THIS IS A DA2 AU! Same characters. Different circumstances.
Characters: fem!Hawke/Fenris + companions in lesser roles (They all belong to Bioware - just don't tell Fenris. He's sensitive about those things.)
Setting: Tevinter Imperium
Thanks: No betas on this chapter so I apologize if there are more errors than usual. Thanks to all of you for your patience and your comments. Hearing from you makes my day. Reviews are love!
(Oh and it's mah birthday today! August 10th - and here I am posting chapter 10...coincidence? Hmmm.)
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Chapter 10: One of Those Days, Part 2
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After their unfriendly chat, Sofira followed Magister Trasaric back to her dining hall and waited as he picked through the assembly looking for Anders. The baleful blue of his eyes bore into every face. Most of the men, women and children cowered innocently enough under his glare.
Two did not.
Hawke tensed as Trasaric approached Fenris. The elf submitted to the magister's gaze with the bare minimum of respect, bowing his head only slightly. He kept his eyes on the magister's body, watching the man's movements without any sign of fear. Hawke had the impression they were stalking each other. Whether this came from familiarity or something else, she didn't know. Luckily, it didn't seem to bother the Archon's agent either way and he soon moved on.
Sofira quietly let out the breath she'd been holding, grateful that Trasaric hadn't thought to ask the elf where Anders was. After yesterday... well, she wasn't sure how that would have gone.
Aveline, holding Bellator's collar and standing proudly at attention, had also drawn the magister's scrutiny. He didn't seem to approve of the way she met his eyes, nor the fact that she didn't jump when he barked, "Name!" in her ear. She'd given it to him with her title, "Guard-Captain Aveline," but without a Ser to follow. Hawke could see him filing this information away, as he registered her snub with a tightening of his lips.
When it was clear none of those assembled was the healer in disguise, he shot Sofira a meaningful glance and led his troops out of the mansion.
Trasaric was gone.
The echo of metal boots marching on flagstones still rang in her ears. So cliché. It would have been funny except that it wasn't. At all. Trasaric had given her one week to find a lead on relics that he hadn't been able to recover in all the time he'd been spying on Danarius. Or she could turn in Anders for execution. If neither of those happened, she would be taken to the government gallows and hung until dead. Three possibilities - all shit.
She let out another slow breath. At least she was now officially sober, any residual alcohol affects driven from her body by the harsh whip of reality.
Hawke looked to Aveline, who gave her friend a bolstering nod and released her grip on Bellator's collar. It was like firing an arrow.
The beast bounded over to his mistress, stubby tail wagging so hard he ended up running sideways and missing his mark. He skidded to a stop, turned around and came gamboling back, pushing his massive head into Sofira's outstretched hands. She cooed for him, sending him into deeper fits of wriggling as she scratched her nails through the fur covering his thickly-muscled neck and shoulders.
"Who's my good boy? Those bad men didn't hurt you, did they?"
He woofed.
She took comfort in the feel of his warm body pressing into her side and looked up, but Aveline was no longer where she'd been.
As Sofira scanned the crowd, the dramatic dark and light of Fenris' shape caught her attention. He was leaning back against the wall now, brooding. The elf seemed self-bound by the tight grip of his crossed arms. Sofira didn't see any marks of combat on his skin. Except for the dark circles around his eyes, he seemed none the worse for wear. It couldn't have been easy for him to hold back during an invasion to his master's estate but she was glad he had showed discretion. Bloodshed would certainly have made this situation far worse than it already was.
A flash of light drew her eye - Aveline's meticulously polished armor. The Guard-Captain was speaking to four of her men in hushed tones, gesticulating in short, angry jerks. Hawke guessed the red head's comments weren't complimentary, judging from the expressions of shame on their faces. Good. Hawke had a few choice words selected for them as well.
Merrill and Tuela were comforting the children. Merrill knelt before one sniffling tot, wiping away a tear with her fingertips and coaxing out a tentative little smile. Tuela ruffled the heads of the two clinging to her skirts. The last two children, dark-haired girls, held hands as one on the left rocked back and forth on her heels. They had similar features leading Sofira to assume a kinship existed between them. For a heartbeat, she gazed at them wistfully.
Trasaric's damned soldiers had even dragged the poor chambermaid Yulian out of her recovery bed. Aran had her arms around the girl. Sofira could see the housekeeper's lips moving, whispering words of encouragement.
The rest of the assemblage looked up at their mistress, waiting. Sofira's leader instincts wanted to offer them comforting words but the indignation churning in her gut refused to recede.
"The excitement is over. Everyone back to your duties. Aveline! A word with you."
Hawke frowned at the way her voice conveyed a harshness she hadn't intended, as if Trasaric's brusque manner had settled in her throat. If only to prove to herself that she was not becoming yet another heartless magister, she added a "please".
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"Are my guardsmen unclear on the concept of guarding? They're supposed prevent people from entering without my permission, not throw open the gates and invite everyone in! First Hadriana, now this bastard and his brute squad."
They'd retreated to the small armory where Hawke had spoken with Fenris the day before. Bellator huffed his disfavor at the mention of Danarius' apprentice.
"I know, Hawke," said Aveline, nodding. "I know. I told them yesterday that Hadriana is no longer welcome here, but it's against Tevinter law to refuse anyone bearing the Archon's seal. They had no choice but to let that man in. I just told them that, if it happens again, to stall him and come find me.
"I'm sorry, Hawke. It's a learning process for them. They're all so inexperienced..."
"Bunch of milquetoasts, you mean. Fantastic. Just what I need guarding my property. Do me a favor, when you hire more men, find me some bigger, nastier-looking types. Preferably the kind who bite the heads off puppies when they're bored! Maybe that will keep people away."
Bellator lifted an ear and whined.
Aveline raised her eyebrows. "You really want me to hire men like that?"
Sofira chewed her lip.
"No..." she said softly, patting the mabari on his head. Aveline didn't deserve her anger. She'd done this to herself. Bethany was avenged but... she didn't feel any better and now things were even worse than before. How was she going to fix this without anyone else she cared about dying?
Hawke clenched her fists, wanting to punch someone. Trasaric's face sprang to mind. Uttering a sharp, guttural shout, she whirled around and smacked her palms against a tower of crates stacked against the wall. Between her hands was a dark knot marring the otherwise uniform surface of ashen brown. She leaned her forehead until it touched wood and closed her eyes.
There was a clicking of nail on stone. She felt Bellator press his head into her side.
"Come on, Hawke, how bad can it be?" asked Aveline, offering a weak smile.
Sofira took a deep breath.
"That mage bearing the Archon's seal? He's an Imperial agent named Trasaric. Apparently, Danarius was trying to acquire some rare Qunari artifacts for his own nefarious purposes and Trasaric got assigned to watch him. Unfortunately, Trasaric did a piss poor job of finding any hard evidence.
"Enter: me... I break the golden rule that magisters don't duel magisters without a writ, and suddenly Trasaric's connection to the artifacts is lying on the floor with a knife through his throat.
"As you can imagine, this has placed me at the tippity top of Trasaric's shit list. So, if I want to avoid being hung in the gallows, I must find these artifacts. Oh, yes, and I have one week to get a solid lead."
"Oh," said the guardswoman. "Is that all..."
"Actually, no." Sofira pushed herself away from the crates and faced her companion. "Trasaric was at Danarius' banquet the other night. He saw Justice so, of course, he thinks Anders is an abomination and he wants me to turn him in for confinement, possibly execution."
"Maker," breathed Aveline, green eyes wide. "That'll teach me to joke."
"My friend, if we didn't have humor, we'd all have fallen on our own blades years ago. Don't give up on me now."
"Oh, no. Of course not."
They stood in silence, the weight of the situation settling on both of them.
After a moment, Aveline asked, "If Danarius is dead, why do you still need to find these artifacts? Didn't the threat die with the man?"
"Trasaric didn't say but I would not be surprised if Danarius had accomplices. If so, one of them might see his death as an opportunity for personal advancement. As Isabela would say, 'Take over the plan, do whatever Danarius was planning to do with those artifacts, and then profit!'"
"Makes sense," Aveline said. "I wonder if anyone here might have been in on it. Or, maybe they overheard something. They could help you."
"Yes, I agree. We should question anyone who knew Danarius, servants, known associates... family, if he has any, if he didn't already kill and eat them long ago." She paused, hoping for a smile from her friend, but Aveline only looked more distraught so she simply went into planning. They would both feel better with a plan in place anyway. "First, we need to find Anders and make sure he's safe. If I leave the mansion, I'm sure to be followed. Maybe we could send teams out in different directions? Then, one of us could get to The Grey Lady."
The Guard-Captain frowned. "How many teams? I assume you mean to use the guard but don't forget the property is barely protected as it is and you have other enemies. Or were you thinking of sending servants and children?"
"No, of course not! Maker's tits, Aveline, I'm just thinking out loud." Hawke leaned back against the crates and chewed at a fingernail.
"Hawke, I hate to say it but this feels like a test. Trasaric came here with a full squad of guards, intending to ruffle your feathers. If you go flying off to rescue Anders, he'll know he can control you through intimidation and he'll use that to manipulate you. He's probably out there right now watching you to see what you do. If you do nothing, he learns nothing."
"Well, I can't wait for Anders to come back on his own either. If I did, Trasaric would know for sure I was harboring a fugitive."
Aveline swore. The last time Hawke had heard her friend swear was back in Kirkwall just after Anders blew up the Knight-Commander's office. When Aveline swore, things were really bad.
Sofira went to her friend and gave her a pat on the shoulder. "Don't despair. Anders could already be stashed somewhere safe. It's possible that Varric heard about Trasaric's plans to raid the mansion through his contacts. We don't know."
"No, we don't know. Shouldn't you have a crystal ball or something? You're a mage," said Aveline.
Bellator whined, cocking his head.
"Yes, a mage... not a fortune-peddling gypsy," Sofira said, resting her other hand on the mabari's broad back. "Let's find Merrill and get her opinion. She's good at thinking outside the box. Also, Aran and Fenris. They need to know what's going on."
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"So everyone knows their part?" asked Hawke, looking at each of her co-conspirators in turn.
Aveline nodded. "You and I will head for Lowtown. Trasaric will think you're being impulsive and running off to save your friend. If he's out there, he should follow us."
Merrill picked up where the warrior left off. "Fenris and I will wait until you are gone, then we will head for The Grey Lady with a cart load of Danarius' things. If anyone stops us, we'll say we're going to the docks to find a buyer for them.
"Fenris will wait with the cart on the docks bridge near the merchants stalls while I go to The Grey Lady. One of us is bound to find Anders. Then we stash him in the cart and bring him back here. Simple! I hope."
Merrill looked pleased with herself, having recited all the details of their plan.
Sofira looked at Aran.
"If Ser Anders shows up here, I will hide him in case Magister Trasaric comes back," said the housekeeper. "My Lady, would you like me to have Tuela postpone the feast tonight? Given the circumstances?"
Sofira grimaced. She'd forgotten all about the banquet to celebrate the servants' freedom. "That would be for the best, Aran. It's already been a trying day and we have no idea if it's going to get worse or better. Let's do it in two days, when we've got a better handle on things."
She smiled at Aran and then made eye contact with each of them. This was her team. She gazed upon Aveline's tough yet feminine features wherein she had placed her trust for so long, appreciated Merrill's youthful determination, and admired Aran's quiet elegance. As for Fenris, he was inscrutable even now, his eyes retreating from her inspection.
Maker, he'd better not betray me.
"Okay," she said "Let's do it."
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It was hot here on the bridge and it wasn't yet midday. A bead of sweat rolled from Fenris' hairline, over his cheekbone and down to his jaw. There it rested, tickling his skin. Anyone else would have wiped it away. Fenris let it remain, resigned to it's presence the same way he endured the heat, the pounding in his head and the repulsive smell of fish which permeated the docks district. There'd been so little hardship to endure these last three days that these discomforts were strangely... comforting.
Everything else felt discordant. He was surrounded by the familiar and yet, it was all wrong, like walking on one's hands instead of one's feet. Everything was still there, just upside down. In a way, it was similar to waking up, wounded and masterless, surrounded by Fog Warriors. That had been odd. Painted men had stared down at him with equal parts caution and curiosity, jabbering to each other in their native language. He could still see them in his mind.
Today was like that.
He'd woken up hung-over for the first time in a soft bed, his bed. The hangover had been terrible, it still was, but he accepted the awful spinning and miserable pain as trophies of a free man. Alcohol was forbidden to the enslaved, as slaves must be ready to perform whatever services their masters required at any given moment. Only free men were allowed the luxury of drinking themselves to the point of errancy. Something about it felt decadent. Alive.
Other men might have cursed or whined or bemoaned their existence. Fenris had become used to much worse pain than this. By comparison, this was bearable, relatively brief and wouldn't even leave a scar. He would readily do it again if the chance ever represented itself, especially if...
No, do not think of it. The slave in him, the survivor, pressed the thought of her out of his mind.
He wiped the heel of his hand across his forehead and then under his jaw only to feel new beads of sweat form almost instantly. It was a metaphor for his existence. Nothing ever really changed. For an instant, things might seem different - better - but that was an illusion.
Even when life changed drastically.
There were things happening now that he never could have predicted in his wildest dreams. That he now waited for an abomination to appear, one he'd been entrusted to aid and not kill, it smacked of insanity. Yet the cobbled stone beneath his feet was solid enough. And the sunlight beating down on his skin, that was real too.
Danarius is dead.
The thought struck him sharply, like a blow. He'd been saying it periodically to himself ever since that night and each time it took on a different tenor. Curiosity - Is he really dead? Disbelief - He cannot be dead. Shame - I should have protected him. Envy - I should have been the one to kill him. Shock - He is really dead! Relief - I am free of him. Emptiness - What am I if not Danarius' slave?
He allowed his eyes to close for a minute, tilting his head back to feel the heat of the sun on his face. No one stopped him. No one struck him for his lack of a proper submissive downcast.
He, Fenris, stood alone on a bridge in the very heart of Minrathous... with no collar on.
His hand moved to his throat, feeling the bare skin. It was all real, no master barking commands at him, no collar, just a man on a bridge in the broad daylight. Mulling it over in his head, each individual point seemed to magnify the oddity of the next. He'd been free before, living among the Fog Warriors for months, but Danarius had come back for him and it had all dissolved like a dream.
Danarius is dead.
Perhaps so, but how long would this brush with freedom last before the inevitable occurred, before the pressures of magisterial life broke his naive mistress and split her apart, releasing the monster within? Danarius was dead but he would return in another form. Hers.
Only three days he'd known her and it had already started. At this very moment, she was somewhere in Lowtown, leading Magister Trasaric on a diversion. By tomorrow she would be dancing to the Archon's tune, searching for these relics. Before she knew it, she'd be wound round his finger so tightly the well-meaning person she was now would cease to exist. He knew it to be true, like the sky being blue and the sun being hot. He felt it so strongly, his chest hurt.
How could he feel so strongly about a woman he didn't know? A mage? A magister? Fenris growled at the soft feelings she stirred within him. They were entirely outside of anything he had ever experienced. He didn't like it.
Stop this! Her fate is sealed as is my own. When her fall occurs, at least I will have a few good memories.
But then he thought of the Fog Warriors and wondered if these recent events would also be spoiled by regret. He wondered what part he would play this time, when it all came crashing down.
Danarius is dead. Perhaps...
He scowled, driving down his errant thoughts. Hope was for children and the simple-minded. It was stupid to hope. Better to live in the moment.
Fenris grabbed onto the driver's seat plank of the ox cart and leapt up for a better view. Anders should be along soon unless they had missed him completely.
The elf scanned the crowd. To the north of the bridge lay the docks district, with it's battered grey buildings and it's briny streets. The district officially began at the end of the bridge with a cluster of merchant stalls squatting in a wide circle before the main street. There, sharp-voiced hawkers vied for the coin of passersby, holding up everything from failing, squawking gamebirds to bright bolts of fabric. Nothing here was as fine as what goods passed up to Hightown but it was a draw nonetheless. No one from the more well-heeled districts would have to venture too far past the bridge to find a bargain. And no sailor or street wretch had cause to set foot in mid-town, since everything a man of such station could want was obtainable inside district walls. It was well-planned that way.
On the other side, to the south of the bridge, lay the first block of white-washed stone buildings that made up mid-town. These were the homes of the middle class, shopkeepers and tradesmen, scholars and artisans, people who had made their own fortunes through sweat and stubborn perseverance. The feeling on this side of the bridge was completely different; quieter, calmer, cleaner. The shops here were permanent structures, decorated with bold designs and hanging signs that waved lazily in the warm breeze as pedestrians strolled by.
A youthful voice carried up over the city sounds to Fenris' ears.
"Dirt won't impress, scuffing won't do!
A copper per pair - they'll shine like new!"
A red-haired elven boy plied his trade on the steps of a cobbler's storefront at one of the shops just past the end of the bridge in mid-town. He warbled his sing-song sales pitch, trying to line up another customer as his cleaning rag flew across the top of a gentleman's boot.
Four men in green and gold livery stopped as one of them seemed to consider the boy's offer. He said something to the boy and stuck out an armored foot. His companions laughed.
Trasaric's men.
Fenris crouched down on the driver's board of the oxcart and lowered his face, hoping to remain unnoticed. This would be the most inopportune time for the abomination to show which, from the elf's experience, meant it was that much more likely to happen. He glanced in the direction of the docks market stalls. And, sure enough, there was Anders, blond head bobbing just above the other shoppers, headed for the bridge.
"Venhedis!" Fenris cursed under his breath.
A surreptitious peek back at the magister's guardsmen told him that they hadn't moved. Then one of them sat down to allow the shoe shine boy do his job. That would buy a little time but the others, already bored, were looking around for something to entertain them while they waited.
Anders was drawing closer. Fenris could see his face now - a few more strides and he would be on the bridge.
The elf eased himself out of the driver's seat and walked toward the mage as quickly as he could without drawing attention. As he neared, Anders spotted him, recognition shifting into surprise.
"David!" said Fenris forcefully, selecting a common name. He herded Anders back around the corner of a merchant stall, out of line of sight. "Our mistress sent me to collect you."
The mage squinted suspiciously at the elf. "I wasn't aware I was expected... Stephanos."
Fenris growled. Trust this ass of a mage to choose the name of a famous eunuch for him. Even slaves had heard of Stephanos, the effeminate vocalist who could sing in three registers, all of them soprano. In fact, Danarius had gone to great expense to have the entertainer perform at one of his parties.
Did he mean for me to understand? Or did he assume I would be too ignorant?
Fenris wasn't sure which was more insulting. He briefly considered letting Trasaric's men have their prize. He could tell Mistress Hawke... tell her what? That her beloved abomination has been taken? That I failed her? Fasta Vass! Where is that Dalish?
"David," the elf intoned through clenched teeth, "there is very little time. You must come."
"Must I? You'll forgive me if I don't trust—"
Fenris stepped closer, words running together in his haste. "You are in grave danger. You are being hunted and our Lady has tasked me with bringing you back safely. If I must, I will take you back unconscious."
"You can try, elf." Anders whispered back. "How do I know this isn't a trick? You were so eager to see me gone yesterday."
"Would I willingly seek your company if not by her command?"
Anders considered this. "Grave danger, you say?"
"Grave and imminent," said Fenris, using a big word for the mage's benefit. "Four of the men hunting you are just on the other side of that bridge."
The mage's amber eyes glanced up, searching for proof of the elf's statement.
"Soldiers in green and gold," Fenris offered, giving the man a second to spot them but no more, as his sense of urgency spurred him to action. "The oxcart behind me is our transportation. There is a sailcloth among the crates. You will hide under it. Merrill will return shortly and we will leave. Do you understand?"
"Only four?" said the mage, eyes flickering blue.
"You... no, we cannot fight them," said Fenris, balling his fists, "Do you seek to bring more trouble to our Lady's doorstep?"
"Fine. But I better not wake up in Antiva tomorrow in my small clothes. Or in a templar dungeon. Or—"
"Just keep your head down," scowled the elf.
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Making no sudden movements and using other people as cover, they managed to get to the cart unnoticed by Trasaric's guards. Other passersby didn't seem to pay them any attention as the two men climbed onto the cart to move a crate aside and then Anders disappeared.
"Do not move," said Fenris, squatting over the mage to tuck the sailcloth under his shoulder. He took note of Anders' shape under the canvas. With the padding of more cloth and a few of the smaller objects over his legs, it was not obvious that a man lay there.
"Ey, slave. What have you got there?"
Fenris flinched and turned. It was only a city guard, a heavy set man wearing a ridiculous kettle helmet, not one of Trasaric's men. Still, unwanted attention was... unwanted. Reflexively, the elf sat down in the cart, not wishing to appear unsubmissive by retaining a higher ground than a city guard. Unfortunately, he realized after the fact that, in his haste, he'd sat on Anders head. The roundness beneath him shifted. Fenris was fairly certain that bump was an ear and not a nose.
"What's all this stuff?" pressed the guard, nose hovering over the lip of the cart and looking around, but everything was either in a crate or covered by cloth.
"Nothing of importance, Messere. Some unwanted items my mistress is thinking to get rid of, some things she has been keeping around far too long." The dig was obvious but satisfying.
"You can't stay here, elf. This is a busy thoroughfare. Move along."
"I was ordered to wait here."
"Well, my orders are to keep this bridge clear. Move along," the man's voice rose in irritation, attracting looks from a few passersby.
The city guard's command fell upon Fenris' elven ears like a weight, pulling at him. He fell forward onto his knees, dropping his chin to his chest.
Say something. Stall for time.
"I..." he looked sideways quickly, combing the crowd of docks shoppers for a sign of the Dalish mage,"...beg you, Messere. My mistress will be most displeased if I—"
"Get your worthless hide off my bridge, slave! NOW!" bellowed the guard.
That did it.
Drawn by the man's shout and the lure of a possible fight, three of Trasaric's men sauntered over. The fourth, sabatons glimmering brilliantly, shoved the red-headed shoe shine boy out of his way and caught up to his comrades as they neared the cart.
"This slave giving you trouble, Serrah?" the largest one asked.
"Yea, I'll say he is! Won't move his stinking carcass off my bridge. I'm about to whip his hide." The guard's eyes were pricks of color inside circles of white, his face reddening.
"Who is your master, boy?" asked the youngest.
"That's Magister Danarius' slave, idiot. Look at his markings," said another.
"Magister Hawke's slave, you mean," said the large one, a weather-beaten man with thinning blond hair. He eyed Fenris and then the cart. "What's all this, slave?"
"He says it's things his mistress wants to be rid of," huffed the red-faced city guard.
"Then we should have a look. There might be something here we could take off her hands..." The big man reached for the nearest canvas and sought an edge with his fingers. Eyeing the lyrium-marked elf cautiously, he followed the edge to a corner bound down by twine and began to ply the knot.
Fenris glanced up, recognizing this man from the morning raid. His mind immediately raced through scenarios, eyes darting from one face to the next. He could easily kill all of these men but, as he had warned the mage, that would surely bring down the wrath of the city on his mistress. This situation required more grace. Unfortunately, his only grace he possessed was in the wide arc of a long blade. A look under that canvas would reveal nothing but what if they asked him to move? What if they insisted on searching the entire cart?
"Are you sure you want to be messing with that?"
The city guard and Trasaric's men turned to the new speaker, a beardless dwarf of all things. Behind the dwarf was a Dalish woman and a tall, heavily-muscled, human man. As the newcomers stepped closer, the man, a warrior by the look of the giant sword on his back, rested his thick arm on the driver's seat and leveled a dark gaze at the largest of Trasaric's men... the one untying the twine... the one slowly drawing his hands back from the twine and stepping away from the cart.
"Just who are you then?" asked the city guard.
The dwarf grinned.
"Varric Tethras is my name and that cart belongs to Magister Hawke, a dear friend of mine and a very temperamental woman. She won't appreciate you poking around in there, I assure you. Besides," said Varric, addressing Trasaric's guardsmen, "unless you have a whole lot of sovereigns, there's no point in groping at the merchandise, is there?
"You see these two crates here? Inside are highly-calibrated magical instruments. Very expensive, not to mention volatile if handled the wrong way. You could lose a lot more than just your eyebrows... and some of those parts you might miss, if you catch my drift."
"But he said they were just old things she was wanting to get rid of!" said the city guard, jabbing a square-tipped finger at Fenris, who wasn't looking quite so submissive anymore.
"Oh they are, my friend, they are," said Varric. "But she's a magister! They collect old magical things like you and I collect holes in our socks. Doesn't mean they don't still work."
The dwarf turned his attention to Fenris. "Everything all set, elf?"
"Yes. Nothing is missing. Everything is ready to go."
"Excellent! Well then, we'll just be on our way."
"Bah!" sputtered the city guardsman. "The next time you think to bring explosive objects through city streets... don't! You get me? Now, get this voidspawned oxcart off my bloody bridge. Go!"
Trasaric's men watched them leave, glowering.
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They couldn't have timed it better. Hawke and Aveline came within sight of estate just as the oxcart and it's four person escort were moving through the front gate, up the flagstone path towards the mansion.
The two women picked up their pace. As they approached the gate, Sofira waved to the guards and the gate reopened.
"Please tell me you had success!" she called, running towards the cart.
Varric turned. His lips bore a mischievous quirk. "No buyer for your antiques, Hawke, but we did pick you up a little something while we were out."
He hesitated, baiting her.
"Do you like corn nuts? Crunchy, salty, delicious snack. One of the street vendors was selling them and I thought—"
"May I please get out from under this sailcloth now? It's hot as flames under here!" Anders' voice came muffled from the bottom of the cart.
"Anders!" Hawke sprang onto the oxcart.
"Aww, Blondie," said Varric, chuckling, "couldn't you have waited a little longer?"
Spotting movement under one of the canvases, Sofira tugged at it until Anders was able to sit up and take a breath of fresh air.
"No!" he huffed. "Claustrophobic, remember? Maker's breath, that was dreadful!"
The mage's blond hair was mussed, his skin pink from the heat and lack of proper air flow. Still, seeing Sofira leaning over him looking very pleased to see him, brought a grin to his face.
"Oh, hello there," he said, eyes twinkling.
"Hi, yourself, you trouble-maker." Hawke placed her hands on either side of the mage's head, growling in frustration, and proceeded to really make a mess of his hair. Damn him for being so infuriating. Damn her for caring so much. "You bastard, I was so worried. Don't ever do that again!"
What "that" was, she wasn't able to define. Don't act like a petulant child? Don't storm off to get drunk with my brother just because I share a bottle of wine with a handsome ex-slave? Don't make me wonder if you're alive or dead? Yes, all of it, especially that last bit. After all they'd been through together, she felt responsible for him. She'd brought him here to give him a second chance, not to see him arrested by some pompous magister. Or killed.
Anders, his face now obscured by long blond strands, stuck out his bottom lip and blew. A lock of hair waved up and settled differently enough to give him a thin view of his tormenter.
"For the sake of my vision, I'll try not to cause you further distress."
Carver snorted. "Yes, yes. We're all safe. Thank you for your concern, sister."
"Ass," she said, trading glares with her sibling as Anders kicked the rest of the camouflage off his legs. "You don't know. A lot happened while you three were gone."
She helped the mage to his feet and they hopped off the back of the cart.
Varric faked a happy face. "Actually, Merrill filled us in on the big picture, complete with the Archon's lapdog, Qunari artifacts and death threats... although, personally, I'd prefer a pretty landscape with trees and mountains. I'd even take a velvet Cailan or a bunch of mabari playing Wicked Grace right about now. Your picture sucks."
"Indeed. Trasaric sounds like a real shit," said Carver, interjecting his own unique brand of vitriol. "He should be happy we got rid of a murderer."
"That's what I told him," said Sofira.
"So, what then? He didn't like you doing his job for him? Pissed you stole his thunder?"
"Not exactly. Trasaric's job was to find some illegal Qunari relics, not Bethany's killer."
"Still, he's so concerned about you breaking the law. He should damn well be concerned about a Magister murdering an innocent woman!"
Aveline looked like she was about to retort but Varric beat her to it.
"Junior, there wasn't any proof. That's why the city guard never did anything. I found one person who would admit to seeing Danarius go into that alley with Bethany. One. The only reason he told me was because of my darling Bianca's persuasive powers. There's no way he would have testified to it in court. And, even if he had, there wasn't enough evidence to convict a man of murder, especially not a magister like Danarius with sovereigns to burn. Void take him, we didn't even know if the old bastard really did it until he admitted it the other night!"
"I knew," seethed Carver.
"You wanted a target for your anger, brother. And so did I." Hawke sighed. Anders tried to put his arm around her shoulders but she was in no mood to be comforted and moved away.
"Even if we did find other evidence, or if one of his cronies verified the admission in court, there's no way Danarius is going to stand trial now," said Varric. "It's over, kids. The matter is closed."
There was an awkward pause as the finality of the dwarf's words descended on them.
Hawke's brown eyes hardened, resolved.
"I'm sorry you're all involved in this mess," she said, "but now is not the time for regrets. Trasaric wants those relics. We need to find them and keep Anders safe in the meantime.
"That doesn't mean everything else stops. On our jaunt through Lowtown, Aveline and I came up with a plan. I will be selling my house. This estate is more defensible - it's larger, better situated and keeping it makes a statement to my enemies in the Senate.
"The guardsmen, however, need some intensive training. Many of them are young and inexperienced. They're more of a showy deterrence than a real fighting force. Unfortunately, that's what we might need in the days to come. Aveline will do her best but she will be calling on all of you from time to time to help her with their training.
"Carver, Aveline will be drilling them in the mornings. Would you be willing to work with them in the afternoon?"
"I guess so but—"
"Good. Coordinate with Aveline. These men need to think and act like a cohesive fighting unit. They need confidence as well as skills and endurance."
"But you'll need me. Out there," said Carver, gesturing toward the front gate, voice plaintive.
"I seem to be racking up enemies, brother, and since you're family, that makes you a big target. I'd feel better if you were here, behind stone walls with lots of people around. We've already lost—"
"Oh, that's great. Keep me in one place so they know exactly where to find me."
"Carver, please. Your martial skills will be put to excellent use here. These men need you and I need to know you're safe... relatively speaking."
"I'm not a child," he said, temper flaring, "and I don't want you protecting me!"
Hawke pursed her lips. "I'm not backing down on this, brother."
"You never do, sister." Carver glared at her. "You'll get your way like always."
Varric sighed. "Junior..."
"Stay out of it, dwarf," said the younger Hawke, crossing his arms and scowling.
Sofira steeled her heart and turned to the bard. "Varric, my friend, you are going to be a very busy man. You will be my proxy. Take my seal and go to Caius Noor, the financier. Get me a detailed account of Danarius' holdings - a complete copy of his records if you can. I need to know what my resources are, what I should keep, what I can sell... it might also give us clues to find these relics. While you're there, find out if Ser Noor knows anything about Danarius' illegal dealings. I need names, people I can question.
"Then, I need you to put my old estate on the market. Take Aran with you and go through the house. I'll give you a list of what I want to keep and what will be sold with the property.
"Get in touch with Isabela and catch her up to speed on what's going on. Tell her to find out anything she can about Qunari relics moving through the docks district. What are people looking for? Who are the traders? What ships travel regularly to Seheron? I know she's busy getting The Siren's Promise ready to sail but..."
"Consider it done, Hawke," said Varric.
"Thank you, my friend." She gave a grateful smile. "Fenris?"
The elf, observing with feigned detachment up to this point, straightened. He welcomed another opportunity to prove himself.
"I need to know everywhere Danarius has gone and everyone he's had contact with in the last year. Make me a list."
An eyebrow raised. Lips parted. Make a list? On paper?
"I know it may be a long list. Do your best."
"It's not..." he tried to speak but she had moved on, leaving the elf to his internal struggles.
"Anders, we need to find a place to hide you. You will stay in my room until we find something better."
"Stay in your room?" A flame flickered in the mage's heart. He'd just finished pulling his hair back and replacing the leather strap but he ran his hand through his hair anyway in a nervous gesture.
"Of course," she said. "It's the safest room in the mansion, top floor, no windows..."
"Oh, no, I'm not arguing! It's a brilliant idea, but I warn you," he said, grinning, "I'm a snuggler."
Carver spat on the ground. "Don't even think about it, Anders. Any part of you that touches her gets cut off. Understand? Sofi, are you sure about this?"
Hawke flushed, commanding presence faltering for a moment as she glanced sideways at her brother. "I wasn't planning on being there. We'll just switch rooms."
Merrill piped up. "There's got to be a better place, Hawke. Trasaric could just raid the mansion again and find him. We should try to get him out of the city, don't you think? We could take him up into the High Reaches until this all blows over. Trasaric can't stay mad at you forever. Can he?"
"I'd feel better if we weren't separated," said Hawke, shaking her head. "Besides, we may need his healing services in the days to come now that Bethany is..."
There was a silence.
Fenris' deep voice filled the quiet space. "I know a place."
"Pftt! Yes, I'm sure you do." Anders looked doubtful.
"I am being serious, mage."
"I don't think you can be 'Serious Mage', you being a warrior and all," said Merrill.
Varric turned his back, shaking with laughter, as Carver rolled his eyes.
Hawke covered her mouth with her hand. "Where, Fenris?"
"It is here on the property, isolated, underground. I will show you."
"Isolated? Underground? That sounds like a dungeon." Anders' forehead furrowed. "Hawke, I won't be locked up. You know I can't..."
"We may not have a choice," she said, then asked the elf, "You're sure this place is safe?"
Fenris nodded once. "No one will find him, my Lady. It is secret. I am the only one besides Danarius to ever leave alive."
"Oh, that's not foreboding at all," said Anders, eyes narrowing. "This just gets better and better."
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A/N I apologize for the length of time that passed between this chapter and the last one. At first, I wasn't sure exactly what I wanted to say. Then I found out I had gobs and gobs of things that had to happen before other things could happen. Writing takes on a life of it's own, you know? Anyway, I am back on the bandwagon (oxcart?) and the next chapter, Part 3 of One of Those Days, should be out soon. This is one hella long day for poor Hawke but it's almost over. Day four will be even more interesting, with lots of Fenris hotness. Thanks for reading! Reviews are love!