Likely Alliance

Chapter 9: It's Never Over

When they got to The Hanged Man, Fenris caught sight of Donnic, Aveline's husband and member of the guard, out of the corner of his eye. He gave the guardsman a small nod and whispered to Adahlen that the plan was underway. She swallowed, nodding. Her chest rose and fell in long slow breath and her eyes looked glassy. He held the door for her and watched her shake as she went inside, a chill passing over her from head to toe. Fenris had the strongest urge to console her, to comfort her, to grab her and tell her this was what she had been waiting for, that soon she would be free, really free, but he couldn't. He'd never felt anything in him like it before, and what was more, they had barely spoken since the meeting with Hawke the previous day. It felt like years ago.

The door slammed ominously behind him, echoing in the bar. It was nearly silent inside, a worrisome quiet that Fenris had never known in the inn. He was sure that Hawke had done her part and turned some of the patrons away for the evening, or even bribed them, but the insistent or ignorant few that lingered were more quiet than usual, keeping to themselves, to their drinks. In the corner of the bar, Fenris caught sight of Hawke. She sat alone and didn't look up at Adahlen or Fenris as she made a beckoning motion with her hand.

Fenris sat in a rickety chair and Adahlen stood behind him, her hand resting on the table as she bent to hear Hawke's words.

"Anders is upstairs. He will give the signal."

"The magis -" Fenris began, but Hawke cut him off.

"Already here."

"Where?" Adahlen asked, trembling

Hawke tipped her chin toward the steps.

"Aveline is outside with some of her guard," Hawke reaffirmed, and Fenris nodded, "but we will only call them in as a last-ditch effort. Without the guard, they can flee, and our first priority is stopping them."

"How did you..." Adahlen breathed.

Hawke shrugged and folded her hands. "Simple. I told them you would be here."

"You... spoke to them?" Fenris asked, skeptical.

"Not directly. But, and I am sad to say, your," she cleared her throat, "friends have friends of their own in high places, high places wherein I happen to reside."

"Who -" Fenris began to demand, but Anders appeared at the top of the stairs and quickly surveyed the bar, not allowing his eyes to rest on one place or person for too long. Casually, he tapped his staff against the floor and leaned against the doorway.

"Let's go," Hawke said. She had confidence in her voice, and for the first time, Fenris saw in Adahlen belief: this Marian Hawke, this Champion of Kirkwall, and her sundry crew, might just be able to keep Adahlen safe. They just might be able to win.

Hawke rose and walked ahead of Adahlen, who was followed by Fenris. Against his better judgement, he reached out and quickly took her hand, giving her fingers a quick squeeze before dropping them. She turned quickly to acknowledge his action and he thought he saw a smile. He tensed his fists, then flexed his hands out flat, finally letting his muscles relax as much as he could. He was prepared.

Anders nodded at them as they walked past; to anyone who watched at the bar, it would have looked like any other night at The Hanged Man, Hawke leading a group up to Varric's room for laughter and drinks. But Varric was not in his room, and the door was closed.

"I can't do this," Fenris heard Adahlen whisper, and from behind him, he heard Anders respond, "Of course you can." Briefly, he hated the mage for stepping in where he himself could have, but Fenris figured even Anders' words of comfort were worth something when they were true.

Hawke opened the door. Adahlen whimpered.

"So the Champion of Kirkwall has made time in her busy schedule to return property stolen from from the Tevinter Imperium. How generous," the magister's voice was as slick as his looks; feathery blonde hair, deep brown eyes, smooth skin, robes immaculate and glistening with their many golden threads. Hawke drew nearer to him. "Allow me to introduce myself," he went on. "I am Valerian, and these are my colleagues, Adora," and he indicated a sallow-faced woman to his left, whose tarnished-bronze hair was pulled back severely from her face, "and Horace," who was a squat little man with thick, dark hair parted fiercely down the middle. His robes were even more elaborate than Valerian's, and he adjusted them at the sound of his name.

"As I understand it," Adora said, cocking a suspicious eyebrow at Hawke, "you were the one who helped little Fenris murder poor Danarius. He was a good friend to me, Danarius."

"A good friend to us all," Valerian confirmed. "But perhaps the Champion has had a change of heart?"

Hawke smiled, and turned to Anders, who kicked the door shut. Fenris hadn't even noticed that Anders had slowly been egging them further into the room, but now they were all trapped here, the seven of them, the magisters outnumbered only by one.

"Not on your life," Hawke said firmly.

"Terribly unfortunate," Valerian said, licking his lips. "Little Adahlen, my favorite failure," he called her out, and Fenris watched her freeze. "What friends you've made. Such a shame," he walked alongside Varric's long table and approached the Dalish woman, but Hawke stayed fixed at her side, Fenris close behind. "I could have shown you mercy, had you not gone and spoiled our fun," he said, smiling sweetly at Fenris. Valerian clicked his tongue. "Horace?"

"Ah, indeed," he said oily. "Danarius willed his favorite slave to me, and I had come to collect what was rightfully mine."

"Two birds with one stone," Adora laughed.

"Your twisted rhetoric never changes," Fenris spat. "And you will not lay a hand on her." He stepped in front of Adahlen, narrowing his eyes and readying his blade.

"I don't need to," Valerian said carefully, his sick smile spreading. He raised his right hand only slightly. Behind Fenris, Adahlen made a series of quick, panicked noises and he spun around to face her, finding her elevated a few inches from the ground and encased in a thin wall of pale light. Her eyes were wide and frightened; they flicked about the room before landing on Fenris, pleading. But beyond her, Fenris could see Anders casting his own spell, ultraviolet and the smell of ozone spreading around Adahlen and her ethereal cage. Quickly enough, the casting was dispelled. If there were only one time Fenris were glad to have Anders' magic around, it was now.

Adahlen dropped, but claimed her feet again easily.

"You dare challenge me, mage?" Valerian spat. "You could join us, but instead you choose... this?" He turned his hand upwards, indicating the motley crue of Adahlen, Fenris, and Hawke.

"You're damned right I do," Anders said forcefully.

"You have no idea what kind of powers you're toying with."

From deep within him, Anders summoned up the spirit that used the mage's body as home. Overcome by the need to protect, Justice revealed himself in threatening blue mana-light on Anders' skin, and in his eyes. "But do you?" the transformed mage asked, his voice distorted by the spirit of the Fade.

Valerian's voice stayed calm but his eyes betrayed his concern as he ordered his comrades, "Get them. Take the slaves alive."

The fight declared, Fenris lunged at Valerian, leaping and bring his blade down on the magister, but the blow was glanced partly by a magical shield. From the corner of his eye, he saw Adahlen cloaked suddenly in blackness, creeping around the far edges of the room to Horace, distracted by his own spell casting. Adora bore on her sunken face absolute concentration, and it was then that Fenris heard the terrible, familiar crackle of the Veil splitting, and black Fade creatures were spat forth into material existence. Three magisters had no need for a posse of slaves or guards; the sheer number of demons they could summon was frightful. Hawke tore past with this same thought in mind, knowing that the summoning must be stopped.

From nothing, Anders conjured up a rain of fire. Fenris was not unfamiliar with the trick, and it disturbed each time that he received no injury from the glowing balls of plasma that glanced off his skin while Valerian quickly tried to back away from the flames. Performing his own trick of summoning, Fenris called forth the sickening power that lived in his skin, an instant of absolute pain racking his body as light poured from the lyrium, then subsided into a thin, controlled glow. He pressed on against Valerian, shades now at Fenris' back, rage demons plaguing Hawke on the opposite side of the room.

Horace had made to heal his companions but Adahlen, who was more skilled in battle than Fenris would have given her credit for, focused her efforts from a series of small blows into one explosive force, completely disrupting the magister's efforts to cast a spell. To add insult to injury, Horace now found himself bleeding, and tried to stem the flow with magic, forgetting his two companions in his panic. Her target sufficiently distracted, Adahlen slipped back into shadow so efficiently that Fenris himself, in the flurry of his own strikes, couldn't follow her movements until he saw her reappear behind Adora, Hawke having been made to focus her efforts on the legion of shades and abominations that were filling the room.

As soon as Anders' fire was extinguished, lashing waves of cold covered a half-moon shaped space, and Valerian slowed, frustration gleaming in his eyes. Reaching deep inside himself, the magister covered his body in a thick, ultraviolet haze, and Fenris had to step away. The slaver was impervious now, but not for long.

From behind him, Fenris heard Anders gasp, his own spellcasting taking its toll on the mage's possessed body. The light receded and the elf felt a cool sensation rush over him, cuts and magical burns healing.

Adora shrieked and Adahlen pulled a sticky, bloody dagger from the magister's back as the woman fell to the floor, finished. There was bloodlust in the Dalish woman's eyes. Spurred on by Adahlen's success, Hawke lashed her sword out and cut down two abominations. Though the room was still brimming with shades, some frozen from Anders' magic, the waves of reinforcements had been halted.

But Horace had regained his senses and the two remaining magisters, Valerian now released from his protective shell, seemed as refreshed as Fenris' own companions. Fenris swore. Anders was now focused on keeping those fighting alive; after his initial blast of damage, he had to keep his priorities in check. Hawke was still fighting the onslaught of Fade dwellers, and she was looking tired. But with each successive blow Fenris dealt Valerian, the elf felt more alive, every strike more powerful than the one before.

Adahlen screamed; one of the rage demons had made it to her, taking her by surprise; she'd been too focused on Horace to notice the beast behind her and Hawke could not hold them all. Resisting the urge to rush to her aid, Fenris called out to Anders, directing his attention to the flagging woman. Thankfully, the mage nodded, but Fenris saw his effort as he conjured up his last bit of mana to restore Adahlen.

"Hawke!" Anders called, and beckoned for lyrium. In one swift, unbroken motion, Hawke reached into a small pouch where she carried necessary supplies, withdrew a frighteningly blue phial, and tossed it to the mage, using the momentum of the motion to swing her sword around and cut into a group of shades. She'd felled most of them now and from the desperate gasps that were coming from Horace, Adahlen had finished off the healer and demon as well.

Fenris' confidence swelled, but in his distraction he failed to notice Valerian summoning an indigo orb, and suddenly the elf was being pulled helplessly toward the magister; to his dismay he saw the rest of his companions caught in the grip of the spell's gravity. He tried to pedal his feet against the tide, but it was hopeless. Opposite him, thin, lithe Adahlen was simply being dragged along the floor. Then, in a sudden blast of energy, the entire party was thrown against the wall, or into furniture.

For a moment, everything went dark.

Fenris' eyelids flickered open and he found himself in a corner, limbs askew, his sword feet away from him. He shook his head to fight the disorientation, and found Hawke bracing herself against the wall; Anders was crumpled over a chair and fighting to stand. The force of his own magic had knocked Valerian to his knees, but he rose easily, laughter spouting from his throat.

He failed to see Adahlen behind him, smallest and quickest of them all, and the first to rise. She dashed from the floor to a chair and onto Varric's long table, which had been knocked askew in the fray. Valerian heard the sound of her feet just fast enough to turn to face his former slave, just fast enough to watch her leap from higher ground, elbows recoiled.

She struck like a snake, lodging both daggers into Valerian's chest, knocking him to the floor. She went down with him, pinning him to the ground. Valerian tried to scream, but instead of sound, a bubble of blood issued from his mouth and his neck went limp, his hands still reaching for Adahlen with his last few breaths. Adahlen ripped out the daggers and thrust them in again, first the right, then the left. She withdrew and stuck the blades into the flesh of him arms, creating long, dark gashes in his skin, then jammed them into his face, twisting them. Each time she made a mark, marks that mimicked the black stains on her own skin, and each time she screamed like she herself were taking the blows. Fenris climbed to his feet and went to her as she inserted the blades into the fallen magister again.

"Ada," he said softly, "stop. It's over."

Either she didn't hear him or she gave him no heed, vicious tears running down her cheeks, washing away the blood that painted her skin in streaks as she lodged her knife in his chest again. Fenris reached out from behind her and grabbed her arms, pulling her away from the corpse. Adahlen fought with her fists, leaving the blades in Valerian's body, and knocked Fenris to his knees, but his grip on her remained firm and she collapsed against him, beating his chest with her hands until she was exhausted and gave in, racking sobs shaking her body as she pressed her face against Fenris' neck. He drew up his knees around her, her own body curled into a ball like an infant as she gasped for air, his arms holding her tight.

Fenris looked up and caught sight of Hawke, leaning weary and battered against a bruised Anders. Both were silent, understanding. Hawke nodded her head at the door, to show that she and the mage would leave them be. Fenris nodded, and the door swung open for an instant as the pair left the room, then blessedly shut again. Fenris clutched Adahlen, smoothed her dark hair, shiny with blood, and told her again, "It's over."

She clung to him, and with a choked sob, she spat, "It's never over."


Note: Well, folks, that's what I have written up to (okay, that's partially a lie; I have at least one more chapter fairly complete, and maybe some bits and pieces of what could become an epilogue). I hope you've enjoyed the journey so far and as the story comes to a close I hope you'll be willing to share your thoughts on the tale so far. If you've checked my profile you'll know I already have a whole new DAII piece in the works but I promise to finish Likely Alliance before a single word of that goes up. I just hope you'll bear with me, as the going may be slow as I wind my way down. Thanks again.