My husband informed that you shouldn't read this while eating.
Content warning for graphic scenes.
May be subjected to minor changes once my beta gets back to me. (My apologies Necromancer Luna. Please take your time, but since this chapter took so incredibly long to write and edit, I'm anxious to get it out . Forgive me!)
Hawke betrayed Fenris for a fistful of coin. He fled without considering where he would go; no time to feel betrayed. He expected this from a woman like Hawke. His only surprise was that she had waited so long to cash in his bounty.
He tried to leave through the gateway of Hightown, but that exit had been blocked by slavers. He sprinted to Lowtown, hoping to escape into the chaos of Undercity. In all the commotion, he trapped himself in a dead-end alley. Now bows and blades barricaded his escape. He gripped the hilt of his claymore, his eyes darted around for an opening. How could he make such a sloppy mistake?
The slavers closed in on him, chains in their hands. He already felt the cold steel suffocating his wrists. No. He couldn't allow it. They lunged at him, but he cut them down. Their warm blood sprayed his face, it's familiar scent filled his nostrils. Teeth bared, he tried to tear through the blockade, but they pushed him back. His elbow hit brick wall, and he flinched. There was no room to fight.
A bright light blinded Fenris. He swung wildly, trying to keep his eyes open. He squinted, but the slavers were just shadows dispersing into a white void. They disappeared one by one, until a solitary figure remained.
Danarius.
The light faded away until it was just his master and him trapped in darkness. Danarius looked over him triumphantly; his eyes cold, dead, cruel. His twisted smile mimicked kindness, but Fenris knew the brutality that he hid shallowly beneath. His scarred hand reached out and caressed Fenris' cheek, his voice crooning, "Still so feisty, my little wolf."
Fenris could not recoil from his touch. His stomach dropped, visibly trembling. His fingers were too numb to grip his claymore and it clattered to the ground. He wanted to pick it up, to plunge his blade into Danarius' heart, but his terror overwhelmed him. He was not a hunter; he was prey.
"Forgive me, Master," he begged. He dropped to his knees, pressing his nose flat against the floor. His body quivered and his muscles tightened, bracing himself for the blow.
Fenris convulsed, the grip of Danarius' blood magic stormed through him. He cried out, his own blood crushing him from within. Danarius' malicious laugh echoed in his ears and he reached for him.
"You won't escape me again."
He jerked up, tattoos aglow, a scream caught in his throat. The flimsy sheets tore under his balled fists and cold sweat ran down his back. Befuddled, he clawed the air, his vision blurred with tears. His chest constricted, and his heart threatened to gallop right out of his chest. He scanned the room seeing cobwebs and broken pots, but his muddled mind could not register it. It still fixated on Danarius' wicked hands reaching for him.
He shirked back; hitting the headboard. His gasps came out in sputters, and he clutched his chest and his throat, trying to breathe. Panic flooded him his muscles locked and his lungs spasmed. His veins pulsed as the lyrium blazed through his body. He couldn't call it back. He curled into himself, tearing at his hair as he fought for control of his mind. "I am free," he hissed through his teeth. Even as his chest threatened to crush him, he wheezed out rattled breaths. "I am free… I am free…" He breathed in the mold of his blankets, focused on the chill that nipped his sweat-soaked skin, even relished the pain of the magic that burned his blood- anything to remind himself that it was just a dream. But his body still remembered and refused to listen to reason. For almost an hour he shuddered, but eventually his heart to slow to steady thud, and the room darkened again.
This was nothing new. His scars ran so deep not even sleep gave release. He feared that if he saw his master again that he would be too terrified to defy him. Fenris shook his head and cursed himself. He'd rather die than submit, but his doubts were still fresh and the ache of his panic lingered in his joints. He was sure once his master was dead, he would know what it was to sleep in peace.
The sun had not risen, so he took that opportunity to go to the town well and draw himself a bath. The chilled water grounded him and he gradually felt like himself. With an old cloth, he scrubbed his sore skin raw until every inch of his body was red. Still, he felt unclean.
Marco arrived when he was finishing the last bites of his breakfast, which was nothing more than rubbery cheese, overcooked eggs, and undercooked potatoes. His attempt to make an omelet and hash browns had failed miserably, but he still ate greedily. Fenris did not wait for the other elf to speak. He grabbed his claymore, leaving what remained for the rats.
There was silence between them as they weaved through the streets of Kirkwall. No prying questions, no attempt at witty banter, no half-hearted conversation. He was grateful for that. If Hawke was here, she'd fill every moment with a story or a joke. That woman did not like silence.
Fenris scolded himself for thinking about her. Hawke was not here. There was no reason for his thoughts to be plagued by her especially after his nightmare. It was not real, but still possible. He could not place trust in a sellsword.
No matter how far he traveled, the rich always needed somewhere to shove the dregs of society. In Kirkwall that was Darktown. The stench was so putrid, that he could smell it yards before they arrived. Fenris marched behind Marco, trying not to breathe too deeply. He actually preferred the mold in his blankets to the malodor elves, humans, and dwarves penned like barn animals. Even the dirt here felt unpleasantly moist under his calloused toes and he had hoped the wet spots that he was stepping in was just water.
Here, the poor couldn't hide their depravity. Some of them huddled in gangs with sticks and clubs, hunting for a weak target. It only took one snarl for Fenris to show them that he would be more trouble than they wanted. But most of the beggars stayed slumped in their designated areas, too weary to raise their head. An elven man draped in brown rags made Fenris stop for a moment. His wrinkled cheeks were deflated, his eyes white and cloudy. Flies buzzed around his gaping mouth and many of his teeth looked knocked out. His left leg was missing from his tattered shorts. He hadn't stirred since Fenris noticed him. A small elven child was folded into his lap. Her clothes were too big for her knobby joints and her malnourished belly was swollen like an overripe pimple. "Messere, have mercy," her small voice cried. Their eyes met, her knotted fingers reached for him. Fenris looked away, pretending that he hadn't noticed her. He couldn't stare without seeing a reflection of himself.
Soon enough, Marco led him to a sewer entrance. It was only a small hole in the ground, very conspicuous. A small band of armed men were talking amongst themselves ten feet away. Fenris looked warily at the humans, but they hadn't graced him with a glance. Nobody payed much attention to elves.
Marco grunted as he lifted the hatch. "You might want to hold your nose," he told him as he eased himself down the hole.
Fenris couldn't shake his paranoia and he looked over his shoulder at the refugees, but still they were too engrossed in conversation. He breathed in deeply before he leapt in after him. He stumbled with a splash, but caught himself on the edge of a slimy wall. He inhaled sharply, but immediately gagged. The floor was slick and his nostrils burned with the distinct smell of ammonia. Maker, his feet weren't drenched in…Fenris suddenly wished he owned shoes.
"I told you," Marco chuckled, but his laugh was strained. He drew his bow and gestured with his head to follow. The water came ankle-deep and was a sickly brownish-yellow color. There were piles of indistinguishable sludge that caked just above the water-line. Mushrooms and green slime embedded itself in the stone and bloated rats scattered from their feet. As he followed Marco through the tunnels, he tried to ignore how thick the water was, and how little slimy specks of sludge caressed his feet as he moved.
Marco navigated the darkness, and Fenris wondered how. Athenril was not lying when she said this place was a maze. All the tunnels looked similar, but the elf had memorized his steps like a dance. A few miles in, Fenris thought he heard noises. He tapped Marco, and listened. Again, there was the faint sound of feet splashing through sludge water and it was getting closer.
Smugglers. It had to be.
Fenris tried to pinpoint where it was coming from, but the tunnels played with the sound. In the corner of his eye, he saw the light of a lantern. They backtracked silently to a tunnel they passed. There was an echo of a conversation approaching.
Marco wordlessly loaded an arrow into his bow and pulled the string back tight. Fenris unbuckled his claymore and gripped his toes into the algae, grounding himself. And he waited.
The woman who turned the corner held a fire in her left hand. 'A mage!' White hot anger surged through him. The arrow whistled past her head and she turned towards them, now alert. Marco cursed the dark, and loaded another arrow while Fenris launched himself forward. He heaved his sword diagonally at the mage but she managed to block his blow before he cleaved her in half. She cried out as she hit the corner of the wall with a thud and slumped sideways into the water. The flame in her hand drowned in the water. Fenris raised his sword for the finishing blow, but he hesitated. He knew that voice.
"Hawke!"
The tunnels flashed brightly and pain jolted through Fenris' shoulder. He turned to see another mage rushing towards him, but it was too dark to see a face. A second bolt of lightning flew at him and he raised up his sword to block it. The tunnel illuminated for a moment and he saw him- the abomination. His claymore trembled and sparked as it absorbed the magic. Anders retracted his hand, his hands shimmering as he whispered another lightning spell. Fenris' heart pounded in his ears. What were they doing here?
A copper-skinned woman catapulted past Fenris and swiped at Marco with one of her twin daggers. He parried the blow with the shaft of his bow, but she was as quick as a shadow. She circled around his back, and put a dagger to his throat.
"Wait!" Hawke's cry interrupted Anders' spell and stayed the rogue-woman's hands. They turned to her, both with questioning looks on their faces.
"By the Creators, Hawke, are you alright?" Merrill cooed and offered her a hand.
"Always," Hawke chuckled, but she winced as Merrill pulled her up. When she rose to her feet, she was still unsteady. The blood mage allowed her to lean on her small frame for support.
Hawke traded her plain leather armor for a rich cerulean Tevinter robe, though half of it was now drenched in sewer water. The sleeves the inner hem were lined with wet wolf fur. Yellow thread drew lines down the dress. It was meant to draw attention to buxom mages, but it skimmed right over her flat chest. Fenris held his breath, disturbed by the intrusive thought. He tried to look down only to notice that her thick brown belt accentuated rather generous thighs.
'You can look,' he recollected her lilting taunt, and his face flamed. How could he think of her like that?
Anders forgot Fenris and rushed towards Hawke. "You are hurt," he said. He set aside his staff and called healing lights to his hands. The blue glow lit up her contorted face. A steady stream of blood flowed from her right eyebrow. She cursed as it stung her eye and she wiped it away with her sleeve. She was having difficulty moving her right arm and she cradled it, but she appeared fine otherwise.
Fenris felt shame, cursing himself with carelessness. He had only been seconds away from killing her. Maker, she was lucky.
"My apologies," Fenris bowed his head slightly. "I had no idea you'd be here."
"Convenient," Hawke clucked her tongue as Anders' light moved over her body.
"And stupid," Anders agreed, giving him a quick glare. "Do you even look before you swing or are you just a rabid dog- biting at anything that moves?"
Fenris clenched his jaw. This was not his fault. "I already apologized," he growled.
"This one free to go, Hawke?" the rogue-woman asked. If she was one of Hawke's companions, Fenris had never seen her before. She wore a blue headscarf to hold back her dark hair, and her ears and neck were adorned with gaudy gold jewelry. She hugged Marco, one dagger poised to his throat in mid-slash, one at the side of his stomach. His bow jutted out awkwardly from his hand. Blood trickled down the left side of Marco's neck where her knife stayed. He was breathing shallowly, pleading with Hawke with his eyes.
Hawke glared back. "Maybe," she grunted. "Give me a moment."
The tunnel darkened as Anders put one hand on Hawke's shoulder and one hand on Hawke's back. She winced away from his touch, but he held her firm. "Hold her steady, Merrill. This is going to hurt," he muttered. With a quick jerk, a sickening crack echoed off the walls.
"Andraste's asscheeks," Hawke hissed through her teeth, but the lines of her grimace smoothed in relief.
"Sorry, Hawke," Anders said. The abomination met Fenris' eyes with another glare as he picked up his staff. A silent challenge.
Hawke rolled her shoulder a few times before plucking her staff from the water. She groaned, shaking the water off of it before she sheathed it safely on her back. With the flick of her wrist, she called a small fire to her fingers. Fenris squinted as he adjusted back to the light. She glanced at Marco again, an amused smirk twisted on her lips.
"Alright, I can't wait to hear this one."
Sweat beaded on Fenris' upper lip, slick hands slid to the hilt of his blade. He wished for a clever lie to explain this, but the evidence was damning. He glanced at Marco, hoping that he would speak but he only gave a nervous twitch in the rogue-woman's arms.
His jaw set as he readied for the flame in Hawke's hand to be turned against him. "When I enlisted your help I omitted the fact that I got your name through Athenril. I am in her debt for a year."
Fenris braced for a blow, but Hawke's eyes turned upwards in a kind smile and she chuckled, breaking the tension. She brushed her dark bangs out of her eyes and said, "I see that her tactics haven't changed." She sighed, placing her right hand under her chin, thinking. Satisfied, she turned to Marco, "Let him go."
The rogue raised a curious eyebrow, but nodded. Her quick fingers flipped her dagger twice, tauntingly, before she sheathed them back into place.
"Thank you," Marco sighed, and put away his bow. He rubbed the wound on his neck, muttering to himself.
Anders gawked at Hawke in disbelief while Merrill cocked her head in confusion. She put a finger to her lips as she said, "I feel like I missed something." So did Fenris.
"Well, don't leave me in suspense, Hawke," the woman harrumphed as she put a hand on her bare thigh. "Introduce me." Fenris was unnerved by how provocatively the rogue-woman dressed.
"Where are my manners," Hawke gave the rogue an uncomfortably warm smile. "This lovely creature is Isabela."
"Charmed." She bent forward in a mock-curtsy. Fenris noticed that the woman did not bother to wrap her heaving breasts, so he could see clean down her shirt. Fenris inhaled sharply before he averted his eyes.
"The elf in leather is Marco, an ex-contact that tried to assassinate my brother and me, unsuccessfully, of course."
"Actually it was a mugging, but I won't make that mistake again," Marco added.
Hawke chuckled, before her eyes flicked back towards Isabela. "And the handsome one is Fenris."
A nervous laugh burst up abruptly from his mouth. Fenris' face and ears reddened in embarrassment and he quickly covered it up with a forced cough, but the damage was done. Fenris looked down at his toes, focusing on the algae colony that was squished underneath, feeling mortified.
Hawke and Isabela exchanged cheeky glances like they were trading secrets. "Oh, he blushes. How cute," the pirate trilled like a tomcat. What was it with Kirkwall women?
Marco announced himself with an amused chuckle. "Well this isn't exactly the best circumstances for a reunion, but why don't we team up for old time's sake." Fenris raised a questioning eyebrow. They weren't that desperate were they? But there was something else about Marco that seemed different. His eyes creased when he smiled, and his sharp elven features looked less severe.
Hawke raised her eyebrows suspiciously. "Up to your old tricks, Marco?"
"Don't play coy, Hawke," he crossed his arms, but he still had a good-natured smile on his face. "Let's talk numbers. I'll smooth it over with Athenril, later."
"Do I not get a say in this?" Fenris said acidly.
Marco threw up his arms. "Hey if you want to challenge Hawke for the lyrium, be my guest. I won't trade blows with her again."
"Lyrium?" Fenris uttered the word, at first not understanding. His mind traveled back a few days ago when he coached Anso on questions Hawke might ask. "What do I say is in the chest?" the dwarf asked. The answer came easy. Lyrium made sense, was illegal, and extremely valuable. If the dwarf made the suggestion that lyrium was in the chest, a greedy sellsword like Hawke would take the risk, perhaps with the mind to sell the goods. But Fenris remembered how he flinched when he suggested it. Now here he was, with Athenril's right hand, standing across Hawke, haggling over Anso's lost lyrium shipment. It was one hell of a coincidence.
Fenris glared at Hawke, but decided against saying anything. Marco seemed to know what he was doing- for the moment.
Hawke was tilting her head haughtily, with her stupid cock-sure grin plastered on her face. The flame from her left hand cast the shadows upwards so it made her look more menacing than she really was. "You must be mistaken," she said in an exaggerated too-sweet tone. "I'm not a smuggler anymore. Straight as an arrow, now."
"More like a boomerang," Marco scoffed. He closed the gap between them so they were standing inches apart, challenging her. "You know about Athenril's missing lyrium shipment, or am I supposed to believe that you like the smell of shit and piss in the morning?"
"Well it sure looks just lovely on my new dress," Hawke pinched the sewer stains in exasperation. "If you must know, I'm actually here on a…philanthropic mission on behalf of Aveline; cleaning the sewers for smugglers and whatnot. I'm afraid your lyrium is going to be processed as evidence. Sorry." Merrill began to sputter noises in a failed attempt to speak but Hawke quickly silenced her with an uncharacteristically extreme glare.
Marco shook his head. "I heard that Aveline was moving up in Kirkwall, but I know you Hawke. You can't resist a good heist." He tried to sound firm, but his voice cracked slightly at the end. "We'll clear out the smugglers together and split the lyrium down the middle. Aveline wouldn't be the wiser."
"She's stern, not stupid," Hawke rolled her eyes.
"But you're so terribly clever. You'll think of something," Marco attempted to keep his voice light with teasing, but all Fenris heard was desperation.
Hawke bit her lip and glanced at Isabela who simply shrugged. She then peered into the fire in her hand. It danced in her dark eyes as she pursed her lips in a wavering pout. Finally she looked up at Marco. "You charmer," she punched his arm playfully with her free hand. A little flattery was all it took?
"So we have an agreement?"
Hawke sighed deeply, her right fist turned into an open palm. "Last time I do this. Swear on the Maker."
Marco grinned broadly, and shook her hand. "That's not the last time you'll say that."
They were lost. Marco claimed he knew the way, Isabela said she had a map, but after hours of walking they weren't any closer to the smuggler's den. Both rogues blamed the messy encounter for getting them turned around, but it hardly mattered at that point. Everyone was cranky, sore, and nauseous from the fumes.
At hour three, Merrill started absentmindedly dragging her staff along the sewer wall, drawing a pattern reminiscent of a Dalish tattoo in the mossy sludge. As they walked, she found her pattern again and again, and she made it more intricate each time they passed. It wasn't until they circled it a fourth time that Anders thought to say something. She simply said, "I thought it queer that my drawing was following me."
But at least now they were getting somewhere, though they had no idea where 'there' was. At this point Hawke would have been grateful if she could just find an out, or even just a place to rest her legs. Her mana had run low, and Anders tried to pick up the slack by summoning just the tiny bit of electricity in his palms, but they might as well have been fumbling around in the dark. Her eyes were tired, strained. Her feet were blistered and waterlogged, even through her leather boots. The beautiful robe that Mother cleaned and fitted for her was all but ruined. She was going to burn it after this.
'Just a bump in the road,' Hawke thought.
But the road got bumpier. Now that they weren't going around in circles, they started finding bodies. The air stank worse with the smell of decomposing flesh mixed with sewer water. Fat, black rats feasted on fresher, bloated bodies. When they disturbed them, they'd scatter, running across their feet. Hawke preferred skeletons.
Anders, Fenris and Isabela had taken point up ahead, trying to make sense of the tunnels. She was perfectly happy to let them bicker while she lagged behind with the two elves. She missed Marco's company. He had a good sense of humor once he was comfortable and was pretty fair as far as thieves went. They had been good friends once, but that was all before that mess with the Orlesian wigs. She knew that Marco was fiercely loyal to Athenril, but his betrayal still hurt. The only thing that spared his life that night was their past friendship.
Still, Hawke was not one to hold grudges. It was nice to reminisce on old times and gossip, though not much had changed since she had left Athenril's employ.
Hawke's stomach growled loudly and she patted it with a groan. She figured she'd be back at home by now, butting heads with Carver over lunch. "I don't suppose anyone has a snack," she asked.
"Not unless you're up for rat meat," Marco answered with a stretch.
Merrill rummaged through her pack and handed her something crumbly bread wrapped in a soft cloth. "I'm afraid it's not much," she said.
Hawke didn't mean to appear rude, but she sniffed it suspiciously, thinking it was strange elven food. It didn't smell off so she tore off a piece and popped it into her mouth. It was nutty, filled with raisins and grain, though it was very dry. Now she wished for fresh water. "Hey, not bad," she said taking another bite.
"I'm glad you like it," Merrill blushed. "I bought it this morning right in the market. Nyssa recommended the merchant after I almost burned down my kitchen cooking breakfast. I was never a very good cook. Can you imagine? Just buying a simple thing like breakfast instead of a bow? It's so exciting. Things are so different here."
"You can still buy bows, Merrill," Hawke smiled. She loved when the little elf rambled. She had a tendency to talk with her hands and sometimes she'd hit people with a stray word. Then she'd babble out a 5 minute apology. Hawke tried to say things plainly for Merrill. It was a shame to make her cry.
"Oh, I know, but humans are so strange. Dalish only sell things that take skill to craft. Everything else we do with our own hands. It's lazy to do otherwise," Merrill's eyes widened with alarm and she quickly added, "not that humans are lazy. Not in general, I mean. Oh, dear, I'm sorry-."
Hawke cough-laughed, flakes of bread flew out of her mouth. She forced herself to swallow before she said, "we are lazy, Merrill. It's hard to insult me with the truth." Merrill didn't seem relieved.
"You're Dalish?" Marco had ignored Merrill for the most part, but now he stared in great interest.
Merrill smiled broadly, happy that he noticed, but quickly frowned. "Aren't you?" she cocked her head to the side curiously. "I mean, I don't mean to pry, but you bear the vallaslin."
Marco touched his face with a pained look on his eyes. "That was long time ago, 20 years at least. I bore a different name. Last I heard my clan left for Ferelden. I've often wondered how they fared."
"I was in Ferelden until a few years ago," Merrill did little half-skip, delighted to meet another of her kind. "Who was your keeper?"
"Feylhen."
"Oh," Merrill looked down suddenly. "I'm sorry, brother. He sleeps with our Ancestors now. Ilshae is the new keeper. Last time we had contact with her clan, she was leading them to the Arling of Amaranthine."
"Ilshae was a friend," Marco smiled. "I'm glad she's doing well."
"And here I always thought those were just decoration," Hawke frowned, wiping crumbs from her face.
Marco smile quickly dropped and he said, "You know, Hawke, you were always-"
"Andraste's knickerweasels," Anders cry echoed ahead of them in the tunnel. At least two dozen rats came squeaking simultaneously down their path. Hawke shuddered in disgust as they ran over her boots, but stood perfectly still. She had already made the mistake of accidentally stomping on one. Merrill squealed beside her, kicking off a small, gray one that had scampered on her bare foot. The herd quickly splashed down the tunnels and back into the darkness.
Hawke, Merrill and Marco had only to walk a few feet before they saw the source of the rats. The man slumped on his side as if he had fallen asleep. Half of his face was buried in the water, and had begun to bloat. What was exposed was chewed off, his eyes and tongue eaten, and she could see parts of his skull popping out of his blond hair. His mage robes were ripped, intestines splayed out and staining the water around him. Hawke gagged, but she bit her hand, determined to hang on to her bread.
"Maker," Isabela groaned with a wrinkled nose. "I didn't even smell him."
Anders looked to be in pain as he looked at the robes. Hawke quickly realized that the man was from the circle. "Someone should commend him to the Maker," Anders said solemnly.
"We shouldn't waste time on that," Fenris grumbled.
Hawke said nothing but stared at the corpse. If the Deep Roads expedition did not profit like she planned, she would soon be wearing those robes. It could have easily been her lost in these tunnels, taking her chances on a glimmer of freedom, but then she remembered she was already lost. Perhaps this fate wasn't too far behind.
On the man's hip held a watertight leather bag. It appeared undamaged so Hawke knelt over him and carefully pried it off of his belt.
"Andraste's tits, Hawke, that's disgusting," Isabela groaned.
"And here I thought we always looted bodies," she teased. When she looked in the bag all it had was quill pen, a dried out ink, and a journal.
"Very useful," Fenris snorted.
Hawke opened the journal flipping through the pages. They were cracked and barely legible. She scanned a bit, but it all looked like personal. She flipped to the very end, and there it was- a map of the Undercity sewers. It was highly detailed, with notes about key passageways as well as distinct marks where the man marked his trek. She tore the page out and handed it off to Isabela. "Here, compare that to your other map. We should be able to figure out where we strayed."
Isabela bit her lip and pulled out a tattered page from the bosom of her corset and unfolded it. Hawke's howls of laughter echoed far down into the tunnels. "You brought me into this maze with a map scribbled on a napkin?" She laughed harder so she wouldn't cry.
"I can't believe this!" Anders cried. "You're joking. Please tell me you're joking."
"See, this is why I didn't want to show you guys," Isabela pouted, glaring at Hawke as she giggled. "It's a good map."
Marco rolled his eyes and stretched out his hands. "Let me see that." He held up the pages beside each other and squinted. "Hawke can I have more light."
Hawke lightly hit her chest, trying to choke down her chortles. She was slightly disappointed that no one else was amused, but she usually laughed alone. She summoned a small fire to her fingertips and he lined up the pages next to each other.
"Here, that's where the mage says we are," Anders pointed. "And that means…"
"There," Marco nudge the air with his chin. "Isabela's napkin doesn't go that far east, but they are the same here." He shuffled the pages into one hand and traced where he meant with his fingers. "That's only an hour backwards. We should be at the den in two."
"Only an hour backwards, bah!" Fenris spat. "This mage here died with a map. How do we even know he marked it correctly?"
"Good point," Hawke said thumbing through the entries. "Maybe it'll say something in here."
Before she could read anything Merrill said, "Wait!" She placed her hand on the journal, gently closing it. "That's this man's life. We can't just trespass."
Hawke frowned, the thought seemed absurd. "He's dead, Merrill. He hardly cares now."
"But still," she said, her bottom lip jutting out, looking like she was about to cry. "It's not right to him."
Hawke was suddenly reminded of Bethany, how warm-hearted and loving she was, but she still shook her head. The will to live far outweighed any guilt she'd feel. Hawke flipped back to the first page. "I'll only skim it. Maker's truth." She cleared her throat and read aloud;
"Dear Frederick,
I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise. There was an accident on Old Man Barton's farm. You must have heard by now. You know how his Misses always said he'd break his neck trying to fix that roof, well he finally done it. Not break his neck, I mean, but he fell right onto that rusty pitchfork that he's too cheap to replace. That sour old miser. Marta screamed and cried, begging for me to get Connor, but I knew there wasn't enough time. As nasty as Barton is, I just couldn't let him die. I'm sorry, I broke my promise.
Templars came for me in the night. They broke in and tore me right out of bed. I don't want to accuse Barton, but I can't think of anyone else who knew. Except for you. I know you wouldn't do it. Sometimes I wish I let him die, but I'm not sure if I could live with myself. Blast this bleeding heart of mine, but isn't that why you said you loved me?
I'm scared, Freddy. They're taking me to Kirkwall as I write this, but I'll write to you. I hope you get my letters. I hope they let me write letters. Please know that I'll always love you, but you shouldn't wait for me. I don't think I'm getting out of this.
Yours always,
Robert."
"Well that's not what I wanted," she said, lowly. She turned the pages, looking for another promising entry.
"Frederick,
I'm sorry I won't be there to meet you. It was kind of you to arrange for my escape, but it was a trap. By you? I dare not think of you like that. Maybe the Circle constructed the whole thing. I wouldn't put it past them. I know I've mentioned how awful it was there but I believe that it deserves to be said again.
I can't say how I managed to slip the Templars. This 'mage underground' offered us the way out, but it sounded too good to be true. By us, I mean my good friends Jesyca and Antony. I've mentioned them before, haven't I?
They said that we had to destroy our phylacteries if we wanted to escape for good, but we couldn't get in the vault. I know mages only last weeks with their phylacteries intact, but I don't need weeks. I just want to see you. At least I wanted to.
I guess I won't because I'm dying. I'm sorry, Freddy. I didn't mean to. You wouldn't like what I've had to become anyways. Jesyca and Antony surrendered peacefully but I just couldn't go back. I'm sorry, I couldn't. I ran to the sewers like we planned, but that Templar, Jacob, slashed me good in the stomach before I killed him. Maker's Breath, I killed him. I know he took sick pleasure in beating us, but I've never killed anyone before.
My stomach hurts so bad and I'm burning up. I healed it but I guess it got infected. I know you're only a mile away, but I just can't move. I don't know how to fix it. Now I really wish I paid more attention in healing classes. The demons, they speak so loud here, but I'm holding on. Just barely, though. The thought of you is the only thing keeping me going. I don't want to disappoint you. I keep thinking of the night we made love in the stable, the way you felt…" Hawke trailed off. "Maybe I'll skip that part," Hawke nervously said and scanned down to the bottom of the page.
"Aww, it was just getting good," Isabela groaned, earning her some side-glances from the others.
"Please, if anyone finds this, please deliver this to my parents back in Markham. Their names are Hammick and Melisa of the porters. If you address this to the Chantry there, they will know who you mean. Make sure they tell Frederick. Tell them I'm sorry and that 'the winter must come to grow the sweetest crop.' They'll know what I mean."
Hawke closed the journal, feeling like she was 8 caught stealing sweets from the pot, except worse. She had desecrated his body without much thought. Merrill was right, she was a terrible person. She slipped the journal carefully into her own bag. "Well…he wasn't lost so the map's good, maybe…" she scratched the side of her head, guiltily. "I'm…gonna keep this, see if I can contact his family." She bit her lip and looked down at the mage again. "Thank you for your help, Robert."
"Idiocy. This would have never happened if he stayed where he belonged," Fenris muttered.
"He didn't belong there," Anders said to Fenris with a glare. "Nobody does..."
Everyone except Fenris said silent prayers over Robert before they turned back.
Fenris' whole body ached. He groaned, trying to lift his heavy head. A high-pitched whine rung in his ears, and his temples throbbed. He squinted, straining to string together his thoughts, but everything was too bright and he groaned, closing his eyes. His clothes still smelled foul, but the air around was moist, warm, and earthy with faint traces of ale. He smacked his tongue, feeling thirsty and took a deep breath, his nostrils thankful. Again, he tried to open his eyes. He blinked hard, still seeing spots. Everything was fuzzy, the colors brown and dull, but he could make out the shapes of crates stacked into piles and bars. There was a hum coming from somewhere, but his ears were ringing too loud to figure out what it was. A conversation?
Still squinting, he strained to remember what happened. There was an ambush, at least 20 to 6. Being the only sword, he charged ahead, trying to draw the attackers. He was not worried. They had faced bigger numbers before and triumphed. But Hawke's magic-
Fenris stiffened. That's right, Hawke saw archers in the rafters and shot a fireball up towards them. He was too close. All he recalled after was a deafening crack and a blinding light and his consciousness slipped from him. The idiot! If she had destroyed all of the lyrium, she would pay with her life.
He shook his head, willing his senses to work with him. His back was cold, propped against a hard stone. He shifted slightly trying to assess the wounds on his body, but found that movement came easy. Other than a sweltering headache, no pain. He tried to pull his arms forward, but his wrists were tightly fastened behind his back. Bandages? No they were too heavy. Shackles…
Fenris' heart froze.
"No!" he screamed and he thrashed his legs wildly, trying to wrench himself free. He barked out like a wild dog, yanking and pulling at the chains. They clinked against him, squeezing his raw wrists like a vise.
"Ow, ow, ow," two voices cried out. Fenris' vision sharpened. He was not alone. Isabela and Hawke were on either side of him, complaining loudly, as their arms were yanked awkwardly by the chain that linked them to Fenris.
"Quiet! We only need the elf alive," a voice boomed. A blade slammed against the iron bars. Dirt flecked from the ceiling and dusted the guard's dark hood. He was a dwarf with a long red beard that was separated into three thick braids. Dagger in hand, he glared at the group. Another dwarf snickered beside him, cloaked in a similar hood. His blond beard was woven in a single braid and fastened with a jewel.
All of the muscles in Fenris' body clenched, trying to bite down his panic. The others gawked as Hawke and Isabela tried to pull him back towards the wall, but he didn't budge. The red-headed dwarf sheathed his dagger and grunted. Satisfied, he turned around and continued the conversation with his partner.
Fenris breathed evenly through his nose. He had to ground himself in his surroundings or he would succumb to panic. His eyes darted around the room. Isabela was to his left, and Hawke and the others were to his right. They were all bound on a single chain, linking them together. It looped into an anchor bolted in the stone wall.
He couldn't tell if the throb in his head was from his rushing heart or his splintering headache. His chest tensed and it was already difficult to breathe. He was slipping. "They know about me," Fenris said breathlessly. Anger gave him a moment of clarity and he scowled at Hawke. "Why do they know about me?"
"This wasn't a sell-out that backfired if that's what you think," she whispered back, rolling her dark liquid eyes. He noticed faint freckles stippled on her crinkling beaky nose. A notch was missing from her right eyebrow from their earlier confrontation. Strange. Focusing on tiny details of her face calmed him. "Apparently our lyrium smugglers peddle flesh on the side; hence the rather crude holding cell." Hawke then wiggled her left arm in annoyance, pointing out that she was being held hostage by his pull.
"Perfect," he hissed through gritted teeth. He tried to conceal his tremble as he scooted back in between Isabela and Hawke. 'Too close,' he thought again. He pulled his shoulders forward in attempt to avoid contact. He didn't want to be touched, but there was no getting around it. 'Breathe,' he reminded himself.
"Believe it or not, those brands saved your life," Isabela leaned over and murmured. She then gestured to their dwarf jailers with her chin. "Hawke convinced them to let Anders heal you since you're less valuable as a corpse."
They had touched him with magic? Fenris resisted the urge to claw at his skin. He flashed another glare at Hawke. "Considering this is your fault, I think my gratitude would be misplaced," he sneered.
"We could have left you bleeding in the dirt," Anders voice muttered down the line. He could not see him past Hawke's head, which he was grateful for. He was already having a hard enough time keeping calm.
"I am sorry," Hawke shrugged sheepishly. "Lyrium's explosive. Who knew?" Marco, Isabela and Fenris stared at her until she caved in an embarrassed pout. "I'm never going to live this down, am I?"
Fenris huffed loudly. Hawke really was an idiot.
"I said, quiet!" the red-headed dwarf boomed again. He hit the bar with his fist, causing Fenris' heart to jolt, but did not turn from his conversation.
Fenris clenched his jaw so hard it hurt, but he was determined not to succumb to his panic. He focused on his knees, breathing in to the count of 4, holding for the count of 7, and out through his mouth until no air remained in his lungs. Repeat.
He scanned the room, trying to distract his frantic mind with a plot to escape. From a glance he could now tell that this must be an old Tevinter slaver den built before the fall of the Imperium. It was a cramped alcove, no more than the size of his bedroom. 'Count to 4.' The iron bars were rusty and would only need a kick or two to break through. 'Hold to 7.' The echo of raunchy laughter, drinking, and gambling yards away told him that they were unprofessional. Trained slavers would never keep a lazy eye on their merchandise.
He blew out to 8, but Fenris' nerves were already calm. He knew he could escape them.
Hawke waited until the dwarves were completely enthralled in their conversation before she leaned over to Fenris and whispered, "I don't suppose you can use that ghost trick on your cuffs."
Fenris blinked, genuinely surprised that the idea had come from her. "I can phase through silverite plating with little effort. This shouldn't be a problem," Fenris said. He leaned backwards to hide the light and called the lyrium to his wrists, but it wasn't responding. He frowned and tried again. No burn, no light, nothing.
"Fasta vass," he swore. He could feel the panic creeping back up in his spine, but it was easier to push down.
Hawke's eyebrows knitted together, seeing his worry. "I take it you aren't pausing for dramatic effect?"
"These types of shackles are common in Tevinter. They're imbued with runes that prevent spell-casting, and they interfere with my brands. Mages know how to shackle their own."
"And there goes plan B," Isabela sighed. The back of her head against the stone wall with a soft thud.
"I'm sure we'll think of something," Merrill chirped.
The cage banged again and they all jumped. The red-headed dwarf, finally turned around, his face was almost as red as his hair. "This is your last warning! Next peep I hear, someone dies!
"You sure like to talk big for someone so small," Hawke called back with her usual cock-sure grin. Fenris shot Hawke a warning glance, trying to silence her with his eyes, but if she noticed, she didn't care. She had a haughty smirk plastered on her face and she tilted her head in open challenge.
The red-headed dwarf drew his dagger, and started fishing for the keys on his belt, but the blond dwarf reached for his hand. "Unsullied mage flesh's 50 sovereigns to the right buyer. We can't owe that much coin to Thalin."
"She might be worth more if we cut her tongue out," the other dwarf sneered, but he heeded his friend and sheathed his dagger.
"I'm hungry," Hawke continued to whine. "Who can I call for service?"
"Just ignore her. We've talked about this," the blond dwarf nudged his friend.
The red-headed dwarf snorted, but they continued their conversation without turning their backs. He glowered at Hawke in between his conversation, looking ready to tear out her throat. It was apparent that she had already done her own prodding while he was asleep. What was the blasted mage thinking?
"Damn," Hawke sighed. "So close."
"I'm afraid to ask what else you've tried other than antagonizing the guards," Fenris murmured.
"Well plan A was to seduce them, but we're having trouble on that front," Hawke said.
"Still working on it," Isabela frowned as she puffed up her supple chest. He quickly held his breath and focused on his dirt-caked toes.
"And we were counting on your phasing ability, but it turns out you're impotent," Anders grumbled.
A low growl ripped through Fenris' throat, but he bit back a curt reply. There were more important things than nursing a bruised ego.
Hawke suddenly perked up, causing Fenris to flinch. "Hey, I have a hairpin. Can't one of you rogues just stick it in wiggle it around?"
Isabela snickered but Marco rolled his eyes. "I keep telling you, Hawke, that only works in novels."
"I've done it before," Isabela argued. "Just takes the right touch."
"I don't care how keen your touch is, you won't get far without the proper equipment," Marco said.
"Shows how much you know about operating your equipment." Isabela waggled her eyebrows. Marco's face flamed but he argued no more.
Hawke leaned towards Isabela, contorting her body so the rogue could reach her. "What are you doing?" Fenris gasped. He gulped down a heated breath.
"Oh, hush. It's just for a moment." She tried pointing with her left shoulder. "Look, Isabela, it's right behind my ear." Her right elbow dug into his side and her breath tickled his neck. 'Too close,' he thought.
Isabela raised an eyebrow and smiled mischievously. He noticed that Marco and Anders were both peeking over each other trying to see. "How tempting," she crooned. Isabela leaned over, her heaving chest grazing his stomach. 'Much too close,' he groused inwardly. The rogue dug her nose into Hawke's hair, nuzzling her ear as she coaxed the little black pin out with her mouth. The mage giggled and writhed above him. "Quiet," Isabela grunted playfully. "You gotta stop squirming. It keeps slipping out."
"Hurry," Hawke choked down a giggle in protest. "You're tickling me."
Fenris clenched his fists and diverted his attention to the ceiling. He muttered in Tevene, trying to ignore them.
"Sweet Maker," Marco groaned, echoing Fenris' thoughts.
"You, what are you doing?" The red-headed dwarf cried, pointing to them.
Hawke pulled away with a taunting smirk. "Plotting our escape right under your noses, of course."
Fenris' eyes bulged, frozen in disbelief. She was going to kill them all.
"That's it," the red-headed dwarf growled as he fumbled with the keys. He drew his dagger. Fenris' heart jolted. It was not a threat.
"Wait, think about this-" the other dwarf followed closely behind him.
"I don't care how much I owe Thalin. She dies here." He closed the distance between them in a few bounds pulled her hair back so her thin throat was exposed. He poised his dagger, ready to slash her throat.
Hawke shot her leg upwards, landing a sharp kick right in the dwarf's groin. He made a high-pitched squeak as he fell to his knees. She swiftly wrapped her ankles around the dwarf's neck and yanked him forward. The dwarf pulled back, punching and biting, but she wrangled him between her muscled thighs and clamped down, crushing his neck. He flailed, pounding Hawke's legs with his meaty fists, but she gritted her teeth, bearing through the pain.
"Gadel!" the blond dwarf cried, swinging his dagger at Hawke. Isabela jerked Fenris forward as she jutted out her leg, kicking his shin. The blond dwarf stumbled forward stabbing the red-headed dwarf in his spine. He convulsed, but soon went limp.
"No," the blond dwarf sputtered.
The shock finally wore off Fenris and he swung his leg into the dwarf's chest. He yelped, landing hard on his back. Isabela raised her leg and slammed her heel into his throat. The dwarf's blue eyes bulged as spit flung from his mouth. He gasped like he was drowning. Isabela raised her leg once more and hammered down. A crack echoed off of the walls.
Silence fell among them as they listened for signs of reinforcements. The blond dwarf gurgled, trying to call out, but the laughter down the hall continued.
"Isabela," Marco said, breaking their silence. "After this is over, I'd love to find out if you can actually pick a lock with a hairpin."
"I'll even show you how," Isabela grinned.
Isabela fumbled with the keys for 5 minutes. The constant jingle jangle grated Fenris' ears and it was exhausting to watch her contort her body in graceless positions…though she seemed to enjoy the audience. At one point when Isabela was tonguing for a different key, they fell down her corset. She asked Fenris to fish them out. Red-faced, he refused. That made her huffy. Finally she found the right key, and she released herself and then Fenris. He rubbed his sore wrists, grateful to be free. Quietly, he called lyrium to the tips of his fingers. The magic answered him with a faint blue glow.
While she was unlocking everyone else, Fenris scouted ahead. He discovered a small cache of weapons in a nearby crate, but it was a pitiful haul. Isabela grabbed daggers from the guard's corpses. There was a bow for Marco, but only 5 arrows. There were no two-handed weapons, so Fenris was stuck with a longsword. As for the mages, not even a broomstick. Perfect.
The blade he took was a bit crudely designed, much too light, but at least it was sharp. He had not handled a one-handed weapon in a long time. He hoped he still remembered how.
Fenris peered down the hallway. There were maybe 12 guards left but his view was obscured. The majority of them were crowded around a large round table, throwing cards and coin in the middle while drinking large mugs of ale. Their weapons were sheathed, only a few axe-wielding warriors and dagger-wielding rogues. If there were any archers left he couldn't tell.
He glanced back at the group to see Hawke testing the weight of another sword by rolling it with her wrist. Seeming satisfied, she moved past him and peeked into the hall studying the dwarves. "Oh this should be easy," she said with a cock-sure grin. "Okay, here's the plan. I'm going to go in first and freeze them with a cone of cold. Fenris, Isabela, I'm going to need you to be right behind me, ready to shatter. Anders, Merrill, Marco, I need your cover fire. If an archer hits me, I'm blaming you." She began to move but paused, adding, "Oh, and no fire spells."
Fenris reached out, trying to stop Hawke, but she dashed down the hall before he could protest her reckless plan. Isabela and the others followed her without thought. He chased after her, now behind.
The dwarves saw them charging down the hall, but most of them were too inebriated to retaliate right away. Some of them tried to get up and draw their weapons, but swayed as they stood. An archer shot off an arrow before anyone could stop him, but it was a sloppy shot. Hawke side-stepped it, and Anders halted the archer's second arrow with a bolt of lightning to the face. Two warriors lunged for Hawke, but she slid her sword along the length of their blades, deflecting their attacks upwards before weaving between them. Isabela swooped in after her slashing their exposed mid-sections leaving Fenris to finish them off. He tried to concentrate on his battle but he was distracted by her grace. Much like a bird gliding on a warm breeze, she flitted out of the reach of their swings with a twirl and a taunting laugh. Her skills with a blade were rudimentary, but still he was confused. Where a mage learned to wield a sword, he didn't know.
When she reached the thick of the group, she crouched, gathering ice to her fingertips. A dwarf rogue yelled in warning, and they converged on her. She spun, the ice plunged from her hand, freezing the ground at her feet. Her attackers stumbled and daggers of ice shot forward, encasing some dwarves in mid-stride, impaling others. Hawke missed one warrior, and she fell back as he swung at her with a heavy hammer. She parried when she should have dodged and he smacked the sword out of her hand, landing several feet away. Still she did not flee.
Hawke was going to get herself killed -again! Fenris bound forward, seizing her wrist and yanked her backwards out of the heavy swing of the hammer. A bolt of ice shot from her left hand as she fell and a spear of ice hit the cavern roof. He darted forward calling lyrium to his hands. He deflected another incoming blow with his sword and plunged his fist into the warrior's chest. The dwarf coughed, spitting out blood as Fenris crushed his still-beating heart. In the same swing he flung him into the group frozen dwarves and they shattered into pieces like broken glass.
He looked around for his next opponent, but the fight was over.
"What were you thinking?" he sneered.
Hawke pulled herself to her feet, wincing as she rubbed her butt. "I'm thinking you stole my kill. Chalk that one for me." She stuck out her tongue childishly as she sauntered off in search of the lyrium.
Unbelievable.
The group split off trying to salvage what they could from the hideout. Marco gathered the coin from the dwarves Wicked Grace game, and was busy splitting it into 6 piles. Isabela patted down the bodies, trying to find more coin off the corpses. Anders claimed he found useful research on the lyrium as well as receipts. He claimed it would be good to turn into Aveline. Merrill disappeared for awhile, but popped back in juggling armfuls of weapons. She fluttered to each person, returning staff, dagger, and bow but when she got to Fenris, she told him that his claymore was too heavy. He followed her to a room where the dwarves stored a large cask of ale. He was debating whether or not he should indulge in a drink when he heard his name.
"Fenris." Re-buckling his claymore he peeked out of the room to see Hawke up in the rafters waving him over.
He dashed up the stairs to find her huddled over 4 uneven sized tables lined together. The dwarves had made a makeshift purification laboratory, complete with cloudy measuring cups and beakers. There was a strange-looking device connected with tubes. He had seen something similar in Danarius' study. He hated that machine. He always thought that the tubes looked like intestines.
There were four cases of unprocessed red lyrium dust evenly stacked on top of each other. At a glance, Fenris counted at least a hundred vials. Danarius would envy such a stock. He couldn't imagine how many sovereigns were just lying on the desk. Fenris could almost taste his freedom, but he hesitated. His hand automatically went for the hilt of his blade as he watched Hawke's lips move. Her fingers traced over the notches, counting. He was almost certain that Hawke would turn on him rather than split the lyrium.
"Looks even," she told him. She carefully picked up the top two cases and placed them in his arms before she gingerly picked up her take. "I say this is a win." She was grinning ear to ear with success.
"Hey." Marco ran up the stairs to meet them, waving a dead dwarf's coinpurse. With a mischievous grin he dropped it on top of Hawke's lyrium.
She fumbled with the cases, and pulled the drawstring open. Her mouth dropped and she stared at Marco. "5 whole sovereigns?"
"Each," Marco grinned and placed another coinpurse on top of Fenris' stack of lyrium.
"Maker's Breath! Doing good does have it's rewards," she laughed giddily, and quickly pocketed the coin before the case slipped out of her arms.
"Well, Hawke, if you ever have that itch, you know Athenril has some jobs that could use someone of your skill."
"When I said this was my last time, I meant it. Anyways give Athenril my regards," she then turned to Fenris, smiling rather warmly. "And I guess I'll see you around."
Marco made a slight bow as Hawke rejoin the others. She was briskly walking back towards the tunnels, while Merrill poured over the vials, practically jumping for joy. "Oh thanks for bringing me along, Hawke. This is so exciting. I can't wait to see the ritual." Hawke stiffened, and shot a warning glare at Merrill, who clapped her hands over her mouth.
Fenris face turned hard, gawking at the mages. It only took a moment to realize that she was caught. He shoved the lyrium into Marco's arms and bounded off the rafters. His feet stung as they slapped the cavern floor and he pointed his claymore at Hawke, cutting off their escape. "I shouldn't be surprised that your mouth drips with lies. What are you planning, mage?"
Marco's laugh could be heard echoing off the walls. "I knew it, Hawke. I just knew it."
Anders pointed his staff at Fenris, ready to attack, but Hawke stared him down.
She looked at Fenris with a straight face. "Look, just take your half. We made a deal."
"Made under false terms," he growled. He didn't even care if Athenril got what she wanted. He felt stupid for trusting her and he would not let her get away with it.
"Hey I held up my end of the bargain," she cried. She cradled the lyrium like she was holding a baby. If he let her walk away with it, she'd not only have more than enough to fund her expedition, but she and her mage allies would be able to cast any spell conceivable. They could raze Kirkwall to the ground in a matter of minutes, completely unopposed.
He couldn't take that chance. "Give me the vials or only one of us will be standing," Fenris growled. He called the lyrium to every part of his body, and poised his sword to strike.
"Wait, wait, wait." She took a step back, and for a moment Fenris thought she would run but it seems like she was muttering to herself. She sighed, slumping her shoulders and looked glumly at Anders. "One vial. Will that do?"
"More than enough," Anders nodded carefully. His knuckles were white as they gripped his staff, ready to attack.
"You really think that you are in the position to be making demands?" Fenris jeered.
"Always," Hawke grinned. "Look, I'd be willing to make a deal or trade a favor. Even write me an I.O.U."
He gritted his teeth. One vial could still do a lot of harm. "What is this ritual?"
She chuckled as if he was not holding a blade against her. "Sorry, not part of the deal. And no, glowing all blue and intimidating me with that overcompensating blade's not going to make me feel like sharing."
Fenris' nostrils flared. He wanted nothing more than to kill her and be done with it, but he was not sure he could afford to lose such a powerful ally. Did she see that, too? He lowered his sword. "I want a spot in that Deep Roads expedition and 30 percent of your share."
Her eyes bulged and her mouth gaped open like she was punched in the stomach. Fenris almost laughed in spite of himself. "Nug shit!" Hawke scoffed. "That's robbery. I'm funding my own coin into this expedition, you know."
"Then give me all of it and walk away."
Hawke closed her mouth with a sharp snap of her jaw, but her eyes looked more amused than angry. "5 percent," she said insultingly.
"30."
"10-"
"30."
"15," she said firmly, but had she tilted her head with a mischievous grin. "Kill me if you want, but you can't make a copper from my corpse."
He gritted his teeth, but like it or not, he did need her. "15," he agreed. "Now hand it over."
Hawke sighed again, and carefully handed it over, but not before she plucked one vial from the top case. "Sodding lousy deal," she huffed, and tossed it to the abomination.
They turned to leave, Isabela berating her, Merrill apologizing, Anders glaring, and Hawke stretching carelessly as if nothing happened.
"Hawke," Fenris called out. She turned back, and their eyes met. He felt strange looking directly at her, and he had an urge to look away, but he didn't. "I'm not going to give you another chance to lie to me."
She gave her signature cock-sure grin and winked. "Wouldn't dream of it."