Life is like dancing. If we have a big floor, many people will dance. Some will get angry when the rhythm changes. But life is changing all the time.
- Miguel Angel Ruiz
"Ah, Feastday. I tell you, Daisy, nothing beats a good party."
"It certainly makes everything smell better!" Merrill, having discovered the wonder of cookies, was understandably distracted. She had a handful and was trying to sample each kind all at once. It was nice to see her so animated again, she'd been keeping to herself lately, her demeanor strangely furtive. Varric made it a point to grab hold of her tunic and guide her back close whenever she started to wander off. It was a grand party for pickpockets too.
Varric chuckled. "Come on, Daisy, Hawke is camped out up near the Hanged Man." He smiled as he looked around. Stalls and makeshift tables had been set up everywhere, streamers and decorations hung off balconies and windows. There was no set colors or type of decoration for Feastday in Kirkwall, at least not in Lowtown. They tried to make things as bright, loud and raunchy as was possible, which wasn't hard at all considering the amount of free liquor being poured everywhere. It drew everyone from Darktown up into the light and nobles from Hightown down, one of the few times they could go slumming without worry of it getting around. Even elves from the Alienage came out. And dwarves. He didn't see any of the Qunari, but they didn't seem like a people who knew a good party when they saw one. Although Theta was definitely here somewhere, so maybe she could stand as an offhand representative.
The success of every Feastday in Lowtown was judged by how many nobles in Hightown ended up bitching about the noise.
Markus Tabir was a fixture in Lowtown, owning a small café not far from the Hanged Man that served cheap but good food. He was never going to get a high class of clientele, but he was never going to want for business either. Hawke sometimes did some work for him in the kitchens during busy months. He'd poked fun at her for it a couple times, which made her declare with mock indignation that she could actually do legitimate work once in a while.
He heard Isabela's loud, ringing laugh even over the crowd and the music before he saw her standing with Hawke. Hawke was in the stall Markus had set up in front of his café, her hair pulled back away from her face. She was standing over a long, flat sheet of iron set on two stone blocks that held it over the fire, using a wooden paddle to keep the mix of shrimp, meat, potatoes and vegetables cooking evenly. Even better, she was tending to a smaller fire with a shallow pan over it for one of Markus's most famous recipes. Isabela was leaning against one of the stall's support beams, a bottle in her hand, grinning down at one of Markus's waitresses, Nelly, who was busily passing out plates of food as people wandered up. She was also blushing and giggling, glancing at Isabela, then away.
"So, of course, when you're up on the shrouds, you have to have a good grip. A really good grip. I mean, the wind is already making the netting rock back and forth as it is..." Isabela was interrupted by Merrill's call as she pushed her way through the crowd up to the stall. She tipped her bottle at them both and Hawke looked up, grinning.
She handed the dwarf a mug as he came up. "See what you think of that. Theta made a lot, so everyone needs to drink up." She motioned to where the horned woman was standing studiously over a huge cauldron, stirring the contents while chatting easily with people coming up to dip mugs and glasses in.
Varric took a swig and nodded in satisfaction. Mulled wine, with enough spirits to make it sharp, underscored with the right amount of spices. Theta was truly an artist.
"Good, huh?" Knowing full well what he'd come up for, Hawke turned to the other pan, adding a scoop of butter to it. It sizzled and she rolled a few slices of apple in a mix of sugar and spices before dropping them into the pan, using a fork to flip each one quickly. She deposited the slices on a piece of paper and handed it over to him. "There were a couple of Orlesian merchants bitching about how people prefer his recipes over the fancy candied apples they're so proud of."
"Aw, now I'll feel all guilty about eating this." Varric bit into half of one apple slice without a hint of guilt. He grinned as Merrill broke away from listening to Isabela, leaning over the cooking slab far enough Hawke gently pushed her back before she burned herself. She made a handful of apple slices for Merrill, laughing at the Dalish woman's obvious delight as she sampled them while trying to hold on to her remaining cookies.
"Oh, what's that?" Merrill licked crumbled sugar and cinnamon off her fingers and eyed the mug in Varric's hand.
He shook his head. "Daisy, I think the sugar is quite enough for you without adding wine on top of it."
"Wine? Oh, you're probably right. The last time I tried it, it made me dizzy."
"The last time you tried it?" Hawke sounded alarmed. Merrill wandering around on her own was alarming enough. Tipsy Merrill wandering around was just begging for disaster.
"I hadn't realized she never tried it before," Isabela said, taking a swig from her bottle. No mulled wine for the pirate woman, she'd cajoled or filched a bottle of fancy rum from someone. "Walking her home was an adventure."
"They really need to fix those cobble stones around the Alienage..." Merrill was blushing. "Anyone can trip over them."
"Especially tipsy elves." Isabela gave her a wicked grin.
"Tipsy? Well, I was tipping over lots of things..."
"Did she trip you, Isabela? Is that how you got that bruise on your hip? It wasn't in the shape of fingers, so I was wondering." Hawke smiled sweetly.
Isabela smiled back just as sweetly. "Figures that's where you would be looking, Hawke."
Varric snickered. Nelly fumbled with the plate she was holding, gasping in shock and then falling into another fit of giggles. Merrill just looked curious.
"Serves you right for getting her drunk in the first place."
"Oh, trust me, Hawke, when I'm bound and determined to get someone drunk, I don't walk them home, I walk them straight into my...well, hello..." Isabela's voice turned into a throaty purr.
Varric turned to follow her gaze and cocked an eyebrow as he saw Fenris moving through the crowd. It was actually rather easy for him since people tended to get out of his way, especially since he was dressed in that spiky armor and had his sword on him. The elf seemed on edge, his eyes sweeping left and right suspiciously and his posture slightly hunched, like he was ready to draw that sword any time. Varric tried to remember if he'd seen Fenris out in daylight before. If so, it was only once or twice. He wondered if it was all the noise that had drawn him out now.
"Is that the one that can tear people's hearts out, Varric?" Merrill whispered, looking rather intimidated.
"He can tear out mine any day..." Isabela said with predatory delight.
Fenris caught sight of them and paused, hesitating for a moment before he moved toward them, like he was surprised to see them. Or maybe it was the fact Isabela was eyeing him like he was a sweetmeat. Varric tipped his mug toward him. "Afternoon, elf." Hawke waved, beaming at him.
"Shanedan, Fenris." Theta's voice came from behind them. The kossith woman had joined Hawke behind the stall. "I hear what was left of those Tevinter slavers that came swaggering in a few weeks ago scurried back to Minrathous with their tails between their legs. None of you would know anything about that, would you?" She offered him a mug as he came up and he accepted it, a faint but genuinely warm smile touching his mouth. So he could smile, good to see it, Varric thought with amusement.
"So this is the newest addition to our merry little band?" Isabela sidled closer.
"If you want to call it that. Isabela, Merrill, this is Fenris. Fenris, that's Isabela and that's Merrill." Varric said, motioning with his mug. Isabela grinned at him and Merrill gave a shy wave with one of her cookies, shifting closer to Hawke. Fenris merely nodded, appearing uncomfortable from the attention. He waved away any of the shrimp but showed interest in the apples when Hawke handed some to Theta, so she flash fried a paper of them for him.
"What exactly is this celebration? I can hear the noise all the way up in Hightown," Fenris asked.
"Feastday in Kirkwall. It's a day when everyone pretends to be generous and good to their fellow man. It's fun while it lasts," Varric said.
"I think the general idea is if they give away free food, entertainment, and drink for one day, it makes up for everyone being greedy bastards for the rest of the year," Isabela added. In true Isabela fashion, she was leaning entirely too close to Fenris, though the elf's only real reaction was to raise an eyebrow at her slightly, looking bemused.
"I guess if you heard them up in Hightown, that means the celebration is a success already." Hawke chuckled, turning to greet a pair of elf sisters that had worked with her on Athenril's crew delightedly.
"You'll be hearing the nobles complaining about the noise for weeks," Theta said to Fenris.
"Only the nobility are allowed to be annoying, don't you know." Varric held finished off his wine and Theta extended a hand for the mug, refilling it from the cauldron.
"From what I've seen, they're better at it." Fenris looked grimly amused.
Isabela was studying him again. Or, more specifically, she was eying the greatsword strapped to his back. Varric could practically see her winding up for a 'big sword' comment and shifted the subject before she could fire it off, looking at Hawke. "Your sister doesn't have cooking duty today?"
Hawke grimaced. "She has 'helping Mother keep Gamlen out of trouble' duty."
Varric winced. "Poor Sunshine." Ever since they had found the will and Leandra had started taking steps to try and petition the Viscount to regain the Amell estate (he made a note to see if the rumors he'd been encouraging about the slavers there now were going into the right ears), Gamlen's behavior had gotten even worse, either out of guilt or maybe just pique.
Theta rolled her eyes. "More like 'keeping Gamlen away from the people who want to kill him' duty."
"So half of Kirkwall, in other words." Even Isabela couldn't say that with a smile. Since they both frequented the Blooming Rose, she had been on the receiving end of his attentions far too often.
"Who is this?" Fenris looked at Hawke.
"My uncle."
"Are you entirely sure you three are related to him, Hawke?" Isabela leaned around Fenris to look at her. "I've met your mother. You three ran around Ferelden for most of your life and you still have a sense of class. He's lived in Kirkwall all his life and Hightown for most of it, and he wouldn't know class if it came up behind him and kicked him in the ass."
"Why thank you, Isabela," Hawke chuckled, accepting that for the compliment it was. "I...oh, shit. Watch it, Varric."
Varric turned and cursed under his breath as Bartrand came shouldering up. He shot Hawke a sneering glare (Theta noted with interest that it made Fenris narrow his eyes coldly at the dwarf) before glowering at his brother, seizing a hold of Varric's sleeve and dragging him away from the rest of the group. Catching Hawke's frown, Varric gave her a little wave to tell her it was okay. She clearly didn't like it, but she stayed put.
"How goes the mapping, brother?" Varric kept his voice mild, knowing it would annoy Bartrand more than anything.
"Are you deliberately trying to waste my time until the darkspawn fill the roads up again and I lose a once in a lifetime opportunity?" Batrand snarled. "I told you that you were wasting time...both mine and yours...on that human."
"You also told me I was wasting time trying to find a map," Varric reminded him mildly.
Batrand scowled.
"Don't tell me those maps aren't real, you wouldn't have been spending so much time with them if you couldn't use them," Varric pressed, knowing full well Batrand had already narrowed down what entrance and path he wanted to use.
"You're actually going to bring that entire freak show you've gathered around you down into the Deep Roads?" Bartrand snapped.
"What does it matter?" Varric didn't bother to try and hide his impatience. "Don't get your beard in a twist, Bartrand. It won't affect your share of the treasure at all. We'll divide it three ways between you, me, and Hawke and Hawke and I will split our shares equally with the others. Simple." He started to move back to his friends, dodging his brother's attempt to grab him again. "We're more than halfway there, by the time you find replacements for your mercenaries, I'll have everything we need to finish funding it up."
That was the core of this, of course. Bartrand needed someone to take his anger out on. Some of the mercenaries Bartrand had lined up for the expedition had gotten themselves killed in a bar brawl...a rare one Isabela hadn't started...which infuriated his brother. Furthermore, every time they came up with sovereigns for the expedition, it further proved he'd misjudged the Hawke sisters, and that really stuck in his craw. Varric had always had a better judgement of people but Bartrand would walk straight into the Void before he would admit it. Bartrand had taken over the Tethras clan's fortune very young and had expanded it beyond the surface even back into Orzammar, his ambition knowing no bounds. He was used to dominating everything from business deals to personal relationships and the fact even a few bits of the expedition wasn't completely in his control drove him crazy.
Several cold looks were awaiting Bartrand back at the stall. Hawke was watching him, expressionless, and Isabela gave him an insolent glare as she took a slow drink from her bottle. Even Merrill was staring at him with narrow eyes. His chin jutted up and he walked up beside Varric just to prove he didn't give a damn. He gave Hawke an arrogant look. "You better make this worth the sneers we're getting for taking a Ferelden on, human. I've heard enough leech jokes to last me a lifetime." He put emphasis on the word 'leech' pointedly.
"So have I. It's a very...common...attitude in Kirkwall," Hawke said. Varric still had no idea how she managed to say a simple phrase like that with an utterly mild tone and still manage to make it as insulting as a slap to the face. Normally he enjoyed it when she pulled something like that, but seeing Bartrand bristle made him wish she'd kept her mouth shut this time around.
"Come now, handsome, your reputation can take a few grumbles," Isabela drawled. "You're the great Bartrand Tethras, leader of the most famous expedition in Kirkwall and it hasn't even started yet!"
Also the most betted upon, as most people assumed they were all going to die down there, but there was no point in bringing that up.
Bartrand gave Isabela a disgusted look that only made her grin, and then turned and stalked off without a word. Varric sighed and took a drink, knowing he'd be hearing about this all week. Theta refilled his mug again sympathetically and Merrill showed the boundless depth of the goodness in her heart by offering him an un-sampled cookie.
He'd been on the receiving end of Bartrand's temper far too much during his life to let it ruin his day. It didn't take much time or effort on his friends' part to lift his mood, but he appreciated them trying.
Bethany watched Anders dance with her mother. As promised, she kept half an eye on her uncle, but Gamlen had met up with a prostitute roaming for customers through the crowd and disappeared down an alley. She was not going to follow. They'd given him a purse full of coin just in case. If he was going to spend all of it on a dockside whore, that was his choice.
Her mother laughed, making Bethany smile. It had been a long time since she'd heard Leandra laugh like that. And she'd never seen Anders like this, either. He was more relaxed and carefree than she'd ever seen him. For a moment, she could almost see the man he had been before Justice. She was glad everyone had come out for Feastday, they needed it. Through the crowd, she'd taken note that even that sour elf with the strange markings had come out to see the celebration. That one worried her. She wasn't afraid he would hurt her. For all his suspicion toward mages...and her..., he'd been perfectly polite since that first night, and she'd spent enough time around Fenris over the past weeks to judge he seemed to have moved her out of the 'immediate threat I might have to kill' category. When he had helped them take down some mercenaries a few days ago, he'd trusted her to stand at their backs without even glancing back at her once.
No, it was the fact Alessa seemed drawn to him and that worried Bethany. When she teased her sister about her taste in men, it wasn't without grounds. Oh, she wasn't being obvious about it, but Bethany was her sister and she knew the signs when Alessa was on her way to being enamored. In fact, the last person to so obviously fascinate her had been her first. And worst. She supposed they shared regrets in that regard.
She was drawn out of her thoughts as her mother walked up to her, face flushed and eyes shining, a bright smile on her lips. Before Bethany knew what was happening, Anders was taking her hand and drawing her out onto the space cleared for dancing. "Oh! I'm not sure..."
"Oh, go on, Bethany, you've been watching Gamlen all day, you should have some fun," Leandra said gaily. She threw a sarcastic, almost defiant look in the direction her brother had gone. "He has."
"I don't know any steps," Beth murmured to Anders, looking up a him.
"What steps?" The other mage chuckled, guiding her easily.
"All right, but if I step on your feet, it's your own fault!"
"I've been warned." Anders didn't seem concerned at all and after a moment, Bethany relaxed, letting him lead her. To her surprise, it wasn't hard at all. "I never was really good at the dances Mother tried to teach me...it's hard to count and enjoy yourself at the same time..." She said, feeling a bit self conscious.
"You think too much. With those kinds of dances, enjoyment is meant to be secondary to worrying about whether you have more jewels than the next woman and concentrating on not falling out of your dress," Anders said.
Bethany laughed aloud. "I didn't think the Circle would bother to teach their mages to dance." She paused, not sure if she should have said that, but Anders didn't seem to be offended.
"No, I learned during the times I was wandering around after escaping. I taught some of the others how to do it after I came back. You should have seen how baffled and suspicious the templars there looked whenever we did it. They probably thought it was some kind of evil ancient ritual," he said, guiding her through a twirl, making her giggle.
"You said you did that six times? Escaped the Circle?"
"Seven, by the time I met the Warden Commander."
"I don't know if I would have had the courage to do that...run away from the Circle."
Anders looked at her in surprise. "You've been an apostate your whole life."
"Exactly. It was always others...my family...taking the risks. To keep me free." She looked over to where her mother was standing at the edge of the crowd, talking to another Ferelden refugee.
"They chose to take those risks because they love you," Anders said gently. "You think I haven't noticed how quick your sister is to launch herself at anyone who looks at you the wrong way?"
Bethany made a face. "She's always been like that. At least with me. She and Carver. Oh, they used to fight each other all the time, they were just too alike though they would have been horrified to hear me say that."
Anders chuckled. "They were even overbearing because they loved you."
"Alessa wasn't as bad as Carver until..." She trailed off, pained.
Anders's hand tightened around hers softly. "Until your father died?"
"Yes...when he died Mother...she just fell apart for a while...we all did, really...and Carver was with the King's army. It fell on Alessa to keep us all together. And now we're in Kirkwall and surrounded by templars. She and Mother are both feeling overprotective. It's like I'm six years old and just learning my powers again." She glanced around, realizing she'd been speaking out loud.
"No one is paying attention. Trust me on this, Bethany, people in places like this during times like this aren't paying attention to the noise around them."
"That's true..." she nodded. "When the templars had wind of us, we often stayed in crowded cities. In places even worse than Uncle Gamlen's house, more often than not. I think Alessa learned to pick pockets solely for the chance to get back at the people that kicked at us on the streets when we were little. Once, a man actually knocked Carver aside so hard, he hit his head and cut it open. I wish we'd had someone like you around then, Anders."
"I like helping people. I didn't get much of a chance to heal in the Circle."
"I bet you had plenty when you joined the Wardens."
He nodded, acknowledging that. "The templars don't much like healers. Taps too far into the Fade, draws spirits, plus I think watching mages using their 'curse' to do something like healing mixes up their poor little templar brains."
The music slowed and he pulled her closer. She felt a blush touch her cheeks, but she didn't pull away. She was enjoying herself, didn't want it to end. "Do you think..." She'd been meaning to ask him this for a bit and was still shy about it. "Is it only people with a connection to the Fade that can heal the way you do? My father knew a little bit and taught me a little bit but..."
He smiled and again, Bethany had the sense she was seeing the man he'd been in Ferelden. "It takes special training to be able to do the fast stuff on the battlefield and such but I would be happy to teach you some things."
"I was thinking maybe I would be able to help you more in the clinic. Alessa has training practically and she taught me some, but..."
"You've been more help than you know. I wish I'd had friends like you and your sister and Varric before. It's been...nice...being able to run around with friends again."
"Are you going into the Deep Roads? I heard Varric asking you about it."
Anders sobered up a bit. "I haven't decided. The Deep Roads are...horrible, Bethany. Even with few darkspawn down there, there's other things in the dark...and this place Bartrand wants to go hasn't been explored yet. We have no idea what can be down there."
She felt a stir of fear at that. That very thing was, she knew, the reason Alessa was all fired up to go. Bethany wasn't so sure. She tamped it down ruthlessly. "With no risk, there's no gain...Father used to say that all the time."
Anders raised an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure he never meant to apply that to his little girl going down into the Deep Roads."
"I...okay, you're right. He would have locked me in the attic before he'd let me run off to the Deep Roads. Mother keeps trying to persuade me not to go, either."
"No one will blame you if you decide not to. The only reason I'm considering it is because I know I could actually help Varric and your sister down there."
"If they find a lot of treasure, you could use your share of it to help with your clinic too," Beth said thoughtfully.
"Yes, that too." He met her gaze seriously. "If you want some advice on the decision, I'll say...don't go down there simply because you feel obliged to, Bethany. It is far too much of a risk."
She nodded and he didn't press further, moving the conversations to simpler, lighter things, allowing both of them to enjoy a rare, brief moment they didn't have to look over their shoulders.
The murmur of conversation rode over the soft tinkle of music that seemed to come from nowhere, punctured only occasionally by the loud laugh of someone newly risen in ranks trying to show they were having a better time than anyone else. Magically crafted light lent everything a faintly red tint. It gleamed off patterns on silk picked out in gold thread on dresses and robes; sent sparks of light off jewels that graced the ears, throats, and fingers of women; gave a deeper color to the already deep red wine as it fell into wine cups. Danarius was a fan of subtle shows of power, the red tint was his way of gloating about the supposedly forbidden magic he practiced openly. Because he was powerful enough to do it as long as he didn't pull too much attention to himself.
The fleeting thought that you could tell how much higher a magister rose in status by the increase in posturing he or she did crossed his mind before he tamped it down. Unwise to let such thoughts pass through his mind- you never knew who might be listening -though it had gotten increasingly difficult lately to hold them back.
It was probably a stray thought that had caused Danarius to have him pour wine this night. Not that he needed a reason, the sight of his favored pet and bodyguard doing such a thing not only told his guests he wasn't worried anyone here could harm him, the amusement of seeing it was plenty enough reason for him to set him to the task.
"Fenris."
He turned as Danarius called to him. The magister whose cup he'd just filled let her fingers trail down his arm with a sultry smile and it was only discipline that kept him from wincing. His markings had been aching badly over the past few days and seemed even worse tonight. Even the faintest brush against them brought a rush of physical pain and remembered pain that was almost as bad.
Luckily, his master's summons gave him a way to pull away without figuring out how to do it subtly. He crossed the room where Danarius waited. Hadriana stood next to her master, smirking at him as he approached. Her eyes, however, were glinting with a hard light, perhaps noticing the way heads turned to watch him and the possessive gleam in Danarius's eyes that sickened Fenris as much as it enraged her. Hadriana wore a silk dress, not of the same quality as some of the magisters but still fine enough, that clung to her like a second skin, the bodice of it dipping down almost to her navel, baring pale skin and cleavage. A jeweled choker she must have paid far more than was practical for her means rested around her throat. Her makeup, no doubt artfully brushed on by her slaves, didn't make her look any less like a ferret. Just as her status didn't hide the fact that if it came down to a choice between his apprentice and the slave with the graceful lines of lyrium in his skin, she wouldn't be the one Danarius chose. In the end, she was replaceable. Fenris was not. It was one more thing the other magisters and apprentices had to snicker over at her expense and she would never forgive him for it.
Danarius watched him, his pale eyes hooded as they trailed over him. You can hide nothing from me, that look said. He held out his cup and gripped Fenris's wrist in a swift, crushing grip as he put the wine bottle forward. The pain was so sudden and immediate, Fenris had to concentrate with everything in him to keep from letting the bottle slip from his fingers, unable stop the flinch that crossed his features. "Careful now, my little wolf, don't spill a drop," Danarius murmured as he released his hold. "One of those bottles is worth almost half of you..."
Agreggio Pavali.
Fenris stared at the bottles set in a neat line on the rack with wonder. He couldn't believe Danarius had actually left his favorite wine here. Six bottles of it. If he'd had any doubts from the valuables Fenris had made use of over the weeks that Danarius had fled almost the second he got wind his runaway slave was coming for him, this laid those doubts to rest.
He pulled a bottle off the rack and studied it, then took two others and walked back up the stairs. The day after he'd settled into the mansion, Varric and Hawke had showed up at the door, telling him if he was living there, they ought to go over it and make sure all the traps were gone. They had not been; between the two of them, they had found several he might not have spotted before they caused him injury. Hawke had been the one who found the ones on the cellar stairs and door and had mentioned casually that they were strong ones. It had not occurred to him until later that might be significant and he had come down for the first time to poke around.
The elf carried the bottles up to the room Danarius had been using that he had claimed for his own, setting them on the table. He paused at the open journal he'd found earlier, also sitting on the table. It was Danarius's, that much he knew. It was pages of his tightly packed handwriting, squiggles with no meaning. At the back of it, however, there were a series of pictures, crudely drawn as if for a child. A wolf with a broken leash trailing behind it running around, pissing on trees, standing surrounded by bodies with an idiot, lolling tongued grin. In the final one, the wolf had been caged up and looked much sleeker and more dignified, sitting proud within the bars.
Danarius had left that before he fled in a place he knew Fenris would eventually find it, open to those last pages. Even having fled, he had to have the last word. The crudity of the drawings in contrast to the elegant handwriting was a second layer of taunting. He knew whatever secrets were safe within because Fenris couldn't read them.
Fenris slammed the journal closed and knocked it off the table. The rage of finding it earlier had been what had driven him out into the streets today as much as curiosity.
Knowing his master's tastes all too well, he dug around the room until he found a corkscrew in a drawer. The wine gave off a heady perfume as he uncorked it. The scent he was familiar with, having poured plenty of the wine. The taste, on the other hand...nothing was worth risking the type of punishment Danarius would mete out on any slave who dared to try and sneak a drink of his prized wine.
Fenris took a mouthful straight from the bottle, closing his eyes at the taste. He took another drink, savoring it mouthful by mouthful. When it was gone, the warmth of it spreading through him, lightening his mood, he turned and threw the bottle at the wall across the room, enjoying the tinkling crash of the fine glass as it smashed.
His eyes fell on the other bottles of Agreggio. On impulse, he snatched a full bottle of it up and threw it as well. He smiled faintly, imagining Danarius's horror as the bottle smashed, leaving a deep red splotch on the wall, spraying fearfully expensive wine in every direction, long drips of it sliding down the wall.
"I think a nice still life would look better there, personally."
He tensed at the unexpected voice, but relaxed almost immediately as he recognized it, turning to see Hawke standing in the doorway, her head cocked curiously. Her hair was still pulled back into a small tail at the back of her head, her clothes were stained with grease and she had a long streak of soot on her cheekbone she seemed unaware of. She was carrying a paper twist of what smelled like roasted chestnuts, the scent of it complementing the scent of wine that now filled the room.
"It's good I can still take pleasure in the small things," he said, feeling both embarrassed and slightly defiant. "Was there something you needed?"
She shrugged, stepping further into the room. She shook the last of the chestnuts out of the paper and offered some to him. He took a couple, enjoying the taste over the aftertaste of the wine. Hawke crumpled the paper and tossed it in the fire. "I just wanted to see if you were okay. You left so fast earlier, I turned around and you were gone." She sniffed, eyeing the wine decorated wall. "What kind of wine is that?"
"Agreggio Pavali." He nodded as her eyebrows winged up. She recognized the name, of course. Even those who hated Tevinter made an exception for its finest export from its famous vineyards, it was world renowned.
Hawke seemed on the verge of making some comment and apparently decided not to ask him why he was smashing a bottle of one of the world's most expensive wine on his walls. "Anyway, you missed Isabela getting two fellows all stirred up and getting into a fight over her. It would have turned into a brawl right in the middle of the festival if Aveline hadn't shown up."
Having met that particular guardswoman, he couldn't blame them at all for quitting that fight before she hauled them away. Probably single-handedly. He picked up the third bottle and turned back toward the fire, opening it.
"Were those in the cellar? No wonder he had traps all over the place," Hawke commented. "Can I sit?"
He blinked over at her in surprise and nodded, motioning towards a chair. He still forgot to offer her a seat because he was utterly unused to someone waiting for his permission. The first time he'd commented on it, she'd just given him a puzzled look and said she wouldn't have sat down without an invitation in any other home in Hightown, why would she in his home?
It was just such little gestures from her...she treated everyone with the exact same politeness no matter what their status or race...and the way she did them as if they were the most natural thing in the world, that intrigued him so...
He took another drink, pulling his thoughts away from that, then looked at the bottle, swirling the wine within it. "Six bottles of it. Danarius used to have me pour this for his guests. My appearance intimidated them, he said. Which he enjoyed."
"I can't imagine they were all intimidated. Unless you were giving them all your 'I'm going to kill you' look. You have a very effective one." She sounded distracted and when Fenris looked over at her, he saw to his chagrin that she'd come across the journal on the floor and had picked it up. It had fallen open to the drawings and she blinked at them, frowning.
"Danarius's last taunt," he found himself saying, defensive. "He must have drawn it before he left the mansion. He used to call me his 'little wolf'."
She studied the drawings, brows furrowed as she understood what they were supposed to mean. "He didn't have the time to take six bottles of Agreggio Pavali out of the cellar but he had the time to sit here and draw these to leave behind before he fled? Well, I hope that made him feel better about himself."
He hadn't thought of it that way. He looked back at the fire, thoughtful and tense. Now she would ask why he'd done it with drawings and he didn't know how to answer her without revealing that particular inability of his...
But Hawke just shrugged and closed the journal, setting it on the table and moving around it to a chair. She sat, tucking her legs beneath her. Fenris didn't look at her, taking another drink and throwing the half full bottle to join its brothers.
Hawke looked amused. "Could have offered me a glass first, you know."
"There's more if you're really interested." He kept his voice neutral, not sure if she was laughing at him.
She gave him that flashing, mischievous smile of hers. "Then how will you redecorate the walls?"
That startled a laugh out of him, the sound so unfamiliar he almost didn't believe it had come from him.
"Although I reckon it's worth it; I can almost hear your former master screaming clear across Thedas," Hawke continued.
That sobered him a bit. It did seem like a waste on such a pointless gesture since Danarius would never know about it. But he couldn't make himself regret it. It gave him some satisfaction, if only momentarily, to know he could destroy something Danarius prized. "I've wanted to leave my past behind me, but it won't stay there..." he murmured.
"It always seems to find a way to creep up on you, doesn't it?" Hawke agreed, her voice quiet. She turned her head, looking into the fire.
Fenris wondered if she was thinking of her home. Did she ever consider going back? He wondered briefly what it was like there. "Tell me, have you ever wanted to return to Ferelden?"
She looked over at him as he sat down across from her, looking startled. "There's nothing left of Lothering. A friend of Mother's wrote to her and told her even the ground there is too tainted, no one can rebuild on it or grow anything."
Fenris frowned. He'd gotten the impression they had been happy there, did it really mean so little to her? "The Blight is over. You could rebuild what you lost. You truly don't want to?"
She was silent for a few moments, looking back at the fire. Finally, she said, "My mother was born here, there's a chance she can regain what she lost when she left. I don't think she's ready to go back to Ferelden with all the memories of Carver and Father there. And home has never been a place for me; it's wherever my family is."
He never let on that he enjoyed hearing her talk about her past and her family. However hard things had been, there was always a warmth, and obvious love, that suffused Hawke's voice. She looked back at him. "I do miss Lothering, though. It was the first real home we had. I've always liked being able to wander, but I admit wandering has always been better knowing there's a home waiting for me."
"Having a place you could put down roots," he said quietly. He hadn't realized how much he'd wanted that before he'd had the chance to do it here.
Hawke smiled. "Motion sickness: the price of rootlessness, as Father used to say."
Another mage, her father. But Bethany seemed to have a strong character for a mage, she must have gotten it somewhere. He couldn't imagine the man was cruel and capricious if her mother had been willing to give up her privileged life here and go on the run with him for most of her life. If someone like Hawke spoke of him with such a river of love and longing in her voice.
She studied him. "How long have you been on the run yourself, Fenris?"
"Three years now. Danarius has a way of finding me. Perhaps it is the markings. Either way, it never takes him long to follow. This is the first time I've given him reason to pause. Perhaps there are advantages in numbers..."
"So, are you putting down roots yourself? Here?" Hawke leaned back in her chair.
He wasn't willing to state anything, part of him afraid to grow attached to a place in case something happened to drive him away, as something had every time he spent in any place for longer than a few weeks. "I haven't decided. For now, it's as good a place as any. I'd return to Seheron if I could, but there's no life for me there." Not when he couldn't look the people there in the eye.
"I've never heard of Seheron, is that where you're from?" Hawke seemed as interested in his past as he was in hers, though he couldn't imagine why, and he wasn't as willing to talk about it.
"So I've been told," he hedged.
"You don't remember? Were you too young to when you left?"
"Perhaps."
Hawke took the hint from the shortness in his voice and dropped the subject. "From what Varric told me, he seemed to get the impression you were on the verge of tracking your old master down."
He had considered it, part of him wanting to just end the chase, tired of it. But that didn't mean he was suicidal. "I imagine he returned to Minrathous and I dare not go to the city while he's alive. It's better to wait for him to leave his fortress. Fight from a fortified position."
"He might give up one day, still," she said. She rose, moving to the table, looking down at the journal again. "The shallow way I imagine he thinks...if you can even call it that...eventually he'll probably think the cost is too much."
The implication of her words- that the fact Danarius viewed Fenris only as expensive property was a fault of the magister's -warmed him almost as much as the wine did. If only he could believe Danarius would just give up completely. "I'll go to him, then. I won't live with a wolf at my back."
"Yes...that's understandable." Hawke nodded slowly, flipping through the entries of the journal. He was curious about what it said but couldn't bring himself to ask.
"If it comes to that, though I doubt it will. I do not expect your help when that day arrives, but I would not turn it aside."
She gave him a surprised look. "Of course I'd help. You think I'd just sit back and watch him try and drag you off? Not likely." She waved the journal. "I don't think I'd like him, anyway. He can't write three sentences in here without pissing me off."
He chuckled, not sure how to respond to that.
"You could stay here, you know." There was an odd note to her voice. She tugged her hair free and it fell around her face, so black the firelight caught sparks of blue in it. "There's very few places more fortified than Kirkwall."
"I could see myself staying...for the right reasons."
She glanced over at him at those quiet words and the look that flickered through her strange, beautiful eyes, the sudden faint tension vibrating the air, made him confirm something he had been shying away from. There was a pull between them, drawing them toward each other. It was why he was willing to speak of things to her that he had to no one else. It wasn't just physical, he'd been attracted to women and men both he'd come across on the run as well. This woman fascinated him, made him honestly want to see more of the mind behind those eyes.
Hawke looked away first, a faint blush touching her cheeks, and Fenris glanced away as well, his thoughts off balance. He groped for something to say. "I should thank you again for helping me against the hunters. If I'd known Anso would find me a woman so capable, I might have asked him to look sooner."
She flipped the journal closed and smiled at him, pushing her hair back from her face, a nervous gesture. "Talk is cheap, handsome."
"Is that so?" The obvious fact she was clearly as affected by that sudden moment of tension helped ease his own nerves, made a smile curve his own lips as he rose to his feet. "Perhaps I'll practice my flattery for your next visit? With any luck, I'll become better at it."
"Well isn't that an intriguing thought." Hawke paused, studying the journal, then laid it on the table, looking up at him with a serious expression now. "Burn that thing, Fenris. That's all its good for. What's inside it is as worthless as the man who wrote it."
Fenris stared at the journal for a while after she left, setting the tips of his fingers on its cover. If there was no worthwhile information in it- and he trusted Hawke on that -then there was no reason to keep it, was there?
As worthless as the man who wrote it.
He turned his head, studying the wine stains on the wall for a moment.
Then he picked the journal up and threw it in the fire.
Author's Note: Alessa's quote from her father was actually taken from this quote from one of Jeffery Wright's characters in Angels in America: "Price of rootlessness, motion sickness. Only cure: keep moving." It just fit so well.
