I always look forward to Fridays and posting another chapter - I'm having a lot of fun writing this story, and I'm thrilled so many people are enjoying it along with me! Thanks to everyone who has set the story on Alerts/Favorites, and to Nithu, lightan117, Underdressed, Josie Lange, Enaid Aderyn, Aenya, Raven Jadewolfe, and Raynn the Fallen Angel for the reviews. Special thanks to WellspringCD for betaing! If you've never seen Sweeney Todd and have always wanted to, I suggest you do so at some point, as there will be spoilers! (The movie with Johnny Depp is good, but for the full Mrs. Lovett flavor, I recommend finding the original performance, available on DVD. Angela Lansbury's amazing performance is very much the inspiration for Mistress Blodgett. My continued gratitude is owed to the folks at BioWare and to Stephen Sondheim for allowing me to borrow their characters and plots!)
"This has come together nicely," Aveline said. She leaned back, lounging on Hawke's newly acquired garden bench, looking around at the flourishing plants.
Hawke looked up from the middle of the strawberry bed. "It has, hasn't it?" she agreed. She tossed her friend a plump strawberry. "Fortunately for me, Sandal has a green thumb. Merrill and Anders have helped, too. And the other day I saw Varric pull a weed."
"You did not," Aveline scoffed.
"No, really. He checked to make sure no one was looking first. But you, on the other hand …" Hawke sat back on her heels, pulling off her gardening gloves. "You're making an unusual appearance in my garden."
"I'm not the domestic type," Aveline said stiffly. "Wesley was. He did all the … housewifery."
Hawke smiled gently at her friend. Aveline mentioned Wesley more often these days. Hawke took this as a sign that the other woman's grief was growing more bearable with time and she was able to think of her late husband with greater ease. "So what's on your mind, Aveline?"
The red-head sighed. "Hawke, it has to stop. I'm telling you this as a friend."
"I know, Aveline. I know." Hawke tugged at a dead strawberry vine, pulling it free. "I've only written two letters in the past year. One on Bethany's birthday, one on the second anniversary of the day they took her. I just … I miss my sister!"
"I miss her, too." The guard captain looked sympathetically at her friend. "But—" She bit off what she was going to say, looking doubtful.
"But what? You've never pussy-footed around a subject before," Hawke said.
"Has it occurred to you that you're using your sister as an excuse to keep from living your life?"
"You mean the same way you're using being guard captain?" Hawke shot back. The two women stared at each other, unbudging, for a long moment.
"It isn't the same," Aveline said at last. "Being guard captain is my life, at least for now. But you're hiding. You haven't taken a job in months, you've left the work on the mansion for your mother to do—"
"She needed something to keep her mind off of Bethany. Besides, she wanted everything just the way it was when she grew up here. Lucky me," Hawke said, making a face.
"My point stands," Aveline said firmly. "You're hiding in this mansion, in this garden, and it's not healthy. It's time for you to start thinking about what you want out of your life, for a change."
"I know you're right. Varric said the same thing, asked me what I planned to do now, and I couldn't answer him." Hawke sighed. "It's become increasingly clear that Bethany's actually happy in the Gallows. I think she's met someone, unbelievably enough. She doesn't want to leave. But ever since Bethany and Carver were born, protecting them has been my role. Bethany was always so delicate, and Carver so reckless. Without them both … I'm at a loss. Who am I without a battle to fight?"
"The Guard is always looking for skilled people."
"Me? A guard? Are you crazy?" Hawke stared at her friend in surprise before recognizing the twinkle in Aveline's green eyes. She relaxed, grinning. "I should have known you wouldn't let me sully your precious guard."
"Well, you didn't hear this from me," Aveline said, "but Kirkwall was a safer place when you were a Lowtown soldier of fortune than it is now that you're a Hightown noble. You did good work out there, helped a lot of people."
"What, you want me to move back in with Gamlen?"
Aveline chuckled. "Hardly. But there's nothing stopping you from going back to work. You were good at it, people trusted you to help them, and you seemed to enjoy it."
"Yes, I suppose I could do that," Hawke said. She thought about going into battle again, with Varric and Bianca at her back, with Fenris at her side. She'd been avoiding the elf recently, avoiding the constant temptation of being in his presence and not allowing herself to want what she wanted. And she realized that for the first time since she'd met him there was nothing standing in her way, no reason to deny the feelings he stirred in her any longer. The question was, were they returned? And that answer didn't seem like it would be easy to get.
"Blondie, what are we doing hovering around the Gallows? If you're caught out here—"
"If you keep talking, that won't be an 'if' much longer," Anders hissed.
"At least we should have tried to bring Hawke along. It would have been good for her to get out of the house," Varric muttered. He didn't like going into these situations without the tall human with the big sword, especially not when the leader of the mission was an unstable mage.
"Hawke's not committed to the cause of mages," Anders said sadly. "If she was, she wouldn't have given up on her sister this way."
Varric let that one pass. He wasn't about to get in the middle of Hawke and Anders and their disagreement over Bethany—neither of them needed his two coppers on the situation anywhere near as much as they both needed his companionship when it came to ale-drinking time. The mage issue in general was one he was happily willing to let float over his head. As long as he had coin enough to keep his two mages safe, that was as much involvement as he needed in the problem.
Suddenly, Anders meowed like a cat. It was such a realistic sound that Varric caught himself looking around for a feline. "You're very good at that."
"I miss my cat," Anders said sadly. "It's a useful skill, though—makes a good signal." They waited in silence for several minutes before they heard the soft scuffing noise of shoes on the cobblestones.
Two men came into view: one, a tall man with wild white hair wearing cheap clothes; the other, a slim black-haired young man in what looked like innocuous everyday clothes, but to the trained eye were obviously Templar civvies. "Good, you're here," the incognito Templar whispered to Anders as they came closer.
"I've been waiting, Trevor," Anders said. "What took so long?"
"It isn't easy, you know," the Templar snapped. He turned to the white-haired man. "Drury, let's get you out of the city. Quickly, before anyone knows you're gone."
"I'm not leaving." The white-haired man's voice was a hoarse monotone that sent chills down Varric's spine.
"What? I told you we'd have to take you out of Kirkwall," the young Templar whispered frantically.
"I know what you said. I cannot go."
"You have to!" Trevor looked at Anders with exasperation. "Tell him he has to get out of here."
"Kirkwall isn't safe for escaped mages," Anders explained gently.
Drury shook his head. "I have work to do. Until it is done, I can't leave."
Varric watched as Anders and Trevor looked from each other to Drury and back again, clearly not prepared for this attitude at all. It wasn't overly surprising—Trevor looked a bit like an eager puppy, and Anders rarely saw beyond his own beliefs, assuming what he thought was right would be what everyone else thought, too. "Is there anywhere in the city we can escort you?" Varric asked Drury. If this disturbing escaped mage intended to stay in town, Varric intended to know where he took up residence.
"Mistress Blodgett is still in operation, I assume?"
"Still trying to poison the populace," Varric agreed.
"Then that is where I must go."
"Wait, what?" Varric looked to the other two men for help, but they appeared mystified, and Drury wasn't waiting for commentary. The escapee was already striding through the Gallows courtyard. Varric hurried after him, with Anders and the Templar following. Drury clearly knew where he was going, turning each corner decisively, looking neither right nor left.
They were walking through the shadows of Hightown when they heard the voice, a lovely, ethereal voice singing a rather old-fashioned song. It came from one of the nobles' houses. Drury stopped in his tracks as if caught in a trap, looking up.
"Serah?" Anders asked. "Are you well?"
"That song," Drury said hoarsely. "Someone I … knew … used to sing that song."
"It's beautiful," Trevor breathed. He stared up at the windows of the mansions, straining in the darkness to see the singer. "I've never heard anything like it."
Varric looked around uneasily. It didn't pay to stand around in Hightown after dark. It would be just his luck to run into Fenris and get one of his lectures on the dangers of smuggling mages out of the Gallows. And that was the best-case scenario. "I think we should get moving," he said.
Drury shook his head, the dreamy look that had stolen across his face fading. "You are correct, dwarf." He moved purposefully away from the sound of the woman's voice, not looking back. Trevor, on the other hand, walked backward, still staring up at the window, entranced.
At last they reached Mistress Blodgett's. Trevor held out his hand to Drury. "Good luck to you, Serah. From here you're on your own … but if you take my advice, you'll get as far from Kirkwall as you can. You have powerful enemies."
"Thank you, Trevor," said Drury. "You've been good to me. I won't forget it."
"I wasn't about to stand around and let them make you tranquil, not when I could help you. I've never even seen you use your magic," Trevor said. He nodded, turning on his heel and hurrying out of Lowtown.
"My thanks to the two of you, as well," Drury said, bowing to Anders and Varric.
"Are you sure it's wise to stay in Kirkwall?" Anders asked worriedly.
"Wisdom has nothing to do with it. I have business to attend to." Drury nodded to them again and pushed open the door of the pie shop. Varric made a mental note to warn Fenris about the company Mistress Blodgett kept—the last thing any of them needed was for Fenris to run into an escaped mage unprepared. That wouldn't end well.
"Thanks for your help, Varric," Anders said.
"I'm not sure how much help I was," Varric said lightly, but inwardly he resolved to keep a closer eye on Anders. If this was the kind of person being set free, Varric thought the operation needed a lot more oversight.
Fenris sat in his favorite corner of the Hanged Man, deeply ensconced in the shadows. He felt fairly safe from prying eyes here. Few of the regulars paid him much attention anymore, and it was rare for a newcomer to notice him. He sipped at a mug of ale, his face twisting at the bitter taste. He much preferred wine, which was why he always drank ale when amongst other people. Ale lasted him a long time, each swallow a choice, whereas wine slipped smoothly over the tongue before he noticed it and had a tendency to lead to a truly distressing talkativeness. Especially in the company of—
"She's not here." The voice was accompanied by the clunk of a large tankard of ale being set down next to his.
"Who isn't here?" He glared at Isabela, hoping she would get the message.
"Hawke." Isabela looked at him with warm, knowing eyes. "Please, as if it isn't obvious," she said, laughing, obviously taking his silence for disagreement with her premise. "You're a shadow, hiding yourself away in corners, trying to keep from being noticed. Until she walks in. Then you find a way to get that pretty white hair to shine in the light; your voice comes out of the darkness, all deep and sonorous." She shrugged one half-bared shoulder. "It doesn't take a genius to read those signals."
"How very poetic," Fenris said noncommittally, taking another sip of ale. Did he really do that? And did Hawke see it as clearly as the pirate had?
"Relax," Isabela said. "Incredibly enough, I seem to be the only one who's noticed. You're not even an entry in the pool."
"What pool?"
Isabela's amused gaze traveled to his clenched fist, and with an effort, Fenris relaxed it. Smirking, she said, "The one betting who's going to be the first into our lady's much-sought-after knickers. Yours truly is in third."
Well, that was an image. Fenris cleared his throat. "Indeed."
Isabela sidled closer, until he could feel her long, practically naked thigh pressed against his. "You're dying to know who the front runners are, aren't you?" she purred into his ear, her lips brushing it ever so faintly.
Against his will, Fenris shivered. Elven ears were very sensitive, and judging by Isabela's triumphant chuckle, she knew it. He grasped her shoulder angrily, pushing her away. "Never touch me," he growled.
Undaunted, Isabela smiled at him. "And you wonder why you're not a candidate," she said. "Varric is, though. He's in second."
That was a less intriguing image, by far. And not worrisome. But Fenris did wonder who was considered most likely to win Hawke's affections. He'd been steeling himself for months waiting for the inevitable moment when she decided to live her own life, instead of her mother's or her sister's. He'd promised himself not to hate the lucky man on sight just for being what Fenris could not.
Isabela stood up then, propping a booted foot on the chair next to Fenris. Her tanned, nearly bare thigh was almost at eye level, and she bent, studying her boot buckle, so that more tanned and nearly bare flesh hung temptingly before him. She may not have been to his taste, but it was impossible not to appreciate the display.
And, of course, that would be when Hawke came in. She was with Anders, laughing at something the mage had said. Fenris hadn't been aware that the abomination had a sense of humor.
"He's the front runner," Isabela said.
No. That was not possible. Hawke had better sense than that. Didn't she? Fenris fought to keep the shock and anger off his face, but Isabela's smirk told him he hadn't entirely succeeded.
"Isabela, put that thing back in its sheath," Hawke called, approaching the table. She was grinning at the pirate, but the smile didn't reach her eyes, and her tone was crisp and chilled.
"Just checking my buckles, love," Isabela said, but she gave an obvious wink to Fenris before putting her leg back on the floor. Fortunately, Hawke didn't seem to see it, as she was occupied talking to Anders again. What could the man possibly have to say that was so funny?
Isabela took up her giant tankard and leaned against the wall. The sizable chunk of coin she'd written into the betting book on the field seemed very safe—a little more prodding and the dark horse should be ready to burst out of the gates. As Fenris self-consciously tried not to attract Hawke's attention and Hawke pretended she wasn't watching him, the Rivaini smirked into her mug.
