"Well, look at you slithering in at this ungodly hour," Gamlen slurred.
"Good evening, Uncle," Anara said with a sigh as she took down her hood and mask. "I see you've had a full night at the Rose this evening."
"Indeed, I have," he said, well on his way to falling asleep in front of the fire... again. "Someone in this family should be having a good time."
"Maker knows you drink enough booze for the lot of us," she mumbled. She was in no mood to deal with him, so she started to make her way toward her and Bethany's room.
"While you are living under my roof," Gamlen half-heartedly called after her, "you really should not insult me or my habits. I certainly make no bones about your misdeeds."
She turned on her heel, making a concentrated effort to keep her voice down. "My misdeeds are keeping this household fed and — lest we forget — you swimming in mead."
"Speaking of your pitiful monthly tithe," he shot back at her, trying and ultimately failing to rise to his feet, "certainly with the acclaim this little... persona of yours is getting, you can spare a few more silver a month. You are becoming quite the legend."
"Eighty-five silver was what we agreed, and it would be plenty for you to live on if you didn't throw it all away," she sneered softly.
"My tongue does get mighty loose at the Rose," he said with a drunken smirk. "It'd be a pity for me to spill your little secret to a rather persuasive whore."
"Do not taunt me, cretin," she snapped, pointing a threatening finger at him. "You know as well as I do that I am the only coin-earning member of this family; so if you would like to go back to begging in the gutter, then by all means, expose me. Otherwise, keep your greedy trap shut!"
She hadn't meant to be so cruel about it, but she hadn't been in the best mood. She carried the weight of her whole family on her shoulders; she slept for precious few hours a night; and on top of that, her falling out with Varric had left her in a foul mood, even after she stormed off to cool her head and take care of everything. She was a woman of few complaints, but she wasn't about to be lectured by the man who had squandered her mother's inheritance and family home to buy liquor and whores.
Her tone didn't matter anyway; Gamlen had already drifted to sleep.
"Honestly," she said to herself as she snatched the blanket from the sofa. "Uncle, you could sleep through a tornado." She flung the blanket over Gamlen and went to sit on the sofa, looking through the window on the far side. The sun hadn't started peeking over the mountains yet, but it had already started lightening the edge of the sky a cheerful shade of blue.
Anara exhaled a breath through her nose and closed her eyes. Just a few more months, she told herself. A few more months and a few more sovereigns, and it'll be over.
Fenris found he was more eager than usual to get to the Hanged Man that morning. He arrived in the early afternoon — after taking care of all his usual morning routine — and quickly made his way to the back room.
"If we don't figure out the best way into the Deep Roads," Varric was saying, "Bartrand will decide for us and get everyone killed. This would be so much easier if you'd have stopped me drinking last night like you were supposed to."
When Fenris entered, Varric was leaning over the table with his palms pressed flat against it. The map of the Deep Roads that Anders had given them was sprawled out across the tabletop as Varric ran his eyes back and forth over it. Hawke was sitting atop Varric, one foot on either of his shoulders, quite like a bird as she read the map over the dwarf's head.
"You two are almost the same height as the average man that way," Fenris teased as he entered the room.
Varric and Hawke both looked up at him, then at each other.
"Are you still up there, you daft human?" Varric said, swatting at Hawke with a hand. "Get down."
Hawke smiled as she slowly slinked off of his shoulders and onto the table, settling into her usual avian perch on the balls of her feet.
"How exactly did you not know he was up there?" Fenris asked as he took a seat, careful to use the masculine pronoun to not give away his knowledge.
"Hawke barely weighs as much as Bianca, blighted little wraith," Varric said, waving a dismissive hand and returning his eyes to the map. "The hangover isn't helping."
Fenris had stopped listening; his eyes were fixed on Hawke as she slowly stepped off of the table to lean against the wall. Her movements were as languid and silent as ever, but now that Fenris knew, it was almost obvious that she was a woman. He had heard that Hawke was a man, so he had naturally assumed as much when they met. Fenris wondered if he might have known sooner had he not held any assumptions upon first meeting her.
He snapped out of his thoughts when he realized her sharp eyes were fixed on him, obviously curious why he was staring at her.
"I have heard a rumor this morning," Fenris said as a means of explanation. It wasn't a lie, but it certainly wasn't what he'd been thinking about.
"A rumor?" Varric asked, brightening immediately. "I'm all ears, Snowflake."
"I have heard of a Magistrate's son, returned to the Gallows only to take his own life during the night."
"See there?" Varric said, gesturing a hand at Hawke. "You made such a fuss and the child-killer ended up dead anyway!"
"Apparently," Fenris continued, fixing his eyes on Hawke and unable to fight the small smile that tugged at his lips, "the man slit his own throat with a blade that the guards swear he did not have when they left him."
Hawke's eyes widened, then quickly narrowed at him. It was only a moment, the space of a heartbeat, but in that sliver between seconds Fenris could tell that Hawke knew. He didn't know if it was the way he'd been looking at her, or if there was something telling in his eyes, but she knew.
He gave her a full, knowing grin. He couldn't help himself.
Varric didn't notice; he was too busy putting the pieces together.
"You got into the Gallows?" Varric practically shouted at Hawke. "How in Andraste's flaming garters did you get into the Gallows?"
Hawke just turned to level her eyes at him, immediately expressing what a stupid question that was.
"Maker's breath," Varric said, running his palm down the side of his face. "You shave years off my life every day."
Thrask was a perfect example of why mages belonged in the Circle. Fenris knew that it was the Templar's sympathy for his daughter that ended up getting her killed. If he had put her in the Circle, she would have been safe from the hunters that came for her, and the demon to which she had eventually surrendered.
The party met Thrask in front of a cavern on the Wounded Coast, where he informed them of the mages hiding therein. It was clear that the Templar wanted to help these mages by having Varric and Hawke discover them rather than the authorities. By expressing his desire to see the mages sent back to the Circle, Fenris could tell the man did not wish these mages to befall the same fate as his daughter.
It was a lesson hard learned, and Fenris pitied him.
They ventured into the caves, making quick work of the skeletons and abominations the mages had raised. When they finally found the group hiding in the innermost chamber, it became clear that their leader was causing most of the trouble. He didn't last long.
The remainder of the mages surrendered as soon as Decimus was dead, quick to say that the blood magic had been all his influence. Fenris scoffed at their plea for mercy; but as he watched Hawke and Varric discussing what was to be done from afar, he somehow knew Hawke wouldn't kill the Templar, regardless of Anders casting his vote for that option.
"Alright," Varric said as he made his way back to address the mages. "You all have broken the law by escaping the Circle. As this situation is of your own doing, we will not kill a good man so that you may be free. However, we are going to aid you by telling the Templar that you are all dead. Then you can get yourselves to safety when we have left."
"Very well," Grace — now Decimus' widow — replied. "If you think you can end this without any more bloodshed, then we are with you."
"This is a mistake," Fenris growled as they headed back toward the entrance. "You saw what they were doing in here. Raising the dead, summoning demons from hell; these are blood mages, you must see that."
"They were made desperate," Anders defended. "I'll admit that Decimus had gone astray, but the rest of them were not to blame."
"How convenient," Fenris snapped.
"You cannot blame all mages for the misdeeds of some," Anders protested.
"And you cannot assume innocence until proven guilty with a room full of innocent corpses. How can you justify killing an honest templar over killing guilty mages?"
"Templars are not innocent, they are murderers!"
"A mage and a hypocrite," Fenris scoffed. "What company I keep these days."
Hawke turned around and gave them a glare, that dangerous sparkle entering her eyes and telling them both that their argument was over. Fenris gave her a disappointed sigh but opted to remain silent.
Her eyes hung on him even after he looked away — he could feel it.
"Ser Thrask," Varric said, as they exited the caves, "I'm afraid I bear you ill tidings."
"The mages," Thrask said, almost knowing what came next. He was standing beside Alain, the young mage they had encountered earlier who wanted nothing to do with Decimus and his blood magic.
"I'm afraid—
"What's going on here?" an unknown voice bellowed.
"Ser Kerras?" Thrask said. "What are you doing here?"
"I heard about your endeavor to return the apostates to the Circle," Kerras replied. "I came to offer my... assistance."
"You mean you came to make sure they never make it to the Circle," Thrask sneered.
"These mages are criminals," Karras spat. "They deserve to be treated as such."
"They have done no harm!" Thrask protested. "You cannot just—"
"The point is moot," Varric interrupted, getting rather irritated that he'd tried to speak three times now. "The mages refused to come quietly — save for Alain, here, who fled as soon as there was mention of blood magic — and since they would not listen to reason..." Varric pointed a thumb over his shoulder at Hawke to finish his sentence.
"Well, well, Thrask," Kerras said, crossing his arms. "I had no idea you knew how to contact the Hawk. He's not exactly on the right side of the law, you know."
"This is a dangerous line of inquiry, Ser Kerras," Varric said, rubbing his thumb against the pads of his fingers.
Hawke, of course, took her cue and unsheathed the twin talons on her back, spinning them in her palms before holding them at the ready. Fenris stepped from the shadows of the cave where Anders was hiding with the mages to stand behind Hawke.
"I am not afraid of the Hawk," Kerras spat.
"Let me get this straight," Varric said with a bemused laugh. "The Hawke just slaughtered a group of twenty-some-odd blood mages, and you think you and your four men are going to just, what? Kill us all and walk away unscathed?"
Kerras turned to look at his men who were already starting to take timid steps backwards.
"The mages," Kerras said, turning back to face them. "They are all dead?"
"Every one," Varric said. "The Hawk doesn't like witnesses. Bad for business, you know."
Hawke spun the blade she used to slit Decimus' throat, splattering the ground at the Templar's feet with blood.
Ser Kerras made his excuses and left.
"The blood was a nice touch," Anders said once they'd returned to the Hanged Man. He was already on his second pint in a foolhardy attempt to keep up with Varric.
"Indeed, it was," Varric said, starting his third. "I'm surprised there managed to be fresh blood on your dagger still."
Hawke removed the glove from her left hand, revealing the bandage over her palm.
"It was your blood?" Anders asked. "I didn't even see you do that from where I was standing."
"Clever," Varric said with a laugh. "I love when you finish our battles before we have a chance to start them."
"Seems like a lot of effort to save a few Templars," Anders said under his breath.
"It was not only to save the Templars," Fenris sneered, "but also to save your mages."
"Please, you two," Varric said, rubbing his temples. "Enough for tonight. Can't we simply drink and be merry?"
Anders and Fenris exchanged scowls before returning to drinking from their respective tankards.
The evening held an unusual electric charge as they all sat together in Varric's room, though Fenris knew the only people privy to it were Hawke and himself. He didn't quite look at her — he couldn't even see her in his peripheral vision — but he knew she was staring at him. He could feel the weight of her icy gaze on his back. She had to know that he'd figured out her secret; perhaps she was debating what to do with him. He knew very well that if she wanted him dead, there was precious little he could do about it. He only wished she would stop staring at him.
"Right this way, ladies," Moira was saying, leading two girls toward the room. "Varric! I have two young ladies here who wish to meet Master Hawke."
All eyes shot to Hawke. She stood as if to try and make an escape, but the door flung open as the two girls pushed inside. Two very pretty young ladies entered the room, both immediately fixing their eyes on Hawke standing on the other side. They couldn't have been more than eighteen, both with strawberry blonde curls and big, round blue eyes.
Fenris smiled as he watched the girls back Hawke up into a corner. He didn't understand anything they said, as they were both talking at the same time, but he relished in the frustration that was obviously building in Hawke's eyes.
"I'm Iris," the older one said.
"I'm Lily!" the other one chimed.
"We saw when you saved that old man with the white hair," Iris squealed. "You were so brave!"
Hawke's eyes darted to Fenris, sparkling with amusement.
"How do you know he was old?" Varric asked them.
"Oh, well, he had to be! You should have seen his hair! It was white as snow."
Fenris coughed into his hand, making the girls turn to him wide-eyed.
"I wouldn't call myself young," he said, leaning back in his chair, "but I'm certainly not old."
"In their defense," Varric said with a laugh, "they were probably too busy swooning over the Hawk to get a good look at you. You should be grateful they noticed you at all."
The girls whirled back around to Hawke, saying something about it being an honor to meet him, but stopped short when they realized she was gone.
"Where did he go?" Lily cried. "He was just here!"
"He does that," Anders said, saluting them with his beer. "Damned rude of him."
"He's probably very busy," Iris sighed.
"Yes, yes," Varric said, walking the girls to the door. "Hawke's a right hero. If you hurry out now, you can catch up."
Fenris didn't stay long after Varric ushered the girls out of the Hanged Man. Anders and Varric quickly became lost in their drinking contest, and Fenris soon felt out of place. When he opened the door to the mansion, it was almost pitch black inside. He started to make his way toward the stairs, intending to light a fire in the master bedroom, when that old, familiar uneasiness kicked in his stomach.
Before he'd had a chance to do anything else, he was pulled by his throat and slammed into a wall. A gloved hand covered his mouth to keep him from calling out and a forearm pressed firmly against his jugular to keep him pinned against the wall.
Fenris knew it was her; no one else could sneak up on him like this. His vision quickly adjusted to the darkness, but even so all he could see of her was her bright golden eyes and a hint of her pale skin. She moved her hand from his mouth before she spoke.
"How did you know?"
"Well, well," Fenris said with a knowing smile, "what a lovely voice you have, Hawke."
She narrowed her eyes at him. Taunting her was probably not the best course for convincing her not to kill him to keep him quiet.
"Answer the question, elf," she demanded.
"Little things," he said, growing serious under the weight of her anger. "I simply figured it out on my own."
"And why haven't you told the others?"
"Why would I?" he asked.
"You haven't told anyone?"
"No," he said. "While I admit that I do not understand why it's a secret, it is not my secret to reveal."
Whether she meant to or not, the pressure across his throat lightened.
"And you still follow my orders?" Hawke asked as she released him. "You have no qualm being led by a woman?"
He narrowed his eyes as he tried to process her question. "Does the fact that you're a woman somehow negate all previous evidence that you are capable and intelligent?"
"To some," she said.
"Not me," he replied, crossing his arms. "In Tevinter, the only measure of power is magic. Gender has little to do with anything."
"Well, you are not most people, clearly."
"Clearly," he confirmed with a smile. "Hawke, you saved my life, and despite your naive and foolish support for the mages, you have yet to lead me astray. I am not in the habit of making enemies of powerful allies."
She tilted her head to the side and blinked as if the fact that he was so logical astounded her.
"Thank you," she said finally. "For your discretion, and for your understanding."
"Thank you for not slitting my throat to keep me quiet."
It was the first time he'd heard her laugh, and he found himself smiling because of it.
"I hadn't even thought of that, honestly," she said, turning to make her way for the door. "I do not kill good people."
"You find me good, do you?"
"Good enough," she said over her shoulder.
"That's it?" he asked, turning to face her with a smile. "I figured out the big secret, and all I get is 'good enough?'"
"That's it," she said, turning to look at him in the doorway. "What, do you want a prize?"
"I would settle for knowing your name," he said crossing his arms.
She stood there for long moments, standing in the open doorway, silhouetted by the bright moonlight.
"Anara," she said finally. "Anara Hawke."
He smiled, but she closed the door behind her before he could react.
Anara, he repeated in his head. Considering what the word meant in Tevene, he found the name was rather ironic.
