Guardian
The Deep Roads had been successful, financially. But Varric had lost his brother to betrayal. Hawke had lost his sister to the Darkspawn. Fenris and the Dwarf had been there with him for Bethany's last moments, poor girl. Emotionally, it was a disaster. Still, the Hawke family was now set up for life back in their ancestral home. The family now had all the money and position for Hawke to continue his preferred mercenary lifestyle. His former companions continued to accompany him when called upon, including Freyja; but he still had much to learn, even three years after the expedition.
"Freyja?"
"I see them," the woman responded from behind. She swung her horse around and shot the three archers pursuing them in quick succession before catching up again. Hawke was glad he brought the strange rogue along for this task. It was a simple retrieval of some stolen merchandise, but nothing was actually simple when it came to the Coterie's involvement. "You're injured."
"Nothing that can't wait," he grunted, glancing at the graze wound from an arrow in his arm. Freyja had proven herself to be a capable healer. While her lyrium markings were not as impressive as Fenris', the ones on her arms did allow her to stick her arm partially through people. She utilized that ability last year when Merrill had acquired an arrow through her shoulder during a quest. "We need to get away from the Wounded Coast first."
After a hard ride, they decided they were a safe distance and pulled to the side of the rode. Freyja didn't even bother dismounting. She walked her steed right up next to Hawke's, opened up her saddlebag, and started cleaning his wound with the supplies inside. Her blue-grey eyes occasionally flickered up, constantly aware of everything. Her thick hair was a few shades lighter than he had first thought upon meeting her – a bath had taken care of that – and her nose reminded him of a bird of some sort. It was rare for her to start a conversation, even with Fenris. She seemed to care about him, but Hawke guessed that there was an unforgiven grudge that neither of them had yet confronted, even after three years of being in each other's company on and off.
"You never talk of your sister," she suddenly said, wrapping some bandaging around Hawke's muscular arm. "I did not know her well, but I know she meant a lot to you."
The setting sun caught the lyrium on her face that twisted around her right eye.
"Do you have any family back in Tevinter? Or did the lyrium binding cause you to lose your memory like Fenris?"
She shook her head and began repacking her supplies.
"I didn't have the lyrium tattooed all over my body – just around my arms and face. While it was the most painful experience I can recall, it was…not nearly as traumatizing for me as it was for Fenris…but Danarius could have erased my memory if he so chose." When she prodded her horse forward once more, Hawke thought she was dropping the subject, as was common, but she spoke still. Was she finally coming out of her shell, perhaps? "I have no family, Hawke."
"What happened?" Was he overstepping his boundaries?
"I had a sister too, once."
That was all.
"Hawke, another round for the blonds!"
"I don't think so, Varric," Freyja chuckled. "I make a point of never getting drunk. I don't like losing control."
"But you're among friends, m'lady. Let loose a little."
"Again thank you, but no."
"I'll have one for you, then. In the meantime, I've been able to dig up some dirt on all of the members of our company – enough to start spinning some good tales, at least – but I have yet to start any about you."
"Me? Why would you want to tell a tale about me?"
"You're being too modest, angel. You're a fighter, a healer, a former slave, and an assassin – yes, I've noticed the solo jobs you've been taking on the side. You knew the old Fenris. You were a slave for years, had lyrium tattooed on you, escaped, and suddenly decided to tag along with our merry gang when it promised you could make some money. Were you born a slave or is there some epic story behind that?"
Freyja closed her eyes, leaned back in her seat in the Hanged Man, and ran her fingers through her hair. Fenris watched her closely.
"We were traveling with my mother in Tevinter when I was sixteen, and we were ambushed by raiders. My little sister and I had been trained by the people of the mountains where we lived, and we knew how to fight. We had been hidden from the Imperium and its cruel ways…and we hadn't even known it. But we were overwhelmed…not without taking out over half of the company first. Their leader finally came forward; I guess he was looking for our people to learn how they fought and stayed a secret…I didn't know the details; he obviously didn't like people hiding under the Imperium's nose. As soon as I saw those chains coming toward my mother, I struck down three more of his men. He was…impressed. I was foolish. I told him to take me and leave my family alone. And he agreed."
Merrill leaned forward in fascination.
"Then what?"
"He shackled me and ordered his men to kill my mother and sister right in front of me. He told me I could stay in his service or tell him the secrets of my people. I had nothing left but the secret of where they were. Even though I didn't know why, I knew they wanted to remain hidden. That is how I became Danarius' slave. I was a hostage in order to protect a clan that I hadn't even realized were outlaws. But, my sacrifice turned into a twisted relationship of power and abuse that bound me to my master in a way that no threats could. Funny how that works."
"From what I hear," Isabela chimed in with her usual slur, "Danarius was quite the 'beat you into submission' type."
"He was," the woman said quietly. "I was a young teenager who never had a chance. I thought I was doing it to protect my family, but he wouldn't even let me have that. He saw my talents and wanted to possess me. So that's what he got. Before I knew it, I was his trusted bodyguard and he had no reason to fear me. But I still hated him."
"When did you get the fancy white tattoos? I just find them fascinating."
"When Fenris received his own markings, Danarius decided to…reward me as well."
Varric leaned forward.
"I sense a story there, as well."
Freyja's eyes flickered to meet Fenris'. The elf's expression softened at the memory of their first meeting that he could recall.
"Another time, perhaps. I should call it a night."
"I'll join you," Fenris jumped in, taking the opportunity as it presented itself. Once they were outside, he inquired, "Where have you taken up residence? You always disappear."
"I haven't. I usually camp somewhere in or outside Kirkwall…whatever strikes my fancy. I've gotten the reputation of an assassin and don't like staying in one place. Varric lets me stash away my valuables with him. When the weather is inclement during the winter months, Merrill, Isabela, or Aveline offer me a roof for however long I want. Usually not Aveline, though; she lectures me about setting down some roots."
Fenris was taken aback. He didn't think he would find anyone more reluctant than him to settle down anywhere.
"My mansion has many rooms. You could have asked. It's been three years since you came to Kirkwall."
She shook her head and leaned against the wall with one foot propped up.
"I can't shake the feeling that Danarius could come back any day and I won't be able to resist returning to him. I can't risk any attachments."
"Freyja… I've heard that excuse from you before. At least take a room in my mansion. You can even move to a different room every night, if you like. Just get off the streets. It's the least I can do."
She thought about it for several moments.
"All right, Fenris, but don't expect anything. You've caused me enough trouble."
"Wouldn't dream of it." Fenris couldn't help but smile a little. No wonder Freyja had been avoiding everyone when they weren't on quests; she had been in this delusion of continuing her runaway life and didn't want anyone else to know. There was something quite nice about being able to banter with his former companion without worrying about a master around the corner trying to listen for something to use against them. He liked her company. Despite still having a difficult time transitioning to being a freeman, he could see the changes in her. Her personality was much, much stronger. And he recognized the hate she carried with her as his own, though she generally refused to talk about it. Although, even when he first met the woman, she was always dangerous. Their relationship had always been mixed signals.
Something about leftover lyrium. That's what he had heard at least. As the elf drifted in and out of consciousness on the hot sheets of the cot, his flesh on fire still from the freshly imbedded lyrium, he could hear a woman's screams. They were tortured, sobbing screams, like the sound of someone who was losing an emotional battle as well as a physical one. He felt like he should feel something for those screams. Did he know the bearer? At the moment, he didn't know anything. He knew he was an elf. His hair was an odd, blinding white. He had fresh silvery tattoos all over his body that were agonizing to touch – he did remember the pain of getting them. He was lying on a cot in a small, dark room with no windows and no other furnishings beside a second cot and a washbasin in the corner.
Something was different. The screams had stopped. That hadn't taken as long as he expected, though he didn't know how long his own torture had lasted. Next, they would douse her with freezing cold water to be sure the lyrium didn't start oozing back out of her carved skin. He remembered though that it was mostly magic responsible for the…procedure.
The next time the elf awoke, someone else was in the room on the other cot. He carefully shifted so that he could see her. He was pretty sure this newcomer was the source of the earlier screaming. She was unconscious, thank the Maker, but the pain of her fresh wounds was causing her to sweat through the clothing she still had, which included nothing more than a sleeveless white tunic that reached her mid-thighs. The only markings he could see were on her forearms and hands, and down the right side of her face, disappearing under the tunic. Occasionally, a soft whimper would escape when she exhaled.
Since, clearly, no one was going to come help him any time soon, the elf forced himself to sit up and slowly make his way to the washbasin. Luckily, the water was fresh, so he was able to quench his thirst before returning to his cot and settling to watch his roommate. She was, admittedly, quite beautiful. Perhaps twenty years old, making her a couple years older than him. Who was she?
Again, he dozed off.
The elf didn't realize the woman was awake until four guards burst into the room and roughly grabbed ahold of him. They were trying to force him towards the door when someone suddenly raised their voice.
"Stop!" They froze and the elf turned to find the woman standing tall, staring down the guards with an icy glare. Hadn't she just been screaming in agony for mercy only a short while ago? Her resilience was impressive.
"We were told to bring him before Danarius."
"Were you now?" she sneered. She continued quickly and clearly, with command as if she wasn't still trembling from pain. "You're going to manhandle the master's new bodyguard? If you're not careful with him now, he may just decide to snap your neck later to save Danarius the trouble…just like I will if you do not bring me my clothes and go back to your patrol where you belong." The leader scowled, but released the elf in exaggerated surrender. He retreated around the corner and returned a moment later with a small pile of carefully folded clothing. "And I expect my armor is being cleaned properly? You may go."
Once the guard was gone, the woman let out a satisfied sniff and unfolded the leather boots, grey leggings, a black belt, and a soft maroon tunic with long sleeves and silver-threaded lining. She slowly proceeded to don this attire, hissing occasionally when the fabric brushed against her new scars. During this process, the elf dared to speak.
"How…how do you command such respect over them?"
She chuckled darkly.
"Don't get any ideas, lad. You and I are merely slaves. I have simply built up enough favor with the master and intimidation to be able to get away with some things."
The word greatly troubled the elf, but it seemed quite familiar. It slipped easily from his tongue.
"Slaves?"
Something, either sympathy or just pain, floated across her face, and her voice softened.
"Yes, slaves. But we're special. You and I are Daniarius' bodyguards."
"Why would we protect a slave master? What loyalty would we have?"
He didn't know who this Danarius was, aside from an image of the person who had overseen the lyrium tattoos. With her back turned to him, the woman sighed.
"Protect him, and be rewarded and cared for; or disobey, and regret it. That is why. You will learn in time. Your…experience took your memories, I take it. Before I was –" She glanced at her own markings. "Before, Danarius told me that I am to help you, train you. I will do that and nothing more. Understand? I didn't ask to almost be replaced by some kitchen elf."
"Replaced?"
She walked to the door, bunching her hand into a fist, testing it.
"Almost. Come, slave. Danarius will be waiting. Patience is not a gift he possesses."
"Why did he torture you? You didn't do anything wrong."
The two slaves, left to their own devices, were sitting in a dark dining room with a large fire roaring nearby. The young woman sat at the head of the table with her feet propped up on its surface. An occasional tremor reminded them of the magical shock she had just endured, but her focus was seemingly enthralled in the flames.
"Danarius wanted to show you what happens if you displease him before you got any ideas. He is a very powerful mage. Do not toy with him." She scrubbed a hand through the knotted braids. "This has been a bad day."
The elf grunted and sat down in one of the other chairs.
"At least I know my name now."
"Fenris is what Danarius has chosen to call you. It is probably not the name you were born with."
"I never caught your name."
"Danarius calls me Freyja."
"And your real name?"
Freyja finally looked at him, seemingly stunned that Fenris bothered at all, and perhaps a little offended.
"Why do you care about any details about me? I told that I am to train you and that our relationship ends at that. Why do you persist in asking these questions?"
"I'm curious about you, I admit. Since I know nothing about my past life, I wish to learn everything I can about my present one. Since you and I will apparently be spending a sizeable amount of time together, I wish to know you better. It's clear that we do not associate much with…anyone, really."
Freyja sighed and droned,
"We're in a twilight zone between the lowest slave and nobility. We do not associate with the other slaves because we are above them, and because any connection we make could put them in danger. We do not associate with freemen or nobility because we are slaves; we are property, not people…and we are dangerous because we protect the magister."
"A necessarily lonely existence."
She nodded and stared into the fire once more.
"Lara."
"What?"
"My real name was Lara. I have not spoken or heard it in a long time, and you would be wise to keep it to yourself, Fenris."
Fenris found Freyja in the library the next morning. She had started a fire and was curled up on a couch with a book. He didn't need to announce his presence for her to know he was there.
"You know, in the bedroom I chose last night, I think I counted about fifty-thousand dust bunnies. You'd better be careful how long I stay or I may just start cleaning."
He ignored the comment and sat down beside her to watch the fire.
"I trust you slept well." He then noticed that Freyja wasn't even looking at the book – more like through it. "Is something troubling you?"
"I went out to get some breakfast this morning. I ended up pickpocketing one of the patrons when I saw what was sticking out of his pocket." She handed him a piece of paper. "I and those traveling with me will have to tread lightly for a while, it seems."
Though Fenris couldn't read, he could still see the sketch on the flyer, and he knew a bounty when he saw one.
"This doesn't seem like a move that Danarius would make."
"When I got away from Danarius, it wasn't exactly easy for me to escape from Tevinter. It took me a while to find a ship willing to take me from Vyrantium to Rivain. The captain – Toran – seemed to think he could do whatever he wanted and…I allowed him to think that for a while. But, with rough waters and talk of mutiny for part of the voyage, my coin wasn't good enough for him anymore. When I bailed, it was with a word of encouragement to the crew to revolt…and I think he was eventually tossed overboard. Unfortunately, this man has money, influence, and anger enough to chase after me with an unofficial bounty. Didn't think I'd see him again, though. The man can certainly hold a grudge. I'll give him that."
"Do you think he's in Kirkwall?"
She shrugged lazily.
"Since he probably lost his ship, yes. I just have to kill him before he kills me. Think Hawke would be willing to help? He owes me a favor or two by now."
Fenris agreed begrudgingly.
"You've changed, Freyja, but I still can't pinpoint how."
She stared hard at the book.
"I learned a very valuable lesson. I used to let people get too close and Danarius never failed to use them again me. Now, he can't touch me."
"Will this fellow have any backup do think? With this group, I've come to expect the bad guys to have backup," Varric quipped as their party approached the Dockside hovel.
"If this man of yours has money and influence, why is he staying here?" added Anders.
Freyja scowled at both men.
"Toran either spent all his money obsessing over this bounty, or he's simply trying to keep a low profile."
"Or it's a trap," corrected the dwarf.
"Thank you for your invaluable insight, Varric…"
"Any time, sunshine."
As they all somewhat suspected, their arrival was anticipated. At least half a dozen hired assassins – or thugs, rather – were inside the hovel, weapons ready. Freyja amazed, as always. There was a good reason she was steadily employed for assassinations, goods recovery, and other covert objectives. Even in the tight quarters, she could appear behind her target and stab them in the back before they knew what hit them. And she wasn't just sneaky – she was powerful. With her natural strength and utilization of her markings, she would simply punch through someone's chest with her dagger, completely taking them out of the picture.
While she wasn't as formidable as Fenris, she was an asset that Hawke hoped to never lose. At least, for a while. However much she refused to talk about her feelings or the past, even he saw how she looked at Fenris when he was otherwise occupied. Maybe the two former slaves could help each other. If only they would open up a little.
When the last hired hand was down, Hawke walked into an adjoining room to find Freyja holding her daggers at the throat of an imposing Rivaini man. Already, she was slowly digging her blade into the man's shoulder, driving him to the ground. Hawke had never her seen her look so…vindictive. Anders was standing beside her with his hands out in a show of surrender. Apparently, the others had missed something.
"Freyja, you know I do not stand for any injustice, and what this man tried to do to you is unforgiveable. But he doesn't deserve to be tortured to death."
She gritted her teeth.
"Yes, he does. He deserves to be skinned alive and have his heart ripped from his chest."
"At least give him a quick death."
"He added to an existence of living death while I was on his ship, and he tried to kill me. Why should I be merciful?"
This was where Hawke stepped in. Anders wasn't exactly the expert on showing mercy.
"Freyja, if we don't show mercy, then we're no better than the evils we fight against. Rather than giving them a taste of their own medicine, we should act the way we want to be treated."
"How has that fared for you, Hawke? Not well at all. If this scum is after me now, what's stopping Danarius from coming? I won't go back. I can't."
"This man isn't connected with Danarius. I'm sure we can convince him to stay silent concerning your whereabouts."
The lack of remorse in the captain's eyes was not helping Hawke's case. He couldn't guarantee that word of her location wouldn't reach her former master through this whelp if he was released.
"What do you suggest? Should I cut out his tongue? Not enough mercy for you?"
Desperate, Hawke threw one last barrage.
"If you reduce yourself to such cruelty, than you're no better than Danarius."
With a snarl, Freyja flicked her dagger from Toran's bleeding neck. As he staggered away, she called,
"If you wag your tongue, slave or not, I will find you! And I will kill you."
In silence, the woman ripped a piece of cloth from one of the dead thugs and began cleaning her weapons.
"This is why you asked me to not bring Fenris."
"I didn't want him to see me weak, and I knew that I wouldn't be able to resist the urge to make that man suffer as much as possible."
"Well, you did the right thing in letting him live. If he does tip off Danarius, I think I speak for all of us when I say that we will stand with you. You are not property to be reclaimed."
"Does that apply to Fenris as well? I can't help but notice that you two don't exactly see eye-to-eye."
"That elf can attack my defense of mages all he wants, but slavery is wrong, whatever label you put on it. Now, I believe we have a meeting to attend with the Arishok on our docket tomorrow. Best get some sleep."
As Hawke and Varric walked away, Anders remained behind with the woman.
"Not interested in sleep, I assume?" asked the abomination. "I can always use a hand in the clinic, if you want to get your mind off of things."
"Why would I want to assist a runaway mage?" the still-angry dame hissed, wiping some blood from her leather armor.
"Because you still care about people. You didn't want Fenris coming here because you didn't want word of his location traveling with yours if one of the men here got away. You can play the hardened killer all you want, but you still have a heart under all that leather."
"Indeed?" the rogue smirked, approaching Anders. He had hit a nerve and she was trying to hide it. "I don't believe I've stepped foot in your clinic for a while." Anders stared at her, waiting. Finally, she threw her hands up in the air. "Fine! You caught me. I was protecting him, just like I've been protecting him since the day he became Danarius' bodyguard. I can't help it! I've tried hating him from the very start. I've worked tirelessly to push everyone away so Danarius can't use them against me. But, no matter how hard I try, I can't get Fenris out of my head. I'm afraid of hurting him, but I want to kill him at the same time."
"How have you not killed Fenris by now? I have imagined it many times and I have not known him nearly as long as you." Anders then cleared his throat upon seeing the elf warrior standing in the doorway. "Fenris! Been a while since you've been to Darktown."
Fenris ignored the mage and stalked over to where Freyja was rewrapping a head wound.
"Why was I not invited on this venture?"
Freyja shushed him and led him outside the clinic.
"We had a warrior, a mage, a proficient rogue, and myself. You were not needed for this one, Fenris."
"You told me of the dangers and I assumed that I was to come along to help. Instead, I have to hear about your bloody encounter from the Dwarf when he sauntered into the Hanged Man."
"It was for your own good, Fenris."
"Venhedis! Don't you ever assume that you know what's good for me!"
She snorted.
"It's worked so far." The elf's markings flashed to life in his anger. She waved him aside. "I'll tell you about any more personal vendettas I dig up, if that makes you feel better. We should head back to the mansion before too many gangs come out to play."
In uncertain silence, the duo left. Anders shook his head in bewilderment. Some day, those two were going to snap. He sensed that there was something more that Freyja wasn't telling the elf, but he also felt that that day was far off in the future.
