"Clay lies still but blood's a rover."

- "Reveille", A.E. Housman

"Told you, Blondie," Varric said to Anders, his voice dry. He raised his voice. "And what are we up to, ladies?"

Bethany and Hawke turned from the tunnel entrance outside Anders's clinic, startled.

"Us?" Bethany said at the same time Hawke said, "Nothing."

Anders chuckled. "Oh, I'm convinced."

Varric shook his head. "Laying siege on the Amell estate in broad daylight?"

"We can't do it at night! I promised Markus I'd help him with his Feastday preparations tonight and we have to meet up with Anso the Skittish Nug tomorrow night!" Hawke called.

Varric laughed out loud. That was probably the most apt description of Anso he'd ever heard. He'd only come to the surface to join Bartrand recently and he kept jumping at shadows, saying nervously that he kept expecting to fall into the sky. Yelling at people for sneaking up at him had become his favorite hobby, right under sucking up to Bartrand.

He started toward them, Anders following right behind him. "You weren't going to try and do it alone, were you?"

"You were in meetings."

"I'm right here!" Anders said indignantly, motioning behind him to the clinic.

"You had patients!"

"Isabela?" Varric raised his eyebrows. "She was the one who mentioned you two seemed to be up to something."

"Then you must have seen how hungover she was," Bethany said. "She could barely lift her head."

"Merrill is out of town, I don't know where she went and we can't ask Aveline to break into the estate! That bastard Jeven is just looking for an excuse to nail her," Hawke said before Varric could comment.

"You two are not going alone," Varric said with a rare stern note in his voice.

"Okay, okay, we weren't actually going to try and break in, we just wanted to scope things out," Hawke grumbled.

"Why exactly are you planning to break into the Amell estate? The Amells aren't even in it anymore, right?" Anders asked.

"We need to get our grandfather's will," Bethany explained. "It's supposed to be in the vault."

"Your grandfather's?" He had known their mother was from Kirkwall before she ran off with their father, but they had not mentioned that she had been nobility.

"Uncle Gamlen sold the estate to a slaver he lost a dice game to. But there's a chance we could get it back if it never belonged to him. He keeps going on and on about how mad Grandfather was at Mother and how he left her nothing. We just...want to make things easier on her," Bethany said.

"And the slavers won't be this low on men for much longer." Hawke shoved a few planks aside to widen the entrance and ducked inside.

"Hawke, if you get lost down there, you can easily wander without a way out until you starve to death or something eats you." Anders peered in after her, frowning.

"She doesn't get lost," Bethany said, rolling her eyes.

"She doesn't," the dwarf confirmed.

Bethany ducked into the entrance herself. "And they say I'm the magic one. Sometimes I wonder, I really do."

"Any day now, Hawke." Varric peered through the cellars a bit anxiously. Flares of light pierced the dimness as Anders and Bethany worked in tandem to take down one of the mages working with the slavers. Anders seemed to find this particularly offensive and was happy to express his disapproval by way of lightning bolt.

"You think you can do it faster, then you disarm them." Hawke didn't look up from the trap she was working on.

"Touchy, Hawke. I wasn't questioning your disarming abilities. In fact, you have a liking for traps that's slightly disturbing."

"Especially explosive ones. Boom!" Hawke said cheerfully.

"You scare me, Hawke."

"Just trying to keep you on your toes."

"Sure. Head's up!" The two of them scattered as a large man, his hair and clothing enthusiastically aflame, barreled toward them, screaming and beating at the flames to put them out. Unfortunately, that occupied him so much he didn't watch his step. His boot came down on top of one of the traps Hawke hadn't gotten to yet. There was a low whump that shook the room and a blast of light that sent him somersaulting through the air and landing with a bone crunching thud. Right on top of the other traps. After getting flipped around a bit more, he didn't get up again. Varric cautiously unfolded himself from behind one of the large casks dotting the room, peering around it. It was a good thing it was empty since there were holes all over one side of it now.

Bethany ran up to them and stared at the smoking body for a moment, her face pale. She glanced over at Anders as he joined them.

"I don't think your method of disarming traps is quite as practical," Varric said.

Anders shrugged. "Faster, though."

"I think they're getting more men, Alessa. That mage there," she pointed to the dead man, "was the last of them, and he was wearing a strange uniform," Bethany said.

"Tevinter," Anders said.

"Really?" Alessa stepped out from behind a pillar, her brow furrowed. "There was no new shipment of slaves this week according to those manifests we found." She patted her pack lightly. She'd put the manifests in there, along with other bits of evidence, so she could hand them over to Aveline.

"I've only seen about two of them, so unless the rest are up in the estate itself, I don't think they're a slaving crew." Anders shrugged. "What they're doing here, I don't know. Even with slaving rings, a Tevinter would have to be...cautious moving through the city. They're not exactly welcome in Kirkwall."

"Tevinters aren't exactly welcome anywhere," Varric pointed out.

"Well, that's what happens when you try and conquer the entire world and get overthrown," said Hawke, moving through the cellar cautiously.

"Someone ought to point that out to the Chantry. And the templars," Anders muttered.

It was rather impressive, Varric and Hawke had come to agree, how Anders could manage to turn every conversation or comment back to that.

"Alessa!" Bethany moved past them, hurrying forward. She gestured excitedly to a heavy door set carefully into a wall, angled so it was half hidden. "This is it!"

She pulled the key from her pocket and fit it in the keyhole, turning it with trembling fingers and pushing the door open when it clicked.

The vault was dark, the light from the doorway only brightening the floor ahead of them a few feet. It was enough she could see a torch on the wall. She lit it with a small lick of flame from her fingertips, slowly lighting the way from torch to torch until the room was illuminated. Rectangular and low ceilinged, it had the musty smell of a room long locked away. A thick layer of dust had built up on the floor, undisturbed. Apparently the slavers hadn't taken note of it or had not been able to get in.

Worn armoires and chests were lined against the walls. Bethany watched as her sister and Varric moved around the room, disarming traps and unlocking everything. She tried to keep an ear out for slavers sneaking up on them, but she was finding it hard to concentrate.

"Do you feel that?" Anders murmured behind her.

She did. It was a buzzing in the back of her head, faint but distracting. "A magic trap in the room?" she asked hesitantly.

"I don't think so..." Anders said, shaking his head.

"The family did have children taken away to the Circle..." That was one of the reasons Mother was so worried about losing her to it.

"No, I've felt magical traps before, this isn't it. I've gotten a buzz like this from artifacts we found in ruins in the Deep Roads, though..."

"Hey, look, Beth!" They both looked over to see Alessa standing with a painting in her hands. There was a smile on her face as she turned it around. Beth stared at the woman in the portrait. It took her a long moment before she recognized her. "That's...is that Mother?"

"I think it's a betrothal portrait." Alessa was smiling softly. "I never realized until now how much you look like her, Beth..."

Bethany hadn't either. She carefully took the portrait, studying her mother's face. She was seated against a plain backdrop in a dark green dress, a rope of pearls around her neck. Her hair was swept into an elegant knot at the back of her head and tied with a gold ribbon. She looked so young and pretty...and, Beth thought, faintly bored. But maybe that was just her. She could imagine Grandmother and Grandfather Amell passing this along to potential suitors, expecting to make a good, solid connection for their family. Without any idea their daughter would turn her back on everything for the love of a Ferelden apostate.

"She's very beautiful. You do look a lot like her," Anders said, looking over her shoulder.

"Oh, she's much more beautiful than I'll ever be," Beth said, setting the portrait carefully down against the wall. She'd take it back along with the will.

"Now that is utter nonsense. If you don't know you are a beautiful woman, Bethany, you haven't been talking to the right people."

Bethany could feel heat rising through her cheeks. She would have dismissed it as flattery except the compliment was so lightly and easily given, there wasn't any doubt he meant it.

"There you go, Beth, if you don't take my word for it," Alessa teased, kneeling beside a small scroll chest.

Bethany was aware she was blushing furiously now and fidgeted, focusing on the chest, trying to ignore Varric's chuckle.

Alessa dug through the scroll chest. She paused as she pulled a small stack of letters out, flipping through them. "Grandfather kept all her letters..." She withdrew a folded piece of paper from within the stack and unfolded it, holding it up to the light. Bethany leaned forward to look at it and gasped softly. It was a drawing of three children...of them. Alessa looked to be three or four years old and was sitting on a blanket, a tiny arm around each of the twins on either side of her, all three peering solemnly up at the artist. "I...remember posing for this. I think it was a street artist in Denerim that did it." She handed the letters and drawing to Bethany and started shifting through the chest again. She finally leaned back with a scroll in her hand, breaking the seal and unrolling it. "Here we go."

Bethany peered over her shoulder anxiously as Alessa scanned the will. "Did Grandfather leave Mother anything?"

"He left her...everything." Alessa sounded stunned.

"My, my, Gamlen," Varric said sardonically.

"He was left a stipend to be controlled by Mother," Alessa said.

"He forgave her," Bethany said quietly, cradling the letters Mother had sent her parents over the years. "They didn't die angry at her. Oh, Alessa, this is going to make her so happy."

"And she has something to toss in Gamlen's face the next time he uses their parents to take a shot at her." Alessa's voice was mild, but Bethany heard the anger vibrating beneath it.

"Your uncle sounds like a real gem," Anders said, his voice dry.

"Oh, Blondie, you have no idea," Varric said.

"We should get that back to Mother...right away..." Bethany lost her train of thought as she straightened again, because that thrum at the back of her head was even more intense now. A strange, mana touched shiver of energy that sang along her bones. She turned her head on instinct, her eyes coming to rest on a newer looking armoire than the rest, pushed into a corner.

"Beth?"

She barely heard her sister's voice, moving slowly toward the armoire. Every step made that hum beneath her skin grow to the point it was almost uncomfortable.

"Bethany, be careful." Anders sounded alarmed, but that too, was merely in the background. She opened the door, staring at the long shape wrapped in black cloth leaning at an angle in the armoire. A rope bound with an odd looking seal was wrapped around it.

"Beth!" Alessa came up beside her as she reached for it, reaching out to stop her. She recoiled when her hand came near the wrapped object, clutching her hand to her chest with a gasp. Bethany felt the opposite, like something was pulling her toward it. The seal on the ropes glowed as her hand came near, then fell off, the rope dropping from it with a faint hiss.

Bethany picked it up and pulled the cloth off, revealing a staff. The length of it was polished but unsanded wood, allowing the natural knots and bumps of the branch to show. The top flared to resemble roots that wrapped around a blood red stone larger than her fist. Instead of holding a point, the wood at the base of it transitioned seamlessly into a blade.

"Maker's breath," Alessa murmured, sounding awed. "Is that...?"

"Parthalan's staff." Bethany heard the wonder in her own voice as she studied the object she had only seen in drawings and from her father's stories. It fit into her hands like it had been crafted for her alone.

"Father never told us he actually had it." Alessa knelt, digging through the rest of the armoire's contents. "Grandfather kept all of this...this all belonged to him..."

"Wasn't Parthalan a famous magister?" Anders came up beside Bethany, studying the staff with fascination, though he was careful not to get close to it.

"He broke away from the Imperium. That's what Father said, anyway. He was one of the people that helped King Calenhad unite Ferelden but he ended up fleeing the Chantry. Father told us...he's always told us we were descended from him."

"I'd say this pretty much confirms that."

"I suppose so..." Bethany wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Obviously there was some kind of magic in the staff that kept it from being wielded by just anyone, and the only way she knew to do that was by bloodline. She found it ironic that the staff would choose her when she had always wondered what it would like to be normal...no magic, no spells, nothing...and she wasn't entirely sure she liked that it had chosen her.

She turned back to the armoire. Alessa was still kneeling, chattering excitedly to Varric, either unaware or not caring that he was taking notes the whole time. "...ended up having to flee Kirkwall, but he didn't want to leave without saying goodbye to Mother. So he snuck into this masked ball they were throwing for the Empress to see her." She held up a silk mask and a fine looking silk shirt of Orlesian make. "That was the night they ran away together." She tucked the clothes back into the bag and set them aside.

"Hey, Hawke, look at that." Varric pointed to something that had dropped out of the bag and now rested on the floor of the armoire.

Alessa picked it up, studying it. At first, Bethany couldn't make out what it was supposed to be. It looked like some sort of claw. Her sister slipped it onto her middle finger and held her hand up. It was a ring of metal and leather that fit over her finger to the middle knuckle. A delicate metal claw extended from the end of it.

"Looks good on you," Varric said, raising an eyebrow. "Think that was your father's too?"

"I guess it had to have been, why else would it be here?" Alessa studied it thoughtfully. Bethany eyed the ring and noted that Anders was frowning a bit. He'd obviously picked up on the faint touch of magic from that ring. It had to be enchanted but Beth couldn't tell what it was or why it made her uneasy. She dismissed it as having too much happen all too fast.

"Well," Varric stretched as Alessa stood up. "All and all, I'd say this was a successful trip. I don't suppose you two would let me watch when you show the will to your mother? I bet the look on Gamlen's face alone will be priceless."

The intricacies of power and status were a subject of interest for Fenris. Not that he particularly craved either. The only person he wanted rule over was himself.

But as Danarius's most prized slave- a lyrium marked experiment, no less -Fenris had stood on the outside of even the normal circle of slaves that ran through the Imperium. Standing at Danarius's back where ever he went had given him a chance to observe things most of his kind rarely did. On the surface, the Tevinter Imperium was a relatively simple place. The Archon ruled the Senate of Magisters, the Black Divine ruled the Circle of Magi and the Imperial Chantry, and everyone else danced to please them.

But beneath all of it, that dance was endlessly intricate. The Archon, the Senate, and the Divine struggled to keep more power for themselves, the levels of power within the Senate changed from person to person as the magisters struggled to gain more. Students learning under the magisters vied for their master's favor and the ability to learn more, gaining an advantage over their fellows. Among the servants, you either fought not to be noticed (depending on the wonts and appetites of the magister), just underfoot, or you fought to gain some semblance of power in a life that gave you little.

And then their were slaves. The underlying structure of the entire Imperium, though saying so out loud would earn at best a beating and at worst a slow death. Tevinter would completely fall apart without slaves but that didn't mean they had to acknowledge that dependence. The dance for power wasn't as in depth among them because there was no real power to be gained. A slave was a slave, ultimately replaceable no matter how much interest a high ranking servant or even a magister showed in them. The only exception to this that Fenris knew about was himself, and that wasn't because he himself was valuable, it was the fortune of lyrium he literally carried on his person.

As he had moved throughout Thedas, he had seen a less structured, but similar, dance of power throughout the cities and towns. Oh, not the life and death dance in the Imperium...a baron with less land than another baron had only the passing chance of dying because he had less power...but the basic pattern was the same. The people in power struggled amongst themselves and the ones beneath them followed suit. And his own people tried to close themselves off and be their own city within the cities.

Kirkwall had a particularly complicated struggle for such a small space (when you compared it to places like Val Royeaux and Antiva City), and it echoed throughout the Free Marches. Over the past weeks, Fenris had slowly picked out the strands of this web of power piece by piece with no small fascination. On one level you had the templars and the Circle of Magi, the Chantry and the noble houses, all in Hightown. But the real struggle came from the people that worked out of the shadows, that helped finance those nobles, smuggle lyrium not under control of the Chantry to the templars to feed their addiction, that smuggled objects and money to the Circle mages. The Merchant's Guild, the Coterie, the dozens of gangs within the city and the pirates and smugglers on the ships moving in and out of it, all moving beneath the surface of the city like black blood beneath pure skin.

"How much longer do 'e hafta stay out here?"

Although judging from the two Coterie members beneath him, that particular branch of criminals seemed to favor quantity over quality.

Crouched on the roof of one of the Alienage houses, Fenris grimaced at the grating tone of the voice in the alley beneath him. He heard a muffled thump as the second half of the pair gave his whining companion a whack. "As long as it takes."

"'E ain't comin'." Now the whiner sounded anxious, which didn't improve his vocal quality. "Wot'dya think them Tevinters'r gonna do to us if'n 'e don't show up?"

"Best not to think about that," the other voice replied.

Fenris frowned, lifting his eyes to scan the area. The Alienage plaza was utterly deserted. The residents had a knack for knowing when trouble was happening and were all holed up. He saw no one coming to the gates. Had Anso failed him?

"Buggerin' crazy elves," the whiner muttered for no particular reason.

"Shut up." His companion gave him another whack. "Listen."

Fenris lifted his head, also alerted to the sound of voices at the gate. A female voice said something he couldn't make out over the creak of the gate as it opened, but he heard a male voice answer: "I think I hate you when you're in a good mood, Hawke."

"That's Varric Tethras, wot in blazes is 'e doin' 'ere?"

Three pairs of eyes followed the group that crossed the plaza. A dwarf...Varric, he presumed...and two human women. The smaller of the two women danced ahead of the others, twirling a dagger in one hand with alarming skill. "You need to be more spontaneous, Varric."

"You're lecturing me about being spontaneous? Oh, hello, Irony, so glad you could come walking with us!"

"That's that weird eyed niece of Gamlen's. Interfering little do-gooder bitch," the second man spat, his voice filled with venom.

"They're goin' into the 'ouse, they're goin' into the 'ouse!" The whiner was definitely panicking now. "We gotta warn the boys in there!"

Fenris took that as his cue and rose, rolling his head to get the crick out of his neck, and moved silently to a point where he could jump down into the alley below.

"Forget the boys for now; she won't kill them. We have to get to the Tevinters and tell them something is wrong."

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that." Both men spun around in surprise as Fenris spoke. He was already bringing his sword up in a swift, hard blow that caught the non-whiner half of the pair through the chest. He gurgled, staring at Fenris with wide-eyed shock, the life fading from his eyes. The whiner let out a thin squeal and tried to run. Fenris jerked his sword free and rushed after him. Light flared along the lines on his body and he drove his fist into the man's back before he could make it into the open, solidifying his fist partially and dragging the thug back into the darkness before he pulled free, his fist gloved in blood up to the wrist. The man slumped down to join his companion in death on the ground.

Fenris moved cautiously to the mouth of the alley, peering out into the plaza, careful not to be seen. The slavers were already moving out into the plaza. Tevinter maroon, just like Theta had told him. They must have come in separate ships, though, because there were a lot more than she had counted. Twice as many, in fact. The elf frowned, wondering how to handle this new development, when the captain of the group solved the problem for him by splitting the group up. He left one mage and one lieutenant with the bulk of their people around the house to spring the trap and took the rest up the stairs toward the gate.

Fenris waited for the captain and his half to get out of sight, studying the group forming a semi-circle around the house. For a brief moment, not for the first time, he wondered what important thing they had put hidden in there to try and lure him out. He pushed the thought away for now. Perhaps Anso's mercenaries could tell him later, once they'd taken the slaver group out. For the moment, he needed to make sure there wasn't a second one waiting for them.

Hawke dearly wished that she was surprised to come out of the house and find herself face to face with a group of armed and armored thugs.

There had been something off from the moment they'd entered the Alienage. She generally came to visit Merrill when the night set in- she was an intruder in their domain night or day, but at least at night she wasn't so disruptive since most of them had retired -and she had never seen it so dead. Then they had passed explosive traps and a group of thugs guarding the chest. The empty chest. "Um...Varric? Armed thugs, empty chest, deserted Alienage, boarded up windows and no way out except the front door..."

"All and all, the perfect place for a trap. I know, I know. I'm going to have a long talk with Anso." Varric shook his head in disgust. "I should have known he was lying when he started hinting about templar clients. That twitchy nug licker doesn't have the balls to handle lyrium smuggling."

"Do you think he set us up?"

"If he did, it was someone else's idea."

"Why do these things always happen to us?" Bethany muttered.

"I say we blame your sister, Sunshine."

"Fine by me."

"Hey!" Hawke turned to scowl at both of them from the doorway, then passed through it, standing in the main room of the house and narrowing her eyes at the front door. Her hands were resting on the hilts of her daggers. After a few moments of tense silence with all three of them listening intently, Hawke sighed. "I guess if it is a trap, they're not going to be nice and come through the doorway where we can pick them off."

"Thugs are so inconsiderate." Varric pulled Bianca out and loaded her with a click. "Well, it's either go out and see if we have a party waiting for us, or hang around here all night."

Now, Hawke scanned the maroon garbed miniature army in front of her and decided this wasn't her kind of party. She fingered the bottle she held hidden behind her back, pressing her fingers to the cork at the top.

A woman stalked forward, the only one not wearing a strange helmet with a mask like faceplate. She glared at them, furious and arrogant, speaking with a sharp accent Hawke couldn't place. "That's not the elf. Who is that?"

Hawke blinked. Huh?

One of the masked soldiers pulled his sword. "It doesn't matter. We were told to kill whoever entered the house."

Hawke twisted the cork on the bottle until she felt the pressure from within making the top vibrate against her fingers, then threw it hard as they advanced. It hit the ground and shattered, spewing a cloud of noxious gas into the air.

Kill whoever entered the house.

Varric brought Bianca up, firing into the smoke even as it started to clear. It left the soldiers who had breathed it in stumbling and disoriented. Bethany had tracked and focused on a mage in their midst, getting the jump on him.

"If it's family, you protect. Doesn't matter if it's blood or not."

She had gone to speak to Aveline today, and her words haunted her.

"It's good that you would rather heal than harm. It should never be easy to kill, Hawke. Never be your first choice."

They'd left the thugs in the house unconscious. But this lot...kill whoever entered the house. That's what he'd said, that's what they were trying to do.

When the leader raised her sword and moved to flank Varric, Hawke came up behind her.

"Killing leaves a scar on you that never goes away. But whenever I go into a fight, it becomes a matter of protecting what matters with everything I have. Everything, Hawke. If protecting someone depending on me means taking that scar on my soul, I do it. You have to ask yourself if avoiding those scars is worth putting those you care about at risk." Aveline had taken her hand then, understanding in her eyes. "You've taken a lot on your shoulders...sometimes I forget how young you are, Hawke."

As the woman raised the sword to bring it down and Varric started to turn toward her a moment too late, Hawke drove the point of her dagger into her back, twisting the curved blade hard. The woman made a choked sound and dropped.

She was so cold inside, her stomach in knots, but not as cold as she became when she thought of Varric or Bethany dead.

Varric met Hawke's eyes briefly before she turned away, throwing another smoke bomb down, this one simply to obscure vision. She heard Bethany cry out in pain behind her and battled her way to her sister's side, using the smoke to her advantage, vanishing in and out of it, noting Varric making his way to the enemy mage's other side. Bethany was struggling, holding the other mage's staff with the split blade of Parthalan's staff, keeping him from using it against her. He would have to drop it in order to cast a spell. Varric fired, catching him in the shoulder, making him cry out in pain and wrench free, stumbling away from Bethany. Before he could straighten up to cast a spell, Hawke kicked him viciously in his lower back, making him stumble again right in time for Varric to nail him with a deadly shot. At point blank range like that, Bianca easily sent a bolt through his helmet and into his head.

The three of them stood, panting, looking around at the bodies scattered around the plaza with more questions than answers.

Hawke wiped her blades off on a dead man's uniform, trying not to think for the moment. Later on. Once everyone was out of danger.

"We'd better clear out before the guards get here," Varric said.

"Luckily, I think they'll be more wondering what a group of Tevinter militia are doing in Kirkwall than who killed them," Hawke said. "I think we figured out where those Tevinters in the estate came from."

Varric started to reply as they came to the steps and stopped, whipping Bianca up.

"I don't know who you are, friend, but you made a serious mistake coming here." Hawke looked up at the angry looking man dressed in a heavier version of the Tevinters' armor and groaned inwardly. She couldn't help but agree.

"Lieutenant, I want everyone in the clearing. Now!" the man roared. Damn, damn, damn. Hawke looked around, trying to figure out if there was another way out. If they could get to one of the alleys and up onto the rooftops...

She realized at the same time the man did that there was a rather loud silence where there should have been footsteps and clanking metal. It was pierced by a sudden groan as a lone soldier stumbled around the bend of the stairway. "Captain..." He collapsed in a puddle of blood.

A voice came from beyond the body, low and rich with the same touch of an accent as their attackers. "Your men are dead. And your trap has failed. I suggest running back to your master while you still can."

Hawke's gaze tracked up to the lithe figure stepping over the body, moving slowly down the stairs with predatory grace, and everything just seemed to...scatter...throughout her head for a few moments. Her first clear thought was: wow. She actually had to shake herself a little to get herself back on track. Which was just embarrassing. Maker's breath, she was not some empty headed female who went into vapors at the sight of a fine looking...very, very, very fine looking...man.

The newcomer was a silver haired elf with a blade that looked heavier than he was strapped to his back. Tattoos formed intricate lines over his face and arms and she idly wondered where he'd found silver ink. She'd never seen anything like it. He didn't need the sword, armor, or the spiked gauntlets that sheathed his hands to show he was dangerous; that was abundantly clear by the way he moved alone. He might not look strong enough to swing that two-handed sword, but Hawke didn't doubt that he could. And well. The body on the ground behind him and the pile of them that was no doubt out of sight was testament to it.

He kept his eyes on hers as he moved down the stairs, not even glancing at the captain, which Hawke silently applauded because it obviously pissed the creep off a whole lot. The captain's lips twisted into a sneer and he lashed out, grabbing the elf's shoulder. "You're going nowhere, slave."

The elf whipped around so fast he was a blur. To Hawke's astonishment, the tattoos on his arms and face started to glow, flaring with a bluish light. He drew a fist back and smashed it into the captain's chest, passing through the armor like it was paper and into the flesh beneath. Hawke watched with appalled fascination as the man gagged, mouth opening and closing like a fish's. The elf had actually passed his hand right through his body. He pulled it out with a spray of blood and turned to face them, the rage in his eyes giving lie to the calm expression on his face and the cool tone of his voice. "I am not a slave."

The chest in the house had been empty, which had been a disappointment, but one he could live with.

But Danarius had fled, and that was a harder disappointment. For a brief period, true freedom had seemed to be in his grasp. At first Hawke had seemed angry at the deception, then cautiously understanding, enough she had agreed to help him, though she had seemed genuinely confused that he'd felt the need to resort to deception to get help, which seemed hopelessly naive to Fenris. The dwarf, Varric, had followed suit, cheerfully saying he was always ready to beat slavers out of his town. The other woman had said nothing, but followed along.

He'd been glad for the help, for Danarius's mansion was full of magical beasts he would have found hard to get through alone. But he had been denied his hoped for confrontation with his former master. Danarius had fled like the coward he had always been. How he had known, Fenris had no idea, but he had been so close...

Fenris leaned against the wall outside the magister's manor and closed his eyes, biting back a growl of frustration. The hunters were dead, and he'd made Danarius flee, so it wasn't a complete waste of time and effort. Perhaps he'd given Danarius something to think over. Certainly, his pride and confidence had to have taken a beating over the past three years and even more of one this night. With that in mind, he decided he wouldn't move on for the moment. Danarius wasn't going to be needing this mansion, after all...

Voices coming from the entry way of the manor drew his attention and he watched the group out of the corner of his eye.

Varric came out first, taking a drink of what looked like a healing potion. "There. Now, quit nagging, Hawke, it isn't ladylike."

"Nasty demons have nasty stuff on their nasty claws," Hawke retorted, she paused on the walkway. The arcane horror Danarius had set to guard the upper rooms of the mansion had thrown her clear across a room and sent her crashing into a wall. There was a nasty bruise spreading along the right side of her face. "And I don't nag."

The other woman snorted as she capped the salve she'd been smoothing Hawke's face, stepping back. Hawke caught sight of him and turned toward him, rubbing lightly at her cheek. Before he could speak, she moved forward a few steps, looking him up and down. "Are you hurt?"

The sharp concern in her voice caught him by surprise. "No."

Hawke studied him out of narrow eyes. "Are you sure? Did you check?"

Those eyes caught him every time they met his own. It wasn't just the two different colors, it was the sharp intelligence and quizzical interest in them whenever she looked at him, like she was trying to figure him out. With a jolt, he realized why she had seemed faintly familiar. The way she moved, her voice...he was certain she was the one those idiots had been chasing on the docks the night he'd come here. How strange their paths had crossed again in such a manner.

Fenris realized he'd been meeting her gaze without speaking for a few moments and pulled his thoughts back on track, unnerved. "I'm fine." He looked away from her, his gaze coming to rest on the other woman. Bethany.

The mage.

He seemed unable to escape them. What are you doing running around with an apostate, Hawke? He spoke softly, his eyes not leaving her: "It never ends. I escaped a land of dark magic, only to have it hunt me at every turn. It is a plague burned into my flesh and my soul. And now I find myself in the company of even more mages."

Bethany turned her head at that to find his gaze burning into hers. She flinched a bit, but spoke in an icy voice, "You can speak to me directly."

"I saw you casting spells inside. I should have realized sooner what you really were." Fenris pushed away from the wall, moving toward them. Hawke shifted, drawing his gaze to her momentarily. Her face was expressionless, but she angled her body ever so slightly toward Bethany, putting herself slightly in front of her. The move was so swift and smooth, Fenris wondered if she even realized she had done it. He had the impression of a mother bear...albeit a very small one...moving to protect her cub. He spoke to her now. "You harbor a viper in your midst. It will turn on you and strike when you least expect it. That is in its nature."

Hawke scoffed. "She's my little sister. If she hasn't used magic to take me out by now, she never will."

"Especially after the beetle incident," Bethany muttered.

Hawke glanced over at her, "I said I was sorry for that! I caught them all, didn't I?"

She's my little sister. Words so lightly said, but so clear a warning. It explained the instinctive move to protect the mage. Those words, the suddenly fierce look in those eyes of hers... He wondered suddenly how long Hawke had been doing it. It was perhaps a mixture of that and being so close to getting at the man who had stolen his memories from him that made him wonder if he had once had a sibling to protect like that. Or a mother that had protected him. He couldn't have said why he was relatively certain the answer was yes, but it perhaps made him soften just a bit. "I'm not blind. I know magic has its uses, and there are undoubtedly mages with good intentions. But even the best intentioned mage can fall prey to temptation, and then their power is a curse to inflict upon others."

"No one is stopping you from moving on, you know," Bethany said in a snippy tone. Even saying so, she was the one that moved along, tossing her head and stalking away. Varric exchanged a glance with Hawke and followed her. Fenris heard him say something that made Bethany let out a surprised laugh that echoed in the morning air.

Hawke remained in front of him, peering up at him- he was almost a head taller than she -with that strange, quizzical expression again. This was the first time anyone had given him help enough and he acknowledged he was doing a poor job of making them want to do so again. "I imagine I seem ungrateful," he said softly. "If so, I apologize. Nothing can be further from the truth."

"I imagine you're someone who had a powerful mage do something reprehensible to him," she replied, her voice equally quiet.

"He's a magister." Fenris shrugged, not expecting her to understand. "They hold all the power. Over the Chantry, over the Imperial Court, over life itself. It's nothing for one to own a slave. Danarius had many, though none he valued so much as me." He made a slight gesture to indicate his markings. "These are lyrium."

Hawke's eyes widened. "I'd wondered, but..."

Fenris nodded as she obviously realized the only way lyrium could have gotten into his body. "Burned into my flesh to provide the power he required of his pet. He doesn't want me at all, you see. He just wants his precious investment returned, even if he must rip it from my corpse."

Hawke looked ill. "How did he...?" She checked herself, wincing. "That's probably not something you want to talk about, sorry."

"It's all right. I don't remember anything about the ritual that placed them. It was Danarius's choice. One he now regrets."

"Well, that will teach him to go around burning lyrium into people," Hawke said tartly. "I'm sorry we didn't catch up with him." She didn't sound sorry as much as angry, Fenris thought with bemusement. In fact she looked like if Danarius were there at the moment, Fenris would have had to pull her off the magister before he could kill him.

Reminded he still owed her a debt, Fenris tried to give her what coin he had left but Hawke demurred, showing him a bag of gems she'd found in Danarius's rooms, which more than covered what Anso had promised, in her opinion. "You can't walk around Kirkwall with no coin, that's not practical at all. Besides, it's likely the group hunting you was providing business for the slavers operating out of my family's old home. This will be a blow to them, which alone is worth it," she said, sounding pleased.

The idea more slavers might have suffered from this night was another sign it hadn't been a complete loss. He disagreed that his debt to them had been paid off, however. "Should you ever find yourself in need of assistance, I would gladly render it."

Hawke smiled at him then. A quick twist of the lips as bright and swift as lightning that lit her face and eyes for a moment before it faded just as fast. It gave him a strange jolt and made him notice for the first time that she was truly beautiful. "We're planning an expedition into the Deep Roads your skills would certainly be welcome in. But only if you want to."

Only if he wanted to. Hawke couldn't have had any comprehension how much that simple phrase meant to Fenris. Only if he wanted to. The hunters were driven off, Danarius would be cautious for a while, he might actually have a chance to understand what it meant to truly be free, if only for a while. The idea was terrifying...exhilarating...

He didn't show it outwardly, simply nodding. "Fair enough. Should you have need of me, I will be here." He nodded to the mansion, taking vicious pleasure in the thought of claiming something that had once belonged to Danarius, thinking of how enraged the magister would be at the thought. "If Danarius wishes his mansion back, he's free to return and claim it."