Three escaped mages, three different types of backgrounds.
They started in Lowtown, in the alienage there. The alienage was Merrill's demesne, and so Hawke stopped by to bring her along and introduce them to the wife of the first escaped mage. Huon and Nyssa had only been married a short time when the templars raided and took him, and now Nyssa was technically married and nearly a social pariah.
Luckily, she and Merrill were on friendly enough terms, and Hawke found out that Huon was set to return to the alienage that night.
"You seem afraid, Nyssa," Hawke said, gently. "Of me? Or the templars?"
Nyssa darted a glance towards the alienage steps, then sighed and looked down. "Huon," she finally whispered.
"Did he hurt you? Or use blood magic?"
"Would she know blood magic if she saw it?" Fenris asked.
"He didn't hurt me," she said. "And I don't know if he used magic on me, any kind of magic. He said he would come back tonight, and he would give me everything I've ever wanted."
Fenris scoffed. "They always say the same things." Hawke shot him a look, brows drawn down. She would not try telling him to be quiet, so—Oh. She was reminding him of their conversation on "tact." Well, perhaps he had been a bit…tactless…there.
"Nyssa, I will come back tonight to help protect you," Hawke said, turning back to the elven woman. She seemed even younger than Hawke, and to have been married for ten years to a husband who had been taken from her so soon? Yes, he should have used more tact earlier. He would remember for next time. Knowing the kinds of things Hawke got into, there would be a next time.
"Thank you, thank you!" the woman said, taking Hawke's hands. Hawke gave her a smile and squeezed her hands in return.
"Then I shall see you tonight," she said, and they tromped out of Lowtown.
"The de Launcets are next," Aveline said. "It's late enough that they should be at home in Hightown already. We interview them about Emile, and see where we go from there."
"Maker," Hawke sighed, suddenly standing still and knuckling her back. "I hope that Huon isn't a blood mage. But whatever he did, he frightened that poor woman enough that she asked a 'shem' for protection."
"You're no ordinary shem," Merrill said, her voice pipping up chipperly. "You're the Champion. You've helped elves in this city more than anyone else has, and you openly court Fenris as an equal. You're a near hero to some in the alienage!"
Hawke went more red in the face than Fenris had ever seen her, and he knew he, himself, was blushing to the tips of his ears. Bad enough, that the nobles were gossiping about their relationship, but Lowtown…? On second thought, if the alienage elves were openly approving of it, that was one-up on the snobs in Hightown who saw elves as servants and little more. He had overheard more than one conversation about how Hawke should keep him "in the bedroom, not on the streets" like everyone else did. Bloody racists.
"Well," Hawke finally managed, still sounding somewhat choked. "He is pretty good looking. I'd be envious, too, if I weren't me."
"Oh yes," Merrill agreed, smiling. "Fenris has quite the following of admirers in the alienage." He was truly hoping that the Maker would open the ground up and swallow him down, now.
Hawke shot him a grin. "I'm afraid I've got first dibs," she said playfully. Even Varric and Aveline looked amused at the tone the conversation had taken.
Fenris brushed dirt from a gauntlet and checked his feet before muttering, "We should move on." Admirers, eh? It would be more amusing if it weren't so sad. The elves needed real heroes to look up to, not escaped slaves who were not much more than mercenaries.
Hawke simply chuckled at him and slipped her hand into his for a moment. Fenris gave her a lsight smile, the barest quirking of his lips, and gently squeezed her hand in return.
"So, the de Launcets, and then dinner, and then back to the alienage later, to be there for Nyssa when Huon arrives," Hawke said, laying out the plans for the evening.
"I have to skip out after this," Aveline said. "I need to get to the barracks for inspection. And paperwork." The last two words were said in a disgusted tone; Aveline hated paperwork.
"Then we'll pick up Isabela and Anders," Hawke said, decisively. "We can't be a man down, going into an unknown situation like tonight is sure to be."
"Poor Nyssa," Merrill lamented. "It's too bad that the hahren didn't annul her marriage. She's basically had to fend for herself and be alone these last ten years."
"Do you know why he didn't?" Hawke asked.
"No, they don't tell me much," Merrill answered. "But Nyssa and I are generally friendly, and I knew that much about it."
Hawke frowned, brows drawn down in concern. He could see the thoughts in her head as they played out on her face –concern for the woman, irritation with the hahren, anger with the templars, grim determination to help, anger with herself for not doing more, not being more than she already was, Fenrus suspected; she would probably be making extra effort towards the alienage soon, including spending more time with Merrill and extra time and effort soliciting donations from the nobility to set up a small clinic or a food pantry. He knew her too well to not know that determination, to not know how strong her sense of duty was.
It was just starting to get dark when Hawke knocked, loudly, on the de Launcet door. They were asked to wait, and had been waiting for the better part of an hour when Dulci de Launcet finally came down the massive staircase and greeted them. Or, rather, she greeted Hawke and Aveline, pointedly ignoring Varric and dismissing the two elves as servants, regardless of the rumors about Hawke running about with a white-haired elf who wielded a sword nigh on as big as he himself. Dulci knew quite well that Fenris was her lover, and he accepted the dismissal with only a bit of galling irritation. Merrill ignored it, seemingly oblivious to the intended insult.
Or perhaps it wasn't intentional, he thought, listening to the de Launcet woman natter on in her annoying Orlesian accent. Hawke and Aveline were seated in the sitting room and Dulci was going on about what a good boy Emile de Launcet was, and how he certainly would turn himself in to the templars any day now.
A good boy, he thought disdainfully. Good enough to destroy his phylactery and escape the Circle. Still, the woman prattled on, oblivious to the growing fake smile Hawke had plastered on her lips, or the dark, growing frown on Aveline's face.
A garishly dressed man entered the room and started berating the woman in front of everyone, obviously unaware, or perhaps uncaring, of the guests. He laid into her for giving "the boy" some money, yelling at the top of his lungs that the templars would find him. Dulci de Launcet paled, her eyes going wide.
"Guillarme, darling!" she spoke loudly.
"Do not 'darling' me, Dulci. Do you know what you've done?"
"Guillarme, darling, we have guests!" she cried, desperately. Guillarme de Launcet finally seemed to notice their group, then. Hawke smiled brightly.
"By all means, don't stop on my account. This is fascination!"
A half hour of awkward, Orlesian-themed apologies and discussion led them to being told that Emile was currently at The Hanged Man, and Guillarme de Launcet assured Hawke and Aveline that if they only hurried, they could catch him up and get him back to the templars before he did something even more foolish.
"The Hanged Man!" To the side, Dulci had been breaking down, having fits. "Oh, Guillarme, no! That place is filthy!"
"I'm more worried about the Comtesse," Hawke told Guillarme, eyeing the woman. "I'm afraid she's going to pass out from all the horror soon."
"Please, excuse my Dulci," Comte de Launcet said, rolling his eyes. "Her nature, it is so very delicate, yes? But if you will excuse us, I will get her to bed and you can catch up to that idiot boy and save him from himself."
The Comte led Dulci away while the woman swooned, and Hawke shook her head and rolled her shoulders slightly, obviously exasperated.
"The Hanged Man! It is so filthy!" Varric said, in a badly-mocked Orlesian accent.
"It is filthy," Fenris said, truthfully.
"You didn't use the accent," Varric complained. "It's the accent that makes it funny."
"We're not going to send him back to the Circle, are we, Hawke?" Merrill asked, concerned. "Mages should be free." Hawke closed her eyes for a moment, obviously irritated.
"I don't know what we'll do until we're in the situation, Merrill. If he's a blood mage, we can't trust him to show the restraint you show. If he's dangerous…. We'll burn that bridge when we come to it, shall we?"
"Don't you mean, 'cross that bridge'?" Aveline asked.
"How long have you known me, Aveline? With my luck, they'll be burned and the earth salted no matter what I want."
They made a quick stop in Darktown to pick up Anders, in case this Emile was dangerous and they needed a third mage. He would also be there to help them later if Huon turned out to be dangerous, too, or if it was just going to be another typical night in Lowtown.
When they arrived at The Hanged Man, Emile de Launcet was surprisingly easy to pick out. He had the same fashion sense as most circle mages did: a terrible one. Even Fenris took offense at the man's clothing, and Fenris typically work all black, nearly skin-tight armor that wasn't exactly the first off the rack during the season. Hawke made a choked sound as she took in the orange monstrosity the man was wearing and Merrill started giggling about his terrible haircut.
"You want to arrest somebody?" Anders addressed Aveline. "Arrest him for crimes against fashion."
"You're one to talk, mage," Fenris snarled, but he almost agreed with Anders, which is why the temperature in the tavern had dropped so dramatically.
"You're both… not wrong," Hawke said, shaking her head. She straightened her skirts over her hips and went over to where the man was nearly passed out, drunk.
"Emile de Launcet?" she asked, loudly to be heard over the din of the tavern. He lifted his head shakily and opened one eye, trying hard to focus on Hawke.
"Are you a mage?" he asked, drunkenly. "Because you just magicked my breath away."
Fenris couldn't even find it in himself to be jealous. Even Bad Poet groaned, and Isabela sauntered over to join them.
"I thought you had better taste, Hawke," she said, smirking. "Dark and broody is so much sexier than orange and pathetic."
"I'm not looking for a date, thanks," she told both of them, grimacing and rolling her eyes. "I am looking for a man named Emile de Launcet. And here he is, what a coincidence!"
Emile suddenly looked a lot more sober. "I'm not really a blood mage!" he squeaked. "I just started that rumor to…" he finished it out, mumbling.
"I'm sorry," Hawke said, incredulously. "Did you just tell me you've been telling people you're a blood mage so that you could sound suave and dangerous and get women?
"You bloody idiot!" Anders yelled, stepping forward. "You grew up in the circle, you know what happens with those kinds of rumors!"
"You can't be serious," Hawke said, sounding bemused.
"I wanted to seem suave and dangerous so that women would like me," Emile said, plaintively. He held up his hands, looking for all the world like an innocent fool. "I have lived in the circle for twenty years. It's a prison there. I've never gotten to cook my own meal, or dance in the rain." He gave Hawke a lingering look of longing. "Never kissed a girl…"
Hawke helped up a hand to stop him. "you escaped the Circle to come here and tell lies about being a blood mage so you can kiss a girl?!"
Emile waggled his bushy, orange eyebrows in what, Fenris supposed, was meant to be a seductive manner. "Not just kissing," he said, leering. "There are so many things I've heard you can do with girls…"
He was too full of pity to even feel jealousy or anger at the insinuation towards his Hawke. "The mage must be toying with us," he managed to say. "He makes himself out to be pathetic in order to appear harmless."
Anders shook his head, face sad. "You didn't grow up in the circle. He really is that pathetic. Although," he added, thoughtfully, "Kinloch Hold was a lot more fun. Everyone was kissing everyone."
"Maybe nobody wants to kiss him because of his hair!" Merrill piped up, helpfully.
"And that…. 'mustache,'" Isabela added.
"And the orange clothes to match the orange hair," Varric put in. He quickly placated Aveline with "It looks good on you, though!" Aveline snorted and shifted her weapons, which signaled all the others to shift their weapons, too. Emile looked alarmed at that; the other patrons of the tavern looked amused. Hawke and friends™ were always good for free entertainment with their drinks.
Finally, Hawke sighed and covered the top part of her face with her left hand, her right hand akimbo on her hip. "Listen, Emile, you're not going to last a full week outside the circle, at this rate."
"But-!"
"Hear me out!" she shouted, hitting the table with the hand that had been on her face. "You are an idiot and you need to go back to the circle. Otherwise, the templars will catch you and not be half as kind as I am being."
She turned to Isabela, who quirked a brow and started shaking her head.
"No, 'Bela. Just…. Take him to the Rose and get him a shave and a haircut and a girl, and drop him back at the Circle tomorrow. And I'll pay you back and owe you one."
Isabela slipped her arm around the stupid man. "What do you say, sweet thing? I'll introduce you to some fine ladies before you go back."
"And… I can kiss them?"
"For fifty silvers an hour, why not?" Isabela steered Emile out of the tavern, rolling her eyes back at Hawke.
"Let's just hope this Huon is that stupid," Hawke muttered, rolling her shoulders again. Fenris resisted the urge to reach out for her; The Hanged Man was too public for him to feel very comfortable displaying affection yet, and Hawke looked tense enough that she might even snap at him for trying.
"We've got a couple of hours until time to meet Nyssa," Varric told her. "Wicked Grace and dinner in my 'palatial suite'?"
"You drive a hard bargain, Varric," Hawke told him, pasting on a smile for Varric's benefit. "Put it on your tab and I'll fleece you for a few sovereigns."
"You? Best me?" Varric laughed and led the way up the stairs to his suite. "Perish the thought, Hawke."
"You think I can't out bluff you?" Fenris followed them, with Merrill and Anders, as Aveline said her goodbyes for the evening.
"You can try," Varric laughed.
