The Viscount's ball was in full swing, and after only two hours, Hawke had already fought off the groping advances of several drunken nobles. There was no one here that interested her, despite her mother's attempts to steer her in the direction of Saemus Dumar more than once. Hawke chuckled to herself at Leandra's blindness. She had known for the last five years that the Viscount's son preferred the company of men, never mind that he was currently swirling Bethany gracefully around the dance floor.
"Ambrosia, dear," came her mother's voice from behind her. Hawke turned to see Leandra being escorted by a tall man, his red-blond hair pulled back from his face in braids. "Allow me to introduce Gascard DuPuis, recently arrived from Val Royeaux."
The man's dress and bearing clearly indicated he was from a rich and powerful family, and though Hawke knew little of the hierarchy of Orlesian nobility, she had no doubt that Leandra was once again trying to match her with someone of high social standing.
"Messere DuPuis," Hawke said politely and gave him a small curtsy. "Welcome to the Free Marches."
Dupuis smiled ingratiatingly, and replied, "I would have come sooner, had I known what beauty awaited me here."
Oh please, Hawke thought, but outwardly she returned his smile. "What brings you to our fair city?" she asked.
Hawke was sure the looked of unease that crossed his handsome features had not been her imagination. He quickly recovered his smile, however, and said. "A bit of family business - nothing of consequence."
"Messere DuPuis's family is fourth in line to the throne, Ambrosia," said Leandra. "A fine noble family, indeed."
Hawke felt heat rise to her cheeks at her mother's blatant insinuation. DuPuis' smile once again faltered slightly, but in the next moment he was extending his hand to her.
"Would Mistress Hawke grant me the pleasure of a dance?" he asked.
Try as she might, Hawke could think of no valid excuse to refuse his polite offer, and soon found herself being escorted onto the dance floor. He was graceful, she'd give him that, but Hawke didn't care for the way his hands wandered over her back and around her ribcage as they waltzed across the floor.
"In Val Royeaux, at a ball such as this, we would all be wearing masks," he told her easily.
"Oh? And what would they be hiding behind those masks?" Hawke asked. She was running out of appropriately inane chatter, and couldn't suppress the sarcasm in her voice.
DuPuis chuckled low in his throat. "That, my lady, is not a topic of polite conversation."
"I've never been to Orlais," Hawke subtly changed the subject. "Though Mother has been begging Father for years to take us."
"Ah! Your presence would grace the courts," he replied. "Your father is Peacekeeper of Kirkwall, is he not?"
Hawke heard the not-so-subtle intensity in his voice as he asked about her father. Wanting nothing more to get away from him, she faked a slight stumble. "Oh my!" she exclaimed in her best simpering female voice. "I'm afraid there's something wrong with my shoe."
"Allow me to escort you to a seat," he said politely, though she could hear the undertone of impatience in his words.
As soon as DuPuis had deposited her in one of the many chairs lining the walls and left, Hawke returned to her feet, and quickly moved to the other side of the ballroom. Deciding one more glass of wine would do her no harm, Hawke signaled a waiter carrying a large tray covered in goblets, all filled with shimmering ruby colored liquid. The servant approached, lowering the tray so that she could easily reach the wine.
She'd just raised the glass to her lips when she caught Knight Captain Cullen's eye, where he stood near the buffet table, and gave him a commiserating smile. The Templar rolled his eyes, then beckoned for her to join him.
Why not? she thought. Cullen was one of the few people in the room who wasn't a total bore, unlike Messere Gascard DuPuis.
There was a crowd of people mulling around the edges of the dance, and Hawke felt her frustration rise as she attempted to maneuver her way through them. Kirkwall's upper classes had perfected rudeness down to a science, blithely ignoring each 'pardon me' she uttered.
Perhaps her guard was down, being where she was, or perhaps she'd had too much wine after all. Whatever the reason, Hawke never saw the attack coming. Her goblet had been lifted high above her head to keep from sloshing it all over the noble finery as she pressed through the crowd. It made her vulnerable - an easy target for the blade that suddenly plunged into her chest.
Hawke gasped.
Even as the pain blossomed under her breasts, Hawke whipped her head around in time to see the face of her assailant. For a brief second their eyes met and held, and she saw the malevolent intent in them glaring at her in satisfaction. And then, she was falling, falling…
The last thing she heard before darkness overtook her was Cullen's voice shouting, "Halt!"
⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼
Malcolm Hawke also heard Cullen's shout, followed by several piercing shrieks of horror. His hand automatically reached for his staff as his head pivoted toward the source of the commotion. The Knight Captain was trying to force his way through the mass of panicking nobles, and Malcolm's eyes scanned the room, searching.
There, bobbing among the sea of bodies was a white-haired man, trying to force his way to the exit. The two guardsmen who flanked the wide doors had drawn their swords, effectlively blocking the man's escape, at least he hoped so. Yet, Malcolm still began to calculate his success in hitting the fleeing man with a binding spell, until a new scream diverted his attention.
"Ambrosia!" his wife's voice echoed through the cavernous ballroom. Malcolm's gaze instantly snapped to his Leandra, kneeling on the floor, surrounded by a horde of white-faced nobles.
There, in a pool of gathering blood, lay his precious daughter.
"Amber." He hadn't known he'd said the word aloud until Viscount Dumar spoke at his side.
"Amber? What's happened?" Dumar asked in some alarm, and damned if the man didn't scoot behind Malcolm in an attempt to shield himself with Malcolm's body.
Malcolm, however, did not answer, but instead used his staff and the power of his voice to clear a path to his daughter. "Stand aside!" he commanded, and mercifully the way before him opened.
By the time he reached Leandra and Amber, a sobbing Bethany had joined them. Varric was also there standing guard, his crossbow drawn against any further threats. Malcolm ignored the fear worming its way up his spine, and his rapidly pounding heart, and with a clinical eye, inspected his daughter's wound. The hilt of a wicked looking dagger protruded from Amber's chest beneath her left breast, blood seeping from around its edges at an alarming rate.
"The healer," Malcolm told the dwarf, his voice hoarse. "Bring him to the estate."
Thankfully, Varric did not question him, but merely nodded, and with a last glance down at Hawke, took off in a near run.
"Malcolm, oh Malcolm," Leandra cried, her blood soaked hands clutching at him as he knelt next to her. "My baby. What have they done to my baby?"
"Carver!" Malcolm bellowed, and his son, pale-faced and shaking emerged from the crowd to join them.
Afraid to cause more damage by removing the knife, Malcolm focused his magic to stem the flow of blood, even as he told Carver, "Take your mother and sister home, son."
For once in his life, Carver did not whine or argue, but pulled his mother away from Hawke. Leandra continued to mewl Amber's name, but allowed her son to lead her away.
"Father?" questioned Bethany in a tremulous voice.
"Just go," Malcolm said, and with tears streaming down her face, Bethany followed after Carver and Leandra.
Sweat began to bead on his brow from his efforts, and Malcolm was glad when Cullen joined him not long after his family had departed. The Knight Captain's face was grim.
"I need you to carry her, Cullen," Malcolm said evenly, attempting to retain his composure despite the fear clawing at his chest. "I need to keep the wound in statis."
Cullen immediately acquiesced, and gently lifted Hawke into his arms. This time the crowd parted for them with ease.
"Her attacker?" Malcolm asked as they moved toward the doors.
"Even now being escorted to the dungeons by guardswoman Aveline," he replied succinctly.
"Good," was Malcolm's only reply. "Good."
Neither of them spoke another word as they made their way down the long stairway to the Hawke estate.
⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼
Anders was bone weary. It had been a long, busy day at the clinic, made even more tiresome because his mind could hardly focus on his work.
He knew the Viscount's ball was tonight, and his wayward thoughts continually formed images of Hawke, beautiful and enticing, surrounded by nameless suitors, all better suited to court the Peacekeeper's daughter than an apostate mage living in the sewers.
Not that he wanted to court her himself. No. It was only that she deserved so much better than some mamby-pamby rich boy, who only wanted Hawke for her position and her gold.
Anders released a long sigh. Who was he trying to fool, anyway? Amber Hawke had gotten under his skin, even though he knew beyond doubt that getting involved with her was a very bad idea.
"A bit late for that now," he mumbled to himself as he placed the last vials of elfroot back into the cupboard.
Knowing it would lead only to disaster, however, did not stop either the tinge of jealousy in his heart, or the uncomfortable stirrings in his body. If only it weren't for…
BANG!
The clinic doors flew open, and in rushed a very harried looking dwarf.
"Let's go, Blondie," said Varric, impatience clear in every syllable.
"Varric, what the…" Anders began.
"No questions," he practically shouted. "Grab your healing shit and let's GO."
Anders tried several times as the ran through Kirkwall's streets to find out where they were going, but Varric remained silent, pushing them at a pace he could barely keep up with. How could the dwarf move so quickly on those short legs? By the time they reached the Hightown Market, Anders was out of breath and a sense of dread had built in his chest.
Why would Varric bring him to Hightown, of all places? Surely it couldn't be Hawke that needed him. What could possibly have happened to her at the Keep, surrounded by Templars and city guards?
Yet, soon they pushed through the door of the Hawke estate, only to be greeted by a Templar. In fact, it was Knight Captain Cullen who stood there with his arms folded over his chest.
Usually the sight of a Templar alone was enough to set Anders on edge, but the fact that this one was covered in blood made it even worse. He was given no more time to speculate, however, as Cullen immediately grabbed him by the arm and pulled him toward the stairs.
"Come with me," said Cullen, as if Anders had a choice, considering the iron grip on his arm.
Anders could hear sobbing as they ascended to the second floor. Female sobbing. He got his first glimpse of who could only have been Hawke's mother, wrapped in the arms of a pretty dark-haired girl outside of a closed door. Both of them looked up at him as Cullen dragged him passed.
"That's the healer?" he heard the younger woman say from behind him.
But Anders had no time or thought to give to the derision in her voice, because the door had opened. There on the bed, the Peacekeeper bowed over her, was Amber Hawke.
Malcolm looked up at them as they entered the bedchamber, his face lined and drawn. "Quickly," he said in anguish. "I'm losing her."
Written by Wintryone
A/N: Thanks to those who left me such lovely reviews last chapter! Make me smile, leave some more of them! lol