Author's note: Thank you all for your reviews! This story proved more popular than I expected.
Please keep in mind that there is only one more chapter after this, and the rating will change to M.
She'd only paid cursory attention to Danarius' research until then, choosing to focus on the more mundane problems of managing the household. However, she managed to dig out a journal documenting the progress of his 'lyrium infusion' research. To her horror, it was mostly a long list of the gruesome ways in which his test-subjects expired. Her stomach did an uncomfortable wrenching motion as she read through clinical descriptions of horrific mutilations and screaming deaths.
Under each subject's number (they did not have names; likely they'd been slaves), there were calculations, complicated equations that went completely over Hawke's head. Malcolm Hawke's approach to magic had been more intuitive (his favorite word had, in fact, been "guesstimate", which he often encouraged his girls to do, until she and Bethany pointed out that he overused it). She wasn't stupid, she knew how to do her sums, but she'd never been taught how to calculate things like volume and percentages, and certainly not how to apply that to the blood to lyrium ratio necessary to make a spell work a certain way, or to calculate how much pure lyrium could be shot into a person without it becoming toxic and eventually lethal. Magisters seemed to have a very pragmatic approach to magic, putting great emphasis on "replicating under similar conditions". They certainly didn't view magic as an inherently subjective and wild force, as mages outside the Imperium did.
She flipped to the end, but even that did not make her feel any better. He'd reached an estimation of the age, weight, height and physical fitness a subject would need to have in order to withstand the lyrium infusion procedure and live, as well as the amount of lyrium that was least likely to kill him, and the next part of the journal documented the success of the experiment, but she was struck by two things. The first was that the subject being discussed here was Fenris (and Maker, he'd been just a teenager when this took place), and the second was that Danarius had had no great expectation for the elf to survive. Fenris could have died, right there on the table, as they injected lyrium into him, and, if she was reading this right, he'd been conscious during the ritual.
"Oh, Maker..." she whispered.
She looked up to Fenris, standing next to the door-completely impassive, not even noticing her scrutiny—and it was as if she'd been expecting to see him writhing in pain. She took a deep breath, however, assuring herself that he was alright now, that he was safe.
She sighed and looked back down. Why was it that everything about him seemed to make her feel heartsick?
Reading on (the lack of rampant death in this part of the journal made it infinitely easier to read), she gleaned that Danarius' experiments had had something to do with entering the Fade physically. Hawke nearly scoffed at that idea (she was pretty sure the Tevinter magisters had tried it before and it had been an unmitigated failure), and it was clear that the phasing abilities that Fenris gained had been only a side-effect. Even Danarius was not entirely sure how they worked, except that Fenris somehow reached through the Veil, allowing part of him to become insubstantial.
Hawke snapped the journal closed. Danarius had been almost as brilliant as he'd been twisted.
"Fenris," she said, pushing the journal away like it was a dead animal. "Would you like to go for a walk?"
Fenris looked adorably confused at the question (and Hawke was going to bet that he didn't get asked for input often), so she merely took his silence for a yes and gestured for him to follow her.
In the antechamber, he helped her put her cloak on, and she pretended he was doing it because he was being a gentleman, and not because he'd been trained his entire life to do such things for his master.
Hawke was not a dainty noble lady who took walks in the afternoon in order to break up her boring routine. She had things to do, important things, and she never left the house without a purpose in mind. Fenris had known her a short time, and even he knew this about her.
But he did not voice his puzzlement as he shadowed her through the residential district of Minrathous. The streets looked vaguely familiar, but it was not until he saw the ivy-covered walls of Hadriana's house that he realized they were headed there.
He swallowed his apprehension and his stride did not falter.
It was happening. His mistress had realized Hadriana had been justified in punishing him. She was going to make amends and leave him to the apprentice's tender cares as an apology. His markings started aching in anticipation of Hadriana's famed 'discipline'.
He tried not to feel betrayed. He'd brought this upon himself. His mistress could never trust him again after he'd manhandled and threatened her. Danarius might not have killed or gotten rid of him, but that was because of his vast financial value. His new mistress had no such qualms. He was merely an asset inherited from an enemy.
He swallowed the knot in his throat as the door opened and Hawke told Hadriana's slave that she'd come to call on her.
His mind blanked with rising terror, not only at being left here at Hadriana's mercy, but being left here by her, by that strange mistress who petted his hair and looked at him as if he were truly a person.
Hadriana arrived clad only in house robes and an expression of false modesty.
"I am honored to have you in my humble home," Hadriana said, gesturing to the lavishly decorated atrium around her.
"I will be brief, Hadriana. Dissolve your apprenticeship," Hawke said brusquely.
Shock crawled over Hadriana's face, though it was nothing compared to Fenris' own. Whatever he expected Hawke to say, it was not that.
"I beg your pardon?" Hadriana said slowly.
"You heard me the first time." Hawke strode purposefully towards her. "You will go down to the notary and dissolve your apprenticeship to me. You will do this, or else I will kill you. And I will not do it like a cowardly Tevinter, sending assassins. I will come after you myself. If you're lucky."
"If I'm—?"
"If you're not," Hawke interrupted, "then I will hand you over to Fenris, and have him do to you what he will."
Hadriana's eyes flashed over Hawke's shoulder to Fenris, and while he knew he should have played his role as the impassive, heartless bodyguard, he couldn't really help the vicious grin that spread over his face. It seemed to play into Hawke's game well enough, though, because Hadriana looked genuinely terrified at that prospect.
"I—I don't understand what I've done to-"
"No. You do not understand. You are a cruel, petty person, seeking status in a morally bankrupt society. You are not equipped to understand what you've done wrong. But to put it in terms I loathe, but you might better understand, you touched one of my slaves without my permission." By this point, Hawke was inches from Hadriana's face and speaking in a low, dangerous register that made even Fenris' hair stand on end. "I do not like you very much, Hadriana. If we cross paths again, such an event might not be beneficial to your health. Do you understand?"
Hadriana nodded, struck speechless by terror.
"Good." Hawke turned around and brushed imaginary dust off her sleeve. "Tell everyone you don't want to apprentice for the crazy Fereldan bitch, if that will help you save face."
By the expression on Hadriana's face, Fenris guessed that that phrase was one she'd used to describe Hawke to someone. Clearly Hadriana did not expect Hawke to find out what she'd been saying behind the Fereldan's back.
Hawke began humming on the way home, a low, wending melody reminiscent of southern lands of rolling green hills.
At moments like these, it seemed to Hawke as if Danarius was reaching from beyond the grave to vex her personally.
She'd settled nearly all his outstanding affairs. She closed his account at the Arcanist House of Minrathous, she redrew contracts for all the tenants in all the properties he owned throughout the city, she even arranged for his cremation, because it seemed like the polite thing to do. She hadn't done as much for her own father when he died, though granted, he'd been a much poorer man and they'd needed to leave Ferelden quite abruptly after his death.
And here she was, trying to shut down the smuggling ring she'd inherited from the magister. Currently, that involved plenty of crouching in dank, dark alleys, and it was murder on her knees. Fenris didn't seem to have a problem with the awkward position, and neither did Petro, the "guide" Quintus had provided her with. Well, maybe she'd become coddled, now that she had a mansion with comfortably plush furniture.
"Since Danarius died," Petro was explaining in a low whisper, "they haven't really changed operations. They assume you don't know about the... you know, the stuff."
Petro gave one of those shifty-eyed looks that made Hawke wonder how the Constabulary hadn't picked him up already just for looking so much like a criminal.
"The stuff they're smuggling?" Hawke said.
Petro nodded and twitched. 'Oh, great Maker, where did Quintus find this man?' Hawke asked herself.
"Do you know what it is?" Hawke asked.
"Well, I'm not... that is... I'm small fry, I don't really..."
Hawke leaned forward slightly, and deep in her cloak, hidden from the street, her hand glowed with magic. Over her shoulder, she could feel Fenris glaring at Petro.
"Give your best guess," she said tersely.
"Um, well," Petro licked his lips. "It's lyrium."
"That's hardly illegal," Hawke noted.
"No, uh, no, the problem is where it's coming from," Petro said with a twitch of his head. "They say Danarius, um, that is, I know this guy, see? He's a mage, but not really good enough to be a magister? And, um, there's a test you can do to find out where the lyrium comes from. And, um, once, he tested some of Danarius' stuff and he matched it to, um... the Imperial stuff. Like, the stuff only the really important buggers are allowed to use?"
"He was stealing from the Archon's reserves?" Hawke asked, honestly aghast at his daring.
"He was stealing from the Archon's shipments," Petro clarified. "He got 'em straight from the dwarves."
Hawke pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance.
"Right. This is bad. I can't let this get traced back to me. We need to bust them up."
Petro paled.
"Y-you don't understand, the man Danarius left in charge, um, Cassius, the one who took over operations?" he said, "He's a bad sort. Like, bad, bad, um, bad kind of sort. You don't want him as an enemy."
"I'll not have him as an enemy if he's dead," Hawke replied.
Strictly speaking, she should not have attempted to break up a smuggling ring aided only by her bodyguard and a twitchy criminal. Oh, Fenris was unfailing as always, very dedicated, but Petro was a nervous mess. He followed her, certainly, partly because Hawke promised him a hefty reward and partly because she also said she'd chase him down and melt his brain if he dared run off, but the way he held onto his daggers, like they were his lifeline, she didn't expect him to be much help.
Surprisingly, he did make himself useful. When they first knocked down the door of the smuggling ring's warehouse, Petro disappeared, leaving only Hawke and Fenris to be swarmed by about a dozen angry smugglers. He reappeared only later, nervously wiping blood off his daggers with a rag, and that was when she saw the corpses of three thugs and a mage, all with their backs sporting several extra holes. He also managed to find Cassius' lieutenant and incapacitate him with some sort of poison, making him just ready for interrogation.
It was at that point that Hawke made a mental note to double his reward when this was over.
They never got around to interrogating the lieutenant, however, because that was the exact moment Cassius made his appearance on the catwalk above.
"Magister Hawke," came the man's voice, sounding amused more than anything. Hawke looked up at an unexpectedly handsome middle-aged man with wild black hair, leaning against a railing. "I was expecting you," he said, a sly little smile insinuating itself on his face.
"Nobody expects me," Hawke said, adjusting her grip on her staff. "So you must be Cassius."
"That I am," Cassius said, chuckling low. Slowly, deliberately, and holding his hands up to show he was not a threat, he made his way to the stairs and started walking down. "And you see, I knew you'd come for your cut eventually."
"My cut?" Hawke repeated dryly.
"Of course," he continued smoothly. "Danarius set up this operation. He took a generous cut of the profits as well. He was not very hands-on, alas. We communicated only through intermediaries. But after I found out that you inherited his property-" Cassius' eyes flicked towards Fenris briefly, "I knew you would come yourself to take over business. You struck me as that kind of woman." He finally reached the ground floor and stopped in front of Hawke, giving her an appreciative look at that last remark. He didn't hear the low growl Fenris gave him.
"I came here to shut you down," Hawke replied. "Not to become your new boss."
"And here I thought you just killed all my men to make a point," Cassius chuckled, gesturing towards the corpses strewn across the floor.
"It's a merciful fate compared to what the Archon's Guard would have done to them if he ever found out you were stealing lyrium from him."
Cassius clicked his tongue. "Now, now, you know what they say. Great risk yields great reward."
"Really? Because in Ferelden we say 'Quit while you're ahead'," Hawke snorted. "Believe me when I say, I'm doing you a favor."
Cassius laughed, a rich, disarming sound she would not have associated with a hardened criminal.
"Oh, my dear lady," he reached out and grasped her hand, "I am sure the two of us are going to reach a... mutually beneficial agreement," he purred.
Hawke did not have time to reply, because in the blink of an eye, Cassius was no longer before her, holding her hand, but smacked against the opposite wall, with Fenris' hand sunk deep in his chest.
"She said 'no'," the elf growled in the dying man's face, as Cassius made an unsettling gurgling sound.
"Fenris-" Hawke started, but just like that, it was over: Fenris pulled his hand out, holding Cassius' crushed heart.
Petro let out a wail and bolted to a distant corner to retch, but Fenris turned around, still holding the heart as a bloody offering, steam wafting slowly from the organ.
Hawke felt words escape her completely. Fenris looked at Hawke, eyes wide and desperate, waiting for her to do or say something, to praise or punish him. Under her stare of mute horror, however, he felt himself unravel, and he dropped the gory trophy on the ground.