There were times when Leandra couldn't help but curse her own stubbornness, which was the case as she stood amidst the mess and clutter of Malcolm's office. A servant or two would take care of it in short order, but she just couldn't bring herself to allow strangers into her home. Really, she wished Malcolm would confine his work to the Gallows, but he used his office at home just as much, if not more.
She gathered the dirty tea cups and wine glasses onto a tray, and then set about picking up the random papers scattered over the floor. It was then that she noticed a particularly expensive looking scroll crumpled up next to the waste bin.
Knowing she shouldn't pry, but unable to quell her curiosity, she picked up the scroll and smoothed it out on Malcolm's desk.
Honorable Peacekeeper Malcolm Hawke,
I have lately arrived in your fair city, and it would do me great honor to host you and your family at a private dinner.
Leandra scanned over the details of the invitation, but her eyes were immediately drawn to the elegant signature at the bottom.
Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven
Prince Vael! Here, in Kirkwall? And Malcolm threw his letter away? For a moment Leandra was torn between outrage and excitement, but the latter won out as she realized the invitation was still for two days away. How could her husband so carelessly neglect his daughters' futures? It was doubtful that Prince Vael would find Amber at all appealing, but her Bethany would make the perfect princess. Royalty! It was beyond her wildest dreams!
To make up for Malcolm's rude behavior, she decided she would go to the Chantry and accept the Prince's kind offer in person. Leandra could barely contain her glee as she freshened up and left for the Chantry.
She'd just entered the courtyard when she heard a voice calling her name. She turned to see who it was, and couldn't have been more surprised.
"Quentin!" she exclaimed. "It's been years!"
"Leandra," said the man, approaching her. "You look absolutely lovely." He took her hand and brought it to his lips.
Old feelings resurfaced as he placed a soft kiss on the back of her hand. Quentin had been Malcolm's main rival in marriage back when she had still been Leandra Amell, the most sought-after girl in Kirkwall. She still remembered the thrill of being pursued by two such handsome young men, even though her parents had not approved that both were mages. Quentin had been so very charming and extremely persistent, but it was Malcolm's kiss that had set her afire. Even so, she'd always wondered if she'd made the right choice. Yes, she was the Peacekeeper's wife, and her social standing was secured, but with that came so much unpleasantness, such as his liaisons with that wretched Meredith woman. Those thoughts had her greeting Quentin with much more enthusiasm than she might have done.
"It's so good to see you," she said. "What brings you back to Kirkwall?"
Quentin looked slightly uncomfortable for a moment, but it soon passed and he smiled. "Just cleaning up some old business," he said. "Rather boring, I'm afraid, but seeing you again makes the trip more than worthwhile."
"Quentin, how you do go on," Leandra said with a twittering laugh.
"Perhaps you'd do me the honor of accompanying me to tea? We could catch up, reminisce."
Leandra glanced toward the Chantry steps. She couldn't delay her current mission and lose this precious opportunity. "I'm afraid I can't today," she told him, genuinely disappointed. "Tomorrow?"
Quentin smiled again. She'd always adored his smile. "I look forward to it," he said. "Shall I call for you at noon?"
"Yes, that would be lovely," she agreed.
"Until tomorrow then," Quentin said, and bowed.
"See you then," Leandra told him happily. Her spirits soaring, she hurried on to the Chantry to secure Prince Vael's invitation.
Hawke crouched low behind a large boulder as she listened for the caravan to pass along the trail below. In both hands were her daggers as she waited, steadying her breath to calm her nerves. Normally when Meeran demanded a job from her, it was a simple shakedown for coin, or some idle threat against a Lowtown thug would suffice, but this was big. This was unlike any job he had asked her to do before, and her nerves were causing her hands to shake; not a good sign if she hoped to be successful.
The road between the Planasene Forest and the Vimmark Mountains was heavily travelled, and if she were to succeed, Hawke knew she'd have to be quick in her actions. Why couldn't they have travelled from Val Royeaux to Kirkwall by way of the Waking Sea? Then she wouldn't have been assigned this job, and she'd be concocting ways to lure Anders into the cellar instead of continuing to pay for Meeran's silence.
Hawke wondered idly if it would've been simpler to have killed Meeran the day he approached her about the slanderous information he'd received about her family. Then he wouldn't be blackmailing her, she wouldn't be forced to do jobs like this that were in direct conflict with her father's work, and she wouldn't be living this double life. Dutiful noble daughter by day, thief and killer by night. She fought hard to restrain the tears that stung her eyes; her father would be so disappointed in her, even if she was only doing this to protect him and the family name.
The sound of carriage wheels along the dirt road alerted her to the caravan's pending arrival, and Hawke took another deep breath before giving the signal to the other Red Iron mercenaries, who were laying in wait, that it was time to act. A few well placed arrows flew from the cover of the trees, and the carriage's horse bucked in fear, coming to a sudden halt. Orlesian guards surrounded the carriage, scouring the treeline for the source of the attack.
More arrows rained down from the distance, causing the distraction Hawke needed to make her move. She climbed the boulder and then leapt in the air, dexterously landing atop the roof of the carriage. Slicing through the canvas top with her blade, she quickly scanned its contents, looking for the small chest Meeran had described. When her eyes found the supposed treasure among the travelling provisions, she reached in and retrieved it. Cursing the weight of it as she placed it under her arm, Hawke exited the carriage and began to run for the forest.
"She has the package!" Hawke heard one of the guards yell as she sprinted toward the treeline. Covering her retreat, the Red Iron mercenaries redirected their arrows into the growing distance between Hawke and the guards. It was enough to slow them down while Hawke ran as fast as she could.
A sharp thwack, followed by a searing pain in her side, nearly caused Hawke to stumble, but she continued on into the forest. To stop now would mean her capture, and worse yet, failing the mission. The chest grew heavy in her arms the further she went, but she could still hear the guards moving through the trees. There had been no plan beyond getting the package, only survival and then delivery. Pushing her body's limits Hawke kept moving, fear and adrenaline sustaining her.
The time allotted to her by the mercenaries was enough to create false tracks toward a cabin she'd spotted in the distance, and then Hawke doubled back. As she hid behind a large oak tree, she waited several minutes until the guard ran past, following the trail she had created. Allowing herself just a moment to catch her breath, she waited until she was certain they had reached the cabin before running in the opposite direction. They'd be stalled for a time while interrogating the occupants, giving her the chance to escape them for good.
Before doing so, Hawke took the opportunity to set the chest on the ground and began working on the lock. Its weight was slowing her down; retrieving the contents before continuing on would be beneficial. Thanks to Isabela's expert teachings, she was opening the iron box within seconds. Inside the velvet lined chest was a book; leather bound, old in appearance, and when she lifted the thick cover to reveal the text, she found it was written in a language she did not recognize.
When she stood with only the book in hand, Hawke was reminded of the wound she had received by the sudden stab of pain in her side. She quickly removed a glove to run her fingers along her leather tunic, checking to see if any blood had soaked through the armor. Still dry, and finding no holes from an arrowhead, she assumed it was no more than a bruise, and continued on before the Orlesian guards could find her.
Bethany sat curled up in a chair staring dismally at the note she'd received from Cullen. Duty called, and he would not see her today. It was so disappointing. She was fresh from her bath and had applied his favorite perfume to all the right places, only to have the stupid letter arrive, dashing her hopes. It would be the first day since he'd returned from the Deep Roads that they would not meet.
Granted, some of their trysts had been merely a stolen hour here or there. Brief though the interludes were, they were enough, if barely. Since their afternoon at Rosemary's, Bethany had been spending a lot of time examining her heart, and also attempting to logically think through what she really wanted. After many self-reflecting hours, she'd finally come to the conclusion that she was in love with her templar. Truly, deeply, violently in love in a way that she never would have imagined in the beginning.
She knew full well that those in the Order rarely married, but it was clear to her now that was exactly her wish. True, he was only a Knight Captain now, and their life together would be somewhat meager, at least at first. But she had her dowry and Cullen was sure to gain stature within the Templars. He would almost certainly be Knight Commander one day.
All her dreams were nothing more than that, however, because she had no surety that Cullen felt the same. He was passionate, attentive and very kind to her, but was that only because her father was Peacekeeper? She didn't believe that his motives were mercenary, not at all. He was too honorable a man for that to be the case. Yet, it was possible he was simply enjoying their affair for its convenience, and had no aspirations of building a life together.
It would all work itself out in time, she supposed, but at least she had come to a resolution, and no longer felt conflicted. She wanted to be his wife, beyond all doubt.
Bethany looked up when she heard her mother calling her name. She tucked the note away and composed her features, determined to prevent Leandra from asking unsuitable questions, or find any hint of Bethany's true feelings.
"Bethany!" Leandra said as she hurried into the room. "Oh my darling daughter, you'll never guess what news I bring!"
"I can guess that it's good news," she replied, taking in her mother's wide smile and flushed cheeks.
"The best news! There could be none better!" Leandra pulled a crumpled piece of parchment from her pocket and waved it in the air like a flag. She was practically glowing. "We are to dine with Prince Sebastian Vael," she said eagerly. "A prince, of all things!" Leandra leaned down and pulled Bethany into a tight hug. "You shall be a princess, my darling, I just know it."
"I appreciate you coming to the estate," Malcolm said to Anders as they entered his private office at home. "Though I assume this was probably more convenient for you than the Gallows?"
Anders barely contained his laughter. "With all due respect, I fear you are the only mage free enough to come and go as you please as far as that place is concerned," he said, taking a seat opposite Malcolm.
"Not as freely as it may appear," Malcolm stated with a sigh. "I have received some troubling news that I'm hoping you can shed some light on," he continued, retrieving a parchment from the inner pocket of his robes. "The two men that confronted you in the Deep Roads, I have learned of their identity. One I am all too familiar with, and will be handling personally. But the other, his motives elude me, and I'm hoping for your assistance on the matter."
"Me?" Anders wasn't clear as to what help he could be. "What would I know?"
"Your time in Amaranthine may be invaluable to me," Malcolm told him. "This other man, his name is Nathaniel Howe. I believe he was at Vigil's Keep during your time there with the Wardens."
Anders was impressed, but not surprised, that Malcolm would be aware of his history. The moment the apostate entered the city Malcolm probably knew everything there was to know about him. If not that moment, then certainly the moment he became involved with the Peacekeeper's daughter. "I had heard Nathaniel was captured by the Wardens just before my arrival," Anders confirmed. "But we had never crossed paths; Solona had ordered his release while I was recovering from my Joining. Rumor was he made several threats on his way out, blaming Solona and the Wardens for ruining the Howe name."
"He is looking to make good on those threats," Malcolm informed Anders. "As the Hero of Ferelden is difficult to reach these days, it seems Nathaniel has targeted my family instead. An eye for an eye of sort, I suppose; I am aware Solona killed his father, and now Nathaniel wishes to seek revenge on any Amell within reach."
"Do you think he was working with Wesley?" Anders asked.
Malcolm shrugged as he leaned back in his chair. "I don't know. I can't imagine how those two would be connected, but it is a valid possibility. I had hoped you knew more of him."
"I'm sorry I don't have more information on the matter," Anders said. "But I may be able to get word to Solona."
"A task her own family has been unable to do?" Malcolm questioned. "Leandra has been trying to reach her to no avail."
"We have mutual friends who are far easier to reach," Anders replied. "Your daughter's safety is important to me, as is your family. And I am indebted to you, for Karl. I will do whatever I can to assist, you have only to name it."
Malcolm stood, extending his hand. "I appreciate that Anders."
The mages shook hands. "I must get back to my clinic, but I will send word immediately," Anders said. "I will let you know the moment I have news."
Hawke slid through Kirkwall's streets like a shadow, the large book clutched tightly to her chest. In a stroke of luck, she'd managed to lose the other mercenaries, along with the Orlesian guards. The pain in her side was making it difficult to breathe and she was afraid the bolt she'd taken had cracked a rib or two, but she forged on, her instincts driving her home.
The uneasy feeling she'd had since Meeran had assigned her this job had grown into an almost overwhelming paranoia. By rights, she should be handing the book over to Meeran at this very moment, but everything in her said it wasn't right, not at all.
When she finally drew near to the estate, she hid behind some barrels to survey the scene, and was very glad she did. Even in the dark she could make out two Red Iron men lurking not far from the entrance.
Plan B, she thought, and silently took off in the direction of the Chantry. There was the only place in Kirkwall where she knew she would remain safe and undetected - in the home of the best swordsman in all the Free Marches. Or swordelf, she thought, and nearly broke into a fit of giggles. Maker, she must be exhausted to find any humor in this situation.
It wasn't long before Hawke was carefully avoiding the traps Fenris kept scattered around the ground floor of his mansion. It was doubtless unnecessary with Danarius dead, but she of all people knew old habits died hard. She stopped upon reaching the stairway and let out three long, low whistles. It seemed like forever, though it was only minutes, before Fenris emerged from his room, his shock of white hair faintly glowing in the dim light.
"Hawke?" he called softly.
"It's me," she confirmed, and laboriously made her way up the steps. She could only imagine the ugly bruise that must be blooming under her armor.
"Is something amiss?" he asked, eying her carefully.
"Very amiss," she agreed, and nearly fell over when she reached the top.
Fenris caught her and kept her on her feet. "You are hurt."
"Not much," she lied. "I just need to sit down."
He helped her into a chair by the dying fire. "What is this?" he asked, pointing to the book still clutched against her chest.
Hawke held it out to him, and winced from the effort. "I'll explain later," she said. "Could you tuck it away somewhere safe for now?"
Fenris nodded and took it from her. Once he was gone, she began to undo the straps of her armor to relieve the unbearable pressure on her ribs. A thrill of fear rose up her spine as she realized the pain was just below her heart. It still hurt to draw breath, but with her leathers loosened there was some small relief.
Fenris returned a few minutes later, a dusty wine bottle in his hand. "Here," he said, holding it out to her. "It appears you could use a drink."
Gratefully she accepted the bottle and took a long swallow of the sweet, red wine. "Thanks, Fenris."
He only nodded and sat in the chair across from her.
"I think I'm in big trouble," she said.
"I gathered as much," replied Fenris. "You do realize that the book I hid away is an ancient Qunari relic?"
"Shit," said Hawke. "Shit, shit, shit."
Fenris retrieved the wine bottle from her and took a drink before saying, "I will need to hear the whole story."
And so Hawke told him. She didn't see that she had any choice, as her problems had suddenly grown too big for her to handle alone. Qunari relic? She swallowed hard, and told him of Meeran's threats, the blackmail and the nasty jobs she'd been forced to take, just to keep him quiet. It was a relief to finally tell someone, to admit how she'd been spending so many of her nights, but now it seemed her troubles had increased exponentially.
"When the Arishok fails to receive his revered tome, it will not be pretty," said Fenris.
"If I don't deliver it to Meeran, it will be downright ugly," she said grimly. "Maker's breath, what am I going to do?"
Fenris looked thoughtful for a moment before he replied, "You have already begun. Allow your friends to help you."
"I never wanted to drag any of you into this mess," Hawke said, shaking her head.
"Foolish girl," said Fenris. "This from the woman who ended my life of slavery at great personal risk."
The smallest of smiles curved Hawke's lips. "I did, didn't I?"
Fenris chuckled. "You did. But now, you must rest. You are obviously on your last leg." He stood and added, " I will send word to your father that you are here, and have kindly agreed to help me for a few days."
Hawke winced as she also stood. She had no energy left to argue. "Thank you, Fenris."
"No need. I will return shortly, Hawke."
Fenris watched as she settled herself into his bed, then went downstairs and reset the traps. He had a lot to accomplish before dawn, and his first stop would be the clinic.