Author's Note
A galactic core sized dollop of thanks to my friend and beta strangegibbon who has been the Kirk to my Spock. Without her this enterprise would've beached a long, long, long time ago. Many many thanks to all the readers who've been following and especially those who've taken the time to comment or review, you make my day each time. This chapter has been long in coming so without further ado-
The Dragon Age Universe and everything in it belongs to BioWare.
This Story is rated T but may on occasion trespass through M.
22. Prime Suspect
"You're absolutely sure about this?" Donnic repeated for the umpteenth time, no more certain about the plan than he had been an hour ago when it was first proposed. His brow was wadded up tight and his forelocks and ample whiskers glistened with perspiration.
"Of course, she'll be fine. This is hardly the first time she's played at being bait - ask Fenris." Aveline shot back, equally agitated but for different reasons. She was worried about all the things that could wrong; anxious that what they were about to do fell in the grey area beyond the bounds of law and concerned that they may be infringing upon a man's innocence in a scheme that was beginning to feel more and more harebrained the closer they drew to executing it.
"This is different, what happened at the ball... she hasn't seen him since that incident and if this makes her uncomfortable, it's not right," Donnic insisted bullishly.
Fenris, who had been observing the exchange with a keenness belied by the way in which he leaned, foot casually braced against the wall, pointed a sharp look at the pair and then flicked his eyes at Hawke to study her reaction.
In front of the mirror she stood, tucking flowers into her Orlesian style chignon. They were that overpowering variety and made the whole of his living room reek a strange combination of years old dust and roses. A faint hint of colour crept into her pale skin and the muscles of her shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Which incident?" he asked, intrigued by these subtle changes.
"She's bedded the man!" Aveline threw up her hands and glowered at Donnic. "How much more comfortable do you want her to get?"
"Ah, I'm sorry I asked." said Fenris darkly, jerking his gaze away as his mouth twisted.
"Don't fret it, Broody. The Social Pages called it an epic bust - worst debut since Urthemeil at Denerim in '30." Varric spoke up beside him. "Frankly, I think the jury was rigged. My favourite was drunk Correen Penhart at the Summer Ball two years ago after she crashed into the food service and landed in the punch fountain with the triple layer cake for a hat. Good times."
"Passing out in a punch fountain does sound like it would appeal to you." Fenris fidgeted, crossing his arms, " And I'm not fretting it."
"Then put on a smile," the dwarf grinned, "even rhymes with denial."
Hawke turned around and waved her hands impatiently, "I'm perfectly fine and all you fishwives can stop gossiping about me any time now."
"You make it hard, Hawke - try going a week without dramatically hooking up with someone and we might have a chance."
"Enough," Aveline cut in curtly, stepping up to the centre of the room and commanding everyone like the captain she was. "Hawke, you will take the front door out, the rest of us will slip out the back. Unless there are questions let's just get this over with."
Not much later, Hawke waited before the elegant doorcase of the the DuPuis mansion while somewhere within a reverberating gong announced her presence. It was a grand and stately home, once the pride and joy of Lord Guylian who had been exiled during the time of Perin Threnhold. It had remained vacant for years until recently handed over in a surreptitious and uncontested auction to Seneschal Bran's younger brother, who in turn had leased it out to its current occupant. A decidedly summery breeze rustled through the quiet streets of Hightown and the excited chirping of romantically inclined crickets filled the evening air. It was the end of the week and most homes were either empty, their inhabitants out visiting or hosting the noisy parties of people too preoccupied to notice any untoward goings-on.
The sound of hurried movement became audible behind the door and it swung open to reveal a very frazzled looking Gascard DuPuis. Darks shadows circled his eyes, contrasting vividly against a unhealthy pallor. The long silky hair that had so fascinated Hawke at the Ball was pulled back in an untidy blond ponytail. His shirt was rumpled, speckled with a fine spray of red and unsurprisingly he looked none too happy to see her.
"Serah Hawke," he said, the charmingly Orlesian mademoiselle forgotten. "What are you doing here?"
At least the accent had been genuine, Hawke reflected putting on a smile. "I've been thinking of you," she crooned gliding past him, ignoring the deliberate lack of invitation. "In fact, I have been able to think of little else." Was it bad form to use one lover's words on another? The idea amused her and she glanced over her shoulder as she swayed into the large hall, bright smiles and fluttering lashes disguising a quick survey of the interior. She noted the grand staircase that swept up on either side of the chamber and the servant's corridor that ran behind it, her attention lingering on the passage for any sign of the rest of the party.
"You have me at a disadvantage, Serah. I wasn't expecting company." Gascard took her hand and kissed her knuckles. "Perhaps, you will allow me one of those... ah!.. rain checks as you call them, yes?"
The sensation of his lips against her skin was so disconcertingly familiar that Hawke faltered for a moment, a trickle of unease prickling at the back of her neck. She shook it off and continued, tilting her head to a side and allowing her mouth to fall into a forlorn pout. "Do you mean you've forgotten about our rendezvous today?"
Gascard stared in confusion.
"You don't remember inviting me today? At Chantry, you asked me to come visit you," she lied steadily. "Is everything well?"
"I... I am afraid I cannot recall-" He stuttered, taken aback. "Yes, it is - I have been a bit preoccupied. Please forgive me. Perhaps I can urge you to visit another day, today is a very bad time for me."
"What do you mean you can't recall?" Hawke raised the pitch of her voice incredulously. "We made plans. Are you feeling all right? Have you seen a healer?" She gripped his hand and drew him toward the door. "Come on then, let's take you to one."
"No! No Circle!" He wrenched his hand free and swung around; Hawke stole a glance at the passages behind him. "Look Serah, I appreciate your concern, but-"
"Is that wine on your shirt? Have you been drinking?" She interrupted with a scowl, sniffing to detect any traces of alcohol on his breath when a distinct but muffled thud resounded from somewhere in the back of the house.
"What was that?" Gascard twisted around and craned his neck in its direction. "Did you hear something?"
Marian placed a hand around his neck, turning his head so he was forced to look at her. "I didn't hear anything, Gascard."
"But I swear there was a sound. I should go investigate, I beg your forgiveness- perhaps-"
"There was no sound." She affected an expression of pained sympathy. "Step outside for some air with me, Gascard." Her hands slid down his shoulders, fingers circling his wrists, "it'll clear your head. How long have you been cooped up inside the house?"
"I'm fine. I think you ought to leave, Serah," he insisted, prodding her towards the door but Hawke remained adamant.
"Are you- ?" she framed his head with her palms, "you look quite pale-" and then gasped softly. "Oh Maker! Gascard, you're burning up."
"I am not...burning up," he slapped a hand to his forehead to judge for himself and shook her off. "I don't know what you are up about Serah but please, excuse me."
Hawke suddenly snapped back and stared expectantly at the door, the move so abrupt that DuPuis was forced to stop and look at her in bafflement. Finally, when no explanation was forthcoming, he spoke. "Well? What is it now?"
"Aren't you going to get the door?" She asked him pointedly.
"What?"
"The door? Aren't you going to get it? The doorbell just rang."
Gascard took a step back, shaking his head. "There was no doorbell. I heard nothing."
Hawke let her mouth fall open a little and turned her head to look at the door, then back at him. "There it is again."
"What?" He raked his hands through his hair. "I did not hear anything."
"Gascard, you poor- I'll get the door. Come with me." She assured him in a kind voice, taking his arm and leading him to the entrance. He allowed himself to follow her, his eyes wide in confusion.
Hawke unbolted the heavy door and dragged it open.
Orana waited outside, hands clasped timidly in front of her. Neither gave any indication of knowing the other. Instead she piped up nervously, "Pardon me Messeres, for disturbing you. May I borrow wine glasses for my master?" She pointed at Fenris' mansion across the street.
Gascard stared at the girl, and Hawke thought his eyes might spring out of his skull. "Did you ring the doorbell?"
"Yes, Messere. I'm sorry. We've run out of wine glasses."
"I didn't hear the doorbell."
"I rang twice, Ser."
"That house you said?" he pointed at Fenris' house. "It's empty. No one lives there. It's been lying vacant for three years. No one lives there!" He turned to Hawke, who had one hand on his forearm and the other stroking his back sympathetically. "Is this some kind of joke? Are you going to tell me that that house has been occupied for three years and I did not notice somehow?"
Hawke shook her head and made to speak but Orana responded first. "Oh no, Messere. My Master just returned from Tevinter a week ago. We're still settling in."
"Take a walk with me, Gascard. To clear your head." Hawke interjected tenderly.
DuPuis relented and for a few minutes ambled beside her to the end of the street until they reached the gaudy home that Bartrand had purchased after the expedition. Varric had taken over the administration of the estate after the elder Tethras was committed to asylum and was renovating in anticipation of new tenants. It stood shrouded with scaffolding beams stuck out from beneath the sheets of tarp and canvas at oddly sinister angles.
They had hardly made it to the end of the street when Gascard reached the end of his tether. "I really must go back, I was in the middle of something," he said twisting around to glance at his house. Hawke sighed, hoping the little ruse had bought Aveline enough time. Pulling his arm free, he added, "I thank you for your concern. I'll be seeing you soon," and started up the street at a shuffle that was just shy of an all out run.
"Gascard, wait!" Hawke went after him but he broke into a sprint that she could not hope to match. Instead, she closed her eyes and yanked open her connection to the Fade. There was a yelp as he tripped on some broken tiles and crashed to the ground, buying her a few more minutes. "Oh Maker, are you all right?" she exclaimed running after him.
There was blood all over his scraped knees. He stared at it in horror and looked up at Hawke. "You! You are jinxing me." He cried, scrambling to his feet and darted towards his home, streaking past the handsome townhouses and ducking inside the door, slamming it shut before Hawke could catch up.
When she finally made it inside, Gascard was nowhere to be seen. Hawke froze - the main hall had been ransacked, everywhere there were broken bits and pieces and an ugly fracture ran right through the middle of the large mirror on the north wall. The Veil felt flimsy as if something foul had savaged it and left it torn and bleeding. Swallowing her misgivings, she crept forward, peering into the cavernous hallways of the wings on either side of the staircase for any sign of her friends or Gascard before taking the stairs to the upper floor.
As Hawke approached the private area, a soft whimper drifted through the empty corridors. Steeling her nerves she followed the sound until it brought her to an elaborate door frame that she assumed led to the master suite and pressed her ears to the door to listen. The whimper resolved into frightened weeping and DuPuis' sharply barked orders cutting through in midst of it, incited her to barge in.
Inside the chamber, he was struggling with a mousey-haired woman who broke into frantic pleas. "Help me! Please! He's gone mad!"
Gascard looked up, still clutching the woman by her arms, "it's you!" he exclaimed. The woman sagged and started to weep, "Shit. I... know what this looks like, but I didn't hurt her"!
A brief interlude later Gascard was gone.
In his stead, Hawke found herself preparing to defend the indefensible and surmised how often in their fairly long association, she had been on the receiving end of a certain elf's rage.
"You did what?" Fenris enunciated each syllable sharply and Hawke filled a deep breath in order to defend herself.
He had yelled at her angrily, snarled at her violently and cursed her liberally in Tevinter yet despite each one of their loud and raucous disagreements, she knew that he retained a measure of confidence in her that he did not have in Anders or Merrill, both of whom he considered beyond redemption. He had thought her a woman so capable once and pronounced her not weak on another occasion and Hawke knew that both were rare and costly concessions. Though she would never admit it she had held onto these brusque words longer than any superfluous compliment. It was also a fact that watching him turn on her passionately in the only way he would allow himself was so thrilling she could seldom resist an opportunity to rile him.
She might admit that it was a tad foolhardy of her to so provoke a man capable of ending her in a hot blue flash of unleashed fury (and she had Hadriana's example as a warning against relying on some scruple to stay his hand) but she felt well assured that so long as she avoided that bracket of Lost Causes to which Anders had been consigned, Fenris would temper his wrath.
The reason for her current trepidation therefore were the shuddering convulsions wracking the trust on which their compromise so delicately rested.
"We allow blood mages to walk freely now? So they can murder with impunity?" He clenched his glowing fist around one of the tall slim and rather damning vials of blood he and Donnic had discovered in the basement and snarled, pitching it at the wall behind Marian where it shattered into dust.
Hawke winced, snapping around to stare at the livid bloodstain on the wall. "Calm down, Fenris. I can explain."
He glared at her, face twisted and eyes flashing and when he suddenly reached towards her again she instinctively ducked to avoid another projectile. That made him pause, a look passed over his face and he growled loudly in the harsh syllables of his native tongue, sweeping away to the top of the room to work off some steam. Aveline eyed Donnic who followed with a nod.
"We found more than enough evidence to implicate him." Aveline said, sweeping her arm over the material piled in the middle of the room. She raised the stack of correspondence between Gascard and some Tevinter contraband supplier. "The front hall was booby-trapped with shades. Varric and I had to fight them off before we could reach the West Wing. Fenris tells me you need blood to work this kind of magic."
Hawke sighed. "I know-"
"And These are missives between him and First Enchanter Raddick of the Starkhaven Circle. He kept nosing after their mages." She continued with another stack.
"And there's a chest full of women's clothes in the room across the hall. Unless pretty boy likes to play dress up, I'm thinking that means something." Varric added.
Aveline crossed her arms and frowned at Hawke. "Why didn't you wait for us before letting him go?"
"Because he isn't the murderer. He's just following a trail. He has used blood magic, but only to find the real killer."
"And you know this how?" Fenris strode back, and advanced upon her. Aveline moved to intercept but Hawke cut in front of her, ready to defend but he cut her off, his next words vicious as poisoned barbs. "- because he's your lover?
"How dare you!" Marian exploded, colour blazing her cheeks. "This is why I didn't wait for you - any of you. You wouldn't have listened! He lost his sister to the Killer!"
"I have stood beside you in every ill-conceived scheme, but there is a line, Hawke," Fenris replied, his voice barely a hiss and sharp as his sword. He reached to seize her arm and hesitated when she flinched. "This is on your head." He shoved past her and walked out.
There was a long moment of silence in which everyone avoided looking at each other. Finally Aveline spoke. "I want your report on my desk in the morning and you need to inform Emeric. I sure as the Void don't want to be the one to tell him how his prime suspect got away."
TBC
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