Hawkquisition Part 4: Warriors Such As
Chapter 17
Wherein Fenris gets his sword back

"Well, Shiny," chuckled Varric as they stepped out of the dungeons, "looks like we can check another objective off that list."

At the far end of the hall, that objective glanced up from where he was nudging a fallen Venatori with his toe, scowling as he reached for the long axe pinned beneath the body. Fenris' ears perked up at the dwarf's voice and his eyes widened at the sight of the Inquisitor and Varric at the dungeon door.

Behind him, Metis, leaning against the wall, brightened and said, "Inquisitor. You're a sight for sore eyes."

"No less are you two," Thayer replied, bursting into a grin and hurrying forward to pull Fenris into an impetuous hug, at which the elf stiffened only slightly. Then he looked over the Inquisitor's shoulder and arched an eyebrow.

"Thayer," Fenris asked, "since when do you carry a greatsword?"

"Since we came this way looking for you and found only your weapon," Thayer grinned. "It's about time you showed up to claim it. Probably would've overbalanced me if I'd had to fight my way to you." He withdrew the sword from its temporary sheath at his back and handed it over to Fenris with a flourish. "Honestly, it's a wonder anyone can walk straight carrying a weapon like that."

While Fenris reverently received the weapon and returned it to his own back, Thayer turned to greet Metis with a hug as well, but the older elf sucked in a pained breath at the pressure to his arm. Thayer stepped back, chagrined at the sight of the bandages. "What happened to you?" he asked.

The elves exchanged a glance before Fenris answered, his voice carefully restrained, "He was subjected to lyrium markings."

Metis was already unwrapping the bandages as Thayer and Varric turned to him with exclamations of dismay. "Maker's breath," the Inquisitor gasped at the sight, "so you're the reason they didn't finish the ritual on that Fog Warrior."

"Licinius was too eager to find out how the markings would work on a mage," Metis confirmed, slowly rewrapping the bandages after everyone had seen the purpling veins of lyrium now fused with his skin.

"Metis," Fenris murmured, "I don't like how red the skin around the lyrium still looks. The ritual should fix the lyrium into its channels, but…"

"I expect it's just recovering from the burns," Metis frowned. "The skin's still warm to the touch. Perhaps...I know we're in a hurry to get out of this fortress and stop Licinius, but if we might find more of that salve they used on me after the ritual, it did help a bit."

Fenris straightened, reaching to support his father again as he turned back the way they had come. "The laboratory. There's likely to be some there." He glanced over his shoulder at Thayer. "Inquisitor?"

"We're staying with you," Thayer nodded, moving to follow the elves. "Besides, we've only one objective left now, isn't that right, Varric?"

"Stop the magister," Varric nodded, ticking the imaginary list off on his fingers as he fell into step beside the Inquisitor, "since we have already successfully found our friends, who already freed the prisoners, thus saving us the trouble of tackling that objective."

"And we could run all over this place looking for the magister," Thayer continued, "but I'll bet he'll come looking for you two sooner or later." He turned to Fenris. "You're all right, though? Licinius seemed to have...plans for you the last we saw him."

"He only planned to copy my markings," Fenris nodded.

"And dissect you, if copying didn't work," Metis reminded him under his breath.

"It was an empty threat," Fenris insisted.

Metis shook his head. "He wouldn't have hesitated, if he thought he really could learn anything from your insides."

"Regardless, he won't have the chance now." Fenris inclined his head to the Inquisitor. "Your arrival interrupted his plans before he could take the ritual any further on Metis, but…"

Metis looked up, blinking slowly. "On the bright side," he murmured, "I suppose this provides a certain knowledge of our foes which we lacked before."

Fenris' eyes narrowed. "The knowledge that the red lyrium maddens them? That was clear enough without risking madness yourself."

"Ah, but who knows what we may yet learn?"

Fenris sighed. "Do you make a habit of experimenting upon yourself?"

"This is a first, actually," Metis smiled. "But I'm determined to be useful. And I'm determined to resist its call."

"Its call?" Thayer echoed.

"Varric," Fenris said, glancing back at the dwarf. "The red lyrium in Kirkwall. Meredith…"

"Bartrand," Varric said darkly.

"Metis spoke of the markings...singing to him." Fenris explained, his face drawn with worry.

"Shit," the dwarf groaned. "That is a tale that has yet to end well."

"The sooner we are finished here," Fenris said, picking up his pace as much as possible with Metis still leaning on his arm, "the likelier we can change that."

A cheer went up from the Fog Warriors when the red-marked warrior finally fell. It had been a man, once, Caligo thought, its small ears and hulking shoulders obscured now by the red glow coming from its tattoos. It fought like a beast, growling and swinging out with an enormous club. The red lyrium seemed to give it remarkable strength, and the swordfighters in her party were hard pressed to stand against its raging blows. Caligo and her archers stood back, their arrows slipping past the lyrium light until finally the tattooed warrior slowed, roaring in pain, and slumped to the ground.

And then, from behind him came a slow clapping sound. Caligo looked up to see a man with pale hair in short curls, draped in the elaborate robes of a Tevinter magister, a staff at his back.

"Oh, bravo," the magister drawled. "Fearsome indeed, a dozen of you against my one pet."

Caligo's vision darkened with fury as she brought her bow to bear on the magister. "It killed five of my men first," she pointed out, keeping her voice cool of the anger the Tevinter drew from her.

"Yes, that was impressive too," the magister acknowledged. "And it makes this slightly easier." Suddenly there was a knife in his hand, a flash of red as blood dripped from a cut in his palm. Caligo took a step back, loosing her arrow (a wave of the magister's hand; it flamed to ash), reaching to her quiver for another, but -

Agony. Fire in the blood. Excruciating pain washed through her veins as the magister's bloody palm clenched to a fist. She cried out, fought against the instinct to crumple like a tent folding in on itself when the poles went bad and warped. From the corner of her eye she caught glimpses of her team, the remnants of it, twisted in torment equal to hers. And then Imber, patient, loyal Imber, suddenly lurched to his feet with his sword in his hand and ran it through Hemis' guts. His sister Hemis. Caligo choked with rage, gritting her teeth against the pain, and inch by inch her hand reached her quiver.

"Very good," the magister was saying, his attention fixed on his new pet and the carnage Imber had begun to carve through the Fog Warriors. "As you can see, I have your men at my mercy. Now you will tell me what I want to know." Imber punctuated the magister's words with his sword at Grandin's throat, the threat at odds with the look of dismay and horror in Imber's own eyes.

"I. Will. Tell you. Nothing," Caligo grunted. Her fingers brushed against fletching, fumbled. Grandin whimpered as a trickle of red marked his throat.

"Where is the Inquisitor?" the magister demanded. "I presume he is behind this annoyance, after he departed so suddenly from our meeting last night. Rather an inconvenient time for him to return, I hope you know; I was in the middle of an experiment." He glanced at Imber and flicked a finger. "Kill him."

"No!" Caligo shouted, gripping the arrow shaft now yet unable to bring her arm back to her bow with it. Imber froze, grimacing against the magister's control.

The magister quirked an eyebrow. "Something you'd like to share, rabbit?"

"The Inquisitor…" she gasped, "from the north. We...came from the south. Don't know where he is. Don't know if he even made it in."

"You'll have to do better than that," the magister frowned. "I don't have time for this. You there, kill -"

There was a faint whistle, a sound Caligo recognized, and with it came the strength to finally pull the arrow free of her quiver and launch it in the magister's direction in the two seconds before the whistle became a fwuff and the fog rolled in from someone's grenade. Her arrow flying through the fog struck true; or at least she hoped the sudden cry of surprise and pain was the magister's and not one of her own men's, but she was suddenly free of the grip of his magic, slumping in relief as the pain faded away. She could hear her team moving under their own volition again, free of the magister's control. They would use the fog to scatter, find safety. Caligo had no intention of scattering. She reached for another arrow, peering into the fog to discern if the magister was still where her last shot had found him.

And then her arm was gripped in strong fingers from behind her, and she jerked against the hold for a moment until a voice even more familiar than the sound of a fog grenade hissed, "Stop it, you idiot. This is a rescue!"

Caligo let herself be pulled back down the hallway, but not without hissing back, "Aeris!"

She could hear his grin through the fog. "Thought you'd seen the last of me?"

"How are you still alive?" she snapped. "You got yourself caught months ago."

"You know why," he said as they reached the edge of the fog, moving quickly enough to keep ahead of its slow spread now. "But I'm honored you've finally come to rescue me." She could see the grin now. She scowled back.

"This isn't about you," she insisted. "The Inquisitor's determined to stop the Venatori doing what they do here. The Fog Dancer agreed to help him. This is our chance to end their preying on us. No one else going missing like Nubis did."

Aeris' sudden smile, teeth glinting, seemed out of place here. "Speaking of that…" he said, and winked at her, and pulled her aside into what seemed to be a bedchamber, dusty with disuse.

And from one dusty chair, looking up at her, his grey eyes rimmed with red, his chest bare and gleaming with red lines, like the magister's beast…

Nubis saw her and, slowly, just barely, he smiled. He knew her. Caligo gasped, looked at Aeris, gripping his hand while he just grinned at her. She let go, bent to kneel at Nubis' side, reaching for him…

Thunder sounded: or something more than thunder, far beyond the fortress' interior. All three of them, even Nubis, looked up at the sound.

"The ships," Caligo realized after a moment. "That's our cover. Come on, Nubis, we're getting you out."

Licinius was struggling to find his way out of the fog when the explosions began, like thunder beyond his walls but with a force mere weather usually lacked. The elf's arrow in his side slowed his progress, but the blood it had drawn served to fuel a spell to keep himself going.

The Fog Warriors were nowhere to be found by the time the air had cleared enough that he could see again. He cursed their memory and stumbled on. There were two groups infiltrating the fortress, then - he had learned no more from the elf. And from the sound of things, they had reinforcements outside his gates.

Two fronts to defend, then. The Fog Warriors who had escaped him when that archer broke his hold on them were the least of his concerns; the Inquisitor's reputation preceded him, and now the gates of Ath Velanis seemed to be under attack as well. Licinius staggered on until he found a patrol of his Venatori, heading for the gates. They hesitated when they saw their leader wounded, but he waved them on to defend the gates, except for two mages that he pulled from their numbers to join him in confronting the Inquisitor.

Which left only the matter of finding him.

Licinius' Tranquil assistant, whom they found still at his post in the laboratory, quietly arranging the flasks and other implements set out for the next phase of the ritual, was entirely unimpressed by Fenris' grip on his throat.

"Wait," Metis said quietly, before Fenris could attempt to intimidate a man who knew neither fear nor any other emotion. "Let me." Fenris met his father's eyes and, after a moment, nodded, shifting to grip the Tranquil's shoulder as Metis stepped forward, raising his bandaged arm. With it, the song in his head seemed to rise, demanding his attention, his adoration. He thrust his way through the fog of thoughts crowding in on his own, fixing his eyes on the Tranquil and schooling his face to match the man's blank expression.

"You gave me a salve," Metis reminded the man, "to help this heal."

"Yes," the Tranquil acknowledged.

"Might you have any more of it? I think it's wearing off."

"The burns will take time to heal regardless," the Tranquil stated.

"Even so," Metis shrugged. "Perhaps a bottle for the road?"

"Licinius prefers that I administer the salve," he said.

"Licinius," Fenris growled, "has done things his way long enough."

The Tranquil looked at him. Metis coughed. "Yes. But I'm perfectly capable of treating this myself, if you don't mind. I can see that you're very busy here and I'm sure you have better things to do than looking after a patient."

A nod, finally, from the Tranquil. He gestured to a rack near the door, crammed full of every size and sort of container. "There is enough of it on the third shelf. Take what you need."

"Well. Thank you," Metis said, wandering over to the shelves while Fenris released the man to return to his organizing. Varric, standing guard at the door along with Thayer, leaned in to ask if he needed any help, but Metis waved him away, fighting against the urge to hum as he searched.

Few of the jars and bottles and flasks were labeled, he soon discovered. Lyrium potions (red and blue) were recognizable enough even without a label and made up the vast majority of the items stored on the shelves. Then there was a motley assortment of concoctions in a variety of colors and consistencies. Metis started opening those that looked most similar to the drab, viscous ointment that had been used to treat his markings, sniffing at their contents in the hopes that he would recognize the smell. At a guess, there'd been embrium involved, and perhaps a hint of lavender for the burns. He swiftly ruled out the first three jars he tried.

The fourth one took him by surprise, enough to make the lilting whispers go silent for a moment. Recoiling from a sharp and sour smell, he glanced down at the bottle he'd opened to see a gooey substance, red as blood and rife with the scent of magebane.

"Fenris," he said, beckoning his son over. "Have a look at this."

Fenris gave the Tranquil one more cautionary glare before approaching. His eyes widened as he reached to take the bottle.

"This is not what they used on you," he frowned.

"No, not after the ritual," Metis said. "I think it's Licinius' lyrium-quieting potion. Smells of magebane. And the places where he'd smeared it on the floor as traps for us, it looked like blood, didn't it?"

Fenris held the bottle at arm's length with a dubious frown. "It could be anything."

"Well, whatever it is, I'd swear magebane is involved. It could come in handy against a magister."

Fenris nodded and handed it back to him. "It does smell of magebane, at least. Just be very careful."

"Of what? The markings already choke my magic. What more can magebane do?"

"Even so," Fenris said. "Keep it somewhere safe."

Metis corked the supposed quieting potion and wrapped it carefully in a scrap of bandages identical to those sheathing his arm. Tucking it away in a belt pouch, he paused and frowned at the resurgence of the song at the back of his mind.

A polite voice at his shoulder startled him out of the impending lyrium reverie. Metis jumped and turned to find the Tranquil speaking softly to him. "I'm sorry, what was that?" he asked.

"This is the salve you were looking for," the man repeated, selecting a small green jar from the shelf. "If I left you to look for it any longer I would have to reorganize everything. You may take this one."

"Oh," Metis said with a shaky smile, closing his good hand around the little jar and willing the chill of the glass to keep him focused on the present. "Thank you."

As he and Fenris stepped away from the shelves to rejoin their comrades at the door, suddenly from far above there came a noise like thunder, but faint, softened around the edges by its passage deep into the fortress. Thayer looked up at the sound, then turned to his companions, eyes gleaming. "Sounds like reinforcements have arrived."

"I hope they don't intend to collapse the fortress with us in it," remarked Fenris dryly.

"We'll be out sooner than that," Thayer assured them. "Can't leave without seeing to our final objective, though, can we, Varric?"

"Yes, Shiny, we still have to put a stop to this tattooing business like we set out to in the first place," Varric confirmed.

"Which means finding the magister," Thayer continued. "Although…" He glanced around the laboratory. "A bit of a setback to his equipment here wouldn't hurt, just in case. You still have any of those Antivan Fire grenades, Varric?"

Five minutes later, the roar of flames pursued them down the hallway while the thunder of the ships' attack continued far above.

"He'll run straight to the magister, you know," Fenris said, gesturing to the Tranquil, whom they had with great difficulty convinced to evacuate the laboratory before they set it on fire. Run was perhaps an exaggeration: apparently a sense of urgency was among the emotions from which the man was cut off, and for all his insistence that Licinius would disapprove of his leaving his post despite the inferno scheduled to consume it, he seemed to be making no hurry as he walked down the hallway towards a narrow stair.

"I'm counting on it," said the Inquisitor. "We need to confront Licinius anyway. Let him come find us, I say. And in the meantime we can find someplace more defensible than this hallway to catch him in. Or to be caught in."

"I thought we'd done our share of being caught in traps already," Varric objected.

"Yes, but what he doesn't know is, this time we are the trap," Thayer grinned. "Or was it the bait? Anyway, we'll be prepared."

"It would be simpler just to kill him," Fenris pointed out.

"Fair enough. If it comes to that, he's earned it," the Inquisitor said. "But there are too many things we still don't know about this operation. We can burn the laboratory and kill the magister, but where are they getting so much red lyrium? And the slaves they tested it on? Not everyone you freed from the dungeons was a captured Fog Warrior. And if Danarius destroyed all his research after the ritual on you, Fenris, where did Licinius even begin? Did he seriously base all this on mere glimpses of your abilities, years ago? If he found something - some tome or treatise that set him on this path - I would love to destroy every copy of it, so this can never happen again."

"So many questions," Metis smiled. "I suppose it's fitting for the Inquisitor to be so inquisitive."

"I blame Varric," Thayer said, nudging the dwarf with an elbow as they turned a corner. "Always prying for his books. I've learned to question villains properly before they die, given the least opportunity."