night.'

With that they were off, Hawke to the Keep and Carver to the Hanged Man.

Half an hour later the four of them were gathered around the mystery woman, Leandra had already gone back to bed before they arrived which didn't surprise Hawke.

'I see you haven't removed her armour yet,' Aveline said, the sleep still thick in her voice.

'We wanted to wait for your expertise,' Marian smoothly said. The Guard Captain had been less than amused to be dragged out of her bed.

'Never seen that face before in my life,' Varric put in a word, rather gruffly. He hadn't been amused either, but a good story-teller had to be prepared to sacrifice his well earned sleep. Even if it meant to be waked up by a far too loud shouting youth.

'Give me a hand, will you,' Aveline told Hawke and together they started to remove the light black armour. And then they found it. A pendant hidden under the woman's undershirt.

'I know that symbol,' Aveline said breathlessly when the light of a candle caught the illustrious pattern.

Marian blanched.

'A Seeker,' she whispered.