Two days later
The silence seemed to stretch into infinity. Fenris found he was content to let it do so. This had felt important, somehow, but that did not mean he knew what to say.
The Circle's interrogation rooms were brighter and cleaner than the ones at the Guard, but it was still an odd place for a family reunion—if this meeting could be called that. Varania stared at him from the other side of the table, clad in an apprentice's white-and-grey uniform, and there was little in her expression that could be called sisterly.
At last, Varania spoke. "I had no choice, Leto."
"No choice but to tie yourself to him? No choice but to follow him to Denerim, to help him enslave me once more?" Fenris's fingers tightened against the cold metal of the table. "You have no idea what he did to me. What these markings …"
"You fought for those markings," Varania interrupted coldly. "You entered a tournament to earn them, Leto. And when you won, you directed your new master to buy my freedom, and our mother's." She shook her head. "It was no boon. We were cast out without shelter, without a coin to call our own, without hope of finding a position. We cobbled together a living as seamstresses, after a while. We made ends meet until she died. But when I was alone, I had no hope for anything better until Danarius found me again."
I fought for this? I chose this?
To free her. And she hates me for it.
Fenris closed his eyes. "Why are you telling me this?" he whispered.
"Why did you come here?" she countered. "Did you expect me to apologize? I am sorry for whatever you may have suffered. But I have suffered too, Leto. Do not judge me for how I survived. You would have done the same."
Fenris's eyes flew open. Varania's face was set in cold, stubborn lines. She believed what she had said. Clarity filled him, and with it, a calm. Whatever mistakes he had made, whatever sins he had committed, sacrificing others to save himself had never been one of them.
"No, Varania. I would not have done the same."
A long silence stretched between them. He noticed she did not argue.
His sister scowled down at the table. "They tell me I will not be apprenticed in Denerim," she said sullenly, changing the subject. "First Enchanter Vivienne seems to believe I will do best in a new environment. A place called Ostwick was mentioned."
Fenris felt a bit of shame at the intensity of his relief. "I hope you will be happy there," he said awkwardly.
Varania looked at him with baffled eyes, as if the entire concept of happiness were so foreign to her that she could not imagine anyone wishing her such a thing. "That is kind, I suppose."
With a sigh, Fenris stood from the table. "Be well, Varania," he said stiffly. He paused. "I am glad you are free from him."
Varania looked up at him, and once again, Fenris had that sense of a powerful, lost familiarity. This time he was glad for the missing memories. He suspected it hurt less this way.
Marcus leaned back into the metal interrogation room chair and skimmed the top page of the document Knight-Captain Trevelyan had just slid in front of him. It was about what he expected. Accessory to murder. Conspiracy to commit murder. Conspiracy to commit blood magic. Escape from the Circle.
He snorted at that one. "Really? You're going to charge me with escaping the Circle? When I saw Anders standing next to you at the storage unit?"
Trevelyan shrugged. "I didn't write up the charges."
Marcus rolled his eyes. "So someone else did the work. Why am I not surprised?" He locked gazes with Trevelyan and glared at him. "I wish I'd sent you further in that portal."
"One year was plenty," Trevelyan replied shortly.
A year? In spite of himself, Marcus felt a surge of elation. I'd hardly hoped to create such a large rift. "And yet you somehow made it back."
"Yeah. That was a fun day." Trevelyan leaned forward and planted his elbows on the table between them. "Incidentally, you and Danarius succeeded that time. But you turned the city into a hellscape covered with red lyrium. People were abandoning it in droves."
"I'm sure it looked like a hellscape to you if mages weren't being dragged around on leashes," Marcus snapped.
The Knight-Captain raised an eyebrow. "You really think a Denerim with Danarius in charge would have been worth living in? How much time did you spend with the man, exactly?"
Enough to know I couldn't trust him. But Marcus wasn't about to admit that to Trevelyan.
"There aren't a lot of people lining up to help mages, Knight-Captain," he said coldly. "We have to take what help we can find."
"Even if it meant putting a psychotic blood mage in charge?" Trevelyan shot back.
"Judge me all you want, Trevelyan," Marcus snapped. "It doesn't change the facts. Mages have exactly two options in life. We can either go to a Circle and take whatever scraps the Templars throw at us, or we can live outside the Circle and cut off part of ourselves to survive. Break those rules, and you people pull out a brand and turn us into emotionless servants."
Trevelyan's mouth tightened. He knows his system is wrong.
That thought just made Marcus angrier. He shoved the paper back towards the Templar. The heavy chain between his hands clanged against the side of the table as he did. "I plead guilty to all of it. Go ahead. Throw me in a cell. Brand me. There's just going to be another one like me soon enough. A reckoning is coming, Knight-Captain Trevelyan. You stopped me, but you won't stop us all. Not as long as you keep offering mages these same two inadequate choices."
Marcus didn't have a lot of reasons to feel comforted of late, but he took some thin, cold satisfaction in the unsettled look on Trevelyan's face.
A reckoning is coming, Knight-Captain Trevelyan.
He's probably right.
Well, except about the Knight-Captain part.
Not that Marcus could have known that. Max himself had only found out when he returned to his office to find the suspension papers waiting for him.
"This is a temporary setback, darling," Vivienne assured Max as he handed her his badge. She clicked her tongue in disapproval. "I cannot imagine what Lucius Corbin is thinking. Technically, yes, you did disobey his orders. But half the papers in Thedas are already calling for him to resign. Suspending the hero who stopped Danarius from slaying an entire City Council hardly seems the prudent move, politically speaking."
"Politics is the art of getting what you want when the stakes are high," Max said, echoing Vivienne's earlier words with a slight smile. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his civilian pants. "Maybe we just haven't figured out what Lucius wants yet."
Vivienne blinked. "Do you know, darling, I think that's quite apt. I'll have to consider it more."
"At least my dad is thrilled," Max said sardonically. "He's convinced Lucius just committed career suicide. He's probably practicing his new signature as we speak. 'Lord Seeker Richard Trevelyan.' Has a nice ring to it."
Vivienne arched an eyebrow. "Your father is a man who recognizes opportunity. So should you. Take a vacation, darling. Serve the suspension quietly, come back refreshed."
The First Enchanter was being awfully kind about all of this. But, with some surprise, Max realized that he wasn't truly upset. The past weeks had given him a lot to think about. The idea of five days away from the office, with no obligations to the Templar Order, sounded … rather divine.
"That's good advice, First Enchanter," he said gravely. "I think I'll take it."
Thirty minutes later, Max was standing in the aisle of a wine store, asking the saleswoman to recommend a bottle of Tevinter red. Thirty minutes after that, he was standing in front of the door to Dorian's hotel room.
The altus greeted him with a raised eyebrow. "I wasn't expecting you until later."
Max smiled. "Turns out I don't have to work for the rest of the day. Or for the next few days, actually." He held up the bottle. "I brought wine."
Dorian accepted it and smiled at the label. "Well then. I suppose I'd better invite you in."
Mei had barely finished knocking when Shianni opened the door, her eyes wide with surprise. "Hey, Mei! What are you doing here so early?"
With a slight grimace, Mei raised the paper bag of pastries. "I brought lunch. Sort of. Also, I got fired."
Lightning-quick, Shianni's surprise was replaced by anger. "That absolute bastard! Come in and tell me all about it and I'll tell you what an asshole he is."
Shianni's kitchen was still showing some of the aftereffects of Danarius's attack. The table had taken some damage, and there were holes in the wall that Mei knew must be from Varric's gun. But there was a box of sandpaper in the corner that Mei knew would soon be used to help the table out, and a roll of wallpaper in one corner of the room. It was white with a pattern of blue cherries; Mei suspected it had been on sale.
Shianni moved immediately to the coffee pot and set it to brew. "So why the hell did he fire you?"
Mei dug into the bag of pastries her guilt-ridden boss had sent with her and pulled out a cherry danish. "He said I was too public after the business at the City Council, that I made the customers nervous. I guess I see his point. The entire city knows I'm a mage."
"You made the customers nervous? Andraste's dimpled white ass, you charged in to save the entire City Council!" Shianni threw her hands up in dismay. "If anything, everyone in Denerim should feel calmer with you in the room."
Mei felt herself blush a bit. At least one person in Denerim isn't terrified of my magic. "You're just saying that because I brought you a bear claw." She bit into her danish. When she'd swallowed the bite, she added, "At least Aveline Vallen and the Council seem prepared to look the other way for now. I think the official phrase was 'magic used under duress in defense of others is exempt from prosecution at the discretion of the Guard-Captain.'"
"Shems always have to fancy it up somehow," Shianni snarked. "Glad they see sense, though."
Mei tilted her head at her friend. "How are you doing?"
"After getting zapped by an insane Tevinter magister, you mean?" Shianni poured coffee into two chipped mugs. "I'm surprisingly fine. I'm mostly worried about my people. A bunch of them didn't come back after the evacuation that night. I can't blame them for not feeling safe, but I hate that he took that from them. A couple of them came back after my cousin put a bullet in him, though."
She sat down next to Mei and dug out the bear claw. "How did you get mixed up with Naia and her crew, anyway?"
Mei took another bite of danish, mostly to give herself some time to think about how to answer that. "It's a really long story," she admitted after swallowing. She tilted her head towards the wallpaper. "But I can tell it to you while we fix the wall."
Shianni's face relaxed into a wide smile. "Sold. I'll get the ladder."
Naia walked away from the motel door twice before summoning the courage to knock. The second time, she'd nearly made it all the way down the hall before turning back.
Don't be a coward, Naia. Just get this over with.
For a minute she hoped Zev wouldn't be home, but he pulled open the door almost as soon as her knuckles met the wood. The arch, wry look on his face told her that he'd noticed her pacing and hesitation. She felt herself blush.
"Hi," she said with a smile, forcing past the awkward moment. "You've been avoiding me."
The confident look on Zevran's face wobbled. "That is not …" he began.
"Zev. You've found reasons to be out of the office for three days running. You've left messages on my home machine when you know I'm at the office. You're avoiding me."
Her heart pounded in her chest as she summoned her next words. Here comes the scary part. "Look, Zev. I … If you don't think you want this thing between us to keep going, just—just say the word. We'll go back to the way things were, and …"
She trailed off, not sure how to finish that. And I'll pretend it doesn't kind of kill me? And I'll try not to think about you naked every time I see you?
A little worry line appeared between Zevran's eyebrows—an expression Naia had never seen on his face. After a pause, he stepped back, gesturing for her to enter the room.
"Please, sit," he said, pointing awkwardly to one of the two beds. Naia perched on the edge, wrinkling her nose a bit at the slippery texture of the comforter. Zevran took a seat on the other bed, his elbows resting on his knees.
"I do owe you an explanation," he said after a long pause. "But I … I am afraid I do not know what to say." He let out a long breath and ran his hands through his hair. "I have told you little about my time with the Crows, I think."
Naia's spine tensed. "Did they find you? Have they threatened you?"
"No, no. Nothing so dire. Believe me, you would have been my first call if they had," Zevran assured her with a wave of his hand. "But I—braska." He closed his eyes. "It is hard to put into words."
Naia sat quietly, though every impatient bone in her body was screaming for him to say something, anything. I just want to know where we stand, Zev, she thought. And I don't want you to think you have to quit your job just because we slept together. I'd never forgive myself if you did.
Finally, he spoke. "How much did the Knight-Captain and Mr. Pavus tell you of the future they visited?"
Naia shook her head. "Not much. I gathered that something bad had happened to me, though. I think—I think I probably died."
Zevran's head snapped up. He looked at her with astonishment on his face. "You knew?"
"I suspected," she admitted. "There didn't seem to be much point in worrying about it, though. Our goal didn't change. Stop Danarius, stop that future, survive to fight another day."
He began to laugh, then, and there was genuine wonder in the sound. "You continue to surprise me, Naia."
"That's what spooked you? Knowing I died in that other future? We stopped Danarius, Zev. The Guard and the City Council are alive and well, and he's six feet under." Naia shook her head, baffled.
"I—no. Not exactly." He rubbed his hands over his face. When he spoke again, his voice was low and hesitant, as if he had to fight for every word.
"The Crows, as a rule, are not a sentimental group of assassins." He laced his fingers together and stared down at them. "When they adopted me from that whorehouse all those years ago, they quickly separated me from any possessions that might remind me of my old life. A pair of gloves from my mother. Books and toys and other trinkets from her former co-workers. It was made clear to me that I should not become attached to anything, save for the kill."
He raised his eyes to hers. "I had been imagining kissing you, taking you into my bed, since the moment we met. I thought it was a simple attraction to a beautiful woman. But when the Knight-Captain told me your life was in jeopardy, I felt—I do not know how to explain what I felt." He let out a soft laugh. "I only knew that once again, I had failed the Crows' most important lesson. And I did not know how to proceed from there."
Naia's mouth hung open. She was utterly, completely, thoroughly at a loss for words. She had imagined a lot of explanations for why Zev had been acting the way he had, but it had never occurred to her that he might be doing this because he felt the way she did.
That worry line appeared between Zev's eyebrows again. "Do you understand me at all?" he asked softly. "I cannot imagine that you would. I have never known anyone who cares so easily for so many people."
Naia released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. "Friends, sure. But …" She shook her head. "This is going to sound stupid, after everything you've been through. But I—I don't really do relationships. The idea of relying so much on just one person—I hate it." She looked down at her hands with a faint, self-deprecating smile. "Shianni thinks it's because of the way I lost my mother. I'm not so sure." She cleared her throat. "Anyway. During all of this business with Danarius, I realized—I realized I was relying on you. And I was terrified."
A faint smile curved the corners of Zev's mouth. "Terrified. Yes. An apt word."
She reached for his hand. "So I guess … maybe we should try being terrified together?"
Zev wound his fingers through hers. With a gentle tug, he lifted the back of her hand to his lips, where he planted a warm, gentle kiss. "I think that sounds like a fine plan indeed."
The lake at Honnleath was exactly as Cullen had remembered it.
It was not a large lake—he could see the opposite bank easily—but it was large enough to set a small boat into, so there was a little dock at one bank. Although it was a clear and lovely day, the lake and its surrounding banks were empty save for birds and the occasional sounds of a deer's hooves.
He'd spend hundreds of hours here as a child, seeking peace from the loud, merry chaos that often filled the Rutherford home. He'd always come home more ready to play with his younger siblings, more willing to tolerate Mia's bossy streak.
In a way he'd feared returning. He was so different from the hopeful teenager he'd been the last time he sat on these shores. The memories of this place were so crisp and calming; he could not bear it if a new reality shattered them.
Now, standing amidst the trees and staring out into the water, he wondered why he had waited so long.
He stripped off his shoes and socks and rolled the hems of his trousers to his knees. Carefully, he slid his hand into the pocket of his windbreaker. There was a card there—a therapist outside Honnleath who specialized in treating soldiers and law enforcement agents who had been through difficult experiences in the line of duty. Guard-Captain Vallen had recommended the woman, and fortunately there had been an opening in her schedule. He would check into the facility tomorrow.
Today, however, he hung his legs over the side of the dock, dipped his feet into the icy waters, and let himself remember what he had been like before.
The visit to Varania sent Fenris off on a long drive around the city. Varric would have said he was brooding. Fenris preferred to call it thinking.
The truth was that Danarius's death had sent him into something of a spiral. It was not that he regretted killing the magister—far from it. But he had spent so much of his life since the escape waiting for the moment when Danarius would find him. He hardly knew what it meant for all of it to be over.
He found himself thinking again of Varania. The sister he had not known he had. A sister who had sold him out to Danarius, or been willing to.
What point is there in remembering my past, if all that fills it is betrayal and loss?
Even as the thought passed through his head, he discarded it. Whether or not the memories returned seemed to have little to do with what he wanted. They would come back, or they would not; he could not control it.
His future, however, was his and his alone to command.
Fenris stopped at the next gas station and used the pay phone to make a call. The moment he hit the final number he wondered if this was a mistake—but then Varric's gravelly voice was already on the other end of the line.
"Tethras Enterprises."
"Varric? I have a favor to ask, if I may."
The response came more swiftly and easily that Fenris had dared hope. "Sure, Detective. What do you need?"
"Stop fussing. You look great."
Juliet cast a critical eye into the mirror. "Fenris sounded … I don't know, serious? I don't want to under-dress."
"What did he tell you, exactly?" Naia asked, her expression suspiciously bland.
"What do you know?" Juliet countered, turning to her best friend with her arms across her chest and an eyebrow raised.
"I am sworn to secrecy," Naia said primly. "The dress is great. Your hair is great. You're not under-dressed."
Juliet turned back to the mirror. This was a great dress, snug and black with a just-low-enough square neckline. She'd worn it around Fenris before and suspected he liked it too. She tousled her hair one more time, letting it fall over one shoulder in the kind of careless waves that took a solid half hour to perfect. She didn't normally do much with her hair, but tonight felt special.
The doorbell rang.
Juliet's heart started beating faster as she left the bedroom and went to open the door. Fenris was standing outside in one of his familiar black suits—but he'd put on the dark red tie she'd given him for his birthday back when they were just friends. He looked so achingly handsome that for a moment she almost wished she could pause time and just spend it there, looking at him.
The corner of his mouth quirked in a smile. "I always did like that dress."
"And I like that tie," Juliet said with a grin. "All right. What's the big surprise?"
Fenris extended a hand. "I have something to show you."
The drive, to Juliet's surprise, was not a long one. It ended in the middle of an undistinguished block a half mile from her apartment, right in front of a four-story brick apartment building.
Juliet let Fenris pull her through the building's front door and up the stairs, her puzzlement growing by the minute. She had never actually been to Fenris's home, but she knew it was somewhere near the hotel district—well away from this area. What is this place?
At last, Fenris stopped in front of a door on the fourth floor. He reached into his pocket for a single key, then pushed the door open and gestured for her to step inside.
Juliet's shoes clicked softly against the wood floors as she looked around. The apartment had no furniture. Despite that, it was a charming little space, with large windows and a pretty fireplace in one corner. Down the hall, she could see three doors—two bedrooms and a bathroom, she thought quietly.
"This isn't your apartment, is it?" she asked, turning to Fenris in puzzlement.
Fenris unconsciously reached for his tie, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle in its fabric. "It is not. Not yet." He cleared his throat. "Varric has been putting his legal skills to use over the past day or so. With Danarius dead, he seems confident that I can claim the place where I have been living as my own—and that I will be able to sell it."
His heart was in his eyes as he looked at Hawke. "I thought, perhaps, that it might be a good moment for a fresh start. If you like this place, I thought that maybe—maybe it could be ours. Together."
Juliet pressed her fingers to her mouth. "Fenris. Are you sure? I know you like your own space."
"I am. After everything that has happened, I wanted to move forward into a future. One without Danarius. One with you. It has two bedrooms," he added, almost apologetically.
Juliet nodded. "Smart. No more fighting over who gets the couch."
Fenris smiled. "Just so. What do you think?"
"It's amazing." Juliet reached out her hand for his. "Come on. Show me around our new home."
"Chocolate croissant?" Dorian asked, looking over the breakfast tray that room service had brought.
Max leaned back against the pillows and let out a mock groan. "Don't tempt me. If I keep eating this way I'm going to get a gut." He poked his stomach to emphasize the point.
Dorian turned to him with an arched eyebrow that put Vivienne's to shame. "Max, I think it's fair to say that I'm now quite familiar with your body. You are not getting a gut." He broke a piece off the pastry he was holding and stepped closer, holding it just in front of Max's lips, his dark eyes sparkling wickedly. "Come on. Cut loose. Be a little bad."
Max reached out for the bite and popped it into his mouth. "You're a terrible influence, Pavus," he mumbled around the mouthful of buttery pastry.
"Well, I should hope so." Dorian slid onto the bed and curled into Max, his body deliciously warm. "So. How many days do I get to keep you here, encouraging your experimentation with sloth and extravagance?"
"I'm suspended for five days," Max said slowly. The next words came more easily than he expected. "But I'm not sure if I should go back."
Dorian sat bolt upright. "What?"
"I … I don't know if I can be a Templar again. I don't want to spend my life trying to be a good person in a bad system. Maybe I could make a difference, change things if I went back," Max admitted, suddenly torn once more. "But there would be a lot of politics in between me and any real change. And meanwhile, some of the people closest to me would be apostate mages." He reached out and brushed his fingers against Dorian's cheek.
Dorian's eyes softened. "Don't do this on my behalf, Max," he warned. "I don't think walking away is something you come back from, if you think it's a mistake later."
"Probably not," Max admitted. "I'll keep thinking about it." Despite those words, however, some deep part of him knew that his decision was inevitable. He'd started on a path towards it the day Mei Surana had opened his eyes to the reality for mages at the Circle.
Dorian leaned forward to kiss him; Max kissed back readily, sliding his fingers into Dorian's hair and wrapping an arm around Dorian's waist. The kiss was just beginning to deepen when the phone rang.
"Ah. That must be room service. I did wonder if they'd realize they forgot our coffee." Dorian hopped out of bed and pulled the receiver off the phone. "Hello, yes, we're missing our ..."
His entire demeanor changed as another voice came over the line. He stood up straight and his eyes widened. "I. Ah. One moment, please." He turned to Max and put his hand over the receiver. "It's for you. She says her name is Eleanor Cousland."
Max's jaw dropped. Silently, he reached out his hand for the phone; Dorian handed it over with a very curious expression on his face.
"Councilwoman," Max said uneasily once the phone was settled against his ear. "How did you know to find me here?"
"First Enchanter Vivienne suggested we try this room," the Councilwoman said wryly. "I don't suppose you'd be able to stop by the Council chambers later? We have a proposal to run by you."
"I. Ah. I am technically not authorized to speak for the Templar Order at this time," Max said carefully.
"Yes, we know about the suspension. We don't need to speak with a Templar Knight-Captain, Mr. Trevelyan. We want to speak with you."
Max blinked. "Oh. What time should I be there?"
Max looked at the members of the City Council one by one. Eleanor Cousland was all business, though with a friendly hint of a smile around her eyes. Loghain Mac Tir seemed calm and grave. Eamon Guerrin's expression had an anxious tinge, as if he very much wanted a particular answer and could not relax until he heard it. Marlowe Dumar just looked like he had an ulcer.
Meredith Stannard was glaring at him as if she wanted to stab him. But Max suspected that would be her usual expression for some time to come. The papers had not been kind when analyzing her task force's failure to capture Danarius.
"You're offering me a job?" Max asked slowly.
He'd addressed the question to Councilwoman Cousland, but it was Councilman Mac Tir who spoke. "In light of recent events, we think it prudent to ensure that our city will always have a force devoted to investigating magical crimes, whatever the relationship with the Templar Order might be." His expression darkened. Max knew, in that moment, that Lucius Corbin had made an enemy for life. "However, the form that such a task force took during this recent crisis was … unsatisfactory." His eyes slid to Meredith and narrowed.
The Councilwoman tilted her chin up defiantly. "I suppose you think you could have done better, Loghain," she sneered.
"That is not the point. The point, if I may, is that Councilwoman Stannard's authority was always meant to be temporary. Now that we seek a permanent person, Mr. Trevelyan has demonstrated both courage and aptitude." Eleanor Cousland folded her hands in front of her and met his eyes. "Our proposal would put you at the head of a new division of the Guard devoted to investigating magical crimes in the city of Denerim. What do you think?"
"What does Aveline Vallen think?" Max countered.
"She's approved the idea in theory, so long as the new task force answers to her authority," Eamon Guerrin said. "The leader of the new division would hold the rank of Detective Sergeant. Will that be a problem?"
"No. But what about Detective Leto?" Max asked. "He's been doing that more or less unofficially for years."
A quiet look passed between the members of the Council. "The Detective … well. He is a valued member of the Guard. But perhaps not suited for this leadership role," Councilman Guerrin said carefully.
You mean he's a Tevinter-born elf. Max stopped himself from rolling his eyes, but only just.
Councilwoman Cousland tilted her head at him curiously. "So. Are you interested?"
"I am," Max admitted. "But I have some conditions." He held up a finger. "Condition one. I want mages on my task force, and the ability to grant my people licenses to use their magic in Denerim."
"Outrageous!" Meredith spat. "You would grant free reign to apostates? Bring them into the Guard itself? Better to leave us undefended than to invite such danger into our city!"
"Without mages, Councilwoman, we never would have stopped Danarius," Max replied pleasantly. "I'm just being realistic about what I'd need to get the job done."
Then he grinned. He couldn't help it. Meredith just looked so pissed and he was just petty enough to enjoy it. "And if you hate that condition, wait until you hear who I'd need as my co-sergeant."
