Blood Bonds

Merrill learns that blood magic can never truly save a life at the brink of death. There are always sacrifices and consequences.

Chapter 9: Hunger

The amber liquid slushed lazily around in the wooden container. It tasted awful. Bitter. It burned as it went down, settling in her stomach, warming it. That part felt rather nice. The disgusting aftertaste that soon followed- not so much. Her face twisted as she swallowed back her nausea.

Her pint was half empty. The effects of the alcohol were setting in, but not as quickly as she would have liked. It would have been easier if the alcohol didn't taste like liquid squeezed from an old, sweaty boot.

She took another sip.

Creators, the drink was horrid.

The loud drunken belching and laughter had helped her keep her mind away from her quandary, but now it seemed she was becoming accustomed to it. Every now and then her mind would drift back to the last two days; locked away in her bedroom, laying in her straw-filled bed, blankets pulled over her head, biting her nails to the sensitive pink skin it had once protected. By the Dread Wolf, what she had read...what she now knew...

"Stop it. Just stop it," she chided herself.

Her heart had begun beating rapidly. Thumping against her chest so loudly she thought others might hear. She curled over her drink. One hand gripping the handle of her cup until her knuckles were white, the other, the front of her chest. Oh, how it hurt.

She slowed her breathing. Inhaling the scent of her tightness in her chest faded and her heart returned to normalcy. She sighed and frowned into her cup.

"Why the long face, Kitten?"

Merrill looked up from where she sat to see Isabela. The pirate captain leaned comfortably against the wooden support beam, her own drink in hand. A gentle smile on her full, painted lips.

"Oh, Isabela. I did not see you there." Merrill hadn't realized how exhausted she was. Just speaking seemed to have had taken quite of bit of her energy.

"That's because I've just gotten here." Isabela took a seat across from her, placing her mug down with a clank. She laced her fingers together and studied her. "You look awful, Kitten. I've never seen you this sad."

"It's nothing, really."

"You're such a bad liar! You can barely bluff your way in cards, let alone sitting here, hunched over, drowning your sorrows in cheap alcohol," Isabela laughed lightly. She then leaned forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Come on. What's wrong?"

Merrill's lips quivered. "I've done something awful, Isabela." She hiccuped, the details of her crime dieing in her throat. "Something...terrible. Something that can never be forgiven."

"We all have, Kitten. Everyone sitting around us has rotting skeletons in their closet, and I'm willing to bet some quite literally."

"None like mine."

"You wouldn't be the first one here to attempt to kill a friend. I can certainly speak from personal experience." Isabela took a sip of her drink. "Granted, it was over who rightfully earned the treasure rather than mystical powers given by a demon." Another sip. "Oh, and we didn't remain friends afterwards. Corpses are horrible conversationalist."

Merrill's eyes widened. "You know?"

"Of course I know. Hawke told me," Isabela smiled. "It took some prying, but I managed to get it out of him. I knew something was wrong when he showed up here with a bandaged nose and no good story to accompany it. Hawke! A man who has a story for every broken nail! Varric filled me in on the details, naturally. I don't know how much of it to believe, most of what he had said was rather far-fetched. Apparently you turned into some sort of demon yourself, complete with black eyes and fire. I find that hard to imagine. You? Merrill? As fearsome as a demon?" She laughed heartily. "I've seen bunnies more intimidating!" Then, with a brow raised, she leaned forward, capturing Merrill's eyes. "So it's true. You really did fight Hawke in the Fade."

Merrill looked down at her forgotten drink, her cheeks flushed. "...Yes."

"And Fenris protected you? Fought alongside you?" Isabela continued to question.

"Protected me?" She hadn't thought of it that way. She supposed it was technically true that Fenris had protected her. Hawke would have certainly brought her to her knees much sooner had Fenris not shielded her. But there was discomfort in the use of that word. What Fenris had done was not a service. "No, I wouldn't say that."

"Oh? Why not?"

"Because he didn't do it willingly."

Isabela hummed in understanding. She leaned back leisurely in her seat, bringing her mug with her. She took a long swig of her alcohol, finishing it, and then placed the empty mug onto the table. "What's done is done. Buck up and move on."

"If only it were that easy."

"Oh, but it can be, Kitten! The past is the past. There's no point in dwelling in it unless it brings you gold or giggles."

Merrill was silent. She didn't look at Isabela. Instead she watched as her thumbs rubbed the sides of the cup she held between her hands.

"Merrill," Isabela said sweetly. "Our mistakes makes us who we are. We learn from them and then we move on."

Merrill remained silent. Continuing with the circles she had been making with her thumbs, stopping only when Isabela's hands covered her own. "What you did does not make you a bad person. You have a good heart, Merrill, nothing will ever change that."

"I'm not so sure anymore, Isabela."


"I will never understand why you put up with him."

"I will never understand why I put up with any of you lot."

Anders sighed as he carefully removed the bandages that covered Hawke's swollen nose. The bruising wasn't quite as bad as it had been days before, though he was still rather purple under the eyes. The pulsing headache that had kept him awake for most nights had eased, though it sometimes reemerged whenever he was around Anders. He wondered why that was.

"I'm serious, Hawke! I still cannot believe you'd let him just walk away after striking you! He could have taken your nose."

"Which is precisely why I'd let him walk away. I like my nose." Anders sucked his teeth in annoyance. Hawke rolled his eyes. "I believe we had this same conversation yesterday, Anders. You haven't forgotten, have you?"

"No, I haven't. It's not something one would forget so easily."

Hawke groaned. Anders was not just referring to their little chat about his injury.


Hawke had appeared on the clinic's steps at the break of dawn, waiting for Anders to open the door. He had been relieved to see no potential patients lingering at the front of the meager facility. It seemed the extra, tiresome days the healer had spent working had quite a positive effect. In the past, there would have been swarms of the sick and injured lying and wailing at the front of the entrance. He remembered having to sidestep limbs and pools of vomit on one attempt at visiting the mage, only to have turned back halfway when it had no longer seemed worth it.

When Anders had finally opened the door to his clinic, he was taken aback at the sight of Hawke; standing in front of the door, with his crooked nose, and a wide grin that devolved him of any innocence he may have seemly had.

"What did you do?" Anders had asked plainly.

"You're going to love this," Hawke had said. "Let's speak inside. The rats are staring."

Once inside, he had taken a seat on one of the cots and waited patiently for Anders to ask the inevitable question he'd not been eager to answer.

"What happened?"

Hawke had told him everything: about the Fade, about the demon, about Merrill, about Fenris, every detail he had remembered. During his telling of what had happened, Anders had sat beside him and simply listened, engrossed by his story.

There had been a moment of silence after he had finished his recount of the events, Anders had still been absorbing his words it had appeared. Hawke had watched the mage's solemn expression, attempting to read from it what he could. He hadn't been sure of what he had been looking for from Anders.

Looking back now, it had probably been some sort of assurance. Assurance from the mage that what had happened in the Fade could not happen in their world. After all, the rules of the Fade differ from that of Thedas. That much he knows to be true. But even so, deep down still lingered doubt; and with that doubt came his greatest fear. Loss.

Father...Carver...Bethany...Mother...

Everyone he had ever cared for either dead or gone. At least, that had been true some years ago. Now it had seemed his motley group of outcasts had become a surrogate family. A family that can be a right pain in the ass at times (much like Carver had been on almost any given day), and comforting on others.

He could not suffer to lose them. Any of them. They were all he had left. And if there was the slightest chance that what had happened in the Fade could happen within their own realm, that puts his companions, and the civilians of Kirkwall, at risk. Maker only knows how many lives would be lost before he or someone else could put a stop to it; but there was one thing he knew for certain.

He would lose both Merrill and Fenris.

When Anders had finally spoken Hawke had been disappointed to hear no answers, but more questions. It had seemed to have been too much to have hoped for. Anders, nor Justice, had any knowledge of the spell.

"Blood magic that controls the minds of others is certainly not unheard of; it's common practice in the Tevinter Imperium if rumors are to be believed," Anders had said. "But then for it to also buff the victim's physical abilities -and to such an extent- that is unusual. It sounds like a disaster waiting to happen."

It had become painfully apparent that nothing would have came from their exchange, especially without the two individuals that had been affected by the spell.

Anders had asked if he had seen either Merrill or Fenris at all after the ordeal at his home, suggesting that he would like to evaluate them, Fenris in particular. Hawke had answered, telling him that he had not seen either of them, and as for Merrill, he did not plan on checking up on her for another day.

The healer had been stunned to silence. Oh, how Hawke had wished that silence had remained.

Anders had called him mad.

"You can't be serious. You left her alone? Fenris nearly took your head off last night! By your own admission, you said he could barely control himself! Maker! He probably has already ripped her apart! What in Andraste's name are you thinking, Hawke?!" Anders had shouted.

"Don't think the thought hadn't crossed my mind. It certainly had," Hawked had rubbed his temples, the stress he had felt the night before having had returned. "But Merrill asked for some privacy, and quite frankly, I think it may do her some good. Fenris I can't imagine leaving his home. Not yet. Not until he has finished all the wine in his cellar. If anyone, it's him I should be checking up on."

Anders had disagreed. "You are far too trusting of those two, Hawke. One of these days, it might just lead to tragedy"

"Let's hope it never does."

"Better to make it so it doesn't."

Hawke had grimaced. "And what is it that you suggest, Anders?"

"That you keep a sharp eye and not be blinded by your feelings for either of them."

"Oh, is that all?"

"I'm sure I can come up with more."

And then they had spent the rest of the morning exchanging one snarky remark after another, until Hawke had finally left for The Hanged Man. Where he was then accosted by Isabela.

That had been a headache ridden day.


"Let's not discuss that now. How about we return to the subject of my nose? My how big and colorful it is!"

Anders sighed, going along with Hawke's attempt to change the subject despite his personal feelings. "I don't know why you are complaining. It doesn't look that bad."

"It doesn't look that bad? Any more colors on my face and I might inspire an Orlesian dressmaker."

"As vain as ever, I see," Anders chuckled. "Funny. You didn't complain this much when I had to set your nose back in place."

"Because I was in shock from the searing pain."

"That's not how it works, Hawke." Anders said plainly. "If it makes you feel any better, it's looks like the swelling has gone down quite a bit."

"I bet the swelling would go down further with a pair of glowing hands." Hawke batted his lashes.

Anders's eyes narrowed. "I have the sneaking suspicion that was your primary reason for coming here."

"Don't be ridiculous! I love trudging through the Undercity for unnecessary check ups!"

"OK. Alright, no need for the sarcasm. I've had enough of it for one day," Anders sighed, lightly pressing his fingertips against the bridge of Hawke's nose.

"Now that's more like it," Hawke stated happily as he felt the soreness from his nose, and the slight headache he had woken up with, slip away.

"See? I told you he would be here getting special treatment."

"Well, would you look who's here." Hawke did not need to turn his head to know that it had been Varric. "Why don't you have a seat on that box over there and wait until I've finished my check-up. It shouldn't take long now."

"I'll just stand, thanks. I don't plan on staying, and soon, neither will you," Varric stated.

"Oh? And why is that?" Hawke turned to face his dwarven companion once the glow from Anders's fingers faded away.

His eyes widened.

Given what Varric had said upon entering the clinic, he knew he had not come alone. Of all people to be at Varrics side he had been expecting Isabela, standing there with a hand on her hip and a smug smile, waiting to pull a saucy remark from her seemingly bottomless bag of retorts. What he had not been expecting was Fenris.

The elf had seen better days it appeared. His face and skin were pale and disgustingly clammy, sprinkled with dust and dirt. His hair was a bit more untamed than usual, tussled, and moistened by sweat. It seemed Fenris hadn't bothered to wash after their altercation, and had probably slept on the floor of his unkempt home. The grim clung to him, like it does to a garden slug.

His disposition was guarded, arms firmly crossed and body tight. His eyes constantly shifting from Hawke's face to his tough, leather boots. Embarrassed about the night before he suspected. Understandable.

It looked as if Hawke would have to be the one to break the ice. Fenris was having a hard enough time simply maintaining eye contact.

"Fenris? I'm surprised to see you so soon. Has the Aggregio Pavali in your cellar depleted already?"

"I- uh...no..."

The ice has remained intact. No problem.

"Thank the Maker! I had planned on visiting your home today, you know. Just to be sure you didn't need to be turned onto your side and have vomit wiped away."

An oh-so light chuckle escaped Fenris.

"Hmph. No doubt that would have been the case had I not crushed nearly every bottle I held." A small smile crept on Fenris's lips.

Now that was more like the elf he remembered.

"I suppose that's good then. Saves me a trip," Hawke smiled. "So what did you two fine gentlemen come to see me about?"

"What? Are we not allowed to pay a visit to an injured friend without other motives?" Varric asked. "I have to say, I'm a little hurt, Hawke."

"Pfft. That would have been a little more convincing had you two brought me flowers. Honestly! Where are your manners? It is not common courtesy to bring a patient a bouquet of flowers?"

"What good are flowers that you can't smell?"

"Shows what you know, Varric! My nose is completely healed. Isn't that right, Anders?"

"Indeed it is," Anders said plainly, too busy reorganizing his station to add anymore than that.

"See! I must say, it would have been nice to have had something to complement the intoxicating aroma of piss and desperation that is Darktown. Embriums, perhaps?"

"Now you're just trying to make me feel guilty. If you want them so bad, go and pick your own damn flowers. There's enough shit around here. I'm sure there's something growing somewhere."

Fenris cleared his throat, gaining the attention of his companions.

"I came to apologize to you, Hawke," Fenris began. "I had entered your home without permission and had assaulted you. That was...unbecoming of someone you call a friend. I am not worthy of that title."

"Come now, Fenris. There is no need to apologize. As I had said before, I absolutely deserved it."

"Even so, I should not have reacted the way I did. I was blinded by rage, and for that I am sorry."

Hawke watched Fenris closely. He could not put his finger on it, but there was something unusual about the elf's body language. His demeanor was normally so controlled, a bit on edge when they were out of the city walls, but controlled nonetheless. Now it seemed he was struggling to maintain that control. There was a slight tremor in his hands, and he was shifting from foot to foot more often than usual. Very subtle movements that would have been overlooked by anyone else. This wasn't from anger. That was something he was familiar with. No. This was something new, but not entirely foreign. The best way he could describe it was that it looked as if Fenris was itching to move.

"Your rage was justified. I cannot imagine how you must have felt being used in such a way again."

"No. You cannot."

"Are you feeling well, Fenris?"

"It depends on what you mean by well. As I've said before, I haven't felt like myself for quite some time. I...I'm no longer sure how I should be feeling." Fenris paused briefly. "I suppose if I were to put it to words: numb...empty...In desperate need of...something," he shrugged.

Hawke quirked a brow. "What do you make of this, Anders?"

Anders hummed lowly. "He has been through multiple traumatic experiences. First being pummeled to near death by an ogre and then being controlled with blood magic. It could possibly be traumatic stress. Honestly, I'm not sure if there is anything I can do. There is nothing physically wrong with him from what I can see. Perhaps a couple more days of bed rest-"

"No!" Fenris snapped. "I cannot stay locked away in that cursed home any longer! Hawke, some time ago you said if I needed to...relieve some aggression, you would be willing to accompany me."

"That certainly sounds like something I would suggest."

"Is that offer still available? Or shall I go alone?" Fenris said sharply.

Hawke was baffled by Fenris's sudden hostility. Perhaps this is what he has been attempting to control.

"Of course. In fact, I think the exercise will do us all some good. Where would you like to go?"

"Sundermount. I've spent far too many days than I would have cared to traversing The Wounded Coast."

"Agreed. A change of scenery would be welcoming. We'll have a nice view of the mountains as we slaughter large spiders. Why don't you two wait outside while I try to convince Anders to join us and get away from all the sick people."

"Excuse me?"

"Alright," Varric said. "Just try not to keep us waiting. I think the stench of this place is starting to cling to my coat."

Varric and Fenris left, leaving Hawke and Anders to speak in private.

"What was that about, Hawke?" Anders's asked firmly. "You know I can't just leave the clinic to fool around in the mountains."

"Anders, did you notice anything odd about Fenris?"

"How could I not?" Anders answered. "He seemed rather...skittish. Part of me was expecting him to just run off without explanation. Reminds me of certain former Templars."

"Exactly so. Now why do you think that is?"

"Had this been anyone else, I would say lyrium dust withdrawals. But I doubt even he would stoop that low. He has been through quite a lot, and I'm not just speaking about the Deep Roads or Merrill. Perhaps the stress of it all is beginning to boil over."

"So now you understand why I need you?"

"Hawke, this is far beyond my capabilities. With all that has happened, I doubt he would accept any remedies that included magic in any shape. I think I might end up losing my hands if I were to try to help him."

"I'm only asking you to help me keep an eye on him. And if something were to happen, your sleep spell may be of use."

"I suspect it will have little effect, especially if he becomes anything like what you had described in the Fade." Hawke visibly flinched. Anders continued. "Are you expecting something to happen?"

"I'm just taking precautions."

"So, you're finally taking my advice?" Anders asked with a slight smile tugging the corners of his lips.

"Absolutely! And that is why I want you to come along. Because if he happens to kill us all, I want the last words I hear to be, 'I told you so'."

"Or you would take me to the grave with you, rather than have me live more than a second knowing that I was right."

"You know me so well."


"Elf?" He heard Varric say. Or at least he thought. He couldn't really hear over his own retching.

It had hit him so suddenly and so violently, just moments after exiting the mage's clinic. He had nearly toppled over Varric when he ran towards the shaded corner, seeking the slightest of privacy. He was surprised at how much had come out of his empty stomach. It was entirely bile and wine.

"Elf?" He had heard again. This time a little louder than before. "You feeling alright, elf? Do you need me to get Blondie?"

Fenris attempted to speak, but all that came out was another river of vomit. He wiped his mouth clean with his palm and cursed to himself. He groaned and swallowed, tasting the wine he had drank that morning. He thought he was through with vomiting, having expelled most of the contents in his stomach the night before.

"I'm fine," Fenris hissed.

"Right. I should have known you were just peachy. Silly me."

As Fenris stood up and gave his mouth one final wipe, the door of the clinic swung open. Hawke appeared along with Anders; he could tell that Hawke had immediately sensed that something was off. Both men glanced towards Varric for answers, having yet to see him hiding in the shadow.

Varric shrugged, directing them to his presence. "The elf lost his lunch."

And once again, all eyes were on him.

"Fenris? What happened? Are you al-"

"I'm fine!" Fenris yelled with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. If he heard that question asked once more he could not be held responsible for whatever happens after. "It's just the stench of this place." Fenris stated before walking off, feeling his companions' concerned gazes on his back. He hated that. It made no difference to him what their intent was, it made him feel pitied all the same.

It wasn't long before he heard them following closely behind. He kept his eyes forward despite the whisper behind him. It was Anders no doubt. He could pick up that whine in the middle of a storm- unfortunately. Soon after, he heard a pair of heavy boots advancing on him, matching his stride.

"Where are you going?" Hawke asked.

"Sundermount," Fenris stated, his frustration evident.

"Well before we head there I need to pick up my daggers."

Fenris abruptly stopped, letting out a long, heavy sigh. "You left your weapons?"

"Yes, well, I hadn't planned on leaving Kirkwall today. What with having had a broken nose and all. Didn't want some bandit swinging a mallet at it."

"Do what you must."

"Excellent. We will be off to Sundermount soon enough," Hawke assured.

Fenris snorted in response and began walking in the direction of Hawke's estate. He clenched his shaky fists and tried to steady his breathing. His body was heating up. Sweat was seeping down his neck and pooling in small pockets were his clothing wrinkled. It was a disgusting feeling. As if he were not already filthy! He needed to cut something, soon, rip it to pieces, utterly destroy it, perhaps with his bare hands. This hunger he felt in the pit of his stomach. This desperation. It was eating away at him. It was causing his muscles to ache, his head to spin, and his blood to boil.

He huffed.

But at least he could take some solace in that sweet smell he seemed to be moving towards.


A/N: Yes, I know. A very late chapter. I can't say there won't be any more, because I am almost positive there will be.

This is unbeta-ed, so if you see any mistakes, especially distracting ones, please let me know so that I may fix it right away.