A/N: I know this chapter has been a long time coming, and I can't tell you all how grateful I am for how patient you've been with how long it's taken me to get it written and posted. Thank you for sticking with me!
That being said, I have an important announcement of sorts. As you all know my life is exceptionally hectic. Between running my business, real life obligations and the like, the time I have for writing is not extensive. It's shrank even more so lately, as my boyfriend and I are in the process of buying our first home, and while exciting as it is the process is not an easy one.
For the sake of my mental health and wanting to ensure I give you all the best story I possibly can, I'm going to be going on a mini-hiatus with both TCWAA and Abaddon until we've gotten ourselves settled in. Between moving, seeing to the renovations we want to do and going to DragonCon all within a two week span of each other, my head is just not going to be in the game. I apologize for the less than pleasant news, but I PROMISE I will be back sooner rather than later. At the longest, I'd say I'll be back to working on my stories by the middle of September at the VERY latest.
I hope you can all understand, and please please please believe me when I say this is most certainly only a TEMPORARY hiatus. I could never walk away from these stories without finishing them!
Until then, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and please let me know what you think!
Enjoy the rest of your summer! :3
To Conspire With An Antivan - Chapter 10
"Is, er, everything all right, Zev?"
"Yes, yes, of course. Only another moment, if you please. I nearly have it now."
"You sure you don't need help? You've been struggling with it for a while now."
"Ah, but these things take time! It is an art, after all, not something to be forced. You would not rush a painter to complete his masterpiece, would you?"
Somewhere off to their right something moved, Fenris's ears perking at the sound of metal shifting. In an instant his hand shot to the hilt of his sword, assumptions jumping automatically to the thought of a mercenary they might have somehow missed in the aftermath of their fight, asinine enough to make another attempt rather than fleeing. A quick shift of his feet turned him towards them, snarl already spreading across his mouth – only to find Aveline in their place, his hostility met with a pointed arch of her brow. The tension in his jaw and shoulders eased at the sight of her, face smoothing into something he hoped resembled apology as his hand fell back to his side. It was apparently a passable attempt as the short-lived coolness in Aveline's gaze turned into something more knowing as she passed him by, giving him a nod and clap on the shoulder in the process.
"The main entrance is off in the far corner, like we thought," she said, with a jab of her thumb over her shoulder. "Had a bit of a stroke of luck as well. Caught Maecon and Riddley while they were passing through on their rounds. I have them sending word to Donnic to bring some of the men so we can get this lot moving to the Keep and — Maker, is he still fighting with that damned lock?"
"Apparently so," Fenris said in annoyance while his eyes flicked back to where the Antivan crouched before the door. What was left of the grip he'd kept around his temper throughout the day was beginning to slip, the man's temporary abandonment having worn spectacularly through his patience. Nothing but reckless bravado, Fenris thought bitterly to himself as he scowled down at the back of his head, meant only as an attempt to impress and build his arrogance larger still. Though if nothing else, he found himself glad Hawke had seen through the show and had not hesitated to take him to task for the carelessness of it.
He forced the thought out of his mind with a small shake of his head, grateful for the distraction of Varric's voice before he could begin to dwell on the implications behind the notion.
"I don't know, Hawke. Looks like you might want to reconsider that little threat of yours before you give Pretty Boy my slot," he said, thick lips curling into a smirk as he gave a mocking tsk. "A rogue who can disarm a damned near invisible set of traps but can't pick a lock to save his life? Now that's just depressing."
"Such slander! You wound my pride, my stout friend." A metallic tick, followed in short succession by two more and the soft click of the lock's latch sliding free. "Aha! There you have it! I will consider any apologies you would wish to offer me now."
"Right. Well done." Aveline stepped forward, bustling the assassin out of her way as she took up the door's latch in her hand and gestured towards the bound mercenaries with her chin. "You and Varric stay out here. Make sure our friends don't try anything unwise while we sort out whatever mess Caius left behind."
Fenris did not miss the way the assassin's posture stiffened, or the quick sideways glance he cast in Hawke's direction. When she gave no sign of disagreeing with Aveline's instructions, however, he assented to them with a nod.
"And so it shall be done," he said with a tight smile, hair swishing about his ears from the sharpness of his turn while he made his way back towards the far corner of the room. Varric watched him go for a moment before moving to follow after him with a shrug, turning to toss a glance back towards them as he went.
"Give us a yell if you run into anything interesting. Or more slavers. Either way, we'll be here if you need us."
"Let us have this over with," Fenris said shortly as he turned back to face the doorway, eagerness to be gone now that their task was nearly complete gnawing at the back of his head. Even with the skirmish finished the air still hung charged about them, settling uncomfortably against his skin. A prickling, intrusive thing, the sensation was not unlike the static which had coursed over flesh and brands when he had thrown himself and Hawke out of the path of Caius's lightning. Yet even with the long minutes since the mage's end they refused to dull or die out, leaving Fenris agitated, restless. His fingers flexed at his sides to keep himself from rubbing at his arms, certain there would be no balm to be found for something he was slowly beginning to believe the product of his own mind, though whatever the reason for it he could not hope to guess.
No, there was nothing for it but to leave this place and its ghosts behind. The sooner it was possible, the better.
"Have to say I agree with Fenris," Hawke said from where she had placed herself beside Aveline, words coming out tired but carrying none of the same wariness he himself felt. "I've had enough of sewers and dodgy warehouses for the day, thank you very much."
The door opened into a room much like all of the others they had come across that afternoon; stacks of dust coated crates and barrels were piled high to cover the rough-hewn boards which lined the floor and walls, their carved stone hidden away in all places save the ceiling. Thin shafts of sunlight poured in from small windows set along the face of the rock which Fenris realized must face out towards the docks, while a handful of unlit sconces sat bolted into the room's corners and at either side of a cluttered desk. Aveline made for it at once, her interest snatched by a leather bound ledger much like the one they had spotted in the hands of Caius's business partner earlier by the moorings of his ship.
The pages rustled beneath her hand as she pawed through them, her finger catching and jabbing at one in particular after a few moments' searching while the lines creasing her forehead deepened. "It looks like we were lucky," she said in disgust, her mouth thinning before she looked up towards Hawke. "They were scheduled to move out their latest shipment of... cargo in less than an hour. Much later and they would have slipped out beneath our noses. Again."
"Does it say anything about where they were holding them in here?" Hawke asked, looking back from where she had been about to turn a corner and slip behind the mountain of unpacked goods. "This place is liked a blighted—"
"Champion?"
A new voice, high pitched and muffled by the wall of wares it was hidden behind, sounded from around the corner where Hawke stood, the meekness it carried far more familiar to Fenris's ear than he would have wished. It struck at something in him he had long since tried to bury, the memory of how his own speech had once shook with the same timid pitch jumping to the front of his mind before he could do anything to stop it. His stomach clenched at the thought: the image of himself, cowed at Danarius's feet, flashed in front of his eyes and was chased by a rolling wave of nausea. No sooner had it appeared than he was shoving it away, however, the spark still flicking against his skin turning sharp for a second's time, spiking with his annoyance at himself for allowing something meager as a scared captive's voice to leave him shaken.
"I believe that is your answer," he said with unintended shortness while he crossed to round the stack of goods at Hawke's shoulder, only to have his teeth clench at what they found.
Hidden away in the shadows of the corner stood a cell, thick with the scent of damp and unwashed bodies, built of iron bars rusted with age which reached barely a human's height above the floor before they folded backwards to connect with the wall behind it. Several sets of chains were bolted into the stone as well, shackles and collars attached at their free ends. Black and sinister as the intentions of the men who had made use of them, some hung free to pool against the floor, others pulled taut to hang in the air from the wrists and necks of the captives within.
The nausea flared back into life in Fenris's stomach at the sight of them, though this time it was far more heated and bitter, paired not with troubling memories but disgust which snared in his throat and twisted his mouth into a jagged, harsh line. Five of them. Two elven men and a woman, as well as a pair of familiar youths he recalled seeing along the harbor walk not a week's time ago. They huddled together against the far wall now, faces caked in dirt and eyes blown wide as they watched Hawke take the few steps needed to reach the cell.
"It is you!" The chains about the elven woman's neck and wrists creaked, drawn tight when she brought herself as close to the bars as they would allow, what little light crept into their corner making the angular lines of her face all the more sharp. Dress torn about the hem, forehead and hair stained with dried blood, she looked as though she might crumble under her relief, shoulders rounding and eyes growing damp the moment they fell onto Hawke. "Oh, praise the Maker! Praise Andraste!"
One of the men, short and sporting yellowed bruises at an eye and along his jaw, stepped forward then as well, his hands raised imploringly before him. "Please... please let us free. My wife, my son... They've no idea where I've been for near a fortnight now."
"It's all right," Hawke said quietly, tone kept gentle despite the firmness Fenris could see creeping ever further along the lines of her shoulders and back as she gave the door of the cell an experimental pull. "We'll have you out as soon as we can. Aveline." A quick toss of her head sent her gaze towards the guard captain still behind them, her expression turned pinched and harried. "Go get Varric. I'm not breaking this lock on my own."
"There's no need!" the woman said hurriedly, metal links protesting again as she threw a hand out to point back towards the slaver's desk, its corner just visible from where they stood. "The mage's keys are in there! I saw him put them in one of the drawers before he ran out into the other room."
A short moment of searching later and Aveline had moved to place them in Hawke's hand, the ring made of heavy brass and carrying near on a dozen keys. "Which one is it?" Hawke asked with a glance towards the woman, her hand already at the lock. "Do you remember?"
"That one, just there in the middle. The one with three hoops at the top."
"Bless you, Champion," the man said with a heavy sigh. "You truly are as merciful as they say."
The door of the cell fell open without protest, both Hawke and Aveline wasting no time in making their way inside to begin working at the prisoners' bindings.
Fenris, however, held himself back, turning instead to stalk back around the corner. The earlier bristle of energy he had felt sparked and snapped along his skin, the realization that it had not been born of disquiet but slow-building ire hitting him hard. Caius's words echoed through his head as he began to pace a short line out of the sight of the others, the dig of his gauntlets into his palms acting in counterpoint to the tight ache building beneath his ribs.
Certain interested parties have offered a most handsome reward … The both of you together are worth ten times as much … Danarius …
Something feral-sounding slipped past Fenris's bared teeth. Yes, they had been successful once again, but there had been a moment far too long where he had not been so certain luck was on their side, too many close calls and near misses for him to be able to avoid the thought of 'what if'. It had been clear from the start that death would have been a kindness beyond the mage's mercy, that if their group had been the one to fall rather than his own Fenris would not have been the only one made to wear one of the sets of chains in the cage behind him.
The both of you together are worth ten times as much … Danarius …
Danarius.
The urge was nearly too strong for him to ignore, but Fenris jerked himself to a halt before fury claimed the better of him, a small spark of light flaring along his arms as he dropped his head to bite out another curse rather than take his frustrations out on the desk in front of him. He was a fool of the worst sort, the fact that he had not thought of the possibility of his old master placing a bounty on Hawke's head in addition to his own a sign of just how complacent he had become during his time within the city's walls. It would be a matter of pride to him – the idea of his prized slave being seen, as he would take it, under the control of some lowbrow apostate would have galled him once the stories reached his door. Of course he would have felt it necessary, of the utmost importance, that he make an example of her as well as his runaway. His pride would have demanded it.
Caius had been only the first; by now every band of slavers between Minrathous and Perivantium would have been made aware of the reward awaiting the first able to subdue Kirkwall's Champion. And while Hawke would no doubt brush off his concerns should she know of them, insist their group's streak of successes against each lot they had come against proof of how small the threat they posed was, Fenris could not, would not allow himself the same naivety. So long as Danarius still drew breath and the promise of coin remained the chase would persist, each felled hunter replaced by four more ready to undertake the challenge themselves. And how long would it be before one of them succeeded? Hawke may have prided herself on her tendency for narrow escapes, but even she could not truly expect fate to grant them such luck indefinitely. No, it would only be a matter of time until her fortunes ran their course, until she too would know the feel of iron at her throat.
All because of his decision to remain at her side.
"Fenris?"
The sound of Hawke's voice behind him snapped him from his thoughts, expression still hard as he jerked his head towards her. She all but balked at the sight of him, a startled blink the only hint he needed to see her surprise for what it was, and while he may have known it to be unfounded and could not for the life of him think of a reasoning for it, it still made the anger churning in his chest spike.
"We've... finished. With the shackles." The lines of her forehead shifted, lifted brows falling only to pinch themselves together above her eyes. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," he said, and while the sharpness behind the word was expected, the wince which flicked across her face in response sent something sharp digging between his ribs. "... I am fine."
She took a step closer, head cocked, and he moved without thought in response, careful to keep the same distance between them. "Are you sure? You've gone a bit pale and—"
"Hawke—"
"That's the last of it, then," Aveline said as she came around the corner from the cell, her voice as welcome and well-timed a diversion as Fenris had ever known. Hawke's hand, half raised and looming dangerously close, dropped back to her side as she glanced back to the guard captain, her distraction enough for Fenris to give himself an extra foot's worth of space.
"I suppose you'll need to question them as well?" she asked when she turned herself to face Aveline, Fenris almost unable to catch the relieved sigh building in his throat at the loss of her attention.
Aveline nodded, the corners of her mouth drawn down. "I have to if we're to have any case to build against Caius's partner at the docks. They'll be free to go home to their families within the hour." Her eyes flicked from Hawke to Fenris, and while he made his best efforts to ease his expression into something neutral, her frown still deepened when their gazes met. "It's been near on a half hour now. Donnic and the others should be arriving soon, and Varric and I are more than capable of keeping the rabble out there under control until then." Her eyes fell back onto Hawke then, gratitude plain in her voice when she said: "You've done enough for the day – take Fenris and Zevran with you and head home. We'll have everything under control."
"But—"
"I said go home, Hawke. I can handle this from here."
Hawke made a noise of protest, only to have it met head-on by a glare from the guard captain, both gauntlet-covered hands coming up to rest at her hips. "Oh... Fine then. Maker knows I could use a meal and new pair of boots anyway." She was facing Fenris once again in the next second, hair and staff moving against her back while she turned with a huff. "What do you say? Ready to be off?"
"Exceptionally so," he said, the gruff edge yet to leave his voice.
Hawke's mouth pursed at the sound, Fenris finding himself glad when she made no further attempts to draw attention to the sour turn of his mood. Instead her head tilted forward, a small, disappointed sigh dropped to the floor before she started off in the direction of the door. "By all means, then. I've had my fill of this place."
It was made swiftly apparent that the assassin was also more than of a mind to be on his way from the warehouse, the enthusiasm in his agreement to join Hawke on her return home outmatched only by the size of the grin which spread across his face. Varric's farewell was kept brief, his quip of false annoyance at being left to play jailor met with rolled eyes and an offer to payback his hardship with a round at their card game later that week. Plied with the promise of free alcohol the dwarf's frown quickly became a smirk, a final wave of farewell from him and quick glance towards the mercenaries bound together in the far corner of the room the only precursor to Hawke turning to lead the way towards the warehouse's exit.
Even with the bustle of workers and overpowering scent of fish and salt, Fenris could not deny the relief he felt at being back out in the open air of the docks. It was not enough to ease his worries completely – a change of scenery did all of nothing to remedy his new-found concerns, after all. Still, the feel of a cool breeze off the water and through his hair acted as, if not a cure, then a balm for overtaxed nerves, allowing at least some portion of the tension he had carried since Caius's threat to fall away.
'Some' was far from 'all' , however, and much as Fenris may have made an effort not to show any further agitation than what he had already let slip in the slavers' den, he could not quite be rid of the stiffness which turned his jaw to stone and left his steps clipped. Hawke, exasperatingly keen as always to the foulness of his mood, needed little time to take notice of it, the glances shot back over her shoulder towards him growing in frequency as they made their way back along the wharfs. Yet draw her brow and worry at her lip as she might, she made no further attempts to pry into his thoughts, a wired silence growing in their absence. The feel of it pressed hard at the back of Fenris's mind, guilt at his part in its arrival leaving something knotted in the pit of his stomach. But undesirable a turn as the mood between them had taken, he could not bring himself to regret it, the threat of explanations he did not wish to give enough to hold his tongue.
Their walk continued in strained quiet, the lower market passed and first several sets of staircases climbed without so much as a word spoken between their group. The assassin, heedless as could be expected from one so thoroughly self-obsessed, seemed to find no discomfort in the strain which followed them, his attention flicking lazily through the crowd and a low, aimless tune whistled past his lips as they moved. By the time they had reached the last stretch of the Lowtown market the sound of it was well and truly grating at Fenris's ears, and it was with a pleased sigh that he spotted the first glimpse of the district's stairway, tan stone looming high over patron and storefront alike. Soon they would be parting ways; Fenris to climb his way to the top of Hightown's plaza, Hawke and her unsavory house guest to turn right down a narrow side street which would lead them down into Darktown towards the tunnels into her estate's cellars.
They were nearly there, Fenris only just beginning to wonder how much time he should allow himself to bathe and rest before returning to his hidden post for the evening, when—
"Messere, please! I've done nothing wrong!"
The shout sent something heavy to settle in the center of his chest, what little consolation he had found in the end of at least this day's troubles smothered beneath a rise of new irritation. He grimaced while he turned his head towards its sound, knowing well before he laid eyes on the pale-faced woman or the group of armored men surrounding her that Hawke would find reason to insert herself, and by connection him, into the situation. Then one of the men turned, a flash of sunlight glinting against polished steel and the weight in his chest plummeted into the bottom of his stomach, the hairs at the back of his neck prickling at the sight of a black burnished sword in the center of their cuirass.
Templars.
All resignation he had felt moments before disappeared in the time it took his eyes to flick to the back of Hawke's head, a slow-churning dread rising in its place which curled all the harder about his ribs as he watched her bristle and draw herself up to her full height. "Hawke," he said in warning, forehead lining while her hands balled into white-knuckled fists at her sides, "do not."
Beside them the assassin remained unaware of the new brewing tension, his expression one of piqued curiosity as he came to a halt and threw a quick look between them. "Something wrong, my friend? Is there a reason we have stopped?"
"Yes." The templars moved a step closer to the woman, her eyes going wide as she shuffled herself backwards to press flush against her doorway. Fenris was certain he could hear Hawke's teeth grind together at the sight of it. "There most certainly is."
"Hawke—"
There was nothing for it. Before he could so much as make to step forward, intent on taking hold of her arm to force her away from the scene and whatever asinine intervention she wished to attempt, she was already well beyond his reach. Jaw high she stalked across the street towards the corner hovel, the distinct lack of caution in her approach leaving him certain whatever miniscule sense of self-preservation she may have held had been shucked off in favor of idiocy.
"Venhedis."
The assassin's voice sounded somewhere to his right, a questioning inflection lifting the last word. Fenris made no attempt to hear or answer him, all focus split between his rush to see himself back to Hawke's side and the string of obscenities flitting through his head regarding daft mages without the sense to leave well enough alone.
"Mind telling me just what's going on here?" Hawke asked from where she now stood a yard's length from the nearest templar, tone thick with false congeniality and hands anchored firmly to her hips.
The dark-haired man turned to look back over his shoulder at the question, annoyance swiftly paired with a frown at the sight of her. "Be on your way, Champion," he said, with a condescending sniff. "The Circle's business is no concern of yours."
"Oh but it most certainly is." The derision in her voice was unmistakable, the sound of it tearing a groan from Fenris's throat which he was only just able to catch in his mouth while he brought himself to a stop behind her. "At least when templars start harassing innocent people in the middle of the street."
One of the dark-haired man's companions shot a glare of their own towards Hawke at the accusation, thin face lining while the man next to her shifted in place, mouth pulled down into a sneer. Fenris's fingers twitched, muscles tensing against the urge to reach for his sword while the pair's leader threw out his arm behind him, dissuading whatever intentions they may have held with a firm gesture.
"This 'innocent'," he said coolly as he turned to face Hawke, hand moving to point accusingly towards the cowering woman, "aided an escaped apostate. By the law of the order, her crime cannot go unpunished."
"All I did was feed my cousin!" the woman shouted, her voice cracked through with desperation as she tossed a fearful glance around the templars' backs. "She turned up here in the middle of the night! They'd starved her – had her whipped! What was I supposed to do?"
The tightness in Fenris's chest grew stronger at the anger which flared into life and off Hawke, hot and palpable as heat thrown from an open fire. And while there was no way for him to see her face from his angle at her back, the jerk of her head left him dreadfully certain the look she passed over the templar held no small amount of revulsion.
"Hawke," he said in quiet insistence, frustration and wariness working at his last strings of patience, "this is not wi—"
"Whipped?" The attempt did him little good. She cut him off without the slightest sign of having heard him while her focus turned back to the woman, voice carrying an edge sharp as any dagger.
Her mouth pressed thin as she gave a hurried nod, brown hair coming loose from her tail to shake about her ears. "She was in a terrible way, messere. Maker, there's no way I could have lived with myself if I'd turned my back on her when she was like that!"
"So the templars have taken to beating their mages now?" Again Hawke's attention went to the dark-haired man, and again she made no effort to curb the show of her anger. "Here I thought the order was sworn to protect them, not pummel them to within an inch of their life."
"Hawke," Fenris said urgently, irritation slipping from the grip he kept around it and into his voice, earning him an indignant look tossed over her shoulder. Yet slighted as she may have felt at his sharpness he simply could not find it within himself to care. His restraint had been drawn too tight, his want to see the both of them as far removed from the scene needling him just as insistently as her stubbornness and leaving no room for guilt over wounded feelings. Annoyance was still there when he spoke next, his brow drawn down hard over narrowed eyes. "This is not our place. We should move on."
The templar shifted, drawing himself up to a fuller height while his expression hardened. "Listen to your elf, Champion. The Knight-Commander tolerates your own use of magic in gratitude of your service to the city, but do not think this means she will stand for your interference with the order's duties." Focus turned back to his men, he gave a short gesture towards the woman with his chin. "Ser Eleanor, see to it that this woman is taken in for questioning. She will face her punishment for her crimes."
"No!" The woman's eyes widened, white face turning green at the edges while she made to move further away from the templars coming towards her, only to press that much firmer against her door, hands scrabbling at knotted wood. "No, I've done nothing wrong! You can't do this! Andraste save me, I haven't—!"
The templar at her right flew forward, lifted off of her feet and thrown effortlessly against the wall at the side of the doorway, her shout cut short by the crash of metal against stone. She clattered to the ground in an unmoving, breathless heap, and before Fenris could do more than register what had happened her companion was given the same treatment, head and shoulder snapping hard against the wall before falling like a dropped sack of flour. His sense came back to him in time to turn an incredulous glare onto Hawke, stance shifted wide with her hand still outstretched, the last flickers of mana from her force spell dying out around the tips of her fingers. Somewhere behind them a pair of boots scrapped against cobblestones, the assassin rushing towards the commotion while the templars' leader spun back to face them, all pretense at civility abandoned when a snarl tore its way across his face.
"You will pay dearly for this, Champ—"
It happened faster than Fenris could blink. There was not even enough time for his hand to finish shooting to the hilt of his blade, the flare of heat along his brands dying out prematurely at the sight of the man being drawn up into the air as though by an invisible hook. He hovered there for the span of an instant, enough time for him to curse Hawke's name, before he was dragged back down and into the ground with equal strength, skull cracking against stone hard enough to leave him unconscious before his body could settle in place.
Fenris heard Hawke move, listened as she went to the woman and instructed her to find some place safe to hide herself while she offered her hurried thanks before taking off at a run down the street, giving some vague assurance that she would find refuge with family at a nearby farmstead. He took in none of it, the conversation nothing more than a wash of white noise in the background of the anger rushing in his head.
In a blur of black leather and white hair he turned on her, wanting nothing more than to scream, to take hold of her by the shoulders and shake her hard as he could. Because by now he was convinced there would be no other way to make this woman – this damned, senseless fool of a mage – see anything close to the reason she so desperately lacked. In three short strides he was at her front, and while he was somehow able to keep his fists balled against the impulse, he was still certain the glower he wore was dark enough to rival the worst clouds of a summer storm. She met his anger with a defiant lift of her chin, arms preemptively crossed over her chest and mouth hard, no sign of shame or guilt for him to find behind her challenge. The sight of it only made the heat in his chest broil that much worse, bile clawing its way from his stomach up his throat to burn at the back of his tongue, certain at this moment he could very well spit acid if he wished to.
"What have you done?" The question hissed through his teeth, lips pulling back to bare them in a feral growl.
Hawke sniffed, head lifting all the higher as her eyes flashed with her typical, infuriating obstinacy. "By the looks of it I'd say I just kept an innocent woman from being tossed in some Gallows cell to rot."
"You attacked templars!"
"What was I supposed to do? Sit here and do nothing while they dragged her off?"
"Allow them to carry out their orders!" Breath came hard through his nose, chest heaving as he made a sharp gesture out towards the shape of the Gallows looming just within sight in the far distance of the harbor. "What do you suppose the Knight-Commander will do when she learns of this?"
Hawke gave a hard snort, eyes a small, nearly imperceptible pinch. "I really couldn't give a damn less what Meredith thinks. Just because she feels like she has claim over running the city doesn't mean I have to cow to her ordering her men to harass random people on the street. I'm supposed to be their 'Champion', remember?"
"Continue forcing yourself into matters which are no concern of yours and you will lose yourself that title, Hawke – along with whatever protection it gives you."
Her mouth fell open, some retort half formed in her mouth, but a sharp shift spun him in place before she could get it out, unwilling to listen to whatever latest attempt at justifications she wished to throw at him. Muttered curses fell hard to the ground with each footstep as he stormed off in the direction of the Hightown stairs, whatever guilt he may have felt at leaving her behind quickly drowned out by still-growing choler, unable for the life of him to reason how it was he could expect himself to keep a woman so keen on self-destruction safe.