I REMAIN AT YOUR SIDE
ACT SEVEN: LINES CROSSED AND SEVERED"Word for you, ser."
Hawke spun, lines of consternation furrowing her brow. Beside her an Inquisition scout stood at the ready; a message bearing a white wax seal pinched between the woman's fingers. Hawke's mind grappled for an explanation; after a taxing journey through the wastes she and Fenris had made an impromptu stop at the Inquisition encampment where they now stood to restock their provisions before setting out for the Imperial Highway. She could not fathom how someone had known they would arrive at this camp, let alone early enough to send a messenger after them.
"A letter for me?" Hawke clarified, her eyes narrowing uncertainly. "Are you certain?"
"Yes ser." The scout nodded. "I was told the Champion of Kirkwall and her companion would be passing through here, and when they did my orders were to deliver this."
Hawke's slight frown deepened into a mistrustful scowl; clearly she and Fenris had been followed. "By whose command?" She demand - a little brusquely considering the Inquisition had been nothing short of supportive to the pair thus far. Yet this would not the first time the Champion would have found herself manipulated by those she believed to be her allies, and still it never ceased to rattle her.
"Spymaster Leliana's, ser."
"Spymaster," the word escaped Hawke's pursed lips as though an obscenity. Though Hawke had never met the woman directly, Varric had mentioned her as being one that, as he had worded it, scared the piss out of him. As the Inquisition's Spymaster, it was her duty to know everything about persons deemed 'of interest' to their cause, be they ally or enemy, and from what Varric had said the woman was very good at her job. Without asking for further details, Hawke took up the message and turned to lock eyes with Fenris briefly, "I might have known. Thank you, soldier. Do you have a private place where I can read this?"
The scout pointed to a brown canvas structure at Hawke's back. "The tent just there is open. You're welcome to it until a ranking officer arrives."
Hawke nodded and strode to the unoccupied tent, removing her striker from her pouch and lighting the candle upon the small table as Fenris closed the flaps. The heavy canvas blocked out most of the sunlight, resulting in a noticeably cooler environment within.
It wasn't complete privacy, as their voices could carry through the canvas walls as easily as if they still stood outside, but at least they were hidden from prying eyes. "It would appear the Inquisition is not yet done with you," Fenris growled as he laid a cutting gaze upon the missive in her grasp, and Hawke gave a slightly contrary shake of her head.
"No." she murmured with quiet surprise, inspecting the letter in the candlelight, "The seal is blank. This didn't come from Varric or the Inquisition. Neither would have cause to send a secretive message to an Inquisition camp."
"I see. Then word has traveled more quickly than I had anticipated." She could almost hear the corners of his mouth drop disparagingly. The warrior had made it perfectly clear on multiple occasions that he viewed anyone intent on using her as outright threats, and the level of secrecy involved in their current situation was undoubtedly setting his teeth on edge.
Hawke cracked the wax carefully. "Oh? What word is that?"
"That the Champion of Kirkwall's blades are once more for hire." Hawke lifted her gaze, her brows arched at the contempt which laid thick in his words.
Fenris was right, of course, and inwardly Hawke bemoaned the end of their peace. While her cooperation with the Inquisition had been as much to settle a personal score as it had been a service to the greater good, that would not be how the world would see it. She would have returned to public service, in the eyes of Thedas. Hawke could already envision the requests she could expect. People desperately searching for lost lovers; mage factions calling on her sympathies; long lost treasures begging to be claimed by folk too oily to try themselves, with one such character coming to mind instantly, causing Hawke to cringe as she unfolded the parchment.
"I swear if this is from Hubert I'm changing my name t-"
The words died upon her lips as she laid eyes upon the swirling script.
It couldn't be...
The barest sound of movement rustled; a telltale that Fenris was now standing at her back. The heat of his proximity was palpable even here in the desert, making the skin along her spine tingle deliciously despite their presently shared frame of mind. "What do they ask?" It was a low, menacing growl; that of a mabari which sensed danger close by.
"I don't know," she muttered, "I haven't read it yet. Only the signature."
Eyes narrowed, Fenris turned his attention to the message, placing a hand over hers to tilt the script towards himself. Then his rich baritone quietly filled her ears as he began to read with careful practice.
'Greetings, Ser Hawke,
I hope this letter finds you well.
I've heard from a friend and former companion of mine that you recently accompanied ranking members of the Inquisition, as well as a Grey Warden, into the Fade; and while there you offered to remain behind for the sake of your fellows and Thedas. Though in the end the Warden took the task you had volunteered for, your willingness to make such a selfless decision has still earned the gratitude of an order.
I wish that this message could be just a letter of thanks, but I'm afraid that in contacting you I have an agenda of my own.
I'll get straight to the point. No man or woman should be sentenced to death for choosing to do what is right. I am asking for your help in putting a stop to just such an injustice.
If you are open to what I have to say, please meet me in two weeks at Madame Mazamet's Inn in Ghislain. We will discuss the details there, and you can then decide if you are willing to help.
If you choose not to come please know that I wish you all of the best in life, regardless.
In Your Debt,
Valeria Therin, Warden Commander of the Grey Wardens; Ferelden Order'
Fenris' fingers slid gently from Hawke's hand at the end, and she turned to him with a half-hearted smile upon her lips; close enough to his own to lean in and taste him if she chose.
"I'm glad to see you've kept up with your reading practice."
"Warden Commander, indeed," Fenris muttered, ignoring the compliment, "you have been summoned by a queen."
"I don't believe she's acting in that capacity, though," Hawke mused, "otherwise we'd find ourselves with a more distinguished rendezvous point. I believe in this she is acting as the title she used; a Grey Warden."
Fenris' eyes narrowed skeptically. "Perhaps. But to what end?"
"From the sound of this letter, she may be trying to prevent future Callings." No doubt it would be nothing so simple as an errand, she mused if only to herself, and she found quickly enough that she was not the only one to reach such a conclusion.
"I am not certain that this is a matter we should be involving ourselves with, Hawke," Fenris murmured, his dubiousness creeping visibly across his bronze features; eyes narrowing on her intently. "Were this a task she felt you would not question, she would have detailed it in her letter. That she is asking you to come to her for the explanation can mean only that she wishes the opportunity to argue its necessity when you refuse her request."
"Undoubtedly." Hawke agreed without hesitation, which seemed to momentarily take Fenris aback. "But that's exactly why we're going Ghislain." Folding the summons into her belt pouch, Hawke experienced a slight twinge of excitement at the prospect of meeting the Grey Warden who slew an archdemon and ended the last Blight. "We need to hear the Hero of Ferelden out. After what she has done she deserves no less than that."
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Ghislain was gaudy, Hawke decided, right down to the stables at the city gates where they had penned their horses. With buildings painted every color imaginable, a multitude of colognes mixing sickeningly in the air, and inhabitants conducting their daily business while wearing all manner of extravagant masks and finery fit for a ball, Hawke found herself actually missing the simplicity of Kirkwall. Even the women of the Rose had known more restraint with their perfume and baubles. She heard in passing conversations that Val Reauoix was even more extravagant and counted herself grateful she had not been asked to travel there instead.
Worse were the way some of the women - and more than a few men - gaped at Fenris openly, and with clear interest that Hawke found irritating in the extreme. Fenris had always possessed an exotic air with his pale hair and strange tattoos, yet here he bore a stark contrast to the brightly clothed, pale skinned denizens of Orlais. He was a rare delicacy in this country of gluttony, and more than a few let it be known through inviting stares and subtle gestures that they wished a taste.
Desiring nothing more in that moment than to be away from this city, Hawke focused on her primary concern; locating the inn mentioned in the Grey Warden's letter. After several inquiries with local merchants, and having her pronunciation of the proprietor's name corrected haughtily by one masked woman, Hawke was grateful to finally locate Madame Mazemet's Inn; a building painted a nauseating shade of orange with perfectly aged bronze window casings decorating every wall face. Inside, the stone floors were plain but heavily polished, the tapestries and draperies that dripped from the walls were older but well-tended, and the smell of roasting meet overruled the cloying scent of perfume that filled the streets; a notable improvement to the city outside, she felt.
Before Hawke could seek out help from the barkeep a plump woman wearing a gown of purple satin and a simple silver mask which covered her eyes alone approached them; her cheeks dimpled in what appeared to be an honest, gracious smile.
"Greetings weary travelers!" She trilled through her thick Orlesian accent, spreading her arms wide. "Welcome to Madame Mazemet's. I am your hostess, Jacqueline Mazemet. How may this house serve you?"
Hawke's brow lifted uncertainly, yet she effected a slight smile none the less. The woman, while a bit theatrical, seemed a great deal more personable than many of the people she and Fenris had encountered in this city so far, and Hawke decided she would be grateful even if it was simply an act. "Good day, Madame. My companion and I were asked to meet a friend here. We appear to be early, however, and would like to rent a room if you have one."
Unexpectedly the eyes behind the mask lit brightly, the eccentric woman's gaze darting from Hawke to Fenris and then back again. "Ah! You would be Hawke then, yes? Your room has already been purchased." The woman bowed gently at the waist and extended an arm elegantly towards the stairs. "If you would, it is just this way."
"Convenient." Fenris muttered at Hawke's side, and she cast him a discreet look begging for his silence as they followed Madame up the ornately carved stairs to a room at the very back of the inn.
"Our finest suite," their hostess twittered, opening the door with a grand sweep of her arm. Beyond, it truly was a lavish room - perhaps the jewel of her inn. Silk dripped from the bed in rolling flows that practically cried out to Hawke to bury herself in their softness. Plush rugs, thickly cushioned chairs and sofa, and fat pillows patterned the room, inviting any who entered into their comfort. The fireplace was small, but it was carved from polished stone, and in contrast with the general theme of the city, the walls were painted the softest grey, with upholstery and linens of similar hues. At the far side of the room an ornate screen hid a large copper bathtub which stood upon four clawed feet.
At last Hawke found something redeemable in this city that had so far done nothing to impress her.
"It's lovely, Madame," Hawke smiled, gazing at the tub longingly. Madame Mazemet smiled.
"I will have my lad bring up hot water for your bath, yes?" She said and then smiled at Fenris. "Monsieur is welcome to a meal downstairs while the lady bathes. The meals are complimentary with the room." Fenris' eyes narrowed, yet Hawke's silent plea caused his response to be delayed in coming, and when it did it was with a more civil tongue.
"Thank you, but I will remain here."
"Of course," the Orlesian woman replied smoothly, her smile just as bright. "Then I shall take my leave. My lad will be up shortly to see after your bath. Should you need anything, please do come see me."
When the heavy wooden door closed behind them Hawke began unburdening herself of her gear, smiling with eager anticipation at Fenris while hoping that the Warden Commander would be just late enough for her to have her first proper bath since Skyhold.
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Hours later, with her skin blessedly free of sand and sweat, her clothes laundered, and her belly full of ram roast and vegetable stew, Hawke was fairly certain she was developing a deep appreciation of Madame and her hospitality. Their hostess had even managed to procure a bottle of Aggregio for Fenris when Hawke had asked if her selection included it, though it had not arrived until well after their evening meal.
Hawke had crowned the evening's bliss by convincing Fenris to read from one of her favorite serials, his voice low and soft in its narrative. Her lids drooped as she nestled back against his chest; his graceful form stretched languidly behind her upon the sofa as his legs entwined intimately with hers.
She would have been perfectly content to never move from that place again.
Until the knock at the door dragged a groan from her chest and pushed her reluctantly to her feet. Waiting only long enough for Hawke to call out an invitation to enter, Madame bustled into the suite; energetic, pleasant and perfectly put together despite the late hour. "Good evening. Forgive my intrusion, but your guest has arrived."
With another of her flowing gestures, the proprietor opened the door wide and stepped back, allowing a cloaked and hooded figure to emerge from the shadowed corridor beyond before taking her leave discreetly. Entering the room, their visitor removed her hood, revealing strawberry hair pulled back in a braid that hung down behind her shoulders and bright green eyes that scanned the room before the woman's lips quirked in amusement. "Leliana was right - this room is perfect!"
Hawke frowned slightly, and at her side the softness that had only moments ago been present in Fenris' features was now hidden behind a steel veil of mistrust. Immediately Hawke stepped forward, knowing that she could not appear hesitant in this meeting. "Warden Commander Valeria, I presume?"
"Valeria, please," the woman gave her head a small shake, snapping herself back to attention, and unclasped her cloak with one hand while extending the other in greeting. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Ser Hawke."
"Likewise," Hawke admitted, taking up the proffered hand firmly. "I must admit, you're not at all what I pictured the Hero of Ferelden would be like."
Valeria chuckled lightly. "You were expecting someone a little more imposing, I assume?" She snorted a small laugh and Hawke tried not to gape at the undignified display. "You've met Alistair. You should know we're not exactly a conventional pair."
"The Maker be praised for small miracles," Hawke breathed; the accolade earning a wide grin from the woman before her as Hawke gestured to the man at her side. "Forgive me. This is my companion, Fenris."
"A pleasure, Fenris," Valeria smiled, extending a hand to him as well without hesitation. Fenris hesitated before granting her only a brief nod of his head; his posture curved ever-so-slightly and ready to spring into action the moment he deemed it necessary. Before Hawke could excuse his manners, though, the woman before them straightened.
"Yes, you're right." The Grey Warden admitted, tipping her head to the elf as though having caught on to some hidden message as she squared her shoulders; her voice hardening into something of the legendary figure Hawke had expected. "Please forgive me. I did not invite you here for idle chatter.
"Tell me, Ser Hawke," the woman began, casually settling her rump upon the table beside her, "what do you know of the Calling?"
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The Champion of Kirkwall sat motionless upon the couch, her elbows perched upon her knees while she continued to watch Valeria as though the woman seated before her was still speaking, though the Warden Commander had been silent for several minutes already. Fenris seemed to be the only one among them capable of motion, and had been on his feet for some time, returning his gauntlets to his fingers while pacing like a caged tiger and seething openly; the occasional Tevinter curse muttered or spat vehemently during Valeria's recital - some of which Hawke now understood after a few lessons.
It had been an unsettling telling; one of blood rites, secrecy and the eventual nightmarish death that befell every man and woman who took part in the Joining. Hawke had always known that the ritual was dark, and that the Wardens seemed to carry on their shoulders burdens not typical of any other warrior sect, yet the things the Warden Commander had told her had evoked a sense of revulsion and pity for their order.
And a compounded worry for the fate of her sister. Hawke had known of the Calling, but to hear that death would likely claim her sister after only twenty years? Bethany was already halfway there!
For hours Valeria had betrayed the secrets of her order to these outsiders she had only just met; had admitted easily to discovering - and then turning a blind eye to - the blood magic of an ancient Warden who felt his deeds would cure his fellows before they could succumb to the taint in their veins. Of the man's relocation to the Deep Roads, where he could work his craft with a near endless supply of darkspawn test subjects, and the occasional human - pulled in secret from neighboring bandit camps when necessary.
She spoke so candidly of things that should have stuck in her throat like splintered bones, and as she did Hawke watched that shining veneer of the perfect Grey Warden - the perfect hero - crack a peel to reveal a human being; flawed, frightened and desperate.
Three of the four traits that most often invited disaster, Hawke thought, and scowled darkly at the woman before her; squaring her shoulders at last.
"Assuming for a moment that I will even consider aiding you after what you have told me," she began, "why come to me for help? You clearly know where this Warden-blood mage is, and that he has what you want. Why not go there yourself and retrieve it?"
"Because I am being followed." The Warden admitted with a sigh. "If my pursuers find Avernus before I can make his cure public they will kill him and destroy his cure."
"And what makes you believe your luck will fare better with us?" Fenris threatened; his voice as cold and jagged as broken ice atop a river, grinding against itself dangerously as it flowed. Yet Hawke did not acknowledge him.
"Who are these people that are following you?" She demanded, feeling her mistrust begin to compound more and more in the presence of this woman she once held on a pedestal. Valeria's face crumpled slightly.
"My own order," she admitted with a sigh. "But not because of how it was created. There are some within the Grey Warden ranks who see a cure to the taint as an end to our way of life. The death of our kind, as it were. But they don't understand that this is about more than the Wardens. If this cure works - if it really works - it could eventually bring an end to the Blights!"
"A fete of such magnitude?" Fenris growled dangerously. "Wrought by blood magic? You invite disaster upon humanity." Valeria frowned, shaking her head.
"The cure is nowhere near ready to be used so broadly," she revealed. "It is a potion. And only the research involved blood magic. It had to, as the rite of Joining follows similar principles. The production of the cure itself does not use such power, though."
"You believe that excuses what you have done?" The incensed demanded with a steadily degrading control, rounding the sofa to place himself before Hawke and nearly blocking her view of the Grey Warden. "The use of blood magic is never without consequence - never without some resulting horror. And yet here you sit expecting us to believe there is no risk? We have witnessed it first hand - we know exactly what it is capable of!"
"So have I!" Valeria countered, propelling herself from her seat to stand defiantly before the man who ridiculed her. "I am alive today because of that magic - as is my husband! For too long I have watched so many people - honorable men and women - die in secret and in the dark because of the taint. Now there is a way to prevent that. I would be a monster to turn a blind eye to that!"
"Yet you would allow the lives of others to be irreparably scarred for your own ends?" Fenris sneered, unwilling to back down. "You are already the monster you fear becoming; no better than the mages wielding their cursed power."
"Fenris." Hawke said quietly. "That's enough." Two sets of green eyes lowered to her; one pair flashing vibrantly with fury and disbelief; the other desperately clinging to hope. Frantically Hawke's mind churned with the information she had just received as she struggled to find a rational foothold once more. "You said the blood magic is done," she continued, meeting Valeria's gaze. "That it is not used in the crafting of the cure itself."
"That is correct," Valeria breathed. "The research is over. The ingredients necessary to manufacture the potion are alchemical in nature. One ingredient is darkspawn blood, but is only required because it bares the taint."
"And the cure - the potion - it will work?"
Before her she could see Fenris physically bristle at her words; his expression furious and yet confused all at once. "Hawke - you cannot possibly be considering what she has to say!"
Valeria allowed no moment for Hawke to consider Fenris' demand however. "According to the messages I have received, it works." She revealed. "It is my intention to be the first human recipient. If something goes wrong then... if there is further consequence to pay for this, it will be me that pays it."
"And if this works, will the cure be made available to all manner of infected folk? Common folk and Grey Wardens alike?" Though she spoke of the Grey Wardens as a whole, only one precious face came to mind.
She could still save Bethany. Nearly a decade later, she could finally do right by her sister. And while she could not right the terrible wrongs Valeria had allowed to take place in researching the cure for the taint, if what the Warden Commander said was true, Bethany and the other Wardens could be saved without the need for further sacrifice.
As long as there would be no further use of blood magic-
Fenris stepped before her fully; his eyes boring holes into her soul with their disbelief. "Tell me you are not considering this, Hawke."
It was the closest thing to a plea she had ever heard Fenris speak in the presence of another. It should have unnerved her, yet Bethany's sweet face hung before her mind's eye.
"It is as she said," Hawke replied softly before returning a disparaging look upon the Queen of Ferelden, "the research is over, and the damage already done." Hawke jerked her chin in Valeria's direction. "She will be the first to take the cure. If it fails her life is forfeit, and I will destroy this Avernus so he can't cause further harm with his blood magic. But if it works it can save countless lives. It can redeem itself for the damage its researched caused. Either way, we wont know if the price that was paid was worth it unless we bring this cure back. Will we, Commander?" The title was delivered with reproach, yet Valeria's features were a mask of equanimity; her chin held proudly high.
"No result is ever worth the price of such despicable power, Hawke! Fenris bellowed. "That is the nature of blood magic! It consumes more than it bestows - you know this better than any!"
Hawke gazed at him softly, yet with a resolve she could not discount. "Yes. But I also know that when the fire has burned down the forest, sometimes all that is left is to wait and see what seedlings will sprout from the ashes." Her fathers old adage for thinking positive when things grew hard for his family came back to her easily, though it seemed just as thin a thread as it had during her childhood.
Silence stretched for an indeterminable time among them before, amazingly enough, Valeria smiled.
"Leliana was right," she announced, "you're exactly who I need." Her hand extended to Hawke. "Bargain struck, though you'll understand if I give Avernus a bit of warning for a sporting chance?" She murmured. Hawke's gaze flecked down to the appendage warily before she at last took it up.
"I hope for your sake your Avernus has worked a miracle." She murmured.
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"No! I will not hear it! It is blood magic!" Fenris' voice bore the same unbridled wrath as the violent slashing gesture of his arm, filling every corner of the room with the evidence of his outrage.
Valeria had at last taken her leave in the early hours of the morning, after leaving Hawke with the promise of a Grey Warden guide to see her through the Deep Roads; whom she could expect to meet near the entrance to the caverns of Ferelden's Storm Coast.
"It's already done." She countered; quieter, yet equally resolute. "The magic is complete - there is nothing left for us to prevent. Would you have me turn my back on the Grey Wardens now because of events that were generations in the making?"
"I would have you stand for what is right and not dismiss what has happened!" He growled, one metal clad finger lifted to point at her accusingly. "If you do this you will be condoning their actions, Hawke."
"I'm not condoning anything, Fenris," she argued, holding her palms out in a plea for him to pause and hear her out. "What she allowed to take place is inexcusable - I know this better than anyone. But playing ignorant to the good that might come from that sacrifice, discarding the possibility that this cure could truly save lives, would be just as reprehensible. The choices we are asked to make are not always easy. You can't always look at them in terms of black and white."
Before her Fenris' lips twisted in a contemptuous sneer. "Is that so? So the ends justify the means now." Hawke recoiled; jarred at the unbridled anger her lover was turning upon her. She had sided with mages for years and had never received such a heated reaction before; though in truth she had made it a habit of leaving him behind on the missions she knew would truly pique his ire.
"Of course not! But how can I undo what was already done? I can only move forward and try to save as many lives as possible. Yet you're asking me to knowingly turn my back on an entire order. On my own sister!" Her traitorous voice caught at the mention of Bethany; her only remaining family. "You once longed for the return of the Champion of Kirkwall. Well here I am, Fenris, making the decisions no one should have to make; just like in Kirkwall!"
"This is nothing like the events of Kirkwall," Fenris spat. "There you were being manipulated by the abomination. He polluted your reason with his deceit!"
"Is that what you think?" Hawke's voice rose with incredulity. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but the choices I made were entirely my own. A life spent in hiding with my apostate family set my path - not Anders."
The scowl upon Fenris' features darkened into nearly unrestrained anger. "I see. First apostates, then abominations. I suppose the natural progression would be for you to turn to blood magic then."
Hawke felt her knees buckle slightly, shocked to hear such cruelty come from his lips. "How can you say that? How can you say that I approve of any of this?!"
"Because after all of the tragedy that has befallen you as a result of magic you are still turning a blind eye to it!" the man before her railed, his eyes flashing with unrestrained fury. "And I will no longer tolerate it!"
Fear filled her voice at the threat that lay beneath his words. "What are you saying? We made a promise, Fenris-"
"I promised to help you return to the woman you were! The woman who could sympathize with mages and yet still see the line that could never be crossed! But you have lost sight of that line, Hawke!" He was panting in his rage now; his voice rising in pitch as he rapidly lost control of himself. "I remember when you held your mother in your lap as she took her last breath. I remember what blood magic inflicted upon you! How could you have forgotten?!"
"That's not fair! I can't allow people to die for the past crimes of another!" Hawke was pleading now; aware that this was no mere spat, where they would disagree but ultimately set their differences aside for the sake of what they had.
Fenris seemed ready to cast that all away if she would not side with him. The panic roiled into desperation. He was going to make her decide between doing what she felt was right and him. And she could see there would be no time for her to consider which she could survive sacrificing. "Please," she whispered, "don't ask me to choose..."
"No, of course you should not choose." He sneered, leaning into her as he would his quarry, and Hawke found herself tilting away from him instinctually. "I have fought by your side for so long it must seem only natural I remain at your beck and call." He went on, his teeth gleaming dangerously from behind stretched lips. "Then let us dispense with the illusions, shall we? What do you command of me, Mistress?"
The crack of her hand against his cheek halted all other sound within the room, and she stood frozen before him; her arm still crooked with the follow-through of her blow. Blue light flickered to life before her and eyes the color of gemstones glowed as well; a snarl ripping from his throat as a metal-clad hand wrapped around her shoulder-
-and awareness flared across his features at the exact moment the light of his tattoos was snuffed out.
"How could you?" She whispered, and Fenris started, something very close to alarm flashing across his features. "How could you say that?"
In his cruel need to hurt her, he had taken the one thing she had fought so desperately against and thrown it in her face. Fenris knew better than most that, no matter how they might disagree on the plight of mages, Hawke abhorred slavery; or any form of subjection for that matter. Like the Circle.
The grip on her shoulder abruptly disengaged; the offending hand dropping to his side guiltily. "Hawke, I-"
"Get out." Her voice was barely audible, tears already burning her eyes like a poisonous cloud. "Now."
For a moment Fenris hesitated before her, seemingly torn between what he wanted and what she was demanding of him. His delay carried on for a heartbeat too long, however, for the first tear escaped her lids and Hawke panicked that she would break down before him.
She could not do that.
"Now!" She shrieked. With a start Fenris turned, albeit reluctantly, leaving the room in silence and closing the door behind him.
No longer able to hold back her tears or maintain her composure, Hawke lifted the first thing she could reach from the nearby table - her pack - and lobbed it at the door. Glass bottles shattered within upon impact; red and brown liquid oozing out of the leather satchel onto the rug and bleeding out beneath the door Fenris had just departed through.
Lost to her misery, Hawke dropped to her rump upon the floor and hugged her knees as she wept in earnest.
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