SERENA
It's midday when I spy Hawke, Bethany and Varric descending the steps leading to the Alienage. Flat-ears watch them from all corners of the square, while I merely glance at them once then continue cleaning the blade of my scythe, my back placed firmly against the trunk of the vhenadahl and one of my legs dangling from the branch I'm sitting on. When they come to a halt a few feet away, Hawke smiles and puts his hands on his hips. "Serena," he calls up to me. "Mind coming down for a minute? I'd like to speak with you."
"Hawke, we both know that whenever you wish to talk to me, it's never just for a minute." I raise my eyebrows at him.
He shifts in his spot and crosses his arms. His smile doesn't leave his expression. "Alright, alright. All I can promise is that it won't take more than ten minutes. I just need to chat with you, and then you can choose to go on your merry way. I promise."
"I will hold you to that promise, lethallin," I respond and hop out of the tree, landing swiftly in front of him. Grasping onto my scythe, I plant the dull end on the ground and stare at Hawke. Amusement sparkles within the dark abyss of his eyes, making me wonder what could have possibly put him into such a good mood. He is always cheerful, but today it's to the point where it makes me nervous.
"So, we have accepted a job," he starts. "Huzzah and what not. But before we pursue it, I want to investigate a bit further, and you might have the answers that I'm searching for."
The notion intrigues me; however, I do not immediately snatch the dangling bait like an inexperienced mabari pup. After all, it could be another attempt to figure out more about my past. It wouldn't be for the first time this week.
"Go on," I insist but give him a cold stare as a warning.
His smile falters and he scratches his head. "Uh.. yes. You see, there are supposedly some smugglers in the Alienage."
My eyes widen and I put a hand to my chest, the inner actor getting the best of me. "Smugglers in Lowtown? No! What a surprise."
Hawke rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes. Poke fun. But listen, please," he begs. Frowning, I bite my tongue and wait for him to continue. After waiting for a moment, he carries on. "Their hideout is supposedly in the hovel over there," he motions to a small rundown building in the corner of the Alienage square. Rotting wooden crates are placed in front of it. There, they serve as a hub for the spiders of Lowtown—the filthy pests. "Since you are almost always out here, I was wondering if you have seen anyone enter or exit that building within the past few days?"
I stare at the shabby structure. My thoughts race, trying to pick apart bits of time that would otherwise be forgotten. "No, no one comes to mind. What exactly are you retrieving from these smugglers?"
"According to our contact, lyrium. For the templars."
I scoff and shake my head. "Of course. I should have known. If it's not mages or darkspawn, it's the chantry. No wonder I've yet to get bored in this life."
Varric chuckles and the two of us exchange smirks.
When the humor fades, I let out a deep breath and cross my arms, allowing myself to return to the task at hand. "Who is this contact?" I ask.
"The man's name is Anso," Varric responds. "He's a dwarf that works in the Lowtown bazaar. Keeps saying he thinks he's going to fall up into the sky. Sound familiar, Twinkle Toes?"
The man's name swirls around inside my head along with images of the bazaar. A few dwarves enter my line of vision, and then vanish when the memory passes. "Perhaps," I utter. "Did this Anso give you any more information, or are we only working with what we have?"
"Other than saying if we have to kill the sods then it can't be avoided, no. He strongly believes that they'll be reasonable though," Hawke laughs, enjoying the naïve sentiment.
"Ah, optimism. You are a cruel, cruel mistress," I whisper. I can still remember when I use to fall prey to optimism myself, back in my time in Fereldan. Reality has a way of changing that though. "Any plans for when you intend to strike?"
"Tonight," Hawke replies.
"Ah, and here I thought I might have a peaceful night," I say and rub the back of my neck. Everyone grins and Bethany giggles quietly. "Very well. Since it is in my area and it also piques my interest, I will aid you with this mission. However," I pause and point at Hawke. "If any of them touches the vhenadahl, I get to kill them. No questions asked. I will not have them desecrate the one place of true value to the Dales in this city. Understood?"
He nods. "Understood. We meet here at nightfall then."
"Nightfall it is. May the Creators guide our path. It seems we're going to need it."
One after another they fell and then… nothing. Not a copper, treasure, anything. Our so-called lead has turned out to be a dead-end. All of that effort, all of that time—wasted. It makes my vision go redder than the floor stained with the thugs ruby blood.
"I guess we have no choice but to go back to Anso and tell him," Hawke says and moves toward the door, strutting past the warm corpses of the fallen.
The snath of my scythe threatens to crack between my fingers as he passes by.
Varric grabs my shoulder, calming the rage inside of me. "Come on, Twinkle Toes. Let's get out of here," he says and inclines his head to the door.
I only nod and head for the door.
Hawke gives me the once over before he opens the door and steps out into the darkness of the Alienage, the other two in tow. But our group quickly comes to a halt.
A pack of armored men circle around us like a silver fortress. Only an armored woman with short brown hair and three men in silk robes have their faces revealed, setting them apart from the rest of the identical crowd.
"That's not the elf," the woman raises her voice. "Who is that?"
"It doesn't matter," one of the armored men beside her answers then draws his sword. "We were told to kill whoever enters the house."
The woman pauses and glares at us, her brown eyes attempting to pierce through us like an unrelenting Dalish arrow.
But it doesn't work.
The corners of my lips curl up and adrenaline rushes through me. A hearty laugh builds in my chest and my nerves tingle with rejoicement. "Really? You kill us? We shall see about that."
Without another word, I dash forward and slash my scythe at the midsection of the front line of the armored men. The sound of metal being cut open and the men gasping like gut fish rings in my ears and sends pleasant tremors down my spine, demanding me for more.
Blood flies everywhere like sudden rain. The corpses collapse and pile on the ground quickly. Hawke and company hardly have the chance to move before I've already decimated thirteen men—half in one swoop, the other in two more. The laugh I'd restrained escapes my throat. Delight tingles me to my bones.
And then I see it.
Through the scattered remains of the crowd, there's a mage casting loudly in Tevinter.
My chest constricts. It becomes hard to breathe. The tension in my muscles wrap around me like a woven cocoon as images of the Eluvian and the ruins flash through my head.
My scythe groans in the palm of my hand.
Furious, I stomp toward the robed mage. Two men attempt strike at me from the sides on my way.
I don't spare them a glance.
I cut through them like a whirlwind and continue on my chosen path.
The mage's dark eyes widen, his hands desperately moving about as he struggles to cast a blue shield around himself. I stop a few feet away and glare at the bald man. Wrinkles crease together on his forehead forming a unique design.
"Ma halem[1]," I hiss, and then my blade strikes through the barrier and lops off his head. The barrier vanishes, and his body collapses before me, his head rolling off to the side.
I watch the blood spew from his corpse, then turn to look for the others. Hawke just struck down the last of the men with his sword. The ground's now a beautiful dark red.
With paced footsteps, I approach the others. Concern is etched on their faces, but they dare not ask questions. Instead, the four of us quietly scan the corpses. "It must've been a trap," Hawke breaks the silence.
"Let's go alert Anso. He would like to know," I suggest and the others follow me to the steps leading up to Lowtown.
When we're about to ascend the staircase, a scruffy man with short brown hair, round eyes and a stubby nose steps around the corner of the stairway. He's adorned in steel armor, similar to the men's we just massacred. His brow is scrunched together to the extent that a profound set of wrinkles covers his forehead.
The four of us halt, and the man stops before us. His dark eyes are fierce and threatening, daring to take opposition. "I don't know who you are friend, but you made a serious mistake coming here," he growls and stands up straight. We exchange glares and then he bites his lip. "Lieutenant, I want everyone in the clearing. Now!" he shouts, his voice echoing off the Alienage walls.
An armored man hobbles around the corner, blood pouring from a hole his chest and decorating the floor. "Captain," he gurgles and the man in front of us looks back. The lieutenant collapses and a tall elf with snow-white hair dressed in black leather chausses, steel gauntlets and a chest plate steps into view. A large sword is strapped to his back and black spikes rest on the top of his gauntlets and shoulders. White markings trail down his chin, neck and arms in unique designs similar to tattoos.
"Your men are dead. And your trap has failed," the elf snarls in a husky, sinister baritone. Without a look of acknowledgment, he walks past the captain. "I suggest running back to your master while you can."
The elf stops in front of the captain, his back facing the man and his emerald eyes on us. The captain frowns and steps toward him, grabbing a firm hold of his shoulder. "You're going nowhere, slave."
The elf glares overt his shoulder at the captain, his expression fierce and feral. His white markings flare a brilliant blue, and then he turns around, grabs the captain's arm, lifts his arm in the air, and strikes his hand through the captain's chest. The man gasps and keels over, blood pouring from his chest cavity.
"I am not a slave," the elf sneers and veers toward us. The lanky man stands tall and holds his ground. His markings slowly fade. When he has returned to 'normal' his gaze becomes softer. "I... apologize," he says, his voice less harsh and sounding a bit refined and diplomatic. He paces a few steps. "When I asked Anso to provide a distraction for the hunters I had no idea they'd be so… numerous."
"I take it these men were looking for you?" Hawke asks.
"Correct." He turns around and studies the four of us. Whether or not he's impressed, he doesn't show it. "My name is Fenris. These men were Imperium bounty hunters, seeking to recover a magister's lost property—namely myself. They were trying to lure me into the open. Crude as their methods were, I could not face them alone." He shrugs. "Thankfully," he motions to us. "Anso chose wisely."
"So, everything Anso said was a lie then?"
"Not everything, "Fenris states. "Your employer was simply not who you believed."
Hawke shifts his weight and crosses his arms. "That seems like a lot of effort to find one slave," he says.
Fenris' eyes grow dark, almost darker than they were before when he plunged his hand into the captain's chest. "It is."
"Does this have something to do with those markings?"
Creators, Hawke. Do you really have to ask?
The elf nods. "Yes." He lifts his arms and looks them over. "I imagine I must look strange to you. I did not receive these markings by choice. Even so, they have served me well. Without them I would still be a slave."
"If you couldn't fight them, why not just run?" Bethany questions, her voice curious and sincere. The concept must hit her far too close to home, as it must for any apostate who is constantly on the run.
Fenris pauses and stares down at the ground, contemplating his response. The way his brows crease together make me wonder if perhaps he has the same question himself. "There comes a time when you must stop running," he says. "—when you turn and face the tiger. Perhaps the deception was unnecessary. If so, I am sorry. I've become too accustomed to hiding." He pauses and an intrigued but hesitant sparkle glimmers in his clear green eyes. It makes him seem no more threatening than a puppy, a very tall and handsome puppy. "If I may ask, what was in the chest?" he asks. "The one they kept in the house."
"It was empty," I reply, deciding to step into this new part of the conversation.
His eyebrows droop in disappointment. "I suppose it was too much to hope for. Even so... I had to know."
"You were expecting something else?"
"I was, but I shouldn't have. It was bait, nothing more."
Fenris abruptly kneels down and searches the captain's garments. He searches pocket after pocket. When he finds a piece of folded parchment in one of them, he stands up and looks over it. A menacing scowl appears on his face. "It's as I thought. My former master accompanied them to the city," he says with malice and crumples the note. His gaze darts to us. "I know you have questions, but I must confront him in Hightown before he flees. I will need your help."
Hawke scratches at his beard, a nervous habit I've witnessed him do many a time. "It sounds like you intend to do more than just talk," he replies.
Fenris clenches his jaw and glares down at the ground, his gaze far off where we cannot reach, perhaps recalling old and painful memories. "Danarius wants to strip the flesh from my bones. To send so many hunters that I've lost count. And before that, he kept me on a leash like a Qunari mage—a personal pet to mock Qunari custom." He raises his hand as he speaks. "So yes, I intend to do more than just talk."
"That's all well and good, but let me make sure that I have this straight," Hawke says. "You lured me into a trap and now you want my help?"
The elf shrugs. "If Anso had told you to divert an ambush of Tevinter bounty hunters, would you have done it?"
"Yes," I respond without a second thought.
Everyone shifts their gaze on me. Thankfully, the do not question it and look away. "I see your point," Hawke concurs. "But you could've asked."
Fenris' eyes become downcast. "Had I known of you earlier, I might've asked you personally. But I only had Anso to rely on I fear. I'm not lying to you now. Please, help me do this."
"I say we accept," I insist and step beside Hawke, my eyes fixed directly at him. "I will help out regardless. However, you should consider your options wisely. This job will be in the Hightown district."
Hawke purses his lips, considering that factor. He knew I was right, that he had to be extra cautious near the higher-ups if he and his family ever wanted their estate back. And of course Bethany mustn't be caught using magic—not so close to the chantry. He had to decide if he believed it was worth the risk.
After a long, agonizing silence, he sighs. "Looks like it's going to be a long night."
[1] You are finished