Author's Note
Loads of thanks to my beta strangegibbon for the wonderful editing and encouragement. Liability for any mistakes is mine, jointly shared by Benedict Cumberbatch for having such distracting cheekbones. Thanks to everyone who added this story to their alerts and favourites, and a very special thanks to everyone who reviewed. You guys motivate me!
The Dragon Age Universe and everyone in it belongs to BioWare.
This story is rated T but in pursuit of the plot, may on occasion trespass through M.
12. Blackmail and Bows
Night had fallen by the time Hawke arrived at the docks, and as the land cooled the wind changed course, flowing down the terraced city and towards the open sea. It was a clear night, and a half moon climbed up the horizon, casting silver streaks upon the water in the bay. The pier was filled with dock workers and sailors and as she waded through them, splendid and luscious in silk, ribbons and bows, Fenris was forced to shove off more than one drunken lout, grumbling anxiously about the attention.
"Oh cheer up, it's a just the night for a walk along the waterfront," She said, as he swore one time too many.
"It must be leisurely when there is no liability attached to your hip."
"Don't worry, Fenris, I promise to defend your virtue if they come at you." She threw a smile at him and he scowled back with a shake of his white head.
In one corner, at the very end of the row of the buildings lining the waterfront, was the address that corresponded with Anders' note. Hawke marched up the steps and knocked, primping while they waited to be let inside.
After sometime, the door eased open a crack and half of a woman's face appeared. The cool grey gaze widened in recognition of Hawke and then narrowed, shifting nervously from her to Fenris and back again.
"What do you want?" she demanded in a strangled voice. "We're not open today."
"Idunna! How do you do, my old friend!" Hawke exclaimed, grinning widely. "Won't you invite us in?"
"No! Go away- I won't go back, I swear it!" She made to shut the door but Hawke inserted her foot at the last minute.
"Now, now- we're here to talk."
Idunna hesitated, calculating her chances while Marian tapped her foot, finally venturing, "What do you want?"
"A cup of tea- a glass of wine- is this anyway to treat your old friends?"
"I won't go back!" she reiterated a dash of hysteria colouring her voice.
"Neither will I. So might as well let me in- or should I return with Carver- he'd love to catch up with you- he's a templar now, did you hear?"
"No, please! I'll let you in." She withdrew from a door for a moment, unchained it and flung it open wider. "I'm not doing anything wrong here, we're just getting by. Don't send me back there again please! They turn people Tranquil."
Hawke strutted inside the foyer of the house and looked around, taking in the gaudy decor and tasteless furnishings trying hard to emulate the extravagant flamboyance of the Rose without Madam Lusine's budget.
"Your new digs? I can't say I like it better than the old place."
Idunna scurried around, very much resembling a cornered rat with her eyes flashing nervously. "I don't want any trouble."
"Good, then I'll get to the point." Hawke fixed her with a glare, dropping the convivial manner as promptly as yesterday's trash. "Tell me everything you know about Seneschal Bran."
Her eyes widened and she shook her head, "I don't know what you're talking about."
"One of your girls gave him the pox."
"It wasn't my girls!" she protested, shaking her head violently. "I swear it wasn't. My girls are all clean!"
"I find that hard to believe." Fenris interjected with a sniff.
"Idunna, I came all the way out here - don't make my effort a waste. You won't like my friend when I'm angry."
His glower at Hawke conveyed just what he thought of that.
Idunna hesitated for a few moments, then conceded an inch. "He comes in once a week, for the drinks- that's all."
"Did I introduce Fenris? He has this charming parlour trick where he sticks his hand in your gut and then pulls out something squelchy- it's quite fantastic."
The other woman clasped her hands over her mouth in a bit of a whimper and backed away further.
"I confess it makes me a little hot, which I suppose says something about the kind of girl I am."
"Please, I can't tell you. It would destroy my livelihood. Discretion is everything to my clients." She implored trembling, eyes darting from Hawke to Fenris in a panic.
Hawke remained silent for a moment, a tremor slithering through her resolve. A glance at Fenris, found his face impassively observant as usual. She wasn't completely sure why she hesitated. If Anders were there, she could picture him, fawning over the plight of the reformed apostate with a bleeding heart and she would have done exactly what she pleased anyway. Yet, even certain in the knowledge, that if it were up to him, Idunna would be getting tossed on the nearest boat bound back to the Gallows, she hesitated, wanting to know his mind and what he thought of her - and it wasn't that she longed to align with his wishes; it was more complex. She wanted his admiration, respect- however grudgingly given and it was confusing because she believed herself immune to what anyone thought of her.
"You've given pox to the Seneschal, Idunna-your business is good as dead anyway. Do me a good turn, and I might remember to mention where Bran really got his rash."
Idunna mulled over her options for a fraction, "He likes to pretend."
Hawke raised her eyebrows.
"He pretends to be a lady-"
"Seneschal Bran?" Hawke looked at her incredulous, "but what of the pirates?"
"He meets with them in a disused passage behind the alley. He likes being with them, dressed like that."
Hawke started to laugh and Idunna looked distraught. "They're none of mine. You make sure they all know that."
"Behold, our lords and betters." She flicked her gaze to Fenris and found his lips curled up in a sneer. "This is the company you aspire to."
Hawke finished laughing quickly and turned back to the subject. "Well, this is certainly very entertaining, but not enough."
Idunna gasped, "I told you everything I know!"
"Perhaps, but I need proof."
"It's Serendipity's operation, not mine!"
"Dear Maker!" Hawke barked out a laugh in disbelief, "He- she- is in on this too? Does Lusine know you're all stealing clientele from right under her nose?"
"You won't tell her!" Idunna cried.
Hawke was nothing if not an opportunist. "Certainly not, if you help me."
"Serendipity's man - he's called Fat Lou. He's the one you want. I can arrange a meeting."
Fat Lou as it turned out, used to be a real pirate but he'd quickly discovered smuggling to be more dangerous and less lucrative than he'd like and had retreated beneath the Docks to operate a special prostitution ring for a very exclusive clientele - not all of it as legal as the Aveline would like. As she descended into the recesses below the docks, for the first time all evening, Marian felt a little inappropriately clad. It was one thing to strut like a peacock into Anders' clinic where only the sickly stared longing at her finery, or saunter along the docks which, though unsavoury was still subject to the writ of the city but venturing deep into the underworld was quite another matter.
"So where do you suppose the transvestite pirate orgy is?" she stated as they walked through a narrow, seemingly empty alley with that faint prickle of sensation at her nape that suggested they were being watched closely. She drifted closer to Fenris and her hand hovered over his arm a little nervously as she remembered her last brush with bandits.
"Stay alert." It was all he said and Hawke could see the tension in his body; limbs coiled and ready like a cat on a prowl, gliding on featherlight steps, eyes and ears flicking at any sign of movement.
She nodded and glanced around - once, twice, and down at the uneven dirt floor, spotting a square tile that seemed marginally less dusty than the rest. Deciding to set her foot down on it and save some additional wear on her pretty sandals, she didn't expect it in the least when he closed his gauntleted hand around her bare arm and yanked her away savagely. "Trap-"
"Maker's breath," She rubbed her arm, scowling at the light red welt that had begun to form. "How do you know anyway-it looks clean."
"Yes, too clean." He pressed the point of his blade into the centre of the plate, applying a cautious, even pressure. Hawke watched fascinated, hanging over his shoulder as the tile lowered and with a soft click, a long spike thrust out of its centre.
She yelped in surprise. "Who put that horrid thing there! It's a wonder I didn't step on it."
"It's a wonder."
There may have been flicker of amusement lurking somewhere in the depths of his eyes, and Hawke searched his expression for evidence of it in vain. She released a little 'hmph' and received the barest twitch of a smirk in response. But before she could open her mouth to call him out on it, he shoved her behind his back and raised his sword.
"Show yourself." he said to the emptiness and there was a tiny clatter in response.
Hawke strained to sense whatever danger it was that had suddenly become apparent to him. She inhaled a breath as best she could to centre herself and tapped into magic, willing the wild energy into an invisible vortex that encircled each of them. Fenris noted the shield and bristled at the perceived slight but restrained himself. They waited in silence as it stretched for a long moment, until finally, a figure stepped out from behind the far corner.
"Let me guess, Fat Lou?" Hawke blurted.
He was a squat dwarf, perfectly bald and shiny; wrapped in several layers of bulbous fat that swelled out from beneath his clothing, padding around his shoulders so that his arms stuck out at the sides and formed a soft and pudgy neck-obscuring cushion from which his chin protruded at an odd angle. There was a crossbow held delicately in sausage fingers.
"You from Hightown?" He grunted.
"Yes." Hawke stepped out from behind Fenris, "And we have a business proposition for you."
Fat Lou did not reply immediately, instead he ran an unabashedly lecherous gaze over her that was insolent enough that Fenris pushed in front. Hawke frowned and opened her mouth to object but the dwarf cut her short.
"This the whore I was told you was bringing?" He didn't move his eyes from Hawke.
"What? Of course not- much to Isabela's woe." She retorted with a half laugh. Fenris's face was not visible, but she was certain it would be the very picture of displeasure. Idunna's ploy to draw out the man left much to be desired.
"I'll get you 50, no more," he shoved out his chin at Fenris.
"Keep your fifty, dwarf before I shove it down your throat."
"Now, now, Fenris-remember why we're here." She attempted to mollify him before an altercation ruined her plans.
Fat Lou spit out a wad of chewing tobacco on the ground with all the grace of a dwarven pimp living beneath the docks and narrowed his eyes at Fenris. "You threatening me, knife-ear punk?"
Hawke placed a hand on Fenris' shoulder, he was taut as a wire. "We came to talk coin, not trade insults here."
"Then show the merchandise." his grinned widely and Hawke fought the temptation to smack it off his face.
"Now hold just a minute- I won't have you speak like that to him."
One eye lingering on Fenris' great blade, she slid her hand around his upper arm preemptively but Fat Lou remained on track. "Maybe even 70- plucky thing, you got there."
Fenris shrugged off her grip, the lyrium under his skin tingled to life and Hawke scrambled in a panic to hold him off. "Fenris! Stop, stop. We need him." She bore her gaze into his stormy eyes, pleading.
Fat Lou began to chuckle. "You got a fine one there, I'll get you a clean 100 in gold if you can bring her to heel-"
Hawke gasped in realisation and wheeled around, face flushed and eyes flashing with anger. "-and I get to ride free right now."
"I beg your pardon!" She stuttered a red fog of anger clouding up her judgement. "I am no whore."
The dwarf shrugged and his much layered avoirdupois wriggled with the motion, "if it walks like a whore and looks like a whore, I'm callin' it a whore."
"Why, you little nug-dung-eating tub of lard-" The air around the dwarf crackled to life and all of sudden he convulsed, doubling over in pain, gasping and choking as the spell crushed his lungs.
"Ah and here it comes," she heard Fenris say as a bolt whizzed past her head and ricocheted off the wall behind.
Fat Lou had brought friends and they poured into the narrow alley, unleashing a hail of crossbow bolts before them. Hawke ducked, reinforcing the deflective arcane shield and Fenris hefted his sword to meet them, a blur of silvery blue streaking into their midst.
Cries rose and echoed down the passage, blood splattered on the walls and seeped into the ground. For a precious fraction Hawke was unable to act, paralysed by the sudden eruption of violence. Fat Lou writhed on the ground in front of her, frothing at the mouth as the spell continued to grind his lungs and she tore her attention away from him to focus on the skirmish.
The thugs had forgotten about her - the woman in ribbons and silk was never a threat relative to a man in armour waving a big sword, and Hawke counted on this oversight every time. A few paces behind, on the other side of the corridor was a wooden scaffolding holding up a crumbling portion of the tunnel and she made a run for it, ducking behind for cover.
Once safely out of line of sight, she fought for breath against the confines of her corset and finding it a futile task, reached behind to unhook some of her stays. Air rushed into her lungs the moment the garment came loose and she gulped in great lungfuls of breath. When her nerves allowed, she peeked out from her hiding position to take stock of the situation.
Six assailants, who had traded their crossbows for blades, surrounded Fenris and there were at least another two crossbowmen firing at them from somewhere out of sight. Every few moments, a bolt whizzed too close and was sent veering off target by her shield and the ground around Fenris was peppered with the short black shafts stuck into the dirt, but it was not an infallible barrier and any one of them could have struck home. It was imperative to find the snipers and take them out. She searched the length of the passageway for them and all the dark nooks where such rogues liked to hide, then Fenris cried out.
Somebody had broken through his defence and red blood trickled down his forearm. It was a flesh wound, but it still made her heart stop. She closed her eyes and pulled at the strings of magic, imagining concentric circles taking shape in the dirt under their feet as she had practiced with chalk in her courtyard. In her mind's eye, the runes took shape on the ground and she felt magic flow through the visualised pathway, channeled like water into a canal and as the circles filled out, so did the magic. Suddenly the gravitational pull in the area of effect magnified sharply and hobbled the attackers with a near paralysis.
Hawke released the breath she had drawn, panting with exhaustion and damp with cold sweat. Her hands trembled with effort but she had bought him a reprieve. With another breath, she turned her attention to the bolts that continued to land. She had to disable them on her own. Since there was nothing along the length of the alley and their angles were high, there was only one other possibility. She glanced up towards the ceiling and the shadows that yawned in the vaulting arches above, scrutinising the darkness for any sign of the snipers.
She spotted them on a high beam, solid black shapes that shifted in shadow. They were too far for any of the new discovered force magic and she didn't know anything as spectacular like Merrill. She wracked her brain for a solution, reflecting on the good fortune of having avoided a direct shot and then it suddenly came to her. A simple, almost juvenile hex - one of the very first she had ever figured out.
As soon as it was cast, the sniper's luck nosedived. She heard him swear as his crossbow malfunctioned and then, while struggling with the cocking ring, he tripped, lost his balance and with a terrible scream, plunged down to hit the ground with a crunch.
Hawke turned to the final sniper. He stared over his shoulder, at his companion's still body in disbelief for a few shocked moments and then recovered. He primed his crossbow and took aim with renewed determination. The hail of bolts, though halved, had resumed. Further down in the alley, Fenris engaged with the remaining bandits oblivious to her little victory.
Some lay dead, others had run off and still more continued to present a challenge. His armor gleamed with dark, wet streaks of blood and she had no way to tell how much of it was his own. But she could tell he was tiring, his movements were no longer as graceful and his speed had slackened. Her spells too were beginning to wear off. Fat Lou was passed out on the ground, and lay still, his great barrel chest labouring for air and the gravity bending trick she had pulled was fading away too.
Another bolt narrowly missed her foot and spurred her to action. She knew she had to neutralise the last sniper before attempting anything else to help him. Her magic was nearly exhausted, it took every ounce of willpower to keep the shields up. Hawke studied the sniper, perhaps if she dropped them for an instant, it would free up enough will to attack his thoughts. She knew how to dull a mind with sleep and perhaps touch his thoughts with a little horror but she didn't want to make herself vulnerable.
She considered the continuing scrape, steel clanged against steel. There were two against Fenris and he had turned defensive- retreating and fending off attacks instead of hewing down foes with uncanny speed and preternatural grace. It forced her decision.
With a deep fortifying breath, she abandoned the shields. The steady spin dissolved into a chaotic flux before dissipating completely. Nearly at once, a hail of bolts descended much too accurately upon her and she cowered behind the scaffolding, clutching her head, heart exploding in her chest. As soon as there was a pause in the assault she scrambled out from behind the cover, bounding across the alley in a mad dash as more bolts perforated the ground in her wake.
Skidding to a stop directly under the sniper's perch, she shaped the magic into and thrust it inside marksman's head. He teetered, then a howl pierced the cavern and the crossbow came clattering down. He followed a few seconds later.
Hawke snatched up the weapon and turned back to the main kerfuffle. There was only one thug remaining and his back was toward her. She'd seen Varric do it and managed to cock the drawstring without much trouble, raised it, pointed the bolt in the general direction and released the trigger, yelping in surprise at the unexpected recoil.
As quickly as it had started, the battle was over.
"Are you all right?" She tossed away the crossbow and glanced at Fenris. Her hands shook. She'd just killed three men. Don't think about it.
"I'll live." He was out of breath and leaned against the alley wall, chest labouring, blood trickling down his blade.
Hawke nodded and turned to Fat Lou, rolling him over with her pretty peep-toe sandal and placing her foot over his chest. Don't think about it. She leaned forward and scowled at him as he came to, "Your friends are dead."
He whimpered.
"Should have thought of that before. Now then," she transferred more of her weight to his ribcage. "You know Seneschal Bran, you set him up for his weekly pirate romp- I need something incriminating and don't say you have nothing to give me. I will leave you dead in this alley, don't think I won't."
He rattled out something and Hawke had to strain to catch it.
"How utterly convenient," she stated as she rifled quickly through his pockets and withdrew a folded parchment. A pair of stringy lady's underwear fell out that she pinched between her forefinger and thumb in triumph.
"There's a family crest on this and his initials- Sweetest Serendipity-" she let out a half-hearted tinkle of mirth, "did you hear that Fenris- that pompous fool - wait till Lady Bran sees this - he's signed this with his first name." Her eyes travelled quickly over the writing and she giggled again, "this letter is so ridiculous - here, read this part-"
Fenris did not respond.
"I wager he wouldn't want Hightown to learn about this, don't you think so?"
When there was still no response from him, Hawke turned around and let out a gasp. "Fenris!"
He had slid down against the mortared wall, eyes closed and head rolled back. His chest rose and fell with visible strain but he made no sound to betray his pain. Hawke knelt beside him, wincing at the all the dark splotches of blood and looked for injuries. "Maker's breath, there's a bolt in your shoulder! What do I do?"
Fenris opened an eye and gave her a look, "healing would be welcome."
"I don't know how-" Blood bubbled up around the thick shaft embedded at the juncture of his shoulder, where there was a gap between chest plate and pauldron. Hawke began to panic, her thoughts scattering away from her as she made an effort to focus, trying to rationalise what to do next. "Let's get rid of this first," she gripped the shaft firmly and released it just as quickly when he hissed in pain, "or maybe I should get you out of this-" she fumbled with the straps of the pauldron and slipped it off his shoulder.
"The one redeeming quality of magic, and you know nothing of it."
Hawke pursed her lips, feeling inadequate. "You would rather Anders at your side?"
"No."
"I wish he was here, I should've asked him to come- may be one of them has a poultice, I'll look." She scrambled to her feet and scurried over to the slain bodies, turning them over and quickly ransacking their possessions for anything medicinal.
"You unfastened your clothes." he observed and Hawke remembered her bared back and low-riding bodice, and hitched it up higher.
"Yes, couldn't breathe."
"You thought he referred to me. What kind of whore carries a sword, Hawke." She pursed her lips, acceding the logic and felt foolish.
I think I found something." She held up a flask of liquor and ran back. "Will this help?"
"I could use a drink" he smirked. Hawke gave him an exasperated look.
"I'll pull out the bolt, wash the wound off with this-I've seen Mother do it, and then staunch the bleeding."
He nodded in agreement, "I'll need bandages."
"I don't have any-" then her eyes fell on the mass of broad ribbons cascading down her shoulder. She reached over and ripped off the large bow, quickly unravelling the length of ribbon into long strips of silk. "Ready?"
Fenris nodded, gritting his teeth and she wrapped her fingers around the shaft, now slick with blood. She closed her eyes and yanked. His hand closed around her wrist and he gripped so tightly she couldn't feel her fingers yet his face remained grim and stoic against the pain and she swallowed her own discomfort.
"Brace yourself," she opened the flask and poured it over the gaping tear. He bit back a scream, his face contorted in pain and Hawke steeled herself, pressing the makeshift pad into place and wrapping the ribbon tightly around his shoulder. If only Anders were here. She wondered how long it would take to fetch him.
She should have anticipated violence, and come prepared. Darktown was always trouble and now Fenris was hurt and it was all her fault. She slid her free hand around the back of his neck and stroked her fingers through his hair. It was slick with blood and sweat and her stomach turned at the thought of the pain he was in. The pristine, lily white silk oozed crimson. "If you die on me, I'll chase you through the Fade."
"That is what Danarius would say." It stung like a slap. Hawke felt colour on her cheeks and looked away. Her hand was blue, she focused on the splotched skin and willed her eyes dry. He relaxed his grip at last and her flesh tingled to life, erupting in pins and needles. "I suppose the view does make bleeding to death more agreeable."
The bodice no longer held up by the bow had slipped down to her waist and she blushed a brilliant red that began in the centre of her white, exposed chest. She covered herself as best she could. Her clothes were completely ruined. There were smears of blood and dirt glistening on the pale purple raw silk. She tried to remember how much the outfit had cost and couldn't. Memories had become lodged in her throat, thoughts of a rosy girl with raven hair and chestnut eyes who was good and kind, whose life should have been peachy and idyllic, full of love and laughter and babies and all the things her youthful heart desired, not cut short because of Hawke's failings.
"That's it? You're just going to give up?" Her voice came out choked, "-get up. On your feet- I won't allow it." but her tone was hard and sharp as a blade.
It helped that he was not a whole lot bigger than her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and heaved him up to his feet. It would be a long walk to the clinic, but she would get him there.
TBC
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