7.
Lowtown stirs with the first of the day's activities as Fenris slips through the market, Zevran beside him. A small number of the merchants have arrived and although some glance a second time at two armed elves, Fenris knows by the way their eyes slide away from him that Varric's peculiar brand of diplomacy has spread even here.
He has to check -once mistakenly looking to his right- to ensure Zevran keeps pace. He thinks with some annoyance the assassin is too quiet; he has grown accustomed to a mage's presence.
He has come to prefer being at one mage's side.
He shakes himself mentally, returning his thoughts to the present, focusing on the task at hand.
He pauses before descending the stairs to the docks, looking at Zevran. "Where?"
Zevran looks out over the harbor and the ships shifting against their tethers and moorings. "There, the Windsong."
"A ship?" Fenris says. "Not a warehouse? It's always a warehouse."
"Am I to understand you have a sense humor buried under all of that smoldering angst?" Zevran doesn't look from the Windsong and Fenris knows he's searching for guards.
"There. See the smoke?" Fenris nods at a curl of white smoke. It lazes away, almost invisible in the early morning light. A sailor steps from behind a stack of crates, pipe clamped firmly between his teeth. He stops at the railing, looking down at the dock for a moment, and then turns away again, disappearing from view.
"Ah. Indeed. It is no wonder the Champion keeps one such as you… close."
Fenris sighs, an exasperated puff of air. "Do you have a plan?"
"Yes. You don't get killed. I would rather keep my guts where they are currently located, thank you, as well as uncooked by a stray fireball."
"She prefers ice," he watches the smoke drift and thin, thinking they should move on before the sun breaches the horizon.
"Yes? My Warden as well."
He nods, partly to himself, thinking of Danarius' nephew. The magister's sister was long since dead, killed in an unsanctioned duel, but her overgrown brat Capios had been gifted in electricity as well. "Yes, hardly surprising. He and Hawke share common ancestry in the Amell name. These things run in families."
At his words, he thinks he sees something cross the assassin's face. It's an emotion there and gone so quickly he wonders if he imagined it.
The sailor on guard completes another pass at the railing and Zevran nods. "Well, then. Shall we?"
They keep to the shadows, or rather Fenris attempts to follow Zevran's lead. He knows he is not without grace, but trying to conceal himself as well as the rogue is pointless.
They slip farther down the wooden dock, to where a line winds and knots around a post. Zevran gives a flourishing half-bow and another gleaming smile. "After you."
"Good. I didn't want to look up your skirt." Fenris jumps, catching the line. He braces his feet against the ship's side and pulls himself hand over hand easily. The hawsehole serves as a handhold and then he's able to reach another line and climb to the railing.
He pulls himself up to check for the guard and sees his way is clear. Dropping over the rail to the deck, he freezes, because he hears the guard tapping his pipe. There's a whisper of sound next to him and he knows Zevran has reached the deck as well.
A movement from the guard has them both darting behind stacks of coiled rope and wooden crates and empty barrels. They crouch together, waiting for any sound signaling they've been spotted.
"Tell me this does not get your blood pumping?" Zevran whispers, almost in Fenris' ear.
Fenris scowls at him and receives a cheeky grin in response. They can hear the guard walking the length of the deck again and while Fenris has no doubts that they could overcome any challengers, he is equally certain if an alarm is sounded their prey will bolt.
He settles against the crate and balances his sword on his knees while Zevran lifts himself up enough to peer between the ropes.
"This may be a problem. There are… now two others with him."
"Of course there are."
"Aha. Again with that humor. No wonder she has eyes for no other."
Fenris thinks unwillingly of Anders and from the way Zevran makes a hmm of interest, he knows the thought is obvious.
"You worry she will stray to her fellow mage," Zevran's voice is pitched low, but Fenris can hear the amusement.
"Yes. Mock me," he raises up just enough to confirm that, yes, there were now three guards. He watches them for a moment, then drops back to the deck.
"My brooding friend, a blind beggar could see the two of you are terribly, madly -as we say- en emor."
In love.
"No," he whispers, making a sharp cutting motion with one hand. "You are mistaken."
Zevran tilts his head back and rests it on a crate, but his eyes examine Fenris as though he is a puzzle to be solved. Then the assassin looks skyward, where -appropriately- black carrion birds circle.
"Tell me this, then. Why do you follow and guard her as though your life depends on hers? In my experience that degree of loyalty is seldom earned by any other means than… attachment."
Fenris goes very still. He thinks of how he would have given his life to guard a magister. Without thought or hesitation.
No. He will not allow thoughts of Danarius to corrupt what he thinks he feels for Hawke.
"That is not open for discussion," he says the words carefully, attempting to control his anger.
"But we are stuck, behind ropes and crates and barrels. And I have been told I am somewhat incorrigible."
"I will warn you only once more," Fenris can feel fury building in himself. "My 'attachment' regarding Hawke-"
"Shh-shh," Zevran cuts him off. There is movement on the deck behind them and the assassin pulls himself up too look again. "They have gone from sight once more. We can continue our discussion later, no?"
-o-
Fenris looks at the destruction of the cabin around him and has the urge to pick up one of the bodies on the floor and shake it. Broken glass and blood-stained papers and the remains of what was once a wooden table litter the floor.
"I love it when a plan comes together," Zevran says with a grin.
"They are all dead," Fenris jabs a corpse in the ribs with his foot. "This one is dead." He points to another. "That one is dead. The dead do not speak. They cannot provide an antidote for Hawke and what is worse, we have yet to discover why they are here. How is that a 'plan coming together'?"
"You are alive. My innards will remain inside and unfrozen. I did mention this plan to you, no?" Zevran is rifling through the debris, reading papers, and occasionally folding one into a belt pouch. He stops and picks up a pouch and after digging through the contents, tosses something through the air toward Fenris.
Fenris sees that it is a vial before he catches it and feels at least some relief. Fatal poisoning or not, the memory of her being unable to cast -defenseless- is fresh in his mind.
"And what of…" he gestures at the paperwork Zevran is assembling.
The other elf nods slowly, distracted by what he is reading. He picks his way to Fenris, stepping over a body to hand him a sheaf of papers. Fenris has spent enough time sitting at Varric's table while the dwarf groaned and moaned over a ledger to know that he is now looking at accounts.
"Financial records."
"More on the… bribery and extortion end of the business, yes?" Zevran says this with a bitterness Fenris did not expect to hear. "The Crows have taken advantage of those without the power to resist for too long."
Another unexpected statement. "This is the reason you are in Kirkwall again?"
Zevran laughs and the sound is short and harsh, with some of the same coldness he'd shown in the clinic earlier. "You are quite the clever one, but as I told your Champion, I cannot discuss that."
"None of this points to why they hunt mages in Kirkwall?"
Zevran tilts his head slightly. "They appear to be financial records, do they not?"
"Not an answer."
The answering smile is as laced with ice as any of Hawke's spells. "Are we to have a problem?"
"Perhaps."
"Very well." Zevran takes a breath in and for a heartbeat it seems he is readying for an attack, but he merely hooks his thumbs in his belt. "Understand, there are things I cannot speak of, but certain parties have shown an interest in the Amell family. I take offense at this, naturally."
Fenris frowns, trying to connect threads of thought. "And I assume you can't tell me why, or who is behind this?"
"In truth? I am uncertain. Those -" he points the papers Fenris holds, "-will be analyzed by the Wardens. If they should find anything… we will surely let you know."
"Wardens? They are involved?"
Zevran raises one shoulder slowly and drops it again.
Fenris debates on another question, but hands the papers back wordlessly. He has an antidote to deliver and -his stomach tightens- concepts such as attachment to discuss.
"Until next time?" Zevran tucks the papers away and flashes his wide grin.
"Truthfully, if I never see you again, it will be too soon," Fenris says, but he does allow slightest of smiles.
"Oh. With that smile… if you ever tire of your Champion…," Zevran begins, but the words are lost as he is already gone from the hold, melting into the shadows.